She looked very pretty in a midnight blue riding habit and black bowler type hat.
“You are going out to ride?” I asked. She shuddered so faintly that it was scarcely perceptible. She was, I discovered, unable to hide her feelings. “Not yet,” she said, “that will be later, but I may not have time to change. I wanted to talk to you about my tuition.”
“Of course.”
“And then I will take you to the vicarage where the girls are having their lessons. You’ll want to fit yours in with those they get from the vicar, won’t you? I hope I’m not going to disappoint you, Mrs. Verlaine.”
“I don’t think you will. I can see you feel strongly about the piano.”
“I love playing. It…it helps me when I’m…” I waited and she finished lamely, “when I’m a little downcast.”
She took me to the schoolroom adjoining which was a smaller apartment to which she referred as the music room. In it was an upright piano.
There she played for me and we talked of her progress and I quickly got an idea of how advanced she was. I realized that she would be a good pupil—hardworking and eager—that her talent was frail but definitely there. Edith would get a great deal of pleasure from her music but she would never be a great musician. It was what I had expected and I should know how to work with her.
She became animated, talking of music.
“You see,” she said in a rush of confidence, “it’s the only thing I’ve ever really been any good at.”
“And I think you’ll be very good if you work hard.”
She was pleased; and suggested we leave for the vicarage.
“It’s only fifteen minutes’ walk, Mrs. Verlaine. Would you care to walk or would you like the trap?”
I said the walk would be delightful and we set out.
“Mr. Jeremy Brown will be teaching the girls this morning, I daresay. He often does.” She had flushed slightly, which she did often. “He’s the curate,” she added.
“Was he your teacher too?”
She nodded and smiled. Then she was suddenly grave. “Of course since…my marriage I have not been having lessons. Mr. Brown is a very good teacher.” She sighed. “I think you will like him, and the vicar.”
We reached the vicarage, a lovely old gray stone house standing beside the church with its tall gray tower.
Mrs. Rendall greeted me like an old friend and said she would take me to the vicar’s study. She looked at Edith questioningly. I noticed that people were unsure how to treat Edith; because, I presumed, she seemed neither a young girl nor a married woman.
Edith said: “Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Rendall. I’ll go to the schoolroom and join the scholars for a while.”
Mrs. Rendall lifted her shoulders in a manner which suggested she thought Edith’s behavior a little odd. Then she led the way to the vicar’s study.
It was a charming room with tall windows looking onto a well-kept lawn sloping down to the churchyard. In the distance I could see the gravestones and I thought it would look a little eerie by moonlight. But I had little time for such contemplation for the vicar was rising from his chair, his spectacles pushed up to his forehead and precariously balanced there, his thinning gray hair combed across the top to hide his baldness; an air of unworldliness about him which I found rather delightful and in great contrast to his energetic wife.
“This is the Reverend Arthur Rendall,” announced Mrs. Rendall ceremoniously. “And Arthur, Mrs. Verlaine.”
“Delighted…delighted!” murmured the vicar; he was looking not at me but at the table and I realized why when Mrs. Rendall barked out: “On your forehead, Arthur.”
“Thank you, my dear, thank you.” He reached for the glasses, set them in their rightful place and looked at me.
“It is a great pleasure to welcome you here,” he said. “I am very pleased that Sir William has decided to proceed with the girls’ musical education.”
“I must discover when it will be convenient for them to have their lessons. There must not be any overlapping.”
“Oh, we will work that out together,” said the vicar smiling happily.
“Pray take a seat, Mrs. Verlaine,” put in Mrs. Rendall. “Really, Arthur…keeping Mrs. Verlaine standing like this. I’m sure the Reverend will want to talk to you about Sylvia. I am anxious that she too shall continue with her music.”
“I am sure that can easily be arranged,” I said.
The vicar then began to explain to me the times of the lessons and we decided that I should give the lessons at the vicarage where there was a good piano, one which the girls had used previously. Edith, Allegra and Alice could also practice at Lovat Stacy and Sylvia at the vicarage. It could all be very satisfactorily fitted in.
Mrs. Rendall left us while we were planning this and when she had gone the vicar said: “I do not know how I should get along without my dear wife. Such a clever manager…” as though excusing his subservience to her. And when we had made our arrangements he began talking to me about the antiquities of the neighborhood and how excited he had been by the discoveries of the Roman remains recently.
“I often went along to the excavations,” he told me, “and I was always welcome there.” He looked uneasily at the door and I remembered his wife’s observations and pictured the vicar paying secret visits there. “Indeed, I had always believed that something of interest would be discovered here. The amphitheater was found quite a long time ago and as you know amphitheaters were usually built outside the city…so it seemed reasonable that there would be other remains not far off.”
I was reminded vividly of Roma and my heart began to beat faster as I said: “Did you meet the archaeologist who disappeared so mysteriously?”
“Oh dear me, what a terrible affair…and so extraordinary! Do you know it would not surprise me if she had gone off somewhere faraway…abroad…Some project…”
“But if there had been another project wouldn’t it have been known? She wouldn’t have gone alone. There would have been a party. These things are often organized by the British Museum and…”
I floundered and he said: “I see you are very well informed on these matters, Mrs. Verlaine. Far better so than I.”
“I am sure that is not so. But I did wonder about this…disappearance.”
“Such a practical young lady,” mused the vicar. “That was what made it seem so strange.”
“You must have talked to her a great deal because of your common interest in those remains. Did you think she was the sort of woman who…?”
“Who would take her own life?” The vicar looked shocked. “That was suggested. An accident? It must have been. But she was not the type to have an accident…like that. I am baffled. And I come back to my opinion that she has gone off somewhere. An urgent call…No time to explain…”
I could see that he did not wish me to disturb his pleasant solution of the mystery and, as I guessed he could tell me nothing new about Roma, I gladly accepted his invitation to show me round the church.
We left the house and crossed the garden, taking a path between the gravestones to the church, through the porch with the wilting notices attached to a green baize-covered board. The habitual hushed cool atmosphere greeted us. The vicar was clearly proud of his stained-glass windows, which, he informed me, had been given to the church by members of the Stacy family. The Stacys were the squires of the neighborhood, the benefactors on whom so many depended.
He took me to the altar that I might admire the beautiful carvings there.
“They are really unique,” he told me beaming with pride.
I noticed a memorial tablet in the wall, set in a niche above which was a statue of a youth in long robes, hands folded together.
Beneath it said:
“Gone from us but not forgotten