Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing...
She knew that Lucy Ann and Colin were both studying. She prayed, “Please God, let them both earn a First.”
Two days later, Lucy Ann waited on boys’ side for exam marks to be posted. She arrived back at Nicholas House, just as tea was being served. Mrs. Carrots and the girls stopped what they were doing. Lucy Ann stood, pursing her lips.
Mrs. Carrots scowled. “All right, child. Tell us how you did.”
Lucy Ann broke into a smile.
Elisa shouted, “You made a First!”
“Yes!” Lucy Ann jumped up and down. “And second highest mark in the class.” She hugged Mrs. Carrots and her house-mates, then ravenously crammed a sandwich into her mouth. “Dr. Theodore will have to let me continue for the rest of the year. Of course, I’ll have to keep making Firsts.”
Elisa hugged her, again. “You will. I know you will.”
When the excitement quieted, Elisa sat next to Lucy Ann, whispering, “Did Colin Edwards make a First?”
Lucy Ann sputtered a laugh. “Edwards?” Elisa nodded and Lucy raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t even sure he’d get a passing mark. He did. He made a Third.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Elisa always looked forward to the Autumn Festival and fancy dress ball. During the day, the girls wore their prettiest frocks, played croquet on the lawn, and flirted with the boys.
In the afternoon, they cheered boys playing cricket, and ate a delicious picnic on the lawn, accompanied by choral singing. Elisa was to solo with the girls' choir in Gilbert and Sullivan’s Climbing Over Rocky Mountains. That night, everyone would wear costumes and dance at the ball.
Lucy Ann was dressing as a bookworm. She had made a giant mortar board, a huge pair of spectacles, and planned to wrap herself in a green sheet.
Pretty Meredith, Elisa’s boring rival, was dressing as a princess.
Elisa would become Birnam Wood. She had sewn real leaves onto an old bathing costume, made a wreath of branches for her head, and a sign pointing to Dunsinane Hill. She prayed Colin Edwards would think she was amusing, but not too clever.
Elisa and Colin still met every afternoon in the art studio. He had barely spoken to her since his disastrous exam. Over and over, she replayed that horrible day. If only she had not spoken at all… if only… if only… Praying for his forgiveness, she smiled her sweetest smiles. Every day, he nodded politely, walked past, and ignored her. She promised herself to say nothing when she saw him today. She would look as pretty as possible, stare adoringly, and say absolutely nothing.
Carefully dressing in a pale-green frock with a tight bodice, leg of mutton sleeves, and a low rounded neck line, she was grateful bright sunshine streamed through their window. Even Lucy Ann had dressed in a stylish blue frock. Her long dark hair hung in a loose braid, instead of her usual severe knot. She stood behind Elisa, combing tangles from her hip-length copper mane.
Elisa sighed, “Oh Lucy, I know Collin is not as intelligent as you are, but he can still qualify as a doctor, can’t he?”
Lucy Ann concentrated, working the comb through a tangle. “Well, yes. Sadly. His father will probably buy him a practice, whether or not he has any skill. I just hope he doesn’t kill too many patients.”
Elisa caught her breath. “Surely you’re joking. I mean, well, doctors don’t kill people. They cure them.”
Lucy Ann twisted her mouth. “I sometimes wonder.” She studied Elisa’s hair, finally perfectly smooth and shimmering. “Do you want me to braid this, or pin it up? There seems to be no wind. You could risk wearing it loose. It looks so beautiful.”
“Will Colin like it, do you think? I want to look pretty, but not immodest.”
“Why hide your beauty? I wouldn’t, if I had any.” She pouted and Elisa spun around.
“You’re very pretty Lucy. You just never let anyone see it. Your hair is beautiful too. Why not wear it long today?”
Lucy Ann thought for a moment, smiling. “No, better not. The moment I start looking too feminine, the headmaster will work even harder to toss me out of college. Why ever are you so keen on Colin Edwards? I know he’s handsome, but he’s a dull, insensitive lout. You deserve better.”
