Artemis

call around his neck, and Mr Kydd in the unaccustomed black breeches of a schoolmaster did his best to look severe. Cecilia went up to Renzi and enveloped him in a hug, which went on and on, until she released him, eyes sparkling.

Kydd frowned. It was not so much having to spend such a fine day inside, here alone in the new classroom, it was the impenetrable obtuseness of the book he was trying to get his head round. It was a standard grammar, Lowth, and it would be the one he would have to teach, but he had only the sketchiest dame-school education to meet it with.

Without thinking he had sat not at the high, severe teacher's desk at the front of the room, but at a child's desk facing it. His head was a-swim with words. An adverb? What the devil was that again? Wasn't it something that ended with mg? But surely that was an adjective? He sighed in despair. And what if one of the pupils asked him the question he dreaded more than any other: 'If you please, sir, what use is an adverb?'

He ground his teeth with frustration. 'The adverb (Lat. adverbium) as the attribute of an attribute doth occur in divers forms, cf adverbiation, the phraseological adverb . . .' What possible value could that be to anyone in real life? To a sailor, for instance, out there on a topsail yardarm in a blow, fisting the madly flogging canvas to a reef while the ship rolled wildly. He leant back in vivid recollection. And what would Stirk say if at quarters, the gun loaded and run out, he reminded him, 'It is of the first importance to apprehend the singular difference between the two distinct families of nouns — the nomen substantium the first, the nomen adjectivum the second. On no account should these be confused . . .' He smiled at the thought.

'Then you do not find your lot uncongenial?' He had not noticed Renzi entering the littie classroom.

'Be damned — how this mumping rogue c'n cackle his grease like this, I'm beggared t' know.'

Renzi's eyes softened. 'A utile article will always prove perdurant to the mind,' he said enigmatically. Kydd threw him a frosty glance and bent again to his book.

'I proceed to town this afternoon. There are some articles I must have when — when I return aboard. Do you wish anything for the school?' Kydd looked up. Renzi was saddened at the bleakness in his expression. Kydd's family future was now secure, but the family's only son most surely was not intended to be a crabby pedagogue.

'Thank ye, no,' Kydd replied, and quickly bent to his work.

Renzi left noiselessly. There were now only days left on his ticket-of-leave, at which point he must go and, in accordance with his resolve, for good.

The bookshop still had not the new Wordsworth in stock, and he turned to leave.

'Why, Mr Renzi, what a pleasure.' Renzi faced a well-proportioned woman in the latest high-waisted fashion and fussily ornate reticule, her face just a little too ruddy for the elegance of her attire. It crossed his mind that this was one of the mothers who entrusted her child to the Kydd school — her name eluded him — and he politely inclined his head.

Her eyes roamed over his austere black, and an impish smile appeared. 'You are a man of mystery, I do declare, Mr Renzi,' she said, eyes a-twinkle. 'You appear suddenly from nowhere, and not a soul knows aught of you! Pray, where are you spending your leisure?'

Daryton, that was her name. And with a daughter to provide for, he remembered with sudden caution. 'Do not, I beg, concern yourself on my account, Mrs Daryton,' said Renzi coolly, 'I have reasons enough to visit this charming town, but when these are concluded I must return.'

There was a brief hesitation, but then she continued brightly, 'Yet even the man of business must seek diversion, or the spirit must wither.' Her eyes remained watchfully on his.

He allowed a brief smile to show, then bowed and made to leave.

'Oh, Mr Renzi,' she called, 'it has just this moment crossed my mind - silly me, it seems I may have omitted to let you know — that we are holding an assembly next Tuesday. Mr Budsoe will perform on the flute and Miss Eccles has promised her new poem for me on that very night. Can you find it in your heart to forgive my lapse and accept my invitation? I know Letitia is beside herself to meet you.'

No doubt, thought Renzi wryly. He opened his mouth to refuse, then found himself saying, 'Indeed. May I inquire who will be attending?'

'Why, His Worship, of course,' she began.

The mayor must have been a coup for her, Renzi mused.

'And Major Summers of the militia, Mr Beddle - the one that owns the mill, not the other one — and . . .'

'Quite so,' said Renzi smoothly, 'and of course Mr and Mrs Kydd,' he added, without change of tone.

Mrs Daryton stopped, shocked. 'A tradesman! Mr Renzi, you . . .'

'. . . who now owns the new town school, a man of business, a professional gentleman,' he continued. 'But he was . . .'

'And who is considering extending his holdings to a Godalming establishment of the same nature in the future, I understand,' Renzi continued, inspecting his cuffs disdainfully.

'My reputation . . .'

'. . . who some would consider it folly to disregard.'

Mrs Daryton stared at Renzi with barely concealed frustration, then began with finality, 'Mr Renzi, I cannot —'

Renzi drew himself upright. 'Mrs Daryton, I thank you for your kind invitation — I will consult my engagements, and hope they will allow me to accept.' He fixed her eye with an uncompromising determination.

'Very well, Mr Renzi,' she stuttered.

Renzi relaxed his expression. 'I do recall, however, that in the event, Tuesday will be available to me, Mrs Daryton.' She returned his gaze with puzzlement — even a small country town had its delicate social snobberies of which pedagogy came perilously low on the social scale, and just where did Renzi fit in the scheme of things with