The Tale of Oat Cake Crag

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Perhaps Jeremy is feeling pleased because his day in the classroom has gone well. He is, after all—and I say this objectively, and not as one who is romantically smitten—a gifted teacher who is able to inspire in his pupils the same love of learning that so inspires him.

  Or perhaps he is whistling because he has just sold (for a guinea! a whole guinea!) a watercolor he has painted of a rare wild orchid, the Dark-red Helleborine, that grows on the remote limestone screes of Coniston Old Man. Or because the collector who bought the painting was quite taken with his work and has assured him that he will look for more of Jeremy’s paintings in the future.

  Or because—and surely this is the reason—he is thinking of the young lady whom he loves, which should come as no surprise to us. After all, we have seen Jeremy and Caroline together since Miss Potter came to the village and made friends of both of them, Jeremy first and then Caroline. We were there when they first met on Holly How, when Caroline was so desperately unhappy after the deaths of both her parents and her arrival at the gloomy and forbidding Tidmarsh Manor. We went along with Jeremy and Caroline and Deirdre Malone on their fairy-hunting expedition in Cuckoo Brow Wood, where they found fairies and much, much else. We watched them become friends and then fast friends, and speaking for myself, I have wondered if perhaps their friendship might not ripen into something more enduring.

  And perhaps it has. I confess to hoping so, for it does seem to be a very good match. Jeremy will not have to struggle to support his wife, for she can support both of them. Caroline’s musical talents will be complemented by her husband’s creative gifts and the two of them can move together in artistic circles, both in London and in the Lakes. And surely Lady Longford will be reconciled to the match once she understands that these two young people are determined to be together and that nothing she can do will stop them. But now I am being as romantic as Caroline herself, and should rein in my imagination until . . . well, until we see what happens.

  Which it is just about to, for Jeremy is ringing the bell at the front door, and Caroline is flying down the stairs (as fast as that ridiculous hobble skirt will allow her to move) so that she can reach the door before the maid. She is opening the door, and Jeremy is taking off his cap and smiling at her, and she is slipping out before her grandmother can raise her voice from the drawing room and tell her not to. And now she is tucking her arm through Jeremy’s and leading him off in the direction of the garden, trying not to show how happy she is to be with him at last, and alone, for she doesn’t really think that her grandmother will spy on them through the window.

  “You are looking very pretty today, Caroline,” Jeremy says, which is exactly the right thing for a young man to say when he is alone with a young woman. “That’s an attractive suit.” He looks down at the skirt and then blurts out the wrong thing. “I say, Caroline, I’m glad we’re not climbing Holly How. You’d never make it in that silly skirt. Why do girls wear such things?”

  Caroline tosses her head, accepting his compliment and ignoring his rude question. But she forgives him, of course, because she loves him and because she is finding that he is right. The skirt is really very confining. It feels as though she has a rope looped around her ankles. “Thank you, Jeremy,” she says sweetly. “And how was school today?”

  He tells her—at length and with enormous enthusiasm, for he loves teaching and his pupils, especially the boys, some of whom will be leaving at the end of the year for work in the charcoal pits or the stone quarries or (if they are very lucky) the retail trade. He particularly enjoys teaching drawing, and often takes his young charges on walks through the countryside, drawing the plants they see and then reading about them when they return to the schoolroom.

  Then he asks, “How are your studies progressing, Caroline? You’re between terms, are you? Are you going back to London soon? Do you like living in the city?”

  Now it’s her turn. She tells him that she will be going back to the Academy in another few days, and is enjoying the concerts and museums and the theatre in London, but that she plans to return home to Tidmarsh Manor after her studies are complete. She does not tell him that she is thinking of a trip to Europe, America, and perhaps New Zealand because . . . well, because. Perhaps she is hoping that he will want her to come back to the Lakes just as soon as possible, in which case she might decide that Europe, America, and New Zealand are not so enticing after all, and that a husband and babies and a third-floor nursery provide a much more delightful prospect.

  Then she asks, in a proper, somewhat proprietary tone, “And what of your art, Jeremy? I very much hope you are spending all your spare time drawing. You are, aren’t you?”

