Simply Magic Part 15

aI said no, of course,a Susanna said.

aDid you?a Claudia asked. aWhy?a aHe is the sort of manaoh, I do not know quite how to describe him,a Susanna said. aHe often takes gallantry to an extreme. He wants to shoulder the burdens of all women of his acquaintance. He wants to make them comfortable. He wants to make them feel good about themselves. He will go to great lengths not to hurt them or deprive them of what seems important to them. And even that description does not quite express what I am trying to say. He is kind and open andaAnd he is quite muddleheaded. He could see that I was upset when he walked home with me, and he wanted to comfort me. And he thought perhaps that he had raised expectations in me during the summer and so felt that he owed me an offer of marriage. I suppose that he believes being a spinster schoolteacher is an undesirable fate for any woman.a aAnd did he?a Claudia asked, looking at her with disconcertingly keen eyes. aRaise expectations in you?a aNo,a Susanna said. aNo, he did not.a aDo you love him?a Claudia asked.

Susanna opened her mouth to say no but shut it again. She drew a deep breath and released it slowly.

aLove has nothing to do with anything,a she said. aI said no and I meant no. It would not have been a happy marriage, Claudia, for either of us. Love on one side would only have made it worsea"for me and perhaps for him too.a aI know you are feeling weak and vulnerable tonight,a Claudia said after a few silent moments, abut in reality you are a very strong person, Susanna. And you were a strong girl. I always knew, of course, that your father had died and left you all alone in the worlda"you told me so when you came here. But I had no idea of the terrible truth until tonight. You were always the sunniest-natured of girls neverthelessa"even if you were rather wild and rebellious for the first few months. And you are the sunniest-natured of my teachers and very much loved by all the girlsa"almost without exception, I believe. I will not question your decision to reject Viscount Whitleafas offer. Such a match would have offered you security and wealth and comfort for the rest of your life, of course, but you know that without my having to tell you so. I am very glad that you had the strength to put happiness and integrity before material security. And of course I am selfishly glad for myself.a Susanna smiled rather wanly.

aHe is coming here tomorrow afternoon,a she said. aHe wants me to go walking with him. Perhaps I ought to have said no to that invitation too after being away from school this evening.a aAh, Susanna,a Claudia said, awe must live too when given the chance. Teaching is a job, my dear, not a life.a Susanna looked at her in some surprise. She would have expected Claudia to be disapproving of the continued relationship.

aIt will be the last time,a she promised, getting to her feet. aHe will be leaving Bath soon.a aGood night, Susanna,a Claudia said. aBut I have not even asked you about the concert.a aIt was wonderful beyond words,a Susanna told her.

A few moments later she was on her way up to her room, feeling considerably calmer than she had felt when she first arrived home. But there was still a heavy ache of grief somewhere low in her abdomen.

He had asked her to marry him.

And she had said no.

Ah, she had said no.

And then she had set about comforting him because she knew she had made him unhappy.

But still she had said no. She could not marry him just because he felt guilty about having lain with her.

He did not love her.

As if that were a good reason for rejecting a dazzlingly eligible marriage offer.

But she did love him, and that made all the difference.

As she let herself into her bedchamber and closed the door behind her, she wished she felt even half as strong as Claudia had a.s.sured her she was.

Bath had long ceased to be a fashionable watering spot. It had become a retirement center for the elderly and the infirm and the shabby genteel and the upwardly mobile middle cla.s.ses. But it still had its charm, and it had its rituals, one of the most enduring of which was the early morning promenade in the Pump Room to the accompaniment of the soft music provided by the chamber orchestra in the alcove at one end of the room.

Some people went to drink the waters in the hope of improving their health. A few went for the exercise or told themselves that they did. Most went in order to watch for new faces and listen to new gossip and pa.s.s on any news they thought someone else might not yet have heard.

Peter put in an appearance there the morning after the concert just as he had the day before. He had always enjoyed mingling with other people even when, as now, there was almost no one of his own age group and no one he knew apart from the acquaintances he had made the day before. That last fact was soon to change, though.

