by Leslie Meier
But what if she didn’t? What if the college refused to grant credit for Elizabeth’s course work because she owed money? They could even withhold her degree! What would happen then? Instead of starting on a satisfying career, Elizabeth might have to take a low-level survival job. Instead of hanging out with upwardly mobile young professionals, she might start dating some loser drug addict type. Lucy could picture it, a tragic spiral downward into poverty, drug addiction, perhaps even crime. She knew she was being a bit melodramatic, but the sad truth was that she had seen too many local kids bottom out on drugs.
“What are you thinking about?” demanded Pam. “You look like you’re about to cry.”
“Nothing.” Lucy laughed. “My imagination was running away with me.”
“Look at that house with its thatched roof. Isn’t it adorable?”
It was, and so was the town of Salisbury, where tiny old houses lined the twisting, ancient streets. The cathedral, in contrast, was located inside a spacious walled “close,” which included a large, grassy lawn and scattered houses for clergy and their families. Lucy thought the church was amazing, especially when you considered it was built over 750 years ago.
Lucy knew a bit about construction and the difficulties Bill encountered in his work, but she was awestruck at the labor and skill of the builders who had constructed the massive cathedral with its soaring spire using only the simplest of techniques. Merely hoisting the stones up to the top of that fantastic spire without the use of a modern crane seemed an incredible feat.
Inside, she discovered that this church was not simply a monument to the past but also had kept pace with changing times. A distinctly modern baptismal font was the first thing she noticed; it had been installed for the cathedral’s 750th anniversary to mixed reviews. Quentin sneeringly called it a “saucer,” but Lucy rather liked its simple shape and moving water. Wandering farther into the huge interior, she found a kindergarten class set up on child-sized chairs and tables in one of the side aisles, working on a project with crayons and paper.
The children were dressed in navy blue school uniforms. Most seemed to have blond hair and rosy cheeks. They were completely comfortable in the impressive structure, chattering away with each other as they exchanged crayons and displayed their work.
Quentin led them to the transept, where they stood beneath the spire and pointed out how the weight of the tower had bowed the supporting pillars. “Don’t worry,” he advised them. “If you look through those windows, you can see the bracing that was added to support the spire.”
Lucy looked and she supposed it was all safe enough; it had stood for three-quarters of a millennium, but she knew that Bill wouldn’t approve of anything that wasn’t straight and true.
Advising the group that Bath was still some distance away, Quentin suggested they take a quick look at the Magna Carta and then purchase sandwiches and drinks in the café to eat on the bus. Only a few members of the group followed Quentin into the dimly lit display room, where the ancient charter was displayed in a lighted case.
“Kind of an anticlimax,” said Dr. Cope. “It’s just a piece of parchment.”
“A piece of parchment that changed history,” said Quentin. “It was the beginning of democracy; the nobles forced the king to share power.”
“So instead of one white male running the show, you got a bunch,” said Rachel. “I’m not sure that’s a big improvement.”
Quentin was standing close to Lucy; she could feel his breath on her neck. She would have liked to move away, but the gallery was small and they were crowded together in front of the Magna Carta. “What do you think, Lucy?” he asked in a teasing voice. “Are you a feminist like Rachel?”
“I guess I’m a humanist,” said Lucy, seeing a gap and moving toward the door, ready to find some lunch. “A hungry humanist.”
Other visitors had the same idea, as the little café was crowded. Lucy and Will approached the cashier at the same time, and he stepped back with a graceful sweep of his arm and a courtly bow. “After you, m’lady.”
Lucy smiled despite herself. “Thank you, m’lord,” she said, putting down her food on the counter and fumbling for her wallet. The kid was so full of life and so charming it was easy to sweep aside her suspicions about him. But, of course, she reminded herself as she accepted the change from her ten-pound note, charm was one of the characteristics associated with sociopaths. She resolved to keep an eye on him as they explored Bath. She certainly didn’t want a repeat accident, one that might have more dire consequences than a twisted ankle.
Back on the bus, Lucy sipped her tea and chewed her ploughman’s cheese and pickle sandwich. “These sandwiches are so good,” said Lucy. “I don’t know why we can’t have sandwiches like these at home.”
“There’s a rule, I think,” said Pam. “Packaged sandwiches must be soggy and horrible.” She was unscrewing the cap on her bottle of apple juice. “I couldn’t help noticing that Quentin was standing awfully close to you.”
“It was crowded.” Lucy took another bite of sandwich.
“Not that crowded.” Pam was unwrapping her sandwich.
“I thought he’d given up on me and was going after Autumn and Jennifer, but now he seems to be back after me. I like him; he’s fun. I had a good time hanging out with him in Brighton. But I’m a married woman. Happily married. I’m not interested in any extracurricular activities.” She took another bite of sandwich. “What’s his reputation on campus?”
“Oh, everybody knows he’s a lech.” Pam had smoothed out the cellophane wrapper and had set the sandwich on it, in her lap. She picked up one half and took a bite. “He’s kind of a legend in that department. They say some years he works his way through all the girls in the freshman class.”
Lucy was skeptical. “That seems like an exaggeration.”
