“No, thank you,” she said before Peggy could commit them to staying the whole day. “We really must leave now.”
****
They had not even seen the whole upstairs yet. Though disappointed, Hugh did not press. He told himself he wasn’t setting a good example for the students and staff anyway, by socializing while they worked. The half dozen boys outside had almost emptied the wagon of another load.
“The ladies’ driver is asleep, Mr. Sedgwick,” Mr. Madden told him.
They all turned to look. The coachman was slumped sideways in his box, head propped upon bent arm and sagging mouth sending out sonorous gusts.
“He’s a bit tipsy,” Miss Somerset explained.
“He is?” That worried Hugh. “You really shouldn’t be in this neighborhood without a responsible male escort. I’ll accompany you as far as—”
Miss Rayborn was shaking her head. “Thank you, Mr. Sedgwick. But he’s done all right so far.”
“And he’s familiar with the neighborhood,” Miss Somerset added with obvious reluctance.
Stepping over to the coach, Hugh reached up to give the toe of the man’s boot a shake. “I say, Sir!”
The driver opened his eyes and sent him down a bleary smile. “Time to move on, is it?”
“As soon as the ladies are inside. But are you still able to drive?”
“Aye. Joost takin’ a little nap.”
Hugh paid the man, over the protests of his two guests. “Your visit was a tonic to me,” he said, opening the coach’s door. “We don’t have many visitors. Please say you’ll come again when we’re settled.”
Miss Somerset offered her hand. “We will, Mr. Sedgwick.”
Miss Rayborn also extended her hand. But as Hugh took it in his own, she barely met his eyes, and replied with a less committal, “Thank you for the tour, Mr. Sedgwick.”
She’s aware that her friend’s plotting, Hugh thought, restraining a smile. And her discomfort over it surely meant that she was not entirely disinterested in him. If she were, she would not care enough about his opinion to be embarrassed.
She was not so wide-eyed and naïve looking as when he sat across from her on the Express three years ago. That there was more of the woman and less of the schoolgirl made her more attractive in his eyes.
Lillian, happily wed to Sir Jeffery, seldom visited his thoughts any more. He had decided he did not need anyone. When loneliness crept up upon him, he simply plunged himself more deeply into work. But seeing Miss Rayborn again reawakened the interest he had had in her once before, and made him aware of how painfully out of balance his life was.
He wondered if Miss Somerset was not the only one attempting to initiate something. Could it be that God was involved in a little matchmaking Himself? If you are, Father, he prayed under his breath as he watched Miss Rayborn settle into the seat, please give me some sign.
“The dark-haired one likes you,” Mrs. Garrett said when Hugh carried a couple of chairs up to the dining hall.
“And just how do you know that?”
“I could tell by the way she tried so hard not to look at you. Now, what young woman could avoid looking at your pretty face, unless it was to hide her affection?”
Mrs. Beeby chuckled, and Hugh mugged a face at both women. He was beginning to lose the feelings in his arms from the elbows down. But recalling his prayer of just minutes ago, he stood studying Mrs. Garrett.
She cocked her chin at him. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“I’m just wondering if you’re my Gideon’s fleece.”
Instead of asking what he meant, Mrs. Garrett shook her head and resumed making sandwiches. “That I don’t know, Mr. Sedgwick. I suppose you’ll have to call on the young lady and find out for yourself.”
****
“But why shouldn’t he know you plan to teach?” Peggy argued as the coach rumbled up Fleet Street. “He owns a school.”
“It was so obvious that you were hinting that he should offer me a job,” Catherine replied.
“Well . . . I was.”
“It made me seem desperate. Can’t you see that?”
“No, I can’t. Because I took care to mention the Ryle School wanting you.”
“Not desperate for a job. Desperate that he should court me. Especially after that bit about the wife or fiancée.”
Peggy’s little smile was maddening. “I don’t recall suggesting that he court you. But it’s obviously on your mind.”
