My Mad Fat Diary 1930 AU Fan Fiction Series @mmfd1930au-blog - Tumblr Blog

Chapter 14 - "Beginning of the Next"

Gone.

Just like that.

Her heart had been full to bursting and she let everything spill out in front of him. Now she felt . . . not exactly empty . . . more hungry. She wanted to stuff herself back up; she felt deflated, incomplete.

He’d taken a piece of her with him, along with all the light in the sky. The sun was setting as she watched Arnie drive him away in the car, and by the time she turned and walked up the stairs to her room, the darkness had overtaken. Whatever else she dreaded about life, Rae had never feared the dark before, and she was determined that she wouldn’t let herself start now.

Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had time to think about what his going would feel like. What it would mean to not have him down the hall and up the stairs. Or in the garden. Or waiting at table. He was truly out of reach and her palms itched, knowing they couldn’t touch him.

Rae felt proprietary over Finn in a way that she never had about anyone else. She didn't understand it, nor did she like it. In her core, she didn’t believe that people belonged to other people, but she was beginning to believe that sometimes people belonged together. She was afraid to believe in anything like fate, because maybe that meant she deserved to be sent away. Could being sent away have been a cosmic preparation to meet Finn? Or was life utterly chaotic, and if you found someone you loved, you should hang onto them with all your might, because they might float away if you didn't?

Now that he was gone home, she had nothing to hang onto. She was aimless and empty, like she didn’t know he was her direction and what filled her heart.

She couldn’t believe they had actually said the words out loud. This was where so many books end, protagonists joined in an embrace, looking forward to their long and happy future. But she and Finn didn’t have a happy future guaranteed for them. True, no one had a guarantee, but many people didn’t have this gulf between them. And on top of everything, Finn was gone. He had embraced her, told her again that he loved her, taken his small case, and left. It was so strange, she’d been thrilled by those three words, I and you, joined by love, but now she was deep in despair. In the book that Finn had taken with him for his journey, an old man says that it is impossible to love and to part. She didn’t know when she’d see him again, and she couldn’t just spend all of that time pining away. She’d go mad again, or become madder still.

Sitting at her desk, she tugged on a strand of hair, agitated. She needed something to occupy her mind. She started opening desk drawers, and saw the letters she’d received only that morning. It seemed like a month ago. She took the card Henry had included, and turned it over in her hand. She’d go to the Galleries tomorrow, take her sketchbook, and hope she could lose herself in drawing.

Then she glanced over and saw Archie’s letter. She had to respond now. Her answer had always been no, from the moment he had suggested their union, but it had been soft and small at first. But that no had grown larger and more solid, and now it would never be anything but no. She pulled a sheet of paper out of her center desk drawer.

Taking up her pen, she tapped the end on her bottom lip, searching for a way to begin. Dear Archie, was a good place. They were friends, after all. She liked him, in spite of him putting her in this predicament. But he wasn’t now, nor would he ever be, her dearest.

Allow me to apologize for not replying to you sooner. I have spent a lot of time considering your offer, vague as it is, but after giving it every consideration, I find still cannot accept it.

I very much hope we can remain as friends.

Best wishes,

Rachel Earl

It was short. Too short? It wasn’t sweet, but she didn’t feel sweet about Archie or this situation. He’d likely want to argue further, try to wear her down, but she felt steadfast in a decision for the first time in her life. Even if she could never be with Finn, she wouldn’t use Archie as a fallback position. As she pondered these thoughts, something nagged at the back of her brain, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It wasn’t regret; more like something was askew, a picture frame crooked on the wall of her mind, but she couldn’t see which one needed straightening.

Then, she wrote a short letter to Henry thanking him for the course information and letter of introduction to his professor. She informed him that he would likely be receiving correspondence addressed to her, and that she’d be happy to meet him at the museum to discuss the matter.

Intent on not wasting anymore time, she folded the notes and popped them into envelopes, addressed and stamped them, and then opened her door to take it down to Mr. Gill to add to the letters for the morning post. Joan stood in the hallway and jumped at the sound, shoved a book into her apron pocket, and lamely flicked the feather duster over a sconce.

