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twitch;
with Mrs Lambert so frequently confined to her chamber, the governess
must assume full responsibility for the girls' behaviour and
deportment.

    From
the day of his birth to the moment he received his calling at the age
of twelve, it was a given that the Reverend Lambert was not only
destined for the cloth (the family abounds with clerics) but that his
handsome head would surely be measured for a bishop's mitre one day.
Now approaching forty–five, he still has the form and bearing,
the luminous certitude of one who is firmly anchored to the rock that
cannot move.

    'Emma's
French is pretty well, Miss Pouch, but her Italian is still a worry.
Her music may be adequate – I'm no judge – but her
drawing could be better . . .' As always, he speaks of his daughter
in the third person, so that morsels of praise do not nourish the sin
of pride.

    'Mr
Boltbyn arrived for his visit a bit earlier than usual,' answers Miss
Pouch. 'It necessitated a curtailment of her drawing–time.'
'Surely Mr Boltbyn knows better. I wish to speak to him at once.'

    'He
has left for the day, sir. I shall convey your wishes to him.' In
fact, Lambert is glad that the vicar has gone for the day; the
prestige afforded by the author's interest in the girls is offset by
the fact that, in Lambert's opinion, Boltbyn is a theological
dabbler, woefully lacking in seriousness.

    'See
that it does not happen again. Mr Boltbyn's amusements are no
substitute for an education.'

    'I
shall indeed, sir.'

    'I
shall speak to Mrs Lambert about this matter. She should keep a
closer watch over what goes on in the nursery.'

    'Mrs
Lambert was unwell today, I am afraid, and retired for the
afternoon.'

    'How
unfortunate.' Lambert expects she will miss supper – which is
also just as well, for in her present state she would cast a pall
over the entire meal.

    Emma
watches her father pore over her notebook as though it were a legal
text, knowing that he does so as an alternative to dealing with her
mind directly. She has been aware for some time that her thoughts
make him uneasy, and suspects that her very existence bothers him in
the way of his toothache – as a worrisome daily burden, endured
with the patience of Job.

    Lambert
gives special attention to Lydia's grasp of the Commandments, for her
confirmation is only a few months away, and her performance of the
catechism before the bishop will surely reflect upon her father.
Indeed, he doesn't entirely mind the exercise, for Lydia has proved
much easier to control than her elder sister.

    Soon
enough, Lizzy will bring his tea, then his supper, and he will take
respite from his toothache and his various disappointments. For now
he listens patiently to Lydia's catechism, which she has mastered
quite admirably.

    Thou
shall not make unto thee any graven image . . .

    Blessed
with a baritone suited to preaching and hymn–singing, upon
graduation from All Souls College the young Reverend Lambert received
an immediate posting at St Alban the Martyr, in the parish of Upper
Clodding. The congregation at St Alban were well pleased with their
new spiritual leader, who showed an especial interest in the young
people. With his manners and breeding, to his parishioners it seemed
inevitable that he would receive wider notice as a future leading
light in the diocese – an expectation held no less by Lambert
himself.

This
happy prospect came to nothing. Months and years ground by with no
invitation to chair a committee at a synod, no guest sermon at
another parish. At times he felt as though he had been beached upon
some obscure island to minister to the natives in perpetuity. (In
fact, his ostracism stemmed from a decades–old incident in
which a great–uncle accused a fellow clergyman of simony,
occasioning a general animosity in the church hierarchy to anyone who
bore the name Lambert.)

    Unaware
that his fate was sealed, Rev. Lambert did his duty. For ten of this
earth's revolutions about the sun (still a subject of