Chapter Nine

Bartered greetings with a kiss
A calm plea to ease an ill
Shall begin the change of a heart
Which will only love at its own will

Red curtains, rich as wine, were draped over the large windows of the grand room the visiting young naval officers were shooed into at the order of an aggravated Mistress Hopkins. Some of the school girls were permitted to chat with them, as long as a teacher remained in the room to watch that manners were expressed dutifully and that hands remained with their owners.

Young Olivia was unquestionably ecstatic about such an abrupt event to end up on the doorstep of her dreary, dull school, and she relished laughing and speaking with the lads for a good deal of the night. Every laugh she bubbled out excited the blush growing on her fair face and brightened the blueness of her large eyes. Harriet was not surprised that many a lad had gathered around her in hopes of hearing her speak and perhaps enjoy a joke or two with her.

Beatrice, however, was not present in the gathering. Or rather, present she was, but her mind was elsewhere. Her thoughts were absorbed in a book as she sat beside Harriet on a couch, and the latter only pleased herself with nodding at the officers passing by her on the path to Olivia.

But the majority of her attention was captured by Peter, who simply stood right outside the entrance into the room. She noticed that he would pace around a bit and then look back at his comrades in the room, only to turn back around and pace some more. At times, he'd relaxed his feet and lean against a wall as he watched them, but his stare would not be focused on them, or at least, it did not appear to be. He undoubtedly seemed to be in deep thought, but whatever musings he was ever so engaged with were incomprehensible to a bystander's eye, and Harriet, unfortunately, was one onlooker who could not resist imagining what dear Mr. Calamy was doing in that head of his.

And so she called to him, puncturing his process of thought with a needle of sharp curiosity.

Startled, the boy looked blankly at her for a few seconds before surrendering to her wishes and coming to her. Although nothing else succeeded in drawing her away from her book, Beatrice took note of his nearing presence and began to rise from her seat, only to be drawn back to it by Harriet's firm hand.

"But I must," whispered Beatrice, speaking almost as a plea. Young Beattie was painstakingly cautious of her conduct and scolded herself inwardly should she ever break a rule, and Godolphin had always taught her girls to make a guest lavished in welcome, and what other way could that be done for Peter but for her to give her seat to him?

"There is room enough for all three of us to sit, Beatrice," replied Harriet, scooting to the far side of the sofa herself. She gestured for Peter to sit between Beatrice and her and sit he did, nodding with a smile at Beatrice for her politeness and then averting his attention to Harriet's piqued visage, and thus unknowingly making dear Beattie blush behind the pages of her book.

And the same flighty feeling that seemed so apparent in Olivia had now reached Miss Neville's next dearest friend, and Beatrice had such a daze about her head that she rose from her seat anyway and joined Olivia, where she hid her face once again in her book, but she did not read again. She dreamed.

Bunching some pieces of her skirt in her hands, Harriet spoke to Peter, inquiring as to why the young man was even visiting her school.

"We are on our way to Plymouth to meet with one of our commanding officers. One of the midshipmen said that they had a sister at Godolphin and wanted to visit her. So we agreed."

"I suppose the merry midshipman also had an admirer at this school as well, for I find no reason as to why you all would stay so long just because of his sister," remarked Harriet, with slight contempt in her voice. "But I guess that is the case for you gentlemen," she added, smiling thinly.

"I came only because I have another mission to fulfill," said Peter, defending his own serious position. He was by no means there to fraternize in long conversation with schoolgirls, although he did admit to liking their company, but he came for a more solemn reason that he had yet to tell.

"And what would that be, Peter?" questioned Harriet, her face softening a bit. It had been presented, since their conversation started, as grey in comparison to the brilliant, dulcet atmosphere.

Peter hesitated to respond as he looked around the elegant room. Nearly everyone was laughing save for Harriet and him, with the exception of the bored professor watching them all. He looked down for a brief second and then returned to face Harriet's cold stare, except now it appeared as if her icy countenance was at last melting from the warmth of the room.

"I shall tell you tomorrow. We will return to give our farewells for a about an hour or so, and then we shall be on our way."

"Why tomorrow?"

His innocent eyes looked away again, for fear of the inquisitive young lady who had the potential to look at his eyes and find truth.

"Peter?" she repeated.

