Chapter 9

Rebecca saw very soon the next day what Philip’s surprise was. The boys came into the schoolhouse more quietly than usual, but with stifled giggles. She did not look up from the book she was scanning until they were all inside and seated on the benches. Then she raised her head and looked straight into the bespectacled eyes of an uncomfortable-looking Cyril. The boys burst into open laughter at her expression, and Cyril squirmed in discomfort.

“What?” she said. “Cyril, how perfectly splendid! But how did this come about?”

Cyril merely grinned sheepishly.

“The reverend took him into Wraxby yestiddy, miss,” one of the other boys volunteered.

“The Reverend Everett?” Rebecca asked in surprise. “He bought the spectacles for you, Cyril?”

“Yes, miss,” the boy nodded.

But how could he have done it? What sacrifice had he had to make to be able to buy eyeglasses for one of his pupils? But was not that just like Philip? One day he was talking about dismissing the boy from the school; and the next, he was making quite sure that the boy had as much of a chance to learn as the others.

“And do they make a difference, Cyril?” she asked. “Can you see more clearly with them?”

“Oh, miss,” he said, his eyes wide behind the glass lenses. “I didn’t know there was so much to see. When I went home, me mum laughed because all I did was look at the blanket on me bed. I could see all the threads woven together, miss, all in and out in a perfect pattern.”

The boys all roared with laughter at the excitement in Cyril’s voice. Rebecca had to clap her hands for silence.

‘‘That is wonderful, Cyril,” she asked. “And now we will be able to find out if you can also read.”

No miracle had occurred, of course. Cyril had not suddenly become a fluent reader. Nevertheless, Rebecca was encouraged by the fact that he could puzzle over each word and sometimes work out in his mind what one was. It seemed obvious at least that now he could see clearly what letters were in each word. She felt confident that with a little time and practice he would soon catch up to the rest of the pupils.

Philip did not put in an appearance at all during the morning. Rebecca did not know whether she wanted to see him or not. She was eager to question him about Cyril and to find out how and why he had helped the boy. On the other hand, her mind was still in turmoil from the night before. They had been very late arriving home, and knowing that she had to teach the following day, she had forced her mind blank so that she might sleep. And this morning, knowing that she had a day of teaching ahead, she had kept her mind blank. She would think later, she had decided, when she had the time and the privacy.

She knew only that the evening before had been like some kind of nightmare in which everything that could have gone wrong had done so. And somewhere in the jumble of problems that she was going to have to face soon were those concerning Philip—not only her feelings for him, but also his for her. Had she really seen him kissing Maude? The idea seemed quite preposterous in the cold light of day. But she would not think of it now.

Philip came to the schoolroom during the afternoon, only a short while before the boys were to be dismissed. He was holding himself more than usually upright, Rebecca noticed at a glance. And his face was even sterner than it usually was and very definitely pale. He merely nodded to her, greeted the boys, who had all risen to their feet at his entry, and walked to the back of the room, where he stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the window until the day’s lessons were over.

Rebecca joined him there when the last of the pupils had left. “Philip,” she said, “I very much liked your surprise.” He looked blankly at her for a moment. “Ah,” he said, “Cyril. And have the eyeglasses made all the difference, Rebecca?’ ’

She smiled. “Not in one day,” she said. “But they will, Philip. His eyesight must be extremely poor. All day he kept us amused by his excitement at discovering some new detail that he has been unaware of until now.”

“Yes, I know,” Philip said. “I had that all the way home from Wraxby yesterday.”

“Philip,” she said timidly. “How could you do it? I do know that Cyril’s father could not afford to buy him the eyeglasses if he saved for five years. Did you pay for them yourself?”

Philip looked uncomfortable. “There was some money left from the school that I had been saving for emergencies,” he said. “I considered this emergency enough.” 

She smiled. “I am so glad,” she said. “Sometimes one tends to think of the school in the abstract and forget that it is here to serve individual boys. I am glad you considered Cyril important enough to be called an emergency.”

“I am not at all sure that it was the right thing to do,” Philip said, “but it is worth a try, anyway.”

