Chapter 18 - An Education

As it is with all good times, the minutes swiftly dissolved into hours and the hours suddenly became days; then the days unexpectedly escaped the restrictions imposed upon them by the sun and the moon, and formed themselves into weeks.

The children - Maggie, Tom and Jack - had never felt so free in their entire lives. And life had become a blissful routine of waking up to a filling breakfast, followed by a morning of exploring the nearby woods or rowing up and down the lake. There was also the chance to take the short walk and visit the Countess' small farm - modelled, she told them, on Marie Antoinette's Little Hamlet at Versailles. At Hameau de la comtess, as she referred to it, they could watch the servants and farm hands milk cows and collect eggs - as well as see the array of ducks, chickens and geese wander around freely in a most idyllic setting.

During the evening they were treated to wonderful and elegant meals, at which the Countess held court - always looking far more animated after her late afternoon naps, more colourful in both her complexion and mood. They were treated like adults and the meals would have many splendid courses and on occasions, given the Countess' mood, would continue for a number of hours.

After nearly a month of this wondrous existence, the Countess begged the children to stay on. She also suggested she would postpone indefinitely the day they would have to be put to work.

"Who knows, if you are good children you may even find yourselves staying on her permanently," she said. "I have nobody to inherit all of this, apart from an adopted son, a boy I took off the streets in similar circumstances to yourselves. He is now a brilliant man in London, but rarely visits these days - such is his demanding life in that city. He is set to inherit all of this, as my late husband provided for him in his will. However, if you decide to stay, I may be able to alter my will so that you all benefit too."

The children gasped audibly at the Countess' generosity.

Later, after dinner, the Countess asked Maggie if she would remain behind.

"I take it then that you do read, Margaret?" asked the Countess when the boys disappeared.

"Judging purely from the way your eyes light up in whenever you visit me in my study."

"Yes, my lady."

"But do you read well?" asked the Countess.

"I think so. Recently I have had very little opportunity. And the bookshelf in my room is empty so -"

"That is easily remedied," replied the Countess.

"Mother taught both of us," Maggie continued. "Tom and I, from a young age."

She was going to say more, but stopped herself. Stopped herself from repeating the words her father used to illustrate the importance of reading: reading and power go hand in hand he had said. The rich prefer to keep the poor illiterate and ignorant. Remember, Maggie: knowledge is power.

"Excellent. So long as you remain here, and I hope you will be here for a great while yet, I think it would be wise for you to receive an education. What do you say to that?" she asked.

"Yes, I believe it would be a splendid idea, my lady. It is a most kind offer." Maggie was always wary of offending the Countess, but in truth she would have preferred to spend her days in the same way she had filled them since she arrived: running wild in the seemingly borderless grounds of Little Serrant.

"Very well it is settled. Tomorrow we shall start on your schooling."

"Thank you, my lady."

"That is all, Margaret. Have a pleasant sleep. Goodnight and God bless," said the Countess, sounding more like a schoolteacher now, than - than a what? thought Maggie. She did not know how to describe those intimate moments, those moments only she appeared to share with the Countess. The Countess, sometimes part mother, sometimes part confidant. And from this day forth, thought Maggie, to become her schoolteacher too.

"Goodnight and God bless," returned Maggie and left for the silence of her own room.

***

It was the Countess who took it upon herself to educate and instruct Maggie in the ways of becoming a lady. It was her duty, she reminded her, to keep her mind stimulated and to prepare her for her future prospects. Since being at Little Serrant, Maggie had not stopped to think of the future, nor indeed her prospects. Deep down, although she was pleased to have the safety and security offered by the Countess, she suspected she and Tom would one day leave and set out to find Sanctuary, and maybe even be reunited with her father.