"I wouldn't want to ruin your night. I shall meet you again tomorrow, Hattie, and my promise will be kept this time." He rose and bowed to her, while she sat bemused in her seat.

It always bothered him to see Harriet confused. She was always known to never be quick at figuring things out, and so he often clarified things for her, and so to see her puzzled so greatly caused his childhood instinct to explain everything to her, but he could not. She would leave the room in a fit of tears if he told her at that moment. It was too soon and he could tell that Harriet was perhaps the only girl in the school who was not so happy about the arrival of a few dashing officers.

A tame draft carried the remote tune of a song thrush to the listening ears of the silent and overbearing presence of Miss Neville, and she stood erect, with her thin arms crossed rigidly over her chest and her eyes monitoring the movements of her fellow peers as they skipped merrily to the melodies blossoming from the delicate combination of notes from a flute and violin.

Her companions were enjoying their dancing lesson in the light, breezy air of a mild spring day, and she was saddened to be excluded from the frivolity, for if any mode of leisure succeeded in releasing her spirit, dancing was the one.

But it was not as if she needed the lesson. She was confident in her abilities as a very accomplished dancer, though her talent would forever be recognized as a leisure activity and never one of occupation. She was to be a lady after all and she had run her course of etiquette that morning and was thus waiting for her fellow visitor to come and speak with her as promised.

She could not manage a smile physically, but she did grin from within as she watched her closest friends dance. Olivia was so pink in the face from the wafts of fresh air, and she beamed at every face with every clever step her feet took her. Beattie on the other hand, bit her lip as she constantly viewed her feet so as not to make a mistake. The girl did fine without the persistent supervision of her tiny feet, but she seemed too stressed over perfection in order to give up the habit.

Olivia made a twirl, her face calming into seriousness as she focused on her dancing, but as soon as she made a slight slip of the foot, and stumbled to the side, she released a laugh, which caused several of the other girls to continue the whirlwind of giggling. To add to the scarlet on her face, the officers from the night before had returned and Olivia spotted them immediately, stepping back with a gasp as her long white fingers jumped to clasp over her open mouth.

She knew for certain that they had seen her almost fall to the ground.

Harriet's head pivoted sharply to the direction of the approaching officers, her face still grim and grey, even in the sunlight. Many of the girls were already curtsying before the men passed by but her stiff knees would not relent to an act until she caught the face of he whom she had waited for.

And as soon as she laid eyes on him, their gazes met.

The new dancing instructor, who was of middle age and married, was understanding enough to let the girls have their fun while Mistress Hopkins was busy with affairs within the schoolhouse, and the throng of incessant prattling, bouncing curls, and scurrying feet moved towards the young men by some natural but intense attraction.

Harriet curtsied just barely as some officers nodded in her direction, and she waited patiently for Peter to come to her, separate from the girls who had flocked among the uniformed, respectable lads. And when he broke away from his own party's assembly to greet her, she curtsied even less for him than she did for the unfamiliar faces that granted her a smile.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," he said, noticing her aloof and cross demeanor.

"For whatever news you have to bear to me, Mr. Calamy, I find them worth the wait, albeit the fact that this meeting has robbed me of a dancing lesson."

"I apologize then," he answered earnestly, his voice lowering with each word and expressing his deep sentiment.

He looked down, but Harriet did not notice the shift of his eyes and took his arm and led him in the opposite direction of the others, her arm circling around his, which had become a habit that was never broken. As children, he was more than happy to escort her around, with her arm looped in his, and the fact that she did not hesitate to return to such a position gave him some hope in the mission he was performing.

"How are you fairing, Mr. Calamy?" she asked, her eyes on level with the horizon of some distant, sea-green hills.

"Rather well, I suppose, Miss Neville," he said, though he had reluctantly responded, but Harriet observed his tentativeness as a simple sign of timidity, not of a lie.

"So what is this additional task that you have yet to inform me of?" There was a slight musical tone to her question, like that of a lark singing a song that was meant to be true, but was heard as more playful than honest.

She looked at him, seeing now that his blue eyes were on level with where the blue sky met the dark land, and she squinted slightly at him, the sunlight seeping through her eyelashes and brightening her brown eyes.

Her feet continued to move, but Peter had reached a respite accompanied by the short release of a breath that he had obviously held onto. He turned away from the unattainable horizon and met her narrowed eyes with the rather sad hue of his own.

