Was it ego that made him relish the thought of being able to reverse the downward spiral of so many young lives? He hoped not. The difficult thing about being young was that one had to search one’s motives so often. Older people seemed to know their own minds.
“Hugh?”
“Yes?” He blinked at her as the image of the school building dissolved in his mind.
She frowned as if aware that she was not the subject of his woolgathering. “I said . . . will you be all right?”
“Be all right?” A lump welled in his throat. How would he ever be all right? “Will you at least give this some more thought, Lillian?”
For one hope-filled second, she stared at the ring box between them as if battling temptation. But then she tightened her lips and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Hugh. I won’t change my mind.”
****
The sun doesn’t rise and set according to your own happiness, Hugh told himself at his writing table two hours later. He blew his nose into a second handkerchief and looked at his bed. Heartache was a great robber of strength, he was discovering. How tempting to bury himself in the bedclothes and sleep for days. But he had set a goal of writing three letters per night, and this was only the first.
Thirty-Three
Catherine and Peggy traded sleepy smiles outside Milly’s bedroom door on the morning of the twelfth of March. “Helping Milly dress to meet the train” had become a weekly project. But when Catherine’s second series of light knocks went unanswered, they gave each other annoyed looks.
“She hasn’t even bathed yet?” Peggy said, turning the knob.
It was going to be a pulse-racing rush. And to make matters worse, rain had set in last night, meaning Milly would have to leave even earlier than usual. Catherine followed Peggy into the room, washed with just enough diluted light from the rain-pelted window to allow her to see the lamp and matches on the bedside table.
“Milly?” Peggy said as Catherine took up the matches. Just as the light flared, Peggy turned to her. “She’s not here.”
“She wasn’t in the bathroom,” Catherine said, lighting the lamp. She held it up, looked at the rumpled bed, then scanned the room as if Milly were hiding in a corner.
“Do you think she went to breakfast?” Peggy asked.
Catherine drew in a calmer breath. That would mean that Milly had already dressed. Perhaps they would enjoy a leisurely Sunday breakfast after all.
But Milly was not in the dining room, nor could anyone they asked recall seeing her. “Did you check the infirmary?” Susan Martin asked.
“She was fine last night,” Catherine said, for the three had studied at her table for end-of-term examinations that were to begin in one week. Milly had even borrowed a ribbon from Catherine’s chest of drawers for the trip, so it was clear that she intended to go to St. Ives today.
But they could not leave that stone unturned, and fortunately the infirmary search proved fruitless. Unfortunately, so did another peek into the bathroom and Milly’s apartment. Any minute Catherine expected their friend to appear, teasing them for their worries. But when she had not done so a half-hour later, she and Peggy talked it over and decided it was time to involve Miss Bernard. Soon the whole student body and faculty were looking for Milly. Mr. Willingham was even pressed into service, after he stated she had not reminded him yesterday that she would need transportation to Histon Station this morning.
No one went to church, and every face Catherine met in the corridor was anxious. By ten o’clock, Mrs. Bernard had sent Mr. Willingham to Cambridge for a policeman. Two arrived in blue uniforms with shiny brass buttons. They felt Milly’s window ledges and carpet for dampness.
“No one broke in to carry her off,” one said.
Catherine and Peggy, peering from the open sitting room door, gave each other identical relieved looks.
“Is there anything missing?” a policeman asked Miss Bernard.
The mistress turned to the doorway. “Misses Rayborn and Somerset here are her closest friends.”
Peggy went through Milly’s chest of drawers, and Catherine, her wardrobe. The portmanteau Milly kept stashed behind her shoes was missing, Catherine noticed. She was as familiar with Milly’s wardrobe as her own, and moved through the gowns. Four were missing, along with two pairs of shoes, her mink hat, umbrella, and black cloak.
Peggy’s report was similar. Two pairs of gloves, reticule, and two nightgowns and some undergarments were missing.
“Perhaps she was worried about her father, and decided to go early and stay a few days,” Miss Welsh suggested.
“She didn’t mention it to Catherine or me last night,” Peggy said.
“And why would she have slipped out after dark,” Miss Bernard said, “when no trains were running?”
Miss Welsh nodded thoughtfully. “And in the rain, yet.”
Recalling Milly’s reluctance to travel first-class when it was available last week forced Catherine to put concern over her friend’s welfare above her reluctance to gossip about her. “She’s not been herself lately,” she told Misses Bernard and Welsh.
The policemen finally collected their umbrellas from the entrance hall and left to search the streets of Girton and Histon, promising Miss Bernard that more men would be recruited for a Cambridge search. At noon the rain cleared, but that did not lighten the somber atmosphere at the college. Peggy and Catherine spent most of the day in the entrance hall, hovering and anxious, trying to recall any overlooked scraps of last night’s conversation that might give a clue.
When the original two policemen returned to report their progress—which was no progress as of yet, Miss Bernard herself caught the afternoon train to St. Ives.
At six, most students sat down to steak-and-kidney pudding and mashed potatoes in the dining hall, Catherine and Peggy included. They had skipped breakfast and lunch, and hunger had finally overtaken them.
