Wild Rover No More: Being the Last Recorded Account of the Life & Times of Jacky Faber by L. A. Meyer Page B

his hair—he will need a bath soon—and pronounce him presentable enough, for now. Then I take Cathy by the hand and lead them down the stairs.
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    Mr. and Mrs. Polk are seated at the grand table in the dining room, one at either end, when I bring in the children. I think both are surprised to see me still here. The missus is looking wan but a little better than when I saw her in the morning. It is plain that they have finished the main course and Mr. Polk is lingering over coffee. He lifts an eyebrow in question.
    â€œGood evening, Mr. Polk, Mrs. Polk. I hope you had a pleasant day. I have worked with the children today and am generally pleased with the results. Cathy here has embarked upon her ABCs, and she is doing fine. See, she has drawn a
C,
the first letter in her name. Hold it up, dear.”
    Cathy holds up her paper to her father’s gaze.
    â€œThat’s fine,” he says dismissively. “But what about the boy?”
    Cathy drops the paper, and the thumb goes back in her mouth.
    â€œWell, Sir, I can report that young Edgar is quite proficient in both history and English. However, he does need some work on math to bring him up to snuff, and we are on it. I am sure that you, as a banker, would approve of that?”
    â€œHarrumph,” says Mr. Polk, trapped into agreeing with his new governess. “That is so, I’d say. Were you happy with what went on today, Edgar?”
    Here’s your chance, Captain, to blow me away.
    He does not take it. Instead he fixes a look of pure malice upon me and says, “Yes, Father, all went well. I hope you had a good day at the bank.”
    I notice that Edgar is much more polite in the presence of his father. He does not fear his mother, but he definitely is afraid of a stern word from his dad.
    â€œThat is good. Now off to bed with you,” says Mr. Polk. “Miss Leigh, a word with you after you tuck in the children.”
    â€œYessir,” I say. “Come, children. Say good night, now.”
    They do and we trudge up the stairs.
    â€œYou don’t have to tuck me in, Governess,” sneers Edgar, going into his bedroom. “I can do it myself!” He slams the door shut behind him.
    I take Cathy into her room, get her into bed, and tuck her in with Amy beside her. Planting a kiss upon her brow—
such a good little girl
—I pull the covers to her chin and wish her sweet dreams. She smiles and closes her eyes, and I go down to rejoin Mr. and Mrs. Polk.
    Mr. Polk gestures to a place where a cup of tea has been placed, so I go and sit there.
    â€œWell, Miss Leigh, we must say, we are most pleased with your performance so far”—even Mrs. Polk manages a wan smile at that—“and we hope that—”
    All of a sudden, there is a loud rumpus from up above, in the direction of Edgar’s room, of course. It sounds very much like he is pounding his feet on the floor.
    Mrs. Polk’s smile disappears and her hand goes to her mouth. “Oh, Lord, he is doing it again, and I so wished—”
    Mr. Polk rises, as do I, my tea untasted. “Yes,” he says. “It is a shame that our Edgar is so high-strung . . . so sensitive . . . but I imagine it goes with his fine breeding. Patience, I am sure you will go up and calm him down?”
    Breeding, my Cockney ass! Why don’t you just go up and kick the tar out of the little monster!
    Mrs. Polk, the well-named Patience, nods in defeat as Mr. Polk takes his hat from the rack and announces, “I am off to my club to meet with some important business associates. Until later, then.”
    And I’ll bet you go off every night when Edgar starts playing this tune, you coward, you.
    As Mrs. Polk rises to go do her weary duty, I place a restraining hand on her arm and bid her to stay. “Nay, Mistress, let me have a word with the lad. I believe I might be able to soothe his mind with a gentle bedtime