Catherine stepped forward and looped the ribbons of her reticule around her wrist. “Here . . . let me take Hector to my room.”
Bethia met them upstairs in the corridor. She wore her dressing gown, her hair in little curling-ironed ringlets that had not yet been combed. “Catherine!” she said as if she had been waiting just for her. “We’re to have sandwiches in the nursery for supper!”
“Yes?”
“Because we’ll all be dressing and won’t have—” her eyes widened. “What are those, Mr. Duffy?”
“Oh, it ain’t for me to be tellin’,” he said affectionately.
The girl looked disappointed, but hurried over to Catherine’s door and swung it open. “Mrs. Bacon’s angry at Hector,” she said, following Mr. Duffy and Catherine into the room.
“And Hector’s just crushed over it.” Catherine looked down at the cat in her arms. “Aren’t you?” She deposited him onto her window seat, holding a restraining hand lightly upon his back while Mr. Duffy placed the bundle upon the carpet beside her wardrobe.
“Thank you, Mr. Duffy,” Catherine said, and when the door closed behind him, she looked at Bethia, who was leaning down to inspect the stack of boxes. “Now, you’re not to handle them. They’re Christmas gifts.”
The girl said carefully, “For Uncle James and Aunt Virginia and Jewel?”
Smiling, Catherine moved her hand from the cat so that she could take off her hat and cloak—which would need a good brushing the next time she wore it. “No, I sent theirs weeks ago. It takes them a long time to reach Bombay.”
She had not yet received their gifts to her. Perhaps they would arrive tomorrow.
A knock sounded as she was removing her gloves. She tossed them onto her dressing table on her way to the door. Sarah and William stood in the corridor wearing somber expressions.
Peggy rang, Catherine realized, a wave of queasiness rolling through her. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, and confirmed Catherine’s worry by saying to Bethia, “Why don’t you help Susan amuse Danny while your mother’s changing?”
When the door closed behind a reluctant Bethia, Catherine looked at William and said, “You’re home early.” A stalling tactic to give her time to think, as well as a test to see if she could smoothe the gravity from their expressions by carrying on as normal.
“Just a bit,” was his short reply.
You have to take the offensive, she ordered herself, taking long, steady breaths to calm her racing heartbeat. Or you’ll be packing for Bombay. Think fast, think fast!
Sarah was opening her mouth to speak.
“Has something happened to my parents?” Catherine asked with anxious expression. “To Jewel?”
It would make her seem all the more innocent, she realized, if she hadn’t the faintest idea why Sarah and William would come to her room like this. Didn’t the Scriptures say that the guilty fled when no one pursued? If she had truly suspected some tragedy to her family, she would not have had to pretend to worry, but now she was dead certain that this had to do with Peggy and the telephone in the parlor.
Sarah’s expression relaxed just a little. “Oh, no . . . not at all.”
Catherine allowed herself a relieved sigh, but then sobered up again. “Then I’m glad you’re both here. I’ve done something terrible, and it’s weighing heavily upon me.”
Husband and wife glanced at each other.
“I didn’t ring you to let you know my plans had changed—and I should have. After Stanley dropped me off at Peggy’s, I just couldn’t bring myself to go in and invite her.”
“But you had already invited her,” Sarah said firmly. “That’s what you said yesterday, that you and Peggy planned to shop.”
“I said I planned to shop with Peggy,” Catherine corrected. “But I hadn’t mentioned it to her yet.”
“Why wouldn’t you mention it?” William asked. “You spent almost two hours on the train together.”
“I didn’t even think about shopping while we were on the train. It’s difficult to get into the spirit of Christmas when you’re recovering from exams.” She looked at Sarah. “But when I was in the coach with you and Uncle Daniel, and saw all the other shoppers, I realized I needed to hurry and see to it.”
“Why would you have taken it for granted that Miss Somerset would wish to accompany you?” Sarah said, green eyes still suspicious. “You could have given her a ring.”
