“I don’t really remember anything,” said Rosemary Talbot.
Like Simon, she’d improved dramatically in health over the past two days. She was sitting by the window now, embroidery in her lap, and she had lost most of the horrible pallor she’d had when Gareth had first come to the house. There was color in her cheeks again and life in her eyes, although at the moment, her gaze was on her hands, and she was chewing uncertainly on her lower lip.
“Are you certain?” Gareth asked. “I give you my word I won’t think anything you say is too odd.”
“I think having as little memory as I do is quite odd enough,” Miss Rosemary said, sighing. “I had decided to invite the ladies from Englefield down for tea. I recall that, and I recall putting on my coat and hat to go up to the house.” She wrinkled her brow. “I think I remember walking up the road, but that’s…blurred. And after that, I’ve no memory at all, nothing until I woke up yesterday.”
Gareth nodded. Given Simon’s lack of clear memory, Miss Rosemary’s wasn’t completely surprising—simply unfortunate. He glanced around the parlor, trying to think of any questions that might lend additional clarity to the situation.
He wished Olivia had come along, but she was staying close to Englefield at the moment, adding her power to Simon’s defenses and discussing how the school might best provide a guardian to take Brother Jonathan’s place. Gareth had heard all of that from Simon. He hadn’t spoken to Olivia, except in passing, since their argument. He hadn’t thought it would do either of them any good.
Thinking certainly hadn’t. Gareth’s ideas simply wheeled and circled like carrion birds. She had been desperate. She’d had other resources. She had been young. She didn’t regret it. She had been scrupulous, after the fashion of her profession. Gareth cared about her. He didn’t, couldn’t, entirely trust her.
He could see no path forward.
Perhaps it had been better that she hadn’t come, logistics or not. Yet now that Gareth had walked through the crisp air to the village, now that he was sitting in the vicar’s neat house and sipping tea, he found it harder to resent Olivia’s past and easier to remember her way with people and her insights into matters Gareth had to admit he barely grasped.
And he’d thought of her instead of Simon. Perhaps that had just been his recognizing Miss Rosemary might talk more easily to another woman, but he didn’t think that was the case.
He picked a small china shepherdess up from a table then put it back down. “Physically,” he said, “you’re doing quite well, but I’m concerned about how little you remember.”
“So am I, Doctor,” she said.
“Do you have any memory”—Gareth pressed…very gently, and very careful not to seem as if he was too concerned about this particular detail—“of giving Mr. Grenville some flowers for his wife?”
“No,” said Miss Rosemary. “Though I’m glad to hear I did. It’s nice to know one behaved well, even when one doesn’t remember it.”
“Then I’m glad I could oblige you,” Gareth said and smiled at her, using his best bedside manner. In case they were wrong about timing, he asked, “Did you have a particular reason for inviting the ladies to tea when you did?”
Miss Rosemary blushed then, and looked down at her hands. “I confess it wasn’t entirely the pleasure of their company. I’ve a friend, you see, very nice girl, but her father’s come on hard times. She’s quite smart, and I’d been wondering…” She looked up at Gareth, bashful and hopeful at the same time.
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Gareth. “I’m sure Mrs. Grenville would be glad to discuss it when you’re feeling more yourself.”
Simon had mentioned additional teachers. The students would need to learn science and history and French, as well as more esoteric things. And while the three of them and Olivia did a decent job filling in the gaps, it would have been nice to have someone devoted to more normal subjects.
“It’s a…rather unusual place,” he added. “She’d have to be a fairly open-minded girl.”
“Oh, she is, or I wouldn’t have thought of asking.” Her father’s a great admirer of Mr. Ruskin.”
No guarantee that the prospective addition wouldn’t run screaming when she caught a glimpse of Mrs. Grenville’s classes, or Olivia’s. All the same it couldn’t hurt to discuss it.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, “and I’ll let Mrs. Grenville know. Meanwhile, I want you to take care of yourself.”
“I’m very good at that,” said Miss Rosemary. “I promise. Oh, hello!”
Her last statement wasn’t directed to Gareth, but rather to a small shape that wound its way in through the swinging door. Looking closer, Gareth saw the gray-and-white cat that had run away from the house when he and Olivia had approached before.
“Hello, puss,” he said genially. Army life had taught him to like cats, both for the company and because the alternatives were worse.
This particular cat, Gareth saw, was not looking terribly healthy. It moved toward a saucer of milk in the corner, but much more slowly and unsteadily than Gareth would have expected, and he could practically count its ribs through its fur. Something had taken a bite out of its right ear too. “Poor old fellow.”
“Yes, isn’t he?” Miss Rosemary sighed. “Between me and him, Elizabeth and Papa have had far too much to worry about over the last few days. We’ll have to shoulder more of a load in the future to make it up, won’t we, Shadow?”
“He’s been in a bad way too, hmm?”
“In a fight, we think, or maybe hit by a cart and stunned. Fred Gordon, one of old Mr. Gordon’s nephews, brought him back a little while after I woke up. Said he’d found him by the side of the road. Poor thing. Though really, he’s been very lucky for a runaway. Papa would say something about the wages of sin, I think.”
She laughed, and Gareth laughed with her. He gave a few last instructions before he left, and gave Shadow a scratch behind the ears, which the cat grudgingly permitted.
He felt good, Gareth realized on the way back. He had many things to worry about, yes, but walking through the village, he didn’t feel them dragging at him the way they had back at Englefield.
Perspective did amazing things. Perspective, fresh air, and a good walk…and the chance to talk with the Talbots, who reminded him of home. They were generous people too, with Miss Rosemary stepping forward for her friend like that.
Her friend was lucky. Some girls weren’t.
Gareth saw Olivia’s face in his mind, and the way her eyes had blazed when she’d spoken of the past. Of course he’d known about poverty. His father had seen families in need often enough, and his mother and sister had made up baskets for poor families. But he’d never really thought about the forms it took in the city or for a woman on her own.
Not that it was any excuse. Not when she didn’t even regret it.
Stones crunched and clicked beneath Gareth’s boots, and something in the sound suggested his own voice, lecturing: There will be times when you make the wrong decision. There will be times when there’s no right decision.
That was different. It had to be. Going forward with the best information one had, making the best choice possible. No, one shouldn’t regret that, however it turned out. However, choosing to base a life on lies…that was another matter.
The world based too much on lies as it was. He’d had quite enough experience to know that.
A sardonic voice in the back of his head spoke up: You’re blaming her for Egypt, then? The thought went through Gareth with a jar, as if he’d missed a step and landed hard on both feet.
Of course he wasn’t blaming Olivia for Egypt. Of course he was just being guided by general principles. It was a matter of honor, of character…
Quite so, said the voice, which Gareth wished he could believe was a demon or a spirit or anything other than his conscience. And you’d have been just as doubtful of her character if she hadn’t been the woman you’d seen before you shipped out. Naturally.
He had no answer. That didn’t mean he was wrong.
But, he might do well to talk with Olivia again when he had a moment, and he thought it might be better to do so outside. It was harder to be angry at her there.
He wasn’t sure that was a good thing. But…
Olivia could have told him she was sorry. She could have probably made him believe it. And she hadn’t.