76th Spring 501AV
Just after Lunch
Just after Lunch
Adelaide could not believe how slowly the clock was moving - was it even moving? She was not sure. Feeling bored beyond belief, she kicked her chair back and looked out of the window. Somebody from the Morealis plantation was supposed to be coming over that day and though Adelaide had begged her father to be allowed to meet them, he hadn’t judged it important enough to be worth skipping her music lesson for. Adelaide sighed and let her chair fall forward with a small clatter as Flynn, her tutor, turned back from the board, where he had written some notes.
“So, this one is…?”
“C.”
“Good. And this one?”
“F sharp.”
“Correct. Now I will play a couple of notes on the Gamba. See if you can recognise them.”
The girl felt ready to scream in frustration, but was content with merely letting her head slump forward and hitting the desk, so that only a mop of dark hair could be seen. At least this was better than Mathematics she thought. Maybe, one day, he’d actually let her touch the instrument as she so dearly wished. Mathematics, on the other hand, was completely useless.
“Miss Adelaide. Sit up.” said the tutor sharply, noting the inattention of his pupil, “Now, what is this note?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you do. Now pay attention. Each string represents a note. On the bass Gamba, those notes are A-d-g-b-e'-a. On a tenor Gamba, like the one we have here, the notes are G-c-f-a-d'-g'. Now, can you remember what the notes on a bass Gamba are?”
“A for Awful. D for Dull. G for the Gamba you never let me play. B for Boredom. E for Ennui.” The girl replied sullenly.
“For what?”
“Ennui. It’s a word that Father taught me. It means boredom. Then finally, A for, well, even more awful!”
Flynn smiled wryly then continued testily, “And on the tenor Gamba?”
“G for the Gamba you still won’t let me play. C for coma, because I think I’m going to have one. F for,” she paused, not sure what she could think of for F, before adding with a small laugh, “F for Flynn because he never lets me do what I want. A for…”
“Awful?” the tutor questioned, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Yeah. How did you know? Then D for dislike and G for,” she paused, before saying, as vehemently as she dared, “Well, for the stupid Gamba you won’t let me go anywhere near.”
“Miss Adelaide. You’re a poet.” said the young man sarcastically before standing up, putting the Gamba down at his desk and going to the blackboard where he proceeded to wipe off all the notes he had prepared. Adelaide had a moment of regret, seeing her tutor’s irritation. In spite of her rudeness, she really rather liked Flynn. He was much better than any tutor she had had before. Usually, he was quite patient, pleasant, at times fun, and at least he could actually play an instrument. Adelaide had a distinct, and joyfully caricatured, memory of her last tutor, a portly, mild man with terrible eyesight who had failed miserably at teaching her to play anything. Music lessons had become a joke under his guidance, or rather under the guidance of a thick, brown manual he had taken to reading.
“Is that it? Can I go now?” she asked hopefully, after a couple of ticks, turning her attention back to Flynn.
“No. I don’t think so.” Flynn didn’t turn away from the board, “Bearing in mind that you seem so completely opposed to anything involving the Gamba, I think it’s a good time for a Mathematics lesson. So, now, the times tables. Seven times six is…?”
Well, Adelaide felt she had somehow made a bad situation even worse. Looking out of the window again, she wondered in all earnesty how easy it would be to escape. It led out onto a balcony and then it would merely be a matter of finding a way down. She hated lessons in the Spring, especially when the sky was as blue as it was today. Who could stay indoors in this weather when everything outside was crying to live? To breathe. To sing!
“Seven time six. Come on now, you’re usually very quick at these.”
“Forty two.”
She could swear that he had done it on purpose, that he took some sort of sick pleasure out of making her suffer through mathematics. With each sum he fired at her, she sunk down further and further in her seat, until only her head was left, peaking out over the desk. Flynn didn’t mention this until Adelaide was practically sitting under the desk then, suddenly, he walked over, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled the child back up into her seat with a little click of the tongue, indicating his irritation. Adelaide flushed slightly, but then crossed her arms and stuck her head back. As Flynn took a pause from his firing sums at her to write something on the blackboard, Adelaide swung her chair back again and looked out of the window. The Morealis contingent had arrived and, quite to Adelaide’s surprise, they had a boy who seemed to be about her own age with them. Well, she thought with a mixture of jealousy and irritation, it didn’t seem fair that he be allowed out while she be stuck in the schoolroom reciting the seven times tables. As Flynn turned back again, Adelaide fell forward for a second time, this time the chair making a considerably louder noise.
