Clara Castigan

Chapter 9: In which Matthewson asks questions, and Miss Percy nearly loses a bonnet

Matthewson had not at first been sure of Miss Castigan's relationship to the Percy family. The young woman was paid a certain amount of deference from Sir James and Lady Percy, and Miss Percy spoke to her as an equal, but there were no mentions of "my niece", "our cousin", or any comparable appellation to explain their bond. Miss Castigan's simplicity of dress had not escaped Matthewson's notice. What conversation he had exchanged with Miss Castigan thereafter told him that she was a reading woman, not simply by claims of having a learned father, but by claims of her intelligence. She had opinions that fused together what she had read and what she herself thought; her ideas were not simply clichés lifted out of books. Her interest had been genuine, not affected, and there had been no artfulness in what she had said. All in all, the encounter was more memorable than Lady Percy's coffee and cake.

Before retiring that night, Matthewson's curiosity was rewarded with answers.

"Miss Castigan?" said Katharine, with an inkling of happy suspicion. "Why do you ask?"

"A natural curiosity, that is all."

"There is never a natural curiosity with you, Uncle Phil."

"I beg to differ, there is a great deal of natural curiosity with me. I should not be six feet tall and nearly a giant, when other Matthewsons are no more than dwarfs."

"Oh, Uncle, you know I don't mean that!" exclaimed Katharine, who was but a few inches shorter than Matthewson, a height which she inherited from her mother.

"I merely inquire out of inquisitiveness, if you must know. A writer takes a lively interest in many things."

"And in this case, in a particular lady."

"Admittedly Miss Castigan is a lady. Or isn't she?"

"If you insist upon knowing, I shall tell you, but you must not be disappointed. Miss Castigan is Elspeth Percy's governess, and it is said that she could very well be more than that if she would let Rick propose to her."

Now, Matthewson was not entirely surprised that Miss Castigan was a governess, but he was surprised to learn that she was on the verge of engagement. He had noted something of Rick Percy's warmth towards Miss Castigan after dinner---had attributed it to the young woman's good standing with Rick Percy's parents---but he had also found the young gentleman peevish and could not believe that any sensible woman would submit to bind herself to eternal crossness. There had not been any particular tenderness returned by the lady in that direction, so far as he had observed. "Miss Castigan has refused him?"

"No one knows for sure whether Rick has even proposed."

"You mean he has no friends to whom he confesses such secrets? No gentlemen's club he frequents?"

"Why?" asked the niece innocently. "Do you mean to take membership in one at once?"

"Not really, Kate," replied the uncle, playing along with her, "though if it must come to that..."

"It would not be for me to reveal whether Rick had secrets."

"How long has it---this business of Rick Percy and Miss Castigan---been going on?"

"For quite some time. For years."

"They don't look very old to have years behind them."

"They are but saplings compared to you, uncle."

Matthewson pretended to look offended. "I may be an old man, but surely I deserve some respect from my own niece."

"Who is an old man?" said Mrs. Cowan, hearing remnants of their exchange. "Has Katharine accused you of being an old man? I wonder what that would make me."

"A very dear mother," said Katharine, planting a kiss on Mrs. Cowan's cheek.

The next day at breakfast, Mrs. Cowan asked her brother what he thought of the dinner party. "Did we meet your expectations of good company?"

Matthewson understood her to be teasing him. "Well, my standards are rather high," he said returning the jest. "There was only one amongst the party who was intellectual enough to surpass my criteria of good company."

"And who might that fortunate man be?"

"I did not say man. Sister, you need not raise your eyebrow at me---it was not Lady Percy. I meant her daughter's governess."

Mrs. Cowan grew serious at once. "I hope that you did not think only of Miss Castigan, though she may have spoken more words to you than I have ever heard her say to anyone."

("You exaggerate, Mother," said Katharine. "Miss Castigan has spoken well on more than one occasion.")

"Why should you wish to know more about her?" continued Mrs. Cowan. "Miss Castigan is a good woman, but she is not to be good for you."

"Oh, I know. Kate has already said the same, though not in quite those words."

"I am being quite earnest, Theophilus."

"And so am I, Fenella."

"You know that Rick Percy has intentions."

"Kate told me that too. I have my intentions as well, if you must know."

"Oh, Theophilus! Do not let us see you throw your life away by forming an imprudent match."

"I thought a gentleman with a comfortable property and income could afford to form an alliance wherever he pleased."

"I haven't only mercenary arguments to make. You hardly know the young lady. What attachment can you possibly form after one meeting? Is it wise?"

" ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure', you mean," said Matthewson. "You needn't fear for me on that score. I didn't mean that I was going to marry tomorrow, or toy with anyone's feelings while I am here." Short of taking a vow of celibacy, he could only assure her that he was as yet too cautious and too cynical to be ensnared prematurely into holy matrimony.

Satisfied, Mrs. Cowan continued her tack. "How about the Percys? Do you like them? Miss Percy is a little spoiled, but she can be charming. A livelier and prettier girl in Bloomvale you are not likely to find, and she is---how did we used to call it in England?---barely ‘out'."

"I hardly know the young lady," said Matthewson, throwing his sister's words back at her.

"The Percys and the Cowans have long been friends. Katharine and Miss Percy played together as children. I think we can vouch for Miss Percy's character."

"Do you know," said Matthewson, delicately ignoring his sister's meaning, "Sir James amuses me." For a progressive woman such as herself, Fenella could be surprisingly backward in matrimonial matters.

"I did not know you shared his sense of humour," said Mrs. Cowan.

"No, but I appreciate the existence of his kind of character. He discusses nothing but railroads and trains with Mr. Spencer! When you and the rest of the ladies left, after a jab at the temperance union, he waxed poetic over the benefits of amalgamating railway companies and all matters of train business."

"As you will soon find out for yourself, trains are his raison d'être."

"Which he supposes to be Mr. Spencer's also."

"It is only for his son's sake. Adam Spencer is a great deal interested in the family's private investments."

Matthewson mused that for "private investments", they were certainly widely known amongst the neighbours. The younger Spencer had not struck him as mercenary. Idealistic and fond of causes, Adam Spencer had been, but not greedy.

"It's not that he minds about money," said Katharine. "However, he promised his grandfather to look after the family. His father's sense of finances is---rather more the result of luck and Adam's prudence than Mr. Spencer's understanding of the markets."

"And so Young Spencer takes it into his hands to sort out his father's affairs."

"It is something like that, yes. He is very good at it. He will be a partner in the family bank, you know. His uncle on his mother's side of the family is a banker and wishes to make Adam Spencer one too."

"That is a very generous uncle. What of Miss Spencer?"

Katharine did not shudder or grimace, though had she been more like the Percys, she very well might have. "She hasn't a desire or need for a profession. Did you like her?"

"I didn't mean that, Kate."

"But what did you think of her?"

"Pretty, although regrettably not very clever. She said she was ‘simply dying' to go to London and Paris, and could not understand why I had not been to France these two years."

"Adela has been wanting to go for a very long time but her parents have not yielded."

"And a wise decision that they did not! She would not have liked to be caught in the midst of the Commune or to have been met with a Prussian invasion."

"We rarely talk of the Commune or the Prussians here, not unless the papers write about them."

Matthewson made a sound that was a cross between a grunt and an expression of surprise. Had Lady Percy heard it, she would not have found it gentleman-like. "In any case," he said at last, "no one at the dinner party was the man that I saw in front of the gate of Turret House earlier this afternoon. I should like to find out who he was."

"Not your spectre again, Uncle Phil!"

"I assure you, my imagination does not work at quite the overwrought pace with which you credit me. Truly there was a man lurking about the gate, and somehow my acknowledgement of his presence encouraged him to dart away."

"I suppose you would not have learned at the dinner that Sir James has had some trouble with political rivals," said Mrs. Cowan. She paused. "You know, of course, that Sir James is our Member of Parliament?"

"So you have told me several times. I confess I may have forgotten the fact sometime in between dessert and the wine and cheese." The irony in his tone made it impossible for the ladies to suppose he was serious.

"Not more than a week before your arrival," said Mrs. Cowan, "there was a man---not from these parts---who came begging for an interview with Sir James. Sir James was not at home, and the man accused Sir James of deliberately denying him the meeting. It is said that the man was swayed by political rivals."

"And he has now taken to lurking about the Turret House?" Matthewson thought that surely the man was not to be trusted if he could spend his workdays engaged in such a dubious activity.

"The Percys ignore him for the most part."

"It cannot be pleasant though, to be watched. Have they done nothing about it?"

"The man's patience will wear out, and he will soon tire of the game."

Matthewson scoffed. "His patience may soon wear out, but I doubt the game will, if that is how this watching is being perceived. It may only escalate the man's impatience and encourage him towards worse behaviour. Sir James ought to put a stop to it. Could he not send for a constable?"

"He does not wish for the trouble to be known."

"If you know it, it must be ‘known' already."

"Not generally known. Not known far and wide." Mrs. Cowan paused. "He worries about the journalists. He does not trust them. It is why, I suppose, he spoke very little to you all dinner."

Matthewson thought this was true. He had not observed it at the time, but indeed, Sir James had managed to sidestep any tête-à-tête with him. "Politicians do not generally love journalists," he said. "They seek us out only when they announce a policy which they are sure will win them votes."

"Sir James is not in the Prime Minister's cabinet," said Mrs. Cowan.

