How My Perfect Life Was Inverted II

Chapter Nineteen: An English Si-Si

Governor Hale was presumably seated slouched at his desk in his locked study when I returned with a terrified Daniel in tow. I had assigned the unenviable task of keeping hold of him to Flavio, which, considering how he had been the one to kidnap him, was only fair. At the very moment, the poor boy was struggling and snarling with all his might, attempting to break free of my maid's surprisingly strong grasp. My attempts to calm him had fantastically failed; the child regarded both of us with suspicion, and justifiably so. Even the semi-neoclassical splendour of Governor Hale's home failed to stun him into stillness, and so, in order not to attract attention, Flavio had shoved a makeshift gag comprised of handkerchiefs into the child's mouth before we entered the home.

"Daniel, please," I begged as we dragged him up the stairs. "I'm sorry for doing this, I really, really am—you know I originally had no part in this—but we're trying to help you; please understand?"

Daniel said something rendered utterly incomprehensible by the gag and the sash we had used to secure it, but his meaning was clear. Silently, I cursed Flavio for his rash action; this boy was nothing like Pearl; all trouble, with no palpable reward. He had very beautiful eyes though, and I couldn't help but shudder at how familiar they were.

"Hurry up," I said to Flavio, opening my door and gesturing him in. "Put him on the bed."

These five simple words sent Daniel into a greater frenzy; whereas before he had been content to kick and hit at Flavio, he now attempted to attack me. I closed the door, hurriedly fumbling with the key before slipping it into one of the pockets tied around my waist, under my petticoat but over my chemise; there were two subtly-cut slits in the skirts that granted me relatively easy access into those hidden compartments.

"Daniel," I said soothingly, scurrying towards him in my uncomfortably stiff shoes. "Daniel, Daniel, Daniel." I didn't know what I was hoping to achieve by repeating his Christian name over and over, but it certainly didn't calm him; Flavio had to force the boy down with his body weight, and I could see immediately that this was a mistake.

"Get off him," I ordered, sitting down on the mattress beside the pair. "Daniel; sit up, calm down." I kept my voice deliberately detached, deliberately even, hoping that the cool, emotionless tone would somehow get through to him. Naturally, it had no effect, and I had to grab his arms to keep him still. The gag was still pressed securely into his mouth, and I indicated with a jerk of my head that Flavio gently undo the sash keeping it in place.

As soon as he was able, Daniel spat out the mouthful of handkerchiefs, spat them out into my lap, supposedly in contempt. I frowned at this, but my initial indignation soon gave way to concern when Daniel began to cough; choking, retching coughs that shook his entire body, shook the mattress we sat on, coughs that finally culminated in a spewing of grey-tinged vomit onto the fresh sheets and the edge of my skirt.

Concerned as I was, I couldn't help wrinkling my nose in disgust and seizing one of the spittle-soaked handkerchiefs from my lap, hastily dabbing away the sick on my dress. A noise indicative of repulsion arose from Flavio's throat, and I looked up just in time to see him turn away, his hands rising to cover his own mouth as he did so.

"Flavio, you sailed on at least two pirate ships," I lamented as I watched his blond hair sway. "Surely you've seen and smelt worse than this?"

"…That dress was pure Chinese silk," my maid choked out, and I rolled my eyes; of course Flavio's principle concern would be his dress.

There was a jug of water and a delicate glass goblet seated on my desk; I asked my maid to fetch them for me. "Here," I said to the boy, gently helping him up whilst Flavio hovered nearby with a mostly-filled glass and jug, "Head up, Daniel."

Daniel had obviously decided on a truce, or perhaps retching, coupled with his obvious hunger, had simply overpowered him; he made no attempt to pull away as I supported his dark, dirty head in one hand whilst my other gently tipped the glass to his lips.

"No no Daniel; slowly, slowly." Daniel gave a little nod, his forehead furrowing in concentration, causing flakes of dried dirt to flutter onto his cheeks, like inverted snow. His tongue, jarringly pink against his darkened lips, flickered out to lap up the last droplets of water, clearly unaware that there was half a jug left for him, and more besides. Something about this simple, kittenish action made me jump as another bolt of familiarity ran through me. My first thought was that he reminded me of Pearl, whose behaviour I had likened to a kitten's time and time again, but those brown eyes, and the way my heart briefly skipped a beat, assured me that, whoever he was reminding me of, it certainly wasn't my beloved little girl.