“When you report this to your patron,” she said, “will he disapprove, do you think, Philip? Will he think that you have spent his money on a triviality?”

“I am sure he will not,” Philip said, and he moved abruptly away from the window and a short distance from Rebecca. He stood with his back to her.

“Rebecca,” he said, “our betrothal has gone on too long, do you not agree?”

Oh dear, she had not had time to sort out her thoughts and feelings. She was not ready to discuss this topic. She said nothing.

“Shall we marry soon?” he asked. “Let us say at the beginning of September?”

Less than a month away!

“I—” Rebecca laughed nervously. “This is so sudden, Philip. I do not know what to say.”

“Sudden?” he said, turning to her. “We have been betrothed for almost a year.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

He looked at her in the ensuing silence. His eyes were not the calm and confident ones she was used to. They were tormented. “I need you, Rebecca,” he said.

She swallowed. Then she smiled a rather wobbly smile. For some reason she felt very close to tears. “Oh, Philip,” she said, “I think I need very much to be needed right now.”

They both moved forward. And for the first time they were in each other’s arms. Rebecca rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. She could hear his heart beating. After a while he put a hand beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. And he kissed her.

There was no passion in the kiss. It was a mere meeting of lips. But there was enormous comfort in it for Rebecca. It was like an unexpected anchor in a very turbulent sea. Whatever had happened in the last few weeks and especially the night before, the old life, the one she had fought so hard to build, was still there for the taking. And she wanted so desperately to recapture the tranquility and the security of that life.

Philip was looking down into her eyes. “September, then?” he asked

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, Philip, I should like that very much.”

Maude was alone in the drawing room when Rebecca returned home that afternoon. Her head was bent over her embroidery. However, she looked up with a rather jerky movement of the head when the door opened. She blushed hotly and bent over her work again, folding it with meticulous care.

“Ah, Rebecca,” she said, “I have been waiting for someone to arrive home so that I might have tea. I shall ring for it now.” Her voice was unnaturally bright.

“Are you all alone, Maude?” Rebecca asked. “Where is everyone?”

“His lordship has been in bed all day,” Maude said. “He rather fancies that he might have caught a chill last night and is taking the precaution of keeping himself warm. The Langbournes must like fresh air, I believe. Not only were the French windows in the ballroom kept open all night, but there was a window open in the card room too.”

“Well, I do hope Uncle Humphrey does not take a chill,” Rebecca said. “He is very susceptible to colds.”

“Sometimes I think that he coddles himself too much,” Maude said in a rush. “If he took more air and exercise, perhaps he would be more healthy. But of course I should not say so. I do not know what it is like to be of a delicate constitution. Forgive me, Rebecca.”

Rebecca smiled and sank gratefully into a chair. “And where are your brother and Harriet?” she asked.

“They have gone riding together,” Maude said, and she unfolded her embroidery and bent her head over it again. She seemed to have forgotten about ringing for tea. “They left shortly after luncheon. I thought they would have been back by now.”

“I would not worry about them,” Rebecca said. “Harriet is a perfectly competent horsewoman and I am sure Mr. Bartlett is an accomplished rider too. And you need not fear about the weather. It is warm and quite calm today.”

“Oh, I am not really worried about any of those things,” Maude said. “It is just that ... I feel responsible for Harriet, Rebecca. She is my stepdaughter, you know, absurd as it seems. And for all her confidence and headstrong ways, I do believe that she knows very little of the world. I am afraid she is no match for Stanley. Had I known they planned to be gone so long, I would have insisted that they take a groom with them.”

“I am afraid Harriet would not have taken kindly to such a suggestion,” Rebecca said. “Here in the country, we tend to behave in a far more relaxed manner than we would if we lived in town.”

“Yes,” Maude said, “but Stanley is from town.” Rebecca laughed. “But a more gentlemanly person it would be hard to find anywhere,” she said. “I do not imagine Harriet’s honor could be safer if she had taken a dozen grooms with her.”