"I come with news from our homes," he began simply, averting his eyes down again, but this time, Harriet caught the movement and she stepped forward swiftly, almost like a restrained leap, in order to make him look up again.

"And?" she demanded. "Peter, you have spoken to me about grave things before; I am positive this is no different."

He was about to protest by raising his struggle to tell her about how he learned of his father's death, but he stopped himself, realizing that he did not come to Godolphin to argue with her.

"Your brother…" he trailed off again, finding it an arduous duty to locate the right words to express what he wanted to say in a manner that would not send Harriet into a fit. "… he has been in an accident. He was riding home with a few of his companions from college and his horse was frightened and threw him off."

Shadows painted the girl's face immediately, and her squinted eyes had opened wide with the bottom edges collecting a ring of water on their rim. Her jaw tensed and she would have clenched her hands and sent a good whack to Peter's face if he hadn't continued talking.

"Your mother was writing a letter to you, but I arrived to tell her what I am about to tell you now, and she decided to let me tell you the news instead." Again, he paused, and he felt his own eyes water as Harriet glared at him blankly, her face hard as stone but her soul cracking.

"My mother is ill," he said, turning away and trying to relax his nerves. "We think it's consumption. How she could have gotten it, I do not know. She has made quite a few trips to the city recently, but a doctor will confirm her illness by the end of the week."

Harriet's fingers were released from the fist and her tight jaw dropped open. Her eyes became less wide and the water trickled down the corners of her eyes, and she looked at him, his face turned away and she wondered with great curiosity and concern over why he had waited so long to tell her such news.

Her fingers found a place on her head and her face began to contort, though the customs of a fine lady were attempting to desperately keep her calm, but even a lady's passive visage could be breeched by the gravest of news.

"Why did you not tell me this last night?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and deadened by the sobs clogging her throat. "Peter, this is awful news! How could you have even dared to say you were fine!"

His immediate defense was unleashed and he whisked his head towards her, the shield of water covering his eyes still blatantly present.

"I didn't want to hurt you in front of all of your peers," he stated. "I knew the information would wound you enough and I would not deepen it by allowing your hysterical reaction to be exposed to your companions."

"But this is your mother, Peter," she quivered, and she knew she could no longer fight her desire to cry. "How could you have left her when she is ill?"

"I told her I would not leave, but she said I needed to go. She said to pursue my duty."

"Your duty is to her!"

"She did not think so," he said softly. "Which is why I have come here to ask you something, Hattie."

"What? I will do anything. Anything for your mother, Peter." He was amazed and relieved at her response, believing that she would be less willing after what he had put her through. But perhaps Harriet still loved his family as much as she did long ago.

"Will you go to her? She is alone in that house, save for our servants and I wanted for one of the Nevilles to be there when the doctor arrives. Your mother is occupied with your brother and so would be unable to be the one to go."

"I'll go," she agreed, her voice soft and dampened by her grief.

"I need you to leave tonight, Harriet," he added. She nodded manually, finding the deed necessary but not quite understanding it as it was given to her.

"I'll go," she repeated. She brought her hands together before her and approached Peter, pressing her lips together as she thought. "Will you see me off, Peter?"

"I will try," he replied almost smiling at her for what she was doing for him. She wiped her eyes and sniffed as she made herself presentable to company again. Then she looked at Peter and curtsied low, before rising and hurrying past him, with one hand grasping her skirt as she ran towards the schoolhouse and one hand still wiping the water from her eyes that would not stop falling.

Peter had seen her off, and she had begun the ride back to her home that evening after alerting Mistress Hopkins about the emergency and after hurriedly packing her things. Olivia and Beattie had seen her enter the house with a weeping face, and Olivia went after her while Beattie went to Peter to ask about what happened. And as soon as they were informed, the merry faces they had while dancing, frowned.

Mistress Hopkins was not against the departure, finding that any family crisis was enough reason to have a student leave temporarily. Plus, Harriet was almost finished with her education at Godolphin and so a few weeks away would not do her much harm.

And now Harriet sat in the carriage, a cloak draped over her shoulders as she warmed herself in the cool night air. Although her eyes were dry from her seemingly endless tears, she could not sleep, for her worries prevented the act. She contented herself with the silver light of the moon and the sparks of the stars in the clear night sky, with the faint melody of a nightingale soothing her nerves.