"Ssh, ssh," I said aloud, carefully pulling the goblet from his lips and handing it to Flavio to refill. "Are you feeling better now? You don't have to speak if you don't want to; just move your head."

Daniel blinked his dark, hypnotic eyes, but besides tilting it back so that his skull rested more comfortably in my hand, remained still and unanswering. Flavio passed me back the glass, and the whole process began again. After a few more sips, Daniel carefully sat up, and I gave the glass to him with the warning to be careful.

"Flavio," I asked as Daniel held the glass precariously with both hands and took careful, measured gulps, "Could you get a bathtub, a few buckets of warm water, and some soap up here, please? Ask the other maids to do it; I have a couple more errands for you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, hang on a minute." And I carefully pulled the pile of handkerchiefs out of my lap and stood, ambling over to the desk and pulling a blank page from the neat pile at the corner. I began to write my note for Flavio to present to Governor Hale, but halfway through I looked down and realised that what I had written was in English. Crumpling up the sheet and tossing it to the side, I dipped my pen into the inkpot and began again on another page.

Now, my handwriting was relatively neat, but I obviously wasn't used to quills; their size, their slenderness, the way their nibs had been sharply cut. Worst of all, my modern handwriting looked horribly anachronistic, horribly wrong; this was an age when few were literate, and those who could wrote in beautiful calligraphy that was sometimes indecipherable to modern eyes. With a sinking feeling, I realised that perhaps the good Governor might not be able to read my own handwriting, simplified and dotted as it was with giant black blots; but then I remembered the books, with their occasionally blurred, occasionally faded, but nonetheless modern typeface, and forced myself to believe that perhaps Governor and Lady Hale would think that their niece mostly learnt to write from books and pamphlets, and handed the paper to Flavio.

"All it says is that I've found a young boy, and would like the governor to give you some money to buy some shoes and clothes for him. Also," I added, lowering my voice slightly and glancing towards Daniel, who had set the glass down on the wooden floor and was kneeling beside it, the china jug held precariously in his small, bony hands, "it mentioned that perhaps you'd like to purchase some, um… something for lice? And fleas; I don't know if he has either, but it couldn't hurt, could it?"

Flavio shrugged as though to say this really wasn't his area.

"Just cheap, second-hand clothes from a hawker or something, preferably a little big for him; children grow very quickly, you know."

"But Sierra, don't you think—"

"Hmm?" I hummed, and my maid hesitated.

"Don't you think I should pay a visit to the Houghtons, the dressmakers, and ask them if… Well, you know."

I looked back at Daniel, who had now abandoned the glass and was pouring the water directly from the jug into his throat; it slopped and dribbled messily down his chin, neck and shoulders, and if his snorting was anything to go by, up his nose as well.

"No," I replied, still watching the little ragamuffin chugging the liquid down, "I don't think I want to… keep him, Flavio. I think, when Forrester eventually calls on us, we should give Daniel to him; he'll know what to do."

Flavio looked very disappointed, but slunk away obediently; I followed him, but stopped near the bed, bending down and prying the jug from the stray's lips amidst protests.

"Si-Si?" Flavio called. "The door is stuck."

"Is it? Oh, that would be because I locked it; hang on a moment." I poured some more water into the waiting glass, set the jug down, and scurried to Flavio, my hands reaching into my pocket and pulling out the key. The maid exited, closing the door behind him, and though I did not lock the door, I did slip the key back into its hiding place before returning to kneel beside Daniel.

"How are you?" I asked him. "Better now?"

Daniel promptly turned his attention to the water swirling in his glass, and once again, said nothing. His quietness unnerved me; even if I had never known the chatterbox that was Pearl, I would have still realised that, particularly for his age, his shyness straddled the border of unnatural.

"You'll be having a bath soon," I said after a few moments of silence. "Is that alright? You'll have to tell me if the soap smells too girly for you though; it's made of jasmines, roses, um… other flowers."