“You are right, of course,” Maude said. “He knows that she is my stepdaughter. He would know better than to compromise her. You must think me very foolish, Rebecca.” 

“Yes, indeed I do,” Rebecca said. “Shall I ring for tea, Maude? My throat is so dry I can hardly swallow.” Maude almost threw her embroidery onto the table beside her and leaped to her feet. “Oh,” she said, “how very rag-mannered you must think me. I shall do it.”

The tea tray was brought into the room only a few minutes before the arrival of Harriet, Mr. Bartlett—and Mr. Carver. Harriet was in a temper, Rebecca could see as soon as the girl walked into the room. Her movements were abrupt, her voice overloud and overbright.

“Well,” she said, “every other day we have to await tea until Rebecca comes home from school. Yet no one seemed to consider it necessary to wait for me today.”

“If I had known when you would arrive, I would have waited,” Maude said. “But when you left, Harriet, you gave no indication of when you would return. Anyway, dear, the tray has just arrived. You may have fresh tea without even having to wait for it.”

Rebecca had greeted the two men. She smiled warmly at them. She liked both, and was considerably relieved that Mr. Carver was without his friend on this occasion.

“Miss Shaw,” Mr. Bartlett said, “I suppose you have been putting us all to shame by working hard all day while we have been sleeping off the exertions of last evening and generally idling. And how do you contrive to look so fresh and lovely, ma’am, after such a busy day?”

She smiled. Such compliments did not call for an answer.

“Did you meet Mr. Carver outside?” Maude was asking Harriet.

“No,” Harriet said rather shrilly. “He was returning from the village as we were leaving here. It was such a lovely afternoon that he decided to join us. He had no other pressing business.”

Harriet said no more, but Rebecca could tell from her tone and expression that she was furious. And indeed it did seem strange that a man with Mr. Carver’s good manners would have attached himself to a couple who could hardly have wanted his company. And he had stayed with them for the whole afternoon.

“It was a shame the party could not have been larger,” Mr. Bartlett said, bowing with a polite smile in Mr. Carver’s direction. “It was a perfect afternoon for a ride.”

Mr. Carver did not stay long. After drinking one cup of tea, he rose and took his leave, explaining that the Sinclairs would be wondering what on earth had happened to him.

The drawing-room doors had hardly closed behind him when Harriet exploded. “Well,” she said, “I have never in my life met such a thick-skulled, bad-mannered clod!”

“Harriet!” Maude admonished, shocked.

“I am sure I have never given that man cause to believe that I so much as tolerate his company,” Harriet said. “And he has been downright rude to me on more than one occasion. Yet he forced his company on us this afternoon just as if he were conferring the greatest honor. And he hardly spoke a word the whole way.”

“My dear Miss Shaw,” Mr. Bartlett said soothingly. “I must say I agree that I found the situation somewhat awkward. Mr. Carver is not the sort of person with whom it is easy to converse. He is of a somewhat taciturn disposition. But one must have pity on the man. He does not have many friends, I believe. And he must feel all the awkwardness of his situation at the Sinclairs’. He is totally dependent upon their hospitality. Seeing us must have given him the idea of giving them an afternoon at least free of his presence.”

“He might have done that alone,” Harriet said bitingly. “He did not have to spoil our afternoon merely because he did not want to go to the Sinclairs’. Why does he not pack himself off where he belongs, anyway? No one wants him here.”

“Harriet!” Maude protested again. “That is not fair, you know. He is Mr. Sinclair’s friend and guest. As such he has every right to be here and to visit at this house.” 

“Well, if you ask me,” Harriet said, “Mr. Sinclair has invited him only because he feels sorry for him. And I do not see why we should be made to suffer. Do you know what he said when he first saw us? He asked who was riding with us, and when we said no one, he asked where we were going and how long we intended to be away. Can you imagine the effrontery of the man? And then he said that he thought he would ride along with us.”

“Have some tea,” Maude said. “You look hot, Harriet.” Rebecca excused herself soon afterward. She was feeling extremely tired after a night with very little sleep and after a busy day. Most of all, though, she was aware that her tiredness was largely an emotional thing. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that her mind had not had a chance to assimilate half of it. Her brain, in fact, was shutting down, refusing to take in any more information before its present overload had been digested.