  Well, he isn’t quite, for like any other young man, he has other urgent interests to look after. But with that encouragement, and knowing how much it will please her, he tells her about the sale of his watercolor painting of the Dark-red Helleborine (for a whole guinea!) and the promise of more work to come, and of the other drawings and water-colors he has added to his portfolio, one or two a week, as he has time.

  Naturally, she is delighted to hear this, and heaps him with compliments until he blushes quite pink. Then she tells him about the piano concerto she has composed, which is to be performed in a fortnight by one of the Academy’s leading pianists. He is very pleased and tells her that she must play at least a part of the concerto for him. He confesses that he does not have a musical ear, but he will be delighted to listen because she plays so beautifully.

  By now, arm in arm and keeping up this lively chatter, the two friends have walked all the way to the back of the garden, away from the drawing room windows and behind the shrubbery and the rosebushes, where Lady Longford can’t see them, even if she takes the trouble to look. There is a stone bench in a corner there, overseen by a pair of flirtatious stone cherubs and a little stone lamb, and Caroline demurely sits down. Jeremy joins her, and they sit in silence for a moment as the March twilight falls around them. Caroline is content simply to be sitting beside Jeremy, for his presence beside her on the bench is testimony enough to her that he cares for her in the same way that she cares for him.

  But he seems uncharacteristically nervous and uncertain. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, then sits up straight. He starts to say something and then falls silent, then begins again, and again can’t quite manage to find the words for which he is so clearly searching. Sensing his unease, Caroline smiles a little to herself and waits. Clearly, she thinks, he wants to tell her that he loves her, but he fears that she will reject him, either because she does not love him or because her grandmother disapproves. Nothing else could account for such an obvious, un-Jeremy-like unease.

  At last, visibly gathering his courage, he straightens his shoulders, sucks in his breath, and blurts out, “I say, Caroline, I have something to tell you. Something very important.”

  She lowers her gaze. “Yes?” she murmurs expectantly.

  “I wanted to write this to you. In fact, I tried, but it didn’t really seem to be the sort of thing a fellow says in a letter.” He gulps and kneads his fingers together. “I mean, I wrote it down but it didn’t sound the way I wanted it to, and I gave it another go but finally decided I needed to say this face to face. So now I really have to tell you, Caroline. That is, I’ve been wanting to say that I—” He flounders again, and is lost again, and she feels she must help him out.

  “Whatever it is, Jeremy,” she says gently, putting her hand over his, “you know you can tell me.” She glances down and sees that her hand looks delicate and lovely, the nails pink and shaped into ovals, and thinks that soon she may be wearing his ring. By this time, her breath is coming faster, and she is certain that he is going to say that he loves her. That he can’t live without her. That he wishes she would not go to London, but if she goes, that she will come back here to the Lakes just as soon as possible, so they can be together. Forever and ever.

  “You can tell me anything,” she adds encouragingly, and leans toward him with a
smile. “Anything in the world, dear Jeremy. It doesn’t matter what it is.”

  “Oh, I am so glad to hear you say that, Caroline!” He squeezes her hand and lets it go as the words tumble out in a rush. “What a brick you are! I knew you would understand and be as happy for me as I am. You see, I am to be married.”

  “M-m-married?” She stares at him, not quite believing what she has heard. Her heart seems suddenly frozen in her breast. “Married?”

  “Yes!” he exclaims. He jumps up from the bench and begins to pace back and forth on the gravel path. “It happened just a fortnight ago, and I have been bursting to shout it out to the heavens, but I’ve waited to tell you first of all, since you are my oldest, dearest friend. Except for her,” he adds tenderly. “Of course.”

  Stricken, she says, “Of course.” She swallows, finding it very hard to breathe. “Except for . . . who? Who is she, Jeremy?”

  “Who?” He stops in front of her, blinks. “Why, you don’t know? You haven’t guessed?”

  “No,” she says, swallowing a sob. “I haven’t . . . I haven’t guessed.” Her voice quavers and breaks. “Who is she?”

