The House of Hardie

by Anne Melville

  ‘To tell you the truth, no, I can’t believe it,’ said Gordon. ‘But because you are such an unusual young woman – and because I for one take such pleasure in your conversation – I’ll stretch my imagination to allow that you may have the talent for such a friendship. Only, though, with a man intelligent enough to appreciate your intelligence. Mr Yates is not that man. And although you’re talking of friendship, I suspect you’re still thinking of love. You’re bringing certain disappointment on yourself, Midge.’

  ‘You’re talking to me as though you were Father.’

  Gordon grinned, laughing away the seriousness of their conversation. ‘That’s because I’m agreeing to be your fellow-conspirator, so that Father will never have the opportunity to say it all himself. I see now why you brought me out here to walk, instead of sitting down to talk in the office. Well, if you stretch the distance and direction and time of our walk when you describe it, I won’t say anything to discredit you. As long as you can promise me that there was no impropriety.’

  For a second time Midge remembered the moment when Archie had kissed her. Nothing could have been less proper. But she had confessed enough to Gordon already, and was in no mood to provoke another lecture. ‘Of course,’ she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  More than she expected or thought wise, Midge missed Archie’s company during the long summer vacation when he was at home in Castlemere and she remained in Oxford. So when the new university year began in October, she resolved to restrain her feelings. Whilst still looking forward to their weekly encounters outside Dr Mackenzie’s door, and accepting Archie’s invitations to any social event at which other people would be present, she took care not to await his notes too anxiously to feel disconsolate if a week passed without a meeting. It was important, she realized, that she should continue to maintain her own interests in her own active life. As the autumn of 1886 turned to winter and the new year began, she flung herself into her work and games with even more energy than usual.

  In the third month of 1887 winter tightened its grip on Oxford just as the first daffodils of spring were lowering their heads in readiness to flower. A snowy January and a wet February had swollen the rivers and flooded the water meadows, so that when March was blown in by a freezing north-east wind, the city woke up one morning to find itself almost surrounded by ice. Working citizens grumbled as they picked their way cautiously over frozen snow, or felt their horses slipping into potholes. But Midge’s eyes sparkled with pleasure as she hunted for her skates in the box room at the top of the house and gave them to the gardener to be sharpened and screwed on to her boots. Her usual exercise during the winter took place on the hockey field, where a team of home students played energetically against the two ladies’ halls. With the ground unfit for play, it took only a few messages to bring the team to a new assembly point in Port Meadow. The Meadow flooded and froze regularly enough for most of the girls who had been brought up in Oxford to be accomplished skaters. Midge was the fastest of them all, pausing only occasionally to help someone regain her feet, or to laugh at the contortions of young children trying to keep their balance. She returned home glowing with pleasure and the warmth of exercise.

  ‘We’ve all arranged to meet again tomorrow,’ she told her mother. ‘To take advantage of the ice as long as it lasts.’

  The next afternoon she was ready and waiting when three of her friends arrived to call for her. A fur-trimmed bonnet which framed her face snugly was warm as well as becoming, and she wore fur mittens and her heaviest cloak and warmest petticoats. Her skirt was the one in which she normally played hockey: it was a little shorter than her other clothes and so less likely to trip her as she skated.

  ‘Are you going to Port Meadow again?’ asked her mother, as Midge put her head into the boudoir to say goodbye.

  ‘No, not today. We decided –’ Midge only with a considerable effort prevented herself from flushing, since the suggestion and the decision had both been her own – ‘We decided to meet on Magdalen Bridge instead.’

  ‘Why go there?’ Although the Hardies’ home was not too far from the bridge, Mrs Hardie knew that most of Midge’s friends lived in North Oxford. ‘Port Meadow is so much more convenient – and so large.’

  ‘But the flooding was only shallow there. So there are tufts of grass sticking up through the ice. It’s impossible to get up a good speed without the danger of running into a hummock and falling. The grass in the water meadows besides Magdalen is completely covered, and the ice is smooth and perfect. Or so we’ve been told, at least.’

  ‘It must be more dangerous, though, if the water is deeper.’

  ‘It’s the difference only between three inches and six. We’re unlikely to drown in either.’

  ‘But if you should skate from the water meadow on to the river bed without noticing it…’ Her mother’s anxiety was genuine, but she was perhaps reluctant to fuss over Midge like a child in front of her friends, for she did not press the point.

  Mrs Hardie found it as difficult as anyone else to know precisely how this new kind of young woman, the female student, should be treated. Midge had made it clear from the beginning that she would be too busy with her studies to join in all the social activities – the leaving of cards and the taking of tea – normally expected of an unmarried daughter living at home. Sensible and busy herself, Mrs Hardie was prepared to give her daughter credit for being sensible as well, and treated her almost as though she were a young married woman. When Midge needed or asked to be escorted, the matter was arranged; but at other times she was not expected to account for her movements during every moment of the day. ‘You’ll all stay together, won’t you?’ was all her mother asked now to indicate that she was still concerned about the danger of an accident.

  ‘Of course.’ Midge kissed her mother goodbye and hurried away before any further questions could be asked.