Catherine shrugged. “We spend every day together at school, so we practically read each other’s minds. And she had already told me that she had no plans for the day.”
Those parts were true. And it was a relief to insert some truth into her defense.
Folding his arms, William said, “Please explain this to me, Catherine. Why would you suddenly decide not to invite Miss Somerset, when you were standing right there in front of their house?”
Catherine nodded and could only hope that sincere delivery would patch the gaping holes in her logic. “Because it wasn’t until then that it struck me that Peggy would not be able to spend as much as I can. She isn’t given a lot of spending money, and I’m always careful not to flaunt mine in front of her.”
Again Sarah and William sought each other’s eyes. This time some uncertainty had crept into their expressions. Sarah glanced at the bundle upon the floor. “And so you spent the day in the shops?”
“Yes. No, wait. I stopped for lunch at a tea room on Oxford Street. Other unescorted women were there, so I didn’t feel it was improper.”
“It must have been difficult, carrying all those around,” William said, clearly still not shed of all his suspicions.
Catherine’s thoughts raced. “Yes, quite. But the cabby I hired eventually helped me. He was the one who tied them up with twine.” Her heart skipped a beat, for it was then that she recalled what she had said about Mr. Somerset for Mr. Duffy’s benefit. But what reason would Mr. Duffy have for repeating that to them?
Her lie needed a bit more embellishing, she realized, and she allowed herself a faint sentimental smile. “I came across my grandparents’ former housekeeper in the tea room,” she said. “Mrs. Spear is her name. She said she’s in a very good situation in Kensington, but that no employer has ever treated her as kindly as did my grandparents. It was a lovely thing to hear, coming at Christmas. My mother will be touched by it.”
The two were starting to look a bit sheepish. While that was encouraging, it also sharpened the guilt gnawing at her insides. She had realized weeks ago that however mistaken they were about Sidney, it was love for her that had prompted Sarah to send her back to Girton. And it was the same reason they stood before her now. But you can’t afford to retreat now, Catherine told herself.
“But forgive me,” she said, forcing herself to look squarely into Sarah’s green eyes while stretching her lips into an artless smile. “Here I am, rattling on and on when you have something to discuss with me.”
For the third time William and Sarah looked at each other. William shrugged, and Sarah gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
“It’s nothing,” Sarah said. She glanced at the chimneypiece clock. “We’ve only an hour. I should change now.”
“Yes, I suppose I should too,” Catherine said, walking them the few steps to the door.
William paused halfway through it and turned. There was a spark of knowledge in the dark eyes that met Catherine’s, but it faded again into uncertainty. “There are sandwiches in the nursery.”
“Thank you.” Catherine smiled at them. But once the door was closed, she went to her bed, threw herself across the coverlet and sank her face into a bolster pillow. They still have doubts, she told herself. But they’ve decided to give you the benefit of them.
For now.
She could not afford for anything like this to happen again. She had looked so forward to returning to London—his city, but she could not see Sidney for the remainder of the vacation. It would be terribly reckless to chance it. Which meant she w
ould not have her engagement ring until he could bring it up to her at Chesterton.
Tears squeezed past her closed eyelids. Love is supposed to make a woman happy, she thought. But her only moments of happiness were when she was with Sidney. When she was not, her soul felt empty to the point of aching, and yet, paradoxically, filled with almost overwhelming guilt.
The only thought that consoled her was that they would be married in three months. Then she would never have to lie to anyone again. And one day, conceivably, when Sidney had proved himself to the whole family, they would sit about a fireplace with Sarah and William, and confess all the plots they had concocted in order to see each other, and everyone would laugh. Her mind’s eye could see it so clearly, as if she were allowed a special glimpse into the future. William would cuff Sidney on the shoulder and say, “I was never so happy to have myself proved wrong about anyone, old chap!”
Her nerves quirked when a knock sounded. Had Sarah and William discussed the matter and decided they needed more proof of her whereabouts today? The name of the tea room, perhaps? Is there even a tea room on Oxford Street?