“No, it’s not,” Catherine said automatically. At Peggy’s disbelieving look, she shook her head. “Very well . . . it is. And that frightens me.”
“But why? He’s a very decent man.”
“Because I was doing just fine. I don’t know if I can trust myself yet.”
“You’re going to have to trust yourself sometime, Catherine,” Peggy told her. “Or will you hide yourself from every eligible man who comes along?”
That was the trouble, Catherine thought. She did not want to hide from Mr. Sedgwick.
But the whole mental struggle could be moot, she realized. While Mr. Sedgwick had been nothing but hospitable, he had given no indication that courtship had even entered his mind. The thought both comforted and disturbed her.
****
“Just when I think I have my life in order, chaos,” she told Uncle Daniel the following afternoon in the library, where his stack of manuscript pages on the bubonic plague now rose a good three inches above the writing table.
“And what brought this on?” he asked, folding his arms and rocking back in his chair.
She held up the envelope delivered only an hour ago. “A Mr. Sedgwick asks to visit Sunday afternoon to speak with me about my plans after graduation.”
“Sedgwick? Like the tea company?”
“His father owns it. And Mr. Sedgwick owns the school Peggy and I toured yesterday. I was quite impressed with the place. But at this point I don’t know if it would be wise to teach there.”
“Why not?”
Realizing he knew nothing of their bumbling attempts at corresponding during her freshman year, she told him, even going back to the prank on the train.
“Interesting fellow,” her uncle said with a little smile.
“I was glad to see him again, Uncle Daniel. That’s the problem. What if I’m deceiving myself, and am only desiring a position there as an excuse to be near him?”
Uncle Daniel scratched his beard thoughtfully. “You’re stronger than you think, Catherine, and God has matured you over the past year. Just ask Mr. Sedgwick for several months to pray over it.”
“I agreed to give the Ryle School an answer by the end of August.”
“Then you’ll have two months. And you’ll have greater clarity of thought being up at Girton, removed from the situation. Tell Mr. Sedgwick that, and then see how God leads. He’s not failed you yet, has He?”
Her uncle was right, of course. God had not failed her, even when His answer was no. Especially not when His answer was no, she thought, recalling her frantic prayers that Sidney would stay in her life. Were God indulgent to every whim of His children, He would be like Aunt Phyllis, and His children as maladjusted as hers.
That evening she prayed earnestly, Help me not to step ahead of you again, Father. And then added, And when Mr. Sedgwick calls, help me not to slip back into neediness.
Forty
The white-haired gentleman reading just on the other side of the low stone wall seemed a good candidate for directions. Hugh stepped closer. “Excuse me, Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Will you be so kind as to direct me to number five? I can’t seem to locate any house numbers.”
The man closed the copy of Quarterly Review over an index finger and rose from the wicker chair, despite Hugh’s protest that he needn’t. “Nonsense, young man,” he said. “Rising from chairs is the only exercise I get these days. My doctor forbids me to tend my garden. Says the damp soil’s bad for my rheumatic hands.”
Hugh sh
ook his head sympathetically and glanced about. Not a stray twig marred the uniformity of the shrubberies. Flowers in beds stood in precise rows from shortest to tallest; yellow pansies in the front and brilliant blue delphiniums bringing up the rear. “You’ve quite an orderly garden.”
“Not as much as when I did it myself, but one learns to relax one’s standards when he reaches my age, lest he drive everyone else insane.” He extended a gnarled hand over the wall. “I’m Admiral Kirkpatrick.”
“Hugh Sedgwick,” Hugh said, shaking the hand with care.
“Yes? Any connection to the tea?”
“My grandfather founded the company.”
“Well, what do you know! I prefer coffee myself, but my Martha—God rest her soul—was quite fond of Sedgwick Tea. She said she could always expect every cup to taste the same.”
Hugh understood now the proximity of the wicker chair to the road. But what could he do? Interrupt the man’s sentimental musings and hurry on? “I’m glad she liked it, Sir.”
