On Sparrow Hill

by Maureen Lang

  But she’d enjoyed being the tour guide for Dana and Padgett and couldn’t think of putting off transcribing old letters or reading hospital records. More than a week had flown by. She’d spent today in Cambridge with Quentin, Dana, and Padgett. The four of them had become a quasi family, missing only Aidan, who seemed to be there in spirit considering how often Dana spoke of him.

  A long white envelope caught her eye, and she wondered whether her father had sent yet another offer from the National Trust. However there was no return address, though she noted from the cancelled stamp that it had been among the mail she’d picked up today. She slit open the envelope but instead of a letter pulled out a newspaper article, dated just yesterday. The picture wasn’t very clear—a couple sitting at a small, white table on a veranda. The man wore a white shirt and dark slacks—Quentin, she saw with a longer look. And he wasn’t alone.

  Quentin and Lady Caroline Norleigh seemed comfortably ensconced over an outdoor meal, so comfortably that Lady Caroline was wearing a peignoir of some kind rather than the designer clothing she normally sported in so many photographs of her.

  Another Adieu? Or has this bachelor already quit his brief affair with commercial manager Rebecca Seabrooke and returned to his own kind, Lady Caroline Norleigh? The couple appeared together briefly at a fund-raiser for Barnardo’s recently. It appears Lady Caroline is once again houseguest at Endicott Cottage, home not only to Lady Elise Hollinworth but as of this summer to her son, Quentin Hollinworth, as well. Is he there to strike up an old flame whilst his new love interest waits just a stone’s throw away at Hollinworth Hall? Impossible to guess why he abandoned the Hall to her, unless of course he knew Lady Caroline would soon be waiting for him at the cottage. Ah, the aristocracy! They never stop supplying us with entertainment.

  Rebecca forced herself to read the short article again, to look at the photograph. Numbness covered her as she studied the picture, a ready defense against the pain that was there, waiting to take hold if she let it. It wasn’t a good shot by any means, rather grainy. It had obviously been taken from some distance and had lost its quality when blown up to identify the subjects. But as much as Rebecca wished otherwise, there was no doubt who they were.

  With a wince she swallowed an unsuspected lump in her throat. Was this how it would be—having to learn the status of her relationship with Quentin from the newspaper instead of from Quentin himself? She’d spent the bulk of every day with him for the past week and a half. He’d left just a little while ago. All these days without a word of being in touch with Lady Caroline again.

  Was she at the cottage now, greeting him after his day away?

  Rebecca dropped the article as if burned.

  The door of her office opened, and for one disoriented moment she thought it might be him, there to tell her everything. But of course it was Dana, having put Padgett to bed.

  “What’s the matter?” Dana asked as she took her seat on the opposite side of the desk.

  Rebecca regretted the company just then, wishing she were alone to more easily hide her pain, hide the embarrassment of a public rejection. She’d been comfortable by herself these past three years; she was used to that. Refusing to cave in to the tears that seemed ready to gather, she issued a half smile that was anything but happy. Then, realizing she could share what she felt without falling apart, Rebecca handed Dana the article.

  “Oh,” Dana whispered after reading the page.

  Rebecca felt her lower lip tremble and clamped it down. “And I thought all I should worry about was a rather grumpy Lady Elise.”

  “This doesn’t mean anything,” Dana said. “What kind of picture is this, anyway? It looks like it was tampered with somehow.”

  “Probably taken from a helicopter,” Rebecca said. “They fly over the property every once in a while, looking for stories.”

  “So there. It’s a made-up story. They’re on the same veranda. His mother is probably there, too, only they blotted her out.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t tell me.” Amazingly, her voice didn’t sound nearly as frantic as she felt. She couldn’t meet Dana’s eye. Sympathy would make Rebecca crack. “She’s there, staying with them. He should have told me.”

