The Cottage in the Woods (2 page)

“Scisne latine?”
rumbled a deep bass voice behind me. I jumped, the book slipping from my paws and landing open, facedown on my shoes. I was mortified, frozen to the spot. I looked up at the forbidding countenance of he who must surely be Mr. Vaughn, my employer, and stammered my apologies. Dark eyes flashed back at me from under a broad brow. The effect was quite forceful. Everything about his manner and dress announced that this was a bear of consequence, not to be trifled with. I swallowed hard.

“Miss Brown, I presume?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I answered. “It’s Ursula, sir.”

“Well, Miss Brown, are you going to pick up that book, or must I?”

“Oh yes, sir,” I breathed. My power of movement came back to me with a sudden jolt, and I bent over and scooped up the book, noticing as I did that several pages were wrinkled. “I am so sorry, sir,” I said. “I’ll replace the book, of course. I shouldn’t have touched it. I don’t know what came over me. It was an accident, sir. I’m afraid your voice startled me. I’m really very good with books. I’m an avid reader. I’ve always loved books. I …” My voice trailed off as I realized I was saying too much. I set the book down gently on the table and was silent.

“
Errare humanum est
, Miss Brown. From the ancients. ‘To err is human.’ One may philosophize that it is also ursine. We shall dismiss this incident as unimportant. In the future you will, I am sure, learn to overcome this unwarranted nervousness in order to avoid any more such accidents. I have confidence that you will live up to the same level of virtuous character and professional excellence that I’ve always respected in your father. Is my faith justified?”

“Oh yes, sir,” I answered.

“Good.
Vincit qui se vincit
, Miss Brown. ‘She conquers who conquers herself.’ ”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we understand one another?”

“Je comprends très bien, m’sieur,”
I replied, hoping to impress him.

“Ah, yes. Listed among your many accomplishments, you speak French. Very good. You will instruct young Theodore in both Latin and French.”

I swallowed hard. “But, sir, I barely recognize Latin.”

“Your references greatly praise your ability to learn quickly, Miss Brown. Take the book of Latin phrases, and here, this Latin dictionary and grammar book, and this history of Rome, and yes, of course, the legend of Romulus and Remus.” This he said as he drew the books from their shelves and piled them in my arms. “If you begin studying at once, you’ll be conjugating Latin verbs in a fortnight. You should be able within the month to commence teaching beginning Latin along with the French. French is derived from Latin, you realize; they are closely related.”

“Forgive me, sir, but a month?”

“All right, then. Let us say before the winter snows. Surely you can handle that assignment?”

“But won’t that be a lot for the youngster to take in?”

“Nonsense. The young mind is like a sponge. We must put it to good use. I will not have my son idling away his time. You are his teacher. Teach!
Audaces fortuna iuvat
. ‘Fortune favors the brave.’ ”

“Yes, sir. I will do my best,” I responded, trying to hide the quaver in my voice.

“Good. I expect nothing less of you,” he said, ringing the servants’ bell and taking a gold timepiece out of his vest pocket. “Fairchild will show you to your quarters. You will join the family tonight for supper, where you will meet my wife and Master Theodore. We sit down at table in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

I followed Fairchild through a maze of corridors, up a back stairway, and down a long, wide hall hung with paintings. Some were portraits, and some were representations of celebrated moments in history, like Tom Thumb’s famous horse ride, and the running of the great race between the Tortoise and the Hare.

The many family portraits were easily recognized by one unmistakable trait that had apparently been handed down from generation to generation: a distinctive, aristocratic snout. One portrait stood out in harsh contrast to the rest, a depiction that could easily have been Mr. Vaughn himself were it not for the queer, ugly smile, and something repellent about the eyes. The figure wore a long black coat from another era, with an incongruous bunch of lace at his throat, and a wide black plumed hat. I thought perhaps he was a pirate, certainly some variety of scoundrel. As I stood pondering, Fairchild suddenly cleared his throat, bringing me back to reality. He had been waiting with pained forbearance, holding the heavy stack of books I had just been given.

