His Excellency's English Governess

by Sydney C. Grier

“As soon as you like,” said Cecil, smiling, for it was refreshing to meet with a boy who looked forward to lessons with pleasure, and then she unfolded her difficulty with respect to the school furniture. To her amusement Azim Bey took her doubts as an insult.

“But yes, mademoiselle, of course I want all the books and maps in my reception-room. It is to be made to look like a schoolroom; I will have it exactly like a schoolroom in England. The things shall be unpacked and put there at once.”

And he hurried her back to the house, summoned sundry servants, and set them to work to open and unpack the cases. Cecil expected that he would offer to help in the work, but he was far too fully conscious of his rank for that, and sat solemnly on the divan beside her, issuing his orders. Nor would he allow her to help either, for when she started up to show the servants by example the proper way of putting up a blackboard, he desired her peremptorily not to incommode herself, but to tell him what was wanted and he would direct the servants. At last, after the expenditure of much breath on the part of Azim Bey, and some fruitless impatience on that of Cecil, the work was done, and the walls of the great room decorated with maps and charts and tables. A large supply of books was neatly arranged on the dais until bookshelves could be procured, and in the lower part of the room were placed a regular school-desk and seat for the pupil, and a high desk and chair for the teacher, together with the blackboard, which Azim Bey regarded with loving eyes. He wanted to set to work at once, but Cecil, seeing old Ayesha looking at her distressfully, suggested mildly that they should breakfast first, since she had only had a cup of tea on rising. Her pupil assented graciously, and breakfast was brought in on trays which were placed on two little tables, one for Cecil and one for Azim Bey, while Um Yusuf, the nurse, and one or two other women-servants sat down in the lower part of the room to await their turn.

After breakfast lessons began, and Cecil found that her pupil knew nothing whatever of English, and must begin that, as well as most other subjects, from the beginning. He could read Arabic and Turkish, however, and his French astonished her. It was so fluent, so idiomatic, so exceedingly up-to-date, so freely sprinkled with Parisian slang, that she wondered where he could have picked it up.

“From M. Karalampi, who was once attached to the French Consulate,” he told her,—“and elsewhere,” he added, with a meaning look which made her wonder.

The first morning was a type of all that followed. Azim Bey’s day began with a visit to his father while he dressed, when he employed his time in asking the impossible questions dear to the heart of small boys all the world over, which the Pasha now generally parried by referring him to Mademoiselle Antaza. A walk in the garden, and breakfast with mademoiselle, followed this, and then came lessons. As a learner, Azim Bey was almost perfect. He was so quick that Cecil felt thankful that he knew so little to begin with, or she would have been afraid of his outstripping her. As it was, she foresaw a time when she would have to study hard to keep ahead of him, and this made her rejoice that she had arranged with Miss Arbuthnot to keep her supplied with the newest works on the principal subjects which she taught.

But the care of her pupil in lesson-time was the least of Cecil’s duties. The lonely little fellow attached himself to his governess in the most marvellous way, and would scarcely allow her out of his sight. When she went to the Residency on Sundays he moped so persistently all day that the Pasha was almost tempted to give permission for him to accompany her there, but refrained, partly for fear of his being made a Christian, but much more for fear of the outcry which would be raised on the subject by the Baghdadi zealots. Wherever the Bey went, Cecil must go. Even if he appeared at any State function in the Pasha’s hall of audience, she must be present as a spectator in the latticed gallery which was appropriated to the ladies of the harem, so that she might be ready afterwards to answer his questions and appreciate his remarks, while he never went out without her except in his father’s company. Her influence over him became generally recognised, until at last even the Um-ul-Pasha, who had taken no notice of her whatever since her unsuccessful call with Lady Haigh, began to consider her a power to be reckoned with. The amiable old lady had been so busy of late in carrying on a secret correspondence with her eldest grandson, the rebellious Hussein Bey, and in keeping him supplied with money, that she had paid slight attention to the little household, which was theoretically in the harem, yet not of it, and it struck her now with considerable force that she had allowed herself to commit a great mistake in tactics.

The first intimation Cecil received of a change of front on the part of the Um-ul-Pasha was a formal invitation to attend the great lady’s reception with her pupil on the day of Bairam. Such an invitation was equivalent to a command, and it was furthermore imperative that Azim Bey should pay his respects to his grandmother at the feast, lest it should be inferred that she had utterly cast off both the Pasha and himself, and Cecil therefore prepared to go. Etiquette required that Um Yusuf, old Ayesha, and Basmeh Kalfa should go too, and they were all escorted by Masûd to the door of the harem, where he delivered them into the charge of the principal aga.

It was now May, and the ladies were occupying the summer harem, a pleasant English-looking building, standing in a flower-garden, and furnished partly in European style. It was too early in the day as yet for any but family visitors, but the Pasha had already paid his respects to his mother and departed. The Um-ul-Pasha sat in the seat of honour, the corner of the divan, in the great reception-room, with the Pasha’s two wives beside her. One of these ladies was an invalid, the other gentle and easy-going, and both were entirely under the dominion of their mother-in-law, an imperious little tyrant with a withered face and bright black eyes. It was easy to imagine what a flutter Azim Bey’s impetuous, high-spirited Arab mother must have caused in the dove-cotes here, and with what feelings the other wives must have regarded their supplanter, and the Um-ul-Pasha the rebel against her authority. Nothing of this was allowed to appear now, however. Azim Bey kissed the hands of the ladies, who each made some carefully uncomplimentary remark, either on his appearance or dress—remarks which would have wounded Cecil’s feelings if she had not known that they were made with the view of averting the evil eye. The three servants kissed the hems of the ladies’ robes, and passed on to join the throng of their intimates in the lower part of the room, and Cecil, after a deep reverence to each of the exalted personages, was graciously requested to sit down. She was used to sitting on cushions on the floor by this time, and obeyed at once, while the Um-ul-Pasha prepared to talk to her through the medium of Mademoiselle Katrina, a plump Levantine lady in a red and green silk dress, who lived in the harem, and acted as secretary, interpreter, and messenger to the great lady. The customary compliments and a few unimportant remarks were first exchanged, and then the Um-ul-Pasha came to business.

“You are English, are you not?” she asked through Mdlle. Katrina.