He was conversing with a group of ladies that included Lady Holt-Barron, who, upon hearing that he had attended the wedding breakfast at the Upper Rooms a few days earlier, informed him that she had an acquaintance with the Bedwyns, that the Duke of Bewcastle had actually called at her house on the Circus one afternoon when the present Marchioness of Hallmere had been staying with her daughtera"the marchioness had still been Lady Freyja Bedwyn at the time though she had become betrothed to the marquess before leaving Bath. Peter was listening to the ladyas convoluted story with smiling indulgence when he spotted two very familiar faces across the room.

Lady Markham and Edith.

He excused himself as soon as he could politely do so and went to meet them, a delighted smile on his face. They watched him come with answering smiles.

aThis is a surprise,a he said after greeting them and bowing to them both, athough I suppose it ought not to be since I discovered from Theo quite recently that Edith lives not far away and that you were spending some time with her, Lady Markham.a aBut it is not a surprise to us, Whitleaf, beyond the fact that you are here in Bath at all,a Lady Markham said. aWe saw you last evening in Bath Abbey and fully intended to speak with you after the concert. But you vanished and left us wondering whether you had been simply a mirage.a aAh, yes,a he said. aOne of the ladies in my party was unable to stay longer and so I left as soon as the concert had finished to escort her home.a He remembered even as he spoke that Susanna had spent her childhood at Fincham Manor. He would not mention her name to them, though. It was altogether possible that she would not wish it.

Actually, he had been trying ever since he woke up from a broken, troubled sleep not to think too much of Susanna at all. Good Lord, he had offered her marriage last nighta"and she had refused him.

You need to look deeper into your own heart. You need to learn to like yourself too.

Ah, yes, and then there was that. Best not to think of it.

aI understand that congratulations are in order,a he said to Edith. aI trust you have recovered your health after your confinement? And that the child is well?a aBoth,a she said, smiling. aBut Lawrence thought a change of air would do us good, and so he has taken lodgings on Laura Place for a month. It is good to see you again, Peter, and looking surely more handsome than ever. All the ladies here look as if they would gobble you up if given half a chance.a Her eyes twinkled into his, and they all laughed.

aI came to attend a wedding breakfast a few days ago,a he explained, aand stayed on for a few days before returning to London.a They chattered amiably for a few minutes before Edith set a hand on his sleeve.

aPeter,a she said, aI must ask, though it does seem impertinent. The lady you were escorting last eveninga"she was notaCould she possibly have been Susanna Osbourne, by any chance?a It was impossible to avoid answering such a direct question.

aYes,a he said. aI ran into her this summer and again at the wedding breakfast. The bride is a friend of hers while the groom is my cousinas brother-in-law.a Edithas hand tightened on his arm.

aOh, she is alive, then,a she said. aI have always wondered.a aShe disappeared,a Lady Markham explained, aafter her father died. None of our efforts to find her was successful, though we were quite frantic. We never heard of or from her again. It was all very distressing on top of everything else, as perhaps you remember, Whitleaf. Or perhaps not. You were away at school at the time, I believe. Susanna was only twelve years old, far too young to be out in the world on her own. But what could we do? We had no idea where to start looking, though we did look for a long time.a aWell,a Peter said, smiling, anow after all this time you may take comfort from the knowledge that she did survive.a aWhere is she living or staying, Peter?a Edith asked eagerly. aI would love to call on her, to speak with her. We were the dearest of friends. We were almost like sisters. It broke my heart when she disappeared.a aPerhaps,a he said warily, looking apologetically from one to the other of them, ashe ran away and stayed away because she felt a need to break the connection with her fatheras employers. Perhaps the memory of anything or anyone to do with him is still just too painful. Perhaps she felt she had gooda"a aAnd perhaps,a Edith said, smiling ruefully, ayou are too much the gentleman to betray her trust, Peter. We understand, do we not, Mama?a aYou see,a he said, ait took her a while during the summer to tell me who she was even though she had recognized me, or at least my name, immediately. And even then she would tell me only that her father had died at Finchama"of a heart attack, she led me to believe. It was Theo who told me the truth about his suicide after I went home. I suppose it is understandable that Miss...o...b..urne may not want any reminders of that time.a And a distinct possibility had struck him. Had she seen Lady Markham and Edith last evening and recognized them? Was that why she had been in such a hurry to leave the Abbey as soon as the concert ended, even though she had appeared to be enjoying the evening immensely until then?

