by Maureen Lang
“The lives of the students here won’t change to any great degree once they’re back home. I’ve lived with my sister too long to think otherwise. But you are making a difference in their lives for the present. I believe that’s admirable.”
Berrie stopped, clutching his arm not solely for balance. “We’re not here to give only respite. We are here to change lives. Even if we give them just one talent they will have for the rest of their lives, we won’t have failed them. Will we?”
She hadn’t meant to ask that question aloud. Yet he didn’t give a quick, crushing reply, which was what she feared.
He smiled. “No, Berrie. You won’t have failed.”
They rounded the last corner of the manor, and with the door in sight, Berrie’s hobble quickened.
“I realize you want to be free of my company,” he said, still holding her arm, “but you shouldn’t rush on that ankle.”
It would be futile to deny the truth, so she said nothing. Nor did she slow her pace. Only at the door did she let him take her hand, stopping her altogether.
“We should talk. With civility,” he added with a grin, bringing her hand to his lips. “Because like each other or not, Miss Beryl Hamilton, there is something between us I don’t think either one of us can ignore.”
41
* * *
For five days—three days beyond the date Dana was to have returned to Ireland—Rebecca watched Dana do nothing except read and then reread the files from a school that was over 150 years old. Treatments may have changed, Dana admitted, but not the basic, underlying behaviors. Dana told Rebecca one of the things her sister, Talie, worried about most was her son’s future. School records revealed a slice of that future: the struggles and failures, the successes so minor they couldn’t possibly matter. Fold serviette: task accomplished in 149 days. Repeated at every meal for almost half a year, the student had finally picked up the simple skill of folding a table napkin. Some never accomplished even that.
When Rebecca suggested Dana set aside the records for a while and concentrate on Berrie’s letters instead, or better yet, take a day to enjoy more sights, Dana had looked at her as if Rebecca did not understand and never would.
Quentin offered to help cheer Dana, but Dana didn’t want to visit with anyone, though she couldn’t deny him the use of his own home. Both urged her to talk to Aidan, who called every day. Their conversations were short and businesslike, since Dana made no attempt at privacy when he called. The only one who seemed oblivious to Dana’s growing depression was Padgett. She could create a convincing smile on Dana’s face, but it disappeared when Padgett went to bed or was otherwise occupied.
Dana sought solitude, but Rebecca couldn’t in good conscience leave Dana with the records taking hold of her. So the two of them sat in Rebecca’s office together, Rebecca trying to coax Dana to another diversion, but rarely succeeding.
For those five days while Rebecca necessarily chose Dana’s company over Quentin’s, the subject of Lady Caroline never emerged. In Rebecca’s mind the other woman came up often. Rebecca wondered if this time apart was testing her, teaching her that jealousy is a selfish, ultimately self-destructive force, one she wanted nothing to do with. It was also a test for Quentin, intricately enmeshed with Rebecca’s own: by allowing him the freedom of time, did he find himself lured back to Caroline’s company? It was too easy, with Lady Elise happy to provide the opportunity.
While careful not to offer false hope to Dana, Rebecca didn’t allow it for herself, either. She hoped for a future with Quentin but didn’t count it as certain.
“You have a visitor, Miss Rebecca,” said Helen after tapping lightly on Rebecca’s office door. It was good to have Helen and William back, and not only because Rebecca didn’t have to cook anymore.
Rebecca eyed the older woman, wondering if she imagined a frown, while at the same time trying to guess who might be calling. She didn’t have any appointments this week, by her own design. “Who is it, Helen?”
“She’s waiting in the downstairs parlor. Caroline Norleigh.”
Rebecca’s gaze went to Dana’s, whose brows rose with the first hint of interest in days. Confusion quickly took the place of Rebecca’s surprise. Quentin was in London, having phoned her on his way earlier that morning. He said he was on an errand but would return that afternoon. If Lady Caroline were expecting to see him, she’d come to the wrong place.
But that didn’t explain why she’d asked Helen to announce her as Rebecca’s visitor.
