Lois Menzel (13 page)

“I mentioned to him that I had never been kissed—and probably never would be—and he offered.”

“To kiss you.”

“Yes. And then you walked in—”

“And interrupted.”

“Yes. Which was perhaps unfortunate.”

“Undoubtedly. And tell me this, Miss Waverly. What sort of conversation could you and Jack have been having for this topic to arise in the first place?”

“It is rather hard to explain. I had been—”

“Wait! Never mind. I think I had rather not know.”

“As you wish, sir, but I promise you, it was all quite innocent.”

“I believe you,” he said, then with a noticeable change in tone added, “Last night, however, was not. Haverham is gone, but I should still like you to bolt your door at night so long as any guests remain in the Castle.” He walked to her and stood before her chair. “The family has grown fond of you. We would be distressed if any ill befell you.” Taking her chin he turned her face toward the windows. In the better light he could see dark circles beneath her eyes. “You did not sleep, did you?” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, which were slightly parted. “Did Haverham kiss you?”

“He tried. I managed to avoid him.”

“If he had kissed you, you would not have liked it.” He released her chin and walked to the windows, gazing out into the light mist that had replaced the previous day’s rain. “Of all the vices in men,” he said, “I despise most the one that leads them to believe they have a right to use and abuse women, utilizing the advantage of superior strength. You lodged such an accusation against me that day by the lake. Do you remember?”

Her face troubled, she rose and went to him. “It’s not the same.”

“I think it is. Perhaps the same evils are present in us all, and how we manifest them is merely a matter of degree.”

He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. “I must go. You will remember to lock your door? And you will have Cassie sleep in the room with you if you are at all uneasy?”

She smiled at his concern as she nodded in assent.

Then he smiled down at her, the wonderful smile he had shared so often with Miss Redditch the previous evening. “And if you should ever want to practice kissing again, don’t hesitate to ask me. I have had a good deal more experience than Jack.”

He was gone before she could reply. He was teasing, of course, yet it was some time before she could get the thought of kissing him out of her mind.

* * * *

“
‘Veritas nunquam perit.’
Truth never dies.”

“Very good, Tom,” Mr. Pearce said. “I believe that will be enough for today. We will continue on page seventy-eight tomorrow.”

Tom was gone instantly, leaving Mr. Pearce and Anne alone in the schoolroom.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Herodotus. Listen to this: ‘This the bitterest pain among men, to have much knowledge but no power.’ Do you ever feel so, Dennis?”

“Sometimes. You?”

“Yes. Since my father died, I have accepted that I have little or no power, especially regarding my future. All the knowledge in the world will not gain me security or a place where I belong.”

“You belong here.”

“For now. But in a few years Belinda will not need me. Then I must move on.”

“Tom will go back to school, too. Soon, I think,” he said.

“Yes. But it is different for you. You have an independence. You will take on students or a parish because you wish to, not because you must.”

“You would rewrite the quotation then to say: ‘This is the bitterest pain among men, to have much knowledge but no money.’ ”

She laughed. “Yes. I believe it is truer that way. But money and power have always been close allies.”

“And when they come together often accomplish more evil than good.”

“No sermons today, Dennis,” she teased. “The sun is finally shining, and I have a swimming lesson with Mrs. Saunders.”

“How are you progressing?”

“Well, I think. I can cross the stream by myself; I can tread water for five minutes. By the end of summer I will be as adept as any trout.”

“You and Mrs. Saunders have grown quite close,” he said.

“Yes, we have, and I find it remarkable. I have never had a close friend before, but I always assumed friends would have much in common. Yet she and I are nothing alike.”

He thought them more alike than she realized but didn’t say as much. “She seems to spend a good deal of time with Lord Wilmington,” he remarked. “Perhaps she is planning to remarry.”

“She wants to marry again. She makes no secret of it. But I know she has turned down four offers since the beginning of the year. I think she is searching among the wrong type of men.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“When I first met her in London, she went from party to party night after night, and I would expect that men flocked around her, attractive as she is. Yet none of them measured up. This summer she has invited those same frivolous people here. She does not seem to remember how she met Henry.”