Mrs. Calamy is ill and Nicholas has gotten in an accident, she reminded herself, and she tried to recline on the carriage seat, but she forced herself to stay awake, the apprehension getting the better of her.

Her silence was disrupted with the humming and, consequently, the singing of her carriage driver and she turned around to listen to the song, for its tune was familiar to her:

"As I was a walking one morning in Spring,
For to hear the birds whistle and the nightingales sing,
I saw a young damsel, so sweetly sang she:
Down by the Green Bushes he thinks to meet me.

I stepped up to her and thus I did say:
Why wait you my fair one, so long by the way?
My true Love, my true Love, so sweetly sang she,
Down by the Green Bushes he thinks to meet me…"

Her footsteps echoed in the dim foyer, her hands smoothing out any wrinkles in her skirt as she moved around, her eyes growing reacquainted with the Calamys' empty home. A servant had let her inside, and she waited for Mrs. Calamy's head maid to come down and tell her she could visit the woman.

Peter said the doctor would be here, recalled Harriet, and she made a note to herself to ask the next person she saw about that.

She did not have to wait long to see another face, for a man was making his way down the stairs, carrying a large stiff bag in his left hand and with a small pair of spectacles resting high up on his pointed nose. His hair was short and brown, and his lips were thin and prim. Harriet knew she was not looking at a servant.

"Excuse me, sir," she called out, curtsying briefly before heading towards him. "Would you know if the doctor has arrived? I'm guest sent here by the young Mr. Calamy and—" She was cut off with a calm, polite raise of the man's hand.

"I am Dr. Stephen Maturin, Miss Neville. Your friend has informed me of your arrival and it is quite opportune that you have come at such a time. I have just finished examining Mrs. Calamy." The very large bag he carried now made sense to her, and she scolded herself for not piecing such things together beforehand.

"How is she then?" asked the girl, and the doctor did not speak directly after, his stare having looked away from hers and looking more towards the door, or perhaps a world beyond it.

"She has consumption, just as her son had assumed. It is not as severe as some cases I have seen, but she should still receive plenty of rest and continuous care."

"I'd be glad to help, Doctor. That's why I'm here," she remarked, and he replied with a thin grin.

"Your assistance would be highly appreciated, Miss. Come with me. I must show you what you must do."

He proceeded back up the stairs and Harriet trailed after him, sullen from the diagnosis.

Consumption, she thought, I have heard stories of such an illness. There are rarely any survivors… But she stopped her musing from growing. It would only worsen her worry.

When they came to the two doors of Mrs. Calamy's grand bedroom, Dr. Maturin paused and took from his pocket a handkerchief and then reached into his medicine bag and pulled out a small cloth and handed it to Harriet.

She stared at the cloth with raised eyebrows.

"To cover your nose and mouth," explained Stephen. "Mr. Calamy wouldn't want you to get ill as well." She nodded and placed the cloth over her nose and mouth, holding it daintily in place with her white hand.

As soon as the doctor saw her prepared, he opened the door and moved towards the bed where Mrs. Calamy sat, propped up by a few pillows, with a book in her lap. The woman almost burst from the sight of Harriet returning with the doctor.

"Hattie! Dear, come here!" she beckoned, more energized than Harriet had expected. She saw that the doctor had not covered his face with his handkerchief when he entered the room while he had made it an obligation for her. However, she had always noticed as a child that doctors remained strangely unaffected by their patients' sicknesses. She decided not to give up believing that now.

She went to the bed and glanced back at the doctor to see if it was all right if she received a proper greeting from the woman, and he subtly nodded in return. But as she got closer, Mrs. Calamy exclaimed, "Oh no, dearie. A curtsy would suit for a fine greeting." So Harriet bowed low, with her foot gliding smoothly behind the other and then rose again.

"How are you, Mrs. Calamy?" she inquired.

"A bit hot," replied the woman, "But not too awful. I've gradually felt better over the days since Peter left. I did not know you were coming."

Harriet processed the last sentence in her head, confused over the words. Hadn't Peter had told her?

"Mrs. Calamy, didn't your son tell you he was coming to get me?"

"Oh no, Hattie. He simply said that he would be back soon. He mentioned no one's arrival to me."

"How odd," murmured Hattie, more to herself than to her friend's mother.

"But thoughtful, you must admit," added Mrs. Calamy, having heard Harriet's remark. The girl was caught off guard and laughed nervously in reply.