"It does not mean that he has not some influence over policy," said Matthewson. "And, he is in the Prime Minister's caucus. Even if he has no power to introduce bills, he may vote for or against them, and he is a Tory. When there is a vote, he will vote with his caucus."

"Matthewsons have always been Tories, and so too have been the Cowans. Let us not speak ill of Sir Marcus. He is a fine Prime Minister. He passed an Act permitting trade unions to exist, and his cabinet will never spend beyond its means."

"Which is as it ought to be. It ought to care for workers as much as it cares for all the Percys of the land; it ought to be frugal because Cabinet holds the money only in trust, on behalf of the people; and Sir Marcus ought to be good if he has been elected."

"Well, you must be careful how you express your ideas," said Mrs. Cowan, no doubt thinking of the disappointment of her public efforts. "Reform is little welcomed in this constituency." She frowned. "I was thinking particularly of your discussion of women reading Aristotle. Mrs. Spencer was in shock, I am sure. She must have thought you were calling for votes for women."

"Aristotle hardly wrote that, and if Mrs. Spencer had read his Politics, she would know. What I said was perfectly reasonable. Much as I would have enjoyed it, I was not vindicating Mary Wollstonecraft's rights at the dinner table. But this conversation is neither here nor there. How I find myself drawn to the politics of this colony, I do not know." What he did not venture to ask was whether or not Miss Castigan had any particular political sympathies.

---

Just as Matthewson discussed the Percys with his sister and niece, so too was Mr. Matthewson the subject of discussion among the ladies at the Turret House. Lady Percy repeated her amazement that their neighbour's brother should be brilliant and wealthy and wellborn. She had set her mind on having him call her mother-in-law, and thus, she refused to acknowledge the attentions that Mr. Matthewson had paid elsewhere.

"He was very attentive to you, Elspeth," said Lady Percy on the Wednesday morning after the dinner party. "We ought to invite him again to dine with us."

"If he should come very often, the novelty of our table will soon wear out," answered her daughter. "Besides, I do not think he was attentive to me at all---not exceptionally attentive, at any rate."

"Mr. Matthewson does not mean to frighten you, that is all. He has only just met you."

"I do not think he showed more care towards me than to the rest of you," continued Elspeth. "I almost think he enjoyed hearing Clara more than any other conversation he had last night. Someone might have turned fairly green at the gills watching and hearing it. Oh, Clara, I'm only teasing! You mustn't be so serious all the time." For her governess, who was working of a piece of embroidery, had looked up at her and frowned.

"I was merely frowning at your expression," said Clara.

"Oh, of course. My apologies." Elspeth was not very sorry though.

"Miss Castigan put him in his place rightly," said Lady Percy. "I imagine an Englishman born with such privileges and rights as befits the gentry cannot help but be a little arrogant---but I do not think he is a bad man despite his small conceits."

"Clara was not putting him in his place at all," said Elspeth dryly. "She was of the same mind on every topic."

"We could never be of the same mind," Clara protested.

"But it is true---or it was true Monday night. The two of you may as well have carried the whole conversation. Talking of philosophy and Socrates and Plato over a rack of lamb!"

"He solicited my opinion," said Clara. "I would have been happy merely to listen."

"Yet whether you answered him or not, your views would have remained what they were."

"Miss Castigan does not mean to lead him on," Lady Percy said, as much to her daughter as to her daughter's governess. "Surely she has not given a single thought towards him since then, as you have."

Clara kept her eyes on her sewing. She sensed a slight tone of caution in Lady Percy's voice, and thought it best to say nothing.

"You must let Miss Castigan read more Plato with you if that is the sort of thing Mr. Matthewson enjoys," continued Lady Percy. "It would not be a bad thing. There are worse things in this world than being Mrs. Matthewson of Fallingbrook Manor."

"There are indeed, but I imagine there are also a great deal of better things," said Elspeth, thinking of Harry Quentin, who had been called back to Boston quite suddenly and was leaving the next day. She had not even had the opportunity to see him, nor did she envision any such chance unless she were able to slip away for an hour or so that very afternoon.

"You know what you must do, dearest?" said Lady Percy. "You must go to Mr. Edward's bookshop this afternoon and purchase one of Mr. Matthewson works. I cannot recall his nom de plume, but the title of his last novel was This Too Sullied Flesh. I asked his sister after the title, so I may be sure that it is right."

"How perfectly morbid!" observed Elspeth.

"Morbid?" repeated Lady Percy, wrinkling her brow. "How could you call it morbid? I think it is natural that I should have a desire to read Mr. Matthewson's writing now that we may call him a friend of the family."

"What Elspeth means," said Clara gently, "is that the title of the work comes from Hamlet. ‘Oh, that this too too sullied flesh would melt / Thaw and resolve itself into a dew.'"

"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Percy. "Well... it sounds as though it shall be a very thrilling mystery. Do we not all enjoy a thrilling mystery? Here is a five dollar note, Elspeth, which ought to be more than enough. Now, you'll do it for me after luncheon, won't you? Go to Mr. Edward's and ask after the title."

Of course Elspeth would.

---

The afternoon was beautiful when one was not under the glare of the sun, but as the handsome young man walking through Bloomvale Park between the hours of two and three o'clock that day noted, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, the heat was getting to be oppressive. He might have called for a buggy to take him to Castle Crescent, or taken his horse, but he had been feeling like himself again for the first time in a week and had wanted to stretch his limbs with a brisk walk. The occasional breeze was most welcoming, and he loosened his cravat as he approached the bank of the river that cut through the park. He would dip his hands into the water and splash his face to cool off, then he would continue on his way. The ladies he was going to see loved him for himself, and they were not fastidious.

His feelings towards them were very proper for a man who was about to be one's husband and the other's son-in-law. His father had taught him of propriety since he had been old enough to understand the concept of good and evil. But to own the truth, he missed the spontaneity of the early courtship. Life with his fiancée, since she had agreed to be his, was no less unpredictable than clockwork. Of course he cherished her, valued her, often reminded himself that she was too good for him and for that reason, must see no harm come to her. Yet how he missed the early days!

Lost in reverie, he stopped at the river a moment. There was a sight to behold. A young woman was bending over the very edge of the bank and stretching out her fair, white hand towards something caught on a piece of sharp rock, something that jutted out from the middle of the river. With her other hand, she held up the hem of her dress so as not to get it wet. Anyone else would have looked ridiculous exposing their ankles in that fashion, but this girl was dainty, with her ivories and roses all in the right places, and she might have been a character out of a fairy tale---if one were to believe in dryads or wood nymphs. That she might be a damsel in distress did cross his mind almost immediately.

"You had better not lean over farther, Miss," he said. "The river may be shallow, but it is wide and rocky."

"My bonnet---" said the young woman. She nearly lost her balance as she said this, but she was prevented from falling by the quick, firm grasp of the young man's hand. She looked at him with a beseeching look. "Please, it is very dear to me and I mustn't lose it." The bonnet was made of straw, but it was trimmed with summer flowers and a thick red ribbon that was the first token that she had ever received from her sweetheart, but of this, she said nothing.

The gentleman looked about for a long branch in the wooded area of the part, and when he at last returned to the river side with one firmly in his hand, he gave it a skillful prod and lifted the bonnet out of the water. He shook out as much water as possible and handed it to the young woman.

"Thank you---Sir." The girl blushed as she realized for the first time how handsome her rescuer was, and how young he looked. Though she called him "Sir", she saw that he could be no more than five years her senior, and she had never seen a face with such a fine physiognomy. He could have been a young Roman senator or an Italian prince in another life.

"You need to take better care of it, if it is dear to you."

"I was going to get a drink and set the bonnet down beside me, but it caught the breeze and blew out into the water," she said in her defence. "It happened more rapidly than I could have done anything for." Hurriedly, she added, "Please allow me to thank you for your service."

"It was nothing at all," said her rescuer, thinking about his fiancée waiting for him, and feeling it wise not to linger. He would have tipped his head and gone on his way, had the young woman not stopped him.

"Wait," she said, trying not to tremble at her boldness, "Am I to learn your name?"

"Small. The name is Louis Small."

The girl seemed to give a start, but this was replaced by a smile. "Thank you, Mr. Small. If there is any way in which I can repay you for your help..."

"There is nothing to repay. I must be going now." He nodded and was on his way again. This time, Elspeth Percy did not try to detain him.

Chapter 10: A Tangled Web

Louis Small was by no means negligent of his fiancée. He was very much engaged to her, and why anyone should suppose otherwise would have been incomprehensible to him. He had shown himself to be devoted; he had done everything as an ardent young suitor should. If he had had the powers of poetry at his command, he would even have composed a sonnet a day; but that he was so clearly his father's son made it false for him to profess his love in a high-flown literary manner. He felt, rather than said (for he lacked eloquence), that indulging in pretentious language tarnished the sacredness of love. Luckily for him, Katharine felt the same. It was enough to her that he had given her a ring and sealed their promise with a kiss. She did not demand much---although sometimes Louis wished that she did.

Before that business trip to Quebec, Louis had entertained no thought of falling in love, but then, there had been Miss Cowan, verily a Saxon princess in a latter day incarnation, and the gentlest of souls that Louis had ever become acquainted with. Louis had known himself to be in love from the very moment that he parted from Miss Cowan at the train station in Montreal. He had asked for permission to call on her, and her mother had allowed him to pay such a visit. All that followed, as the reader by now knows, unfolded smoothly, predictably, without deviation, with very few tears and with no angst at all. Katharine's soft smile had warmed him from head to toe during that lonely month away from home. He had had to face down the cold and haughty relatives of his late mother during that business trip, but the frost melted into dew in the radiance of his beloved. He had never felt so wanted before, or so grateful to be wanted. For a man of three-and-twenty with little experience of human frailties, this was all that was needed to advance a proposal. He had asked the question, and been accepted.