“Please can you sit still? It’s most distracting to watch you swinging backwards and forwards in this way. Also, if you’re not careful, you’ll lose balance, fall back and crack your head open.”
Adelaide hadn’t paid attention until the last bit. She looked at Flynn with horror. Crack her head open? Crack her head open! That couldn’t happen, she was sure of it. She had hair, and wasn’t the purpose of hair to protect the head? For some reason, and though she knew it was the least of her worries, Adelaide couldn’t help thinking about all the blood too. It would stain the carpet which would make her stepmother angry and ruin her new red dress with it’s pretty lace collar and mother of pearl buttons, unless the blood didn’t show? Because red on red…
“Nine times twelve?”
Adelaide looked up and thought about it for a few moments Nine times twelve was basically ten times twelve, which was easy because you just added a zero, minus twelve. Right? So that would be one hundred and twenty minus twelve, which would be…
“You have to be quicker than this.”
“One hundred and eight?"
He smiled lightly then fetched a piece of paper from his desk, which he handed to her.
“Here. I need to go and fetch something which I left in the dining room. Start doing these.”
She looked down at the paper covered in multiplications and sighed. But, she thought, maybe if he went away then that would give her the perfect chance to escape. So, with this comforting thought in mind, Adelaide smiled charmingly and picked up her quill, showing her willingness to work. A few ticks later and Flynn was out of the door, causing Adelaide to leap up and run towards it. Unfortunately, and not much to her surprise, she gathered that he had locked it. She blew out testily, flicking a strand of hair from her face and returned to her desk. It was then that she looked at the window again. Maybe… maybe there’d be a way down? And even if there wasn’t, there was no harm in looking.
Quietly, Adelaide slipped on her little white boots and walked to the window, stepping quietly out of it and onto the balcony. There, to her great joy, she perceived that someone had been charged to paint the pillars of the house, whose whiteness needed a constant upkeep, and had left the ladder leaning onto the balcony. Quick as she could, Adelaide sped over to the ladder and started to clamber down it, not realising that the paint was still wet and had left great big white marks all over the back of her dress. With a smile of triumph, she landed on the ground, imagining a tide of applause as she did so.
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” she said, bowing with a flourish to the invisible crowd, "You've been a brilliant audience."
Now, where to go and what to do?
“So, this one is…?”
“C.”
“Good. And this one?”
“F sharp.”
“Correct. Now I will play a couple of notes on the Gamba. See if you can recognise them.”
The girl felt ready to scream in frustration, but was content with merely letting her head slump forward and hitting the desk, so that only a mop of dark hair could be seen. At least this was better than Mathematics she thought. Maybe, one day, he’d actually let her touch the instrument as she so dearly wished. Mathematics, on the other hand, was completely useless.
“Miss Adelaide. Sit up.” said the tutor sharply, noting the inattention of his pupil, “Now, what is this note?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you do. Now pay attention. Each string represents a note. On the bass Gamba, those notes are A-d-g-b-e'-a. On a tenor Gamba, like the one we have here, the notes are G-c-f-a-d'-g'. Now, can you remember what the notes on a bass Gamba are?”
“A for Awful. D for Dull. G for the Gamba you never let me play. B for Boredom. E for Ennui.” The girl replied sullenly.
“For what?”
“Ennui. It’s a word that Father taught me. It means boredom. Then finally, A for, well, even more awful!”
Flynn smiled wryly then continued testily, “And on the tenor Gamba?”
“G for the Gamba you still won’t let me play. C for coma, because I think I’m going to have one. F for,” she paused, not sure what she could think of for F, before adding with a small laugh, “F for Flynn because he never lets me do what I want. A for…”
“Awful?” the tutor questioned, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Yeah. How did you know? Then D for dislike and G for,” she paused, before saying, as vehemently as she dared, “Well, for the stupid Gamba you won’t let me go anywhere near.”
