by Cheryl Bolen
While Adelaide settled into the chair and allowed Will to latch on, Mary took a seat behind her father’s desk and sat with her hands gently clasped.
“I am sorry about your father,” said Adelaide.
“Thank you. And thank you for the lovely letter you sent. I appreciated it greatly,” replied Mary.
Adelaide Alexandre, nee Radley, had always made a point of calling in to see Mary and her father whenever she was visiting her brother. For a duke’s daughter, Adelaide had a surprisingly pleasant affinity with people across all social classes.
“May I ask what you are doing for Christmas? Are you staying here alone at the college? It would be a terrible pity if you were,” Adelaide said.
Mary tightened her fingers together. Thankfully she had shown Adelaide into the study, rather than her bedroom. There was little evidence in this room that she was about to vacate the apartment for good.
“I am due to visit with family for Christmas. I am just waiting for their letter to confirm the arrangements,” she replied, holding onto the lie she had already given to Hugh.
Will began to fuss, and it was to Mary’s relief that Adelaide became too distracted with breastfeeding her son to press for further details of her family.
“Could I offer you a cup of tea?” Mary asked.
“Thank you, Mary, that would be lovely. Though we can’t stay long; Charles wants to make good time once we leave Cambridge. The road through to Stilton might be difficult in the fading light if we leave too late,” replied Adelaide.
Mary looked at William and immediately understood Charles’ concerns. The last thing any new parent wanted was to find themselves stuck in a carriage late at night with a tired and hungry infant.
After their final farewells to Mary, Hugh and the Alexandre family climbed aboard the travel coach. Hugh pulled down the window and waved to Mary as she stood on the side of the street. It was only when she was finally lost from sight that he drew up the glass and sat back in his seat.
“So why did Anne and Mowbray cry off from coming to Scotland?” he asked.
He hadn’t thought it polite to press for further details about the obvious absence of his sister and her husband, Clifford, the Duke of Mowbray, in front of Mary.
Charles rolled his eyes. “They are not coming for Christmas. And for that we should all be truly grateful.”
Adelaide kissed her baby son on the forehead and cooed. “Your uncle is not coming because he says he is a bloody duke, with his own bloody castle, and he does not see why he should have to travel all the way to bloody Scotland for Christmas. Isn’t that right, my beautiful boy?”
“If the first word that our son speaks is bloody, I shall blame Mowbray. I cannot deny that I am glad he is not coming for Christmas,” replied Charles.
Hugh was not the least surprised that Anne and Mowbray were not making the trip. In the short time that they had been married, the Duke and Duchess of Mowbray had established themselves as being in a near-constant state of war with one another. When they were not going into battle, they were being sickeningly sweet to each other. Having witnessed both forms of behavior in the newlyweds, Hugh was not completely certain which one he disliked the most.
He was ashamed to be relieved that Anne and Mowbray were not making the journey with them, but he knew he shared Charles’s sentiments.
“Oh well, that leaves more room for us in the coach.” He could now spread out his study papers and books without fear of getting an elbow in the ribs from the Duke of Mowbray.
Chapter 3
Mary walked back to her rooms and closed the door behind her. She had watched the coach until it had disappeared from sight, crushed by the knowledge that it would be the last time she would ever see Hugh leave the cramped but homely rooms at St John’s College, which she and her father had always called home.
She wiped a tear away, gritting her teeth to force back any others that may have threatened. Crying would not change her circumstances, and she knew from many bitter, lonely nights that it would not bring her father back. She was now on her own in the world.
She had cleaned the main room from top to bottom over the past few days, intending that the new tenant should have a fresh start when they arrived early in the new year. Never would she have it said that the rooms had been left in anything but workable condition. Her father’s valuable papers and books she would entrust to the next head of theology and divinity. His clothes had been gratefully received by the head grounds keeper who promised to find each item a suitable new home.
In her tiny bedroom, she squeezed between the wall and her single bed. The linen was freshly laundered, and the mattress had been hung out in the late afternoon sun the previous day to air. On top of the small nightstand was a travel bag, and next to it, her long red wool coat.
Picking up the coat, she put it on and buttoned it all the way to the neck. The first snow had fallen in the previous week, and the air outside was icy.
Travel bag in hand, she stepped out of her bedroom before glancing back one last time. She would never sleep in this room again. It was another final goodbye.
“Come on, Mary. If you keep this up, you will be here all day. You cannot say farewell to every single room and object,” she muttered.
She indulged in one final tour of the apartment. She had cleaned her father’s study earlier in the week, and shed a million tears as she did so, grateful that Hugh had been too busy to visit that day.
Hugh.
He had been her father’s star pupil. A man destined for greatness in the Church of England, perhaps someday even becoming the Archbishop of Canterbury. With the Duke of Strathmore as his older brother, Hugh Radley had enough connections and talent to make that a reality.