His father, Thompson Small, very much approved of Katharine Cowan, and his young sister echoed their father's sentiments. "What a lovely, sweet girl," the aging Mr. Small had said. "She reminds me so much of your poor mother, Louis." Under a certain light, and in a certain state of sentimentality, there was indeed something in Miss Cowan's dewy eyes (though they were not brown) and in her carriage (though she was not short) that might have been mistaken for Louis's mother.

Louis had told his father that he thought the same (whether he spoke the truth or not, there is no prize to gain from the reader's speculation), and for that reason, cherished her all the more dearly.

"Is she one of those fine ladies from the Bloomvale set?" asked Mr. Small the senior.

"I didn't know there was such a set."

"Well, your mother was one of those fine ladies."

"I thought you said she was from Montreal."

"And so she was, but when her family came to Toronto, they became friends with the Bloomvale families, and she became one of them."

"I suppose she is in a way," admitted Louis, though he did not like the thought of his fiancée belonging to a circle that had once shut out his father. He did not know what Katharine and Mrs. Cowan thought of circles---very little, if they accepted him.

"You must never fail Miss Cowan. She is fragile like your mother was, and she won't stand up to breakage."

Louis had no intention at all of failing Katharine. Only he could not help thinking sometimes that the intensity of his ardour might be an embarrassment to such a girl as Katharine Cowan. She was too angelic, too sweet, too unassuming to suppose that there could be more to their engagement than many quiet evenings spent reading poetry in each other's company (or rather, she read poetry to him), or in the brief pressing of hands, or a very chaste kiss on the cheek. She had been properly schooled in the rules of courtship, as in many areas of education. At times, Louis blushed at his own upbringing, so unequal had it been to that of Katharine. He felt the only aspect of his education that could stand up to scrutiny of the upper circles was his fluency in French, which had been his mother's native tongue.

His fiancée received him on Wednesday afternoon with much affection, but when Louis endeavoured to show her just how much he had missed her, she turned her face and whispered that her mother and uncle were nearby, and that in any case, he was dusty from his walk.

In truth, neither Mrs. Cowan nor Mr. Matthewson much cared how sweaty or dirty Louis may have become from his walk to the Cowans' home. It was enough for them that Louis had come. Or come at last, thought Matthewson.

"Happy to make your acquaintance," said Matthewson. He took the first opportunity to extend his hand of friendship to the younger man, as he felt it was right for an uncle to do. The gesture was to say, "There, I welcome you into the family" as much as to say, "Now that you are one of us, you had better prove yourself deserving of our good opinion."

Louis, uneducated as he was, was not insensible of Mr. Matthewson's various meanings. His father was a businessman, as was he, and a handshake was not simply a sign of cordiality. It had a contractual nature to it that was to be honoured. To have returned the handshake, he had acknowledged Mr. Matthewson's paternalistic claims and his own subjection to the older man's scrutiny. Of course Katharine's uncle would be protective of her---perhaps if Louis had a niece, he too would be as defensive---but still, he did not like it. What had he done to deserve Mr. Matthewson's suspicions? For his fiancée's sake though, he would bear it, and bear it with courtesy and smiles.

"Katharine says you were suffering from an illness," said Matthewson. "I hope you are much recovered."

"Very much so, Sir," said Louis with a polite nod.

"None of that ‘Sir' business, please, Louis---if I may take the liberty of calling you by your Christian name?"

Louis nodded again.

"You had better call me Matthewson, as most of my friends do, or Uncle Phil, as Kate has taken to doing, to remind me of my old age," said Matthewson. "My niece tells me you are in business."

Louis was a little surprised at Matthewson's easy way of calling Katharine by her pet name. No one, as far as he had noticed, took to shortening his fiancée's name, endearingly or otherwise. "Yes," he managed to answer. "My father owns and runs a department store at Dundas and Yonge."

"Eaton's or Simpson's?"

"Neither. Those are on Queen Street. My father's store is Thompson and Son."

"There must be a lot of competition."

"Not competition that we couldn't handle," replied Louis. He had not meant to be nonchalant. He was proud of what his father did, and what his own achievements had thus far been to add to the family estate. Honest work for honest rewards was all that the Smalls ever aimed for, and that, they certainly got.

"Uncle, had not we better go to the parlour and ring for lemonade? We could sit and be interrogated much more comfortably there," said Katharine in mock solemnity. She caught Louis's wary gaze and tried to reassure him with a smile that all would be well.

---

Elspeth Percy was unable to find Mr. Matthewson's novel at Edward's Bookshop. Nor, after the incident at the park, was she able to see Harry Quentin. The plan to exchange sweet words of farewell with her suitor had seemed somehow to lose its import after she had reflected a great deal on how remiss and unsteady Harry Quentin's attentions had been. Did an "ardent" admirer dance three dances with his sweetheart at an assembly, and then neglect to write or call on her after? Or fail to meet her "accidentally" on her afternoon walks? Or disappoint her in the ways of a clandestine correspondence? Nay! He may have given her a length of hair ribbon as a token, but that had been the extent of his "courtship". He had failed to show himself gallant. He had not come to see her again, nor sent any notes. If he meant to take her seriously, he would have ventured to the house despite her brother's instructions.

It would be enough to say at this point that when Harry Quentin left for Boston without having seen Miss Percy again, neither wooer nor the lady wooed were made worse by the missed rendezvous.

For Elspeth, that first close glimpse at Louis Small had been of greater significance. She had never met Katharine Cowan's fiancé, though she had heard he was handsome and might have married anyone he chose. Somehow Elspeth had never managed to be at the same table or in the same room with him before; but now that Elspeth had finally laid eyes on him, Elspeth was confident that she would see him again. She of course meant to do no harm; she only wanted to know him better, to understand what it was that had brought Katharine and this man together. She was not going to do anything stupid like carry on a flirtation with an engaged man, but she was going to make a friend of him, so that her circle might be broadened with interesting people.

How soon the second meeting would occur! Elspeth found on the Thursday that the Cowans had once more come to call, and this time with not only Mr. Matthewson, but also Katharine's fiancé in tow. Mr. Matthewson was as pleasant and talkative as he had been the previous evening, and Louis Small---well, he fairly started upon seeing Elspeth enter the parlour. Louis saw that the girl held her bonnet in her arm like a basket, and in it were flowers that she had gathered on her afternoon promenade. Her face shone with the exercise, and the hem of her dress was not as pristine as it had been when she had first left. It was in this state that she was introduced to Katharine's fiancé---but what an impression it made!

"Elspeth, my dearest!" exclaimed Sir James, guiding his daughter into the room. "Where have you been all this time? Come, come, put that down and sit with us. Your mother wondered where you could have gone off to." (He did not know that his daughter had gone out to vent her frustration on nature.) "There, give those to Mrs. Beadnell, and she will set them in water for you. Have you gone on a walk? You ought to have brought Miss Castigan with you. At least you are here now. Let me introduce you to the latest addition to the neighbourhood. You remember Mr. Matthewson from the dinner on Monday evening. This is Mr. Louis Small, the shining sun in Thompson Small and Son---" (he chuckled at his own pun) "---Mr. Small, this is my daughter, Elspeth."

"Please call me Louis," said the young man, whose beauty, to Elspeth, seemed not to have diminished. He had been standing up ever since the introductions. His manner pleased Elspeth, but all she could manage was to murmur that she was well.

Elspeth blushed. She perhaps thought of her dress, her hair, the dirt on her hands, and believed herself to be the homeliest girl in the room at that moment; but Louis Small thought how like a dryad Miss Percy seemed, with the curls of light brown hair unravelling about her luminous face, her eyes bright and dewy, her light steps seeming ever lighter as they were buoyed by the perfume of chamomile and roses. What freshness! What a virginal daughter of the earth! Louis did not use these descriptors of course, but he did feel them, and had circumstances been different, he might even have applied them. He sat down.

"Did you find the book that you were looking for?" Lady Percy asked her daughter, with slyness in her voice that Elspeth did not like. Elspeth was not ignorant of Operation Matthewson.

"No, Mamma, I am afraid you will have to do without it for a while," answered Elspeth, making a point to emphasize that the search she conducted had not been for herself. "As I told you yesterday, Mr. Edwards said that if you wish to, he will attempt to locate a copy for you."

"What book would that be?" asked Louis Small. "Perhaps I may procure it for Lady Percy."

"Oh, you are most kind, but it would not be necessary. I could not trouble you," said Elspeth hastily, wishing that her mother had not sent her after the book.

"It would be no trouble at all if you told me the title."

Lady Percy said, "Yes, Elspeth, tell Louis the title." It had not taken her long to assume familiarity with the young entrepreneur.

Elspeth felt as discomposed as she never was before, and looked to her governess for assistance. "Clara, you know the one." Clara would understand her difficulty.

"It is called This Too Sullied Flesh," said the governess. Mr. Matthewson gave a cough.

"I shall make inquiries after it," said Louis, with the intention of being helpful. He was the sort of young man who by nature, could not help but be chivalrous.

