“Yes,” Peggy replied, hazel eyes frank. Her thumb savaged the flap of the envelope. “I didn’t appreciate what he was doing to you.”
But you didn’t really know him, Catherine thought, eyes clouding again. The Sidney who took her arm protectively when they crossed streets, read the children’s books his mother authored, and told her how just looking at her smile made him feel that all was right with the world.
The sorrow was so heavy in her heart that she thought it would choke her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. How could he—and Milly—have changed so abruptly?
Or were those flaws in character there all along—hidden—perhaps not even realized by their owners? A year ago you wouldn’t have considered yourself a liar came painfully to mind.
“What will you do with this?” Peggy’s voice cut into her thoughts. Thumb and forefinger held the page by a corner as if it were contaminated.
“I don’t know,” Catherine replied. She could barely fathom which nightgown to pack, which was why her bed was still littered with heaps of folded clothing.
“May I offer a suggestion?”
“Yes.”
Peggy sent a pointed look toward the fireplace. With a dark smile, she said, “Unfortunately I’ve had some experience with disposing of letters. But it would be an honor . . .”
Catherine nodded. “Go ahead.”
She watched Peggy take three steps to the fireplace and lay letter and envelope over the smoldering coals.
For every waking minute of the past twelve days, Catherine’s mind had harbored a hazy notion that this was all a big mistake, that she would wake one morning and life would somehow have reverted again to the happier days when Sidney loved her. That notion dissolved when the last black wisp disappeared up the chimney, and she had to press her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
Compassion filled Peggy’s freckled face. “I’ll be back,” she said after a quick embrace. “I’m going to find you something to eat.”
“But I’m not—”
“You will be later.”
She returned with some bread and cheese and a cup of hot chocolate, which she had asked of Mrs. Hearn. Only because Peggy had gone through the effort, Catherine allowed herself to be coaxed to the study table. She used the hot chocolate to wash the food down her dry throat, while Peggy finished the packing. And in the morning before they set out for Cambridge Station, Peggy brought her breakfast, aware without it having been discussed that Catherine could not endure too many wishes in the dining hall for a lovely Easter.
In the train they held hands almost all the way to London, and the thought entered Catherine’s dulled mind that, were it not for Peggy’s little gestures of compassion, she would not have had the strength to get out of bed this morning.
They would be neighbors beginning next term, the only bright spot she could see in her future. Peggy had gained permission for the move from Miss Bernard. During vacation, Mr. Willingham and other school servants would be moving her belongings. “Thank you,” Catherine managed to say as they embraced before parting at King’s Cross.
Peggy kissed her cheek. “God will see you through this, Catherine.”
The ache inside was so acute that it robbed Catherine’s other senses. It was as if she were encased in glass like Snow White, able to see the reunions going on about her but unable to feel the joy radiating from them. As for feeling anything from God, the case might as well have been made of iron.
Thirty-Four
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Sidney said. He stroked her hair as she rested her head upon his shoulder. “I’ve been busy in Northamptonshire. She’s nothing to me.”
“Then why is she here?” Catherine asked, one eye peering at Milly, smiling at her from Mrs. Fry’s parlor chair. “And why is she wearing the ring?”
“Mother . . .” Milly said in a childish voice. “Danny took my dominos from my room.”
“Danny, what have you been told about asking Sister’s permission?”
“Aunt Naomi?” Catherine mumbled. The images in her mind evaporated. She opened one eye.
“But I couldn’t find her!” Another childish voice came from just outside her door.
“Sh-h-h . . . you’ll wake Catherine.”
Catherine rubbed her face as footsteps faded in the corridor. Sunlight slanted through the gap in her curtains, and the chimneypiece clock revealed that it was almost nine o’clock. You have to get up, she told herself, fighting the temptation to close her eyes again and hope that Sidney’s bittersweet presence would return. You’re not a guest at a hotel.