“Do you want to see her alone, or do you want some friendly company?” Dana asked. There was a hint of a smile on her face, confirming what Rebecca had long believed. Getting outside one’s own trouble was one of the first steps toward well-being. She should be glad for that, even if Dana was stepping out of her own and into Rebecca’s.
She couldn’t refuse, though her visitor might interpret the extra company as unexpected reinforcements on the opposing team. “I’d like that.”
They went down the stairs to the parlor, where Rebecca saw the tall, willowy shadow of Lady Caroline Norleigh. She didn’t have to move to reveal the natural grace she possessed; her posture did it for her. Her clothes enhanced the look: impeccable, tailored. And her hair—so thick and yet calm, the stuff of Rebecca’s dreams.
Though they entered together and stopped just inside the doorway, Rebecca felt Lady Caroline’s gaze travel then rest on her. The visitor stepped forward, hand outstretched. A smile completed her lovely features, confident she was welcome.
Rebecca shook the woman’s cool, slender hand, unable to resist returning the required smile. Beauty inspired that, even from a rival.
“I’m afraid Quentin isn’t here,” Rebecca said. “He’s gone—”
“To London; yes, I know.” She never stopped smiling. There was something in that smile, so familiar from the society page, that suddenly seemed as two-dimensional as the photos. But Rebecca rejected the thought, afraid she was assigning fault where none existed. “I came to see you, Rebecca. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, though I’m a bit surprised since we’ve never met.”
“And yet we know each other.”
Rebecca wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and so she turned her attention to Dana, beside her. “You’ll be happy to meet Quentin’s cousin. Dana Martin Walker, from America.”
Lady Caroline offered the same friendly handshake, and Dana returned the smile, even though such a gesture had been so rare from her lately.
“It’s actually quite wonderful that you’re here as well, Dana.” How easily she spoke, as if the three of them were chums of many years. “As it says, where two or more are gathered . . .” She turned to the two sofas in the center of the room, each facing the other, giving Rebecca a chance to exchange bewildered glances with Dana.
Rebecca could tell Dana recognized the phrase from the Bible too. A strange source for Lady Caroline Norleigh, who Quentin reported was not a woman of faith, and never a hint in copious newsprint disputed Quentin’s claim.
“‘It,’ Lady Caroline?” Rebecca asked, following to the sofa where the other woman offered a seat with an elegant palm.
“Why, what else but the Bible, the Word of God? It says where two or three are gathered, He shall be there in the midst.”
Rebecca hadn’t planned to sit and have a friendly chat—or prayer—with Lady Caroline Norleigh, but just then the couch behind her scooped her up, holding her securely where a moment ago she feared her knees couldn’t do the job for which they’d been created.
Dana took the seat next to her more intentionally. “Quentin hasn’t mentioned you,” Dana said, “but I happened to see a news photograph of you with Quentin recently. I didn’t realize that you were a woman of faith. I suppose Quentin told you about Rebecca’s deeply held beliefs.”
Rebecca listened to Dana’s easy tone of voice. She sounded just as kind as she always did, sadness set aside. Rebecca was grateful for that; she wasn’t sure she could trust
her own voice just yet. Lady Caroline . . . had discovered faith? Wasn’t that the one thing Quentin had found lacking in her? If that were no longer the case . . . then what?
“Actually it was Quentin’s mother who mentioned Rebecca to me.” Caroline took a seat and leaned forward, looking at Rebecca intently. “You must have guessed by now why I know of you. It’s in all the papers, how Quentin spends his days with you, his nights with me.” She smiled again, a smaller version of the welcoming one, perhaps a touch of embarrassment thrown in.
Rebecca’s pulse sped even as her senses tried bombarding her with worry. She knew Quentin’s faith was real. There was no need for the abashed look on Lady Caroline’s face; sharing a roof didn’t mean they were sharing a bed, no matter what the news reports—or the lady in question—wanted to intimate.
