On Sparrow Hill

by Maureen Lang

  “It would never work, you know,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

  “What wouldn’t?”

  She looked at Simon, swallowing away the lump in her throat, forcing down the fear of making an utter fool of herself. If she was to speak to him honestly, it must begin now. “You would think I married you only to save the school, or at least my place in it.”

  “And . . . would you? Marry me, that is?”

  Berrie let her gaze float out the window, too afraid he would see something she wasn’t ready to reveal just yet. “Are you asking me under those circumstances? That I marry you to secure my position?”

  He laughed so easily she knew he felt none of her uncertainty. “No, Berrie, I most definitely am not.”

  His words only added to her confusion but no less than when he slid from his seat to settle beside her. He took one of her hands.

  “If you were to marry me, Berrie, it would not be a marriage by arrangement or convenience. It would not be in name only, nor for the sake of your school, your position, your reputation, or your future. It would be a marriage in the fullest sense, where we shared the same breakfast, tea, and dinner table, the same washbasin.” He leaned closer so that he was whispering in her ear. “The same bed.”

  The heat beneath her gloves spread throughout the rest of her. She looked at him, knowing she couldn’t hide that his insinuation was neither frightening nor unappealing. Still, she had to bring up thoughts that should surface better sooner than later. “And share the same arguments?”

  “Fight the same fights,” Simon corrected, “on the same side for a change.”

  “But what of my duties? And yours? I didn’t refuse you because I didn’t want to be married to you, Simon. I refused because I wanted to spare us both the frustration that will come if either one is torn from what we must do.”

  He put a hand on each side of her face so that she could look only at him. “I prayed that was true.”

  “Did you, Simon? Have you been praying for us?”

  He nodded. “You believe that school is a mission from God. If that’s the case, then how could I hope to wrest you away unless He wanted me to share in some part of that mission? I believe it’s possible, Berrie. I have a staff already in place who can take care of some of your paperwork.”

  She grinned. “You might have mentioned that the first time you proposed, Simon. I’m sure I couldn’t have said no to that.”

  “And judging from Mr. Truebody, any time you have to appear before him, it would undoubtedly be best to have a male voice—a mouthpiece, I admit, but one from whom he would obviously prefer to hear.”

  The thought of never again appearing alone before Mr. Truebody was heady indeed. Still, Berrie frowned. “Simon, you needn’t convince me of my benefit from marrying you. From the time you first kissed me, I’ve fought against wanting to marry you, and I’m more than ready to give up such a fight. But what possible benefit can I bring to you except the burden of a wife who will speak her mind and split her time between hearth and mission?”

  “Don’t you recall, Berrie?”

  She shook her head.

  “I must confess that my words during my first, ill-conceived proposal to you have been burned into my memory—much to my shame. I claimed that I did not need someone who was madly in love or blind to my faults. I merely wanted a woman who respects and honors my thoughts and opinions. I know now that you do. And if you can love me as well, that’s all I ask.”

  “I do, Simon; that I do.”

  57

  * * *

  The judges arrived precisely on time. The new scripts, new wardrobes, refurbished teaching tools had been in place for over a month and the staff and Hall were ready, only within minutes of the judges’ arrival.

  Though only one Featherby official was required, there were three today. A director of the program, Eva Wetherhead, explained that Hollinworth Hall had long been one of her favorite garden properties, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity to visit. She brought with her two judges, one who was in training.

  “As you know,” said Eva Wetherhead, “our goal is to promote good practices in education, particularly through historical environments.” She turned to the other judges, and Rebecca guessed the one with slightly widened eyes to be the one in training. “Hollinworth Hall is known for its association with those who have a love of learning, as far back as the Viscount Peter Hamilton, who was renowned for his contributions to science, to the last viscount, who donated so much time and money to Cambridge.” She looked at Rebecca, who stood next to Quentin. “Will you both be leading our tour?”