Rae was surprised to see her there, and raised an eyebrow. “Little late for dusting, isn’t it?”

“My work is never done, Miss.” Joan sighed gratuitously.

“It’s a wonder you haven’t fainted dead away,” Rae smirked. Joan was a good egg; Rae had felt an unspoken kinship to her ever since that day she’d disappeared, and it was discovered she’d been reading the whole time.

Joan paused, seemingly unsure whether to be offended or to laugh. Just as she was about to speak, Rae asked, “Read anything good lately?”

Now Joan froze. When she didn’t reply, Rae continued, flustered. “It’s just, I know how much you like to read. Sorry, you can carry on; didn’t mean to interrupt your work.” Rae swept past her, down the hall, and glanced back at Joan, wondering if that was fear behind the young maid’s eyes.

When Rae reached the top of the stairs, Joan replied. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon, miss.”

It was Rae’s turn to freeze. Why did Joan say that? She felt she had to conceal, cover, hide. “Who? Oh, Finn? Yes, his grandmother is rather ill, I believe? I do hope she’ll pull through.” The words floated out of her like they were spoken by a stranger. She glanced back at Joan, who was wearing a forlorn expression. Turning away, Rae marched down the stairs.

* * *

After a long and restless night, the morning finally dawned. Rae awoke and groaned as the light assaulted her eyes. She had just propped herself up on her elbows when Izzy rapped on the door before coming in.

“Morning, miss,” she said, keeping her head down as she put the tray on Rae’s desk.

“Morning, Izzy.”

The young maid didn’t respond, which was strange. Rae had grown used to the flighty chatter Izzy would spout while Rae nibbled her breakfast and Izzy darted around the room, choosing an outfit and planning a style for her long dark hair. The silence between them felt awkward and Rae could not account for it.

“Are you feeling well, Izzy?”

“Yes, miss. Miss Rae, I mean. Sorry.” Izzy opened Rae’s wardrobe and stared blankly in at the dresses hung up inside. “Is this dress alrigh’ for today, Miss Rae?” Izzy held up a dark green cotton frock with pleats at the neck. Rae nodded. “I’ll come back an’ fix your hair up in a bit,” Izzy sighed. Usually she waited around until Rae was through with breakfast, but today Izzy floated away in a cloud of sadness.

When she was alone, Rae was reminded that she’d promised to write Finn every day, so she took bite of her croissant and then picked up her pen and opened her drawer to get a page of writing paper. On the right side of the drawer, Rae saw the stack of photographs they had printed the other day. One of the pictures of Finn was on top, she traced her finger along the curve of his jaw, and then opened her lower drawer, taking her journal out from underneath the scarf she’d used to hide it, unclasped it, and slipped the photo in between the pages. Looking back at the photos, she now saw her face was on the top of the pile. He had printed it, after all. She smiled, feeling sheepish.

Turning back to the page, she was stymied. What could she say? What if his mum opened it and read it? How could she tell him in words how much she missed him already, how she couldn’t fathom how much more she would miss him if he were gone a week or more, and how very, very much she hoped that everything would be alright?

Dearest Finn,

Before she realized what she was doing and could talk herself out of it, she drew a hand, then another, a pair of hands cupped next to each other. They were his hands; she’d memorized them. She wondered if he’d recognize them. Then, she drew a heart nestled in his palms. It was not an anatomically correct organ, but she hoped he’d understand. He had her heart. She closed the letter with Yours, Rae. Because she was.

She carefully folded the paper around the photo of her in profile, and gently slid them into an envelope, addressing it with a feather touch. She clasped it to her heart, wrinkling the edge slightly before slipping it into her portfolio. This message she would need to mail on her own, away from prying eyes.