So it was to be that during the mornings and early afternoons, when the boys embarked upon endless adventures within the endless grounds of the Countess' estate, Maggie was to be lodged inside the Countess' study. There she was schooled in English and French, History and Classical Literature and, of course, a spot of needlework. No need for Mathematics or Natural Philosophy - the Countess argued - they were subjects fit only for young men and not required by a lady who may - one day, she dearly hoped - enter into society. The Countess also instructed her upon the importance of posture, the correct way to walk and her demeanour in general. She declared she would rid her of the imperfect gait and unladylike behaviour the street had impressed upon her.

For her part, Maggie remained thankful to the Countess for sharing her knowledge so freely.

But a few days into this new routine, she looked out through the window and saw Jack and Tom outside near to the lake, engaged in a fight to the death with tree branches - standing in for swords she fancied. She imagined their adventures, playing pirates or acting out the heroic and honourable duels over matters of the utmost honour, like those described by The Countess during dinner. While inside, under the persistence of the Countess, she struggled to concentrate on Achilles' equally heroic exploits during the Trojan War.

"Such a fearsome warrior was Achilles, yet so wronged had he felt that he refused to join the battle against the Trojans. But when Hector killed his good friend, Patroclus, Achilles was overcome with grief and filled with such fury, that he was found a new set of armour and returned to the fray. Such was his wrath, he slaughtered so many - he filled the river with the Trojan dead until the waters ran red. This angered the river God Xanthos and he too fought Achilles. Eventually, however, Achilles found the Trojan he had sought most, Hector. Yet, after slaughtering Hector, he dishonoured the dead man terribly, dragging his corpse behind his chariot in front of the walls of Troy."

As The Countess continued with her summary, Maggie's mind drifted and she yearned for the clock to strike three, so she could hoist off her correct clothing, drop her books and run and seek out the boys. Then she would join them out on the lake and her enjoyment would begin.

The lake had become the centre of their play world. It seemed deeply ironic to Maggie that the water would attract her in such a way. Those days spent scavenging upon the riverside in London, trudging through ice cold water and the deep, putrid mud; of constantly being cold and dirty - those days seemed so distant that they may have well occurred to somebody else now, so happy and content had she become out on the lake at Little Serrant.

She watched as the boys continued to fence outside the window, unseen by the Countess, and her mind turned to Jack. A nice boy after all, she thought. Even despite the deceitful way he manoeuvred her into the arms of Charlie Deptford's gang. But she had forgiven him. And to look at him now, acting as a child should - carefree and in thrall to his imagination - made her feel they had indeed made the correct decision in running away from London. No doubt fate had intervened, in the shape of the kindly Countess. But she thought: fortune does favour the brave, as her father once told her.

"What then do we make of Achilles' character, Margaret?" asked the Countess.

"Sorry, your ladyship?" replied Maggie.

"Margaret, is something amiss?" asked the Countess, but Maggie continued to stare out of the window. She had forgotten what it was about Achilles' character she was supposed to take into

account during their reading.

The boys had disappeared from view and shaken from her reverie, Maggie responded. "No - of course not, my lady. Why would there be anything amiss?"

"You seem distant today. Are you sure there is nothing amiss?"

"Quite sure. Why would there be? I now have everything I could ever want," replied Maggie turning sharply to look at the Countess.

"Yes but these are merely things, Margaret." She made a hand gesture to suggest the house, the estate, all of the luxuries they now enjoyed on a daily basis. "I have given you material objects. But being well and contented is about much more than mere things, Margaret."

"All is well, I assure you," Maggie replied in a bid to end the conversation.

"Forgive me for interfering, but I realise youngsters of your age have particular...particular needs. And I know every girl also needs a mother to guide her. I too was denied a mother at your age. I know how difficult it can be."

"Yes of course, I understand."

"It's just..."

"Yes?" asked Maggie.

"It's just, occasionally, I catch a certain look in your eyes and you appear, well -somewhere else. You look somehow helpless, deep in thought and helpless. In this room perhaps, yet not really here at all. Again forgive me, and I hope I'm not pushing you too much, but you seem to be carrying some kind of burden - figuratively speaking, you understand."

