Searching for Pemberley

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  This was getting nasty. I felt like a total bitch, but I kept going. “When you were in the hospital, how often did Millie visit you?” I asked.

  “What is your point, Maggie?”

  “You told me you and Millie had an understanding that your relationship would last only as long as you were stationed at Bassingbourn because Millie had a boyfriend in the British Navy.”

  “Yes, that was the agreement. I was not going to get serious with anyone because the odds of surviving twenty-five to thirty missions were not on my side.”

  “When you were in the hospital, did she visit you once, twice, a dozen times?”

  Rob was getting annoyed, but he answered, “I was in two different hospitals. When I was at Bassingbourn, Millie came by most nights. After they decided I needed eye surgery, they sent me to Oxford to a specialist. It was more difficult for Millie to get there because she had to take a train, so I think she came to Oxford only twice.”

  “Rob, Millie was in love with you.”

  Now he was very annoyed. “If you're trying to make me feel guilty, it's not going to work. I made it very clear that as soon as I had flown all of my missions, I was hoping to be sent back to the States immediately and alone. That's when she told me she felt the same way because she was 'practically engaged' to this guy Derek.”

  “Rob, that didn't mean she hadn't fallen in love with you.” My tone had softened, but I kept talking. “From what you've told me about Millie, she sounds like a nice girl, who would have been willing to go to see a friend in the hospital almost every night because you were nearby, but I'm having a hard time believing she would take a train to Oxford twice if she didn't have some very strong feelings for you. I know all about train travel during the war. It was like being crammed into a sardine can, smelling of sweat and smoke, and being pressed up against strange men, I had to keep my arms crossed and my knees locked together because of guys sticking their hands where they didn't belong. Millie made the effort because she was in love with you.”

  Before Rob could answer, a car pulled into the driveway, and our discussion came to an end.

  “Maggie, when we get back to London, we'll finish this conversation.” Barely controlling his anger, he said, “It's overdue.”

  Rob and I spent part of an uncomfortable two hours together before Jack drove him back to the train station in Sheffield. I was feeling perfectly miserable about what had been said, but I didn't see what else I could have done. Rob was leaving in three weeks to go back to the States, and I wasn't.

  Chapter 29

  THE LUNCHEON AT MONTCLAIR was very casual because everyone was still recovering from the previous evening, and its purpose was to allow everyone to relax and talk. Beth's Uncle Jeremy, who apparently hated parties, had come up from London. I had seen pictures of a young Jeremy Lacey, when his hair was black and his face unlined. Years of working outdoors as a geologist had given him the same look as an old tar coming home from the sea. Knowing that Rob was from Arizona, he sought me out immediately and was disappointed when he learned Rob had returned to London. “He escaped, did he?” he said with a smile. “I was hoping to have a discussion with him about his home state.”

  “I'm sorry he had to leave early,” I said. “Something came up.” That was the truth. I certainly hadn't planned to have a fight with Rob at Beth's house. “I'm a poor second choice, but I grew up in a small coal town in eastern Pennsylvania.”

  “What town?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Minooka.” A lot of people in the Scranton area knew about Minooka because of its interesting characters and bars. If a man didn't like one bar, he wouldn't have to walk very far to get to one that he did. But outside coal country, it was just another small town no one had ever heard of. “It's just south of Scranton,” I answered.

  “I've been there.”

  “You've been to Minooka?” He must be kidding.

  “I've always been fascinated by coal because of our family's involvement in local mining operations, and I wrote my senior thesis on the evolution of British mining. As I'm sure you know, Minooka is in the middle of the largest anthracite coal field in the United States. On a summer break from college in 1912, I drove from Carbondale to Mauch Chunk in a battered Tin Lizzy, and I actually spent some time in Minooka because a local geologist took me to a racetrack in town and then for a quaff at a nearby hotel. What I recall is that it was your typical small coal town with unpaved streets.”

