Introduction
The Quadrille of Terror
“You don’t think that was just Earl Grey in your teacup, do you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
“Of course not. Do you take me for a fool, dear?” the intelligent Governess retorted. “That’s why I poured it into Bacchus’ milk.”
“Oh, dear. Poor Bacchus. I’ll go get the antidote.” I placed a gloved palm to my forehead.
“Thank you, dear. Though, next time if you’re going to use the organoarsenicals, put it in a dish that calls for garlic, that way no one can smell it.”
“Yes ma’am,” I spoke softly, bobbing in a small curtsy.
“But I daresay, you’re getting much better. Keep up the good work.” My governess grinned.
I clambered around my cabinet in my jodhpurs, my new favorite clothing item, trying to find the components to the antidote.
"Tell me, which organoarsenical compound did you use, or rather, find?" She queried.
"Arsenobetaine."
"And where can this compound be found?"
"In fish. It's easy to obtain because, well, we live not too far from the harbour." It was too easy for me to answer that question.
"But since a lady of your standing is not allowed to leave the house for a smelly fish market, how did you obtain it?"
The cook, obviously. "A lady never rats out her informer or supplier, otherwise, she'll never be properly informed or supplied again." I turned my head to show my sly smile.
"Very good! Although, I already know who." My governess continued on. "The cook."
"Wha-- how did you know?" I squawked.
My governess gave a hearty laugh and then tsk-tsk-ed me. "A lady upholds the right to deny any claim. You yourself gave up your supplier. But don't worry, I won't tell." She winked. She opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it shut, and put her index finger to her lips. Creak, creak, creak, groaned the floorboards.
"Father!" I whispered harshly.
"French Eyebrows," my governess whispered back the secret code.
"But, Bacchus--"
"Shhhh. Kick him under the bed," she commanded.
"Sorry, Bacchus." I apologized to the woozy cat, then proceeded to unceremoniously kick him under my luxurious bed, grabbed one of the finely carved cherry tree chairs lined.with creamy silk, and my governess began my "lesson".
My father knocked on the door.
"Loquere, et ne amici." I spoke loudly.
“I’m not quite sure what you said but I hope it means I can come in.” Father boomed at the door. My father, a burly man of 40, didn’t know all of what my lessons contained; sometimes, neither did I. “How is your lesson going, my dear?”
“Quite well, Father.” I smiled kindly.
“And Ms. Elvidge, how do you think Octavia is progressing? Do you think she’ll be ready in time for the débutante ball this Fall?” My father queried.
“If we can get her footwork down, she’ll be perfect.” Liliana Elvidge responded proudly. “She is quite the lady as she is, she just needs a bit of fine tuning.”
Father sighed a sigh of relief. “I’m quite glad she has a mentor like you. Thank you, Ms. Elvidge.”
“No need to thank me, Mr. Beaumonte.” She curtsied gracefully, taking the edges of her skirt between her thumb and forefinger, extending her right foot behind her left, bending her knees ever so slightly, and then gently bobbing back up. Her curtsy was executed perfectly. Dually noted, slight bend of the knees. Father sniffed, spun on his heels, and walked proudly out the room.
“Now, to work on that quadrille.” Ms. Elvidge proceeded to the next lesson. I groaned loudly. “Ah, ah, ah!” she said, waving her index finger from left to right. “No complaining.”