* * *

After breakfast, Rae made her way downstairs. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the light that filtered through the leaded glass panels of the front door, shapes dancing on the pattern of the hall carpet. Her eyes flitted to the marble-topped telephone stand, to the heavy wooden doors of the library which were slightly ajar, and then followed along the brocade wallpaper covered with framed prints to the door of her mother’s study. The door to the kitchen, bare wood denoting it as the entrance to a simpler world, was across the hall, and that was the world to which Rae was drawn. There was no pull to see her mother, to ask her what her day was like and if she could spare an hour to lunch with her. She knew the answer was and always would be that Lillian was too busy. She could easily spare fifteen minutes to dash up to the nursery to see Violet after she’d worked through lunch with her second tray of the day. Much harder to tear herself away from correspondence and account books to sit awkwardly across from her eldest daughter and struggle for conversation. Rae didn’t imagine the disdain she felt from her mother; she was sure of it.

As she made her way down the hall, she paused for the briefest of seconds outside the study door, but continued down the stairs to the kitchen.

She ducked her head as she rounded the turn in the stairs and heard the low tutting of Mrs. Dewhurst. “Miss Rachel, what’re you doin’ down ‘ere? Thought I’d finally dissuaded you!”

A smile crept into Rae’s features. “Can’t keep me away, Mrs. D. I was hoping to make some hand pies, like the ones I made when I was little?”

Mrs. Dewhurst smiled, but swatted her hands through the air, “Oh, go away wi’ you! You prob’ly couldn’t even handle a rolling pin anymore; it’s been that many years.”

Rae feigned shock. “Oh, really? Well, any time you’d like to challenge me, just let me know.”

Mrs. Dewhurst chuckled and started to turn back to her preparations for lunch. A shadow seemed to fall on the cook’s sunny mood, as she asked, “Did you ‘ear about poor Finn’s gran? The lad was so broken up abou’ it!”

Rae felt a pang in her chest. Finn. She hadn’t forgotten him, but for a moment he wasn’t at the very front of her mind. Now he strode forward from the back of her brain at the mention of his name. “Yes, I heard. It’s terrible news. I hope he makes it to her in time. I hope they get to spend some time together before . . .” Her voice faltered. She didn’t want to say before what.

Mrs. Dewhurst came to Rae’s side and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. “‘Ey now, don’t get too upset. Anyone would think it were your gran . . .” Mrs. Dewhurst didn’t finish her thought, apparently not keen to state the inevitable out loud either. “‘Ere, let’s ‘ave a seat.” She gestured to the little sitting area by the fire. When they were both settled in, the cook glanced around the kitchen and said, in a low voice, “We—well, I’ve—noticed how close the two of ya are gettin', Rachel.” She took a breath and seemed to gather her thoughts. “He’s . . . he’s a good lad, and you're a lovely lass, but ya know . . . nothin' can come of it."

Rae nodded solemnly, her heart heavy. She wished she were the type able to conceal her feelings. She felt embarrassed at being caught out. But she could also hear the tenderness in Mrs. Dewhurst’s voice. Rae knew she was only showing her she cared about her and didn’t want her to get hurt.

Rae took a deep breath and said, “I know. I know. It's just . . ." she walked over to the window that looked out into the garden. ". . . I've never felt what I feel when I'm with him. It’s like . . . I was meant to know him. It seems strange that a little thing like who our parents happen to be should make it impossible for us to be friends or . . . anything at all.”

She looked over her shoulder at the old woman, and saw Mrs. Dewhurst’s eyes shining. She stood up and rushed to the counter, stumbling a little on her way. Rae rushed to support her.

“I’m alrigh’, don’t fret about me, dear. I just need to be gettin’ on wi’ me work.” She placed both hands on the edge of the wooden counter, steadying herself. Rae nodded, even thought Mrs. Dewhurst couldn’t see her with her back turned. Rae started to walk over to the door to the garden; she’d really come down to ask Arnie for a ride to the museum. As her hand touched the doorknob, Rae heard Mrs. Dewhurst’s voice, low and throaty, as though she were fighting back tears, say her name. It wasn’t her name so much as a plea, so she stayed. She waited, finally whispering, “Yes?”

“Don’t listen to a daft ol’ cow like me. You should do what makes you ‘appy. You deserve to be ‘appy, after all you’ve been through.”

