The House of Hardie

by Anne Melville

  Midge laughed, her momentary seriousness forgotten. ‘Indeed no. For a single spoiled child in some wealthy family to receive the benefit of so much learning – but only in a single subject – would be a waste of resources and the cause of a most unbalanced education. What the future governesses need is an all-round education – the same kind of education that you yourself must have enjoyed at school.’

  ‘So you’ve answered my question at last!’ exclaimed Archie. ‘You propose to be a schoolmistress! You will educate governesses, who will educate more governesses, who –’

  ‘Now you’re teasing me.’ Midge’s eyes sparkled with merriment. ‘Let me ask you this. You have a sister, perhaps. Or let us come closer to home and say that one day you may have a daughter, for whose education you will be responsible. Will you think it right to place your daughter in the hands of someone more ignorant than yourself?’

  ‘We won’t discuss the question of whether it’s possible for anyone to be more ignorant than myself.’ Archie matched Midge’s grin with his own. ‘And we won’t talk about my non-existent daughter. I have an actual sister, who has indeed been educated by a governess. She has lived comfortably at home while I have been imprisoned at Eton – and treated caringly while I went in fear of beatings. While I have had my face pressed into the mud of a playing field by the weight of bodies on top of me, she has been taken for delightful country walks in order to appreciate the beauty of the countryside. She has been able to ride every morning of her life, instead of only during the vacations. And she has been allowed to sit and paint to her heart’s content, whilst I have been forced to waste the best years of my life on the study of Latin and Greek. She is a most fortunate young woman, and if I ever have a daughter, I trust that I shall be able to offer her as happy a childhood.’ This, for Archie, was a long speech. He laughed at himself deprecatingly as he brought it to an end.

  His companion was smiling as well, and yet not surrendering her argument. ‘But suppose that your sister’s passion had been not for painting but for Greek. Would her governess have been able to complete her education in such a subject?’

  ‘You stretch the imagination too far, Miss Hardie.’ The thought of Lucy requesting an opportunity to compose Greek verse was so far-fetched as to be laughable. ‘You’re coming dangerously near to the suggestion that girls should be educated in the same manner as boys!’

  ‘But why – ?’ The argument might well have continued vigorously for some time, had not a slight disturbance of the backwater’s calm surface suggested that Mrs Hardie was stirring. Archie, noticing this, put a hand up to his companion’s elbow to turn her back towards the punt before her absence was noticed.

  It was astonishing that such a light touch could have so violent an effect on him. He had enjoyed looking at Midge as she sat in the punt, and the clasp of her hand as she jumped from it had briefly disturbed him. It had given him pleasure to elicit her flashing smile, and the earnestness of her conversation amused him. But this simple gesture of caution and convention seemed to move the two of them out of mere acquaintanceship and into some more intense relationship. He was, after all, touching only the sleeve of her dress, and yet that was enough to flood his body with the desire to take her into his arms. Convention controlled his behaviour; but as he followed her back towards the punt, assuring Mrs Hardie that she had slept for only a few seconds and handing the ingredients of the picnic breakfast for Midge to lay out, his imagination was exploring the social possibilities of the term.

  He would like to see her in a ball dress. How slim and white her bare arms would be! How straight she would hold herself, allowing a décolleté bodice to show her neck and shoulders to advantage. If she were to be his partner, he could legitimately take her hand, turn her into his arms, place his own hand lightly on her back, hold her closer as they spun round the floor in a waltz or a reel. If only …

  But there was no point in thinking along such lines. He had already promised his sister that he would take her to Magdalen’s Eights Week Ball. Sternly he dismissed his imaginings. It must be enough to enjoy the pleasures of the day. With a practised hand, he sent the first champagne cork flying into the air.

