His Excellency's English Governess

by Sydney C. Grier

In spite of this excellent advice, Cecil still felt very nervous when they had laid aside their wraps and she was following Miss Arbuthnot’s sweeping satin train up the steps and into the crowded and brightly lighted rooms of the Academy. She did not know that she made a very pretty picture herself, with her fresh colouring and coils of bright hair set off by the black velvet dress, with its deep cuffs and standing collar of old lace, but Miss Arbuthnot perceived this and rejoiced to know it, not caring at all that her own plain, sensible face, adorned with the inevitable pince-nez, formed an excellent foil for Cecil’s girlish charms.

At first Cecil wanted to stand aside in some quiet corner, and watch the throng of noted people moving about, and learn all their names, but Miss Arbuthnot was a celebrity herself, and was, moreover, a woman of many acquaintances, who had all some kind or complimentary word for her young companion, when they recognised her or heard who she was. Still, it seemed to Cecil that her friend was watching anxiously for some one who had not yet appeared, and that she was manifestly relieved when a stout elderly lady, chiefly remarkable for the possession of a very prominent set of teeth, made her way through the crowd and joined them, greeting Miss Arbuthnot with effusion, and turning an expansive smile on Cecil.

“And this must be our young friend the lady graduate,” she said, looking at her kindly. “You must introduce us, Marian. I should like a talk with Miss Anstruther.”

“Cecil,” said Miss Arbuthnot, rather nervously, “I want to introduce you to Lady Haigh. We were speaking about her just now.”

Cecil was nothing loth to make acquaintance with the lady who had given up so much for the sake of her young Scotch soldier, and whose defection Miss Arbuthnot still mourned so bitterly, and she acquiesced at once when Lady Haigh suggested that they should retire to a quiet palm-shaded seat among the statuary, and have a chat, while Miss Arbuthnot was taken possession of by a distinguished cleric who had also been one of the pioneers of the education movement. Lady Haigh proved to be as kind as she looked, and showed herself very much interested in Cecil’s career. She asked as many questions as though she wanted to write her biography, and asked them, too, as if she were really interested in the answers, and not asking merely for politeness’ sake. Then she inquired all about the girl’s home circumstances, and learned all that Cecil would tell her about Mr and Mrs Anstruther and the rest of the family at St Barnabas’ Vicarage, and then she changed the subject of the conversation abruptly, and began to talk about her own doings in Baghdad. It seemed to be a fairly pleasant life on the whole, and Lady Haigh showed herself by no means desirous of underrating its attractions.

“You see, my dear, although it is dreadfully decayed since the days of the Khalifs and the ‘Arabian Nights,’ yet it is a very interesting place still. The society is really not bad, for there are nearly always travellers or officers of some sort passing through, and they all come to the Residency. Then the assistant political agent comes up sometimes from Basra, and of course there are clerks and secretaries, but they are mostly Armenians or East Indians. There is generally a gunboat in the river, too, and when it is lying off the Residency we are really quite gay. Then there are the officials at the other consulates, but socially speaking, and between you and me, they are rather a dull set. But there are a few of the Jews and Armenians in the place who are travelled and cultivated people, and quite friends of ours. Then, of course, it is very interesting when you get to know some of the Turkish ladies, and it is curious to study the mixture of nationalities in such a place as Baghdad. I often say that it reminds me of nothing so much as of Nuremberg or one of those German cities of the Middle Ages, at the time of their annual fairs.”

“I should love to see it,” said Cecil, drawing a long breath, “but I shall never be able to afford an Eastern trip until I am quite old. When the boys are all off my hands, I mean to save up, so that I can travel about wherever I like when I am an ancient spinster. It would scarcely do for me to go out now and set up a girls’ High School under the shadow of the Residency, would it?”

“Scarcely,” laughed Lady Haigh; “and I am afraid, too, you would hardly get pupils enough to make it pay, except possibly among the Greeks and Armenians. The Turkish ladies are kept very closely secluded, and although the Pasha is very anxious to do what he can to introduce European customs, yet he is not even backed up by his own harem.”

“It must feel like being in the ‘Arabian Nights’ to live in Baghdad,” said Cecil.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out something about it from one of the natives?” asked Lady Haigh, indicating a tall, olive-complexioned gentleman a short distance off, clad in irreproachable evening-dress and a fez cap. “That is Denarien Bey, an Armenian gentleman whose family has lived in Baghdad for many generations. He is in England at present on some business for the Pasha, and would be delighted to tell you anything you wanted to know.”