Even though Sarah, William, Uncle Daniel, and Aunt Naomi had forgiven her when she confessed her duplicity three days ago, she knew that she still had to prove herself to them. It was one of the very few things that still mattered.
She drew on her dressing gown and went to the bathroom to freshen up. “Good morning, Mademoiselle,” Marie said while on her way to Sarah and William’s room with a stack of folded linens.
“Good morning, Marie.” There was neither sight nor sound of Aunt Naomi and the children. Back in her room, Catherine dressed quickly. She was heading for the door when she noticed the letter to her parents she had started yesterday evening, but had not the energy to complete. Thinking of her family and Bombay brought Lieutenant Elham’s face to mind.
You should have at least written and explained that you had a beau, she told herself. Instead, she had ignored his last two letters. Perhaps she should write an apology? Mention that she would be in Bombay again this summer?
A little wave of nausea came on the heels of that thought. No man could ever take Sidney’s place. The emptiness inside screamed out at her, and she understood why Grandmother Lorimer had passed within weeks of her husband. Loneliness was as painful as any ailment she had ever suffered, and the curative was out of her reach.
Write Lieutenant Elham tonight, she told herself, ignoring another wave of queasiness. A stale crust was better than no bread, especially to a starving person.
****
“He signed?” Sarah said into the telephone mouthpiece. She reached for one of the sofa cushions and shoved it behind her lower back. With just two weeks remaining before her due date, she had discovered long ago that carrying the weight of a little one caused a strain upon other parts of the frame. “Very good! And when you speak with Mr. Sedgwick again, please do tell him that we enjoy his tea.”
“Then we’ll bring you some next time we visit,” the elder Mr. Mitchell said through the telephone line. “They sent us a case here.”
After replacing the earpiece, Sarah handed the telephone back to Avis to replace on the side table. She could have done it herself, but she had learned that any task that involved stretching or twisting brought admonishments from family members and servants. “Thank you, Avis.”
“Good news?” Naomi said as the maid left the parlor. Bethia, bereft of Guy’s company now that the boy went to the National School during the day, lay on her stomach on the carpet demonstrating to three-and-a-half-year-old Danny how to play dominoes.
“We’ll start shipping Sedgwick Tea to the States in June,” Sarah replied. She no longer went to the office, but kept abreast of the goings-on through Friday morning telephone conferences with one or the other of the Mitchells. The two also visited occasionally, just as the elder Mr. Mitchell had done with the late Mrs. Blake. However tempting it was to sit back and collect income, relying solely upon their proven expertise, she had to remind herself that Mr. and Mrs. Blake had sacrificed much to build Blake Shipping, and so she owed a duty to their benefactors. “Mr. Mitchell says they sent some tea out to the office.”
“Yes?” Naomi said. “I do like it, but nothing can compare with the tea Mrs. Blake used to get from China.”
“I would give my best gown for a cup of it right now,” Sarah said, then sighed and looked down at her protruding stomach. “Even if it still fit.”
“Good morning.”
Sarah turned toward the doorway as much as
possible without twisting. Catherine entered, leaned down to put a kiss upon her forehead, bent down to pat the children’s heads, then kissed Naomi’s forehead. However promising these displays of affection—the first since her arrival three days ago—Catherine still looked bleary-eyed and distant. Her hair hung down her back in strings, a section just behind her right ear was even creased from the pillow.
“I’m sorry I slept through breakfast,” she said, lowering herself into the cushion beside Sarah.
“I asked Trudy to save you something. Why don’t you ring, and we’ll have a tray sent up?”
“I . . .” Catherine’s eyes stared vacuously out into space, as if she had lost her train of thought, but at length she replied, “I’m not sure if I’m hungry.”
You shouldn’t be, after having thirds last night. The thought gave Sarah no pleasure. It seemed that food had become her cousin’s solace. Food and sleep.