  Dana set aside the newspaper. “Yes, he should have. But maybe he didn’t want you jumping to the conclusion you’re jumping to right now.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t,” Rebecca said. “Not until the right time, after he’s chosen between the two of us.”

  “That’s jumping to conclusions, Rebecca. Maybe her being there is no big deal and he didn’t think it was important enough to mention.”

  Rebecca found a laugh, albeit a desperately uneven one. “Perhaps you can’t tell how lovely she is from that photo. Here.” She yanked open the drawer on the bottom right, the one she never opened except when she knew she was alone, under what suddenly seemed a guise of her role as Hollinworth family recorder. Her job description had never included keeping a scrapbook of family doings; that had been her idea. Now it seemed clear why. And all those years she thought she’d been over her crush on Quentin.

  “You’ll get a better idea of her from these,” Rebecca said bitterly. “Here they are at Leo Endicott’s wedding—the future Earl of Eastwater, Quentin’s cousin. See how striking she is? I think she fits right in, don’t you?” She rifled through more pages. “And here, at Ascot. And another—a garden party his mother held, where the photographer risked all but his life just to get that shot of them kissing.”

  Tears were hot in her eyes, but Rebecca ignored them. Dana wasn’t looking at any of the photographs; rather, she was looking at Rebecca.

  Rebecca leaned back in her chair, exhausted from her brief but quietly intense upheaval. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That I’ve kept these?”

  Dana shook her head. “I’d probably have done the same if Aidan was ever in the news. Thank goodness he’s not.”

  Rebecca let her gaze fall on the pages in front of her. “I’ll take them to the bin. It’s what I should have done long ago.”

  She gathered them up, a modest but embarrassing handful.

  “You’ve missed one,” Dana said, taking up the newest addition.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You’re keeping this one?”

  Rebecca nodded. “These clippings reminded me Quentin was beyond my reach. I might not need these old ones anymore, but I think I’ll have to keep that one for the time being . . . to remind me he’s still out of my reach.”

  The phone rang just then. Rebecca made no effort to set aside the papers and answer it.

  “Do you want me to get it?” Dana asked, reaching for it.

  “No.” Rebecca’s firm voice stalled Dana, for which Rebecca was grateful. The phone rang on. “It’s Quentin. He’s the only one who calls this number so late.”

  “I think you should talk to him, Rebecca. You should tell him about the newspaper. Tell him how it made you feel. Ask him what’s up.”

  Instead of acknowledging, Rebecca gripped the newspapers and made her way to the outside trash—far from her office, where she wouldn’t be able to retrieve them.

  32

  * * *

  Did I mention, Cosima, how we gather in the evenings, all of us in our temporary little family, to bring what calm we can to the end of the day? We did so as usual tonight, only a fog had gathered outside so thick we knew it would be dangerous to take anyone out of doors. And so we went to the blue parlor for our family time, where we sing songs or tell tales or share something we are proud of. Katie did not expect it, but I brought one of her pictures to show everyone. It is an extraordinary example of her skill, and I am enclosing it with this letter so you may see it as well.

  As you can see it is a lovely bird resting on a nest. Do you not find the strokes of the penciled wing make you believe, if you only tried to touch the little fellow, he might take flight?

  Katie’s brother, Simo
n, was with us tonight. I tell you, Cosima, the man is an enigma. I never know if he is pleased his sister is here or ready to take her away. Even after this evening, the first time we have been in one another’s company and managed to tolerate each other for more than a few moments without resorting to an argument.

  “Tell Miss Berrie about your travels, Simon. Please? About your travels?”

  He didn’t want to, Berrie could tell instantly by the shrouding of his eyes, the slight droop to the side of his mouth. In that same instant she resisted her own disappointment. It was silly to want to hear about his travels, this man she couldn’t help but detest. Still, the innocently cast question reminded Berrie of the times she’d asked her own brothers the same thing. Of Peter, who went to places like Gibraltar and Egypt, even as far away as China. And Nathan, who went to America and India and Africa, who was in Africa still, writing home from time to time of all his adventures. How many hours could she have listened to them, living such explorations? She’d had a mere taste of it on the sole voyage she’d taken, her trip across the Irish Sea—a heady taste, one that led her here to her life’s work. A taste she thought had satisfied her because it led her to the work she loved—work that was far more important than dreams of sea voyages afar.

