Chapter 5 #3
“I would not be so plainspoken about Master Jordan’s situation, Mr. Huxley, except that I am most concerned for my pupil. I hesitate to impart what does not flatter a lady, but you are the boy’s guardian, and you have allowed me the courtesy of honesty.”
Bernard had not condoned long-windedness. “Does some particular incident trouble you, Entwhistle?”
The tutor stalked to the window, which overlooked the terrace and the back garden.
“I’ll give you one example. This very day, sir, this morning, Lady Barclay appeared to instruct her own son in the matter of shuffling and dealing cards.
She did this in plain sight, on the terrace steps, and if I am not mistaken, she taught him a simple card trick. ”
“A card trick, you say?” Entwhistle hadn’t merely glanced out the window, he’d spied on his employer and her son.
“I do not engage in falsehoods, Mr. Huxley. Lady Barclay showed that boy how to casually glance at the card on the bottom of the deck as she shuffled and cut and chattered. She then instructed the boy to choose any card. One could demonstrate if one had a deck.”
“I’m following so far.”
“By dexterous manipulation, her ladyship would raise half the deck such that Master Jordy could see what appeared to be the card on the bottom of the exposed half. This, of course, had been drawn from the bottom of the entire deck. Her ladyship had earlier peeked at the card and well knew what it was. The boy was utterly baffled. Then she explained to him how the trickery was done, and nothing would serve except that he must learn to emulate her dubious skill. One shudders for the future of Scotland, sir, if Lady Barclay believes this to be an acceptable element of a boy’s education. ”
Bernard joined Entwhistle at the window. A lovely spring morning was well under way below. An aging gardener watered potted salvia, snipped a few daffodils, and inspected a bed of tulips that had yet to bloom.
“How is it you know of this card trick yourself, Entwhistle?”
“I was at Warriner’s Exclusive Academy for Gentleman Scholars for six years, Mr. Huxley. The occasional disgraced younger son found his way to our ranks and brought his inappropriate worldly knowledge with him.”
Never heard of the place. “That is most fortunate for young Master Jordan. I’m certain you will use his interest in playing cards to enhance his mathematical skills, won’t you?
My duties at the vicarage included the education of a number of fidgety boys, and I know one must outwit them in order to educate them. ”
Entwhistle brushed him with a dismayed glance. “You cannot be suggesting that I teach any young boy the rudiments of gambling?”
Such shock. Entwhistle had been playing for farthing points before he’d memorized his first Latin verses.
“Certainly not. Do you play cribbage?”
A cautious nod.
“Then you grasp that much of the game is based on knowing which combinations of cards add to fifteen. Eight and seven. Ten and five, four plus two plus nine, that sort of thing. Another part of the game has the players alternating cards to try to add up to thirty-one without going over that number. You simply modify the rules. Add to fourteen, try to total thirty-seven points. If Jordan wants to try totaling to forty-seven or sixty-two, so much the better.”
“But that is not cribbage.”
No wonder Jordy’s education was so lacking. “That is sums, Entwhistle. Sums in his head. The boy will do them with you all morning and without touching a pencil to paper. A week of that, and he’ll be adding double digits easily.”
Entwhistle looked thoughtful. “And what tactics did you employ in the vicarage for a child who had no interest in history?”
Matters were dire if Entwhistle made even history dull.
“You tell stories while walking in the garden or the park, of course. Once upon a time, Napoleon thought he’d conquer Russia.
He was very smart about military matters, but a roaring dunce about Russian winters.
He was equally ill-informed about the diseases that rage through Poland in late summer.
Terrible, ghastly disease with all sorts of symptoms to delight a small boy’s ghoulish fancy.
Boys in Yorkshire really aren’t much different from boys in Mayfair, Entwhistle. ”
“I see. Diseases and disasters. Have you any advice for Latin?”
At least Entwhistle was asking. “Tell the boy to choose a personal motto. ‘Ever brave.’ ‘Honor true.’ Even ‘no girls allowed’ will do for a start. Then you show him how to translate it, how to add to it. Translate his favorite proverb, his favorite imprecation or insult. Explain declensions and conjugations through the side door, Entwhistle. Pedantry bored us both as boys. As teachers, we’re cleverer than that, I hope. ”
“I am not devious by nature, sir.”
Heaven bless the fellow. “Of course not, but you are intelligent, well-read, and resourceful. Jordan is one little boy a bit behindhand in his studies. Lure him into scholarship, Entwhistle, and get him using his mind. Sums through cribbage. Latin by way of mottos and battle cries. History in the garden. The world will thank you when that boy becomes a man.”
Always end a sermon on a positive note—some of the best advice Bernard had ever been given.
“You’ve given me much to think about, sir. Much. Perhaps we might chat again when you have the time?”
Entwhistle was not beyond hope, which was a relief. “Of course. You would be appalled at the tribulations I endured trying to start my scholars on French. Thank goodness for cognates.”
“Cognates, sir?”
“You know, Entwhistle. Flatuler, uriner, and every little boy’s favorite, déféquer. Desperate measures, and all that. You won’t tell her ladyship?”
“Certainly not, sir. Lady Barclay must be kept apprised of Master Jordan’s curriculum generally. I’ve seen no need to trouble her ladyship with the details of Master Jordan’s progress.”
Because there had been so little? “We are in accord, then. Shall we plan on another chat in a week or so? Would Wednesday suit?”
Entwhistle linked his hands behind his back. “Wednesday is one of my half days, sir. I am engaged on Wednesday afternoons to assist the misses Greer with their French.”
Bernard made a note to have a look at Entwhistle’s wages. What he did with his half days—note the plural—was his business, but a tutor ought to put in more than a couple of hours with his charge every afternoon.
“A week from Friday, then. Best of luck until next we meet, Entwhistle.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”
Bernard left Entwhistle at the desk, scribbling away at what was doubtless a list of French scatological verbs with similar English counterparts. Jordy would be shocking his mother in no time.
Or making her laugh. Bernard very much enjoyed the idea that Sorcha might have more reasons to laugh.
He nonetheless took a quick leave of her in a cozy back parlor, and nearly sprinted to the office, where the clerks’ civil wars, insurrections, upheavals, and jealousies of the day were already well under way.