  “It’s Deirdre, Caroline. Dear, dear, dearest Deirdre.” He throws back his head and laughs richly, the image of a young man who is beside himself with delight. “Deirdre has made me the happiest of men. We’re to be married in June, right after school is out.”

  Deirdre? Deirdre Malone? Oh, my goodness! I must confess that I am completely and totally and entirely surprised. I thought . . . that is, I expected . . . Why, I had no idea that Jeremy was going to marry Deirdre! Although there was that little bit about a secret, when Deirdre and the Sutton crocodile met Miss Potter in the lane. Perhaps we should have guessed then that something romantic was afoot, although I don’t know how we could have supposed that it had anything to do with Deirdre and Jeremy. I still find it very hard to believe.

  And so does Caroline. “Deirdre?” Up comes a sob she cannot swallow. “Deirdre Malone? You and Deirdre are to be . . . married?”

  At last Jeremy comprehends that something is dreadfully wrong. He pulls off his tweed cap and drops to one knee in front of her as she sits on the bench. He seizes her hand. “Caroline? Caroline, what’s amiss? I thought you would be happy for me, and for Deirdre, too! I thought—”

  “Then you don’t love me?” Caroline wails.

  Jeremy stares at her, speechless. And then, just as he is beginning to fathom what has happened and attempt to find the words to answer her question (as if it could be answered!), he is interrupted.

  “Up!” cried a loud, angry voice. “On your feet, young man! There will be no proposals at Tidmarsh Manor! Not as long as I am alive!” It was Lady Longford, fierce as a fiend and all in black, brandishing her ebony cane like a club. “Be gone, churl!”

  “But I wasn’t—” Jeremy scrambled to his feet, clutching his cap. “I swear, Lady Longford, I didn’t—”

  “No proposals, I say!” the old lady screeched, advancing on the pair. “Leave, rogue! Out of my sight, you wretched rascal!”

  “But, Grandmama—” Caroline wailed disconsolately. “You’re wrong. You don’t understand! It’s not what you think.”

  “Be gone, scoundrel!” And with that, her ladyship whacked Jeremy smartly across the shoulder blades with her cane, once, twice, three times. She raised her voice. “Beever, I want you. Come and eject this insolent, impertinent rogue from the premises. Immediately, Beever!”

  For a moment, Jeremy stood, stunned. And then, understanding that nothing he could say would remedy this terrible situation, he picked up Caroline’s hand and kissed it gently. “Thank you for being my friend,” he said, and turned on his heel.

  Caroline collapsed on the bench and began to cry in earnest, huge, wracking sobs that shook her slight frame.

  Lady Longford bent over her, hands on hips, chin thrust out. “And you, you disrespectful, disobedient young miss,” she hissed, “you have deliberately deceived me! You knew that I consider this young man entirely unsuitable as a husband, and yet you entertained his suit. You are confined to your room until further notice. I do not want to see your face at table. Do you hear?”

  Oh, cruelty heaped upon terrible cruelty! Jeremy’s heartless rejection, followed by Lady Longford’s spiteful misunderstanding. What a wretched outcome to Caroline’s romantic dreams of babies in white smocks and a nanny (Deirdre, of all people!) and a third-floor nursery and an artist’s studio in the garden.

  Well, all love affairs do not end happily, as perhaps you know from your own experience. Young girls’ hearts are as fragile as the most delicate crystal goblet, and no doubt Caroline’s will be broken once or twice more before it is safe in the hands of someone who will cherish it and promise never to let it be broken again (which promise will not, of course, be any guarantee, for life itself is utterly unpredictable).

  But it does seem appallingly cruel for her to be punished twice in the space of a minute or two: once by the young man who has just told her that he has proposed to and been accepted by another; and then by her grandmother, who wrongly assumes that this same young man is proposing to her. And cruel, as well, that this second punishment falls on her at this moment, when her tender spirit and her loving heart are both so broken. Oh, if only Miss Potter were here. I am sure that she could set things to rights! Lady Longford would surely listen to her.

