I expect this letter is a terrible mess. Please excuse it. I won’t write again, but I wanted to say good-bye and wish you the very best. I want you to know, anyway, that I think of you with a good deal of affection and respect. I hope you feel the same for me.
Laurence, Lord Fintan.
Charlotte read the letter through, and then read it again, and again. So this was Laurence’s news. She was shaken. She had expected something so very different.
Her maid was waiting for her to dress. Concealing her feelings, she put the letter back in the envelope and went to her dressing table to begin the day.
As MacIvor brushed her thick, golden hair, she looked at herself in her mirror and tried to organize her thoughts. The letter troubled her deeply. For Laurence to admit fear to her must have taken a good deal. Her heart went out to him; she wondered if he felt as isolated as she did. Perhaps men did have to put on a front, just as women did, every day. Not for the first time, she wished they could have understood each other better—before it was too late.
MacIvor’s brush caught a knot in her hair, and she winced. Because it was too late. She knew that now; she had known it before she opened the letter; she had known it since she had searched her heart for pain at the thought of Laurence married, in love, and had found…nothing. She was glad that he had written to her. Glad that he had trusted her enough, in the end, to speak to her openly and frankly. And it was that gladness that told her, once and for all, that she was not in love with him any longer. The thoughts and feelings she had for him were those that one would have for a dear comrade-in-arms, someone with whom one had fought life’s battles—and from whom one could part with no regrets.
I must write to him, she thought, as she rose to get dressed. Perhaps he will know some way in which I could be useful.
Ada sat at the back of the tea shop, toying with her napkin. She knew she must look strange to the East End customers—a well-dressed young lady in an unfashionable area of London, and alone. But she had been here enough times, and made sure to tip handsomely enough, for the waitresses to greet her with a smile and the owner to reserve her usual table: two chairs, at the back, away from the windows. They perhaps assumed she was one of the voluntary aid detachment—untrained volunteer nurses, or VADs—from the boarding house down the road. They were often girls from the best families, doing their bit like their brothers.
The doorbell jangled and Ada looked up quickly. A smile flooded her face as she saw Ravi coming toward her. The expression in his eyes as he looked at her made her blush.
“I’m late, I am sorry,” he greeted her as he sat down. “I had the devil of a job to get away from the office. There is so much extra war work on.”
He reached for her gloved hand and their fingers locked. Ada’s tingled as she felt his strong, certain grip. The waitress came to take their order, a smirk on her lips as she looked at them. As soon as her back was turned, Ravi raised Ada’s gloved fingers to his lips and kissed them.
“Ravi,” Ada whispered. “Some discretion, please!” But she knew her smile was telling a different story. There was a frisson about meeting secretly like this. She knew it was probably wrong of her to feel it, but she had long ago given up trying to resist her feelings. All that mattered was that the principal of Somerville College should not find out that her shopping trip to London was an excuse, her aged aunt an invention. Luckily, she was sure she would see no one she knew here, in this poky tea shop with its grubby net curtains and loud, familiar customers.
“Have you any news of Alexander and Rose?” Ravi asked, a more serious expression on his face.
Ada’s smile vanished as she was reminded of daily troubles. “Not a word. I write to the War Office every day, but I hear nothing. Father is doing his best and so is Sebastian, but this awful war seems to have brought everything to a standstill. I trust in her good sense, though, and I know Alexander will allow no harm to come to her.”
“Still, you must be worried.”
“I am.” Ada forced a smile. “But there is so much to distract me. I can never thank you enough for being the person who gave me the courage to go up to Oxford. Of course it was my father who enabled it by agreeing in the end, once it became clear that Rose’s marriage would save the estate and mine did not have to, but it was you who first made me think that it was really a possibility. It’s all I could have dreamed of—if you were there with me.”
“I wish I were, but you know it would be impossible—so many questions would be asked. And we are freer to meet here than we would be in Oxford, where everyone would know us.”
“Yes, the city is a wonderful disguise.”
“Tell me about your life there. I miss the old place.”
“Of course we can’t escape the war—students are leaving every day to join up, and you see as much khaki as gowns and mortarboards. But the intellectual life doesn’t seem to have dimmed at all; perhaps it is brighter for having something of real, immediate importance to the world to reflect on.”
“Ah yes, I remember that feeling of frustration—the ivory tower. Is Connor Kearney still there? His lectures always renewed my enthusiasm for Oxford. He had a unique perspective, as a well-reputed barrister who was also a professor of law.”
“Oh yes.” Ada’s cheeks flushed as she thought of her favorite professor. “What a fascinating man! He argues brilliantly on the side of Irish nationalism. I have never heard these arguments before—of course my father would never allow them spoken at Somerton—and I can’t agree with him on every point…but he is certainly a powerful speaker, and I don’t doubt his dedication to his country. Of course, as a result of his views he has many enemies.”
“Yes, he was always provocative.” Ravi smiled, remembering. “Is it true that he calls himself a conscientious objector?”
“It is. I think it is very brave of him; it is not easy to make a public stand against war when the atmosphere of the country is so feverish. I worry that he will be targeted, should conscription be introduced. It is already an open secret that the university administration want to get him out of his post.”