She went up to her room, took off her dress and stockings, washed herself off with the cold water that stood in the pitcher on the washstand in her dressing room, and lay on top of the covers on her bed. She wanted to sleep, to forget everything until she had more energy to cope with her thoughts. But it did not take her many minutes to know that she would not sleep, tired as she was.

There was the problem of her relationship with Philip to work out. Just a couple of hours ago she had agreed to marry him within the next month. And she had been quite convinced during those few minutes with him that her decision was the right one. He was a good and a kind man, despite the outer sternness of his manner. With him she would be safe; she would be able to continue the kind of life she had led for much of her life. She could return to the house that she still considered her home. It would be her own home; she would be mistress there. And Philip needed her.

It was that final point that had swayed her there in the schoolroom. It was the first time she had heard Philip admit to a need. And it is as flattering, she found, to be told that one is needed as that one is beautiful or desirable. At Uncle Humphrey’s she was not needed. She was treated kindly there, never made to feel like a poor relation. She was even held in some affection, she believed. But she was not needed.

And she needed Philip. Once married to him, she convinced herself, she would be able to accept her place in life and all the emotional upheavals of the previous few weeks could be forgotten. She would be safe!

But all that had been a few hours ago. Now already she was not so sure. Marriage was a very final step. It would be too late to discover after the wedding that she had done the wrong thing. Wrong for her, perhaps, and perhaps wrong for Philip.

She really had seen him with Maude, had she not? There could be no possibility of mistake? But no, she knew there could not. Even if she had doubted the evidence of her own eyes the evening before, the behavior of both that day had indicated that something abnormal had happened. And what had happened? Were Philip and Maude carrying on an illicit affair? Had it been going on for some time?

The thought had only to be formed in her mind for Rebecca to realize how preposterous it was. Her faith in her own understanding of human nature had been severely shaken recently, but she could not have been so mistaken in either of those two persons. Philip definitely had his faults; she was quite aware of them. But they were faults all on the side of virtue. He was too demanding of other people, too intolerant of weakness. Philip could no more conduct a clandestine affair with a married parishioner than he could curse from the pulpit.

And Maude? She was very young and very unhappy with Uncle Humphrey, but all her behavior since Rebecca had known her had suggested a young woman of high moral principles, who would put duty before personal happiness. Even her quite unnecessary concern for Harriet’s reputation that afternoon had demonstrated her moral values. She would never willingly be unfaithful to her aging husband.

What had happened then? Rebecca let her mind rove over the previous few months. Maude and Philip, she could see now, had been growing more aware of each other for some time. Maude was constantly praising Philip. She admired him greatly. Philip was quite the opposite; he was forever criticizing Maude for what he considered her frivolity. Was it a mutual attraction that had really been causing that awareness? If so, probably neither had been aware of the truth. Maude would not have talked so openly about him before her husband and his family if she had realized that she was attracted to him. Philip would have ruthlessly suppressed all feelings had he suspected the truth.

But it was the truth, was it not? Rebecca stared up at the canopy above her bed. The attraction had grown gradually and had finally taken them unawares so that they had been indiscreet enough to embrace the night before where they had been in great danger of detection. It had had time to take deep root in the feelings of both. Was it possible that their feelings were ones of more than attraction? Were they in love? It seemed highly probable.

It did not take much pondering to know why Philip had finally decided that he and Rebecca must marry. He might have been taken by surprise the night before. But Philip was not the sort of man who would indulge in feelings that he would consider sinful in the extreme. Like her, he must be seeking safety in a flight toward marriage. It was hurtful to admit this possibility, but Rebecca had also to admit that she was no different. And was there anything so very wrong in what they planned? They did need each other and they were fond of each other. They would live a good and worthy life together. It was unlikely that either of them would be actively unhappy. Time was a healer of bruised emotions, as she knew from experience.