Mary set her bag down and then collected the empty cups and plates from where her visitors had left them, taking them over to the washbowl near the fire. After washing and drying them, she carefully placed them on a nearby shelf.
For some inexplicable reason she left Hugh’s cup for last. She washed it in the warm soapy water, and then held it. She pretended to herself that it was still warm from when Hugh had last touched it. She raised it to her lips and kissed the cup where she knew his lips had been.
So close, yet so far away.
It was a simple coffee cup with a red, gold, and blue mosaic pattern on white china. It was a one-of-a-kind in her home. Nearly every day for the past two and a half years she had made Hugh a cup of coffee in it and brought it to him as he studied late into the night.
Mary chuckled softly. Hugh liked his coffee thick and mud-like. No sugar, and just a dash of milk. The cup would sit untouched for hours while Hugh and her father engaged in long philosophical discussions, often only being finally drained when the coffee had long gone cold.
Opening her bag, she pulled out a woolen scarf and wrapped it around the cup. She would keep it as a memento of all those wonderful days.
When Hugh returned to Cambridge after Christmas, she would meet him somewhere else in the town and patiently wait for him to tell her of his exciting plans for the future. She would share the news of her own changed circumstances as a mere afterthought, something to be noted and then never mentioned again.
She carefully placed the cup into her bag. Then with one final tearful look, she bid farewell to the only home she had ever known. “Time to go, Mary Gray. Time to put the past behind you.”
She closed the door of the rooms for the last time and locked it. After returning the key to the groundkeeper’s office, she crossed over the cloisters and headed toward the main entrance of St John’s College. It took all her willpower not to look back, not to cry.
Thank God Hugh was not there to see her leave.
Chapter 4
“Oh, blast,” muttered Hugh.
He put his hand back into his travel bag one more time and rummaged around, but his prayers were not answered. The book was nowhere to be found. He had already emptied and repacked his leather satchel twice in his desperate
search; the travel bag had been his last hope. He slumped back on the bench and huffed with frustration. Yet again, he had misplaced something.
“What’s the matter?” asked Adelaide. She held a sleeping William in her arms, the infant having dozed off after his mother had fed him at the college.
Charles held out his hands and took his son from her. Will did not stir as his father tucked him into the crook of his arm.
“I had a book on ecclesiastical law that I needed to study while I was in Scotland. I must have left it behind in my room,” Hugh replied.
“If it is important, could you perhaps secure a copy in Edinburgh?” asked Charles.
Hugh shook his head. “It’s a Church of England lawbook. Edinburgh comes under the Church of Scotland. I doubt very much if I would be able to find a copy in Edinburgh. I’m sorry to have to ask this of you both, but I need that book.”
Adelaide gave him a sisterly, knowing look. Hugh had a long history of losing things, finding them again, and then losing them once more.
“Well at least we are not far from Cambridge. It won’t take us too long to return and collect it,” replied Adelaide.
Charles covered his son’s ears as Hugh stood and rapped on the roof of the coach. To the relief of all, the sleeping Will did not stir. After giving quick instructions to the driver, Hugh sat down in his seat and gave a sigh of relief as the coach made a turn in the road and headed back toward Cambridge.
“I think I know exactly where I left it. I swear I picked it up three times this morning, intending to put it in my bag,” he eventually said.
He raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated and a little more than angry with himself. He had set the book down when Mary had given him the Christmas gift. The book was still on top of a pile of marked exam papers in Professor Gray’s old rooms.
Once they reached St John’s College, Hugh jumped down from the coach. “I won’t be long. I shall say a brief, polite hello and goodbye again to Mary, then be back.”
He hurried across the grounds, through the cloisters, and with a quick knock on the door, took hold of the handle.
The handle did not budge. He rattled it several times, thinking it must be stuck. When it finally dawned on him that the door was indeed locked, he frowned. The Grays rarely, if ever, locked their door.
“Mary!” he called out. Where on earth could she have gone? He needed that book.
“Lord Radley?”
He turned and when he caught sight of one of the college groundskeepers, he could have cried.
“Please tell me you have your set of keys upon your person; I need to access Professor Gray’s rooms,” he said.
The groundskeeper scowled. No groundskeeper worth his salt would be wandering the university grounds without his master set of keys. “Of course, I have my keys. Though they are no longer Professor Gray’s rooms,” replied the man.
Hugh nodded. He was in too much of a hurry to discuss the passing of his old professor. In his mind, as long as Mary remained in residence, they would always be Professor Gray’s rooms.
The groundskeeper unlocked the door, then, after promising to come back and lock it again once Hugh was gone, he took his leave.
Hugh hurried into the room, sighing with relief as he spotted his book.
“Thank heavens for that,” he muttered, as he picked it up.
He paused for a moment; something in the room was different. He looked at the piles of books and papers. They were stacked and arranged neater than he had ever seen them. He had not noticed the changes when he had been here earlier with Mary, his interest focused on her. He slowly took in the rest of the room.
