by Jane Goodger
Alice looked around her room, wondering if she’d ever return to their London home. St. Ives was the home of her heart, and she was fiercely glad to be returning there—even carrying the baggage of humiliation with her. She missed the smell of the sea, the constant racket of seagulls, even the smell of bait fish that the fishermen used.
“Nearly ready, I see.” Alice turned to see her mother standing at her bedroom door. Ever since she’d been jilted at the altar, her mother’s face had held an expression Alice could only describe as pensive.
“It will be good to get home.”
“Have you written the girls?”
The girls, as they had been called in her home since Alice was ten years old, were her small group of friends. “Only Harriet. She loves being the bearer of bad news.” Her mother chuckled at the truth of those words. Harriet read the London Times each morning, clipping out the articles she knew would shock the most, murder being her favorite topic (the more macabre the better), followed closely by executions. Though Harriet was one of her dearest friends, ruination and jiltings were also a favorite topic, friend or no. In a perverse way, Alice almost wished she was there when Harriet imparted the news from her letter.
“Henderson is here. I found him standing outside the house. Or rather pacing. He’s come to say good-bye.”
Funny how the words “Henderson is here” made her heart speed up and “he’s come to say good-bye” caused it to tumble to her feet.
“Hazel, will you be able to finish on your own?” Her maid smiled as she placed a box filled with her embroidery materials into the trunk.
“Yes, miss.”
“Good. Then I shall say good-bye,” Alice announced, as if saying good-bye was something she was looking forward to. As she walked toward the door where her mother stood, Alice resisted the urge to look in the mirror, knowing her mother would notice. When she’d been young, it had taken a great deal of fortitude to keep her feelings to herself; she’d done such a fine job of it that even Oliver never teased her. “I wonder when he’ll be returning to India.”
“He mentioned he was going back in three weeks,” her mother said, moving down the hall. Behind her, Alice quickly pinched her cheeks before smoothing her hair.
Alice ignored the way her stomach fell. She might very well never see Henderson again. Not that it mattered, or rather, not that it should matter. For some reason, it did. “My goodness, he’s hardly arrived and he’ll be going back so soon. I do hope he takes the time to visit his grandparents; I’m sure they’ve missed him.” Alice thought back on the small bit of information she knew about Henderson and his family. He’d rarely talked of them, even when their conversations had turned away from books and toward more personal topics. “I would think he would at least visit for a time. Can you imagine how you would feel if Oliver had gone abroad for four years, returned to England, and didn’t bother saying hello?”
“I think your father would hunt Oliver down and drag him home,” Elda said as they walked into the main parlor.
“What has Oliver done now?” asked Henderson, who rose from his seat when the two women entered the room.
“I was just telling Mama how very vexed she would be if Oliver were gone for four years but didn’t bother to visit before leaving again.”
“Ah. I’m being chastised for not being a good grandson,” Henderson said pleasantly. “Neither of my grandparents cares much for visitors.”
“You’re hardly a visitor, you know. You’re their grandson.”
“A visitor, none-the-less.”
“Mama says you’ve come to say good-bye. That was very thoughtful of you.”
Henderson looked a bit discomfited. “I was in the neighborhood. Or rather, not far. I had a meeting in Mayfair with Lord Bellingham. Charming fellow.” It was clear from Henderson’s tone that he was being sardonic.
Alice knew Lord Bellingham and his insipid son and knew they were anything but charming. “I take it your meeting did not go well?”
“It did not.”
“Bellingham is the last sort of fellow who would help any cause that did not involve lining his pockets,” Elda said. She was drawn to a flower arrangement and proceeded to pluck a few dead blooms from their moorings. “Is this about famine relief?”
Henderson stared at the discarded blooms, lined up neatly on the well-polished table, as if he found them somehow repulsive. He snapped his attention to Elda, apparently realizing his distraction. “It is. I have a list of men I plan to appeal to.”
Elda held out her hand. “May I see it?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “A colleague in India helped me to create it, but I fear he’s been away from England so long, he is a bit out of touch.”
He handed over the list and Alice watched her mother curiously; she hadn’t thought her mother was interested in the famine relief cause. Elda read down the list, her eyes widening just slightly, before handing it back. “I’m afraid I can be of no help,” she said. “I’m familiar with many men on the list, but I don’t know their politics.”
“I fear this may be a lost cause,” Henderson said with a weary note. “Bellingham actually accused me of treason, or very nearly so.”
“What did you say to him?” Alice asked, horrified. She couldn’t imagine Henderson saying anything so controversial to be interpreted as treasonous.
Henderson let out a humorless laugh. “I may have implied that the famine was caused by England and our greed and not entirely by the drought, which seems to be the commonly held belief.”
“Oh.” Alice could not imagine Henderson, who had always seemed so laissez-faire, inciting someone to such an accusation.
“I was forewarned by my associate in India, a Dr. Cornish, but I suppose I thought my impassioned speech could sway any man.”
