“My machine will definitely fly higher than any bird, Miss Weston, and far higher than any cloud.”
“Excellent, Robin, then write it down in Latin.”
“But I want to write ‘my hydrogen-filled balloon flies to the moon,’” Robin announced. “What’s hydrogen balloon in Latin?”
She groped for words.
“How do you say ornithopter with flap–valve wings in Latin?” Robin pressed.
“I have to admit I don’t know, Robin. The ancient Romans wouldn’t have known the term, either.”
Robin threw his stencil down. “Bah. Then what’s the point of learning Latin? Nothing interesting existed for those old Romans. Useless language.”
“Use the word ‘machine’ instead.Machina.”
“That’s not the same at all,” Robin argued. “A machina is too general. An ornithopter is a specific device. It flaps its wings like a bird.” He flapped his elbows in imitation.
Miss Weston sighed.
“Here, I’ll show you.” Robin scrambled on top of the desk.
“Robin, sit down.” Miss Weston said sharply.
“It flaps its wings like this,” Robin flapped his arms, “and then it takes off — whoo!”
He jumped from the table and crash-landed on the floor. “Ow.”
“Robin, stop being silly! I can’t concentrate,” Katy complained.
“Robin, are you hurt?” Miss Weston bent over him.
“No.” He rubbed his elbows.
“I am very cross with you,” Miss Weston said it in such a sweet manner that Philip rolled his eyes.
“Sit down now and write your sentences. And you, Katy, after you have finished the passage on Cicero you may attempt to summarise it.”
“I would love to have music lessons next, Miss Weston.”
Philip grinned. Naturally, his Katy was dictating the curriculum.
“If we could, we would, Miss Katy. Unfortunately, there is no pianoforte in this house.”
“All ladies know how to play the pianoforte, right, Miss Weston?” Katy sounded whiny.
“Many do, you are right. But back to Cicero. Joy, try to copy ‘mus’ onto your slate in nice, clear letters. It means mouse.”
“Mouse!” Joy stuck out a tongue at the corner of her mouth as she scraped her chalk across the slate.
“But, Miss Weston, if we could somehowobtaina pianoforte…”
Philip left quietly. The woman was doing well. Even though she wasn’t entirely to be trusted on account of her mysterious background, there was no doubt that she was good for the children. Sure, they were running ramshackle over her, but that wasn’t his problem. They were learning Latin. Mind you, Robin was right that this dead language was entirely useless, but it was required at University. He might as well learn it. As for the pianoforte…He grinned. He’d let the woman figure out that conundrum. He returned to his forge, whistling.
The next morning,Peggy, the housemaid, returned. She was a buxom woman with chestnut brown hair severely tied back, stretching the skin of her temples. She didn’t seem to be the kind who talked much, but there was a twinkle in her eye and a softening in her face when she greeted the children.
“Peggy!” Joy threw herself into her arms and began garbling about mouse and her new governess.
Arabella, who’d gotten up when the maid entered, smoothed her skirt.