“Wait, please,” she said, outpacing Hector to the door and scooping him into her arms. Susan stood holding the gown Catherine had chosen that morning, a Russian green cashmere with appliqué velvet leaves of the same color, and bouffant sleeves finished with a cuff of ecru embroidery. “All pressed, Miss,” she said in her thick cockney accent. “Would yer like help dressin’?”
“Yes, please,” Catherine replied.
The maid sent a glance at the tangles about her shoulders and added, hesitantly, “And combing yer hair?”
“That would be nice.” Although appearance meant nothing to her this evening, Catherine had to put forth the effort or arouse more suspicion.
Susan worked quickly, careful to start with the snarled ends and work her way up with the comb, apologizing every time a snarl tugged. She formed several long braids and coiled them loosely at the crown of her head. With Catherine’s permission she dashed downstairs and returned with a few small holly sprigs to pin among them. May as well let her have her fun, Catherine thought. A half hour later she stood at the mirror attached to her wardrobe door, the maid beaming from her elbow.
“Thank you, Susan.” Catherine turned to smile at her. “You’ve made me look very nice.”
“Pretty as a picture, Miss.”
Eric Kirkpatrick apparently thought so too, for the admiral’s grandson seldom left her side the entire evening. Were her heart not otherwise occupied, she would have been pleased, for he was an agreeable young man, and handsome, with a finely chiseled Roman nose and wavy brown hair as dark as hers.
“I’m fortunate in that my grandfather has kept up with his former navy mates,” he told her after fetching her another cup of punch. “I’ve stamps from places as far away as Japan.”
“Have you any from Malta?” she found herself asking. Just because she wasn’t interested in him romantically didn’t mean she couldn’t assist him with his hobby.
“Several,” he said, as if reluctant to confess it. “With the Navy Hospital being there. But it’s kind of you to ask.”
About four dozen people were present, almost evenly divided between adults and children, and all residents of Cannonhall Road. Aunt Naomi asked a neighbor’s twelve-year-old daughter, Amy Jakes, to play the piano. The girl demonstrated remarkable maturity for her age in that she did not bang out carols, but played softly, her music a pleasant accompaniment to conversation. Bethia stood at her side to turn the pages of sheet music. Guy Russell, looking like a little man in his suit, his hair watered down with spikes sticking up here and there, stood at her other side and watched her fingers move along the keys.
“That boy should have piano lessons,” said a voice from Catherine’s left, during one of the rare times when Mr. Kirkpatrick was not at her side.
She turned to Uncle Daniel. “Has he learned to play the flute you gave him?”
“He took to it like a fox to chickens.” He studied the boy with eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “But he should learn to read music. I believe I’ll ask Amy the name of her tutor.”
Beard aside, Uncle Daniel reminded Catherine of her father so strongly that sometimes she felt a little ache for her family in his presence. She knew him well enough to know that he would be paying for these piano lessons. She had no memory of her grandparents on the Rayborn side of the family, but appreciated how they had instilled generosity into both their sons. “That’s so kind of you, Uncle Daniel.”
He smiled at her. From the corner of her eye, Catherine caught sight of Mr. Kirkpatrick making his way over again.
“Pleasant fellow, isn’t he?” her uncle said.
“Yes, very pleasant.”
“I suppose he will appreciate it if I make myself absent.”
“Really, you—” But her uncle winked and walked off to join Aunt Naomi and a circle of guests.
“You know, my grandfather has invited me to stay the summer with him,” Mr. Kirkpatrick said with hopeful tone upon his return.
Carefully, so as not to hurt his pride, but with just enough formality to convey the correct message, Catherine said, “I’m sure Hampstead has lovely summers. I spend mine in Bombay with my family.”
It did not matter, at least where the young man was concerned, that this coming summer would be quite different. A shadow of disappointment passed across his face, but he was game enough not to go off and sulk. And when his grandfather motioned him over to meet someone, Catherine took the opportunity to slip upstairs and ring Sidney’s house.