  “Yes, that's Minooka. But it's quite different today. We now have two paved streets.” The “hotel” where Jeremy had enjoyed his “quaff” had to be O'Donnell's Hotel and Bar. The “hotel” designation came in handy when prohibition went into effect in 1919. And the “quaff” was almost certainly a Schmidt's Beer, a local favorite brewed in Philadelphia.

  Seeing that Jack was headed his way, he said, “I will be in England through the holidays and will divide my time between London and Montclair where I hold court in the tower. I would very much enjoy speaking with you again.”

  I agreed to meet with him on my next visit, and then responding to a wave from Beth, I headed in her direction. She wanted me to join a conversation she was having with Scott and Ellen Manning and her cousin, Lady Patricia Alcott. That was fine with me because I was deliberately avoiding her son. I was feeling very guilty about how much attention Michael had paid to me at the party and how much I had enjoyed it. Eva Greene was helping me out because, wherever Michael went, Eva was right behind him. But when he finally did break free, he asked me to join him on the terrace.

  “I hope you don't mind, but I had to get away from Eva.” Glancing over his shoulder to see if we had been followed, he added, “I didn't have this much trouble evading the Japanese in the Burmese jungles.”

  “I don't mind,” I said, “but if I were a guy, I'd be very flattered if a beautiful woman like Eva was interested in me. Freddie called her a smasher, and Rob certainly admired her.”

  “Eva definitely meets the definition of 'smasher,' but to my mind, there's a lot more that goes into making a girl attractive than a pretty face and a good figure.” Looking across the room where his brother and sister-in-law were talking to Violet Alcott, Michael continued, “A sharp wit and a fine mind are more important in the long run.”

  “Did your girlfriend in Australia meet those criteria?” I had no right to ask that question, but I was a little annoyed by his remark, which was clearly directed at James and Angela.

  “Maggie, you are judging me too harshly. Angela is just what James wants in a wife. She grew up in a village where the roles of men and women are clearly defined, and that's fine with James. All I am saying is that type of relationship is not for me. I want a wife who is my equal, not just someone who will keep house and rear children.”

  “I understand,” I said, softening my tone. “It's the same with the Irish. It's only because of the war that things are changing.”

  Michael seemed relieved by my answer. I didn't want to judge anyone harshly. But in the end, what was important was whether or not the marriage worked, and James's marriage was definitely working. On the other hand, Michael's views of marriage were more in keeping with mine.

  “Why didn't your relationship work out with the girl from Australia?” After asking one personal question, I found asking the second to be a lot easier. With everything that had happened in the last three days, I was tired, agitated, and, at that moment, rude.

  Pointing to a copse at the far end of the garden, Michael said, “Let's walk down there because it's a long story—one my parents have not heard.”

  After sitting on one of the benches, Michael began his story. “When I was in Burma, I picked up a parasite, which put me in hospital in Calcutta. At my fighting weight, I'm about 170–175, but I was now 130 lbs. and falling. The doctor said he was going to recommend that I be medically discharged because I was unfit for service. I told my commanding officer that if I went back to England, it would be a terrible burden on my parents. They had lost
three brothers between them in the First War, and I did not want them to see me the way I was.

  “Before going out to Burma, I went home on leave, only to find that my father was experiencing something akin to a nervous breakdown as a result of my transfer to the China-Burma-India Theater of Operations. I didn't want to go home and possibly be the cause of a relapse. I talked the brass into getting me transferred to Parafield. I went to Australia under the condition that I have monthly weigh-ins, and that my weight had to be maintained between 145 and 150 lbs. That's how I met Abby. I was sitting in an ice cream parlor in Adelaide, and she had watched me drink three malted drinks in a row. We struck up a conversation, and I asked her out. It was the first time I had imagined myself in love, and I fell pretty hard.”

  I was surprised to hear that Abby had been his first love. It didn't sound right. Michael had come of age during World War II when most of the social norms had gone out the window.

  “Abby was your first girlfriend?” I asked in a tone of voice that showed my skepticism.

  “Yes. She was my first girlfriend, but not my first—how shall I put this—love affair.”