Although he remained mute, I saw confusion flicker in his eyes; firstly at the word girly, as if wondering how scent can be such a thing, and secondly at jasmines and roses, although to his credit, a brief flash of understanding had dawned when I'd added other flowers. Oh Daniel, you poor, sweet, brown-eyed boy; your life has never been sheltered, I can see that far too easily… And yet, your innocence shines through your eyes. If he had been Pearl, I would have kissed him, or at the very least, hug him; but he was timid as a squirrel, and I didn't want to upset him any more than I already had.

"Here," I said, my fingers brushing gently against his elbow, and he started, hugging the glass tightly to him. "Don't be afraid; I was just wondering, would you like some more?"

I could see in his eyes that he did, so, though he did not reply, I gently prised the glass out of his loose hands and filled it up again. The jug, by now, was near empty.

As he slowly took the goblet from my hands, it suddenly occurred to me that not once had he thanked me for his drink. Somehow I doubted he thanked Flavio for 'rescuing' him, if that was indeed what had happened, either. But then I remembered that he lived on the streets, and therefore his parents were either dead, or not the sort to care properly for their son, much less instil in him the importance of good manners. I felt an overwhelming urge to correct this, but hurriedly smothered it, contenting myself with rubbing his chin clean with a previously-pristine handkerchief.

After a few moments of silence, there came a sharp rap on my door, and Flavio entered, nervously smoothing down his skirts.

"Si-Si?" he began timidly. "Mr Hale would like a word with you. He wants to see Daniel too."

"But—But he's nowhere near presentable," I argued uselessly, sensing as I did that Governor Hale would take one look at Daniel and toss him out of the front door himself.

"The Governor is very insistent," Flavio answered apologetically.

"Five minutes?" I asked and, seizing another handkerchief, scrubbed furiously at Daniel's face. The boy did make a noise now; cries of "OW!"s and "Ah!"s and even a "You cat-clawed—", futilely batting my bodice as he did so.

"Alright, alright!" I yelped after he nipped at my wrist, stumbling away from the boy. His face was still dirty, and I had a horrible feeling that I'd actually rubbed the mud further into his skin, but without water and soap, it couldn't be helped. I extended my hand, and after blinking at it suspiciously for a moment or two, Daniel sullenly accepted it.

"Are you looking forward to meeting the governor of your town, Daniel?"

Once again, no reply, but I didn't bother worrying about this as a sudden realisation dawned: Daniel didn't know me as a French Nicolette, but an English Si-Si.

"…Daniel," I began, releasing his hand and kneeling down so that my face was level with his, "Could I please ask you to do me a tiny little favour?"

The Governor and his wife were ensnared in a domestic battle that promised to take no prisoners; I could hear their incomprehensible voices shouting from the top of the stairs. Beside me, I felt Daniel shrink back, and tightened my grip on his hand.

"Don't worry," I assured him with a sideway smile. "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

Daniel was clearly sceptical of my promise, but trapped as he was in a big strange house, he had to take my word for it.

"I'm really sorry," I repeated again, "that Flavio just… took you. But I will make it up to you, I promise. How about this; after we've finished our audience with Governor Hale, I'll take you to the kitchen, and you can eat and drink as much of whatever you want, okay? Except alcohol," I added swiftly, and he tilted his head and blinked at my fast words.

When we'd reached the bottom of the stairs, it was to see Lady Hale come storming out of her husband's study, the door bouncing off of the wall. She gave me only a passing glance, barely acknowledged Daniel, and, gathering up her delicate golden skirts, hurried up the stairs. I heard a door slam shut, and could have sworn that the entire house shook with the force of it.

Daniel released a squeak of fear, and tried to pull away, but I held on tight. "It'll be over in a minute," I assured him, and thus began to drag the reluctant boy towards the study.

"So this is the young rapscallion, is it?" the Governor said in English before repeating it in French. "What a filthy little bugger," he muttered under his breath before addressing his niece once more; "What on earth drew you to him?"