Rae felt like one of the statues she was hoping to sketch, frozen in time. Her mind raced as her body ran from hot to cold in a matter of seconds. “I—I haven’t been through anything so very terrible . . . ” The unspoken question . . . have I? seemed to hang in the air after her words.

Rae heard Mrs. Dewhurst’s footsteps as she crossed over to her. She thought that if she turned around to face her, the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes would surely spill.

“Please, have another seat. I should—well, truth be told, I prob’ly shouldn’t, but . . .”

Rae slowly sank into the upholstered settee opposite Mrs. Dewhurst, filled with curiosity.

“I know you don’t know this, but I’m not actually Mrs. Dewhurst.”

Rae looked up, bewildered, feeling thrown off balance herself.

“I mean, I’m meself, no mistakin’ that, but I never actually married. The “missus” is a term o’ respect down here. Means you’ve been workin’ a good long time, an’ know your trade.” Her voice had begun to waver, so she paused to steady it.

Rae tipped her head up to glance at Mrs. Dewhurst. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, there’s not much time for romance when you’ve got breakfast lunch tea dinner an’ a tray of puddings to be doin’ every day, wi’ extra refreshments on Sunday. No time for rest, let alone flirtations an’ the like.” She managed a wry smile, like she was remembering something that contradicted what she just said. “Though there might ‘ave been a moment or two. When things seemed . . . possible. Or, maybe, jus’ not IM-possible.”

Rae smiled, thinking of Mrs. Dewhurst as a young woman meeting a young man at the end of a dark hallway or in a corner of the garden.

“There was a young man once . . . but, then, there always is. I ‘ad so much ‘ope, but it just couldn’t be. Now, I tried to tell ya, well, warn ya, really . . . but now I’ll tell you somethin’ else.” The old woman took a deep breath and drew herself up straight in her chair. “I’ve watched you grow from a wee lass, Rachel Earl. I’ve known you from a babe in arms, an’ I’ve seen what goes on. I know more than you do abou’ what . . .” She shook her head. “If—“ She faltered, but only for a moment. “If your mother had treated you better, shown you more compassion, more love, I'd be inclined to tell you to do your duty. To forget about the feelin’ that you get when you see ‘im in the hall. But she hasn't done her duty, not properly. So, you do what you think is best . . . for YOU, Rachel Earl. I reckon you’re the only person you owe anythin’ to.”

With that extraordinary statement, Mrs. Dewhurst put her hand on her knee, sighed, and pushed herself up to stand. As she crossed back to the stove, a journey she must have made a hundred thousand times, she dropped her hand onto Rae’s shoulder, squeezing it for a second, before returning to work.

Rae drew a deep breath in through her nose and held it for a count of ten before she sighed and said, “Thank you, Miss Dewhurst.” She didn’t see, couldn’t, as she was walking through the door, but the cook’s hand sprang to her heart hearing the name of her youth.

* * *

In the garden, Rae felt a little lost. Moments ago, Mrs. Dewhurst had confirmed her fears by saying nothing could ever happen. Her heart felt clenched, like a hundred little fissures were cracking its surface, but hadn’t broken. But then, moments later, she was blindsided with hope. With this strange permission that she hadn’t known she craved until she had it.

Rae was clouded by her thoughts and stumbled against a wrought iron bench, tottering for a second until she gained her balance.

“Y’alrigh’ there, Miss Rae?” Arnie called to her from the garage, coming out to see if she needed assistance.

“Yes, yes. Perfectly sound, Arnie!” She turned and walked over to him, forcing a smile onto her face. “Actually, it’s you I’ve come to see. Would it be possible for you to drive me to the British Museum today?”

Arnie was polishing a brass fitting in his hand with a soft cloth. He looked down at his coveralls. “Well, I’d hoped to put in a couple hours gettin’ things in tip-top condition, bu’ I could change and take ya in. It’s a distraction I’m after, and a drive’s as good as anythin’ for distractin’ me.”

“A distraction?”