  I was sure I was about to hear another story of adultery, and I was right. Someone had told me that, after the war, there were so many divorces on the grounds of adultery that one of the archbishops told the faithful to forgive, forget, and move on.

  “When I met Edith, I had never, you know, had sex,” Michael said. “She was ten years older than I was. Her husband was in the Navy, and she had a flat. This went on for about six months. She's actually part of the reason I ended up in Burma.

  “When I had been called up, I took aptitude tests and qualified for the RAF air cadet program. I wanted to be a pilot, but during my physical, they found I had aerotitis media, an inflammation of the middle ear, which meant I would be unable to adjust to pressure at high altitudes. Once it was determined I would not be allowed off the ground, I was sent to the RAF School of Technical Training at Halton, Bucks.

  “When it became clear that it was only a matter of time before Germany was defeated, Churchill turned his attention to Asia, for the purpose of preserving as much of the empire as possible. Personnel files were combed to find those who had lived in India and spoke the language. I also showed up in a search for those who had qualified for the cadet's program. They were starting a program in India where I would be trained as a medic and a pilot—something on the order of a bush pilot in Australia. The aircraft were small because they were designed to land and take off on very short runways. Each plane had two pilots who were also trained medics. The men on the ground would call for an evacuation, and we would fly in and get off as quickly as possible, providing medical care in the air. I was asked if I was interested in becoming a part of such a program. I jumped at the chance for several reasons, one of which was ending the relationship with Edith. The longer it went on, the worse I felt about it. Once I got to Burma, God did have his revenge.

  “Like I said, I fell pretty hard for Abby, and as a result, I missed all of the signals that the relationship was not going to work out. Abby's father had been critically wounded in the First War and had been receiving one hundred percent disability from the Australian government. Abby's mother had to work to make ends meet, and a good deal of his care fell to Abby. When her dad died sometime during the war, she felt liberated from all the responsibilities she had taken on at such a young age. She was afraid that if she married me, she would end up exchanging one invalid for another.

  “In November, my squadron was transferred to Malta. When I got to my new station, I was surprised at how quickly the hurt passed, and I questioned whether I had really been in love. I look at it now as a learning experience, one that will help me recognize the real thing when it comes along.”

  Michael and I said very little on the way back to the house. But I was thinking about his relationship with Edith. What was a thirty-one-year-old married woman doing with a twenty-one-year-old young man? If God had truly believed that punishment was in order, I felt his wrath should have fallen on Edith not Michael.

  Once we were back at the manor house, I told Beth I would like to go back to Crofton Wood. I was physically and emotionally exhausted, and I needed some time to think about all I had said to Rob. The angry tone of the conversation was my fault because I had been giving Rob a free pass during our entire relationship. Instead of dealing with problems as they arose, I had piled on all at one time, and I had come off as mean and petty.

  Squeezing my hand, she said, “Yes, of course. Michael will drive you.”

  I wasn't sure I wanted Michael to be the one to drive me back to Crofton Wood. I was already confused enough about my relationship with Rob. I didn't want to think about anyone else.

  “About Rob,” Michael said as soon as we walked in the door at Crofton Wood, “I'm pretty sure you two had a dust-up before he left, and I'm afraid I might have been the cause of it.” He looked in my direction to see if I agreed, but I said nothing. “I admit I took advantage of Rob being the object of Eva's attention to spend as much time with you as possible. If I did cause you a spot of strife, I apologize.”

  A spot of strife? I liked that. It sounded a whole better than, “Why don't you want to marry me, Rob?”

  “Rob and I had had an argument about a month ago. Some of the issues came up on Sunday morning, and it was neither the time nor place to discuss them. So Rob went back to London.” But then I lost it, and tears just poured out of me. In a repeat of the previous evening's last dance, Michael put his arms around me and pulled me to him.

  After a moment, I gently pushed him away and said, “I'm sorry. I'm slobbering all over you.”

  After handing me his handkerchief, he said, “I'll gladly put up with slobber if it means I get to hold you in my arms.” He led me to the sofa, and turning to face me, he took my two hands in his.

