Page 50 of A Winter By the Sea
“Barely sixteen.”
He nodded. “Don’t worry. I shall go easy on her.”
Emily laughed. “At your own peril! You had better be on your guard with Georgie, and I mean that literally!”
When her youngest sister entered, all eagerness, Mr. Thomson began the lesson, while Emily sat on one of the small chairs to watch.
He began by showing her the practice foil with its blunt tip, explaining how it was different from a sword used in actual fighting.
“Always keep the broad side up and strike your opponent with this point.”
Then he began showing her the various positions, demonstrating, for example, how to assume first position by facing her, heels together. Georgie followed suit.
Looks simple enough, Emily thought.Even I could do that. Maybe even Mr. During...
As the lesson continued, Emily found her attention strayingto novels she had read that included sword fighting.Waverly, Rob Roy,The Heart of Mid-Lothian. She also thought of Robinson Crusoe trying to survive on his desert island. He had salvaged broadswords from the wrecked ship and used one as a sickle to harvest his corn crop. Imagining polished James Thomson doing the same, she chuckled.
He glanced over. “Are we amusing you, Miss Emily?”
She looked up guiltily. “Not at all. I was thinking of something else.”
Suddenly she remembered that later in the bookRobinson Crusoe, swords had been used to kill people, which was not at all amusing. Her mirth quickly faded.
Mr. Thomson said, “Thankfully your sister has excellent focus. Concentration is key in fencing.”
“Thank you.” Georgiana beamed.
“Well, you can’t blame me,” Emily teased. “All that advancing and retreating—forward and back, forward and back—is rather hypnotic. At least I was only daydreaming when I might have fallen asleep!”
Returning the foils to the case, he shook his head, expression tolerant. “Next time we shall have a real bout and endeavor to keep your attention.”
“I shall look forward to it.”
Georgiana clapped. “And so shall I!”
Later that day, Emily did some advancing and retreating herself, pacing the floor of Marsh’s Library and Public Rooms, heart pounding in her ears, as its proprietor sat reading her opening chapters.
Without looking up he said, “Do stop pacing like a caged animal. You are distracting me.”
“Sorry.”
Clasping her hands tightly, she went to stand at the window, blind to the passersby and view of the sea beyond. How uncomfortable this was. How her nerves writhed!
She longed to snatch back her pages and hide them from his scrutiny. Instead she forced herself to endure the excruciating wait, feeling every moment like a butterfly pinned to a board for close inspection ... and imminent death. At least, death of her ambitions.
Reminding herself yet again that she was doing this for Mr. Gwilt as well, Emily remained where she was, anxiety heating every pore. She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the perspiration beading along her hairline. Then she leaned nearer the chilled glass, feeling a refreshing draught of cold outside air.
Behind her, she finally heard pages being tapped against the desktop to straighten the thin stack.
She turned, forcing her gaze to his face, afraid to see what expression he wore. Disappointment? Reluctance to give her bad news, just like Mr. Wallis?
He rose and carried one of the armchairs from the reading area closer to his desk. “Please sit down.”
When she had done so, he interlaced his fingers and rested his elbows on the desk. “You have talent, Miss Summers. That is obvious. I cannot speak to the plot and characters after so brief a sample, but your writing is vivid and compelling.”
“Th-thank you,” she murmured halfheartedly, waiting for thebut.
“So here’s what I propose. As you are probably aware, it is common practice for publishers like Wallis and me to hire others to write for them. The Reverend Edmund Butcher wroteThe Beauties of Sidmouth Displayed, yet whose name is on the title page?Printed for John Wallis, at The Marine Library.”