“Jus’ don’t wanna be thinkin’ too hard abou’ Finn an’ his gran, like. When he first got ‘ere (I were undergardener then, but we’ve always shared a room) . . . she’s all he’d talk abou’. Then, one day, after a month or so, he jus’ clams up abou’ her, says he can’t talk abou’ her no more, or it’ll drive ‘im spare. An’ he didn’t. I’d forgotten all abou’ it, all about ‘er, until last night when Mr. Gill says I need to drive Finn to the station so’s he can go home an’ see ‘er. One las’ time.” Arnie sighed.

Rae nodded gravely in response. With every mention of Finn, it was like an ocean of tears lapping at the back of her eyes, and high tide was bound to come.

Arnie popped the brass gasket onto at tray of polished hardware and furrowed his brow. “Y’know, it’s funny. All he talks abou’ these days is you.”

Rae felt her eyes pop out of their sockets. Luckily, Arnie’s head was still down.

“Mainly in ’is sleep, mind you,” he lifted his head, raising one eyebrow.

Her face felt hot and she knew that everyone must know. “I—I shouldn’t have . . .”

Arnie’s face softened. “What? Ya’ve done nothin’.” He waited for her to look at him properly and said, “I were only jokin’. He talks abou’ the pictures, too.”

Rae exhaled a long breath to another ten count in her head.

“What time did ya wanna be at the museum?” Arnie asked, his voice softer, like he was worried his words earlier had been too harsh.

“Um, perhaps noon? If that’s okay.”

“I’m at your service, Miss Rae, but even if I weren’t, that’d be fine. See ya then, then.” He doffed his cap at her and she wandered back to her room to gather her thoughts, as well as her things for the museum.

* * *

The ride to the museum was quiet. This time, Rae had allowed Arnie to open the back door for her and she sat in the back, silently filled with an apprehension that Arnie would ask her about Finn and why he talked about her. Not only did she not know what to say, she didn’t know what Finn would want her to say. They had seemed to tacitly agree that secrecy and discretion was necessary, but he wasn’t here with all of these people as much as telling her they knew everything. It made her want to laugh, because they acted like they knew something she didn’t even know herself. Yes, they had spoken the word out loud to one another, but that didn’t mean Finn didn’t regret it, or that something at home hadn’t changed his mind. She couldn’t be sure how he would feel when they saw each other again. Whenever that might be.

When Arnie pulled up outside the museum, she didn’t make any pleasantries, just sprang out of back of the car and tossed, “Thanks for the ride, I’ll find my own way back” over her shoulder, not giving Arnie a chance to respond before she shut the door and walked quickly through the gates.

Inside, she was directed to the Galleries of Sculpture and presented the card Henry’s professor had provided in his letter. The guard nodded at her to enter. Entering the enormous room was like stepping into a cathedral; it seemed almost religious. The skylight above flooded the center of the room with the clean white light of the midday summer sun, and the marble and granite statues gleamed at her in rows. Some artists had brought easels with them, and were standing, but there were also a few benches provided, and Rae gravitated to one of these.

She glanced around at the artists, most of whom were wearing canvas smocks to keep their clothes neat and clean and berets to keep the hair out of their eyes. Rae only had her sketchbook and a few pencils and drawing tools; she felt underprepared and inadequate. She decided to take a quiet turn about the gallery, partially to inspect the statues and find one she wished to sketch, but also to quietly take a peek at the work of the others, to see if she was hopelessly out of her depth.

To her surprise, there was a wide range of talent, not to mention different styles. Rae had always tended to draw things realistically, possibly even with too much honesty, wanting to present each subject as it really was. But some of these drawings she inspected bore little resemblance to the finely chiseled statues in the room, though she got the sense that the lines they had chosen did convey the feeling of the statues. Rae realized, not for the first time, that she had a lot to learn.

