Nevertheless, through the influence of the white-waistcoated Member for South-West Norfolk, a good many well-known people dined at Brook Street from time to time, while to Morgan-Mason’s smart gatherings at his house or his dinners at the Carlton his sister and her husband were always invited.
It was pleasant enough to mix with such people as surrounded her employers, but, truth to tell, Filoména Nodari quickly found the post of governess monotonous and irksome. First of all, it was difficult for her to preserve her unassuming character as a paid menial; secondly, she hated children; thirdly, Bertha was a spoilt child, with no leaning towards lessons; and fourthly, the small bare schoolroom at the top of the house was a gloomy place in which to spend those bright spring days. Still, she never complained. She was well paid by the Minister of War, and with a woman’s love of intrigue, she had set herself to carefully accomplish the difficult task which Borselli had given her.
She was fortunate, inasmuch as Mrs Fitzroy treated her with such consideration. Indeed, sometimes when there were no visitors, she would invite her in to lunch with her, when they would generally talk French, a language with which her mistress was well acquainted.
So well did she act her part that the governess was quickly voted a treasure, and as Bertha was a particular favourite of her Uncle Morgan-Mason, the latter became gradually interested in her. Sometimes, indeed, he would come up to the schoolroom while lessons were in progress with an excuse to leave a packet of sweetmeats for his niece; but Filoména, with her woman’s shrewd intuition, knew that he came to have a little chat with her.
He was inquisitive—always inquisitive.
One day as he sat with Bertha upon his knee in the schoolroom he asked about her parentage.
“You are a native of Bologna—where the sausages come from?” he laughed.
Perhaps he sold that comestible at his many shops, she reflected, but she answered in her broken English—
“Yes. But just as none of straw hats are made in Leghorn, so there are none of Bologna sausages made in Bologna.”
“You must be already tired of life here in London after your beautiful Italy?” he remarked.