  Still, it might have been nice to hear another tale.

  “Please, Simon? What did you see?”

  Berrie looked up, afraid for one awful moment she’d uttered those words herself. Thankfully she saw him looking at his sister instead, a reluctant grin on his sculpted face.

  “I saw the sun set with nothing but water between our ship and the sky, as far as I could see.”

  “And what did you taste?”

  “Coconuts in Africa, olives in Spain, grapes in Italy.”

  “And what did you smell?”

  Berrie watched the two of them, seeing it was some sort of game they were both familiar with. But to Berrie it was a hint of transport, the only glimpse she was bound to have of the rest of the world she’d only read about.

  “My ship took me to Corsica, where the shores smelled like evergreens. I hiked in the hills, fell asleep on the bracken growing under the trees, ate roasted wild pigs that had fed on island chestnuts. Then we sailed to other islands, to Minorca and Sicily and Crete and others—too many to recall. I saw castles where they locked important people away and dogs that could take care of little children, the sun setting and making the sky and the water and everything around me look purple. And do you know what I learned?”

  Katie shook her head, still smiling.

  “That families everywhere are very much like ours. Sisters and brothers who take care of each other, even though they live so far away. Do you know what they thought when I told them I was from Ireland?”

  “What?”

  “That we live in a very strange and wonderful place, just the way we think of them living in a strange and wonderful place.”

  She giggled, repeating the phrase that she lived in a strange and wonderful place. Berrie let her gaze linger on Simon, unaware they’d exchanged smiles until it was done. The British Empire—a strange and wonderful place.

  Maybe it was.

  33

  * * *

  Rebecca stirred her tea at the kitchen table. It was impossible to be in this room, with its tall shelves and efficient appliances ready for nearly any size crowd, without thinking of the first time Quentin had kissed her.

  She barely consumed half of her tea, but it was the only thing her stomach could tolerate. It was early; she’d awakened hours ago after very little sleep. She knew Padgett was awake; she’d heard her playing with her doll in what had become a favorite spot—at the top of the stairs on the oval Persian rug. From there she could see anyone coming from bedroom or office and at the same time listen to anything that happened below as far away as the kitchen. Dana was likely awake as well, though she hadn’t come down for breakfast yet.

  Rebecca left her tea at the kitchen table. Even if she couldn’t eat, Dana and Padgett must. Whatever malady Dana suffered these days, eating seemed to help.

  Taking a pan from the cupboard and ingredients from the tall refrigerator, Rebecca planned to scramble some eggs and serve them over toast, a simple yet filling meal. If she could tolerate the smell with her own knotted stomach, the meal would pass in peace. They made fine friends, she and Dana, both of them suffering nausea from one source or another. Only Rebecca knew the source of hers.

  Quentin would come. He did every day, had done so ever since he’d moved out the day after he’d kissed her at this very kitchen table. She stared at the spot, reliving that moment yet again. What had it meant to him?

  Dana didn’t look any better than Rebecca felt when she came into the kitchen. Her obvious discomfort drove Rebecca’s self-pity away. “Sit,” she commanded. “I have tea, eggs, and toast ready.”

  “Just the tea and toast, I think,” Dana said.

  Rebecca set out the food, taking a seat opposite. “Have you ever been bothered by this kind of nausea before, Dana?”

  Dana shook her head, sipping her tea, taking a bit of the toast.

  “Dana,” Rebecca said gently, “do you know why you’ve been so sick lately?”

  A sigh escaped, almost a cry. Dana nodded. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but it can only be one thing. I remember these symptoms; my sister had them twice. And nine months later, a baby each time.”