She returned to her bench and decided that the Greek statue in front of her, of a young man holding a discus, was as good as any, and she began to sketch. Almost immediately, she slipped into that state she could never describe to anyone else, because it was like she was operating on another frequency to the rest of the world. Time seemed to both stand still and slip away, because when she finally came to, she was disoriented and shocked that two hours had flown by. It had seemed like only a few moments. She blinked her eyes to clear them and looked at her drawing. She’d only focused on tiny sections while she was drawing, so now she could take in the whole picture. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but . . .

“Looks alright, but that face is a bit off,” spoke a jovial voice from over her shoulder. “Well, it’s a fine face, but it isn’t the one on the statue.”

Rae turned around to find Henry smiling at her through his beard.

“Henry! What a nice surprise!” She started to stand up, but he motioned for her to keep her seat.

“I got your letter in the morning post, and as I was coming in anyway to meet with my professor, I thought I’d see if you were here. How have you been?”

“Very well, thank you. How’s your fiancée? Or do you prefer betrothed?”

His smile widened at her joking. “She’s very well, too. We’re thinking of getting married at Michaelmas.”

“Lovely!” Rae looked back at her sketch, at the face. Of course. It was Finn. She shook her head, flipped the sketchbook cover over the drawing, and started to pack up.

“Leaving?” Henry asked.

“Well, I’m done for now,” Rae said, uncertain.

“Thirsty? We could share a pot of tea downstairs.”

She found she was, and nodded. “Yes, that sounds . . . yes.”

Downstairs in the tea room, Henry pulled out a chair for Rae and they sat facing each other at a small table.

“So, what’s going on, Rae-Rachel?”

Rae looked at her hands, and picked at a cuticle for a moment. “What do you mean?” she asked, knowing very well what he meant.

“Well, your letter was mostly expected, that you’d be coming to the gallery to sketch today, that you were thinking about the program at Camberwell . . . but what’s this about you might be getting letters sent to my address?”

Rae sighed. “If it’s a problem, let me know. It’s . . . just . . . you were the only person I could think of that might understand, might be fine if I couldn’t tell you why.” She picked up a spoon and twirled it nervously between her fingers.

“Can you tell me why?” Henry asked, his voice low and gentle; he seemed to understand this was difficult for Rae.

She raised her head and met his gaze, which she had been avoiding. “I think I can. I can’t account for it, but I think I can trust you.” After a deep breath, she told him, if not everything, everything he needed to know. That she and Finn were good friends (her significant glance probably revealed they might be more), that his grandmother was ill and that she wanted to write to him to make him feel better, but he couldn’t write back without fearing discovery and possibly much worse.

Henry nodded, humming thoughtfully as he twisted the side of his mustache. “Yes. You know—well, of course you don’t—my father was a day laborer. My mum took in washing. I was a weedy lad growing up, too slight to do much good on a farm or a building site, so I was sent to school. I was good at learning, and got a scholarship to Oxford. That’s how I met Sarah. She was in St. Hilda’s; I was in St. John’s. We met at the Ashmolean one rainy Saturday afternoon.” He smiled at the memory. “Anyway, she and her family are rather posh. She’s taking a step down in the world to be with me. And though I feel the weight of that, the fear that she’ll regret it . . . well. Sometimes you just know, you know?”

Just as he finished his speech, the waitress arrived at their table with a tray of tea things. By the time they’d gotten everything set out and the tea poured and fixed, Henry was caught by surprise when Rae replied, “I do.”

* * *

Her walk home from the museum had been invigorating at the start. Between Mrs. Dewhurst and Henry and even Arnie . . . maybe she was getting a nod from the universe. But, the question remained, to what? What options did she and Finn have?

The hope she felt at the start of her walk slowly swung closer to despair by the time she got home, and when she came in the front door and her mother was standing in the hall, the last glow of hope faded at once. Here was the only person whose approval mattered, and she would never get it.

“Ah, Rachel, there you are! I wanted to speak with you.” Lillian held her hand out to have Rae join her in her study.

Rae ducked down to lean her portfolio against the telephone stand, then followed her mother.

“Please have a seat.” Her mother seemed . . . pleased? Not angry, at any rate.

Rae wore an expectant smile. “What’s this about?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual.

