Covent Gardens, 1701
"I should like to introduce you to My Lord Halifax," Newton continued, and gestured toward Montagu. "Also, my niece, Miss Catherine Barton."
"We are acquainted," said my father, nodding at the pair.
"Yes, but they have not yet met your son. How fortunate that you brought him along. There are some that would say that the opera is not a place for young men, but undoubtedly it shall prove an enriching experience for him."
Hearing myself discussed as though I were not present brought a flush to my face and the prickling of embarrassment to my sinuses. My only consolation came in the form of a warm and slightly apologetic smile from Miss Barton. It seemed that she was not unused to her uncle's rudenesses.
"Funny, I think that I'm hearing in your tone a suggestion on how to raise my own child," my father replied calmly, no emotion whatsoever crept into his face or laced his words. Newton seemed about to retort, but when Miss Barton managed to catch his eye, he held his tongue. I was at once mystified by the lady, and the power she seemed to wield over all the men in the box. They each seemed captivated by her every movement. Their behavior was fascinating.
"I am delighted," said Miss Barton, "to meet your son, Mr. Kuerten. Pray, what is your name, child?"
I gave Miss Barton my name without hesitation. She was a female, and therefore unknown to me, but there was something in her demeanor that was reassuring. She impressed upon me almost immediately the feeling that whatever I confided in her would be safe between us. I was a sense that I found profoundly disturbing.
As I spoke my name, she brightened. "Oh, I have heard of you from my uncle! He says that you have already shown your mathematical ability to rival that of some of the scholars at Trinity!"
I blushed again, or perhaps I hadn't ever stopped. "I have some small skill with figures," I mumbled.
"Please, Miss Barton, you will only add whimsy to a fanciful mind," said my father. "There is no need to fill his head with idle praise."
"Both of you show heartwarming devotion to the boy," said Newton, "but I still find his very presence a mystery. Why is he here?"
Mr. Newton's inquiry cut me quickly down to size, but even I had to admit that his question was valid.
"I could hardly leave him unattended. His governess was indisposed."
My "governess" had been "indisposed" for several years. Her name had been Isela Zorilla y Armandez de la Peña, and she had died of the French Pox four years hence. She'd been one of the kindest people I'd ever known; of course, she'd also been quite mad for some time.
"Governess?" Newton responded. "Do I pay you enough to employ a governess? I do not remember any women in the laboratories."
"It is only in the last few years that my son has been old enough to stay at the laboratories full time, and only in the last few months that you seem to have taken such an interest in his studies."
Again, they talked as if I were not myself present, and again I felt seized by embarrassment.
"Gentlemen," said Miss Barton firmly, and her eye caught mine. She smiled at me then, an almost subversive gesture, and I couldn't help but grin back. "If you are so intent on talking of our guests as though they were not present, perhaps we should turn our conversation on gossip of My Lord Halifax. Have you not heard that he wishes to reform the treasury to mirror that of Rome, all the better for when he leads the Pope himself into Whitehall and hands over whatever passes for our government these days."
Montagu was now chuckling, and Newton was rolling his eyes, and by all appearances I seemed to have been saved. "It is somewhat amusing that a committed Whig such as myself would be suspected of some elicit Popish scheme. I suppose that the conspirators of Parliament are running out of scandal and have resorted to throwing names, political parties, and scandalous events into a hat and withdrawing several at random simply to keep their private councils filled with excitement."
Miss Barton burst into giggles, and gave Montagu's shoulder a bit of a playful shove. So encouraged, the Privy Councillor continued. "Next we'll be hearing that the libels of Ned Ward stem from an elaborate conspiracy between the Tories and the Leprechauns to bring dissent to the Juncto."
"Such phant'sy ought be plaistered over the walls at Jonathan's. It would be no more ridiculous than half the soap-boxing that occurs there before breakfast," said Miss Barton, in a way that made my eyes grow wide. None of the men present chastised her. It was clear that in this respect Miss Barton was fully and completely within her element, and that alone was enough to make me quite curious about Miss Barton indeed.