Elisa longed to confide that she was already betrothed to a man far more objectionable than Colin. If she did, Lucy Ann would consider her married already, and never share another conversation about boys. She pretended to laugh. “Shall I keep looking, then?”
Lucy Ann shook her head. “You needn’t look. Just stand still. They’ll come to you.”
Now Elisa laughed loudly, but her laugh was perilously close to tears.
Lucy Ann and Elisa were the last to leave Nicholas House. They hurried downstairs, and outside to Mrs. Carrots, busy in her sunflower garden. The housemistress waved. “You look lovely girls. Have a good time. I’ll join you for the picnic.” Since her gloved hands were black with digging in the soil, and dirt smudged her wrinkled face, they knew she was enjoying her free morning, and planned to stay away from the crowds as long as possible. The girls waved a cheery goodbye and hurried to join the festivities.
The playing field was surrounded by excited students, teachers and their families. Little children chased wildly after each other, adding to the festive atmosphere. Kitchen workers set up long tables for tea and sandwiches. Elisa chatted with her girlfriends, comparing frocks and hairstyles, all the while glancing around the field, looking for Colin.
She finally saw him, walking from the art studio. He carried a cricket bat and looked extra handsome in his white uniform. As he passed Nicholas House, Elisa scolded herself. He always painted on Saturday mornings. If she had stayed talking to Mrs. Carrots, he would have walked right past her. Instead, he marched down the field, toward pretty Meredith Locksley.
Elisa hurried to cut him off. “Hello, Colin.” She smiled sweetly.
“Hello.” He continued past and she followed.
“You finished painting early, today.”
“Perhaps you haven’t heard. There’s a cricket match.” He hurried toward Meredith.
Cheeks burning from his insult, Elisa turned and walked briskly back towards Nicholas House. She started to go into the house, then changed her mind, and walked to the studio.
Inside was as bright as outside, and deserted, except for Robert working in a corner. Elisa watched his back, fascinated to see how fast his brush moved from the colored paints on his pallet to the canvas on an easel, and back again. He looked very relaxed, painting a detailed street in a city she had never seen.
*
Imagining himself back on that delightful Paris street, Robert did not notice anyone had come into the studio. When he finally glanced up, he thought he was dreaming. Near the open doorway, framed in brilliant sunlight, stood a renaissance angel. The long copper halo of her lustrous hair shimmered around her beautiful face, over her slender shoulders and arms, curving gracefully at the full skirt of her immaculate, pale-green frock. His eager imagination saw her painted on canvass. Clothed or naked, she would be a perfect English rose in a class by herself.
All at once, he remembered that he was back in King Edward’s England. It had been six months since he had enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman. He lived like a monk. The village near the school offered female companionship, but he was afraid of burly fathers with shotguns. The school grounds seemed to be dusted with desperate spinsters, or widowed school-mistresses chasing him with offers of home cooked meals or lace curtains for his cell-like room. He gently turned them all away.
He gazed at Elisa, thirstily drinking in her God given beauty. Since first seeing her on the train, he had been intrigued. She was so different from other girls. Didn’t she know she was beautiful? Even today, dressed in an elegant frock, her extraordinary copper hair flowing loose over her shoulders, she showed no trace of vanity. He cleared his throat.
“Hmm, Hello, Miss Roundtree. Edwards just left.”
She spoke through clenched teeth. �
��Thank you, Mr. Dennison. I know.” She angrily tossed a smock over her frock, then tacked a piece of gray paper onto an easel. She grabbed a stick of charcoal, jammed it into the paper, and smashed it to bits.
Robert winced, but couldn’t help smiling. Had she finally lost her patience with the young ass? He dragged his eager eyes away and stretched. “Everyone seems to be at the cricket match, Miss Roundtree, so I’m closing up shop. It’s too nice a day to stay indoors.” He hung up his smock.
“I want to stay indoors.” She saw his painting, and walked closer. “Is that Paris?”
He smiled. “It is.”
She stayed, admiring the half-finished canvas. “Do you miss it terribly?”
“Does it show?”
“Your manner, while you painted, you posture, the quickness of your brush strokes… You seemed very happy -- as if you were there.” She moved closer, examining the canvas.