“He hasn’t stopped speaking to me about his newfound faith,” Lady Caroline continued, “and it’s awakened something in me. Faith isn’t something I normally talk about, but since we seem to be connected whether we want to be or not, I thought I could share such private thoughts. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Rebecca whispered. “It’s . . . lovely that Quentin has inspired you.”
“Yes, isn’t it? Of course I have a lot to learn, but then so does Q. He’s so pleased I’ve recognized the value of faith. It’s especially important because we have such a long history together.”
“Q?”
Another abashed little smile. “Quentin. I call him Q sometimes.”
Rebecca stared, wondering what to say that wouldn’t dishonor her own faith, Quentin’s, or God Himself. She’d purposely avoided the society pages since the pregnancy kit episode, thinking the papers were after sales more often than a quest for truth. Would they have warned her? Would they have revealed, somehow, this private faith she spoke of? But words continued to abandon her.
“Do you mind if I play the brash American and ask you something really personal, Lady Caroline?” asked Dana.
Rebecca was grateful Dana filled the silence as Rebecca couldn’t hope to do. Lady Caroline looked at Dana, the newsprint smile still in place. “Not at all.”
“I was under the impression that whatever sort of relationship you had with my cousin Quentin was over some time ago.”
Lady Caroline laughed. “Q and I will always be connected; we live in such a small world.”
“I supposed that’s true, since Quentin’s mother invited you to live at the cottage.”
Another laugh, one Rebecca couldn’t hope to match convincingly. “I’ve actually left as of this morning. That’s another reason I’ve stopped by, since the Hall was on my way. As I drove by, I said, ‘Why not?’ Why not stop in and introduce myself, let you know I won’t be at the cottage anymore, and why. Perhaps now the silly reporters will leave us be.”
While that was a welcome thought, something else was on Rebecca’s mind. “And does Quentin know?” she asked softly. “About your moving out, I mean?”
“Yes, we discussed it last night.” Lady Caroline laughed again. “He offered me his London flat.”
42
* * *
I know my brother insists everyone should fulfill each claim or promise that one makes, but honestly, Cosima, I started the day thinking this is not always wise. Simon was here again, and upon seeing him this morning, he said he hoped I would agree to meet him in the family parlor tonight so we could see about that “civil” conversation we agreed to attempt. All day the prospect distracted me, so by this evening I had worked myself into feeling quite shy about the whole thing. Imagine that. Me, shy. I knew I needed to work myself out of that emotion, the quicker the better.
Berrie stood by the fireplace, looking at anything except the man in front of her. She could tell from the periphery of her vision he was every bit as uncomfortable as she was, if she could judge such a thing by the rigid set of his shoulders and the wary way he watched her.
She hadn’t felt so unsettled since immediately following her debut ball, when the first of a line of beaus came calling, all of whom found one reason or another to cast her aside. She simply didn’t have the temperament to sustain a man’s interest. That was hardly necessary now; all she had to do was carry on a simple, polite conversation, not try to convince this man she could play the role of a demure society wife.
“Shall we sit?” Simon invited.
She nodded, taking a seat on the edge of Mrs. Cotgrave’s favorite chair. The Wolsey was a lounging chair, but Berrie had no intention of relaxing. She wished it were time for tea, but they’d just finished dessert with the staff and students, and it would be odd indeed to order something from the kitchen just now. Not that she would be able to eat anything, but stirring a spoon might have taken away some of her nervousness.
“I asked Mrs. Cotgrave to see that we’re not disturbed,” Simon said, taking a seat opposite her. “She entirely agrees that your hours are too long and you ought to take time in the day to sit without someone demanding something of you.”
He must have no idea this conversation demanded far more of her than sitting with the children did. “I have a brother who is an MP, Mr. MacFarland. I work no harder than he does. When he’s in session, he often arrives home late at night, as I’m sure you do when necessary.” A muscle in her back pinched, but she refused to sit at ease.
“Which is perhaps one of the reasons sessions only last a season, not the entire year. And my name, as you know, is Simon.”
He’d added that last statement with a softer voice, and her gaze shifted to his. “Before we attempt to have a polite conversation, I have a rather obvious question.”
He lifted an inviting brow.