  “Yes,” said Quentin as smoothly as if they’d been leisurely awaiting their arrival instead of having spent the last hour in such commotion. “Miss Seabrooke planned for us to start in the ballroom, then visit the cuddle farm. I believe we’ll finish the outside portion on the veranda with the Victorian tea and end the tour in the gallery. Is that right?”

  Rebecca nodded even though he didn’t need her approval; she might have arranged the tour, but the material she’d used was all his. His home, his farm, his staff. She was reminded she might have been foolish to fall in love with him. If he truly wanted to return to Caroline Norleigh, then their brief exploration of a relationship would leave her not only with a broken heart but also without a job.

  Thoughts of working somewhere else were impossible to face, particularly today when everything at the Hall was at its best, from the gardens to the cuddle farm to the workshops in both the smithy and the science hut full of Peter Hamilton’s fossils. She couldn’t leave here, not when so much of her life, of her family’s lives, had been lived out on these grounds. She couldn’t leave, and yet she couldn’t stay. Not if Quentin was to marry Caroline Norleigh.

  They went through the farm, no evidence left of the drama that had played out less than a half hour ago. No one, not a judge nor a member of the tour, would guess the path of worry they’d taken to find Padgett. All was well, and Talie joined them on the tour, a smile on her face.

  They went to the science hut, surveyed the gardens—both practical and ornamental—and visited the maze that had been searched such a short time ago in vain. As they reached the veranda, Rebecca noticed almost instantly that one figure didn’t belong. Although her suit was probably far more expensive than the replicas of Victorian daywear, Lady Elise’s contemporary outfit was a jarring reminder of what era they all belonged to.

  “I’ll see her,” Quentin whispered, “but I’ll be back in a moment. Alone.”

  Quentin excused himself from the tour, and Rebecca watched him join his mother, leading her inside the Hall. Rebecca kept her gaze on the tour participants, though she wondered what was so urgent that Lady Elise had arrived today.

  Rebecca knew the judges would want to mingle with the tour group afterward, particularly the students and their teachers. The education manager was there to assist with the students and the tourists to make sure no questions were left unanswered and the purposes behind each exhibit were clear. Rebecca was eager to use that time to see that the judges were satisfied in their overall assessment.

  The gallery seemed dark after the bright sun, so she filled a few moments with stories she’d heard Quentin tell before introducing the great masters, the Hollinworth forebears, the various eras and methods of artwork demonstrated in the collection. And while Rebecca was sure the judges were enjoying themselves, she glanced at Talie more than once, particularly when the portraits of Peter and Cosima Hamilton were introduced. Talie looked as though she were meeting old friends.

  Just as the formal portion of the tour ended, Rebecca spotted Quentin coming into the gallery. While she was grateful he’d wanted to participate and it might have been more authentic to have him tell his favorite family tales, the tour had been anything but a failure, even without him. She greeted him with a smile. There were some things that wouldn’t be robbed of peace, and the knowledge that she’d done her best for the award was one of them
.

  “Have I missed the whole thing?” he asked, unnecessarily straightening his tie.

  “Not entirely,” she said. “They’ll want to say good-bye, I’m sure. You can see them off.” She looked over his shoulder, wondering if his mother had left.

  Quentin leaned closer, speaking into her ear. “If you’re looking for my mother, I’m hoping she took my advice at last and left. But be on the lookout for her. Between her call earlier and now this visit, she’s said more than once she wanted to speak to you, too.”

  She had been the one who called? “Why does she wish to see me, I wonder?”

  He grinned at her. “Don’t worry; I’ve made her promise to be civil. I did tell her today isn’t a good day, but the word Featherby means absolutely nothing to her.” He left Rebecca, extending a hand to one of the judges. “I apologize again for abandoning the tour earlier. I was called to a family meeting I couldn’t ignore.”

  Miss Wetherhead smiled reassuringly. “You have a treasure here, Mr. Hollinworth. My colleagues and I would like to see the tour buses load and drive off, if you don’t mind, and retrace a few steps of the tour. After that we’ll have you sign some of our pesky paperwork and be of no further trouble. All right?”