Sarah intercepted Naomi’s little nod and looked at Catherine. Her cousin was leaning forward, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Catherine sniffed. “I just can’t stop . . .”
“Why is Catherine crying?” Danny asked his mother.
Naomi rose from her chair and took his hand along with Bethia’s. “Catherine is sad.”
“Why is she—”
“I’ll explain when we find Father. Let’s go see what he’s doing.”
The children did not protest, and sent Catherine’s weeping form shy looks of mingled curiosity and sympathy as they left with their mother.
Why did you bring this upon yourself, Catherine! Sarah knew the thought was uncharitable, but she could not help but remember how strongly she had warned her against Lord Holt.
But at least he was out of her life for good!
Sliding as close as her bulk would allow, she began rubbing her cousin’s back. “Poor, dear Catherine. I know you can’t see it now, but this was the best thing that could have happened to you.”
“That’s what Milly wrote in her letter,” Catherine said with bitter voice. She sat, still leaning forward, with arms folded and hands cupping opposite elbows.
“I fear she’ll find out for herself just how true that is.”
“She said they’re very happy.”
“Every woman is happy on her honeymoon,” Sarah told her. “It’s during the day-to-day living that she learns just how important integrity is in a man. It affects every part of their married life.”
Catherine wiped a sleeve across her brimming eyes. It was frustrating to Sarah to witness the misery in the girl’s expression, even in the way she held herself, as if fearful of coming apart if she let go. All this emotional agitation, and for a man without even the decency to inform her that his affections lay elsewhere?
“Oh, Catherine,” Sarah groaned. “Do you value yourself so cheaply?”
Her cousin blinked dully at her.
“You have a good heart. Is it worth nothing to you?” Sarah said, resisting the urge to grab both her shoulders and shake her until all memory of that horrid man left her mind. “Will you hand it over again to the next lord or army officer who happens by, without even taking the time to discover if he’s worthy of it?”
If Catherine absorbed anything from those words, it was impossible to tell, for she turned her face away again and drew her arms more tightly about herself. They sat in silence punctuated by the ticking of the long-case clock, Catherine’s occasional sniff, and faint voices in the corridor—probably Mrs. Bacon’s and Claire’s. Still rubbing her cousin’s back, Sarah prayed for just the right words to help restore her to wholeness.
But before her prayer was answered, Catherine unfolded her arms and pushed herself up to her feet.
“Thank you, Sarah,” she said with glassy eyes and a pasted-on little smile. “I should go to the kitchen before Trudy puts everything away.”
“We can ring—”
“Thank you, but I’d rather just go down there.”
****
“She’s just going to need some time,” William told Sarah as she lay nestled in his arms that evening. “I remember how wretched I felt when I thought you were in love with Ethan Knight. No one could have reasoned away those feelings.”
A little sadistic part of her, that Sarah did not know she possessed, rather enjoyed hearing that, now that this particular sadness was all in the past. “You were terribly wretched?”
“You know that I was. I think you rather enjoyed having that power over me.”
“I didn’t realize that I had it,” she confessed. “And I probably wouldn’t have known what to do with it, if I had.”
They lay silent for a while, relishing the closeness. After a while Sarah murmured drowsily, “Pity you can’t go to your lab and invent a pill for heartache.”
“I’d be the wealthiest man in the world,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “I know you’re concerned about Catherine. But it’s not good for the baby, for you to get overwrought by her problems.”
“I’m honestly trying not to, William. But I’ve never seen anyone so despondent.”
“And again, I say time is what will help her. All you can do is make her comfortable while she waits it out. Fretting over a broken leg or a broken heart won’t make either heal any faster.” He yawned. “And you need to be devoting your mental energies to names for the baby.”
“Names.” Catherine sighed. “You’re still adamant that a boy won’t be William?”
“Yes,” he murmured into her hair. “Or everyone will address him as Willie to differentiate between us. I’ll not do that to our boy.”
“And if she’s a girl?”