“She didn’t put anything in it either. No milk or sugar, just tea.” The gentleman smiled. “Look at me, holding you at attention like this. Number five is the next house. The Doyles—that’s who you’re looking for, yes?”
“Yes, thank you. And may you have a pleasant afternoon.”
The old man saluted him and wished him the same before returning to his chair. Once an elm with low branches cleared his sight, the Doyles’s house loomed ahead, grey and Gothic and interesting. At the door he straightened the collar of his tweed coat before ringing. An older women with spectacles and warm smile took his bowler hat and bade him wait in the hall. Seconds after she disappeared with his card, he heard footsteps on the staircase and looked up at Miss Rayborn and a bearded older gentleman.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sedgwick,” she said.
Hugh smiled. “Good afternoon, Miss Rayborn.”
She was wearing her hair in a chignon, and looked very nice in a simple lavender gown with small embroidered violets. When they reached the ground floor she introduced him to her uncle, Daniel Rayborn.
“Have you horses that need watering, Mr. Sedgwick?” the man said as they shook hands.
“Thank you, but I walked from the omnibus stand.”
“Good idea. The fresh air is most invigorating.”
Hugh assumed Mr. Rayborn was to act as chaperone, but the man excused himself. “My son-in-law and I are concluding a chess match, and our wives are putting the children down for naps. But do come up and meet everyone later.”
“I would be delighted, Sir.” He would certainly like to thank the Doyles for their support of the school.
“Do you mind if we sit outside?” Miss Rayborn asked as her uncle turned again for the stairs.
Hugh didn’t mind at all. In fact it suited him fine, given what he wished to discuss. They walked down the corridor and out past a terrace into a breathtakingly lovely garden. Not as precisely trimmed as the one next door, but he preferred the organized disorder of it, the stray vines clinging to the wall, the beds overspilling with flowers of all heights and hue.
When they reached some benches near a small pond, he walked over to marvel at the trout-sized goldfish. He was used to his sister Claire’s succession of goldfish in bowls, and never realized that they adjusted their size according to their containers. “Do you think they would grow even larger in a lake?”
“It has never occurred to me to wonder,” Miss Rayborn confessed, staring down at the glints of orange-gold. “But I’ll ask my uncle when we go back inside. He once wrote a biology text. Surely he would know.”
“A biology text? Indeed?”
She smiled. “Uncle Daniel has a wide range of interests. He’s writing a book about the bubonic plague now.”
“Tell me about everyone else,” he said as they settled at either end of a nearby cast-iron bench. With his encouragement, she described them all, even down to the coachman’s son—which would explain the faint, sometimes off-key, sounds of a bow being drawn against violin strings coming from a window over the stable.
How odd, Hugh thought. His contact with Miss Rayborn over the past three years had been so scant as to be almost nonexistent. Yet he felt as if she had been a part of his life those years, though in the most tenuous way. Was it simply because she was beautiful? He hoped he was not so shallow, but then, he had only to look at Neville for proof that young men generally cared more about the fairness of the cheeks than the quality of the mind.
A maid with auburn hair came from the house with a tray. There was room on the seat between them for cups and saucers. After the maid, whom Miss Rayborn called Avis, was gone, Miss Rayborn raised her cup and looked at him with grey-green eyes merry. “I do hope you like Sedgwick.”
“It’s tolerable,” he replied, smiling as he squeezed his lemon slice into his cup. And he realized that, as much as he was enjoying himself, he should move on to his reason for coming, for the members of her family could possibly decide to join them at any minute.
****
He has nice eyes, Catherine told herself as she took a sip of tea. It was not so much the thick lashes or amber flecks that brought on the observation, but the openness and amiability of them. She was silly enough to be flattered back when Sidney’s blue eyes were so intense upon her. Now she thought that having a man devour her with his eyes would be unnerving and even insulting. She was aware that she looked nice, had groomed herself to that end. But she desired also to be appreciated for her mind and character and life experiences. She was a person, not a bauble to dazzle the eyes, or worse, a meal to whet the appetite.