Maggie laughed. She thought the Countess a perceptive woman. She also thought of her favourite book, The Pilgrim's Progress.

"Why do you laugh, Margaret?"

"I'm sorry, my lady. I did not mean to appear rude. You reminded me of a book I used to read, of a character from a book. That is all."

"I? A character from a book? Do you mock me, Margaret? When I am seriously concerned about your well-being!"

"Oh please forgive me, I did not mean to mock you at all. You do not remind me of a character from a book, rather what you said made me recall a character from a book," Maggie explained.

"And who is the character you think of at this time?" asked the Countess.

"Christian. The pilgrim from The Pilgrim's Progress."

"Ah yes, the book written by the tinker's son. Yes I see it now - the burden, that is. The metaphorical weight he carried upon his back. Would he find grace and be spared the torments of hell..." she said in a dismissive manner. "A dreadful book I must say."

Ignoring the final part of what she said, and her literary opinions, Maggie replied, "Yes, the very thing."

"So will you find grace and be saved, Maggie?"

"I very much hope so. But, in truth, I do not know. I do not try to think upon it. Though, I suppose you are right. I have been carrying about a great weight, a burden of sorts. It has been playing upon my mind for some time, too," Maggie suddenly stopped. She thought back to the image of Achilles fighting during the battle against Trojans, she thought of the dead piling up in the river...

She felt the need to be out of that room, out of the house - to run and run and leave behind the images which now flooded through her mind. She tried to stem the flow of tears welling up in her eyes.

But she failed.

One by one they trickled down her face.

On seeing Maggie's distress, the Countess moved uncomfortably in her chair, unsure how to proceed, then said, "I am so sorry my dear, I should not have pressed you in such a manner. I'm sorry, Maggie."

"You have nothing to apologise for. I am the one who should be sorry," said Maggie. "I cannot - I am unable to talk about this thing, this burden, I have carried for so long now."

"I see."

"But -" began Maggie.

"Yes."

"But maybe, sometime, sometime in the future...I may tell all. But not yet. I am unable to disclose all to you. There are others who should know this thing first. Of that I am sure. But I shall tell you in good time."

"Fine. I understand, Margaret. I really do. You have been through so much, endured so much. You have been a wonderful sister and not unlike a mother to Thomas. Without you, he may not have survived."

"Thank you, my lady, thank you for you kind and sincere words." Maggie continued to weep, took her handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped the tears away.

"But there are other ways of dealing with things which trouble us, Margaret," continued the Countess. "When I was girl, a year or so younger than you are now, I went through the most grievous episode of my life. And when I fled France for England, I was, for the most part, alone. I had no one to confide in. So I dealt with it by writing in my own personal journal. Most of the experiences I endured when fleeing my home in France, I only got to write about when I was safely sheltered in London. Time and distance gave me a new eye, a way to see the events more clearly. Writing about it helped me shape how I would proceed onwards. I realised that I could only control my future by understanding my past. Does that make any kind of sense, Maggie?"

"Yes. Yes it does, my lady. It does makes a great deal of sense," Maggie replied.

"Think about it then. When you have time and are alone try and put your thoughts to paper."

"I will, my lady."

"Before we finish today, I shall read you a short extract from my journal from the time I first fled to England. However, at the time, I had not yet mastered English and it is written in French. I will translate it and you can use it as an example of what you can write about; of how the act of writing helped me make sense of that frightful time.

The Countess opened a drawer and took out a battered notebook. She opened it and began to read and Maggie sat and listened to the awful narrative of her childhood in revolutionary France.

The Countess told of the destruction of their rural idyll, of beautiful Serrant, near the hamlet of Jouvente. Of how she and her family fled the countryside for Paris, so as her father could be close to the King and Queen and help them escape France. Of when they arrived in Paris, the King and Queen had been imprisoned in 'The Tower' - a fortified medieval building surrounded by armed guards. She told of the drunken mobs rampaging through the City's streets - of the murders, mutilations and indecent attacks upon women. Of how the Queen's best friend, Princess Marie Louise, suffered the most brutal of deaths.