“We’ve been invited to Scotland for a house party,” Lillian said, allowing herself a smile, as well.

“Oh! Well, that’s . . . nice. I hope you’ll have a nice time.” Rae guessed that her mother wanted her to stay behind and keep the house open.

“No, Rachel, you’re coming, too. In fact, it’s because of you we’ve been included in the party. Mrs. Harris has invited our entire household!”

Rae’s eyes felt like they might drop out of her head and roll across the carpet. She’d just sent Archie her rejection; she couldn’t spend two weeks in the Highlands with him!

True to form, Lillian didn’t notice Rae’s discomfort and carried on. “Normally, I don’t like to be away from the business for such a stretch, but Mrs. Harris says there is room for Violet and her nursemaid, and we can even bring a few of the servants. Karim could use a break, and Hassan always likes a bit of sport. It’s really rather perfect, don’t you think?”

Rae nodded without thinking, then said, “But, mother, I just . . . started . . . a course of study at the British Museum! I’d hate to miss out on something.” It was a lie, but a plausible one.

“Rachel, this is a wonderful opportunity, and an honor for our family to be asked. The Harrises are a family of influence, and anyway, you are such good friends with Archie and Callie . . . I thought you’d jump at the chance?”

“No, I mean, yes. It sounds lovely, Mother.” Her mind raced for a moment, trying to fashion a solution. “If I might be allowed to go once more to the museum, to explain to the . . . instructor? When are we expected to arrive?”

“Well, we could leave anytime; their summer house is open for the season. I had planned for you to go up tomorrow on the noon train, and Karim and I would finish up some work and bring Violet in a few days. I suppose Hassan will work to his own timetable, as usual.” Lillian was distracted by thoughts of her stepson for a moment, then looked at Rae with a skeptical eye. “I don’t like the idea of classes; what is the subject?”

“It’s just a drawing class, new techniques and that sort of thing.” Rae continued to lie, feeling panic rise within her. She had to write Finn again. She had to let him know where they would be, and why she wouldn’t be able to answer anything from his letters for a bit. And Archie . . . had he already received her letter to him? A thought occurred. “What if I go up the day after tomorrow? I’ll go to the class tomorrow, and explain I have to postpone my studies.”

Lillian furrowed her brow. “Well, I suppose. I suppose that could work, and wouldn’t look too odd. Though I did promise Mrs. Harris . . .”

“Thank you, Mother.” Rae was already scheming how to stay behind for longer, when Lillian decreed, “Nothing else must detain you, though. This is an important invitation, and Mrs. Harris will be expecting you.”

Rae nodded, and left her mother’s study to pick up her portfolio. It had never occurred to her that she wouldn’t be here to get Finn’s letters. That she would be asked to a summer house . . . in Scotland . . . to spend two weeks with Archie and his family? This was going to be torture.

* * *

The next day, she went back to the museum, and explained to Henry that she was going away. “Could you keep any letters for me, till I get back? I’m sorry; this came up so suddenly.”

Henry nodded sympathetically, and said, “It’s not a problem, Rae. Only . . . did you want the one I got this morning?” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, a sly grin on his face.

Rae looked between him and it, disbelievingly. “Is that . . . from him?”

“Well, the postmark is from Stamford. You know anyone else in that part of the world?” He held it out to her. She took it and turned it over in her hands, but didn’t open it. She wanted to wait until she was home. Or maybe until the walk home. Definitely until she left the museum.

“Rae-Rachel,” Henry ventured.

“You can call me Rachel, you know,” she said with a smile. “Or just Rae.”

“I know, but I’m fond of my nickname for you.” He smiled back, but then his face assumed a serious expression. “I’m happy that you’re happy, but . . . think about the Camberwell application. No man, nor woman neither, can live by love alone. It’s a wonderful thing; just think about what else will fill your life.” He took a breath. “If you let romantic love consume you, it will.”