  Rebecca knew the normal congratulations weren’t what Dana wanted. “You should see a doctor, or at least take a pregnancy test. I can run to the chemist for you.”

  Confusion emerged through the concern on Dana’s face. “The chemist?”

  Rebecca nodded. “You know, for the test. To see if you’re pregnant.”

  Dana nodded. “You mean the drugstore.”

  Rebecca grinned. “Same thing. I’ll go right away.”

  Dana grabbed her hand. “But Quentin is bound to be here any minute. You should be here, talk to him about that picture.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I’m brilliant when it comes to delay tactics.”

  “It won’t do any good; you’ll have to talk to him.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you want me to say anything if he gets here before you get back?”

  Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t want you worrying about anything for my sake, Dana. You’ve got enough to keep your mind occupied.”

  Dana’s eyes welled with tears. “I want to think about you and Quentin instead. I want to help. It’s better than worrying about having a baby—one who’d belong in Berrie’s school if it hadn’t closed all those years ago.”

  Rebecca hugged her. “Don’t think it, Dana. It could be wonderful, you know. Giving Padgett a little brother or sister. Having a baby with a man you love so much.”

  Dana clung to her. “Months of worry, waiting to see if everything’s all right. I did that with Talie; I don’t want to do it myself.”

  Rebecca pulled away to look steadily into Dana’s eyes. “We all manage to get through what God allows, right? He equips us for it.”

  Dana nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, eat. You’ll feel better.”

  Rebecca hurried out the door.

  At the nearest Boots the Chemist shop, Rebecca hadn’t the faintest idea which brand was most reliable for the price. She studied a few packages, finally deciding to ask the dispensing chemist which test would prove most reliable. Twenty minutes and six pounds, fifty pence later, she had the clerk putting the test in a bag, and she made her way out the door.

  Where she promptly bumped into a camera-toting young man, who stepped out of her way just long enough to snap her photograph.

  34

  * * *

  I must tell you a secret, Cosima. Forgive me for starting this letter without the usual formalities of sharing my day, but I find myself unable to think properly just now. In your most recent letter, you said Peter would advise me
to steer clear of Simon, advice I heed only too well. My brother has Simon pegged right in that he is so staunchly Irish he might be willing to go to extraordinary measures to see Irish independence. And believe me, I want nothing to do with him on a personal level. Truly.

  For the past two months, I thought we were managing one another’s company quite well. Last time he visited, just two weeks ago, I shared with you how I enjoyed hearing of his travels. I was relieved to think we might learn to tolerate one another, since he sees Katie so often it is a matter of necessity that her brother and I learn to be cordial. Granted, we generally spend little time in conversation because Katie tends to dominate that, but something happened tonight that I must confess I will have difficulty forgetting. I hope that by telling you, I might put it into proper perspective. I went outside for my nightly walk, thinking Simon had already returned to the inn where he stays during his visits. It was a clear, starry night, and I walked with a prayer until I heard a noise behind me. I turned, and there he was. . . .

  “Mr. MacFarland?”

  “Yes, it is I.”

  “I didn’t expect anyone to be outside. I was startled.”

  “Forgive me.”

  It was such an odd place to be, on the side of the manor, where no door or garden or indeed anything of interest was to be found. “Were you searching for something?” The question was absurd, especially considering the dark of night, but Berrie was too curious not to inquire the reason for his unexpected appearance.

  Simon hesitated only a moment, looked away, then back to behold her gaze. “Yes, actually. You.”

  Surprise filled her that he would seek her company without Katie by her side.

  “I happened to see you leave, and I wondered where you might be off to at such an hour.”

  His lack of trust was as evident as the stars in the sky. “It seems obvious, Mr. MacFarland, that your visits continue not only to see your sister but to check on me, to see if I might be caught in some infraction so you may say ‘Aha! I knew you were the nefarious kind, and I shall quite justifiably take my sister away.’”