Rebecca put her hands loosely over her face and rolled over on the bed so that she lay facedown. She had thought she would never feel that pain again. Seven years ago she had battled it for what had seemed an endless time. And later she had looked back with some satisfaction. At least, she had thought, she would never have to go through a period like that again. Why had he come back? Oh, how could he have been so thoughtless and so cruel!

She was disappointed in herself. She had thought she was a stronger person. Although she had dreaded meeting Christopher again when she heard that he was coming home, she had thought that she could remain indifferent once the embarrassment of the first meeting was over. But in the event her emotions had put up almost no fight at all. She loved Christopher Sinclair with just as much passion as she ever had. And she despised herself for doing so. She had never thought it possible to love someone who was so obviously unworthy of that love. But love him she did, and she was helpless to do anything about it.

She must marry Philip. There was no alternative. Yet she could not marry him. Being in flight from one man was no reason at all for marrying another.

Perhaps it would be easier to fight against her feelings for Christopher if he were clearly indifferent to her. But his behavior was a puzzle. On the one hand, he behaved as she had expected him to behave from the start, consorting with the younger set, paying court to Harriet, taking her about. Yet she had to admit that his manner toward Harriet was not unduly flirtatious, and she doubted that he was close to making her an offer, despite what Harriet herself had said the day before.

And his behavior toward herself was certainly not indifferent. He had been as embarrassed as she during their first meeting in the lane. The only reason she could think of for his visit to the school was that he wished somehow to impress her and redeem himself in her eyes to a certain degree. And then there had been that ride home with him and that kiss. Rebecca’s hands unconsciously clenched her pillow as she remembered. He had not been unaware of her nearness when she rode with him. She had been too aware of her own terrible embarrassment at the time to really notice, but looking back now she could recall the tautness of his muscles, the unnatural silence in which they had ridden.

And he had kissed her with as much hunger as she had felt. For the minute or two that they were in each other’s arms, she was sure, the years had been swept back for both of them.

Then there had been the evening before. She had really not expected him to ask her to dance. She had not expected even to be acknowledged. Yet he had asked her. And it had not been that he might flirt or gloat or sneer. He had wanted to apologize for some of the damage he had done to her life. He had been almost humble. He had made no attempt to defend himself against any of her charges. In fact, she remembered now, he had apologized to her after their kiss too.

Was it possible that he still retained some of the old regard for her? Was he regretting now that he had put fortune before love all those years ago? It really made no difference to anything if he did, of course. Even if he still loved her, and even though she still loved him, there could never be any question of resuming any relationship. She would never be able to forgive him, at least not to the extent of being close to him again. She could not have a relationship with a man she did not respect.

But it increased the pain tenfold to wonder if he did still retain some of his love for her. It seemed so cruel that they now lived close to each other, meeting with fair frequency, and both free, yet that they could never mean anything to each other. She loved him so, and she had been horrid to him the night before. In fact, she had been quite unforgivably impertinent. She had no right at all to make any reference to his wife or his treatment of her. Her cheeks burned now to remember some of the things she had said. It was a miracle that he had retained some modicum of coolness, enough to prevent her from making a public scene.

Why had she lost her temper and become so personal in her insults, anyway? Why had she mentioned his wife? Of course, he had started insinuating preposterous things about Mr. Bartlett. He had actually tried to sully the poor man’s reputation by hinting that he might be a fortune hunter. He must have known that his wife and Mr. Bartlett had loved each other, and consequently hated the man. Though why he should, Rebecca could not imagine. He himself had wanted nothing from his wife except her fortune.

Yes, she was not sorry after all that she had said those things. At least she had made it clear to him that she was not unaware of the kind of life he had lived since he abandoned her. And she had made it clear that she despised him and wanted no part of his attentions. She was glad too that she had remembered that episode of the night before. The memory of his treachery would harden her against her own heart.

Oh, Christopher, she thought, burying her face in her hands again, why? Why did you have to turn out this way? Or why did you not show yourself in your true colors before I was foolish enough to love you?

She started to cry, despising herself heartily as she fumbled in the side pocket of her dress for a handkerchief.