“Ego,” Alice blurted, then felt her cheeks warm when Henderson looked at her rather oddly. “Men and their egos. You should have told him that everyone who supports the cause will get a statue of themselves erected. Or some such thing.” The way Henderson looked at her made Alice want to squirm. It was as if he were weighing each of her words, then rearranging them to see if they made sense. “It’s just that with men like Bellingham, you cannot appeal to their moral integrity. I doubt…” She let her voice trail off because he was still staring at her.
A smile slowly grew on Henderson’s face, and for just a moment, Alice found it difficult to draw in a breath. She’d forgotten how handsome he was, how he affected her.
“You should come with me.” Alice shook her head, rather vigorously, but Henderson persisted. “I get angry too quickly and the thought of stroking someone’s ego does not appeal in the least. You could be a young Florence Nightingale.”
“I’m returning to St. Ives tomorrow morning. And as respected as Miss Nightingale is, her entreaties about India have been mostly ignored. More to the point, I hardly think someone who is a laughingstock in London at the moment could possibly be taken seriously.”
“Alice does have a point,” Elda said, agreeing with her daughter so quickly, Alice was momentarily taken aback.
“Mother!”
“You said it yourself,” Elda said, chuckling. “Do not get yourself all in a tizzy, Alice. But it is too soon for you to go out soliciting aid, and I suspect Henderson, given his schedule, needs to complete his task as soon as possible. And I do not want you to suffer the same fate as Miss Nightingale.”
“I hardly think I could become ill urging men to become involved in famine relief.”
“No, but it could end badly, just the same. It is Miss Nightingale, after all,” Elda said, plucking another brown bloom from the arrangement. “If you have any chance of getting married, you cannot involve yourself in grand causes, my dear. It is not at all attractive.”
“Perhaps I shall accompany you, Henny, as I have absolutely no intention of ever getting married,” Alice said between gritted teeth
. Sometimes her mother made her want to scream, and now was one such occasion.
“You would only slow Henderson’s progress, Alice,” Elda said cheerfully, as if she were completely unaware of how very annoyed Alice was.
“I’m not on a strict schedule,” Henderson said, hesitantly. “Though I am concerned that the longer relief is delayed, the more people will perish.”
After glaring at her mother, a completely unnoticed glare, Alice softened her features and turned toward Henderson. “Was it very terrible?” she asked. Something bleak flickered momentarily in Henderson’s eyes, a darkness that inexplicably made her throat tighten.
“It was worse than that. It was beyond imagination. I’ll leave it at that.” He smiled, but it was his new, distant smile, the one she hadn’t seen when they were younger, and suddenly Alice wished she knew what it meant, what had happened that had created that false, hard smile.
“Why don’t the two of you take a turn around the garden?” Elda suggested brightly. “It’s a lovely day. I’ll have tea brought out to you there.”
“Won’t you be joining us, Mama?”
“Oh, no. I’m having tea with Mrs. Stuart, poor thing. She gets so lonely.” Mrs. Stuart was their ancient neighbor whose children rarely visited her, so the Hubbard family made a point of making her part of their lives when they were in London.
Alice knew her mother was simply ending the conversation, but she allowed it. She truly had no desire to go before any of the men on Henderson’s list and beg for influence in the famine relief efforts. They would be polite, they would listen, but Alice knew they would only be thinking one thing: This is the girl who tried to get married three times and failed. Perhaps she could have done it if that small piece hadn’t run in the Town Talk, but Alice knew she was the subject of gossip and she simply couldn’t bear to see the looks of sympathy, or worse, the snide remarks she knew a visit from her would elicit.
“Shall we?” Henderson said after her mother had left the room. “Or we could go to the library for old time’s sake.”
Alice smiled. “We never sat together in this library. Do you know I didn’t go to Tregrennar’s library for months and months after you left?” Henderson looked at her sharply and Alice wished she hadn’t said such a thing. “The whole house felt different.” His expression grew solemn, as he assumed she was speaking of Joseph’s death, not his departure, when Alice had meant nothing of the sort. The library held no particular memories of Joseph for her. Indeed, it was one of the few rooms in the house that didn’t remind her of her brother. Yet she still couldn’t bring herself to enter a room in which she had spent so many happy hours.
The Hubbards’ London garden was a neat rectangle split down the middle by a gravel path that led to a gate and the muse across a narrow lane. It was July, so the garden was in its glory. Fragrant waxflowers spilled onto the gravel, their small white blooms filling the air with sweet scent. Her mother’s roses were in full blossom and the vibrant blue of sea holly stood in bright contrast.
Beside her, Henderson took a deep breath. “God, I’d forgotten how lovely London smells in the summer. At least this part of London.”
As he looked around the garden, Alice took the chance to study his profile, noting the sharp line of his jaw, the way one curl tucked itself against the lobe of his ear. She closed her eyes briefly with the intent of memorizing this moment, of keeping it safe when she needed to bring it out in those times she knew she would think of him. “It is good to see you, Henderson. Are you very certain you cannot come to St. Ives before you leave? The girls would love to see you. Harriet especially.” This last was said with a bit of a teasing note, a reminder of when they were young and Harriet followed him about like a small, eager puppy.