“Who is this?” I asked, indicating the portrait.

“Perhaps the head housekeeper, Mrs. Gudge, will give you the tour, later,” he said. “Perhaps after supper,” he said more pointedly, “or tomorrow.”

“Oh yes. Yes, of course,” I answered, recalling the master’s admonition to be on time for the meal. After a few more turns, we reached my quarters, which consisted of a sizable, simply furnished bedchamber and double doors leading to a balcony that looked out over the kitchen garden. It was appointed in pale blue, with a blue counterpane on the four-poster bed and shiny new chintz covers on the chairs. A mirror was propped up on the bureau, and I wondered briefly if it might be a magic mirror. A household like this one would doubtless have many magic mirrors, but I hardly dared hope one might be provided for the governess.

Certainly someone had taken pains to ensure my comfort. Fresh water had been left in a pitcher, and a vase of cut flowers adorned the mantelpiece. Simple as it was, it was quite the most elegant and charming place I had ever inhabited, and I was grateful for the Vaughns’ generosity, but I was also faced with the fact that I had been dreading since I first applied for the position: I would have no roommate. One might suppose that I would be thankful for the newfound privacy, but I only felt a cold stab of apprehension at the idea of sleeping utterly alone. I tried to imagine what this room would be like in darkness. Would moonlight come in the window? Would there be creaks and bumps in the night? Adrift in a sea of childish fears, I suddenly realized that time was passing. I quickly washed my face and paws, put on my clean black stuff gown and my best lace collar. Checking my reflection in the mirror, I considered asking it for directions back down to the dining room, but I
thought that I could retrace my steps and so I didn’t take the time. I stepped out my door, took a left turn and a right, and found my way back to the portrait gallery. That much was easy. I hurried past the disturbing portrait of the pirate, trying not to look at it. After that, I was not certain which way to go. Stairways led in two directions. One direction was darker, so I took the other. This brought me before long to a narrow hallway, which I followed to a large parlor. From there I took several turns, none of which yielded anything familiar. By this time, I knew I must already be late for the meal, and I felt my heart beating a little faster. As I searched in vain for the wide hallway I remembered, I regretted miserably that I had not tried to get directions from the mirror before I set out. Finally, I retraced my steps to the first stairway and braved its shadows, nearly colliding with the tall figure of Fairchild, who had apparently been sent to find me. I thought I saw a flicker of amusement cross his features, but human faces were notoriously hard to read. He accompanied me to the dining room, where I found myself once again explaining and apologizing and trailing off into an awkward silence.

“Miss Brown,” said Mr. Vaughn with awful courtesy, “how very good of you to join us. No doubt you will be seated in your own good time.”

Perceiving that this was to be the end of the matter, I sat down, and the introductions were made, first to Mrs. Vaughn, as was proper, and then to little Teddy, my charge. (Only his father called him Theodore.)

“I’m staying up late tonight!” Teddy immediately announced. “Because you’re here. I get to eat supper with Mama and Papa! And—”

“Remember what we discussed, Teddy,” said his mother, not unkindly.

“Oh!” said Teddy, and the cub covered his mouth with both paws and was quiet. I suppressed my laughter, and gazed at Mrs. Vaughn, who made an indelible first impression. She was a great beauty, with wide, gentle eyes and a reddish tint to her fur, but there was a hint of melancholy about her too, as if she carried some deep secret sorrow. She was dressed in lilac silk, with elegant accents of lace and ribbon, the very picture of genteel prosperity, yet she was genial and did not put on airs. I was touched by her concern for me, and gratified when she asked whether I had liked my quarters, and whether I would like a servant to guide me when it was time to return to them. I, who had grown up without a mother’s affection, found myself now on the receiving end of Mrs. Vaughn’s warm caring. It was a new, but not unwelcome, sensation.

“Really, my dear,” she said, full of solicitude, “why don’t we assign one of the servants to guide you about the house until you can find your way around?”