  But Miss Potter is not here, and Lady Longford is in no mood to listen to anyone. I am afraid that Caroline will just have to linger in limbo until her grandmother learns that she has made a terrible mistake. Which she will, tomorrow, when Mrs. Beever visits her sister-in-law in the village and brings home the latest village news: that Jeremy Crosfield and Deirdre Malone are to be married.

  Then her ladyship will realize that she has wronged poor Caroline and will find herself doing something that does not at all come naturally to her. She will confess that she acted hastily. She will beg Caroline’s pardon. But will she beg Jeremy’s pardon, as well? I very much hope so, although I’m not holding my breath. If it happens, I hope we are present to witness it. It would certainly be something to see.

  And there are one or two other things I should like to know about. I should like to know how long Jeremy has been courting Deirdre, how it all came about, and what the Suttons—who stand in loco parentis for Deirdre, since she is an orphan—think about it. As I said at the beginning of this chapter, a great many important events are left out of stories for the simple reason that we aren’t let in on the secret. What happened between Jeremy and Deirdre was one of those things, and I suppose they had some very good reasons for behaving as they did, and for telling no one, including us.

  18

  “Do Say It’s Wonderful!”

  Beatrix had just begun getting out the tea things when she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find Deirdre on the doorstep, pink-cheeked and smiling. She welcomed the girl, then peered over her shoulder. “Where are the little Suttons?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Sutton decided that it was too near their teatime to go visiting,” Deirdre replied. “So I came by myself.”

  Beatrix was secretly glad that they would not have to keep an eye on the children playing in the barnyard, where they were bound to annoy the three old hens. Mrs. Boots, Mrs. Shawl, and Mrs. Bonnet did not like their tail feathers pulled. “Well, then,” she said cheerily, taking Deirdre’s coat and hat, “you and I will have longer to talk. I’ve been thinking about you since I saw you in the lane. Do sit down, dear, and tell me your news. The kettle’s boiling—tea won’t be a minute.”

  Deirdre sat, looking extraordinarily happy. Her eyes were sparkling and her unruly red curls seemed to dance with sheer delight. Of course, you and I know her secret—the Jeremy part, at least. But Beatrix doesn’t, and as she set out bread and butter (she believed in simple teas), she was genuinely puzzled.

  “Well,” she said finally, “I hope you are going to tell me, and not just sit there looking as pleased as a kitten who’s
caught her first mouse.”

  “Oh, Miss Potter, I am pleased!” Deirdre exclaimed. “But it’s not like catchin’ a mouse—oh, no, not at all! Jeremy Crosfield has asked me to marry him, an’ I have said yes!”

  “Jeremy!” Beatrix exclaimed, astonished and a little dismayed. “Married!” And then she thought that perhaps it was like catching a mouse, after all, except that she wasn’t sure whether the mouse was Jeremy and the cat was Deirdre, or the other way around.

  But Deirdre did not seem to hear the dismay. “Aye—isn’t it wonderful?” she crowed happily. “We’re to be wed in t’ garden at Courier Cottage in June, when Jeremy’s school is out. Mrs. Sutton has promised to help me make my dress, an’ there’ll be lots of flowers, an’ all our friends are invited, especially you!” She clasped her hands under her chin. “Dear Miss Potter, do say it’s wonderful! Oh, do!”

  “Well, my goodness,” said Beatrix, by now feeling not just dismayed but envious. First it had been Grace and the vicar, and now Deirdre and Jeremy—free to pledge themselves, to follow their hearts, whilst she herself could not. Still, she managed a smile as she poured their tea. “Why, of course it’s wonderful, my dear. How did this all come about? And when?”

  And with that encouragement, Deirdre’s story spilled out, embellished with girlish giggles and happy asides and enough starry-eyed happiness to soften even the hardest heart. She and Jeremy had realized their attraction to each other long ago, years ago, in fact. But they’d had precious little opportunity to spend any time together until he came back to the village to teach. He boarded at High Green Gate with the Llewellyns, just up the hill from Courier Cottage. This had made it convenient for him to accompany Deirdre and the little Suttons as they walked to Moss Eccles Tarn and along the shore of Esthwaite Water, supplying the children with paper and pencil stubs and showing them how to look at a plant and draw it.