“Per usual, your observations are correct. I was very happy there. I never wanted to leave.”
She spun around, “Why did you leave?”
“That -- is a long story.” Smiling sadly, he dropped the oiled cloth cover over his canvas, pulled on his shirt cuffs and jacket, then waited by the opened door.
Elisa practically tore off her smock, flung it on a hook, and stomped outside. As she started toward the playing field, cheers and boos announced the start of the game. Robert locked the door, and started after her. She stopped. He stopped, watching her shoulders rise, then shudder. She was crying. Suddenly, she made an about-face and ran past him, into the woods.
He watched her go, then looked back towards the sunflower garden. Mrs. Carrots was busy weeding. He didn’t think she had seen him. Common sense told him to go to the cricket match and leave Elisa alone. His tender heart and throbbing loins sent him loping after her, into the forest. He found what seemed to be a path, through trees and briar. Before long, he spotted her hair shimmering like red-gold through the forest greens.
She was startled by a rustle behind her, turned, and leapt to her feet. He stumbled into a clearing. “So sorry, Miss Roundtree. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”
Feeling furious, but not daring to show it, she forced a smile. “Students are allowed to walk in the woods, Mr. Dennison. I apologize if there is a new rule that I have not yet learned…,”
He raised his hands. “No! No. You know the rules better than I do. I’m sure you’re right. I just wanted…That is… Well…You were crying.”
She lowered her eyes and forced her voice to stay low. “Forgive me, Mr. Dennison, I do beg your pardon. I never meant to trouble you. I shall go back…,”
“No, there’s no trouble.” He moved slowly towards her, as if gentling a nervous foal. “You were unhappy, that’s all.”
She glanced up suspiciously.
He stopped a few feet away. “You’re a very pleasant person, and you are unhappy. I was concerned, nothing more.”
He suspected that no upper-class gentleman had ever spoken kindly to her. His words sounded false. She closed her mouth and sat gracefully on a rock, perhaps hoping to bore him into leaving her alone.
His artist’s eye blended the pale green of her frock, with the sparkling green of her eyes, and the surrounding dark green ferns. The sun glistened on her hair, and her cheeks glowed pink. She was absolutely delicious. He allowed himself a moment to drink in her beauty, then snapped back to reality. What the hell was he doing? If anyone saw him chase her into the woods, he’d be sacked, or worse. He should leave now, this instant. He started to go, then saw a tear roll down her cheek.
He took a step closer, smiling sympathetically. “It’s none of my affair, but I couldn’t help noticing the way Colin Edwards speaks to you. It’s totally uncalled for, and you’re right to speak your mind. He’s a very dull chap. Not nearly good enough for you. Once you’ve finished school, you’ll have a dozen suitors outside your door.”
“I won’t!” She sprang up. “Since you said I should speak my mind, I shall say that you know nothing of my circumstances and should not assume that you do.”
He was bowled over. “I’m sorry, I never meant…,”
“I know you didn’t mean…” She stiffened, reciting by rote: “Please forgive me. I am a foolish girl who must learn better manners. I promise never to speak out of turn, again.” She cowered, holding her breath.
Robert stared. After a moment, he asked, “What dreadful person taught you to say that?”
Startled, she looked up.
He waited for an answer.
“My…,” she swallowed. “My governess, when I was a child.”
“Sure she wasn’t a wicked stepmother?”
She smiled, uneasy. “You’re not angry with me?”
“No. But, I am confused. You did that on the train.”
“What did I do? I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” The pain returned to her face.
“No, absolutely! You did nothing wrong.” Frantic to reassure her, he smiled, motioning for her to sit. She perched stiffly on her rock. He crouched, none too comfortably, against a stump. “On the train, you stood up, as though you were going to be ill. All at once, you were fine.”
She sat still as a porcelain doll. A vein pulsed lightly in her temple.
He guessed she was very upset, but afraid to show it. “Perhaps you weren’t fine, after all. Perhaps you’re just very good at hiding your feelings.”
She stayed still. When he did not speak again, she whispered, “Men hate temperamental women. Men hate women who cry.”
