Page 2 of Miss Dauntless
The sexton had vociferous objections to anybody tending to the churchyard but himself, until Lord Tremont suggested that any lot of former soldiers managed better when somebody was appointed to supervise their efforts. Moreover, gravedigging was a skill known to all former soldiers, alas, and one suited to younger men who benefited from regular vigorous exertion.
Matilda bent over her notes while keeping one eye on Tommie, who was imitating Tremont’s hand gestures. The earl’s hands were graceful, his manner dignified, but more than anything, his voice held Matilda’s attention.
Tremont moved the discussion forward with polite dispatch. Whether he agreed with the committee member who held the floor or not, he thanked every participant for sharing their thoughts. Helistened. He asked sensible questions and againlistenedto the answers.
Nobody dared interrupt or talk over anybody else. Nobody dared make a ribald aside. The meeting was the most civilized and productive exchange of ideas Matilda had observed. That Tommie was a witness to this gathering gave her all manner of maternal ammunition for good examples.
The orderliness of the proceedings aside, Lord Tremont had the makings of an orator. Before he spoke, he took a momentas if to gather his thoughts, and when he replied, his words were chosen for precision and economy. All that was lovely—the fellow made sense even as he flattered his listener—but what upended Matilda’s usual indifference to all things masculine was the beauty of Tremont’s voice.
He created a flowing stream of golden elocution in a well-modulated baritone. His words resonated with courtesy, reason, benevolence, respect for his audience… all the gentlemanly virtues made audible.
If he ever set out to be charming instead of polite, he’d be dangerous. Matilda mentally shook herself for even speculating on such a topic and pretended to add something to her notes.
Has beautiful voice.
She was erasing that nonsense when Tommie began to sing. Being Tommie, he did not sing a venerable old hymn or a sweet little nursery rhyme. He burst forth with Burns’s “Green Grow the Rushes, O,” an earthy tribute from a man to the charms of the ladies.
While Matilda scrambled about for a means of discreetly silencing her son, Tommie caroled on.The sweetest hours that e'er I spend/Are spent among the lasses, O…
Had the Earl of Tremont not been present, Mr. Prebish would have been leading a charge to silence Tommie’s warblings and assign him a penance. Instead, the committee of the whole waited to see how a peer of the realm dealt with a Proper Limb.
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en/My arms about my dearie, O!/An' warl'y cares an' war'ly men/
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
“Master Merridew.” Lord Tremont’s voice carried without having been raised, and yet, Tommie paid him no heed.
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this/Ye're nought but senseless ASSES, O! The wisest man the warl' e'er saw/He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
The vicar looked as if a post in Cathay had developed compelling appeal. Mrs. Oldbach’s lips were pressed together very firmly, and Major MacKay was grinning.
Worse than that, much worse, was MacKay joining in for the next verse.Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears/Her noblest work she classes, O!/Her ’prentice han' she try'd on man/An' then she made the lasses, O!
“Master Merridew.” Tremont sounded quite stern, and Tommie was not accustomed to proper address. The boy fell silent at long last.
“While we appreciate your impromptu serenade,” the earl said, “there is yet work to be done. Come here, if you please.”
To Matilda’s astonishment, Tommie did not order the earl to instead come to him. Tommie viewed matters logically, which often made him sound impertinent. Superior height, for example, did not make adults superior in any other way. Otherwise, according to Tommie’s reasoning, the tallest man would be king and the shortest a beggar, but there were tall beggars and short kings.
And yet, Tommie scampered over to stand by the earl’s chair. “Mama taught me that song, but she has a much prettier voice than I do.”
“Very gallant of you to compliment your mother,” Tremont said, hoisting Tommie onto his lap. “Pay attention, young sir. This is a gavel.”
He held up the chairman’s gavel, but did not let Tommie grab it.
“It’s a hammer, Mr. Earl.”
“Not a hammer, a gavel. When the chairman applies his gavel thus to the tabletop, silence reigns. Give it a bang if you don’t believe me.”
Tommie walloped the table with the gavel, and the whispering among the committee members stopped.
“There, you see, lad? Not a hammer, a gavel with all the special powers attendant thereto. As the vice chairman of this meeting, you will bang that gavel when I tell you to, as many times as I tell you to. You will not permit anybody else, not even your dear mama, to touch the gavel during the progress of the meeting. Three whacks now, for practice.”
Tommie thumped the old table three times.
“Very good. When you are not required to man the gavel, you may draw toads, if your mother would oblige you with some paper and a pencil. All gentlemen acquire basic artistic skills, and the sooner you start, the sooner you will master the challenge. If you are already proficient at rendering toads, you may attempt a dragon or the very difficult unicorn. You will please recall the meeting to order.”
Tommie twisted about to send Matilda a questioning glance.