Before the reader forms a negative opinion of Louis's character, let it be known that the young man did not seek self-gratification when he subjected himself to the labour of securing everyone's comfort. He was not conceited, nor did he appreciate men who ingratiated themselves with women. He only offered his services because it did not occur to him that a man of honour could remain indifferent to other people's difficulties when he had the ability to help them out of their troubles. If he had any flaws that deserved of his sweetheart's concern, it was this.

Elspeth's mother once more tried to manoeuvre the daughter towards Mr. Matthewson, and though Elspeth made no protest against Lady Percy's maternal designs, the girl's mind was quite made up with regards to the Englishman. She told herself that she did not like him because he was arrogant and chattered too much for her taste; but perhaps she would have been truer to herself still had she acknowledged that she felt inferior in Matthewson's company. The possibility of Mr. Matthewson favouring her was impossible, for the man appeared to lack no conversation in Miss Castigan's presence---but even this observation did not prevent Elspeth from believing that it was Matthewson's prattling that annoyed her.

She saw that he was focused on Clara. For a moment, Elspeth felt torn between relief (with regards to not capturing Mr. Matthewson's interest) and loyalty towards her brother, to whom she had promised Clara's hand. But surely now was the chance for Rick to exercise his own will, Elspeth told herself. Had her brother not rebuked her on the night of the Assembly for doing too much for him? Her conscience grew easy at the remembrance of that conversation.

Katharine Cowan was speaking to her and asking after her walk. "It must have been very beautiful at the park this time of the year," Katharine was saying, a gentle light shining in her soft eyes. "I have not been there as often as I would have liked."

"Indeed it is, and you must come with me some time for the exercise," answered Elspeth. She eyed Louis. "You may come too, if Katharine permits it."

"Why should Katharine not permit it?" he returned.

"I imagine Elspeth and I have a great deal of lost conversation to make up for since I was away," said Katharine. "There are a host of things that two girls may say to one another that must be restrained in the presence of a gentleman."

Louis looked as though he did not know how to respond to his fiancée's teasing.

"I have told you how Elspeth and I once played together as children?" said Katharine.

"Katharine preferred tumbling about the grass and bushes, while I cried for the nursery and my dollies like a fine lady," added Elspeth.

"I would not have expected it," Louis responded, remembering the sight of Miss Percy bending down by the side of the river, caring not a jot for the dirt, and of her ethereal entrance not above an hour ago. He had to admit it: such a vision outshone any notion of fine ladies.

Clearly Elspeth had been thinking of the same episode, for she blushed and said that she had only been jesting. It was then that Louis told his fiancée of his encounter with Miss Percy earlier at the river bank of Bloomvale Park. Whether out of forgetfulness or of design, he left out any mention of the bonnet or the rescue, sticking to the mere fact that he had gone to observe the river for a moment and had seen Miss Percy doing the same.

"So it is to be his secret too," thought Elspeth. "Or is it that his sense of discretion is so uncanny that he wishes to protect me from an embarrassment? Yet why should he suppose it to be an embarrassment to me? I told him nothing of its value." She was only ashamed that she had held so dearly onto a ribbon that Harry Quentin had cut for her, and which she had at the time, most devotedly woven into her bonnet. It seemed now to be but a mere trifle, or worse, foolish affectation. When had Harry given her any promises, or extracted any? A note entreating a lock of hair and a few dances would soon be forgotten once he was again amongst his Boston set. Harry Quentin had so much as told her that he would marry an heiress from Oregon, and he might very well do it if he were desperate for his aunt's estate. But Louis Small---he was an entrepreneur and if she understood anything of entrepreneurs, it was that they prided themselves on their self-made fortune. There was some call for admiration in that. It could not hurt their cause either that this particular entrepreneur was so beautiful.

She saw Louis Small return her gaze, and she looked down at her hands, embarrassed at being caught staring.

While Elspeth was thus occupied with her thoughts, at the other end of the room, Mr. Matthewson asked Clara in a low voice what had induced her to desire a book such as This Too Sullied Flesh.

"It is not for me," said Clara quickly. "Lady Percy wishes to read it; that is all."

"I am the owner of a rather dog-eared, well-thumbed copy," said Mr. Matthewson, referring back to the conversation that they had had the first evening they met. "Perhaps that will solve the problem."

"Oh, Lady Percy would be pleased," said Clara.

"And you?"

"I would be content to wait until Lady Percy finished with it."

"If I could find a second copy for you, if I asked Mr. Edward for his assistance, would you rather not wait?"

"As it is written by a friend---if I may presume to call its author a friend---I could not deny that it would gratify a certain curiosity of mine. But Miss Percy has already inquired after the book at Mr. Edward's shop---and I am not impatient."

"Are you acquainted with Paul St-Pierre Montcalm then?"

Clara could not help smiling a little. "I had better stop trifling with you, as I am no good at pretending. Lady Percy wishes to read the novel because she knows you are Mr. Montcalm."

"How did she find out?"

"By your sister's own admission."

"Remind me to confess my other secrets to Fenella," said Matthewson, earning him a chance to hear Clara's laughter. He might have added more, had he not caught a glimpse of Rick Percy scowling at them.

---

Lady Percy invited them to dine at the Turret House the following day, an invitation which the Cowans and the gentlemen accepted graciously. Elspeth was anxious to appear indifferent, but Lady Percy thought only that her daughter meant to be coy. Operation Matthewson, by Lady Percy's estimation, might come to a rapid conclusion if only Elspeth and Matthewson were willing. Lady Percy did not know that the object that caught her daughter's eye was not that most eligible bachelor from England.

Lady Percy's son heard of the invitation and the acceptance with little pleasure. Rick was peevish from morning to evening from the thought of having to see Matthewson again. Rick was sure the Englishman flirted more than was respectable and that he would have made love to everyone had he been permitted. "You will not talk to Matthewson all the time, will you?" Rick whispered to Clara in the passageway to the dining room, for this time, there were no Adela Spencers to thrust upon him and he could accompany whomever he pleased. "Promise me."

"Why should I make you any promises of the kind?" Clara whispered back. "You forget yourself."

"And I say the same to you. When he smiles, he means only to be polite."

"I mean only to be polite too." Clara was irritated by Rick's insinuation that she had an interest in Mr. Matthewson beyond what might be expected. The audacity of her pupil's brother was getting to be insupportable. Yet when she saw that Mr. Matthewson had offered his arm to Elspeth and was chatting most amiably with her, she almost wished that she could hear what was said between them. Why must Elspeth, enjoying the privilege of the novelist's company, wear such a look of ennuie? But this feeling was not one that Clara understood or acknowledged in herself, and when she said, "I mean only to be polite too," she really thought that she was speaking the truth.

"We shall see," said Rick.

The dinner was lavish, for Lady Percy always took care to have the best table ready for guests, even at a moment's notice. This, she felt, was the mark of a gracious hostess, a reputation that she wished to maintain in perpetuity. Her efforts were well received during the meal. She had managed to place Mr. Matthewson in between herself and her daughter, and Miss Castigan at the other end of the table with Rick. There would be little fear of Mr. Matthewson speaking out of turn or driving into one of his monologues. It would also rescue Miss Castigan from delivering any uncomfortable speeches, which Lady Percy was certain would earn her Miss Castigan's thanks.

The dinner went well. The gentlemen enjoyed their port as the ladies retreated to the drawing room to prepare the coffee and entertainment of the evening. Unfortunately, while coffee and cake was handed out in the drawing room after what even the wife of the Governor General would have called a perfect dinner, they were interrupted by a commotion, and the entrance of the housekeeper.

Mrs. Beadnell apologized for the intrusion, and bent over Sir James' ear to convey a message meant for no one else.

"Will you please excuse me for a moment?" said Sir James apologetically to his guests. "I will return in an instant. Please continue without me."

"But what is it, James?" asked Lady Percy. On her face was an expression of wariness.

"Nothing at all. A trifling matter. Please go on, I insist." With a cordial smile that hardly dispelled the air of mystery, Sir James left his chair and followed his housekeeper out of the room.

No one dared to wonder aloud at his hastiness, but they did hear, above the quiet sound of chewing and the gentle scrape of fork against china, that there was a commotion still in the house, and that Sir James was calming down the fray.

"Let us all have a little music, shall we?" said Lady Percy rather more brightly than was natural. "Elspeth, do favour us with a little chanson. Mr. Matthewson, could my daughter venture upon your kindness to turn the pages?"

"Mamma..." said Elspeth.

"I am afraid I do not read music," said Matthewson with a proper tone of apology. He was, in any case, very comfortably seated behind Miss Castigan and felt no desire to move from his position.

"I know just the thing then," said Lady Percy, not to be thus defeated. "Elspeth, you must sing a duet with Miss Cowan."

Katharine Cowan excused herself. "My voice is weak and nothing to compare with Elspeth's," she said, "but I will gladly play the accompaniment to any song that Elspeth wishes to sing."

A score was procured, and the ladies took their places at the pianoforte. Katharine's playing was more than competent for the ditty that was chosen, and her touch was mellow and pleasant, but it was Elspeth that captured the eyes and ears of everyone in the room. With the flowers in her hair bringing out the ruddiness of her cheeks, and the light of the setting sun falling upon her dainty figure, who could watch her without remarking to himself that there was not such another girl in all of the dominion?