"Yes, I believe so. I shall be here until Peter returns. It is what he asked of me." She noticed the widening eyes of the older woman and spoke before she could be told otherwise. "And I know you would have wanted him to tell me just to visit, but I understand that…" Her voice softened with an admission, "… that he has done much for me, and it is about time I return the favor."

The rest of that week closed on a sour note. On a perfectly sunny, spring day, Mrs. Calamy's condition had suddenly grown considerably worse and the doctor was called for again, leaving Harriet fretting over the dear woman's health for a few days before he arrived. Her fever had pitched and the coughing became more abundant, with added potency. The coughs had become so forceful that Harriet hated to hear them from afar, for it indicated that Mrs. Calamy was in her room alone and struggling.

And therefore the girl resolved to stay in the room with her, a cloth tied around her face in the belief of it preventing illness. She understood very well that she was susceptible to all types of pathogens, for she had often gotten sick during her childhood. But what she was doing was for the sake of a woman loved by many, and if her efforts proved worthwhile, then she wouldn't mind being consumed herself.

A startling hack made Harriet jump from her seat across the room and rush towards the bedside of Mrs. Calamy. The woman coughed uncontrollably, the barks increasingly raspy and dry, and Harriet went to pour a glass of water from a pitcher that always sat at a table in the room for the lady's use. In the meantime, she handed Mrs. Calamy a handkerchief to cough into while she prepared the water.

She relaxed when she heard the coughing subside and came back to the bedside with the glass of water in hand, only to find Mrs. Calamy looking at the handkerchief in her hands. Harriet knew something was wrong.

"Mrs. Calamy?" she asked, leaning forward. And then she saw what the woman was looking at. A spot of blood was on the clean white square of cloth. "Drink this, Mrs. Calamy," said Harriet hurriedly, panic rising in her veins. "The doctor will be here soon."

Please let him come soon, please, she pleaded inwardly. Please… Oh, Peter, why did you leave your mother? She needs you…

Day turned to night, and night into day, and the cycle did not end for quite some while. During the doctor's visits, Harriet would leave the Calamy residence temporarily to visit her brother. His condition was far better than Mrs. Calamy's and he simply hobbled about on some crutches to move around while his broken leg healed. And due to his injury, he spent much of his time idle to continue his studies even if he was not at school.

But when Harriet was not at home, she was burdened by the condition of Mrs. Calamy's terrible illness. It had progressed and she had not said a word for days. The poor woman was probably exhausted from the battle her body was fighting against the sickness. And her own son was not even there to comfort her.

But then came a day when a letter arrived from afar, and it addressed to Harriet. It was in Peter's hand and in his writing he announced his decision to come home soon and to tell the news to his ailing mother, which Harriet happily agreed to.

And so around the time Peter had said he'd arrive, Harriet sat in a sofa with a direct view of the windows at the front of the house, with the curtains drawn back and letting the bright sunlight break through the glass barrier and flooding the room in a pale yellow radiance. Although a book lay open in her lap, her eyes had barely even read a page in a half hour. She would always wander towards the window, waiting for the sound of horses' hooves or the frame of a carriage coming into aspect.

Even if she found her anxiety childish, she knew she did not wait in vain, for soon enough, the sound reached her ears faintly and the coach became fully visible from the window. She stood up immediately and recollected her orders from Mrs. Calamy. When the woman did have the strength to speak, she told her what to do when Peter arrived, and Harriet was bent on completing her mission, just as Peter had completed his when he visited her at Godolphin days ago.

The knock came, followed by the door opening at the doing of the doorman, and Harriet presented herself to Peter with a genuine smile of relief. She curtsied to him with no hesitation, and he did not expect her to do so for him. He was even ready to speak when she cut into a curtsy and rose to face him.

"Your mother is glad you are back, Mr. Calamy," she said, her smile broadening. When she neared him, she tiptoed up and kissed both sides of his astounded face, and the boy was regretful to say that his face had grown hot after the action.

"That's from your mother, Peter." She noticed the wide, blank expression displayed in his clear eyes and understood that she had carried out Mrs. Calamy's orders a bit too passionately.

But she was never unaware of the own warm sensation left on her lips after kissing the smooth face of her old friend. The feeling remained well after she had brought Peter to his mother, and she began to wonder if she too was now hot in the face.