Aggie woke the next morning feeling as if she had been hit on the head with a large, blunt object. She remembered going through the motions after Bobby left the party—changing her rain-drenched uniform, serving what was left of the food, cleaning the kitchen. She remembered lying in her bed awake, all night it seemed, listening to the rain. If only I can get through today, she thought.
“My goodness, Agnes, you look pale,” Mrs. Stockwood said after breakfast. “Are you feeling ill?”
“I’ve a headache, ma’am,” Aggie replied. At least the headache had its use.
“I’ll help tidy the garden after breakfast,” Rodney said, “since you’re not feeling well. Don’t worry, Mother,” he waved aside her small protest. “Thanks to Agnes, I’m all packed and ready to go. In any case, the train doesn’t leave until five.”
He stood on the ladder a short time later, passing wet ropes and sodden bits of paper down to Aggie—all that remained of the beautiful Japanese lanterns.
“You didn’t know, did you?” he asked.
Aggie shook her head. “Did you?”
“Me! Of course not. I would have done anything to stop Rose if I had. I tried to speak with you after I saw him. Remember? When you came into the garden with the tray. I wanted to prepare you, or warn you to stay inside, or . . . something.” He stepped off the ladder. “Last night I was worried that Bobby might talk to my father about this, but I don’t think he will. He’d be too humiliated. Rose will have to deal with him now. I don’t envy her one bit, but I must say she brought this upon herself . . . and you.”
“I think I understand why she did it,” Aggie said. “She thought it would be like one of those romance novels. Bobby would look at me and realize we were meant to be together. Poor Rose. I suppose I always knew Bobby never would have had anything to do with me if he’d known what I was. But that was a bitter lesson, coming face to face with him—one I’ll no forget. And after the mischief we got up to, perhaps I deserved it.”
“No.” The voice came from behind them. Aggie and Rodney turned, and there was Rose. She was pale, but her chin was lifted defiantly. “No,” she said again. “You didn’t deserve to be hurt and humiliated.” She came and stood beside them. “Agnes, I’m so stupid. I should have listened to you, Rodney.”
“You certainly should have,” Rodney said. Aggie had never heard him speak so sternly to Rose. Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes, and he softened a little. “It isn’t right to play with people’s feelings, Rose,” he said more gently.
“Oh, Agnes, I was so sure about Bobby. Now I’ve gone and hurt you both. Bobby’s angry as anything, but I’ll make him understand. Can you forgive me?” Her lower lip quivered.
Aggie sighed. Rose hadn’t meant to hurt her. There was no point in being angry now.
“How could I not forgive you, Rose? You’ve been so kind.” She leaned forward and quickly hugged Rose. But there was something final in that hug. Rodney was leaving and things would never be the same.
A few hours later, Aggie stood by the streetcar stop. Her head hurt slightly less now. She looked down at her old, black shoes. They were just about worn out, but they’d have to do. But I do wish, Aggie thought as the streetcar rumbled up, that I’d not agreed to spend the afternoon with Emma and Stuart.
Over the summer, while Aggie was busy with Rodney and Rose, Emma had finally met a young man to suit her. His name was Stuart Donaldson. He was a Canadian, a gardener who came to work at Emma’s employers’ house every week. From what Emma had told Aggie, Stuart was the most perfect man in Canada, at the very least. The few times Aggie had seen Emma over the summer, she’d scarcely spoken of anything else. Emma had wanted Aggie to meet Stuart but somehow the day had always been postponed. Until now. When they’d planned it, Aggie had hoped it would take her mind off Rodney’s departure.
They had arranged to meet near the Merrymakers Stage at Sunnyside amusement park. Too near the Palais Royale for Aggie’s comfort, but that couldn’t be helped now.
“Well, well, Emma, you’ve been holding out on me,” Stuart said when they were introduced, looking Aggie up and down. “Your little sister is quite a looker.” He nodded at her with an approval Aggie had not asked for and did not want. A looker! Rodney would never use a word like that—neither would Bobby.
As they walked along the boardwalk Aggie studied Stuart. His hair was parted in the middle and his face was bisected by a pencil-thin moustache. He was small and thin but he looked strong. Wiry, Aggie decided, was the word that best described him. Everything about him looked hard.
During the endless discussion of Rodney’s wardrobe over the past few weeks, Aggie had learned something about men’s clothes. Now, she couldn’t help comparing Stuart’s loud, cheap jacket to the elegant clothes she had packed in Rodney’s suitcases.
But Emma clearly thought Stuart was wonderful. And so, apparently, did Stuart himself.
“Yes sir,” he said. “It may be all right for you girls, all this please and thank you ma’am, but a man wants to be his own boss. A few more years and I’ll set up my own gardening business. Pretty soon, I’ll be the boss.” To Aggie, he sounded as if he thought this was the best idea anyone ever had.
Aggie listened without saying much, watching Stuart and Emma together as they walked past the children’s wading pool. He had a way of touching Em, just her arm or hand, that seemed to proclaim ownership. Somehow with Stuart, Emma’s usual self-possessed spirit shrivelled. She spoke and acted like some spineless idiot Aggie hardly recognized.
The grass was still too wet to sit on after last night’s rain, so they found a bench and watched some boys flying kites. Aggie’s head still hurt, and she found herself growing more and more annoyed with this brash young man. For Emma’s sake she managed to keep her opinion to herself until they walked Aggie to the foot of the long flight of stairs that lead from Sunnyside up to the streetcar stop.
“We should do this again, Agnes,” Stuart said. “Say, maybe we could make it a foursome. I know some great guys. I bet they’d fall for you in a minute.”
Suddenly, Aggie could hear Bobby Chandler on the night she’d met him saying, “You don’t mind if we make it a foursome, do you, Stockwood?” Stuart Donaldson expected her to go out with one of his friends? Aggie said nothing, but her face must have betrayed what she was thinking because Stuart shifted his eyes away.
“Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” he said. The look Emma gave Aggie held more surprise and hurt than anger.
Aggie was glad to leave them. The staircase to King Street was long and steep, but she ran all the way up. When the streetcar came, she swung herself into her seat and sat frowning at the window. Later, she got off the Yonge streetcar long before St. Clair. She needed time to think.
Why did Stuart bother her so much? It wasn’t just her headache. Stuart Donaldson, she thought, is common. The idea made her angry at herself. Yes, she thought, you may want someone with fine manners and fine clothes, someone like Bobby Chandler, but someone like Bobby will no have you. She sighed. Mrs. Bradley was right; nothing good could come of trying to be someone she wasn’t. And nothing had. Stuart Donaldson’s friends would never suit her now.
It was almost dark when Aggie reached the Stockwood house. Rodney was gone. She could tell as soon as she came into the house—all the liveliness was drained from the place, just as surely as if it had been packed in his suitcase and taken away.