Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career (34 page)

F THERE WAS EVER A WORSE
A
PRIL ON RECORD
in the British Isles, Ellen Grimsley didn't know of it. Usually it was her favorite month. She did not even mind drinking the horrible black brew that Mama inflicted on all her children in April to flush the miseries of winter out of their systems. She tolerated the rain because it was not a freezing rain anymore, and it would inevitably lead to a flowering of the English countryside, an event of such heart-breaking sweetness that Ellen knew she could never live anywhere else, even if she did travel the world.

But this April was different, preoccupied as she was by the greatest misery she had ever known. The rain was only rain, colder and more pelting this year, filling the gutters, drizzling down the windows, contributing to a general dampness in the air that did nothing to relieve the ache in her heart.

He still sent her flowers every Wednesday, but there was never a note anymore. She could only wonder if James Gatewood harbored some affection still or had merely neglected to tell the florist to discontinue the standing order in his rush to put her out of his mind and heart.

Her studies were sawdust and dry toast. She stared at her books for hours, deriving no information from the pages. Once, during geometry, she looked up from the meaningless page to see Miss Medford regarding her, a worried frown on her face. Ellen wanted to throw herself on her knees in front of the headmistress and sob out her misery, but she merely turned the page and attempted to apply the wisdom of Pythagoras.

Walks were little help. The favorite route from St. Hilda's took them by a small house with a sign in the window, “To let.” Blowing trash from a long winter had accumulated on the front steps, in perfect harmony with a shutter that banged back and forth, and the windows bereft of curtains that stared back like hollow eyes.

She felt like that empty house, abandoned, neglected, dark. She would always turn away from it when they passed, and then would be drawn to look back, and suffer all over again. And then she would return to her room, only to stare at the flowers and ask herself over and over, “Why didn't I say yes when he asked me?”

It became the last question she asked herself each night before she blew out her candle, and the first thing she thought of each morning. And from the way her head ached and her stomach hurt, it must have bothered her in her sleep too.

Letters from home were no balm to her wounds. Ralph mailed back the student's gown and breeches she had sent him off in. “It's not safe for me to keep them here, especially since I will soon be with Uncle Breezly,” he had written. “And I think I know what they mean to you.”

Horry wrote too, all misspellings and enthusiasm for the married state. She dropped a hint about a blessed event far in the future and hoped that Ellen would stroll the aisle soon enough with Lord Chesney so that she could participate without embarrassment.

Ellen sent no reply to either letter. What could she say? She dreaded her return home, and the disappointment that her unwelcome news would cause. Mama would give her no peace, compelling her to go over and over again all that she had said and done to disgust Lord Chesney. Papa would storm and rage and call her ungrateful.

When the pain was too great to bear, Ellen tried the other tack, convincing herself that she never loved him anyway, and they never would have suited. “I would surely have been a disappointment to Lord Chesney,” she told herself each night as part of her consoling catechism. “Even if his family is silly, they are still peers. I would be so out of place. It is better this way. And besides, I'm still not so sure that I loved him.”

Then why don't you feel any better?
she asked herself one afternoon when the sky was bluer than blue and the willows along the river had finally burst into bloom. She could see the Isis from her window. With a pang, she observed that students were already out punting.

I wonder if he even thinks of me
, Ellen thought as she leaned her elbows on the open window and watched the little boats drift past. He is probably too busy.

When the maid knocked on the door, she jumped. “Someone to see you below, miss,” the maid said and giggled behind her hand.

Ellen leaped to her feet, patting at her hair and cramming her feet into her slippers. She straightened her dress on the way down the stairs, regretting that it was her least attractive kerseymere.

Gordon waited below. “Oh,” she said from the doorway. “It's you.”

He smiled. “Who did you expect, the chancellor of the exchequer?”

She shook her head.

“Speaking of which, dear El, are you sure you won't make me a small loan?”

“Gordon! The quarter has only begun!” she exclaimed, irritated out of her lethargy. “How can you possibly be under the hatches?”

“It's an easy matter when your chambermate is practically a faro dealer,” he grumbled. “I shall never turn a card with him again. Ellen, it is a matter of a gambling debt. Surely you will help.”

He named the sum, and she paled. “I have not half that amount, Gordon. Whatever were you thinking?” she said.

“I was thinking that I would eventually get lucky,” he said.

“Oh, Gordon.”

He regarded her low state. “Really, El, can't you do any better than that? I expected at least a resounding scold, and all you can do is look hangdog and tell me ‘Oh, Gordon.’ ”

When she said nothing, he took her by the arm. “Come on, El, let's escape from the halls of academe.” He overrode the excuse already forming on her lips. “I saw Miss Medford when I came in, and she suggested that I do this very thing. Said you were blue-deviled about something.”

The afternoon was warm, and she did not shiver, even though Gordon wouldn't give her a moment to grab up a pelisse, or even a bonnet. He held her hand, content to stroll along.

“What do you say we turn into the Physic Garden?” he asked. Tears came to her eyes and she pulled back on his hand. “I couldn't possibly go there,” she said.

“Very well, then, Ellen,” he said, his voice less certain. “My word, you remind me of Lord Chesney. I've never seen anyone so down in the dumps.”

Her eyes flew to his face. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Only this morning.”

“I had no idea you visited him.”

He smiled at her confusion. “Oh, I've been doing that off and on for some weeks now.” He laughed. “And now you're going to ask me whose idea that was! Well, it was his at first, but now I go because I like his company. Do you know, El, he's quite an engaging sort, when one looks beyond all that blasted scholarship.”

“I know,” she whispered and then humiliated herself by bursting into tears.