Elspeth had chosen a folk song rather than an Italian aria with the purpose of irritating her mother, but she had not calculated how her performance would arrest the heart of more sensitive listeners; to at least one listener, her flute-like voice rendered fine poetry out of simple folk rhyme:

She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry,
She's like the sunshine on the lee shore,
She loves her love but she'll love no more... [1]

The plaintive tune, which Louis remembered his mother singing many years ago, was wrought more pleasurable still by the tenderness of this fresh young vocalist. One verse was enough to produce a shiver down his spine.

"She is much improved from a year ago," Lady Percy said. She sat several chairs away, yet addressed Mr. Matthewson almost exclusively. "Clara has been teaching her a thing or two these last six months. It shows in her singing, do not you think?"

Matthewson, who had never heard Miss Percy sing before, could neither assent nor dissent. "Miss Percy sings very well," was all he could manage, which was true enough. It was a lovely voice, in a lovely girl. But he was more touched by the artist who had crafted the voice, than the subject who had condescended to be molded. His gaze fell on Miss Castigan, on the thick dark gloss of hair that coiled at the nape of her long and exquisite neck. From her rigid posture, she appeared to pay rapt attention to the performance before her---or was it that she pointedly ignored young Percy who sat by her side?

It was hard for Matthewson to believe that a girl such as Miss Castigan would submit to the life of a governess. Her father had been afforded an Oxford education, and yet could provide nothing for his daughter? Perhaps her father had managed only a small living, such that could not meet the expenses of a wife and child. He found himself also wondering whether truth could be found in what his niece had told him of Miss Castigan's near-engagement. But enough---speculation is as bad as Lady Bailey's gossips, he scolded himself. What would you do, Matthewson? Rescue her from her situation? Would you have the gall?

The young ladies' performance was met with polite clapping and an entreaty from Mrs. Cowan for another song. This time, Elspeth sat beside Katharine, and together they performed a short march by Schubert.

"And now," said Elspeth, as soon as that had ended, "if you have all enjoyed that piece, allow me to persuade Miss Castigan to come play something for you. She is the better interpreter of Franz Schubert amongst us, I think, and who could decline to hear one of his impromptus properly played?" She stepped lightly over to her governess and held her hands out to Clara. Elspeth had meant to do this as a favour to her brother as well as to cool the feelings that had so perplexed her while standing under the intense gaze of Louis Small. She little realized that she would produce the opposite effect. Louis would remember hers as a gesture of modesty, and Rick would frown at the encouragement it received from Theophilus Matthewson:

Matthewson did not know what had possessed him to do it, but he leaned forward in his chair until he was fairly whispering into Miss Castigan's ear that she must play, for "Schubert is my sister's favourite---and mine." He did not read music, but knew what he liked to listen to. Lady Percy did not miss the gesture. And Rick wanted to slap a glove in Matthewson's face.

With a blush, Clara took Katharine and Elspeth's place. As her pupil had requested, she played an impromptu---a melancholic, enchanting one. For one who valued reason and a stoic mind, Miss Castigan's performance was surprisingly expressive. Matthewson longed to know how it came to be that Miss Castigan played with such quiet passion; had she had disappointments of her own? What was the cause of this yearning, this desire for what could not be, this quiet mourning? What brought her to the depths of gloomy contemplation? What gave her vitality?

It was only later in the privacy of his bedroom that Matthewson realized what sadness haunted the music selection of that evening; but in the drawing room of the Turret House, he felt only wonder welling in his chest. He worked hard to convince himself that this was the effect of hearing good music, so that by the final cadence, the remembrance of Young Percy's scowl helped to restrain his admiration.

When Sir James at last returned, the coffee was nearly finished, as were the pieces of cake and biscuits. "That was most beautiful music," he commented, taking the last cup of coffee from Lady Percy. "Elspeth, you are much improved."

"Do you mean the singing or the pianoforte?" asked Elspeth.

"Both, my dear."

"The last was performed by Miss Castigan."

Lady Percy interrupted this exchange. She did not care for what Miss Castigan's performance had done to Operation Matthewson, and changed the conversation abruptly. "Has it all been settled, then, James, whatever had called you away?"

"Oh yes, all settled indeed." He turned to his wife's guests. "Please accept my apology again, for leaving you rather abruptly a moment ago. Such is the life of a man who gives himself to Parliament."

Lady Percy looked as though she was not done with questioning, but her husband was in no mood to be interrogated and Lady Percy was not about to place her husband in a difficult situation in the presence of guests.

"Perhaps it is time for us to call it an evening," said Matthewson, perceiving the Percys' discomfort, though he felt a strange twinge of guilt that he understood not. "Have you not a long day ahead of you tomorrow, sister?"

"Oh yes, so I do," said Mrs. Cowan, to humour her brother. "There is a meeting with the Christian Women's Temperance Society in the morning that I quite forgot about."

Many goodnights were said, though not very many hands pressed. There was a danger in exhibiting too much warmth, and Matthewson thought it wiser not to corner Clara as he had the previous time; for this, he earned a civil nod from Rick Percy. Sir James and his wife expressed their pleasure at having met Mr. Small, but there were no handshakes with the young man, and Elspeth could barely lift her eyes to meet those of the tradesman's son.

"What an evening," said Sir James, as the doors closed on their visitors. "What an evening."

"What do you mean, Pappa?" asked Elspeth.

"I mean what a son-in-law Mrs. Cowan is to have, and which lady will catch the eye of her brother. Eh, Lady Percy?" Sir James knew how much his wife enjoyed such topics of discourse.

"Will you not tell us what happened after dinner?" asked Lady Percy, ignoring her husband's attempt at good spirits. "What caused that ruckus?"

"Why, anyone who has stood up in the House would say that it was short of an actual ruckus. Why, there was in fact nothing of consequence to tell that would be of interest to you or me," replied Sir James. "Never you mind troubling your head about it, my dear. As I have said, it has all been settled, or nearly so. As a matter of fact, I must return to the capital soon. I believe I shall go back to Ottawa on Saturday to sort things out."

"Must you?" asked Lady Percy in dismay. "So soon?" So soon after the mysterious unseen visitor? Was her husband going to leave without telling her anything true? "But are there still sittings in the House during the summer holidays?"

"No... but I'm afraid I must go. State business calls, you know, whether or not it is summer holidays. Time and tide wait for no man, as they say. The early bird catches the worm, eh?" He smiled, gave her a goodnight kiss and declared that he was going to bed.

---

The noise that had been heard at the Turret House on the evening that the Percys entertained the Cowans, Mr. Matthewson and Louis Small still has not been accounted for; something of it will now be told.

The reader will not be surprised if it is recorded in these pages that the persons who came to disturb the peace at the home of the respected MP were no other than Augustus Steele and, with him, a journalist from the Daily Observer---or "that liberal rag" as Sir James liked to call it. The men's purpose was to force Sir James's hand, to squeeze compliance out of him that had hitherto not been successful.

"I want my position back," Steele had said. "I want it back tonight and I am prepared to do whatever is necessary."

"You've come to the wrong man, then," Sir James had replied. "Go back to McGann. It was he who hired you."

"It was you who gave harsh words of me to McGann." Steele had pointed an accusatory finger at Sir James.

"Look here, Mr. Steele," Sir James had replied, remaining ever polite. "We won't play the blame game. If anything, a man must take responsibility for his own actions and not try to shift the blame on others. I had nothing to do with the preposterous plot of which you accuse me. Haven't I better business to mind without interfering in another man's?"

"McGann has always listened to you!"

Sir James seemed not to catch Steele's words. "The thing is, Mr. Steele, I smell whiskey on you. I am willing to overlook this as the act of an inebriated man, but if I should find in the morning a write-up of this meeting---"

"Oh, you will read of it, Sir James, one way or another," Steele sneered.

"---any rational creature would refute your falsehoods," said Sir James, as though there had been no interruption. "People believe what is credible---and your actions and your claims have been incredible. I must now ask you to leave my house this instant or risk an interview of a more unpleasant kind with the Detective Constable."

"You wouldn't dare," said the journalist who had come with Steele.

"You do not believe me? Watch me." Sir James rang for his housekeeper, who entered the room some minutes later by the back way. The appearance of Mrs. Beadnell created its desired effect. As Sir James gave his instructions, the two visitors eyed each other warily. There was not a doubt as to where the authority still lay, and Steele and his companion beat a hasty retreat. What had not been known to Sir James at the time, or to the other two gentlemen, was that someone else had been listening to the conversation in its entirety.

Footnote:

[1] She's Like a Swallow is a traditional Canadian folk song. The melody may have originated from England.

Chapter 11: Young men at the Turret House

There are two kinds of politicians. One kind surrounds himself with a host of ready, eager advisors and assistants, takes each of them into some minute share of his confidence, never unlocking whole secrets to any one player, and plays their ambitions against each other. This, he feels, creates a sense of competition, and competition means innovation and success. The second kind hires a small group of clerks and chooses but one political confidante; this confidante he takes with him wherever he goes. If the politician is married, it is to his wife that he confesses his private sins---to the confidante, his public ones---though ideally, none of these are sins at all, but rather, brief lapses of judgement. Sir James fell into this second category of politicians.

Sir James was a fresh face to national politics, but not an entirely new face. He had never run for Parliament until the last election, although for some years before that, he had been deputy to a number of ministers in the provincial legislature, and for a brief spell, mayor of the city when the incumbent died unexpectedly in office. It was during this time that he had been knighted. Thus, Sir James was not without experience. He had seen enough men rise at meteoric pace, then collapse, burn and languish at the same rapid tempo. The light show was almost always ugly. He intended no such fate for himself.