“Let’s talk of something more cheerful,” Ravi said, touching her hand. “How do the ladies of Oxford amuse themselves, when not studying?”
Ada laughed. “The women at Somerville are a mixture—some are dreadful, others are delightful. But one can always find interesting conversation. I don’t think I have been to bed before two on any night since I arrived there. We sit up drinking cocoa in our pajamas and discussing everything from the vote to the zeppelin. Of course,” she added, “this interesting conversation is only with women. If I were seen speaking to a man, even if he were my brother, I would be sent down at once.”
“Ridiculous, is it not. As if men and women weren’t capable of platonic discussions.” There was an amused sparkle in his eye, and he reached out for her hand again. He slid off the soft kid glove and kissed each bare finger in turn, lingeringly. Ada gasped and blushed. A lady’s hands were never naked in public. “Just as we are now,” he murmured.
“Someone might see,” she breathed in reply.
“Tell me to stop, then.”
Ada knew she should, but found herself unable to speak, as he continued to tease her fingers. Nothing in her conventional upbringing, she thought, had prepared her for the deep attraction she might feel to the most unsuitable men.
A clatter of china made her start, and she swiftly pulled her hand back, red-faced, as the waitress arrived with their teas.
Sipping tea gave Ada a chance to regain her composure. Ravi seemed caught up in his own thoughts. When he had finished his cup, he spoke. “I want to talk about the future, Ada.”
“The future!” Ada gave a small laugh. She looked up, around her. The new menu reflected wartime rationing, and she could see a table full of soldiers by the door. “Does anyone know what that holds, any longer?”
“Perhaps not, but that needn’t stop us making plans,” he replied. “I am delaying my return to India b
y staying here. I couldn’t be happier, of course, but sooner or later my employer will want me back. I don’t want to return without you.”
Ada placed her cup on the saucer and looked at him intently. He had never seemed more serious. It was an idea they had discussed many times before, but each time there had seemed so many obstacles. And now—
“I don’t want to leave Oxford,” she said abruptly. “I have fought so hard to get there.”
“I don’t mean now,” he said. “Of course you should finish your studies.”
Ada looked down at the table again. Studies, he had said, not degree. It touched a raw nerve in her. She could study as much as she liked, come top of her class in everything, but she would never get the certificate that said she was a laureate. Women could attend university, but not graduate. And without a degree, it would be impossible to practice as a barrister, which was what she longed to be. It was a dead end that she tried not to think about. Just to get through Oxford, to use this time as well as she could, to try to be satisfied with studying for her own satisfaction and hope that things would change one day—this was all she could do. Many women spent only one year or two at Oxford. They did not complete the degree program, knowing they would not be awarded the certificate.
Ravi was still speaking. “I want to return to India; my heart is there. And you have often said how you wish you could go back, how you love it as the place where you grew up. I see no reason why we shouldn’t go back there together.”
Ada could not disagree with him. She did love India. It was where she had spent her childhood; she still felt a longing for the cool hill towns and the rhythm of the monsoon, the languorous heat, the fascinating people. It was embedded in her heart, just as Ravi was. So she did not know why her next words were so evasive. “It is too early to decide. We simply don’t know what may happen in the future,” she said. “What if they introduce conscription? You may be called up.”
“And it may be over by Christmas.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t know what to believe. I am not a military expert. But I do know that I want you to think about what I have said. There is no need for a hasty decision. But you know how much I love you…how much I want us to be truly together, to love each other properly.”
Ada understood him. The thought sent a thrill through her.
“You want that too, don’t you?” He touched her hand again, and her skin tingled in response.
“Of course.”
“Then think about it, Ada.” His voice caressed her. “Please.”
Palesbury
The streets of Palesbury were full of soldiers. Little boys gathered to stare at the recruiting officer, and British flags hung from every window of the pub. As Rebecca cycled past the old church, she could see a line of men waiting to sign up circling around the churchyard. She could also see the queues that stretched from the baker, the greengrocer, and the general stores. Prices were high; the shipping blockade was doing its work. It gave her an uneasy chill to think that their daily life could be cut off so easily—as if the submarines and prowling battleships were fingers around Britain’s throat. What shall we do if we run out of food? she wondered. But there would be time enough to face that trouble when—if—it came.
She got off her bicycle as she reached the little cottage that her mother was renting. Geraniums were bright in pots around the whitewashed walls. Her mother had really made a home here, she thought. It warmed her heart to see it. If only they could stay—but that all depended on her keeping her job.
“Mother,” she called, opening the gate. Her little brother, Davy, scampered out to meet her.
“Have you seen, Rebecca, all the big boys are joining up!” he greeted her as he took her bicycle. “They’re going to fight the Germans! I wish I could go; I’d shoot a gun, too!”
“Davy, be quiet!” Rebecca hardly ever spoke sharply to him—he was the darling of the family—but she couldn’t help herself. The thought that he might have to go, sooner or later…She saw the shocked look on his face and regretted her quick words. “I’m sorry, Davy-boy. But don’t talk about things you don’t understand. War isn’t a game. Come on, where’s Mother? I’ve got some things for her!”