If she had done that six months ago, Gordon would have turned and fled, or laughed in her face. Instead, he pulled her into the shelter of an alley and held her close, patting her back until her tears stopped.

“Poor dear,” he said. “I suppose you will tell me now that Lord Chesney has changed his mind.”

She nodded and blew her nose vigorously on the handkerchief he gave her. “He teased and teased all term,” she wailed, “proposing over and over, and then when I finally thought it would be a good idea, he didn't.”

“Scurvy rascal,” Gordon said mildly, kissing her cheek. “No wonder he hasn't been much fun lately. I go to his chamber for good conversation and better ale, and he stares into the fire and doesn't hear half of what I say.”

“I think I love him,” she said, sniffing back her tears, “but how will I ever know for sure now?”

“Well, you could propose to him,” Gordon suggested.

“I could never!” she gasped.

They stared back toward St. Hilda's. “I'm fresh out of ideas, El,” Gordon said finally. “You know ideas aren't my strong suit. Now, if you want me to call him out or something …”

Ellen put her hand on his arm. “No, don't do anything, Gordon,” she said hastily. “And I'm sorry I cannot help you with that gambling debt. I'll give you what I have.”

He shook his head. “No, not necessary. I think I have a better idea.” He grinned and kissed her cheek again. “Maybe if I hang around with you or Lord Mope-in-the-Muck, I'll have good ideas on a regular basis!”

“Better you should apply to Papa,” she suggested.

He shook his head vigorously. “That is the last thing I want to do, El. He might change his mind and make me stay here another year. I mean, the war in Spain could be over before I am sprung from this place!”

“What a pity,” she said, her mind other places than Gordon's troubles. As she stood in the doorway and watched him saunter down the street, she thought she should have questioned him more closely about his brilliant idea. “I must be in my dotage to think that Gordon Grimsley would hatch a real scheme,” she muttered as she climbed the stairs.

The Wednesday flowers were waiting for her on the table outside her door. She sniffed the roses, vowing that she would not look for a note, even as her eyes searched the bouquet.

She dropped the flowers on her desk. “Maybe I should propose to him,” she said, looking at the roses. But even as she said it, she knew she would never do it.

“If I just had the nerve,” she whispered. “Aunt Shreve was right. I am too proud.”

She dismissed Gordon from her mind and only wished it were as easy to dismiss James Gatewood, who traveled lightly through her dreams and occupied her waking hours. She chided herself for her foolishness, knowing that it was well within her power to make his life easier. “If only I had accepted him when I had the opportunity,” became the sentence that she wrote over and over in her mind, in atonement for a misdeed greater than any she ever committed at Miss Dignam's.

But as the days passed and no word came from All Souls, she knew it was time to gather what dignity remained and consider what she would say to her parents in less than a month.

The thought of facing them caused her heart to leap about in her throat.
If I were a man, I would take the king's shilling and beat Gordon to Spain
, she thought.
Or failing that, it is too bad I am not missionary-minded. I would rather preach to a thousand Hindus than to look Mama in the eye and tell her that I said “no” once too often to the marquess.

She was considering the merits of Australia over Canada one evening long after lights-out, when someone pounded up the stairs and banged on her door. Ellen sat up in bed when Becky Speed, breathing hard, threw open the door.

Becky grabbed her by the shoulders. “Oh, Ellen, the worst thing has happened!” she said and then sank down in a chair to catch her breath.

Ellen was out of bed and on her knees in an instant beside the maid. “Is it your father? Oh, please say it is not so.”

Her hands clutching her sides, Becky shook her head. “It's Gordon,” she managed to say finally. “He's going to fight a duel!”

Ellen sat down on the floor. “You can't be serious,” she said. “Even he is not that foolish.”

“Oh, yes he is, Miss Grimsley, begging your pardon,” Becky said.

Ellen clutched Becky's hands. “Tell me everything you know,” she demanded. “I can only hope we are not too late.”

Becky leaned forward, tears in her eyes. “It was something I overheard from one of the students at Miss Dignam's. She was telling the other girls that her brother was dueling with pistols tomorrow morning along the river with his chambermate, someone named Grimsley who owed him money.”

Ellen felt her whole body go numb. She nodded. “Go on.” Becky shook her head. “That's all I heard. The duel is to be somewhere along the river tomorrow morning. Probably it will be at sunrise, don't you think?”

Ellen nodded again as she let go of the maid's hand. “I wish I knew what to do,” she said slowly. “There's not time to contact my father.” She shuddered. “I wouldn't dare anyway.”

Becky cleared her throat. “Perhaps if you got word to Lord Chesney he could …”

“No!” Ellen said. “I won't do that! I cannot plague that man with one more problem.”

Becky only looked at her. “But you must, Miss Grimsley. He can find out what is going on and stop Gordon, you know he can.”

Ellen looked at Becky in silence. Jim would find Gordon and settle the problem. “I don't have any choice, do I?” she asked, more to herself than to Becky, who was already heading for the dressing room.

“If you put on that student gown again and hurry, you might be able to get into All Souls before the porter closes the gate for the night,” Becky said as she rummaged through Ellen's clothing. “Here, miss, and don't waste a minute!”

Ellen stripped off her nightgown and dressed herself in shirt and breeches, painfully aware that these were the clothes that Gordon had lifted originally from his chambermate, the same student who was out to avenge a debt of honor with a duel now. She threw the gown around her shoulders and tiptoed down the back stairs, Becky on her heels.

They walked swiftly away from St. Hilda's, mindful of the night watchman who strolled the quiet streets. “How did you get away from Miss Dignam's?” she whispered as they hurried along.

“I hope they still think I am in the kitchen washing dishes,” she whispered back. Her voice faltered. “If they do not, then I am out of a job.”