"We are acquainted," said my father, nodding at the pair.
"Yes, but they have not yet met your son. How fortunate that you brought him along. There are some that would say that the opera is not a place for young men, but undoubtedly it shall prove an enriching experience for him."
Hearing myself discussed as though I were not present brought a flush to my face and the prickling of embarrassment to my sinuses. My only consolation came in the form of a warm and slightly apologetic smile from Miss Barton. It seemed that she was not unused to her uncle's rudenesses.
"Funny, I think that I'm hearing in your tone a suggestion on how to raise my own child," my father replied calmly, no emotion whatsoever crept into his face or laced his words. Newton seemed about to retort, but when Miss Barton managed to catch his eye, he held his tongue. I was at once mystified by the lady, and the power she seemed to wield over all the men in the box. They each seemed captivated by her every movement. Their behavior was fascinating.
"I am delighted," said Miss Barton, "to meet your son, Mr. Kuerten. Pray, what is your name, child?"
I gave Miss Barton my name without hesitation. She was a female, and therefore unknown to me, but there was something in her demeanor that was reassuring. She impressed upon me almost immediately the feeling that whatever I confided in her would be safe between us. I was a sense that I found profoundly disturbing.
As I spoke my name, she brightened. "Oh, I have heard of you from my uncle! He says that you have already shown your mathematical ability to rival that of some of the scholars at Trinity!"
I blushed again, or perhaps I hadn't ever stopped. "I have some small skill with figures," I mumbled.
"Please, Miss Barton, you will only add whimsy to a fanciful mind," said my father. "There is no need to fill his head with idle praise."
"Both of you show heartwarming devotion to the boy," said Newton, "but I still find his very presence a mystery. Why is he here?"
Mr. Newton's inquiry cut me quickly down to size, but even I had to admit that his question was valid.
"I could hardly leave him unattended. His governess was indisposed."
My "governess" had been "indisposed" for several years. Her name had been Isela Zorilla y Armandez de la Peña, and she had died of the French Pox four years hence. She'd been one of the kindest people I'd ever known; of course, she'd also been quite mad for some time.
"Governess?" Newton responded. "Do I pay you enough to employ a governess? I do not remember any women in the laboratories."
"It is only in the last few years that my son has been old enough to stay at the laboratories full time, and only in the last few months that you seem to have taken such an interest in his studies."
Again, they talked as if I were not myself present, and again I felt seized by embarrassment.
"Gentlemen," said Miss Barton firmly, and her eye caught mine. She smiled at me then, an almost subversive gesture, and I couldn't help but grin back. "If you are so intent on talking of our guests as though they were not present, perhaps we should turn our conversation on gossip of My Lord Halifax. Have you not heard that he wishes to reform the treasury to mirror that of Rome, all the better for when he leads the Pope himself into Whitehall and hands over whatever passes for our government these days."
Montagu was now chuckling, and Newton was rolling his eyes, and by all appearances I seemed to have been saved. "It is somewhat amusing that a committed Whig such as myself would be suspected of some elicit Popish scheme. I suppose that the conspirators of Parliament are running out of scandal and have resorted to throwing names, political parties, and scandalous events into a hat and withdrawing several at random simply to keep their private councils filled with excitement."
Miss Barton burst into giggles, and gave Montagu's shoulder a bit of a playful shove. So encouraged, the Privy Councillor continued. "Next we'll be hearing that the libels of Ned Ward stem from an elaborate conspiracy between the Tories and the Leprechauns to bring dissent to the Juncto."
"Such phant'sy ought be plaistered over the walls at Jonathan's. It would be no more ridiculous than half the soap-boxing that occurs there before breakfast," said Miss Barton, in a way that made my eyes grow wide. None of the men present chastised her. It was clear that in this respect Miss Barton was fully and completely within her element, and that alone was enough to make me quite curious about Miss Barton indeed.