  Chapter Eight

  Nothing like Eights Week in Oxford had ever happened to Lucy before. Suddenly grown up, she floated round the city on a cloud of delight. It was not merely her own self-confidence which told her that she had emerged at last from the schoolroom, but the manner in which everyone treated her. True, she was still required to be accompanied everywhere by Miss Jarrold, but that was only because she had no mother. Miss Jarrold herself instinctively recognized a difference in her role, transforming herself from a governess into a companion during the course of the journey from Castlemere.

  Magdalen was to hold its ball on the Thursday of Eights Week, and Lucy had not allowed Archie to forget his promise to invite her. Her grandfather, who proposed to go with her to Oxford, had in good time given her a generous present of money to be spent on new clothes, telling her gruffly that she was to be a credit to her brother and hang the expense. So on this calm, warm June night of the ball she had put up her golden hair and worn her golden dress and had been the prettiest girl at the dance. All her partners had told her so – and even if they had not, Lucy, without being vain, knew it to be true. Archie had made sure in advance that his friends would fill her programme, but there was no need for his solicitude; from the moment of her first appearance she had been surrounded by young men begging for a dance.

  The next morning, even before she was awake, flowers began to arrive at the hotel, with messages begging her to visit one or other of her partners for morning coffee, luncheon, afternoon tea, a walk, dinner – anything for which she could spare the time.

  ‘Turn ’em all down,’ growled the marquess. ‘Archie’s got everything fixed.’

  Lucy accepted his instructions, secretly glad that her new-found social confidence was not to be tested by private conversation. It was almost excitement enough to be staying in an hotel for the first time in her life. And in any case she had already discovered that she would meet most of her new swains again down by the river. For while the ball had provided the high point of Lucy’s week, Archie’s enthusiasm was concentrated on the rowing which provided the raison d’être of the whole week’s social activity.

  He had taken pains to explain the system to his sister, so that she should not embarrass him by asking the wrong questions out of ignorance. The river, he told her, was not wide enough for the boats manned by the various colleges to race side by side. So instead they were split up into Divisions, racing at intervals, and within each Division the starting point of each boat was a fixed distance behind the one in front. If it succeeded in overtaking before the finishing line was reached, then the next day it would start the race in the higher position.

  ‘It’s called bumping,’ he told her. ‘But of course there’s no need actually to bump. Just to catch up.’

  ‘Has Magdalen bumped?’ asked Lucy. It was a tactful question.

  ‘Every day so far this week. If we can keep it up, we shall go Head of the River on Saturday. You’ll come and watch, of course. The college has a barge. Not what you’d think of as a barge. A kind of floating grandstand. You can watch the races from the top and then go down for tea and ices.’

  It was something else to which Lucy could look forward. On Saturday afternoon, wearing another new dress – this time of white muslin embroidered with yellow buttercups – and carrying a matching parasol, she saw with pleasure that the top viewing deck of the barge was already crowded with the young men who had danced with her at the ball, today wearing blazers and boaters. They pressed around her, delighted when she remembered their names, and repeated all the explanations of the day’s events which Archie had already given her.

  The marquess, leaving her in her brother’s care, went off to the Christ Church barge to meet his own friends and cheer on his own Eight. Miss Jarrold hovered unobtrusively in the background, not neede
d until it was time for Archie to change into his rowing clothes. Lucy tried to take an interest in the racing, but found that there was little to see. Most of the bumps, if there were any, took place out of sight, long before the boats rounded the bend and approached the finishing line. The intervals between the races were long, and it was too early yet for tea.

  It was while she was staring across the river, waiting for something to happen, that her eye was caught by a face amongst the crowds thronging the towpath. So loudly did her heart start to beat that she felt sure her brother must hear it. From the first moment of her arrival in Oxford, she had been hoping for some chance encounter with the young man who had intruded on her in the herb garden at Castlemere two months earlier. He had returned three days after that to continue their conversation, as though he had been aware of the invitation which she knew she must not put into words; but then had taken his leave in a manner suggesting that they could not expect to meet again.