“I’m sure it is, but the truth is that his reputation has hurt him. He’s been passed over several times for a professorship. The word is the college wants to be able to fire him in case there’s a scandal.” She took a sip of juice. “It makes sense. It’s almost impossible to get rid of a professor. I guess that’s why they were considering Temple to take old Crighton’s chair when he retires.”
“It’s too bad,” said Lucy, draining her tea and crumpling the cellophane into a ball. “He’s a gifted teacher.”
Pam chuckled. “From what I hear, that’s not all he’s gifted at.”
“Well, as tempting as you make him sound, I’m sticking with Bill.”
“Smart move.”
The bus dropped them off in front of Bath Abbey, which Quentin informed them was definitely worth a look. “The Roman baths are just yonder,” he said, pointing the way. “Follow me.”
A few minutes later, he’d distributed admission tickets and told everyone to be back at the Abbey at four o’clock; until then, they were on their own, free to explore the city.
“I couldn’t help noticing there seems to be a lot of shops,” said Sue. “And we’ll have time for an early tea in the Pump Room.”
“We need to stay together.” Lucy didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.
“And we need to remember that Pam may not be up to much walking.” Rachel had given Pam her arm for the walk across the uneven cobblestones of the square.
“Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine.” Pam was waving her ticket to the baths. “I’ve always wanted to see this. I remember seeing pictures in National Geographic, and now I’m here.”
Once inside, they discovered the baths were larger and more complex than they’d imagined. They listened to audioguides that explained different aspects as they made their way down ramps and across uneven, timeworn paving stones, past displays picturing ancient Roman life, the sweat room, and the East Bath. Finally they found themselves standing in an open courtyard with a large rectangular pool in the center filled with bright green water.
“Yuck!” declared Sue. “You couldn’t pay me to dip my toe in that.”
Lucy was about t
o say something about the water’s high mineral content when she noticed Pam wasn’t with them. “Where’s Pam?” she asked in a panicked voice.
“I thought she was with you,” said Sue, turning to Rachel.
“We were together—she was hanging on to my arm—but then she said the paving was so uneven she’d do better on her own.” Rachel reproached herself. “I got so caught up in the audioguide . . .”
“Never mind.” Lucy was already retracing her path through the ruins. “We have to find her.”
Lucy had to dodge past a group of German tourists who were blocking her way, pointing out the various statues that stood atop the arcade that enclosed the pool. Then she was weaving her way through the East Baths, cursing the stagy dramatic lighting that kept the corners in darkness while making the tank of water glow. Farther on, she darted into the sweat rooms, a massive space that was also dramatically lit to highlight the rows of square pillars that had once supported the floor. Standing on the walkway, Lucy peered down at the mazelike area, where numerous shadows offered plenty of places to conceal a body.
A body! What was she thinking? This was a crowded tourist attraction; it was hardly the place you’d expect an assault to take place. Except that it wasn’t very crowded today, and there was that weird lighting that created contrasting patches of light and dark. For a public place, it sure had a lot of nooks and crannies, spaces tucked behind displays of stone carvings, ancient coins, and other artifacts.
“Any sign of her?” Rachel and Sue had caught up with Lucy in the sweat room.
Lucy shook her head.
“Come on, let’s finish the tour. Maybe she went on ahead of us,” said Sue.
“With that bad ankle?” Lucy was wondering if it would be possible to slip off the observation deck and explore the far corners of the sweat room.
“Maybe. She might have stuck to the ramps and walkways.”
“Or she might have fallen behind and been attacked,” said Lucy. “What if she’s down there somewhere, bleeding or concussed? And how come there are no security guards here? What kind of place is this?”
Sue was holding her arm. “I have a feeling you’ll find out if you venture off this viewing platform. I’ll bet you fifty pounds they’ve got closed-circuit surveillance cameras.”
“And if anything happened to Pam, they would have seen it,” said Rachel. “Come on. We’ve checked back here and now we have to continue on.”
“Okay,” grumbled Lucy, following her friends back past the large open pool and on to the Sacred Spring, where water gushed from an underground source. The Germans Lucy had so rudely brushed past were there, listening to their audioguides and blocking the exit. This time, she could tell from their expressions that she wasn’t going to get past them.
It seemed to take them forever to listen to the recording, and then they had to discuss what they’d heard; at least that’s what Lucy thought they were doing. Maybe they were talking about rude Americans. She didn’t understand German, and she was beginning to think she didn’t much like these particular German people either. Then one very large-hipped lady turned, and Lucy was able to slip past, into the hall outside the restrooms and gift shop. And there, sitting on a bench, was Pam.
“What took you guys so long?” she asked.
Chapter Eighteen
“Well, actually, we were looking for you.” Lucy sounded rather annoyed. “That’s what took so long.”
“It’s my fault,” admitted Pam. “I got separated from you guys. I figured this was the best place to catch up with you.” She tilted her head toward the door of the ladies’ room.
“Good thinking. In fact, I think I’ll . . .”
“Go ahead. I’m not moving,” said Pam, catching sight of Sue and Rachel emerging from the exhibit and giving them a wave.
