by Jo Victor
“Not to worry. I know the fever’s on you.” She kissed Alex on the top of the head. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Cam turned back in the doorway, watching Alex for a moment. Her head was bent over the screen and she had a look of such fierce concentration on her face it was almost frightening. And yet she seemed utterly happy. Something washed over Cam, a feeling of tenderness and longing that she was afraid to try to grasp hold of. Instead, she headed upstairs to get back to work.
Chapter Twenty-three
For Alex, the next few days were a crazy mish-mash of frenzied activity and heady delight. The secret room and its contents yielded quite a few surprises, including a dozen or so densely written volumes penned entirely in some sort of code. She and Nicola were both convinced these were Artemisia’s journals, but of course nothing could be proven until someone figured out how to decipher them. They had already unearthed enough material to keep a whole department’s worth of graduate students busy for years, and it felt like they were just getting started.
The moment Alex caught sight of Mrs. Tate on Monday morning, she recognized that, given how intertwined that redoubtable woman’s life was with every aspect of Dawson House, letting her in on the secret would not violate her promise to Ian. Now Mrs. Tate was in her element, cooking hearty dinners for the conspirators and baking all sorts of delightful things for their afternoon tea breaks. Grace was also very much in evidence, seeming not the least perturbed by the commotion but rather determined to profit by it, prowling and meowing and demanding affection and treats, although she never once tried to enter the secret room.
The house was overrun with people at all hours, and although everyone promised to be discreet about their comings and goings, it was obvious from the start that rumors would be flying around the village concerning the unusual activity. And as Nicola pointed out, anything that the whole village was talking about was bound to travel farther in very short order, perhaps all the way to London to the ears of a certain dishonorable redhead.
Cam was the one who came up with a way around the difficulty. All it took was her dropping by the café and casually mentioning to the barista how upset the Foundation people were about the damage a burst pipe had caused at Dawson House, and how hard they were working to rescue the old papers stored there.
As Cam herself said, returning triumphantly from her mission laden with coffee for everyone, “You could hear the change in the talk even while I was standing there. It was like I’d flipped a switch.” Alex accepted the cappuccino Cam passed her. “Why pay any mind to a raft of waterlogged old paper, when you can enjoy a proper chin-wag about the way certain people are carrying on in front of God and everybody? That would be you, Vicar—you ordered the latte, right?” She grinned at the furiously blushing Sarah as she handed her the drink. Alex tried to hide her own guilty amusement, but apparently not very successfully, since Nicola put a reassuring arm around Sarah and scowled at both of them.
“I’d say you’ve provided them with more than a bit to chat about yourself lately, Cam.”
“I do my poor best,” she replied, giving Alex a quick kiss on the cheek as she sat down.
“God bless village gossip,” said Alex, lifting her cup in a toast that everyone heartily joined in.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t quite enough carrying on to suit Alex. The one thing she truly regretted was that all the goings-on at Dawson House meant that she and Cam had very little time to themselves. Fortunately, Cam turned out to be quite good at maneuvering them into a temporarily empty space to snatch a few private moments while the others were occupied elsewhere. Alex felt like a cross between a teenager sneaking around and a B movie femme fatale carrying on an illicit affair. Mostly it was just fun; having been such a Goody Two-Shoes all her life, she’d never had any reason to sneak around before. And she and Cam certainly made up for lost time at night.
But the one thing they never seemed to do was talk. Not that they were silent around each other—far from it—but they never had any kind of serious conversation. Which was fine, really, since what did they have to discuss? Being with Cam was wonderful, and Alex could tell that Cam felt the same way about being with her. Some things didn’t need to be put into words.
Of course they were going to have to discuss what would happen at the end of her fellowship, but there was plenty of time to figure things out. They’d work out something, somehow. Why borrow trouble?
As the days went by, matters calmed down slightly. The conservator at last pronounced himself satisfied and took himself, along with his notes and charts and diagrams, back to his office at the museum to prepare his report, although not before turning over several pages worth of instructions. Nicola promised to follow the entire protocol faithfully, and based on the way she had been acting from her very first moment on the scene, Alex knew that she absolutely would.
The decision had been made, after long and thorough discussion, that the newly discovered books and papers were for the moment best left in situ, rather than risking possible damage by moving them. The crucial factor as far as Nicola and Alex were concerned was the protection that Janet’s continuing presence would presumably provide, although naturally they did not share this information with the conservator, who having settled in Bramfell a mere dozen years ago, and being of a scientific bent besides, was unlikely to appreciate this vital point.
The main beneficiary of the decision was Alex, now that she was finally granted grudging, carefully supervised access to the poetry notebook by a hovering Nicola. It didn’t get much more convenient than having your research material housed a few steps from your bedroom door, and she took full advantage of her opportunity, poring over the notebook, sometimes skimming quickly to let the magic wash over her, sometimes scrutinizing each word syllable by syllable, searching for nuances and hidden connections.
