“You got Professor Peddick safely back to Oxford, didn’t you?” I said, suddenly worried. “He didn’t get off the train to go look for gravel bottoms?”
“No,” he said. “I delivered him into the arms of his loved ones. Into the arms of his loved ones,” he repeated anguishedly. “And just in time. Professor Overforce was about to deliver his funeral oration.”
“What did he say?”
“He fainted dead away,” Terence said, “and when he came to, he flung himself at Professor Peddick’s knees, babbling about how he’d never have forgiven himself if he’d drowned and how he’d seen the error of his ways, how Professor Peddick was right, a single thoughtless action could change the course of history and he intended to go straight home and tell Darwin not to jump out of trees anymore. And yesterday he announced he was withdrawing his candidacy for the Haviland Chair in favor of Professor Peddick.”
“Yesterday?” I said. “When did you take Professor Peddick to Oxford? The day before yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” Terence said vaguely. “Or was it an eon ago? Or a single moment? ‘We shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.’ There one is on one’s island, weaving away, and the next thing one knows… I didn’t properly understand poetry, you know. I thought it was all just a way of speaking.”
“What was?”
“Poetry. All that about dying for love. And mirrors cracking from side to side. It did, you know. Clean across.” He shook his head sadly. “I never understood why she didn’t just row down to Camelot and tell Lancelot she loved him.” He stared gloomily out at the water. “Well, I know now. He was already engaged to Guinevere.”
Well, not exactly engaged, since Guinevere was already married to King Arthur, and at any rate, there were more important things to be addressed.
“Cyril’s too sensitive to be chained up,” I said.
“We are all, all in chains. Bound, helpless and raging, in the adamantine chains of fate. Fate!” he said bitterly. “Oh, wretched Fate that let us meet too late. I thought she’d be one of those dreadful modern girls, all bloomers and bluestocking ideas. He told me I’d like her, you know. Like her!”
“Maud,” I said, the light finally dawning. “You’ve met Professor Peddick’s niece Maud.”
“There she was, standing on the railway platform at Oxford. ‘Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.’ ”
“The railway platform,” I said wonderingly. “You met her on the railway platform at Oxford. But that’s wonderful!”
“Wonderful?” he said bitterly. “ ‘Too late I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient and ever new! Too late I loved you!’ I am engaged to Miss Mering.”
“But can’t you break the engagement? Miss Mering surely wouldn’t want you to marry her knowing you loved Miss Peddick.”
“I am not free to love anyone. I bound that love to Miss Mering when I pledged my troth to her, and Miss Peddick would not want a love without honor, a love I had already promised to another. Oh, if I had only met Miss Peddick that day in Oxford, how different things—”
“Mr. Henry, sorr,” Jane interrupted, running up to us, her cap askew and her red hair coming down. “Have you seen Colonel Mering?”
Oh, no, I thought. Mrs. Mering caught Verity on her way up the stairs. “What’s wrong?” I said.
“I must find the Colonel first,” she said, which was no answer. “He said I was to be giving it to him at breakfast but he isn’t there, and the mail’s come and all.”
“I saw the Colonel going out to the fishpond,” I said. “Give him what? What’s happened?”
“Oh, sorr, you gentlemen had best both go inside,” she said, in an agony. “They’re in the parlor.”
“Who? Is Verity there? What’s happened?” I said, but she had already taken off at a run for the fishpond, her skirts flying.
“Terence,” I said urgently. “What day is it?”
“What does it matter?” Terence said. “ ‘Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, lighting fools the way to dusty death.’ Fools!”
“This is important,” I said, yanking him to his feet. “The date, man!”
“Monday,” he said. “The eighteenth of June.”
Oh, Lord, we’d been gone three days!
I took off for the house, Cyril at my heels.
“ ‘ “The curse has come upon us,” ’ ” Terence quoted, “ ‘cried the Lady of Shalott.’ ”
I could hear Mrs. Mering before we were in the front door. “Your behavior has truly been inexcusable, Verity. I should not have expected my cousin’s daughter to have been so selfish and thoughtless.”
She knew we’d been gone three days, and poor Verity didn’t. I skidded down the corridor toward the parlor, Cyril hot on my heels. I had to tell her before she said anything.
“I had all the care of the patient,” Mrs. Mering said. “I’m utterly exhausted. Three days and nights in that sickroom, and not so much as a moment to rest.”
I had my hand on the doorknob. I stopped. Three days and three nights in a sickroom? Then she might not know after all, she was only chastising Verity for not helping. But who was ill? Tossie? She had looked wan and pale that night after Coventry.
I put my ear to the door and listened, hoping the eavesdroppees would be more informative than they usually were.
“You might at least have offered to sit with the patient for a few minutes,” Mrs. Mering said.
“I am so sorry, Aunt,” Verity said. “I thought you would be afraid of infection.”
Why can’t people say who and what they are talking about so the eavesdropper has a chance? I thought. The patient. Infection. Be more specific.
“And I thought she would insist on you and Tossie nursing him,” Verity said.
Him? Had Mr. C shown up and promptly fallen ill? And fallen in love with his nurse Tossie?
“I would not dream of allowing Tocelyn in the sickroom,” Mrs. Mering said. “She is such a delicate girl.”
Down the corridor I saw Terence open the front door. I was going to have to go in, information or no. I looked down at Cyril. Mrs. Mering would no doubt demand to know what he was doing in the house. Then again, that might be a welcome diversion under the circumstances.
“Tocelyn has far too delicate a constitution for nursing,” Mrs. Mering was saying, “and the sight of her poor father ill would be much too upsetting for her.”
Her poor father. Then it was Colonel Mering who’d been ill. But then what was he doing heading down to the fishpond?
I opened the door.
“I thought you might show more concern for your poor uncle, Verity,” Mrs. Mering said. “I am dreadfully disappointed in—”
“Good morning,” I said.
Verity looked gratefully at me.
“And how is Colonel Mering this morning?” I said. “I trust he is feeling better. I saw him outside just now.”
“Outside?” Mrs. Mering said, clutching at her bosom. “He was told not to come down this morning. He will catch his death. Mr. St. Trewes,” she said to Terence, who had just come in and was standing, looking hangdog, by the parlor door. “Is it true? Has my husband gone outside? You must go and fetch him at once.”
Terence turned obediently to go.
“Where is Tossie?” Mrs. Mering said petulantly. “Why isn’t she down yet? Verity, tell Jane to fetch her.”
Terence reappeared, with the Colonel and Jane behind him.
“Mesiel!” Mrs. Mering cried. “What did you mean by going outside? You have been deathly ill.”
“Had to get out to the fishpond,” the Colonel said, harrumphing. “Check on things. Can’t just leave my Japanese demekins out there with that cat about. Stopped on my way out by that silly girl — can never remember her name — the maid—”
“Colleen,” Verity said automatically.
“Jane.” Mrs. Mering glared at Verity.
“Told me I had to come in here immediately,” Colonel Mering said. “Made a huge fuss. What’s it all about?”