“Hmm. No, Willie won’t do for her either. So we’ll have to put our brains to work.” He yawned again, then sighed contentedly. “Tomorrow.”
The yawn was infectious. After catching it, Sarah nodded against his shoulder. “Tomorrow.”
****
At the lunch table the following day, after filling herself at lunch with two large servings of hashed mutton, boiled cabbage, three rolls, and a rhubarb tart, Catherine said uneasily, “Would anyone mind if I walked to the subscription library? I’m studying Plato next term, and Peggy advised that I should read The Republic during vacation. I wouldn’t be gone long, just long enough to check it out.”
She could not add that studying would give her an excuse to stay in her room for hours, away from everyone’s efforts to cheer her.
“Of course not,” Sarah said. “Would you like Stanley to drive you?”
“Thank you, but I’ve not been outside for any length of time for days.” Surely some fresh air upon her face would quell some of the torment in her mind. Then it occurred to her that Sarah might wish to have someone else observe that she actually went where she said she was going. “But if you’d rather he drove me . . .”
Sarah gave her an understanding smile. “Whatever you wish.”
“May I go too?” Bethia asked.
“Of course,” Catherine replied. Having her young cousin along would destroy any tiny remnant of suspicion that might remain in anyone’s mind. That was the trouble with having told so many lies, she was discovering. Her credibility had been so damaged that she felt guilty even when telling the truth.
“Me too?” Danny asked.
“Sorry, dear,” Aunt Naomi said. “It’s almost time for your nap.”
Danny’s face puckered—not as if he would cry, but with the resignation of a child who has learned that his nap is not negotiable.
“We’ll take a turn about the garden before your nap,” Uncle Daniel consoled. He turned to Catherine with green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You know . . . I hate to spoil your walk, but there’s actually a copy of the book upstairs. We used it while I was tutoring Sarah.”
Sarah nodded as if having forgotten. “That’s so.”
“I’ll be in there doing some research in a little while,” he said. “I’ll look for it and set it out for you.”
“Thank yo
u.” Catherine smiled at Bethia, whose narrow shoulders were slumped with disappointment. “But there’s no hurry. Bethia and I need to take our walk first.”
They strolled from one end of Cannonhall Road to the other, Bethia thankfully inclined more toward companionable silence than chattiness, though she did speak of her excitement over a trip she and Danny would be taking with their parents in the summer. The breezes sifting through the new leaves of the birches flanking the road were refreshing upon Catherine’s face. If only a breeze could somehow waft through her mind, lift out all the sorrow and guilt and feelings of worthlessness.
“ . . . but Father says Guy can’t come with us,” Bethia went on in her breathy little voice.
Catherine smiled at her. “You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?”
“Well, I love Danny more because he’s my brother, but Guy’s my best friend.”
As they passed Admiral Kirkpatrick’s home on their return trip, Catherine wondered if his grandson was still considering visiting him for the summer. Perhaps he would be here before she left for Bombay, or at least when she returned. Not that she was interested in him romantically, but she did feel she might have been a little antisocial during Sarah and William’s Christmas party, with her pointed comments about being away. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little nicer, were they to meet again.
On the heels of that thought came the memory of Sarah’s comment yesterday. She could almost hear her cousin’s voice: Will you hand your heart over again to the next lord or army officer who happens by, without even taking the time to discover if he’s worthy of it?
It wasn’t fair for you to say that, Sarah, Catherine argued back mentally. William loved you from the first and never stopped, so you’ve never felt what I’m feeling.
****
“That was very kind of you to include her,” Uncle Daniel said, rising from the table when Catherine entered the library an hour later, after Aunt Naomi had taken Bethia for her nap.
“She’s pleasant company,” Catherine told him.
He handed her Plato’s Republic from atop a stack of a half dozen books upon the table. “You know, I’ve read this several times. If you’ve any questions, do be sure to come to me, and I’ll answer them if I can.”
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