  Her conscience was not completely easy. Although she had given her friends no inkling of it, she had to admit to herself the reason why she had suggested the new venue. Any Magdalen undergraduate who might feel in the mood for skating was hardly likely to make the long journey to Port Meadow when he had a natural rink on his own doorstep. Midge had no way of knowing whether Archie Yates could skate. But the ground was too hard for rugger and there was too much ice on the Isis for rowing. It was likely that he would try his skill, if only for the sake of exercise and fresh air. Midge was ashamed of herself for hoping for such an encounter – and, indeed, for plotting so actively to make it possible – but she seemed unable to help herself. She was in love with Archie.

  She had been in love with him ever since he kissed her. She had been in love with him ever since he danced with her at the ball. She had been in love with him ever since she listened in his company to the choristers singing from Magdalen Tower. She had been in love with him from the moment she first set eyes on him. She forced herself to think back in such a way, because this was the only means of persuading herself that it was ridiculous. To fall in love with a handsome face before knowing anything at all about its owner’s character – only a fool would behave in such a way, and Midge knew that in most respects she was not a fool. But on this one subject reason seemed to have deserted her.

  It was not a completely hopeless passion. Midge was as certain as she well could be that Archie’s feelings for her were equally strong. But the conventions of society and the routines of their lives made it impossible for them to enjoy any private meeting. She could look forward only to exchanges of meaningless conversation on public social occasions or, even more rarely, to a touch which would be either formal or apparently accidental. If Archie were to declare himself, he could be received at the house as an accepted suitor and a new pattern of behaviour would be allowed to develop. Yet how could he be expected to come to the point of declaration when there was no natural opportunity for their relationship to develop? What was required was a background of social intercourse between two families, and nothing of the kind had exis
ted in the past, or ever would exist.

  Although it was in the hope of glimpsing Archie that she had chosen the assembly point on Magdalen Bridge, she soon forgot about him in the excitement of meeting the rest of her friends. As they carried their skates down to the water meadow, Midge lingered behind for a moment, her breath taken away by the beauty of the scene. Behind Magdalen’s lonely tower the sky was a deep blue, as cloudless as it had been on May Morning. Beneath it stretched a landscape which could have come from any century. As far as her eye could see the ice was covered with laughing, shouting, moving people. In just such a way must the first wandering scholars who came to rest in Oxford have disported themselves on winter days.

  Very often, when her work seemed dull and her eyes ached from all the reading she had to do, Midge drew strength from the thought that she had a place – if only a barely-acknowledged place – in a tradition which was already six centuries old. Now she found an equal pleasure in thinking of her recreation as part of the unchanging pattern of the seasons. The huge elms, their gaunt outlines pointed by frost, would many times in their long lives have looked down on such a swirling scene. Even the younger and more slender willow trees – which alone now indicated the course of the river – must often before this year have felt themselves clutched for support or used as a braking point by a skater who had not yet learned how to stop.

  Midge had no problem of this kind. She had promised her mother that she would stay with the group, but her skill and speed inevitably separated them from time to time. Exploring the boundaries of the area on which the ice was safe, she had only one companion at her side as she crossed the frozen river and passed in a graceful glide in front of the iron gates which separated the gardens of Magdalen College from its meadows. A group of undergraduates was clustered there, jeering at those of their friends who had taken to the ice and now appeared determined to crack it by the heaviness of their falls. Archie was one of the group.

  So swiftly did Midge pass on that first occasion that he had no chance to notice her. But ten minutes later, outdistancing her companion, she returned on the same circuit. This time she slowed as she passed the group, as though she needed to be cautious in passing the rowdy beginners. She turned her head; her fur-lined face lit up in surprised recognition. She smiled and waved her hand lightly. Then she sped away.

  Within only a few seconds her face was red with shame and anger. She had hoped and planned for precisely such an encounter, but now she could hardly bear to think that she could have behaved in such a cheap manner. To be in love was no excuse; it was no excuse for anything at all.

  She could almost have cried with vexation. To sit at home and wait meekly until a young man should call to court her would be shaming to her pride in her own independence – but to go out and look for him was even more shaming to her self-respect. Would she really be content, as she had always persuaded herself, to be a schoolteacher, unloved and unmarried? Her love of study was genuine enough, and so was her wish to live a useful life, but why should that mean that she must cut herself off from the usual pleasures of being young? She had as much right to happiness as anyone else, but how was she supposed to find it?

  There was no easy answer as to what she should do – but it was clear enough what she ought not to do. For the rest of the afternoon she stayed close to her friends and at the furthest point from the college, practising figure skating and refusing to race. Archie, she had noticed, was not wearing skates; he was not likely to take more than a few steps on to the ice. If the frost continued, she suggested to her companions when at last they were all tired, it would perhaps after all be more convenient to meet at Port Meadow the next day.

  So for the three afternoons which followed she kept well away from Magdalen. On the fourth day, however, the temperature began to rise. As she walked home from her morning lecture she noticed that the sun was shining not only brightly but warmly. This might well be the last opportunity of the winter to use her skates.