In a way she was glad for Nicola’s gatekeeping, since she knew that, left to her own devices, she would have a difficult time keeping her hands off the notebook. She was of course very careful with it always but was glad she didn’t have to depend on her own self-restraint to avoid the possibility of damaging it through too much handling. Thanks to Cam’s foresight, she always had access to the words of the poems, but there was no substitute for holding the book itself, feeling the paper slide under her fingertips, aware each moment that Janet had touched these same pages she was touching, that Artemisia had inscribed them with her own hands, etching the paper with these words that had flowed from her innermost being, from the love she and Janet had shared.
Gradually Nicola stopped insisting on sitting beside her every single minute that she spent in the secret room, only stopping in periodically to check on her. That definitely made it easier to focus, and Alex was able to accomplish much more as a result. Finally it got to the point where Nicola only came in to tell her that her time was up.
During one of these solitary sessions, Alex glanced up to see Cam standing quietly in the doorway. She felt the tiny burst of joy that always seemed to hit her when she caught sight of Cam unexpectedly. Now that Cam was back to her normal work routine, Alex rarely saw her during the day, yet here she was.
Cam’s eyes shone with affection that was both gentle and intense. When Cam looked at her like that, it took her breath away, making her feel desired and cherished all at once. But now she felt something else as well, something she couldn’t quite grasp.
A line from the poem she was working on echoed in her mind.
The poem was called “This Moment, Present” and, like all of the newly discovered works, it managed to be both a demonstration of technical expertise and at the same time an expression of intense feeling captured in deceptively simple, straightforward language. Compared to Artemisia’s published work, the new poems were less ornate, more subtle, and more emotionally open—in other words, better. By several orders of magnitude.
Of course, her earlier work was wonderful; it had the noble beauty of a Renaissance fresco or Greek statue. But t
he new work went far beyond her previous achievements. The poems themselves varied, capturing different moods and moments. Sometimes they were deep and powerful, like the sea, or light and playful, like a spring breeze, or rich and peaceful, like the warmth of a late afternoon in summer. But always they spoke directly to the heart.
In her eyes, forever waits for me. Gazing at Cam, Alex felt the poem’s final words sounding within her like the last note of a song after the bow has been drawn across the strings of a cello. Whatever this was between them, it wasn’t light or casual. And it wasn’t something she could analyze, or figure out, or control. It simply was.
And in that moment, the realization shot through her that for her, at least, it was forever.
Cam was smiling at her, so she fixed a smile on her own face even as her guts seized and her stomach turned over. She was in deep, deep trouble, and she hoped like hell that the fear didn’t show.
*
Cam stood in the doorway, her eyes locked with Alex’s. She had been watching Alex work, enjoying the play of light and shadow on her face from the window and the changes in her expression as she stared at the notebook in front of her, pausing every so often to write something down in a small spiral-bound journal.
Cam doubted that she would ever truly get what all the poems were about, not the way Alex did, but she could see the effect they had on Alex, the way they made her sparkle with excitement, the way they moved her. And when Alex read them aloud to her, Cam could feel the love that poured out of them, the love Artemisia had had for Janet. Still had for her—because that love was living on, somehow, in the poems themselves. You didn’t need a university education to understand that.
As Alex looked at her now, Cam saw something in her eyes, something that she couldn’t put a name to, something that shook her down to her core but that called to her nonetheless. It was like seeing thunderclouds race toward her across the moor, power and beauty and danger all at once, and wishing she were a hawk so she could ride the wind, despite knowing the storm might leave her battered and broken.
She couldn’t make sense out of it, but she didn’t need to. In that moment, she knew Alex was hers, she was Alex’s. That was all that mattered.
She realized that Nicola was standing beside her, murmuring something in her ear. With an effort Cam refocused her attention. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”
“I said, are you all right? The look on your face…”
“I’m fine. Actually, I’m better than fine. I’m happy.” She met Alex’s eyes again and smiled at her. Alex’s answering smile warmed her through and through. “Really, truly happy.”
*
That afternoon Alex got the phone call she had been hoping for and dreading. Ian invited her to London, along with Cam and Nicola, for the awarding of the Prandall Prize. The Foundation planned to announce the award at a combination celebratory banquet and press conference to be held later that week.
“Not that there may be much for you to celebrate, Alexandra, although no doubt your new find provides some consolation. In this case, however, I’m almost certain virtue will have to be its own reward.”
“Probably no money for me, you mean? Well, I can’t say I’m exactly surprised. Will I at least get a share of the credit, or is she still insisting on stealing that, too?”
“At the moment I’m unable to say anything specific, although I think I can safely promise you a certain measure of satisfaction by the end of the evening.”
“I hope you’re right, Ian. I’d hate for the three of us to drag all the way down there just to spend hours watching the smug expression on a certain person’s face.”
“I don’t think you need worry about that, Alexandra.” He sounded quite pleased with himself.
“Ian, you’re up to something.”
“Ask me no questions…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. But I’m grateful for whatever it is you’re trying to do, even if it doesn’t work.”
Chapter Twenty-four
All too soon, the three travelers found themselves on Ian’s doorstep. They spent the afternoon relaxing and chatting with Ian in front of the parlor fire. Alex did her best not to pay attention to the clock and tried to maintain at least the appearance of calm.