When they’d all used the facilities and gathered again in the lobby outside the gift shop, Sue suggested they go on to the Pump Room. “Our ticket to the baths entitles us to a free glass of Bath water. . . .”
“My mother told me not to drink the bathwater,” quipped Pam.
Sue gave her a look. “And we can have tea. A real afternoon tea.”
“I’m not really very hungry,” protested Lucy.
“This may be our only chance,” warned Sue. “We can’t go back home without having a real English tea.”
“If you say so.” Rachel shrugged. “I could use a reviving cup of tea, and I guess I could nibble on a scone.”
“Perhaps we could share one,” suggested Pam. “Just to get a taste.”
But after working their way through the gift shop and emerging outside the Pump Room, they found themselves blocked once again by the German tourists—and a long line of others.
Sue scowled. “Where did they all come from?”
“All over. It’s a famous tourist attraction.” Rachel was pulling out her guidebook. “There’s lots to see: the Royal Crescent, Regency architecture, a covered market, the guild hall. . . .”
“And the shops.” Sue was brightening.
“I’m not really up for a lot of walking,” said Pam. “But you all should go ahead. I’ll go sit in the Abbey and read my book.”
Lucy wasn’t about to leave Pam on her own. “I’ll go with you,” she said. “I love old churches.”
Sue gave her a quizzical look. “You do?”
Lucy nodded. “I never knew, until I got here. I like the way they, uh, smell.”
“If you say so.” Rachel was doubtful. “Come on, Sue. I see a National Trust gift shop across the way.”
“You know where to find us,” said Lucy, watching them depart.
“You don’t have to do this, Lucy,” protested Pam. “I’m fine on my own, and I feel guilty keeping you from seeing the city.”
“Don’t be silly.” Lucy took her arm. “Bath Abbey is the Lantern of the West, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Inside, the Lantern of the West definitely had that musty old church smell and seemed a bit shabby. At least that’s what Lucy thought after she installed Pam in a pew and began to look around. Maybe, she decided, it was simply that those famous windows let in more light than the smaller windows in the other churches they’d seen. And that light revealed the effects of age, just like a sunny day coming after a rainy spell illuminated unnoticed dust and cobwebs in the house. Or maybe it was the fact that history hadn’t treated the Abbey well: It had been stripped when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries and left to fall into disrepair. Various restoration projects had been undertaken through the years, but it was once again damaged by German bombs in World War II.
Still, it was a beautiful and active church, as the brochure describing its architectural features took pains to point out. Lucy was walking along the side aisles, studying the enormous windows and the graceful vaulted ceiling, when she noticed Laura Barfield, bent in prayer. She didn’t wish to disturb her and continued on her way, but Laura called out to her.
“Lucy! Are you on your own?”
“My friends wanted to shop, but I’m out of money,” she said. “And besides, Pam can’t do much walking because of her ankle. She’s sitting in the back.”
“It’s a beautiful place to spend a quiet hour.”
“They call it Perpendicular Gothic,” said Lucy.
“Whatever they call it, it’s good for the soul.” Laura cocked her head. “Are you a person of faith?”
“Not really.” Lucy slipped into the pew beside Laura; maybe she could turn the conversation toward Will. Most mothers were eager to talk about their kids. “How about you? Are you a churchgoing family?”
“Not so much the family, but I am.” She raised her eyes to the intricately decorated ceiling high above them. “Church is the only place I find peace.”
Lucy was all sympathy. “Tell me about it. My daughter, she’s in college, is driving me crazy. And I’ve got two more at home. They say boys are tough to raise, but I think girls are worse.”
“Oh, I’m not troubled about Will. Bo
ys will be boys—that’s what my husband says. He’ll sow his wild oats and settle down.”
This attitude surprised Lucy. From what Quentin had told her, the college considered him to be at risk; that’s why he was in the special support program. She had expected Laura to be eager to discuss her son’s problems, but now it didn’t seem she thought he had any. Lucy wasn’t quite sure how to continue when Laura solved the problem for her.
“No,” she said with a sad smile, “it’s not Will that troubles me. It’s my mother.”
“Mothers and daughters,” said Lucy cautiously, feeling her way. “It’s a special relationship.”
“I adored my mother.”
Lucy was pretty sure her daughters didn’t adore her, especially Elizabeth. But they seemed to get along most of the time, which was a big improvement over the relationship she had with her own mother. Lucy had been a Daddy’s girl, and her mother hadn’t appreciated her daughter’s claim on her husband’s affection. “My mother died some years ago,” was the best Lucy could come up with. “Alzheimer’s.”
Laura turned to her, her eyes brimming with tears. “Mine, too. It was awful. Early onset.”
“Hard for the family,” said Lucy, remembering her mother wandering around a posh assisted-living facility in a happy haze, imagining herself the lady of the manor. “My mother didn’t know what she was missing.”
“I didn’t want to put her away—I tried to care for Mom at home.”
“That would be difficult.”
“It was impossible, especially after I got pregnant with Will. I had to put her in a, you know, one of those places.” This was a wound that hadn’t healed; tears were trickling down Laura’s cheeks.