“I don’t. Not when the tears are for a good reason. Everyone needs to cry, once in a while. I’ve done my share.” He reached into his pocket and offered her his handkerchief.
She stared as though it were a foreign object. Moving closer, he took her hand and folded her fingers around the soft cloth. For the first time, she looked him in the eye. He smiled kindly and she caught her breath.
She took the handkerchief, and sniffed, “You’re not at all like the other school-masters.”
His delighted laugh revealed a row of white, even teeth. “Thank goodness for that.”
She laughed with him and blew her nose.
He shook his head. “They’re a frightfully boring lot. The only one I can abide is Jenkins. Do you know him?”
“I know who he is.”
“Oh, right. You wouldn’t be in his class. He teaches advanced sciences.”
“My friend, Lucy Ann, is in his class. She’s very intelligent.”
“So are you.”
She stared down at her hands.
“You are. You’re one of my brightest students. You grasp concepts and implement them very quickly.”
She twisted her mouth. “Perhaps in art. In math's…,”
“Do you like math's?”
“I hate it.”
He chuckled. “Then it’s sloth, not a lack of intellect.”
She smiled shyly.
“I did well in school, but I never liked it. I could’ve gone to university, but I wanted to paint. Your talent is singing. I heard you in chapel. You were lovely. Aren’t you singing a solo this afternoon?”
She nodded happily. “I love singing and playing the piano, but my real love is acting. Dramatics starts next week and I can’t wait.” She turned, suddenly excited. “Last spring we performed Romeo and Juliet. I played Juliet. It was wonderful. This time we’re doing The Taming of the Shrew.” Her smile was radiant. When he smiled back, she blushed, lowering her eyes. “You told us this is your first teaching position. Are you enjoying it?”
“More and more.” His attention was pulled away as a bird swooped down to drink from the stream. “I just wish I could teach when I please and not all the time, because I have to.”
Elisa’s eyes went wide. “I thought grown men got to do as they pleased.”
He sighed. “So did I… and I did what I pleased for almost eight years. When I was in Paris, I was poor as a church mouse, but I hadn’t a care in the world. A few months ago
my father died, leaving my mother with a mountain of debts. So here I am, slowly paying them off.”
“That’s terrible, about your father, and the rest. I’m so sorry.”
He was flattered by her concern. “Teaching’s not so bad. I enjoy you lot. It just leaves too little time for my own work.”
Forgetting herself, she allowed a bright smile. “Your work is wonderful. I felt like I could walk down that Paris street, and the painting isn’t even finished.” She nervously twisted the handkerchief. “ I only enrolled in your class to be near Colin Edwards, but now I like it, very much.”
“You’re very talented.”
“Am I really?”
He nodded. She flushed with pride and he was thrilled to have made her happy. She relaxed, sliding off her hard rock, into a mass of ferns. The bodice of her frock pulled, emphasizing her slim waist and hips. Her small breasts pushed up against the stiff fabric. Robert stared, then looked away.
Elisa toyed with the handkerchief. “I like all your paintings. They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you. I hope the critics agree.”
“What critics?” She looked up.
“I’m preparing an exhibit for London, next January. With luck, I’ll sell some pictures, get some commissions, and then, I won’t have to teach anymore.”
Her smile faded. “Will you be leaving, then? After Christmas?”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Trying to ignore the urging of his loins, he crossed his legs, and leaned back on one elbow. “You needn’t be concerned. You’re in your last year. I’ll surely be here that long. Perhaps we’ll escape together.”
She slowly lowered her eyes. “Escape?”
He chuckled, startling her. “I love that you’re so comfortable on the ground. Most women worry more about their appearance than anything else.”
She guiltily smoothed her skirt, now crushed, and slightly soiled. “I used to be a terrible tomboy. I never even wore frocks until I was ten.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your mother was very forward thinking.”
“My mother died when I was born. I was brought up by my slightly dotty aunt, and servants who let me run wild. Our house is on the edge of the moors. I had a Shetland pony named Billy.”
Not From the Stars (His Majesty's Theatre Book 1) Page 15