  “Yes, of course. The Hall is open for you today as long as you like.” He turned to Rebecca. “Rebecca?”

  She heard his inquiry but could not look at him. Instead her eye was caught in the direction from which he’d come, looking toward the hall leading into the gallery. There stood Elise Hollinworth, staring directly at Rebecca.

  “I–I’ll join you in a few moments,” she said. There was that voice again, the one she hoped never to hear out of herself. Meekness drenching every word.

  If Quentin wanted to speak—and Rebecca guessed he did by the way he looked at her and stayed at her side a moment too long—she didn’t give him a chance. She walked past him to his mother. Lady Elise’s gaze was on her until Rebecca stood a foot away. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and led her not to the kitchen, where Helen would be found, nor to the parlor that was open and inviting to all, nor to the dining room that overlooked the Victorian tea still being performed on the veranda and lawn until the last tourist and judge was gone. She went, instead, up the stairs and directly to Rebecca’s office.

  Once inside, she closed the door behind Rebecca.

  Lady Elise stood tall and regal in front of the window Rebecca peered through each day. It was Lady Elise’s office all of a sudden, her home, her son. Rebecca the outsider. Elise stood now with her back to the window, watching Rebecca. Perhaps this was an experiment to see how long it took for Rebecca to visibly squirm. She willed herself to be still.

  Elise’s eyes narrowed, her stare burrowing into Rebecca like radiation. Rebecca knew no one questioned Lady Elise; no one but Lady Elise questioned time spent with her, and no one questioned her thoughts, opinions, or motives. But, while Rebecca had no desire to offer disrespect, neither did she desire to offer the opposite—too much of something not earned.

  It was all so simple now. Everything Talie had said about the truest role being found in servanthood. The role Christ chose was servant; how could she think herself above that? So many things were easier to see now.

  Suddenly Rebecca smiled, and from somewhere inside she recognized the gesture as the miracle it was. Sincere. “Is there some reason you wanted to speak to me, Lady Elise?”

  “My son is not here to see those silly judges you have downstairs. He is here to see you. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

  How could Rebecca express what she couldn’t understand herself? She couldn’t know the future any more than Lady Elise could. Rebecca did know one thing: her faith and Quentin’s were real. No decision would be made without much prayer. There was too much inside her to be contained in one facial expression: a little confusion over Lady Elise’s summons, a remnant of hope she couldn’t rid, hope that the look that seemed so steady in Quentin’s eyes that morning couldn’t be misread. None of that could she share with Lady Elise.

  “Yes,” Rebecca whispered. The meekness was taking a backseat to peace. She heard it in her voice.

  Lady Elise’s perfect countenance cracked. There was a moment of indecision in her eyes. “You welcome me as if for all the world you knew the future, that our futures would be entwined by Quentin. The peace of knowledge—it’s all over your face.”

  Rebecca nodded again. “Yes, because I don’t wish to worry about the future so much. God has it in the palm of His hand.”

  Lady Elise crossed her arms, regarding Rebecca with nothing short of curiosity.

  “I don’t approve of you,” Lady Elise said.

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

  “But not sorry enough to stay away from him.”

  Rebecca shook her head. If she were talking to Dana or Talie or any one of her old friends, she would have stepped closer, patted the fretful woman’s hand, soothed the worry off of her face. This, however, was Lady Elise. “In the Bible, it talks about how we should honor our father and mother. I want to do that; I want Quentin to do that. But it’s not wrong for Quentin and me to be together if he decides to be with me instead of Lady Caroline. The stuff of society pages—that doesn’t really mean all that much, does it? Really?”