“Her husband?” he asked. “How did she meet him?”

“Jack told me they met here at the Castle. Henry was down from university on winter holiday, and she was invited to a house party with her parents. He was walking along in his hunting jacket with three dead rabbits slung over his shoulder. She nearly rode him down on a bridle path and evidently ripped up at him for walking where she felt he should not have been. It was only later that she discovered he was a son of the house. He was a younger son, headed for a career in the army, but he had something special that she saw and loved.”

“Which makes it all the more tragic that he died so young.”

“Yes. And though she insists she would like to marry again, I wonder if she will ever find a man she can love as much.”

* * * *

After the early morning fog burned off, the day grew hot, and the swimming lesson was not only instructional but refreshing.

Afterward, when Arelia returned to her guests, Anne and Jack went for a long walk together and then Anne joined Lady Tenbury in the library before dinner. She ate alone in the schoolroom and completed some sewing before Arelia entered the room.

“Anne. I want you to come with me.”

“Oh, Arelia, please, not the drawing room again. I’m not dressed, and I don’t—”

“No, no. They are all still eating. I excused myself for the evening. Said I had the headache, which was a lie. Have you ever known such a day?”

“It has been hot, but—”

“Come along. It is dark, time to go.”

Arm in arm, Anne left the Castle with Arelia. They walked together through the twilight. The oppressive heat of the day still hovered over the ground, for there was no freshening breeze to dispel it. The women soon arrived at the private bathing pool. Before Anne could ask why they had come at this time of night, Arelia started to remove her dress.

“You cannot mean to swim in the dark?” Anne said, even as she reached to help with Arelia’s stays.

“Not only in the dark,” came her companion’s answer, “but in the nude!”

“In the ... Arelia, you cannot be serious!”

“I am. Henry and I often did this. Here, let me help you. There is nothing so exhilarating—well, almost nothing,” she added. “Hurry now or you will be left behind.”

“But we must not! What if someone sees?”

“It is dark, goose. Who will see? Besides, in all the time we have been coming here to swim, we have never seen anyone.”

“That is because you warned the children they must stay away.”

“The children are in bed, Anne. I never guessed you could be so milk-livered! Take off
everything
and come in.” There was a flash of pale skin in the moonlight as Arelia dove into the water. Anne stood alone on the bank, trying to imagine how it would feel to be in the water, completely free of any encumbrance. She wished she could be as uninhibited as Arelia—she wanted to be.

“Coward,” Arelia called, as she splashed back toward Anne.

That was the word Anne needed to hear. Within seconds she had stripped off stays and chemise and followed. As Arelia had promised, the water was wonderful. She was right; there was no other feeling quite like it.

“Did you truly do this with your husband?”

“Occasionally, of a summer evening, when it was hot, and we could not sleep.”

“Often, in literature, lovers are uninhibited, but I was taught and have always believed that we English are different.”

“In what way?”

“That we adhere to rigid rules of behavior, those that are considered proper; that husbands visit their wives at an appropriate time and at other times ...”

“And at other times show no interest? Don’t you believe it. My marriage was not like that. Henry and I did outrageously inappropriate things. Even here once ... we ... our last summer together ...”

Her voice trailed off in the darkness, and Anne regretted having led her into sad memories.

“I’m sorry; I never meant ... I have no right to speak of these things.”

“Don’t be silly. You are old enough to say what you please, especially to me, and you may ask whatever questions you like. I do not mind them.”

“It is not proper to wonder about such things.”

“It may not be considered proper,” Arelia countered, “but I believe all women think about them, whether they are willing to admit it or not.”

“All women? Even women like Lady Mason?”

Anne heard Arelia chuckle in the dimness. “Very well, I yield that point.
Not
all women and most definitely
not
Lady Mason. I can just hear her, can’t you? ‘Children and husbands must be borne—two of life’s necessary evils. One must keep a firm resolve and face one’s trials with fortitude.’ I must have been mad to think Tenbury could possibly fancy her.”