“I’m afraid that would be an awful imposition,” I said, trying to be polite, but hoping she would override my objection. Daylight was fading even as we ate, and I already dreaded the idea of traveling the darkening hallways by myself.

“I’ll do it!” chimed in Teddy eagerly. “I can show her around, can’t I, Mama?” The cub sat bolt upright, radiating enthusiasm. He took after his mother in looks, with soft brown eyes and reddish fur, offset nicely by his royal-blue sailor suit. I looked at the bright-eyed cub and smiled broadly, and was rewarded with a toothy smile of his own. How charmed I was by this buoyant little soul! I remember that moment as the beginning of a natural
sympathy between the two of us. As his teacher, I knew I must maintain the dignity of my position, but with my child’s heart I fully enjoyed Teddy’s company from the very beginning—his generous impulses, and his natural curiosity and ebullience.

The meal passed, with a bounty of good food: fresh fish, bread, and three kinds of berries, followed by sweetmeats made with honey. I noticed that the cub used excellent table manners, as if he had been warned ahead of time to be on his best behavior. I thought it almost abnormal for a youngster to behave so well, and I looked forward to finding out if this was usual for him.

When it came time to retire, Teddy and I were sent forth with a bright candle to find the nursery, which was adjacent to my room. His parents promised to come up for Teddy’s bedtime, but apparently wanted to encourage his urge to be helpful by letting him guide me there himself. They must have assumed that I would provide an adequate sense of security for the youngster, should he need it. Little did they suspect that I looked to the cub for my own security.

As we set off through the gloomy passages, Teddy kept up a steady flow of childish banter, which served to distract me from my fears. Before we even reached the stairs, I had learned that his vocabulary was quite large. I also learned the number of toy boats in his collection (ten) and the identity of his favorite toy (a stuffed badger named Freddy). As we climbed the staircase, his conversation started to flag. I began to notice the stairs creaking beneath our feet, and to listen for other noises. I held my candle higher and looked behind us, where the stairwell seemed to fall away into oblivion. Was it just the echo of our footsteps I heard? Ahead loomed the picture gallery, and I was suddenly
seized with a wish not to walk past that menacing portrait with the half-mad eyes again. I held tightly to Teddy’s paw and took a deep breath. There was no help for it; through the gallery we must go. I focused on the floor in front of my feet and walked as fast as I could without actually dragging Teddy in my wake, but he stopped, just in front of the portrait, and seemingly attempting to bury himself in the folds of my skirts, he said, “Look!”

“What is it?” I said, not wanting to hear the answer.

“His eyes!” said Teddy tremulously. “Do you see? They follow you.”

I cringed as I looked up at the painting. The eyes had taken on a lifelike glow in the candlelight, and they did indeed seem to be looking right at me. I took another deep breath, trying not to show my fear in front of the cub, and said calmly, “Oh yes, that wicked-looking old rascal. And who is he?”

Teddy looked up at me with awed sincerity and dread, and whispered, “It’s Great-Uncle Ruprecht. Nurse told me a secret, but it’s secret, so don’t tell anyone. She says Uncle Ruprecht has a restless spirit. She says he walks the hallways at night. Do you think he does?”

“Absolutely not!” I replied, in my best no-nonsense voice—not because I felt so certain at that moment, but from outrage that his own nanny would try to scare the impressionable cub. After all the years I had suffered with my own nighttime fears, I would not have inflicted them on this youngster for the world. “Let’s just make a face right back at him, shall we?” I said brightly, and proceeded to do so. Teddy covered his face with his paws, as if fearing some retribution from the old pirate, but, since the retribution never came, he began to be amused too. Soon he was making faces at the portrait as well, and dissolving
into laughter. “Come now,” I said. “It’s off to bed with you.” I gripped his paw firmly and marched determinedly onward. It was only as we reached the far end of the gallery that I became aware again of the echo of our footsteps behind us. I stopped short, bringing Teddy to a halt beside me, but the soft, swishing footsteps continued—too long. Too long to be an echo. Teddy and I looked at one another, and then, as of one accord, we ran.