His closest and most dependable assistant was Mr. Liam Hollander. Hollander travelled with him wherever he went. The man had been with him for twenty-five years, first as his secretary when Sir James had simply been Mr. Percy, board director and financier, then as his political advisor in both provincial and municipal office. If the Prime Minister ever took it into his head to promote Sir James to a government portfolio, no one doubted which person Sir James would select to be his second-in-command.

As far as clerks went, Sir James had many, both in his Ottawa office and at his constituency office in North Toronto. Because he had so many subordinates reporting to him, he commanded a great deal of respect from his Bloomvale neighbours. It was not uncommon, then, for one or two of his constituents to ask him for favours. Someone almost always wanted his son to be the next Mr. Hollander.

Sir James had his principles---he never gave undue benefits to his friends---but he saw it as being well within the demands of ethics to reward those who outstripped their rivals. So it was that he allowed one of his supporters, Mrs. Lamy, to approach him about her younger son, Peter. She had often accosted Sir James regarding Peter's career, and she was the most persistent. He had at last given his word, and as a man of honour, Sir James did not go down on his word. Though he disliked Mrs. Lamy's older son, the radical journalist, Sir James thought he might do better to befriend the younger son.

Peter Lamy was a good employee and a hard worker. He had graduated from Victoria College two years ago. He had not distinguished himself by being at the top of his class, and he did not possess the skills of oration that would have otherwise caused his critics to overlook his grades or vaulted him to various seats of leadership. The public life was ruled out for him: when he had speeches to make, he blushed all the way up to his eyebrows, his voice grew low, and he didn't dare look anyone in the face. It wasn't expected that he would make anything of himself. To his credit, he was a good clerk. He was respectful, polite, discreet, careful, efficient---five characteristics that Sir James valued, so that in spite of Peter's less than savoury family connections, Peter was fast becoming a favourite. Theoretically, the young man could have a brilliant career ahead of him as civil servant if he played his cards right, but there was an obstacle---Hollander was not very gracious about sharing credit. Peter, too schooled in the principles of seniority, dared not imagine challenging Hollander.

"Lamy," barked Hollander one day at the constituency office. "You've forgotten to give this document to Sir James."

The statement had thrown Peter into a moment of slight confusion as he had not been asked to deliver any documents either to or from Sir James. He had not even been sent to see Sir James in the last week, for Hollander had been the only one privy to the MP's presence. Only Peter did not wish to correct his superior. Hollander barked out in the same severe manner:

"What is that?" He pointed at the lapel of Peter's jacket.

"A rose." He sometimes wore one in memory of his sister.

"I won't have that kind of dandy gesture in my office. Rid yourself of it." Tossing a thin, sealed document and a leather portfolio at the young clerk, Hollander continued: "Take this to Sir James and have it brought back, signed and dated in both places, and sealed."

It was no good to complain, and Peter didn't. Gathering the document neatly together and placing the papers into the portfolio, Peter bit back the urge to ask where he might find Sir James. After all, Hollander was more likely than not to throw him a sharp retort---that if Lamy wished to be in Sir James's employment, he had better learn to shoulder his labours like a man.

Peter set off for the Turret House. He had been there before, not half as frequently as Hollander. He had never been there for a social purpose (only Hollander had ever succeeded at receiving an invitation for tea from Lady Percy), and the present arrangement was not likely to change while Hollander ruled absolutely. He looked at the leather folio within which he carried the document. Hollander had sealed it in such a way that Peter could not have peeked at its contents, even if he had wanted to.

Mrs. Beadnell, the Percys' housekeeper, did not at first recognize him. "He's not at home," she said, her massiveness blocking the doorway. "No visitors for Sir James today." Here was verily a domestic Goliath to the slight and apprehensive David.

"I am not a visitor, ma'am," said Peter, fumbling in his coat pocket for his card. He felt fortunate that Sir James had thought well enough of him to order cards for him. He scrawled a note on the back of one and handed it to the housekeeper. "My name is Peter Lamy. Mr. Hollander sent me here. Take this to Sir James please. I will wait for an answer."

Hearing that the young man was sent by Sir James's secretary had a sort of power over Mrs. Beadnell. "I can't promise you entry," she said.

"No, of course not. But I am prepared to wait here for Sir James's answer." And hopefully, he thought, an invitation to enter, or Mr. Hollander might give him the sack. He intended to sound firm, and he rather succeeded, for he sensed the housekeeper's hesitance.

While he waited on the steps, he took the opportunity to look about him. Castle Crescent was magnificent; he could not imagine a neighbourhood filled with more opulent homes. One might live like a king at the Turret House. Entertaining guests and hosting dinner parties must be daily occurrences in this part of town, he thought. A family that could afford to live on Castle Crescent could not be in want of anything. Nonetheless, Peter did not feel that he would have liked it. He preferred his mother's snug little house in Swansea.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shadow lurking at the gatepost at the end of the drive. He looked again. Not a shadow---but a middle-aged man walking past the house and down the street without so much as a look at the Turret House. It was all so innocent, yet Peter could not quell his suspicion.

At last the door opened again, and Mrs. Beadnell bade him enter. "Wipe your shoes first," she said sharply. Peter did as he was instructed, although he had taken care to clean his shoes that morning and had not stepped in mud along the way. The housekeeper led him down the corridor, and Peter thought how familiar it was to be walking along this hall until at the first turn, he nearly collided with a small shadow that approached from the opposite direction.

"I beg your pardon," exclaimed Peter, doing his best to set things to right. He had nearly walked into one of the lady's maids! And it had not been any ordinary lady's maid either, but the one who served Miss Percy. What was her name again? Leah? Letta? Oh yes, Lettie---a quiet, pale sort of girl, as young as Miss Percy herself, a great deal less assertive, but still prepossessing.

"Mr. Lamy," she murmured, making a quick curtsey.

"Hello," he said, nodding his head. She remembered his name! He felt warm all over, but he suddenly lost his shyness. He had to make the best of the situation. "How do you do?"

"Oh!" The girl seemed too surprised to answer him. Had he dared to acknowledge his own analysis, Peter might have understood the girl's reaction, that it was not out of mere timidity that Lettie failed to respond. It was because few people ever endeavoured to ask after her well being. She was rather used to going about unnoticed. This Mr. Lamy was the only one to treat her as though she were a lady.

"Well I trust?" Peter persisted.

"Oh, yes," said Lettie. She blushed, ducked her head and hurried along her way.

"Come, Mr. Lamy, no dallying," said Mrs. Beadnell, moderating her demeanour after observing the exchange between clerk and maid. It was not out of softness for Lettie that she did this, but instinct that the young man was not like the other men who had come. "I haven't all day, and Sir James has very likely less."

"So your master is not too busy to see me?" said Peter innocently.

"He'll see you in the library." She did not attempt to apologize or excuse herself for her earlier lie. The housekeeper's laxity the previous evening had led to the commotion heard by Lady Percy and her guests, and Mrs. Beadnell did not desire to sample Sir James's sternness a second time. Peter did not as yet know anything of the ruined dinner party.

When Peter stepped into the room, he saw that Sir James was absorbed in the reading of a letter. Sir James did not immediately look up. A full minute passed before the older man took off his reading glasses and acknowledged Peter's presence.

"Mr. Lamy, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"Mr. Hollander asked me to convey this document to you. It requires a signature from you and today's date in two places." So saying, Peter removed the sealed papers from the folio and handed it to the MP.

"Ah, what might these be?" Sir James unsealed the document and began skimming the content. Some minutes passed, during which Peter knew not where to look, or whether or not he ought to sit down. Sir James broke the silence at last. "I was just about to leave tomorrow," he said, brandishing his pen. "Need this have been delivered now? Might Hollander not have sent it on Sunday?" Despite the intended sarcasm, Sir James smiled.

"There appears to have been some confusion over its delivery," said Peter, not alluding to Hollander's accusations. He knew it would have been pointless to explain what had caused the mix-up, for even he did not understand it except that Hollander had forgotten about the papers and blamed him for its lateness.

Sir James signed, dated, blotted, stamped and re-sealed, each action done with much precision and firmness. On a fresh piece of stationary, he scrawled a short note, and sealed this one as well. "There," he said, handing the larger document to Peter. "You may take this back to Hollander."

"Thank you, Sir."

"No need to thank me. It ought to be the other way around."

"Not at all." Peter made a movement to leave, but was detained.

"Do you mean that that is all you have come for?" asked Sir James. "You haven't any other business to report?"

"None that Mr. Hollander wished for me to deliver," said Peter hesitantly. Should he have known something that he did not? It would not be the first time that his superior had kept information from him. It was a lucky thing that no major error had yet come about as a result of his ignorance.

"No business from constituents?" asked Sir James.

"No, Mr. Hollander told me nothing other than the instructions for this document."

"Does Mr. Hollander only give you messages to convey?"

Now this was a difficult question to answer diplomatically. "He sends me to do whatever he sees fit to be done," said Peter.

"You ought to be more than a mere messenger," said Sir James, standing up. He walked over to Peter. "Have you any aspirations for your career?"

"At present, I am quite content with my position and hope that I may continue to be of use to you."

"‘Content' is for young women who have married securely into a comfortable home."

"I suppose it may be used by a young man who has yet to begin a career and is grateful for any experience he can gain," said Peter.