“How do you suppose two people who’ve barely exchanged a word beyond those in anger will accomplish such a thing? You’ve as much as said you hate everything English, you don’t approve of my work, and more important than either of those facts, our faith seems to be in opposition.”
He shook his head. “I obviously don’t hate everything English, or I would not be an MP, and I would assuredly not allow Katie to stay in an English-funded school. As for not approving of your work, I thought I made it clear that I admire what you’re doing here. I understand you’re not looking to cure any of your students or teach them out of their maladies. You accept reality, and I admire you for it.”
“You believe that what I do is a trifling matter. This is what I’ve been called to do. It’s the reason I intend never to marry.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
If he thought their attempt at amiable conversation might be a step toward anything more personal than being able to tolerate each other’s company for Katie’s sake, he might have shrugged off the effort, stood, and immediately departed. He did none of that. Instead, he offered such a confidently charming smile Berrie was tempted to smile in return.
“Never,” he repeated slowly, “is a very strong commitment, Berrie. A long one, too, for someone as young as yourself.”
“Yes,” she said, her certitude matching his doubt. “You didn’t mention our faith. I take it you agree we have a vast difference there, and it is one of the things we should avoid discussing. Along with English law, I assume, despite your position as an MP. Anything else?”
“You miss the point, Berrie. We know we have differences, but that shouldn’t make us feel as though we can’t achieve a worthwhile discussion about such things. Perhaps we might learn something from each other.”
Now it was her turn to doubt his words. “I think we’ve proven already we can’t keep a civil tongue when we’re on those topics.”
“Perhaps eventually we’ll start listening to one another.”
No sense trying to avoid at least one topic, then. “I’m ready to listen now, about your faith at least.” Berrie was satisfied to see his smile dim. Maybe the task at hand would prove impossible and she could get back to work.
“You’ve never heard me denounce faith in God.”
“How generous
of you not to deny His existence,” she said. “But were we to discuss our faith with anything less than a difference of opinion, I think you would need to go a bit further than that.”
“I don’t speak of my faith,” he told her.
Something in his tone or manner warned her to leave it at that. Certainly he would prefer if she did. Yet she couldn’t. “Katie seems to think you haven’t any faith at all.”
Simon looked briefly toward the open door. If he was stalling, weighing whether or not to speak about something he would rather not, it was working.
“My faith is still there, even though I’ve tried to be rid of it. Ultimately, though, I find I’m with the apostle Peter, who asked to whom then shall I go, if not the Lord?”
“Why did you want to be rid of it?”
“My parents died within a year of each other, both suddenly. My father had an accident in our factory. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say ’twas not an easy task to watch him die of his injuries. Shortly after that my mother grew sick. Some sort of cancer, the physician told us. She seemed to want to be with God instead of us and was gone in a matter of months. Katie and Innis needed our mother’s guidance. Guidance I can’t provide. God left us without help.”
Simon stopped as if surprised by his own words or maybe the hard tone behind them. He had the same sort of look on his face as when he’d kissed her that first time.
She might not admit she’d welcomed that kiss or the one that followed, but Berrie did welcome his words now, admitting he wasn’t without faith. His words proved he wasn’t as invulnerable as he wanted everyone to believe. “But God brought Katie here. Perhaps He’s sending you the guidance you need, only on His timetable.”
“You could be right,” he said slowly. “Although the way Katie arrived here didn’t seem to be by the hand of God.”
She smiled. “No, but nothing happens He isn’t aware of.”
“And what about you, Berrie?” he asked. “Your faith has never wavered?”
She laughed. “Plenty of times. Not so much in God or His involvement in my life but in the choices He’s led me to. I was raised in a family that taught me to sing, to host successful galas, to be able to speak to the Queen and every rank beneath her. My parents are both wonderful people, faithful to God and each other. And yet they only let me be served rather than serve others. When God put the vision of this school in my heart, I knew it would take a servant’s heart . . . and I wasn’t sure I possessed one.” As she heard her own words, she marveled at how easily the truth fell from her lips.