LITMIR.BIZ

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the school to indulge his weaknesses any more than I do.’ There was a knock on the door. He raised his voice. ‘Come in.’

      The butler opened the door. The boy edged into the room.

      ‘Sir,’ he began in a small, high voice. ‘I hope I find you in good health, and –’

      ‘Be silent,’ Frant said. ‘Wait until you are spoken to.’

      The butler stood in the doorway, as if waiting for orders. In the hall behind were the footman and the little Negro pageboy. I glimpsed Mrs Kerridge on the stairs.

      Frant looked beyond his son and saw the servants. ‘Well?’ he snapped. ‘What are you gaping at? Do you not have work to do? Be off with you.’

      At that moment the doorbell rang. The servants jerked towards it, as though attached to the sound by a set of strings. There was another ring, followed immediately by knocking. The footman glanced over his shoulder at the butler, who looked at Mr Frant, who squeezed his lips together in a tight, horizontal line and nodded. The footman scurried to the front door.

      Mrs Frant slipped into the hall before the door was more than a foot or two ajar. A maid followed her in. Mrs Frant’s colour was high as if she had been running, and she clutched her cloak to her throat. She darted across the squares of marble to the door of the book-room, where she stopped suddenly on the threshold, as though confronted by an invisible barrier. For a moment nobody spoke. Mrs Frant’s grey travelling cloak slipped from her shoulders to the floor.

      ‘Madam,’ Frant said, standing up and bowing. ‘I’m rejoiced to see you.’

      Mrs Frant looked up at her husband but said nothing. He was a tall, broad man and beside him she looked as defenceless as a child.

      ‘Allow me to name Mr Shield, one of Mr Bransby’s under-masters.’

      I bowed; she inclined her head.

      Frant said, ‘You are come from Albemarle-street? I hope I should not infer from this unexpected visit that Mr Wavenhoe has taken a turn for the worse?’

      She glanced wildly at him. ‘No – that is to say, yes, in that he is no worse and may even be slightly better.’

      ‘What gratifying intelligence. Now, Mrs Frant, I do not know whether you are aware that your son has chosen to pay us an unauthorised visit from his school. He is about to pay the penalty for this, and then Mr Shield will convey him back to Stoke Newington.’

      Mrs Frant glanced at me, and saw the malacca cane in my hand. I looked at the boy, who was shaking like a shirt on a washing line.

      ‘May I speak with you, sir?’ she said. ‘A word in private?’

      ‘I am afraid that at present I am not at leisure. Pray allow me to wait on you in the drawing room when Mr Shield and Charles have left us.’

      ‘No,’ Mrs Frant said so softly that I could hardly hear her. ‘I must ask you –’

      There came another ring on the doorbell.

      ‘Confound it,’ Frant said. ‘Mr Shield, would you excuse us for a moment? Frederick will show you into the dining room. Close the door of this room, Loomis. Then see who that is. Neither Mrs Frant nor I are at home.’

      I propped the cane against a bookcase and went into the hall. Mrs Kerridge moved towards the back of the house, shooing the maid before her. Loomis pulled open the front door. I glanced over his shoulder.

      For an instant, I thought it was much later than it really was. Rain was now falling heavily over the square from a sky as black as coal. Through the doorway came the smell of freshly watered dust, and the hissing and pattering of the rain. The brief illusion of night was reinforced by an enormous umbrella stretching across the width of the doorway. Below it I glimpsed a small, grey man in a snuff-coloured coat.

      ‘My name is Mr Noak,’ announced the newcomer in a hard, nasal voice. ‘Pray inform Mr Frant that I am here.’

      ‘Mr Frant is not at home, sir. If you would like to leave your –’

      ‘Nonsense, man. They told me at his place of business he was here. He is expecting me.’

      The little man stepped into the hall and Loomis gave ground before him. Beside me, Frederick drew a sharp intake of breath, presumably at this breach of decorum, this frontal assault on Mr Loomis’s authority. Noak was followed by another man, much taller and perhaps twice his weight, who backed into the hall, lowering, collapsing and shaking the umbrella. He turned round, holding out the dripping umbrella to Frederick. This fellow was a Negro, though not so dark as the pageboy and with a more European cast of features. He took off his hat, revealing close-cropped grey hair. His dark eyes examined the hallway, resting for a moment on me.

      ‘Convey my card to Mr Frant,’ Noak said, unbuttoning his coat and feeling in an inner pocket. ‘Stay a moment. I shall write a word on the back.’

      The butler did not even try to dissuade him. The little man had a natural authority which any schoolmaster would have envied. He found a pencil in his waistcoat and scribbled briefly on the back of the card. The Negro waited, his hat in his hands. The umbrella dripped on the floor. Frederick craned his neck, trying to see what Noak was writing. I edged nearer Mrs Kerridge to get a better view of proceedings. She glanced up at me and rubbed the wart on the side of her chin.

      Noak handed the card to Loomis. ‘I’m obliged to you.’ He passed his hat to Frederick.

      Loomis tapped on the book-room door and went inside. No one spoke in the hall. Noak turned his back towards Frederick and raised his arms, so the footman could help him out of his coat. The Negro was as still as a post, his eyes now fixed on a spot behind Mrs Kerridge’s head.

      The book-room door reopened, and to my surprise Mr Frant himself emerged, his face illuminated with a smile of welcome. The Negro’s head swivelled towards Mr Frant, and the expression on his face had an element of calculation which reminded me of the way farmers at market look when assessing a calf or a mare. At the time it did not strike me as significant – but how could it have done? Only later did I realise what was really happening in the hall of the house in Russell-square.

      ‘My dear sir,’ Frant said, advancing towards Noak with his hand outstretched. ‘This is indeed an honour. And I had not expected you so soon, though I left word with my clerk in case we were fortunate. You travelled post from Liverpool, I collect?’

      ‘Yes, sir. We arrived a little after noon.’

      ‘But I forget my manners.’ Frant released Noak’s hand and turned towards Mrs Frant, who was now standing in the doorway behind him. ‘My dear, allow me to present Mr Noak of Boston, in the United States. You have often heard me speak of him – he is acquainted with the Allans and many of our other American friends. And this, sir, is Mrs Frant.’

      She coloured becomingly and curtsied. ‘How do you do, sir. You must be exhausted after your long journey.’

      ‘And here is my son,’ Frant continued before Noak could reply. ‘Come, Charles, make your bow to Mr Noak.’

      You must allow the gentry this, if nothing else: they know how to close ranks in front of strangers. You would never have guessed from their behaviour that the Frants were not the happiest of families. Mrs Frant smoothed her son’s hair and smiled first at her guest and then at her husband. I fancied that the only symptom of her underlying agitation was her breathing: it seemed to me that her bosom rose and fell more rapidly than was natural.

      ‘Charles is about to return to his school,’ Mr Frant said. ‘Pray excuse him.’

      Noak inclined his head. ‘I should not like to be the cause of interrupting a young man’s education.’

      He glanced briefly and incuriously in my direction; Frant had not considered me worth introducing. Mrs Frant smiled dazzlingly at Mr Noak, took the boy by his shoulders and steered him towards Mrs Kerridge.

      ‘Charlie and Mr Shield will leave now,’ Mrs Frant murmured.

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