Davy led her through, chattering about the games he had been playing that day—all of them seemed to involve explosives in some way, she noted wryly—to the kitchen, where her mother was kneading bread, the baby wrapped in a basket on the floor beside her.
“Oh, Rebecca!” she greeted her, and Rebecca could tell how anxious she had been in the weeks that she had not seen her. She wiped her hands down her apron and came to give her a kiss. “Is everything all right?” Her eyes searched Rebecca’s face.
Rebecca gave her her biggest smile. “Oh, yes. I couldn’t be better. It’s such a shock to see the town in arms, though.”
“Oh dear, it’s terrible. Those young boys who are enlisting, they can’t be more than sixteen, some of them. I am so glad that David isn’t old enough to go.” She looked back at Rebecca. “So the place is suiting you? You certainly look well.”
Rebecca sidestepped the question and placed her parcel on the table. “These are some of poor Master Philip’s old clothes. Lady Georgiana thought we might like them for Davy.”
“Now that is very kind.” Her mother gratefully took up the parcel. “But tell me—I’ve been so worried, what with you not being brought up to this work. Do they treat you well?”
Rebecca looked into her mother’s anxious face. Not for the world would she tell her how lonely she felt, how she knew that Annie and Martha giggled at her behind her back, how she found her cleaning brushes dirtied overnight and her fresh aprons spoiled in the morning by someone malicious. Her mother had quite enough to worry about as it was.
“Very well indeed. Lady Georgiana is so kind.”
“And the staff?”
Rebecca hesitated. “They’re all right. I think it will take some time for them to accept a new face—and a parlormaid at that.”
“You answer to the butler? Oh dear, some grumpy old man, I expect.”
Rebecca laughed, thinking of Thomas’s wide blue eyes and quick smile. Not, however, that the smile was often directed at her. He seemed uncomfortable around her, as did the rest of the staff. Still, she had to reassure her mother. “Couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s seventeen—”
“Seventeen! No older than you.”
“Mr. Cooper went off for war work, you see, and the older footman enlisted. So Mr. Wright was promoted, at least for the duration—or until he enlists too, I suppose.”
“Goodness. Well, things have certainly changed since I was a girl in service.”
“Yet you’re still the best cook I know.” Rebecca smiled.
“I know that look; you’re trying to get around me. Well, what is it, miss?”
“Do you have any sugar? We’re all out, up at the big house, and Cook is in a terrible state.”
“Oh, don’t tell me! I saw the bishop’s wife arriving in her big car; I think she has bought everything in the town. And the prices are shocking. It’s a good thing I know how to manage.” She bustled around, took several scoops from her jar of sugar, wrapped them up carefully, and handed them over to Rebecca. Rebecca stowed them away. She was determined to make this place work, to show both upstairs and downstairs at Somerton that they couldn’t manage without her. She was determined to be the best parlormaid they could hope for.
Rebecca cycled back through the village. The soldiers were parading in the square, smiling and singing marching songs. The whole town seemed to have turned out to watch them, and under the blue sky it seemed impossible that the rifles they carried could ever be used to kill anyone with.
She sighed, not looking forward to going back. Martha would have some snide comment, and Annie would have thought of some new trick to play on her. But I have to go back, she scolded herself. Mother can’t afford to keep me, and this is a great chance for me, if I can only show the
m how much I want the job and how hard I am prepared to work to keep it.
She was thinking so hard that she was taken completely by surprise when a male voice exclaimed, “Look out!” The next moment the bicycle had run into something, and she was tipped off it. Luckily she managed to catch herself before she sprawled on the path, but the basket fell to the ground.
“Are you all right? Let me help you!” There was a man taking the handlebars, talking in a concerned voice. Rebecca, thinking of the sugar and blushing at the spectacle that she must make, scrabbled around on the ground to collect her things.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, rescuing the sugar. “I should have been paying more attention—”
She looked up and her voice froze in her throat. The handsome young man holding her bicycle was none other than Master Michael Templeton, the son of the Countess of Westlake.
He looked at her keenly, then exclaimed, “Why, if it isn’t Rebecca. You’re our new parlormaid, aren’t you? I thought I recognized you.”
“I’m so—so sorry, sir,” Rebecca kept her eyes on the ground. Was she supposed to speak in this situation? Was she supposed to avert her eyes as she did in the house? Surely, surely, bicycling into the young master was a sacking offence.
“Nonsense, it was as much my fault. This is a blind corner. Here, catch hold.”
Rebecca looked up to see him holding out his hand to her. Covered in confusion, but afraid to disobey, she took hold of it, and he pulled her to her feet.
“Now then, are you hurt?”
“No, not at all, sir.” Rebecca, to her horror, felt tears come to her eyes. She had been feeling so lonely, and he was being so unexpectedly kind. She looked away, blinking desperately, but it was too late.
“I say, are you all right?” Michael asked. He did not release her hand, but drew her closer, off the road, then bent to pick up her bicycle.
Emeralds & Ashes Page 4