"Quite." Sir James leaned against the edge of his writing desk. "I am leaving tomorrow."

"Yes, I remember you have said so."

"Yes, but I mean that I have ordered for a carriage to take me back to Ottawa. Have you gathered as much?"

Peter shook his head.

"I am sick of trains, although it would undoubtedly make for an easier journey."

"I have heard that, yes."

"Have you never taken the train?"

"No, I have not yet had the pleasure."

"Ah, I do not know whether or not to call it a pleasure. While I am away, will you watch for anything unusual in the newspapers, or around the constituency? I do not intend to be away for very long this time. I intend to meet with my colleagues in the cabinet, and then I will return."

Peter nodded, quickly committing as much of the information as his memory as he could.

"I wish to go alone this time---and as such, Hollander has not been informed of my journey. I will see him again when I return, but in the meanwhile, I will correspond with him by express courier. I wish for him to remain in Toronto."

"Very well."

"In my absence, you will come here every day to fetch any letters of business that arrives at this address. Hollander would otherwise have done the same for me, but I wish to have you take on this duty from tomorrow forth. Here is a letter instructing as much." Sir James now handed Peter the shorter note. "Give this to Hollander when you return to the office. It will inform him of the changes. Mrs. Beadnell, too, will be notified, so as not to give you further grief at the door. She was a bit of a Sphinx then, was she?"

Peter did not like the thought of risking Hollander's wrath.

"What should you care of what Hollander supposes? He will have other duties to take care of. Now, mind you, my correspondences are to be kept confidential. No one is to be told of any of my letters' contents."

"Of course."

"More importantly, I don't wish for you to communicate anything of this meeting, or anything that you read or hear with anyone else---not to your family, not to your mother, not to your brother, not to Hollander, and certainly not to your sweetheart." Sir James winked.

"I can assure you that I haven't any sweetheart to whisper secrets to, but even if I did, I hope that she would not pass over my confessions of ardour in favour of dry business letters."

Sir James chuckled. "There's a sense of humour in you that ought to show itself more, Lamy."

Farewells were spoken on both sides, and Peter shown out. It was a most successful meeting, and Sir James even invited Peter to have luncheon with his family, although Peter declined the invitation politely; he had to get back to Hollander with the signed documents. On his way out, he saw Miss Percy with her governess practicing some music in the parlour, and the maid, Lettie, quietly arranging some flowers in the hall just across from the parlour door, barely noticed by the two ladies. Lettie looked up as Peter passed. He nodded at her without saying a word, but handed her the rose pinned to his buttonhole. She blushed, but took his offering. Peter walked on, feeling an unreasonable, joyous urge to dance to Miss Percy and Miss Castigan's playing. Once he was outside, he whistled to his heart's delight.

---

The entrance and exit of the clerk did not go unnoticed by the other members of the household.

"What a lot of people to be making calls here," commented Lady Percy as she reclined languidly into her sofa. "Who was the young man that came and went just now?"

"Mr. Lamy," said Elspeth, studying the music before her.

"Mr. Lamy, was it?" Lady Percy yawned. "I think he ought to know better than to come at all. Sir James could not have received him."

"You're thinking of the wrong Mr. Lamy, Mamma. I meant Mr. Peter Lamy---the assistant to Mr. Hollander. He must have come on business."

"Oh, yes, that boy. Of course." Lady Percy sighed. "I never could understand why your Pappa employed him. Why, that's nearly---what do they call it?---fraternizing with the enemy. How does he know that Peter Lamy won't go home and tell everything to his brother?"

"I believe they no longer live in the same establishment, Mamma."

"But what of that? He wouldn't refuse to see his brother, would he? The boys never quarrelled."

"No, but it is believed that they rarely see each other now. They've grown apart and gone their separate ways."

"How dreadful and unnatural! I should hope you and Rick never grow apart and go your own ways."

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, because I should like to see your husband and your brother be good friends. Miss Castigan, do honour us of playing another little song." Miss Castigan did as Lady Percy bid her, and Lady Percy signalled to her daughter that she had something to say, but which could only be said in sotto voce.

"Well, Mamma?" asked Elspeth, moving closer to the sofa to satisfy her mother.

"Do lower your voice, Elspeth!" whispered Lady Percy. "I wish to speak to you in confidence."

"You have my confidence, Mamma."

"I should like to know how you're getting on with Mr. Matthewson, that is all." Lady Percy patted her daughter's soft, white hand, and looked into her daughter's face. "You are doing what you can, are you not?"

Elspeth flushed, not of anger, nor of pleasure. She wished her mother did not take such an interest in her affairs. She did not like Mr. Matthewson in the way that her mother desired, nor was it very likely that Mr. Matthewson liked her well enough to make her mistress of Fallingbrook Manor. It was as unlikely as Louis breaking his engagement---and---Elspeth thought of the book that Louis brought over that morning, just before Mr. Lamy came to call on her father---and the expression in Louis's eyes---and of being alone at the front garden for that timeless moment before she showed him in---

"Circumstances prevent it from happening as you would have it," said Elspeth, though this could little appease her mother.

"There are always circumstances," said Lady Percy, looking towards the pianoforte as though to recapture the moments of the Thursday soirée, "but they must be overcome. If you like the gentleman, you ought not to hold yourself back. There are other ladies in Bloomvale who would give up all that they had in exchange for your advantage."

"You mean I ought to pursue him?" asked Elspeth, a little shocked by her mother's proposition.

"It sounds vulgar the way you put it, and I wish you would not! I'm sure I only mean for you to show more feelings than you are doing now, so that he may see in which direction his heart ought to go. Katharine Cowan did not catch Louis Small by sitting at home, I can assure you. For one, her looks are nothing to yours."

Elspeth knew not whether to be furious or to be mortified. How could her mother go on in that fashion? And to bring Katharine's name into it, of all things, Katharine who had been nothing but kindness and innocence! It had been enough to Elspeth at the time that Louis had handed her the book wordlessly that morning. She might have been content with the encounter for the rest of her life and to think nothing of it but the fleeting pleasure it gave her, but now she must feel guilty over it. Their fingers had touched and lingered by accident for a moment, and she had thanked him as restrainedly as she was capable, but how she had wished that she could have thanked him in a more familiar way, or else not at all!

Mr. Matthewson's novel she now had in her hand---not because, as her mother thought, she wanted to read Mr. Matthewson's words---but because by feigning to read the book, she might possess a little longer that which Louis had held in his own hands. And now her happiness was ruined!

Chapter 12: Lady Percy begins to take action

Lady Percy was unhappy with Sir James's secrecy. Part of her languor, part of her restlessness, was due to this mystery that her husband kept from her. As Sir James was unwilling to impart any details of what had passed between the Thursday dinner and the Friday visit of Peter Lamy, so all the more discontented was his wife. Of what had been said, and what occurred that evening at the Turret House with the mysterious argument, the unseen listener, and the sealed document, had Lady Percy known the details, she would have wished that she had never found them out; but as she had not yet been enlightened, she was consumed by curiosity and the mistaken belief that all would be well if only she knew what there was to be known. Let it be enough to say at this point that Sir James saw the necessity of returning to Ottawa, and that he kept his word of quitting Bloomvale two days following the dinner party.

Lady Percy was not only disappointed with her husband's silence, or even with her daughter's hesitance with respect to Mr. Matthewson: Lady Percy was disappointed with her son.

Rick was intelligent, handsome, and noble in spirit. Lady Percy was not in the habit of praising her children in their presence, but it was no secret that she adored her children. That Rick was in earnest in his feelings towards Miss Castigan, she was now beginning to see. Lady Percy would have preferred someone of higher birth and connections for her son, but affections and feelings were not something that bent to a parent's will, as she herself knew. Her own marriage to Sir James Percy five-and-twenty years ago had been a love match. Her own father had wished for her to marry an English second cousin, whose father was in the upper house of Parliament. There had very nearly been a row, but her father had at last been won over. Of course, in the case of Miss Sinead Clarion, Sir James had been her social equal. The same could not be said of Rick Percy and Clara Castigan.

Still, Lady Percy was torn between wanting to prevent the match and wishing to do something for her son that might promote his happiness. The truth was that for a while now, Lady Percy had intended to be of service to Miss Castigan, to show some small act of charity as a token of appreciation for Miss Castigan's devotion to the family. But making Miss Castigan her daughter-in-law had not been part of her scheme! She had thought, rather, of making the girl her goddaughter.

Now, of course, all was complicated by the fact that Mr. Matthewson was undeniably interested in Miss Castigan, instead of in Lady Percy's own young, beautiful and accomplished daughter! Surely Miss Castigan would not go against the Percys, after all that the Percys had done for her, by falling in love with Mr. Matthewson in return! Would preventing one match thrust Miss Castigan into another? It would hardly be better that Rick succeeded in his suit, and yet to have Elspeth become the mistress of Fallingbrook Manor! Lady Percy felt she could not, in good conscience, step in the way of her son's love.

Unless it were shown that Miss Castigan had an objectionable parentage.

Lady Percy had never stooped to making personal inquiries about people before. The whole idea had a taste to it that she did not like. But, circumstances required that she act, and act she must.