aBut we never understood her leaving,a Lady Markham said with a sigh. aShe was only a child and her father had just died. We had always treated her well, almost as if she were one of our own, and Edith positively adored her. One would have expected her to turn to us for comfort.a aIf you see her again, Peter,a Edith said, awill you ask her if I may call on her? Or if she will call on me if she wishes to remain secretive about her exact whereabouts?a aI will ask,a he promised. But he could not resist asking another question of his own.

aWhy did Osbourne kill himself?a He addressed himself to Lady Markham. aDid you ever find out?a She hesitated noticeably.

aI am surprised,a she said, athat you did not even know of the suicide until Theo told you recently. You were fond of Mr. Osbourne, as I recall, and he of you. However, I suppose it was to be expected that Lady Whitleaf would want to protect you from such a harsh truth, and she would have sworn your sisters to secrecy. As for William Osbourneas reason for doing what he did, that died with him, the poor man.a aHe did not leave a note for Lord Markham?a Peter asked.

She hesitated again.

aHe did,a she said. But she did not elaborate, and he disliked intruding any further into a subject on which she was clearly reluctant to talk. It must, of course, have been a remarkably distressing episode in her life. He did, however, ask one more question.

aDid he also leave a note for Susa"For Miss...o...b..urne?a he asked.

aYes, he did,a she said.

aDid she read it?a aBoth notes were folded neatly inside the final updated page of a ledger inside the drawer of his desk,a she told him, aand were understandably not discovered until after his burial. By then Susanna was gone without a trace. It would be as well to leave it at that now, Whitleaf. It is an old, unhappy story and best forgotten. But it does have a happy ending of sorts after all. Susanna is alive and apparently well. Is she? Well? And happy?a aBoth, I believe,a he said.

He knew that he had made her very unhappy during the summer. Even now he liked to believe that the prospect of saying good-bye to him again saddened her. But honesty forced him to admit that she lived a life that brought her security and friendship and satisfaction and perhaps even happiness. He was not necessary to her life. She could live very well without him. He had not lied to Lady Markham.

It was a humbling thoughta"that Susanna did not need him, that last evening she had actually refused his marriage offer, which from any material point of view must be seen as extremely advantageous to her. She had told him he needed to learn to like himself. Before saying good night to him, she had removed her glove and touched his cheek with gentle fingertipsa"as if he were the one who needed tenderness and comfort.

As if she were the strong, secure one.

He took his leave of Lady Markham and Edith after promising to call upon them in Laura Place before he left Bath. A few minutes later he left the Pump Room and walked back to his hotel for breakfast.

18.

Some days in November could still retain traces of the glory of autumn and even a hint of a lost summer, though the trees were bare of leaves and the plants of flowers. But usually such days came at a time when duty forced one to remain busy indoors, enjoying the weather only in the occasional glance through a window.

This particular Sat.u.r.day was such a day. But this time Susanna was able to enjoy it to the full. It was games day, and the whole morning was spent outdoors in the meadows beyond the school with those girls who chose air and vigorous exercise over embroidery and tatting and crochet. As often happened, Susanna gave in to the urgings of the girls and her own inclination and joined in the games herself with the result that her cheeks were glowing with color by the time she led the two orderly lines back to school for luncheon. And though she was breathless, her body hummed with energy.