Perhaps Uncle Daniel was right; she had gained some maturity after all. She hoped so.
Mr. Sedgwick took another drink from his cup and replaced it on its saucer. “Miss Rayborn . . . do you recall my mentioning a cousin once removed who taught a number of years at Ryle School? Geneva Lewis is her name.”
“I do,” Catherine replied while attempting to establish the connection between his cousin and the school in Whitechapel.
“I do hope you’ll forgive my meddling, but I took it upon myself to ring her Thursday evening. She told me that her experiences were favorable, that Mrs. Whitmore was a supportive and considerate headmistress. I wasn’t sure if you had any information beyond your interview, so assumed Geneva’s insight might be helpful.”
It was as if Catherine’s taste buds were prepared for tea, but the contents of her cup had suddenly changed to hot chocolate. Her mind, prepared for one thing, had some difficulty making the transition. Through it all she had to maintain a smile, so that he would not notice her disappointment.
And she was not successful at that, for a little dent appeared between his brows. “Forgive me, Miss Rayborn,” he said. “Should I not have meddled?”
“No. It was very considerate of you.” The strain of the smile was too great, so she allowed it to slip from her face. “Your cousin’s recommendation will be most helpful.”
He stared at her for a moment and then cuffed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What a dolt I am! It never even occurred to me . . . did you think I was here to offer you a position at my school?”
Why did you have to give up lying? Catherine asked herself sourly. But she could not bring herself to admit the truth, so she simply turned her face from him.
She felt his hand upon her sleeve.
“Miss Rayborn, please hear me out. While I’m sure you’re immensely qualified, or you wouldn’t be pursued by Ryle School, I can’t even offer to interview you because you’re a woman.”
Now she had no difficulty looking at him. Did he not realize she had met Mrs. Thorn while he was out chatting with the wagon driver only three days ago? “Mr. Sedgwick, there is a woman preparing a classroom at your school now.”
“As is her husband,” he said. “I have to consider the safety of my staff, Miss Rayborn, and Whitechapel is no place for a woman without a reliable daily escort.”
Catherine recalled his concer
n over Peggy and her leaving in the care of the inebriated driver, and realized he was being forthright with her. There was nothing to do but admit her humiliation, for he could surely read it upon her face. “I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am, Mr. Sedgwick.”
“Embarrassed? Whatever for?”
“You came all the way out here to pay me the courtesy of sharing your cousin’s experiences, and I leapt to conclusions.”
“I should have worded my note more clearly, Miss Rayborn.” His lips quirked into their smile. “But I must admit that I felt awkward all the way here, so it’s a comfort to know I’m not the only one suffering.”
“But why should you feel awkward?”
“Because I didn’t come out here only to share Geneva’s experiences. I could have done that over the telephone.”
“Then why else are you here?” she asked, truly puzzled.
He blew out his cheeks and started tapping the sides of his thumbs together, while the toe of his boot jiggled from side to side like a runaway metronome. “It’s unfair that men have an easier go at most things, Miss Rayborn. Such as passing through Whitechapel without being overly concerned about safety. But we also have to take the initial steps in courting, and that can be a terrifying thing. I may appear all calm and collected, but you must remember I’ve had acting experience. My insides are quivering like that boy’s violin strings.”
Catherine was too amused to become nervous. “I’ve witnessed your acting talent firsthand, Mr. Sedgwick. But you don’t seem calm and collected to me at all.”
“I don’t?” He chuckled, and the shared humor clearly relaxed him, for the thumb tapping and toe swaying ceased. “Well, without further bumbling preamble, may I ask permission to call upon you now and again?”
“I’m flattered, Mr. Sedgwick.” It’s fine to be so, she told herself when panic attempted to strike. As long as you remember to guard your heart until you’re absolutely sure. And one could not become absolutely sure in one fine afternoon in a garden, or even over the course of a summer. “But I’m returning to Girton tomorrow.”
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