  During the past two days, as she loitered along Oxford’s High Street on the excuse of looking at the shops, she had lingered as long as she dared near the bow windows of The House of Hardie, hoping that at any moment Gordon Hardie might emerge on some errand and catch sight of her. She wanted him to know that she was in the same city; nothing more. But she had not succeeded in glimpsing him – until now. ‘Could we walk for a little?’ she asked her brother, disguising her eagerness with a pretence of nonchalance. ‘Over there, on the other bank?’

  Archie looked briefly doubtful. ‘They’re mostly town people there,’ he said. ‘But if you like.’ He helped her down the steps and offered his arm. Together they crossed Folly Bridge and began to stroll along the towpath.

  Strolling, rather than brisk walking, was the general activity on this hot summer day, so Lucy had been right to suppose that the couple she had seen walking away would before too long retrace their steps towards the bridge. She felt her cheeks flushing as she straightened her back and twirled her parasol and chatted to her brother with even more than her usual animation. She was not precisely flirting – indeed, she could not have explained to herself what her true motive was. She merely wanted – yes, that was it: she wanted Mr Gordon Hardie to reflect as he passed her that although his companion was good-looking in her way, Miss Lucy Yates was prettier.

  No sooner had Lucy formulated the thought than she was ashamed of it. There was still time to turn back. Although she could identify the approaching couple by the thin red stripes on the dress which she had noted from the opposite bank, neither of them would be expecting to see her here and only one of them would recognize her. But even as she turned to Archie, ready to suggest a return, he came to a halt of his own accord. Not, however, in order to retreat. Instead, to Lucy’s amazement, he was smiling, raising his boater, holding out a hand.

  ‘Miss Hardie! How frightfully delightful to see you. You’ve come to cheer Magdalen on, I hope. For the sake of your weekly coachings.’ His acknowledgement of Gordon Hardie’s presence was less effusive, suggesting to Lucy that the two men had come across each other only in the way of business; but he performed all the necessary introductions politely and seemed not to notice that his sister and Mr Hardie, while not admitting that they were already acquainted, were careful to avoid any form of words which might make this appear to be a first meeting. The radiance of Lucy’s smile must have prompted Archie towards his next remark.

  ‘You must come on to the barge and watch the First Division,’ he said to the brother and sister. ‘Keep Lucy company while I’m rowing.’

  ‘You’re in the first boat in your freshman year!’ Midge’s voice was admiring, as no doubt Archie had hoped it would be; but the twinkle in her dark eyes suggested to Lucy that she was amused by his wish to impress her. Now that Midge’s relationship to Gordon had been revealed, Lucy was prepared to like her immensely and to recognize the attractiveness of her vivacious features.

  As propriety demanded, Lucy conversed chiefly with Midge during the half hour in which the four of them took tea together. But as the time approached for the last race, Archie disappeared to change and row down to the stake post from which the Magdalen boat would start, while Midge laughingly accepted the suggestion that she should find a place against the railing, since her lack of inches would make it impossible for her to see over the heads of the other Magdalen supporters. Miss Jarrold, not wishing to push herself forward, remained at the back of the barge. In the middle of the crush Lucy and Gordon, although enjoying no privacy, were able to hold a private conversation.

  ‘I’ve thought so much about what you told me,’ Lucy confessed. ‘About your wish to travel in China and Tibet, and your hopes of finding new plants to bring to England.’

  ‘I was rash to do so. My own family has no idea yet of my hopes. You’ll be discreet, I trust.’

  ‘Oh, of course. And I’ve been trying to learn … I told my governess that we should study more geography together, because I’m so very ignorant of the countries of the world. I can recite their capitals and climates and principal rivers, but really I know nothing of importance about foreign parts. We began our studies with China. Well, not studies as Archie would think of it, because I’m too old to sit with a governess now. But Miss Jarrold has found books for me to read, and we talk about them together. And in history I have been learning about Marco Polo, because you made his life sound so interesting. Are you laughing at me, Mr Hardie?’