And the morning exercise was not all. The afternoon offered a rare treata"a walk, perhaps in Sydney Gardens, which were close by but rarely visited because of the admission feea"and with a gentleman, no less.

She would not be quite human, Susanna supposed as she changed into her Sunday-best wool dress after luncheon and brushed her hair, if she were not bubbling over with excitement and exhilaration at the prospect. The first blush of youth had pa.s.sed her by with very little in the way of entertainments and nothing in the way of beaux.

Her exuberance was not even much diminished by the memory of the night before. Viscount Whitleaf had offered her marriage last evening and she had refused. In all probability she would never see him again after today. But it was by her own choice, was it not? She had refused to go away with him during the summer. Last evening she had refused to marry him. And she would say no again, to both offers, if they were repeated. And so she had no cause to complain or mope or weepa"she had done altogether too much of all three. In fact, she had every reason to be proud of herself. She loved him, but she had refused to allow that fact to tempt her to cling, to hold on to him at all costs.

He did not love her, but that did not matter. He liked her. That was enough.

He had not mentioned a specific time for coming this afternoon. Susanna went downstairs when she was ready and into the art room, where Mr. Upton was working with some of the girls to design sets for the Christmas play and concert. Miss Thompson was in there with them, her dress protected by a large white ap.r.o.n as if she were about to paint the sets right there and then.

aI have been informed,a she told Susanna, detaching herself from the huddled group, athat teaching at Miss Martinas school involves more than just imparting knowledge to a quiet, receptive cla.s.s of girls. And so here I am, discovering whether I have the talent and the stamina to offer more. And to think that I could be at Lindsey Hall now, peacefully reading a book!a She looked as if she were enjoying herself enormously. Her eyes were twinklinga"a characteristic expression with her.

Susanna laughed.

aBut the preparations for the Christmas concert are always a great deal of fun,a she said. aAnd hard work.a aHow will this suit you, Miss...o...b..urne?a Mr. Upton called, beckoning her over to a table covered with sketches. He did not usually come in to school on a Sat.u.r.day, but he probably would do so every week between now and the end of term.

But Susanna had time only to glance at the sketches for her play sets and comment upon what she liked and make a few suggestions for improvement before a chorus of girlsa voices called her attention to Mr. Keeble standing in the doorway, looking her way.

Viscount Whitleaf must have come.

Indeed he had. He was awaiting her in the hallway when she arrived there wearing her warm gray winter cloak and tying the ribbons of her green bonnet beneath her chin. He was wearing his caped greatcoat again and looking very solidly male.

aMiss...o...b..urne.a He bowed to her, but though all his usual jaunty charm was in the gesture and in his smile, it seemed to Susanna that there was a certain wariness in his eyes too.

aLord Whitleaf.a She approached him along the hall with an answering wariness.

Last evening stretched between them like a long shadow.

The weather had not changed in the hour or so she had been indoors, Susanna discovered when they stepped out onto the pavement, unless perhaps the air had grown a little warmer. The sun shone down on them from a cloudless sky. There was no discernible wind. She could not have asked more of their last afternoon together.

aShall we go into Sydney Gardens?a he asked her, offering his arm. aI daresay the park is not at its best in November, but it will be quiet and rural.a And despite the loveliness of the day, they would probably have it almost to themselves, she thought.

aThat would be pleasant,a she said as they headed toward Sydney Place and across the road to the Gardens.

They talked about the summer and their mutual friends and acquaintances in Somerset. They talked about the school and the busy preparations for the Christmas concert, which was always well attended by the parents and other relatives and friends of the girls and teachers and by various dignitaries of Bath. They talked about his sisters and their husbands and children. They talked about the park surrounding them, barren now in the late autumn but still picturesque and peaceful. And they did indeed have it almost to themselves. They pa.s.sed one rather noisy party of eight, but it was close to the gates, and those people were on their way out.