Later, as Anne and Arelia walked past the terrace on their return to the Castle, a man rose from the steps where he had been sitting.

“Mr. Pearce,” Arelia said.

“Good evening, ladies. I hope I did not startle you. I have been sitting here listening to Miss Redditch at the pianoforte.”

“She is not so good as you,” Arelia commented.

He neither agreed nor disagreed but only said, “Her style differs from mine.”

Even in the darkness, Anne could sense a restraint in Dennis—a subtle change that came over him whenever Arelia was present. At first merely suspicious, she was now nearly certain that Dennis admired their flamboyant employer. Thinking how much he had to offer when compared to Arelia’s London beaux, Anne excused herself on the slimmest pretext and hurried up the steps to the door, leaving them alone in the moonlight.

“Your hair is wet,” Dennis commented when they were alone.

“We have been swimming,” Arelia replied, and then added provocatively, “in the nude.”

Dennis smiled, pausing a moment before he replied, “Whenever we talk, you seem to enjoy saying things intended to shock me. I am not so easily scandalized.”

“I admit I have always been uncomfortable with members of the clergy,” she said. “My faults and shortcomings seem greater in the presence of good and worthy men.”

“Those of us called to do God’s work are no more worthy than any other. It is our work, our profession. And just as a barrister does not win all his arguments, nor a doctor cure all his patients, so a minister does not always do what is right. We serve God and our fellow man, and when we fail, we seek forgiveness as all sinners must.”

“You are an unusual cleric, Mr. Pearce.”

“And you, Mrs. Saunders, are an extraordinary woman.”

* * * *

Two days later, Anne went early to Arelia’s room, hoping she would have something positive to say about the conversation she had shared with Dennis on the terrace steps. Arelia’s bedroom door was opened by her maid, who barred Anne’s way.

“Mrs. Saunders is not feeling herself this morning, miss. I fear her headache the other evening may have been a forewarning of something more serious.”

Knowing the headache had been feigned, Anne was puzzled. “May I see her?”

“Perhaps later, miss—”

“Let her in, Barrett,” Arelia said, “and send down for some tea.”

As the servant left, Anne entered to find Arelia still in her nightgown, seated upon a couch near the windows. Her face was pale, and her eyes looked tired, as if she had not slept well.

“It is because of the swimming, is it not?” Anne asked, going to Arelia and sitting beside her. “You have taken a chill.”

Arelia patted her hand reassuringly. “No, it is not because of the swimming, and I have not taken a chill. It is a small stomach complaint, nothing more.”

“A stomach complaint could mean the influenza. One of the downstairs maids sickened with it last week. Perhaps you should have the doctor see you.”

“I will be fine. I am generally very healthy, and I assure you—” Arelia broke off as Anne stood and moved toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“To find Lady Tenbury and ask her to send for the doctor. Better to be safe—”

“Anne! You will do no such thing!” Arelia’s angry tone stopped Anne before she reached the door; she turned back, puzzled by her friend’s vehemence. “I do not want any fuss made over me, for I am not ill. I have done something very foolish. I am anxious, and I did not sleep, but I do
not
have the influenza.”

The maid soon returned and while she arranged the tea on a small table, Anne walked to the windows and drew back the curtain. A light haze lay over the park and the woods beyond. When the maid had gone, she turned her back to the window, leaning against the sill.

“Can you tell me what you did that was so foolish?”

“I agreed to meet Lord Wilmington in the rose garden at midnight last night.” When Anne frowned, Arelia defended herself. “He was utterly charming at dinner. I suppose I had a bit more wine than I should have. But for whatever reason, I made the assignation.”

“Did you keep it?” Anne asked.

“Certainly, I did. And it was lovely. We sat in the garden under the moon. The fragrance of the roses was heavenly. He pays the prettiest compliments I have ever heard.” She paused then, but Anne would not let the subject rest.