“Miss Adelaide. You’re a poet.” said the young man sarcastically before standing up, putting the Gamba down at his desk and going to the blackboard where he proceeded to wipe off all the notes he had prepared. Adelaide had a moment of regret, seeing her tutor’s irritation. In spite of her rudeness, she really rather liked Flynn. He was much better than any tutor she had had before. Usually, he was quite patient, pleasant, at times fun, and at least he could actually play an instrument. Adelaide had a distinct, and joyfully caricatured, memory of her last tutor, a portly, mild man with terrible eyesight who had failed miserably at teaching her to play anything. Music lessons had become a joke under his guidance, or rather under the guidance of a thick, brown manual he had taken to reading.
“Is that it? Can I go now?” she asked hopefully, after a couple of ticks, turning her attention back to Flynn.
“No. I don’t think so.” Flynn didn’t turn away from the board, “Bearing in mind that you seem so completely opposed to anything involving the Gamba, I think it’s a good time for a Mathematics lesson. So, now, the times tables. Seven times six is…?”
Well, Adelaide felt she had somehow made a bad situation even worse. Looking out of the window again, she wondered in all earnesty how easy it would be to escape. It led out onto a balcony and then it would merely be a matter of finding a way down. She hated lessons in the Spring, especially when the sky was as blue as it was today. Who could stay indoors in this weather when everything outside was crying to live? To breathe. To sing!
“Seven time six. Come on now, you’re usually very quick at these.”
“Forty two.”
She could swear that he had done it on purpose, that he took some sort of sick pleasure out of making her suffer through mathematics. With each sum he fired at her, she sunk down further and further in her seat, until only her head was left, peaking out over the desk. Flynn didn’t mention this until Adelaide was practically sitting under the desk then, suddenly, he walked over, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled the child back up into her seat with a little click of the tongue, indicating his irritation. Adelaide flushed slightly, but then crossed her arms and stuck her head back. As Flynn took a pause from his firing sums at her to write something on the blackboard, Adelaide swung her chair back again and looked out of the window. The Morealis contingent had arrived and, quite to Adelaide’s surprise, they had a boy who seemed to be about her own age with them. Well, she thought with a mixture of jealousy and irritation, it didn’t seem fair that he be allowed out while she be stuck in the schoolroom reciting the seven times tables. As Flynn turned back again, Adelaide fell forward for a second time, this time the chair making a considerably louder noise.
“Please can you sit still? It’s most distracting to watch you swinging backwards and forwards in this way. Also, if you’re not careful, you’ll lose balance, fall back and crack your head open.”
Adelaide hadn’t paid attention until the last bit. She looked at Flynn with horror. Crack her head open? Crack her head open! That couldn’t happen, she was sure of it. She had hair, and wasn’t the purpose of hair to protect the head? For some reason, and though she knew it was the least of her worries, Adelaide couldn’t help thinking about all the blood too. It would stain the carpet which would make her stepmother angry and ruin her new red dress with it’s pretty lace collar and mother of pearl buttons, unless the blood didn’t show? Because red on red…
“Nine times twelve?”
Adelaide looked up and thought about it for a few moments Nine times twelve was basically ten times twelve, which was easy because you just added a zero, minus twelve. Right? So that would be one hundred and twenty minus twelve, which would be…
“You have to be quicker than this.”
“One hundred and eight?"
He smiled lightly then fetched a piece of paper from his desk, which he handed to her.
“Here. I need to go and fetch something which I left in the dining room. Start doing these.”
She looked down at the paper covered in multiplications and sighed. But, she thought, maybe if he went away then that would give her the perfect chance to escape. So, with this comforting thought in mind, Adelaide smiled charmingly and picked up her quill, showing her willingness to work. A few ticks later and Flynn was out of the door, causing Adelaide to leap up and run towards it. Unfortunately, and not much to her surprise, she gathered that he had locked it. She blew out testily, flicking a strand of hair from her face and returned to her desk. It was then that she looked at the window again. Maybe… maybe there’d be a way down? And even if there wasn’t, there was no harm in looking.
Quietly, Adelaide slipped on her little white boots and walked to the window, stepping quietly out of it and onto the balcony. There, to her great joy, she perceived that someone had been charged to paint the pillars of the house, whose whiteness needed a constant upkeep, and had left the ladder leaning onto the balcony. Quick as she could, Adelaide sped over to the ladder and started to clamber down it, not realising that the paint was still wet and had left great big white marks all over the back of her dress. With a smile of triumph, she landed on the ground, imagining a tide of applause as she did so.
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” she said, bowing with a flourish to the invisible crowd, "You've been a brilliant audience."
Now, where to go and what to do?