  “My behavior may seem odd to you, but I am working at a disadvantage. I have to leave for Germany tomorrow afternoon, and if I don't do or say the right thing now, there's an excellent chance I will never see you again, and I can't let that happen.” After pausing for a moment, he continued, “If you and Rob were engaged, I might not be this aggressive. However, since you are not, I am not inclined to withdraw from the field.”

  Finally, it was out in the open. Michael had been flirting with me ever since I met him, and I had flirted back. He had written letters to me with a romantic subtext, and despite being deeply involved in a relationship with Rob, I had neither encouraged nor discouraged him. And with this visit, when he took me into his arms, all pretenses had been put aside.

  “Maggie, you can't be all that surprised.”

  “No, I'm not surprised, but I am confused. So much has happened to me in such a short time. Two years ago, I was in love with a guy from Pittsburgh until I realized he actually wanted to live in Pittsburgh, and then I wasn't in love with him anymore. Last Christmas, I met Rob. I thought I had found the man of my dreams—the guy I wanted to marry. There was only one problem; he didn't ask. Now, he's going back to the States. And if history repeats itself, once Rob leaves England, I'll never see him again. If that isn't complicated enough, I spent most of Saturday night flirting with you instead of dancing with the man I was hoping to marry.” Covering my face with my hands, I said, “It's too much.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Michael said, and he went to the liquor cabinet for a drink. He brought me back a scotch and soda. I was now having my second scotch—same house, different crisis.

  “I'm very flattered by what you've said, but I'm completely done in. Can we have breakfast tomorrow at the inn?” Michael agreed and held out his hand to help me up.

  “All right, then. I'll see you in the morning” Then he kissed me on the cheek and said he was heading up to Montclair where Freddie was organizing a poker game.

  When I got to my room, I plopped down on the bed, fully clothed. I fell into an unsettled sleep with different dreams passing through my mind in quick succe
ssion, including one where Michael and Rob were cutting cards to see who would get me. The dream ended before I saw who won.

  Michael and I walked to the inn in a light drizzle. I loved being out in the rain in the countryside. It wasn't something I was able to do growing up for the same reason I didn't enjoy getting caught in the rain in London. The air in both places was too dirty. There was a good reason why the English carry black umbrellas.

  Because we had arrived at the inn when most of the guests had already finished breakfast, we were able to sit by a wood-burning fireplace. Because the family owned their own chicken coops, eggs were plentiful, even if the bacon was limited to one slice. Mrs. Rivers brought over a pot of Earl Grey tea and planted a big kiss on Michael's cheek, believing he was heading back to Malta.

  After we finished breakfast, I asked about the poker game. Michael and Mr. Ferguson were the big losers, but he seemed unbothered by his losses. “Lucky at cards, unlucky in love.”

  We spoke about the gala, the reincarnation of Montclair, the guests, James and Angela, and how she had charmed everyone despite speaking very little English. I talked about everything except what had been said the night before. After our dishes had been cleared, Michael asked, “Is there a point where we can talk about you and not my parents or James and Angela or me?” This comment was out of character. His mother would have accused him of being “peckish,” but I knew he had had even less sleep than I did.

  Looking at the clock above the fireplace, I said, “It's coming up on 11:00, and you have to leave in a few hours. Your parents will be wondering what you are up to.”

  Standing up and putting some coins on the table, Michael said, “My parents know exactly what I'm up to.”

  It was raining harder now, and we had to use our umbrellas. Much to my relief, the rain made it impossible for us to talk. In a couple of hours, Jack would drop me off at the train station and take Michael to an airfield in Hertfordshire where he'd catch a flight to Germany. I needed time to think before I said or did another thing. After shaking out our umbrellas, Michael stopped as if he had something to say to me. I thought that this was his way of saying good-bye, so I offered him my hand. Instead, he put his hands around my waist and pulled me toward him. With his body pressing in on me, he started to kiss me, and for what seemed an eternity, he kept on kissing me, and then he held me tightly against him until I reluctantly pulled away.