  “Society page!” Elise laughed. “Do you think that’s what bothers me? If that was all that concerned me, I’d have thought nothing of him taking any woman as wife.” Her icy gaze changed before Rebecca, a slow thaw, though detectable. “This world isn’t the one I grew up in, you know. Everywhere I turn it’s less unique, less specialized. I turn the corner and an American McDonald’s turns up—here, in Spain, in Greece, in Japan. I can buy my favorite perfume online now, did you know? The kind I used to have made in a small factory in France just for me. Now I can stay here and order them to make it and have it delivered to my door. Someday there will be nothing unique anywhere anymore.” She looked around the office, then held up a palm. “Even here, what was once a bedroom for the daughter of a viscount is now an office for a commercial manager. It’s disappearing. Soon the aristocracy will be another memory of the past. It’s already happened.”

  “I’m sorry, Lady Elise,” Rebecca said, insight blooming in her mind, and along with it a measure of compassion. “I imagine you see me as one of those fast-food places, don’t you? Taking the place of something special, something unique.”

  If understanding might have bred comradeship, it couldn’t be proven by Lady Elise. She turned her back on Rebecca to look out the window.

  “He’ll be up here shortly. I can’t keep him away from you.” Lady Elise glanced back, allowing Rebecca no more than a glimpse at her face. She looked older—not sad, rather resigned. “I won’t try anymore. You’ve won.”

  Didn’t Lady Elise realize where Caroline Norleigh was living? Rebecca hid her unresolved fears, knowing the moment was more about Lady Elise than any future—to-be or not-to-be—between Rebecca and Quentin.

  “It wasn’t a tug-of-war, with Quentin the rope, you know. Don’t we both want him to be happy? I haven’t won.”

  Elise eyed Rebecca again, her face neither warm nor cold but placid, the first time Rebecca had seen it so. “Of my two children, I knew Quentin was most like his father. I kept him by my side as often as I could for as long as I could. My husband already had Robert. But now Quentin has discovered his father in him—his faith, his preferences. Not me or my way of life. He’ll be loyal to you; I can guarantee that. My husband always was, to his dying day, despite my failings.”

  “You seem to be certain that my future with Quentin is guaranteed, Lady Elise, when it’s anything but.”

  Lady Elise started to speak, then closed her mouth. She walked past Rebecca, stopping at the door with a hand on the knob. Her face as she looked across the room was the Lady Elise Rebecca knew, cold and distant. “I won’t stand in your way, Rebecca, but I warn you: if you dishonor my son or our name, I’ll make sure you regret it the rest of
your life.”

  She was gone then, though Rebecca still felt her presence, her words lingering with what should have been a warning. But they weren’t. They were the only kind of blessing Lady Elise knew how to give.

  Hope flared again in Rebecca even as she tried cautioning against it. Maybe for some unknown reason Lady Elise no longer stood in their way. . . . Was there anything left between Rebecca and Quentin for it to matter?

  Rebecca followed Lady Elise, who went downstairs without a word to the veranda exit rather than passing the knot of people still gathered around the buses waiting to take tourists away. If she went straight to her car, she would be down the lane before the buses pulled out. Rebecca would have joined those outside, but she spotted Talie with Dana and Padgett in the front parlor.

  “That was a wonderful tour, Rebecca,” said Talie. “Now when I read Cosima’s journal again, I’ll be able to picture everything more accurately. Even her.”

  Rebecca was tempted to fall to a chair and join them. They all looked so comfortable sipping iced tea, Dana and Padgett at the piano. The morning had seemed to go on forever, but the day wasn’t over yet. She must see the Featherby judges off, and more importantly she hadn’t yet spoken to Quentin. Though he had been all smiles for the judges and completely caring during the crisis of chasing down the wandering Padgett, not one word had been exchanged to indicate whether he’d made a decision about where his heart rested. With Rebecca or back with Lady Caroline.

  “Do you want some of the tea Helen brought in, or will you wait until the judges are gone?” Dana asked as she played “Chopsticks” with Padgett. “The tea is on the table.”

  Rebecca barely heard the question. What she heard instead was a tone of voice she’d forgotten could come from Dana. One of interest and, if not tranquility, at least calm without an undercurrent of fear or depression.

  “I should go to the judges,” she said, still eyeing Dana. “I will in a moment. It’s been quite a morning, hasn’t it?”