"I was driving through the market," I replied quickly, "and saw him, standing helplessly on a corner, begging for a scrap of money with which to buy food. Moved as I was by his plight, I immediately bought him an apple, and he was so very, very sweet and sincere in his gratitude, and watching him devour that emerald orb, I couldn't help but think to myself—"

But my uncle indicated with a waving hand to stop; I would soon learn that he wasn't at all interested about the boy in the slightest. He had an ulterior and, dare I say it, selfish motive for calling us down. Later I would wonder why he bothered asking for Daniel at all.

"Yes yes yes," he was mumbling impatiently, temper fraying; "Can you speak English, Nicolette?"

Obviously, I hesitated. "Pourquoi?"

Unsurprisingly, it all came back to the strange and perplexing case of the missing chandelier; God in heaven, but the man was obsessed.

"It's very simple, my dear," he began, gesturing I take a seat whilst he settled his middle-aged self comfortably down behind the desk. Daniel was apparently left to stand, presumably because the governor didn't want his chairs to get dirty, but I gestured that he sit anyway.

"I assume you are aware," Hale began after he finished looking profoundly disgusted at Daniel's unbathed scent, "that whilst my wife and I were away at Tennyson's—that bastard!"(In his anger, switching briefly to English,) "—estate, that our precious chandelier was stolen, no?"

I resisted the urge to drop my jaw and act sarcastically scandalised, choosing instead to nod my head, whist Daniel merely looked confused and scratched his nose.

"Perhaps Louise hasn't told you, but we will in fact soon be hosting our own cycle of balls, gatherings, supper parties, salons, soirées and the like; partly, of course, because it is our duty, as the leading citizens of Kingston, but also because Tennyson—the whoreson!—has also implied that he and his—common baker's daughter of a—wife—host the most sophisticated gatherings on the island—" Here the Governor stopped and proceeded to mutter darkly to himself the many boorish and unsophisticated things that the criminal Tennysons had said, done, served, ordered, opined, decorated, toasted, and wore. Daniel squirmed in his seat uncomfortably, and I reached over to pat his hand; he flinched and shrank away from my touch. Offended, I drew my fingers back, clasping my hands primly in my lap as my back straightened.

"…But I digress," he said at last, clearly realising he was ranting to himself in full view of his niece and her temporary charge. "So as I was saying: Do you speak English?"

I hesitated, looking down at my lap as though my skirt would somehow provide me with an answer.

"Nicolette," the governor half-said, half-sighed, again in his native tongue, "Nicolette, you don't have to be afraid: we've all had our fair share of youthful indiscretions."

My head snapped up at this, and the confusion on my face was genuine. The Governor smiled indulgently and, ignoring the boy, reached over his desk to take my hand in his.

"Your father and mother have been in constant correspondence with Louise ever since our wedding day," he explained, and I suddenly realised that Louise was in fact Lady Hale's given name. "We've heard all the salacious rumours and slanderous stories, which I have been assured are all, without exception, either greatly exaggerated or entirely fabricated."

"…Uncle, I don't understand," I replied in careful, deliberate French. "What are you talking about?"

The governor sighed, clearly deciding to humour me.

"Nicolette, you mustn't think me a brute; I am sensitive to the fact that your… fall from grace, shall we call it?… has occurred, ah, recently."

"My fall from grace?" I repeated, whilst beads of nervous sweat prickled on my neck and forehead.

"Why yes; I am, of course, referring to the, hmph… betrothal between you and the son of the Marquis de Feuquières that had… rather unfortunately been abruptly reneged on… On account of… The, ah, doubts cast… Suspicions that you were not quite…"

"My state of virginity," I finished bluntly, and like Daniel before him, he flinched at my words, pulling back into his chair and clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Yes; that. And I believe your… suitor, if we can call him that, was a young Englishman, is that correct? Bow…man; no, not Bowman… Boland? Boleyn? Beauclerk; that was his name! My wife claims that you have known each other for several years, have played together as children when his family visited Paris, and yours London (and us), is that so?"

Fearful of the consequences if I was to answer wrongly, I slowly nodded.

The governor smiled satisfactorily, and pressed on, "Louise has also told me—perhaps unreliably, perhaps with an exaggeration so that her dear niece would appear in a better light—she has told me that, over the many years you've known and corresponded with one another, he taught you some English, is that correct?"