Papers which were normally haphazardly thrown together had been put into neat bundles and tied off with string. The bookshelves were now full. Mary had made mention of having been cleaning, but until this moment, Hugh had not thought to ask why. The professor had always liked the messy look of his rooms, and Mary had sworn to keep them exactly as he had left them for at least the first year after his passing.
He poked his head inside Professor Gray’s old study and was surprised to be greeted with the sight of a tidy room. Hugh had never seen the top of the professor’s desk before. The sight was disconcerting.
Now that is odd. What have you been doing, Mary?
He steeled himself as he opened Mary’s bedroom door. He was invading her privacy, but his concerns held his mind. As he saw the bedding which had been folded and put to one side, a rising sense of panic gripped him. The cupboard where her clothes should hang was empty.
“Calm down, Radley. She has just been getting things ship-shape before leaving to visit her mother’s family,” he told himself.
His words, however, were cold comfort. Not more than an hour ago, Mary had told him she had not had confirmation of her visit from her relatives. Yet she had clearly gone somewhere and taken all of her possessions with her.
Stepping back into the main room, he found the groundskeeper waiting. “Did you find what you were looking for, my lord?”
Hugh frowned. He barely noticed the book in his hand.
“Yes and no,” he replied.
“It’s a pity about the Professor and Miss Gray. They were always kind to the staff around here,” said the groundskeeper.
Hugh tightened his hold on the book. “What do you mean?”
“Not that it’s my place, but it would have been nice if Miss Gray could have stayed on at the university for a little while longer. But I suppose they needed the rooms for the new professor, and she had to go.” The groundskeeper nervously jangled the ring of keys he held in his hand. University staff were meant to be seen and not heard.
Cold, hard realization settled heavily on Hugh’s shoulders. Mary was not visiting relatives; she had left St John’s College for good. And she hadn’t told him.
Think. Think what to do.
He rallied his thoughts. “You wouldn’t by any chance know where Miss Gray has gone, would you?” he asked.
The groundskeeper shook his head. “Not exactly. Though, she did make mention that she had found a room in a boarding house not far from the market square when she visited the office just before she left.”
“How long ago did she leave?”
“Not a quarter of the hour ago, I would say. She may not have got that far from the college grounds,” replied the groundskeeper.
After slipping the man a coin and wishing him a merry Christmas, Hugh raced outside and to the waiting travel coach. He flung open the door.
“They have thrown Mary out!” he cried.
Adelaide’s eyes grew wide. It took an instant for Hugh to realize that it wasn’t so much about his revelation, as the volume at which he had delivered it. Charles put a finger to his lips. William stirred in his sleep and let out a soft whimper.
Everyone held their breaths. To the relief of all, William remained asleep.
“What do you mean?” replied Charles quietly.
Hugh caught the attention of the coach driver and issued brief instructions. He then climbed aboard and closed the door.
“The university needed the rooms for the new professor, and Mary has had to vacate them. One of the groundskeepers told me Mary left only a short while ago. I’ve asked the coach driver to head down toward the market square and see if we can spot her,” he explained.
Charles took up a position on one side of the coach, while Hugh sat at the other window. He dropped the glass window down and poked his head outside.
“Where are you?” he muttered.
As the coach entered Bridge Street, it slowed to a crawl. Being the week before Christmas, everyone was out in the town center. And all, it would appear, were headed toward Cambridge Market Square. Hugh snarled his frustration. They would never find Mary in this crush of carriages and people.
He rapped on the roof of the coach and instructed the driver to pull over to the side of the street.
“What are you doing?” asked Charles.
“If you keep go
ing and continue to look out on the other side of the street, I will see if I can make headway on foot. Just remember she will be wearing red,” Hugh replied.
He hurried away from the coach, frantically looking for any sign of a red coat and Mary. He was met with a sea of black, brown, and gray. Breaking into a run, he slipped between the gaps of other pedestrians as he fought to make his way through the Christmas crowds.
He had gone only a few yards before a hand thumped him on the back. Turning, he found a breathless Charles standing before him.
“She is on the other side, fifty yards on.”
Hugh nodded his thanks and made a mad dash across the street. He narrowly avoided being run over by a heavily laden mail coach which was travelling in the other direction.
His reckless pursuit, however, was immediately rewarded with the sight of Mary’s red coat as she turned into Market Street.
“Mary!”
She kept walking. Hugh broke into a full run, grabbing hold of the back of her coat when he finally caught up.
“Mary, didn’t you hear me?”
She turned, and as their gazes met a look of shock appeared on her face. She was clearly not expecting to see him.
“Hugh? What . . . what are you doing here?” she stammered.
“I forgot a book . . . I mean, what are you doing here?! Why didn’t you tell me you had been evicted?” His relief at finding her was quickly replaced with the anger he had managed to keep at bay since discovering the truth of her deception. He continued to hold fast to her coat.
Her head and shoulders dropped. “I was going to tell you, but with everything else happening in your life, it didn’t seem important.”