  ‘I’m overwhelmed with delight at your interest. I’m wondering whether anyone would notice if I were to kiss your hand in homage. And I’m observing that you are, if possible, more beautiful when you blush than when you are pale.’

  Lucy’s flush deepened with the observation, and she was glad when the sound of a starting pistol allowed her the opportunity to free her hand. ‘We must see what happens!’ she exclaimed. ‘Archie would never forgive us if we had to ask.’

  There was a long pause before the first slim boat appeared round the bend, closely followed by a second. The rowers strained, the coxes shouted, and the cheers of the spectators rose to form a single roar. As though Archie had arranged the matter especially to impress his sister – and Midge Hardie – the Magdalen boat caught up with the leader immediately in front of the barge, and only a few feet away from the finishing line.

  From the upper deck of the Magdalen barge came an explosion of cheering and flying straw hats. Lucy, jumping up and down in delight, found that for some reason she was holding both Mr Gordon Hardie’s hands. Luckily no one could possibly notice – least of all Midge, who was staring down at the victorious crew. After a moment in which the rowers had slumped over their oars in exhaustion, they were now joining in the general jubilation before paddling gently towards the boathouse.

  In order to free herself unobtrusively, Lucy used the excuse of joining Midge at the rail, but her feelings were still very near the surface. In a curious way she found herself looking at Archie through the other woman’s eyes. How strong he was, and how handsome! Now, when she thought that nobody was noticing, the teasing amusement had disappeared from Midge’s expression. Lucy was able to interpret the look which had replaced it, because she knew that very much the same light must be shining in her own eyes – although with a different object. She assured herself that it reflected merely a natural admiration; nothing more. But in her heart she recognized that both for Midge and for herself, the emotion was something deeper than that.

  Chapter Nine

  Two days after her chance encounter with Archie Yates on the towpath, Midge received a letter from him. To celebrate its success during Eights Week, Magdalen was to hold a second dance – a Head of the River Ball – on the last night of term. Archie would esteem it an honour if Miss Hardie would consent to be his partner for the occasion.

  Midge made no immediate comment on the letter, but as she passed it across the breakfast table for her mother to read, the corners of her mouth twitched with pleasure. Naturally she had known for some weeks before it took place that Magdalen –
like many other colleges – would have an Eights Week Ball: and after the pleasant May Morning picnic she had enjoyed with Archie had secretly hoped that he might invite her to it. It had come as some consolation to discover that it was his sister whom he had taken instead, but a trace of her disappointment still lingered.

  This second event, although necessarily arranged at short notice, was likely to be a far more memorable occasion. Every college in Oxford held a ball during Eights Week, but only one college each year was in addition entitled to celebrate success in winning the regatta and going Head of the River.

  ‘Mr Yates,’ Midge reminded her mother, ‘is a member of the winning crew. As his partner I shall shine in reflected glory.’ She laughed at herself, but took it for granted that she would go. If her brother had been present he would have teased, and her father would have frowned doubtfully. But Gordon had already left for work, and Mr Hardie was spending the month at his London establishment. Midge herself saw no problem in consorting socially with one of her father’s customers. She was not being invited as John Hardie’s daughter, but as a fellow-student of Archie Yates: a friend in her own right.

  Mrs Hardie read the invitation carefully. She had, of course, met Archie on May Day: but this second invitation – and such an important one – prompted her to ask further questions about him. Midge answered willingly, knowing that her mother would neither jump to instant – and erroneous – conclusions about a possible romance, nor express doubts about a friendship with the grandson of a marquess solely on the grounds of any class barrier.

  Mrs Hardie was a practical, sensible woman. She dressed smartly without being ostentatiously fashionable and still wore her hair in the neat bun which had been in vogue twenty years earlier. Like her daughter she was small and trim in figure, but her nature was calm where Midge’s was impulsive.