Henderson chuckled lightly, no doubt remembering how ridiculous Harriet would act whenever she was visiting and happened to see him. It had been torture to hear Harriet go on and on about Henderson when she herself had been in the throes of a terrible infatuation. “I’m surprised she’s not married, pretty girl and all that.”
Even now, the ugly heat of jealousy tinged Alice’s cheeks. “None of us are. All old maids.”
“I hardly count you old, any of you.” He gave Alice a sidelong look. “Harriet, you say? Perhaps I can find time for a visit.”
Suddenly, Alice was seventeen years old and dying inside all over again. She remembered distinctly talking about Harriet when they had been ensconced in the library, whispering their secrets so as not to alert anyone in the house of their conversation. Against all reason, Alice had mentioned to Henderson that Harriet had a bit of a crush on him. Perhaps it was to see his reaction or maybe elicit some sort of declaration from him—but it’s you I adore, Alice—or some such thing. She would never forget that terrible feeling when Henderson had sat up, curiosity piqued, and had asked to hear more.
“It would be lovely if you could come to St. Ives,” Alice said, wanting to kick herself all over again.
“You know, Alice, I had a bit of a crush myself back then.”
Breathing had become rather an effort, so Alice sat down on a nearby bench. Henderson immediately sat next to her, even though the bench was quite small. “Then of course you should make time to visit St. Ives. Harriet is even prettier now.”
He let out a small sigh. “And I am, of course, much better looking.”
He was joking, she knew he was, but she couldn’t stop herself from looking at him, studying his face. He was much better looking now. His jaw was more defined, and the shadow of his beard was showing even though it was evident he had shaved earlier that day. His hair, a deep rich chocolate, wavy on top, short on the sides and back, made her fingers itch to touch it. “You are, you know. Much better looking.” She squinted her eyes to examine him, as if she were studying a specimen and her heart wasn’t clamoring in her chest.
With a heart-stopping grin, he stole that bit of her heart she was trying with all her being to reserve for someone who loved her, who didn’t think of her as a little sister, who wasn’t leaving for India in a matter of weeks.
“Alas, my dear old friend, I cannot take the time to travel to St. Ives.”
“There’s a new rail, you know. Just built. You could be in St. Ives in just a day.”
He tilted his head in that way she remembered that made her feel as if he was not only listening to every word she said, but was actually interested. “Is there?”
He seemed to ponder visiting for a moment. “Harriet would be so thrilled to see you.” God above, what was she doing? Trying to match her best friend with the man she loved? Was she mad?
A small smile touched his lips and for just a moment Alice thought she’d been able to convince him. “Still, no. I really must concentrate on my mission here and remove myself to India as soon as possible. As it is, I will have been gone for nearly three months by the time I return.”
“So this is truly good-bye,” Alice said, unable to keep her tone light. She looked straight ahead, not wanting to look at him for fear he would see just how bereft saying good-bye left her. She could tell he was looking at her and she schooled her features into a blandness she didn’t come close to feeling. How was it she still could love him when he’d been gone for so long? It was almost as if he’d never left, as if all those years of his absence, all her fiancés, all her days of feeling nothing, had disappeared. Alice pressed her lips together just slightly, irritated with herself.
“It is.” Beside her he took a bracing breath. “I thought this time I might say a proper good-bye.” He stood abruptly, and Alice rose as well, facing him, looking directly at him so she could recall his face, the distinct blue of his eyes. Like the sea holly that grew in a bundle behind the bench they’d just sat on. An impossible blue, and Alice was struck with the terrible thought that she would never be able to look at sea holly again without thinking of Henderson.
“Good-bye, Henderson,” she said, holding out her hand for him to take.
&nbs
p; He looked at her hand curiously before saying, “My dear girl, a shake of a hand is not a proper good-bye.”
And before she could move, before she knew even what Henderson planned, he leaned toward her and all she could think was, He’s going to kiss me. He’s finally going to kiss me. Closer, closer, until his handsome face was nothing but a blur, until all she could see were those brilliant eyes. Her eyelids drifted closed and she held herself still.
“Good-bye, my dear girl,” he said softly, and she could feel the puff of his breath against her lips. Then, she felt his lips. Kiss her cheek. Alice very nearly laughed aloud at her own ridiculousness. So when Henderson pulled back, she was smiling, probably looking rather maniacal. He was still standing quite close, close enough so that, had she wanted to, Alice could have stood on tiptoe and kissed Henderson where she wanted to kiss him. His eyes held some intense emotion before he smiled and it was gone. At least it was a real smile this time. Stepping back, he took a deep breath and stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, probably having no idea how very charming and boyish he looked at the moment. He nodded, an odd sort of nod that ended with him shaking his head, and let out a small laugh.
“I’ll go now. It was lovely seeing you, Alice.”
Alice swallowed down the ache in her throat. “Godspeed, Henderson.”