She told of how one night the sans-culottes, revolutionary soldiers, arrived and took away her father and her mother. Of how her mother's maid decided there and then, during the bloodletting of the September Massacres, to take her away from that dreadful City. Of how she was eventually smuggled to England, "with little or no money, no mother or father - to all intents and purposes an orphan, with only my dedicated and loving maid at my side." The Countess wept, then continued.

"It has just occurred to me, whilst telling you about those dreadful events - it will be fifty years this September since I fled France. Half a century..." She took her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

"I don't know what to say, my lady. Those dreadful people. And you have never really found out what happened to your parents?"

"I was informed from a reliable source, a year or so later, that my father was executed - the guillotine no less. My mother soon followed him to the same death. No death is dignified, like the death of Hector in the Iliad teaches us. But to be put to death with a baying mob in attendance...well I can't think of a worse way to go."

"I am so sorry for your loss, My Lady."

"Margaret, you are such a generous girl." She paused, looked to the clock and exclaimed: "My, where did the time go? It has gone past three. Sexton is no doubt waiting with my tonic and medicine. I need my rest, my dear. And you have had a difficult afternoon too," said the Countess.

"Thank you for confiding in me," replied Maggie. "I feel as though I may be ready to unburden myself." She stood and moved to the door.

As Maggie was set to leave the study, the Countess called after her, "I have a small gift for you." She handed over a small, hardback notebook. "Use this as a journal or diary. Write and rewrite until you have something that really expresses your thoughts and feelings. I could also use it as a way of checking the progress of your composition skills. Two birds with one stone, you might say."

"I shall, my lady. I shall begin writing tonight. Thank you for your understanding."

"I am glad to hear it my dear. Having you around has given my life a sense of purpose again. You have been an absolute boon. Also, you must always remember we are all vulnerable - even the strongest of us. Indeed, great-hearted Achilles had his weakness; he had his vulnerable spot too."

*****

Metropolitan Police Evidence: The Power Papers - Document 11

The Times Newspaper, July 15th 1842 - Chartist Plot Uncovered.

Police understand a most dangerous and violent criminal, an escaped convict from the colony of Van Diemen's Land no less, may be headed back to England to commit the ultimate act of treason: assassinate Her Majesty The Queen.

Chartist Thomas Power, who was sent to transportation for life, escaped from a work party November last year, murdering and butchering two fellow escapees in what has come to be known, on that particular island, as a monstrous and shocking crime. He then, somehow, escaped the hazardous condition upon the island before heading, many believe, back to England.

In a related matter, it has come to light that a secret band of Chartists - led according to Police sources - by the very same murderer, Thomas Power, has been conspiring to bring about the destruction of the Sovereign herself. Police in London, including representatives from the Secretary of State's office, have shown this reporter secret communications, written by the hand of Power and his accomplices. These documents, distributed to a select band of the most desperate Chartists across London, reveal a wide-ranging plot to disrupt the manufacturing districts across the whole country - leading to a state of confusion and anarchy, in which they hope accomplish their treasonable designs.

Our friends at the Secretary of State's office have confirmed that a former Chartist, who came across the secret plans and decided to end his participation with the group, has been threatened and physically assaulted by ruffians for taking his fears to the Metropolitan Police; and for speaking out and denouncing the motives of his former comrades. This brave soul, who at first believed the six point demands to be the ultimate aims of Chartists, has now gone to ground and is hiding out due to the violent nature of the threats he has received.

Police ask the public to be ever vigilant, as Thomas Power contrived his escape from the prison colonies nine months ago - and has still not been returned to custody. A Chartist informant claims Power is already abroad in England, after making his way to New South Wales and then being taken aboard a cargo vessel heading for the Spice Islands. Upon reaching Java, he informed us that Power was taken aboard a Dutch vessel and headed back to European shores.