  Her friends called for her as usual, but brought with them warning news. The Thames had flooded its banks for a second time, so that the ice on Port Meadow was now covered with water. ‘We should go back to the Cherwell water meadows,’ they said. ‘We’ve told the others. They’ll meet us on Magdalen Bridge again.’

  Midge said nothing. This time the decision was not hers; there was no shame in merely accepting it. It would be easy enough to keep away from the college gates. Why should she deny herself a last afternoon of pleasant exercise merely as a kind of self-mortification?

  She tucked her straying hair inside her bonnet. ‘To Magdalen, then,’ she said.

  Chapter Twelve

  For four afternoons running Archie had jerkily circled the water meadows on his borrowed skates. On the first two occasions he was glad that Midge did not appear to be in the vicinity; accustomed to appearing accomplished at everything he tried, he did not take kindly to his first clumsiness at this new skill. But once he had got the hang of it, he started to look out for her. The River Cherwell divided into three as it enclosed and crossed the water meadows, and so hard was the frost at first that even these channels had frozen over, making it possible to skate as far north as the Parks. So the area to be searched was a large one – and half the city, it seemed, was playing truant from school or business or study to take advantage of the weather.

  Archie found it hard to understand his eagerness for Midge’s company. She was too clever for him. His own education had left him able to translate verses into or out of Latin and Greek, but not to argue logically on abstract subjects, nor to follow allusions plucked from the history or literature of several countries: he had learned to read a little French, but could not understand a word when Midge rattled it off at the speed of an express train. But then, girls were not meant for talking to. What he liked about Midge was the physical pleasure of dancing with her, or walking with her, or looking at her as he rowed or punted. In her company his pulse quickened as though to keep pace with her own vivacious energy.

  If he were to meet her on the ice, there would be no need to talk. They could move together, perhaps even holding crossed hands as they skated. Archie could – truthfully enough – describe himself as a tyro and ask for help and instruction and support. But first he must find her.

  Soon it would be too late. A sunny morning had begun to melt the thinnest ice near the banks of the Cherwell, although the meadow was still firm enough. Archie might have been expected to take pleasure in the thought that the river would soon be fit once again for rowing. Instead, a new urgency of spirit added power to the thrust of his feet as he moved from one group to another, scanning every face he passed. Twice he thought from a distance that he could see Midge; but every young woman who possessed a fur-trimmed bonnet was wearing it today, and each time he found himself mistaken.

  He stood still in the centre of the most popular area. When everyone else was moving, perhaps it made better sense to remain in the same place. Almost at once he was rewarded. Midge was skating backwards, her arms stretched out to pull along a friend whose first lesson it seemed to be. The cold had brought roses to her cheeks and her eyes sparkled with pleasure and encouragement. Archie watched for a moment without moving. Then he positioned himself so that Midge could not help but crash into him.

  Naturally he was alert to ensure that she did not fall – and quick, too, to catch her friend and help her towards a tree which she could hold. In the flurry of mutual apologies Archie saw mischief in Midge’s smile. She had recognized that the accident was no accident – and she was pleased.

  ‘I must help my friend back to the others,’ said Midge. Archie bowed his head in agreement and waited to see whether she would return. Two minutes later she sped past him without stopping, outdistancing those of her companions who had started level with her in a race.

  Amidst all the activity of circling, zigzagging skaters, no one could notice that Archie was following Midge’s track. It took him a little while to catch up with her. Although
his legs were stronger, and far longer, than hers, he had not mastered the gliding movement which propelled her speedily forward, making her skates sing a high, sharp song as they cut through the ice; instead, he came almost to a halt after each thrust of the blade. Only when they were far from the bridge and from most of the other skaters did she check herself and turn to wait for him.

  ‘I’m delighted to see that you can be frivolous, Miss Hardie.’ Archie staggered slightly as he came to a halt; stopping, he found, required even more skill than progressing forward. ‘I’d imagined you hard at your books during every moment of the term.’

  ‘I’ve adopted the custom of the university,’ Midge said lightly. ‘A little exercise in the afternoon, and back to work after tea.’

  ‘Won’t you practise your future profession on me?’ he asked. ‘I’m in need of a teacher. Will you show me how to skate backwards?’

  Midge gave a demonstration. Archie attempted and failed to copy her. She stood beside him and called out instructions, which he was unable to follow. With her back to him, and from a little distance, she began to swerve gracefully and slowly towards him, telling him to move back in time with her own movements. Archie waited until she was so close that he could put his hands on her waist and move as though they were dancing.

  ‘Really, Mr Yates!’ exclaimed Midge, twisting herself free.

  ‘Dash it all, a chap needs a bit of support,’ Archie said plaintively. ‘Darned slippery stuff, this ice. Now, if you were to hold my hands and sort of push me backwards in front of you –’

  Midge pursed her lips and shook her head just as though she were a schoolteacher already but nevertheless did as he suggested. It seemed to Archie, though, that there was no profit to be taken from success. It was easy enough to lose his balance and fall, bringing his teacher down on top of him.

  So tiny was Midge, and so light, that as Archie lay on the ice he felt as though he were covered only with a confusion of clothes. She looked down at him with laughing eyes which recognized that Archie was becoming an expert in non-accidental accidents.