“Look, she’s back,” Ann Purdy said, motioning toward the doorway.
Catherine’s pulse jumped as she jerked her head to look. But it was Miss Bernard standing there, staring over the assemblage with an expression of infinite weariness.
“Ladies, may I have your attention?” she said, stepping into the dining hall.
Catherine and Peggy reached for each other’s hands. Voices that were already hushed quieted to silence.
“I appreciate how concerned you are over Miss Turner’s disappearance. I am relieved to inform you that she has not fallen victim to some misfortune, but sadly, I must add that she has decided to leave Girton and will not return.”
“Just before exams?” someone said from another table.
“Yes. Now carry on with your meal, please. We must not allow this unhappy event to detour us from our goals.”
In the buzz of conjecture going on in the room, Catherine and Peggy were pressed for answers from those at their table.
“We’ve already told you all we know,” Peggy said.
Catherine pushed away her half-finished meal and longed for the comfort of Sidney’s arms. He would know just the right words to console her. She could just hear him saying, Surely they’ll allow her to enroll again once her father is recovered—or passed on.
As they left the dining hall, Miss Welsh advanced upon them as if she had been waiting for that purpose. “Miss Bernard wishes to see you.”
In the mistress’s office, Miss Welsh directed them to two chairs and closed the door to stand just inside.
“I do not indulge in gossip, particularly when it has to do with my students,” Miss Bernard said, face still very grave. “But I’m compelled to ask if either or the both of you were aware that Miss Turner was not visiting her father for the past several Sundays.”
For a second it seemed that Catherine was viewing all of them—herself included—from a distance. Nothing made sense. It was as if Milly and the young woman Miss Bernard was speaking of were two different people.
“But she was, Miss Bernard,” Peggy said. “He’s been ill.”<
br />
Catherine, finally collecting her wits, added, “We even met her train two weeks ago.”
“Miss Turner’s father was surprised to learn of his ill health.” Faint suspicion mingled with the gravity in the woman’s face. “On your honor, you had no knowledge that Miss Turner was meeting a man?”
Catherine and Peggy traded stunned looks in the silence that fell. When she could speak, Catherine said, “Milly would never do such a thing.” The irony hit her that she herself had done the very thing that sounded so unethical when attached to Milly.
“We would know if she were,” Peggy insisted. “This can’t be so.”
“She did not get on with her stepmother,” Catherine said as soon as a possible scenario popped into her head. “Is she the one who told you about this man, Mrs. Turner?”
The headmistress sighed and sat back in her chair. The suspicion had drained from her face, leaving just weariness. “I must insist that you are to keep this to yourselves, for we have the reputation of this school to protect. I’m only informing you because you were such good friends. But Miss Turner wired her family this morning that she has eloped. That was all the message said.”
And there was nothing more to add to that. Miss Bernard counseled them not to allow this to detract them from their studies, and dismissed them. As they walked down the corridor in a stupor, Peggy wiped her eyes and said with low voice, “Why would she do such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” Catherine replied, while a little seed of fear took swift root inside her mind. Fellow students, privy only to half the story, gave them sympathetic looks. Some paused to murmur how dismayed they were.
Peggy was turning the knob to her sitting room door when Catherine looked down the corridor. They needed to talk this out, to try to make some sense of it all. But it was as if an invisible chain was pulling her to her own apartment, where the fear welling inside her would surely be squelched.
“Let’s go to mine,” she said.
“Very well,” Peggy said, closing the door again.
“Who could he be?” Catherine whispered as they neared her door and no one was in hearing distance. To voice the question was to drown out the other question in her mind. Just a coincidence, she told herself.
Peggy had not replied. Catherine looked at her. Her friend was staring back with stricken expression.
“What is it?” Catherine said.
“Oh, Catherine! Don’t you know?”
Suddenly Catherine could not draw enough air into her lungs. “No!” she cried, and pushed herself through her doorway. Inside her apartment she dropped into her upholstered chair and broke into sobs. She heard the door close. Peggy knelt in front of her and took her hands. Not Sidney! chorused though Catherine’s mind over and over as Peggy stared up at her with red-rimmed eyes.
“There, there now.” Peggy’s voice was thick with emotion. A knock sounded, then the voice of Mary Dereham, Catherine’s neighbor on the sitting room side.
“Is . . . there anything I can do?”
“No, thank you!” Peggy called.
Catherine’s throat felt raw, and every cavity in her face felt packed. Still, a sliver of hope remained. She knew Sidney better than she knew anyone on earth, even better than she knew her own parents. At this moment he was in Northamptonshire, probably reading his newspapers, unaware of the torment she was going through.
Or perhaps he was aware, in some mysterious way. Weren’t their hearts so much in tune that their silences even communicated? Why should distance make that any less so?
And Milly had met someone when she went home for her father’s birthday. For some reason, she was not able to tell them. Perhaps she feared they would disapprove. But surely they would receive a letter this week, explaining all. They would shake their heads and say, with loving exasperation, “That Milly!”