He gave me permission, she reminded herself in the darkened parlor. His butler answered, asked her to wait, and a minute later Sidney’s voice came through the earpiece.
“Catherine?”
“Sidney.” A lump rose to her throat. “We can’t see each other. Peggy rang while I was out, and Sarah and William are suspicious.”
A muffled exclamation came faintly over the line. It almost sounded like a word she’d heard a cabby shout to his horses when she was a girl. Father had upbraided the man severely and removed the man from his hansom without paying. But she must have been mistaken, she told herself, for Sidney was not the sort of person to swear.
At length he said, “Yes, of course. We don’t want anything interfering with the wedding. That’s the most important thing.”
“You’re not angry?”
“At you? Of course not. Now, go try to enjoy your party, and I’ll bring your ring to Chesterton.”
His understanding caused her love for him to deepen even more so.
That love did not diminish even slightly three days later, Christmas Eve, when she finally got around to opening the parcels for rewrapping. But she could not help but feel dismay over the cheapness of the gifts.
For Uncle Daniel and William there was a muffler each, one of brown and the other of grey wool. The two women’s gifts, hand-painted papier-maché trinket boxes, were a little nicer, but she had seen similar ones in shops for a half-sovereign each. A pretty price for someone poor, but not nearly costly enough to justify her supposed reluctance to have Peggy witness how much she would spend.
Bethia’s gift was a ceramic bisque doll with painted eyes, and Danny’s, a kaleidoscope. Could Rumfellow have spent less than he was given and pocketed the change? Catherine asked herself. But the butler had not worn the look of an embezzler—however embezzlers were supposed to look. And besides, he would not risk losing his position should she mention the cheapness of the gifts to Sidney—which she could not do.
Perhaps it was Sidney’s family’s custom to exchange modest gifts, she thought. There was certainly nothing wrong with that. Still, if only he had informed her ahead of time of his plan, she could have insisted on giving his butler an appropriate amount of money, as well as a list of suggested gifts.
It’s the thought that counts, Catherine told herself when some of the doll’s rooted hair came off in her hand. She could not bear to imagine what Wil
liam and Sarah would think. She got up and paced the floor, chiding herself for not opening the parcels sooner. But she had so wanted to allay Sarah and William’s suspicions that she had spent almost every waking minute of the past two days involving herself with family. She read at least a dozen picture books to Danny, played paper dolls with Bethia, and helped Uncle Daniel organize his research files. The latter had consumed half of yesterday.
****
On Christmas morning the family followed the pleasant rituals being followed in thousands of households all over England, from the children squealing over the contents of their stockings, to the service at Christ Church, to the roast turkey and Christmas pudding, and then the presenting of gifts in the parlor. Small lit candles, fancy cakes and gilded gingerbread figures, little baskets and trays of candies and fruits festooned the branches of a seven-foot fir, and an angel with outstretched wings stared heavenward from its tip.
To Catherine’s immense relief, the children drew so much attention—Bethia reverently touching a tiny shingle on the roof of her dollhouse, and Danny laughing until he hiccuped from the back of his hobby horse—that her gifts did not draw even one curious look.
“Thank you, Catherine,” William said, winding the grey muffler about his neck and smiling. “Very nice.”
Thank you, Catherine automatically prayed under her breath while her nerves untangled. A second later it occurred to her that she had just insulted God, who certainly was not party to her deception. Relief was replaced by guilt, and suddenly the three months until her wedding—three more months of lies—felt like a long time.
Thirty
“We’ll see you at Easter,” Sarah said, wrapping her arms about Catherine’s woolen-swathed figure in the hall on the third of January, 1882.
Catherine patted her back, and said with a curious thickness to her voice, “I appreciate how you’ve always made me feel welcome here.”
“But it’s been our joy,” Sarah told her as they stepped apart. The little Christmas shopping misunderstanding had been the only ripple in the pond, but Catherine had certainly proved herself afterward by her cheerful disposition and involvement with the family. “And we look forward to having you here many more times. Have you everything?”
Catherine's Heart Page 33