I was hesitant; and yet, oddly desperate to reclaim the verbal freedom that only my beloved mother tongue could bring. French was a beautiful language, pretty on the ear, with rigid grammatical rules and structures, but after speaking only it to the majority of my general acquaintance… I decided to simply nod slowly, and hoped that it was enough of a reply.

"And then the scoundrel, chased as he was various creditors throughout England and France, chose one night to take advantage of your—your trusting innocence and abduct you, yes?"

"You mean," I said, still in French, "he wished to elope with me?"

"Or at the very least, compromise you to such an extent that he will then be able to extort exorbitant sums from your family," the governor agreed. "But as you well know, Beauclerk's plan was foiled, and he fled to Brussels; but the damage done to your reputation…"

There was a lingering silence as he waited patiently for my response.

"…And that's why I was sent here…" I processed slowly. "To marry a mere merchant, Sauveterre; because no one of my station would have me, isn't that right? Yes," I added hurriedly for effect, noting his quizzical frown, "Yes, it's all coming back to me now…"

"If the daughter can't marry rank, better she marry money," Hale agreed. "Now pay close attention, Nicolette; I've heard tell that your fiancé has a concubine, a slave girl that is already quickening with his child…" The governor's lips curled in palpable distaste at the very idea, and he abruptly changed subject. "But we'll discuss this another time; now, to return to my original query: Can you speak English?"

Even though I had received the entire (and, I suspected, heavily abridged) tale of Nicolette's fall, her little faux pas, as it were, I was still hesitant to reply truthfully; but at the same time, I wanted so very much to say yes, to give myself licence to speak my own language as I pleased.

My dawdling, unfortunately, proved to be a mistake.

How could I have possibly forgotten that children can never be trusted with secrets? Even when you've told them explicitly to stay silent on the matter, they always have a tendency to spew out the truth, and almost always at the most inconvenient of times; as though able to sense when matters would be of maximum embarrassment. An example that springs to mind is the case of my old school friend, Harry; her parents had divorced when she was five, and her father had remarried with indecent haste, thus providing his eldest daughter with a half-sister and brother. When she went to stay with him one Easter (she lived in London, whilst her dad had relocated all the way to Hull), he'd taken the entire family out shopping. (Unremarkable so far, I know, but indulge me my rambles.)

Not so long before this miniature expedition, Harry and her family had been visited by her aunt, who had given her about £100 as birthday money before she returned to South Africa. Now, Harry's family was not poor, but they were extremely tight, which was probably why they were so rich; anyway, the aunt had handed over the cash whilst Harriet's family had been distracted by something her youngest brother had done, and in a moment of misjudged ease, Harry had told her sister, Annie, about the substantial (to a twelve-year-old, at least) sum that crazy Aunt Jane had bequeathed to her. Nearing the end of the shopping expedition, Annie, brimming as she was with eight-year-old mischief, chose to wait patiently until Harry's father, who of course compensated for his notable absence in my friend's early life by buying (relatively) cheap gifts, was just about to fork out the cash when Annie loudly piped up: "Daddy Daddy Daddy, Harry has money, Harry has money! Auntie Janey gave it to her before she went away and said she has to spend it all on clothes, and, and—"

Needless to say, Harry ended up parting with at least seventy pounds, and the reason I've brought this rambling anecdote up was because Daniel's first words since entering the study were extracted under similar circumstances, sans volume and general exuberance:

"Miss can speak English; of course she can speak English…"

I turned in my seat and shot Daniel a look pulsating with resentment, whilst Governor Hale merely nodded in satisfaction.

"Very good," he said, sounding detectably relieved that he was no longer obliged to speak in a language he clearly detested, "Very very good; good honest boy you've found for yourself, Nicolette, and far more truthful than you are to your own family, which is most shaming. But I understand completely the cause of your shame, so let bygones be bygones… Nicolette," he said with such sudden severity that I actually jumped and turned away from Daniel to look directly at him, flushing like a schoolgirl who had been caught unequivocally daydreaming.

"I trust I have your full attention? Thank you. Now," still ignoring Daniel, he invited me to lean closer with a beckoning finger, "pay very close to what I have to say, Nicolette; by tomorrow our first guests will have arrived, and I cannot emphasise enough the importance of your role…"

-x!x-