“I’ll get you a handkerchief,” Peggy said, releasing her hands. She had just walked around the table when Catherine felt an overwhelming urge to have Sidney’s ring in the palm of her hand. The proof of his devotion to her and the future they would begin in just two weeks. She rose and followed Peggy into the bedroom.
“What is it?” Peggy said, turning to look at her.
“My ring.”
Peggy stood aside, and Catherine pulled out the top drawer. The jewelry pouch was there behind her ribbons and gloves, as usual. Just the feel of it in her hand reassured her. She untied the drawstring and dumped the contents on the top of the chest of drawers. The ring was missing.
“No . . . please . . . no!” she sobbed. She rifled through the jewelry to be sure, then started pulling out the contents of the drawer and heaping them on top.
“Are you sure it was in there?” Peggy said.
“Yes!” Catherine cried, and in her heart, she knew.
****
She went through the motions of being a student for the twelve days remaining in term, walking about as if in a vacuum from which all joy had been sucked out. She spent much of the time in bed in a lethargy born of exhaustion, and when hunger overpowered the appetite-killing ache, she filled her stomach until her senses were temporarily dulled.
A knock sounded at her sitting room while she was packing for Hampstead after exams. She walked from the bedroom and opened the door. Miss Sinclair stood in the corridor, looking atypically somber and more than a little uncomfortable. “Miss Bernard would like to see you in her office, Miss Rayborn.”
The mistress was kind, but blunt. “One would almost suppose, by looking at the results of your examinations, that you ceased attending lectures halfway through this term. I can appreciate how your friend Miss Turner’s leaving caused you grief, but life is a series of meetings and partings. One learns to adjust and press on. It’s part of becoming an adult.”
“Yes, Miss Bernard,” Catherine said. The words did not hurt as much as they should. Not much got past the raw ache caused by Sidney and Milly’s betrayal. Also, she was so deprived of sleep that she walked about as if in a fog, the people about her just players in a dimly lit theatre.
“I regret taking this action more than you can imagine,” Miss Bernard said, “but when you return for Easter Term you will be on academic probation.”
“Probation?”
“If your marks do not improve dramatically, you will have to sit out the following Michaelmas Term. This isn’t a punishment, Miss Rayborn, but a warning I do hope you will heed. You’re too bright to throw away your schooling over some personal disappointment.”
“Yes, Miss Bernard.”
The mistress gave her an odd look. “Have you nothing to say?”
Catherine thought for a second. What could she say? That in spite of lying about her whereabouts and filling pages with Sidney’s name when she should have been studying, daydreaming of Sidney when she should have been listening to lectures, she somehow did not deserve this? “No, Miss Bernard,” she replied dully.
“Very well then. I do hope you’ll use this vacation to reexamine your motives for enrolling here in the first place.”
What were they? Catherine asked herself, for the nervous soon-to-be fresher boarding the train seemed like a totally different person from who she was now. “Yes, Miss Bernard.”
Laughter from one of the rooms fell upon her throbbing ears as her leaden feet carried her back up the corridor. She turned the corner and almost collided with Beatrice Lindsay.
“Catherine! I was just at your room. I’m serving as ‘postman’ today, with everyone busy packing.” Beatrice flipped through several envelopes. “I know I saw—yes, here it is. Florence, eh? I wish I were there.”
“But I don’t know anyone in—” A pang stabbed her heart at the sight of the familiar script. She mumbled thanks, hurried to her room, and closed the door. There was nothing Milly could say that would make everything all right again, but still, Catherine tore into the envelope.
Dearest Catherine,
Catherine’s eyes filled. How cruel, that Milly could use such sentiment afte
r destroying her life!
By now I am sure you have learned that Sidney and I were wed on the twelfth of March. We are very happy, yet in the midst of that joy is a dark place that I cannot help but visit often. You are there, staring at me with so much hurt in your expression that I sometimes burst into tears.
“You poor dear,” Catherine muttered sarcastically, swiping beneath each eye with her fingertips. When she took hold of the letter again, the twelfth smudged beneath her thumb.
Please believe that we did not intend to fall in love. But once those feelings became realized, we were powerless to fight them. We beg your forgiveness for not informing you that we were seeing each other. Because you are so dear to both of us, neither Sidney nor I could bear to witness the grief this news surely caused you.
One thing brings us consolation, and that is a gentleman waits in your future, perhaps just around the corner, who is your perfect soul mate. One day, when he has swept you off your feet, you will look back on this turn of events and thank God that His plans are so much more perfect than ours.
I dare even to hope, dearest Catherine, that one day we shall all be friends.
I am,
Very truly yours,
Milly
“Maybe they’ll name their first daughter after you,” Peggy muttered two hours later, after stopping by the room to see why Catherine had not appeared at lunch. “She didn’t even apologize for taking the ring.”
A tiny thread of uncertainty worked its way into Catherine’s hostility. “Are we really certain she’s the one who—”
“She took it, Catherine. People want their heirlooms to stay in the family. Lord Holt would have asked for it by now if they didn’t have it. Also, Milly and I were the only ones to know of it, and I wouldn’t have touched that ring with a cane.”
Catherine blew her nose. “You disliked him that much?”
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