This was the way a friendship should end, Susanna thought, if it must end at all. They were placid and cheerful and in perfect accord with each other. Gone were the inappropriate and unexpected pa.s.sion of their last afternoon at Barclay Court and the embarra.s.sment of his attempt at atonement last evening. Today they talked and laughed, enjoying each otheras company and the rare gift of a perfect November day.

And this was how she would remember their relationship, she resolved. There would be no more tears, only pleasant memories. For this was how they had been together during the summer with the exception of the first and last days.

aAh, the maze,a he said as they climbed a steep path toward a straight, high hedge to one side of it. aI knew there was one in here somewhere. Shall we see if we can lose ourselves in it?a aPerhaps forever?a she said. aWhat if we can find our way neither to the center nor back out, but are doomed to wander in aimless circles for the rest of our days?a aIt sounds rather like real life, does it not?a he said.

They both laughed.

aBut at least,a he added, awe will be lost together.a aA definite consolation,a she agreed, and they laughed again.

But it was, of course, impossible to remain determinedly cheerful for a whole afternoon. There was a pang of something in the thought that they would not in reality remain lost together within the maze forever. They would find their way in and their way out and complete their walk.

And then the end would come.

He took her hand in his when they entered the maze. Though they both wore gloves, she could feel the heat and the strength of his fingers and remembered how he had laced them with hers while they walked along the village street during the a.s.sembly.

They took numerous wrong turns and had to retrace their steps in order to try a different direction. But eventually, after a great deal of conflicting opinions and laughter, they found their way to the center of the maze, where a couple of wooden seats awaited them and offered repose.

aI suppose,a he said after she had seated herself and he took his place beside her, awe ought to have come armed with a mountain of handkerchiefs to drop at strategic intervals along the way. Do you know the way out?a aNo.a She laughed.

aWe must be thankful, I suppose,a he said, taking her hand in his again, athat there is no seven-headed monster or its like awaiting us here.a In the silence at the middle of the maze with Sydney Gardens stretching beyond it, it was very easy to forget the world outside, the inevitable pa.s.sing of time, the ephemeral nature of the friendship between a man and a woman. It was very easy to believe in the perfection of the moment.

They must have sat for all of five minutesa"perhaps tena"without speaking. But sometimes, as they had discovered during the summer, conversation was unnecessary. Communication was made at an altogether deeper level.

Her shoulder, Susanna realized after a while, was leaning against his. Their outer thighs were lightly touching. And somehowa"she could not remember its happeninga"her right glove lay in her lap and his left glove in his, and their bare hands were clasped warmly together.

She heard him draw a deep breath at last and release it slowly.

aI wish I had insisted upon being less protected when I was a boy,a he said. aCould I have insisted, I wonder? Did I have that power? I wish I had at least tried to know you better. I knew your father but not you. If I had known you, if I had insisted upon knowing what was going on in my home and neighborhood even while I was away at school, perhaps I could have been there for you when your father died. Though I do not suppose I could have offered much by way of comfort.a No, especially not him.

aAll people must suffer bereavements,a she said, aeven children. I managed.a aSusanna.a He pulled off his other glove with his teeth, transferred her hand from his left hand to his right, and set his left arm about her shoulders. aI spoke with Theo Markham while I was at home. I know about your father.a She almost broke free of him and jumped to her feet. She remained very still instead. What else had Theodore Markham told him?

aI do not believe it was a mortal sin,a she said quickly. aI do not care what the church has to say on the question or how much it forbids Christian burial to those who take their own life. It would be a very unfair and uncompa.s.sionate G.o.d who would condemn forever a man who was driven to ending his own life by people who can live on and repent and redeem themselves. If that were what G.o.d is like, I would be a determined atheist.a aYou believe that someone else drove him into doing it, then?a he asked.