Given the worried way Cam kept glancing at her, she realized she probably wasn’t doing a very good job of it, but she did her best to preserve her composure for the sake of the others, most especially Cam herself. Her own wounds might be fresher, but they hardly compared to the way Rosamund had treated Cam. Alex had finally managed to get the story out of her one night; the rage that Rosamund’s cruelty toward Cam had roused in Alex had blasted away any lingering feelings of shame or self-doubt about her own interactions with the woman, fueling instead a keen hunger for retribution.
Given Rosamund’s endless craving for attention, nothing was likely to upset her quite as much as finding herself the object of no notice whatsoever, not even the negative interest of being shunned and glared at. It wouldn’t be quite as satisfying to Alex as personally inflicting grievous bodily harm, but since Rosamund would doubtless find it excruciating to be treated like yesterday’s news, it would do.
With that in mind, ever since receiving Ian’s invitation, Alex had been secretly practicing in front of a mirror every chance she could, trying to achieve an expression and tone that combined bland courtesy with just a suspicion of boredom. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull it off, but she was determined to try.
At last it was time to get dressed for the banquet. Naturally, tonight Alex was going to wear her dress. Cam hadn’t seen her in it since their first night together, and apart from anything else, Alex was hoping that by wearing it she would give them both something to focus on that would counteract whatever unpleasantness the evening might bring. She shooed Cam out of the bedroom so she could dress without distraction.
Cam’s reaction when Alex stepped out of the room to show off was everything she could have hoped for. The look in Cam’s eyes was certainly gratifying, but even better was when Cam walked her back into the bedroom, closed the door, and started expressing her appreciation in more tangible ways, her mouth on Alex’s and her hands roaming over her body. Had they been on their own, they might have skipped the banquet altogether, but far too soon Nicola was knocking on the door.
Nicola looked from one of them to the other as Alex adjusted her dress and Cam smoothed down her hair. She shook her head in what Alex hoped was feigned exasperation.
“Honestly, you two. It’s bad enough Sarah couldn’t arrange a substitute on short notice and I had to leave her behind. But do you have to rub it in?”
Alex started counting in her head—she’d only reached three when Cam piped up with, “We hadn’t quite got round to that part yet, but apologies regardless.”
“Don’t look at me,” Alex said to her friend. “You’ve known her a lot longer than I have. Don’t you know by now what will happen if you feed her a line like that?” Nicola seemed slightly less than amused, so Alex hastened to add, “You certainly look very smart.”
And she did—in yet another new dress, this one a sophisticated gray-blue shot with silver threads that subtly caught the light when she moved. There was nothing subtle about the cut of the dress, though, and Alex had no trouble deciphering the message: Eat your heart out, Rosamund. This is what you could have had.
“Yes, Nicola. That’s a pretty color.” Cam was clearly trying to sound apologetic, but her voice held an undercurrent that made Alex wonder if the message of Nicola’s dress might have been meant for more than one person. She cast a sideways glance at Cam, who blushed rather guiltily but instantly moved closer, putting an arm around her waist. Alex let her body relax against Cam’s.
Nicola looked mollified. “Thank you. You both look quite nice as well. You should wear a jacket and tie more often, Cam.”
Alex noticed that the tie in question—the gold one Cam had worn to the Lammas dance, the one that made her eyes glow like
warm honey—was askew. She adjusted it and was rewarded with a kiss. Maybe they’d survive the evening after all.
“Okay, troops,” Alex said, stepping away from Cam’s embrace, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, and all that.” She went out into the hall, closely followed by the others. Soon everyone was gathered in the parlor.
“You and Cam certainly look ready for a grand occasion, Alexandra,” said Ian. “Seeing the two of you dressed up like this reminds me of when Oona and Flossie used to get ready to go out on the town.” He smiled. “Oona was the one who taught me how to tie a tie, you know. That’s quite an elegant dimple you have there in your Half-Windsor, Cam.”
“Kind of you to say so, Mr. Montrose.”
Alex only half noticed how genuinely pleased Cam seemed to be by the compliment to her sartorial skill, her attention having been caught by Ian’s previous remark. “Oona and Flossie, Ian? Who was Flossie?”
“Oona’s partner, of course. Funny, I could have sworn I mentioned her when I told you about my mother.”
Alex took a moment to try to gather her wits. “You mean it wasn’t just Oona who raised her after her parents died—it was Oona and her partner? Huh. So the two of them lived together in Bramfell…”
“Almost forty years.”
“In Bramfell?” Nicola sounded just as shocked as Alex felt. “They must have been the scandal of the village.”
“Hardly that,” said Ian mildly.
Alex tried to imagine what the village would have been like back then. “But how did they manage? How did people treat them?”
“Treat them? Perfectly well, as far as I could see.” Ian smiled wryly. “After all, they were just two spinster ladies keeping house together. Sad, of course, but still, it was nice that they had each other for company, seeing as how they were both alone.” He shook his head. “None so blind. It was obvious to me, even as quite a young lad, how much they loved each other. But I suppose it was just as well for their sakes that they were able to hide in plain sight.” He sighed. “They’ve both been gone a long time now.”