Griffin was a young boy who’d spent the first 12 years of his life unseen and unheard by anyone but his sister, and who could still turn invisible whenever he wished, so he was unaccustomed to the act of consciously calling attention to himself, but he felt that he needed to tell the storyteller how he felt, even though he wasn’t sure that he knew what those feelings were yet.
Miss Quoth was a firm but caring educator, so Griffin and his sister had been able to persuade the raven to invite their new friend, the English girl their age who’d been orphaned except for her grandfather, to attend their lessons. In spite of her non-indulgent demeanor, the children’s avian governess had gone one step further, by allowing the storyteller to take part in their instruction.
The storyteller was an older Englishwoman, whose impeccable etiquette and inflection couched what sounded suspiciously to Griffin like a slightly subversive spirit, speaking conspiratorially to the children’s more cheerfully mischievous impulses. Elisabeth Barrie had supposedly grown up a long time ago, but her choice of reading material indicated a strong sympathy for the plight of children raised to behave properly.
Ms. Barrie, who modestly and politely asked the children to call her Bettie instead, had brought with her a collection of short stories by H.H. Munro, a British satirist from her childhood who wrote under the pen name of “Saki,” which Miss Quoth astutely pointed out was considered by many scholars to be a possible reference to the cupbearer in the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám.
In “The Toys of Peace,” preteen brothers Eric and Bertie were fascinated with the history of warfare, notably the battles fought under the reign of Louis XIV of France, but their uncle Harvey sought to temper their impulses by buying them models of “a municipal dust-bin” and the Manchester branch of the Young Women's Christian Association, populated by miniature figures of British philosopher and political economist John Stuart Mill and poetess Felicia Hemans.
“Peeping in through the doorway Harvey observed that the municipal dustbin had been pierced with holes to accommodate the muzzles of imaginary cannon, and now represented the principal fortified position in Manchester,” Bettie recited rapturously, her dramatic delivery drawing in her attentive young audience. “John Stuart Mill had been dipped in red ink, and apparently stood for Marshal Saxe … ”
“Louis orders his troops to surround the Young Women’s Christian Association and seize the lot of them. ‘Once back at the Louvre and the girls are mine,’ he exclaims. We must use Mrs. Hemans again for one of the girls; she says ‘Never,’ and stabs Marshal Saxe to the heart.”
“He bleeds dreadfully,” exclaimed Bertie, splashing red ink liberally over the facade of the Association building.
“The soldiers rush in and avenge his death with the utmost savagery. A hundred girls are killed” – here Bertie emptied the remainder of the red ink over the devoted building – “and the surviving five hundred are dragged off to the French ships. ‘I have lost a Marshal,’ says Louis, ‘but I do not go back empty-handed.’”
Harvey stole away from the room, and sought out his sister.
“Eleanor,” he said, “the experiment – ”
“Yes?”
“Has failed. We have begun too late.”
Bettie softly closed the book with a sly smirk, and exchanged glances with the grinning, giggling children, who were clever enough to catch the author’s anti-authoritarian intent. Miss Quoth must have recognized it as well, but surprisingly enough, she didn’t seem to mind.
“We’ll let that one sit for a bit, I think,” Miss Quoth cawed, a barely perceptible hint of amusement in her voice. “Please thank Ms. Barrie for her time, before you run off to play.”
Griffin caught up with Bettie before she walked out the door, after making a short side-trip to one of the flower vases.
“Miss Bettie?” he ventured tentatively, biting his lower lip as he stood pigeon-toed next to her.
“It’s just Bettie,” she stroked his head soothingly, as she turned to face him.
Griffin withdrew a single red rose from behind his back and held it out to her.
Bettie blinked and gaped for a second, before clearing her throat and flashing a reassuring smile.
“It’s lovely,” she breathed, even as she felt the slow burn of an equally rosy red blush beginning to warm her cheeks.
“It’s beautiful, like you,” Griffin averted his stare sheepishly. “Thank you for visiting with us.”
Bettie swallowed and inhaled sharply, before cupping his chin and lifting his head to meet her own moist-eyed gaze.
“Thank you for receiving me as your guest so graciously,” she complimented him in turn, kissing him on the forehead and hugging him tight. “I shall accept this gift in the spirit with which it was given, and I promise to stop by and see you all again as soon as I can, okay?”