She waited for him to say more, but he did not.

aWho knows?a she said. aHe kept his secrets both before and after his death. It does not matter any longer, does it? He has found his peace. At least, I hope he has.a Though there were times even now she was an adult when she knew she had still not forgiven him for choosing peace over her.

aI am so terribly sorry,a he said. aI liked him. He used to do things with me and Theo. I cannot even imagine how you must have suffered at his loss.a He could not know, of course, the pang his words had caused her. She had always believed that her father would have preferred a son to a daughter. He had never been actively unkind to her. Indeed, he had always shown her unfailing affection whenever they were together. But he had very rarely offered to do things with her.

The thought flashed suddenly through her mind that perhaps it was an unconscious memory of his neglect that had helped her to say no last evening. She knew very well what it was like not to have the fully committed love of a man she adoreda"and a man upon whom she was dependent and to whom she owed allegiance and obedience.

aYou do not need to imagine it,a she said as he brought her hand up to his lips and then held the back of it against his cheek. aYou do not need to bear other peopleas burdens. Only the person concerned can do that. I bore my own burden, and I am still here. I have surviveda"and rather well, I believe.a He closed his eyes and bowed his head, their clasped hands back on her lap, his other arm still hugging her close to him.

aWhy did you run away?a he asked.

aThey would not let me see him,a she said, aand they were going to bury him outside the churchyard. They did not know what to do with me. I was a burden to them. I did not belong to them, after alla"or to anyone else for that matter. They were going to send me away. I preferred to go without waiting. I preferred to have some control over my own fate.a aWhat makes you believe,a he asked her, athat they would have turned you away, that they saw you as a burden?a aI heard Lady Markham say so,a she said. aI did not mishear and I did not misunderstand. A burden is simply thata"an unwanted load. And that is what she called me. She said I could not stay there.a aAnd yet,a he said, athey searched and searched for you long after you had vanished.a aIs that what Theodore told you?a she asked him.

aTheo was away at school,a he said, aas I was. It was Lady Markham herself who told me, and Edith. This morning.a She stiffened and then relaxed against him again, setting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

aAh,a she said. aYou did see them, then. Or they saw you. Did you tell them where I live?a aNo,a he said. aIt was not my secret to divulgea"if it is a secret.a aI do not wish to see them,a she said.

aWere they not kind to you at all, then?a he asked.

aThey were very kind,a she said. aPerhaps too kind. I made the mistake of believing that I belonged to them. Sometimes when Edith would climb onto her motheras lap, I would climb up there tooa"and she would never turn me away no matter how strange she must have thought it. Edith was as dear to me as any sister could have been. Sometimes children do not realize by how fragile a thread their security hangs. Perhaps it is as well they do nota"most of them grow up before the thread can be broken. But I donat want to talk about this any longer. I wanted simply to enjoy the afternoon.a aI am sorry,a he said with a sigh. aI really am sorry.a They lapsed into silence for a while and she thought how comforting a manas arm could be about her shoulders and his broad shoulder beneath her cheek and his hand clasping hers. She could get used to such comfort, such dependence. How lovely it would feel to be able to transfer all oneas burdens onto a manas capable shoulders and curl into the safety of his protection.

And how easy it was to allow oneas mind to slip into fiction and to imagine that there was something desirable about giving up oneas autonomy, oneas very self.

As if there were such a thing as happily-ever-after and no more effort to make in life.

She turned her face against his shoulder and wished life were as simple as a young girlas dreamsa"a young girl before the age of twelve and the suicide of her father.

His hand left hers and undid the ribbons beneath her chin. She did not lift her face as he drew her bonnet off and set it down on the seat beside her. And then his hand came beneath her chin, cupping it in the hollow between his thumb and forefinger, and lifting her face until their eyes met.

aSusanna,a he murmured. aAh, my sweet, strong Susanna.a She felt anything but strong. Her lips were trembling when his own covered them, warm, parted, wonderfully comfortinga"and strangely familiar, as if she were somehow coming home. She leaned into him, her one hand spreading over his chest, her other arm twining about his neck to draw him closer. She opened her mouth and felt all the heat and strength of hima"all the essence of hima"as his tongue came inside.