When Sir James had returned to Ottawa, Lady Percy took the liberty of calling for her husband's attorney, Mr. Venerate, and soliciting his opinion. Mr. Venerate had served the Percys as Mr. Venerate's father had served Sir James's father. His loyalty and discretion were two things upon which one could depend one's life. That Mr. Venerate had once been a suitor of Lady Percy some decades ago did not lessen his allegiance to his former rival. Where he failed, he befriended, and so it was that having Sir James as a comrade and client favoured his fortune more greatly than had Miss Sinead Clarion become Mrs. Boswell Venerate. (The existing Mrs. Boswell Venerate was a hearty woman who dearly loved to laugh, a woman who was not afraid of pointing out the ridiculous in her husband, and to be laughed at in turn. She was her husband's balm in times of stress, his tonic in times of sorrow. Lady Percy could have been no such woman; she did not like burdens and she hated to be laughed at.)

"Do you know why I have called for you?" she asked at the commencement of their interview.

"No, I cannot guess," said Mr. Venerate.

Lady Percy told the lawyer of her recent worries with respect to Sir James, of her husband's evasiveness regarding Augustus Steele, of the constant feeling that her husband was being watched, of the ruckus that had nearly ruined her Thursday dinner. She had hoped that Mr. Venerate could reassure her that all her worries were for naught. Mr. Venerate could not tell her that there was nothing when he did not know everything, but he assured her that as far as he understood, from what Sir James had told him, Augustus Steele was not a man to be trusted. Everyone knew this.

Lady Percy was not, however, done. She had one more thing which she wished to discuss with Mr. Venerate. "It is about Miss Castigan," she said. "Have you heard anything at all about Miss Castigan's family after all these years?"

"Why, all that I knew six years ago I have already told you." Mr. Venerate had been the means by which the Percys first heard of Miss Castigan and her plight.

"Yes, but there were no particulars in what you told me. You told me where she had been educated and what sort of accomplishments she had."

"As well, I vouched for her good character and she gave you two excellent references during the course of an unparalleled interview." Mr. Venerate was very thorough in his business and never failed to give due credit where it was deserved.

"And vouched for her good character and gave two excellent references," Lady Percy repeated after him. "Yes, I knew all about that, and that you provided one of those references. Now I wish to find out more."

She was like the fisherman's wife, thought the lawyer, never satisfied until she had command of the sun and moon. Aloud, he said, "I can't think why you did not inquire at the time of engaging Miss Castigan." A little concern crept into his voice. "Has she committed some wrong?"

"Heavens, no! She has been more than satisfactory. She is frequently exceeding my expectations for a governess --- and Elspeth's governess, at that. However I have now a great desire to know her family."

Mr. Venerate was glad that it was not he who had left anything remiss. "The details are of no consequence to anyone but herself," he said, "and if she wishes for them to remain private, I could hardly justify seeking them out. It pains her enough that the general circumstances of her situation have been made known to others."

"But they may serve to help me better understand her," insisted Lady Percy.

"And again I ask, has Miss Castigan's services been in any way dissatisfactory that you should feel you don't know her?"

Lady Percy sighed. "No."

"Then with all due respect, madam, I must advise you to refrain from making idle inquiries unless you can offer me the real reason behind your interest in Miss Castigan's family. You and I know her family is a sore subject to her."

"If you must know, I should like to do something for her."

"By ‘something', do you refer to something in the way of a monetary settlement?" asked Mr. Venerate, being perfectly acquainted with a certain tone of Lady Percy's voice.

"I have entertained the notion of that, but it cannot be until I have seen my own daughter married." She knew this was not a very convincing statement, but still she forged ahead. "In any case, I should like to determine how many courses of action I may choose from, and for that, I should very much like to find out about Miss Castigan's family, and whether there is anything I could do for them, that she is too modest to request. Her parents, for instance, would have known her better if they had lived."

"Parents ought to know their child, perhaps, but I cannot help you in this instance," said Mr. Venerate.

"And why not?"

"Well," said the lawyer dryly, "as you have pointed out, they are dead."

"You know I do not mean that particular point."

"I can think of no reason why you would wish to learn of her parentage but that it is for the usual cause. It ought to be nothing to you who her parents are. She teaches according to her intellect and morals, not her parents'. Come, Lady Percy, you had best tell me the whole truth. Let's have it all in the open."

Lady Percy was embarrassed that she could be so easily read. "Very well," she said at last. "It is because of Rick."

"Ah, I did say it was for the usual cause," said Mr. Venerate, smiling.

"Though he has said nothing of it to me, I have observed his admiration of Miss Castigan," answered Lady Percy, trying not to be irritated by Boswell Venerate's smugness. "It seems clear to me that if there were no obstacles in the way, he might very well propose to her."

"How do you know that he has not already?"

It was a thought too terrible to contemplate. "He would not take such a step without consulting his parents, his friends! He never does act unless he knows his path is smooth, and that is why he is so dependable." This was not entirely true, for her son had been volatile in his temper and the cause of familial strife in recent years, but at that moment, it seemed to Lady Percy that no saintlier child had ever been born.

"And so you mean to present an obstacle."

"I have no objections to Miss Castigan---she is a jewel to the family, and have done us much credit---but I would not wish to have my son brought down by any embarrassing relations. He has a career to establish."

"As all young men do. It does not, however, follow that an alliance with Miss Castigan need be an embarrassment. Her respectability has never been in question."

"Yes, but what of her relations? I know next to nothing of them."

"But you know she was brought up by her uncle and aunt: he was a gentleman; his wife was a lady. They were not rich, to be sure, but they were not poor either. He was a clergyman with a small living in a village north east of Toronto."

"But their names? I would like to know their names."

"It was Castigan."

Lady Percy did not look satisfied.

"What else do you wish to hear?" asked Mr. Venerate.

"Her parents."

"They were never a question with you before," observed Mr. Venerate. "They both passed away when Miss Castigan was but a child---but this, you knew already. It would account for her uncle's guardianship of her. I have been satisfied with that information, and so have you, in the past."

"Could you not do me the favour of inquiring after Miss Castigan's parentage now? If our families are to be united, I ought to prepare myself in every way possible."

Mr. Venerate tried not to frown. He knew what Lady Percy was alluding to. "Much as your desire may be natural of a mother of a worthy young man, it seems hardly flattering to the young lady that you should suspect anything in her character because you suspect her parents' history. Since the lady has been so good as to attract the attention of your son by her own good nature, it hardly enters into the account what her parents may have been like. She did not know them."

"But on the contrary, Mr. Venerate, it does matter. Only think of what my son would have had for a mother-in-law had she lived!"

"That, I have already assured you, can hardly be worth inquiring, as she is dead."

"Then Miss Castigan's aunt. She is surely living."

"An aunt Miss Castigan does have, and very respectable she would be, by your calculations. But I won't talk of her; Mrs. Castigan was never my client. Her husband was my client, and friend."

"How did he die?"

"He died after a protracted and painful illness."

"Consumption?" asked Lady Percy.

"No. It was his heart."

"Can you not tell me more about the aunt --- how I may find her?"

"I am not at liberty to say. I have not had any real communication with her since I undertook the execution of Mr. Castigan's will, and even if I had, it would not be right to divulge the private information of the widow of a dead client to the wife of a living one."

"There was a will then?"

"The uncle was a responsible sort of gentleman."

"Then why had Miss Castigan any need to take on a position at the Turret House?"

"She need not have," said Mr. Venerate. "She might have been a governess elsewhere, or taken up a post at a school. She might even have ingratiated herself with her aunt, had it been in her nature to."

"Well, that is what I mean. If her uncle had provided for her, why did she wish to leave comfort in exchange for work?"

Mr. Venerate was tempted to say to Lady Percy that she could never understand, born and married into privilege as she was. Instead, Mr. Venerate said, "It was for the sake of practicality. The inheritance was never intended to be a fortune to last a lifetime. You forget, I said that Mr. Castigan was not rich; he saved what he could and divided it evenly between his wife and his niece. Mrs. Castigan was contemplating a second marriage at the time of Miss Castigan's decision."

"Did she marry again?"

"Yes."

"What is her name now, and where does she live?" asked Lady Percy.

"That, I cannot tell you either, without divulging information which the lady may wish to be kept to herself."

"Mr. Venerate, will you not consider my feelings on the matter? Even if it be not for my sake, then think of Rick---or Miss Castigan herself. If a marriage were to take place between our families, ought Miss Castigan's aunt not be informed?"

"Legally, she need not be told anything, for Miss Castigan has long been of age."

"But morally? You would not wish for your niece, or Mrs. Venerate's niece, to run away and marry without informing you."

"No, that would be elopement. Rick is a sensible young man, and Miss Castigan is a sensible young woman. They would not elope."

"But if your niece married, while she may not require your blessing legally, surely for the sake of familial ties and history, you have claims to knowing of her intention to marry, that a proper settlement may be drawn for her."

Mr. Venerate paused. "I may try to mediate for you an interview with Miss Castigan's aunt, if that is your desire, but you must understand, Lady Percy, I cannot guarantee that she will respond favourably to the invitation. As I have said, she is not my client, and even if she were, she may not wish to give up her privacy."

Lady Percy thanked him profusely for the favour and assured him that she would give him no cause for regret.

We shall see, thought Mr. Venerate.

On his way out, he met Miss Castigan in the corridor leading to the front hall. With her was one of the household maids, and the two looked as though they had been in heated conference with each other. He nodded respectfully at them, and Miss Castigan acknowledged him by curtseying. She is a fine lady, fit for more than this life of toil, he thought. She ought never to have been here.

©2006 Copyright held by the author.

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