The House Guest (Unedited)

Chapter 9: Teaching Kitty

"How many is eight plus two?" I ask Kitty. After the picnic, she begged me to help her finish some arithmetic problems before her next lesson.

She frowns up at the ceiling, her nose crinkled and her eyes squinted with concentration, then gingerly places her chalk on the slate in front of her, jotting down her answer.

"Not eleven. Ten. Try counting again. Use the trick I taught you," I coax her gently.

"I'm never going to master arithmetic," Kitty complains, scrunching her hands into balled fists, "I wish I was as learned as you, Helene, so that I never have to study again."

"Have patience, Kitty," I console her. "You are a bright girl. But even the smartest of people have to practice to become knowledgeable."

I pry the book upon my lap open -- my mother's favourite -- as Kitty writes, savouring the feel of the crisp pages between my rough fingertips. To my surprise, the corner of a mysterious letter protrudes from inside the ancient, dust-coated cover. I pull it out to read it.

My dearest, most beloved Arthur,

I must write promptly for there isn't much time. In doing so, I write out of a great sense of urgency. My parents have given me permission to leave France - to travel to England to be with you. So, at last, my dear, we will be married. There is talk that a revolution is coming, and that the commoners will overthrow the monarchy - along with la noblesse. Jean-Jacques Rousseau has led the public to hate the monarchy as well as anyone associated with them, even if they are innocent. I walked on the streets, accompanied by Eloise and Louis yesterday, and there was shouting about Liberté, Égalité, et Fraternité. Even more talk about murdering those whom they blame their misfortune on. Maman is terrified. I will travel on the coach tomorrow to London, and you must never mention this to anyone. I am afraid they will kill you too, mon amour.

Yours forever,

Maria

Arresting my reading, I drop the yellowed paper to my lap, my fingers trembling. Could this be? A letter from my Mother to my Father in the latter days of their courtship? I glance at the date. Sure enough, it reads 1788, approximately six months before the French revolutionists overthrew the ancient French government and monarchy. My Mother had never been shy discussing her French heritage, but I had always been made to believe that she was the daughter of a lowly blacksmith, not a part of the nobility. If she had never disclosed her true origin with me as a child, she must have been terrified for her life -- reading the ghastly descriptions of guillotine beheadings in newspaper columns. And, what had become of her family? I shudder even considering the horrid possibilities.

"What is this? Have you replaced me with Miss Lovell, Kitty?"

My intense inner contemplations cease at the sound of Mr. Aldridge's voice. His tall frame is leaned against the doorway, his lips wearing an amused expression. He is dressed in a modest waistcoat, shirt and full-length trousers, with an undone cravat around his neck. 

"Helene is simply assisting me with my readings," Kitty laughs lightly, "I'm not cheating."

"I don't doubt that," Mr. Aldridge grins, "now Kitty. We must examine the French Revolution. Miss Lovell, would you care to join us?"

My heart stops.

"Do you remember what we spoke of last week Kitty?" Mr. Aldridge quizzes.

"Of course! The English Civil War," Kitty smiles, remembering, "when the Parliament and the King fought, and then the Parliament overthrew the King." 

"Quite right." Mr. Aldridge nods approvingly. "The French Revolution happened but 130 years later, and echoed the same sentiment of dissatisfaction with the monarchy."

"The French were dissatisfied with their current government. Under the rule of wealthy nobility, including the King and Queen themselves, who did little to appease the needs of the famished, poverty-stricken people, they continued to fund things like the American fight for independence, which the French people saw as a pointless extravagance. Children were starving in the streets, and yet the French nobility continued to spend money on things of little importance. Until, finally, in 1789, the French revolutionists overthrew the government," James Aldridge says, pausing to take a breath.

"What about those nobility, who were at the mercy of the revolutionists?" The question slips out of me before I can take it back.

"Well, many of them fled the country, but many were executed, and rightly so," James Aldridge states curtly.

"Rightly so?" I exclaim, wondering how he could suggest such a ridiculous idea, "I don't believe that human life being stolen away is any form of Justice, do you?"

"No, of course not. But, the people had been suffering under this system for a long time. It was inevitable that the nobility hear them."

"Yes, but why couldn't the commoners have approached the manner in a more civilized way, perhaps holding meetings or negotiations?" I protest, the heat of debate forcing adrenaline through my veins.

"The French court attempted to hold negotiations with the people, but all reasoning fell through when a number of bad harvests forced the people into desperation, and cunning middle-class gentlemen took advantage of their plight." James Aldridge says, his tone measured and objective. My stance, on the other hand, has become highly personal.

"There must've been another resort, other than murdering thousands of innocents." I attempt incredulously. 

"You are quite right Miss Lovell." Mr. Aldridge replies, nodding earnestly though a concerned look flashes through his gaze. 

After Kitty's lesson has concluded and I am rushing up the stairs to my bed chamber, Mr. Aldridge catches me to ask after my well-being.

"I am very sorry if my lesson disturbed you, Miss Lovell." His eyes show no sarcasm or ill intent. 

We are standing in the middle of the corridor, the candles perched upon the windowsill casting slabs of grey light through the half-open drapes. The usual susurration of servants and maids has ceased, and I realize that it is almost supper, and that Mr. Aldridge and I are completely alone.

"I was not disturbed." I retort, my tone barbed and sharp. I lift my hand to my lips, regretting my poor response.

Mr. Aldridge drops his gaze sadly, looking at his cravat instead of me. 

"Please do not think that my feelings have anything to do with you." I plead, hoping that our friendship is not already spoiled. "I learned recently that I may possess close relations who fled France because of the Revolution, and your lesson coincided with that knowledge." 

Mr. Aldridge takes a moment to digest the knowledge, then his brows slope together in concern. "I am glad you've told me, and I can understand how perplexing my lesson might have been for you then."

"Please Mr. Aldridge, you've been very kind to me." I smile, meaning it.

"Then, would you like to escort me to the village one afternoon? Perhaps we can speak more about the abolition movement?" Mr. Aldridge looks hopeful, his brows sloping downwards again.

"Of course sir," I grin, happiness daring to swell in my stomach, "that would make me very happy."

~~~