Rae nodded. She couldn’t trust love absolutely, in any case. And she wanted something to distract her. The art program application was actually the perfect thing. Even if she wasn’t accepted, which she didn’t expect she would be, it would be something to fill her time, occupy her mind. Though . . . she could still read his letter, and write a response. And think of him in gaps, when she caught her breath, when she could no longer stand it and just had to think about him.

Dear My dearest Rae,

I’m writing this by candlelight with a bad pen, and the only people I write to are my mum and my brother, so please forgive me if this is terrible.

I arrived safe and Nan is still with us. She’s always been strong, and I think it’s strength that’s kept her here until she could see me. You remind me of her in some ways, though that might sound odd. I see you having a pillar of strength inside, too. You must have, to trust in anything at all, after all that’s happened to you. I hope you can trust in me.

I hate that I had to leave just as we were—starting things, I suppose? I hate that life can give you something wonderful and then make you leave it behind. I hate that I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.

I know it’s not the same, but I think I understand a little of how you felt returning home after a long time away. I don’t quite fit here anymore. Everything looks the same, but I’m not the same, you know? Now I wonder if the only place I fit is when I’m with you. (Sappy clap-trap, I know. Probably heard that at some picture or other.)

Words can’t express what I feel, so I won’t waste anymore.

Love,

Finn

Rae blushed furiously, both at his perfect letter, and her inability to write a single meaningful syllable to him in her initial correspondence. She slipped his letter into her portfolio, and wished she hadn’t already mailed the drawing to him.

* * * * *

Two days later, Rae was on a train bound for Inverness, filled with apprehension.

She’d prolonged this journey for as long as she could, but her mother was adamant that she join Archie and Chloe in Scotland. “You’ve never been to a house-party, Rachel. It will be good for you to socialize with young people, make more friends and acquaintances, broaden your horizons.” Lillian seemed to say this last sentiment with an odd emphasis, like she felt Rae had been narrowing her horizons somehow.

Rae had managed to delay her going an extra day, but now she found herself on a sleeper car on her way to Archie’s family home near Beauly Firth. She never received a reply from Archie, and was tying herself up in knots, wondering if he’d gotten the letter.

This anxiety compounded with her missing Finn, and she once again failed to get any decent sleep, alone and awake at three in the morning, hurtling through the night toward an unknown fate. Her mother and Karim were planning to come up in a few days, but couldn’t accompany Rae. Hassan was already in residence, and Callie had written, apparently the day he arrived, imploring Rae to come and join them, the subtext being that she didn’t like to be alone with him.

Izzy was traveling with her, though she had her own seat in Third Class. Rae had asked Izzy to sit in her sleeping compartment, but Izzy seemed to want to sit by herself, which Rae thought odd. She was probably upset at being separated from Arnie. He was not a member of the party, as they weren’t driving up, nor would they be in possession of a motor on their trip. Rae had given them a moment alone when Arnie dropped them at the station, going to a newsstand, pretending to take her time choosing something to read on the journey. When she’d returned, the two of them sprang apart out of an embrace and Rae hoped her face hadn’t betrayed that she’d seen them.

As she stared up at the polished wood ceiling, Rae tried to think positively about this trip, not dwell on the fact that Archie would likely be angry with her, which would make his mother upset with her. Callie might even join in. And Hassan was never nice to her. She could use Izzy’s friendship just now, but she wondered if she still had it.

She decided to cheer herself up and read Finn’s letter again. She switched on the dim light bolted to the compartment wall, and reached for her portfolio.

Rae gingerly took slid it out of the envelope and unfolded it with the utmost care. She read over his words, closing her eyes and shaking her head at the perfection of them. She couldn’t keep responding with drawings, so she picked her pen and took a deep breath.

My dearest Finn,

You keep telling me that you’re not very good with speaking or writing, as though words somehow elude you. Yet, you still manage find the precise ones I need to hear again and again. Whoever told you that words were your enemy was wrong. I loved your letter, and I wish I were still in London to receive every word. Unfortunately, my mother insisted I come to Scotland, to Archie’s summer house, to . . . well, I’m not sure why. I think it is simply because we were invited, and it would be rude to decline such an invitation.

So, here I am, in cold, bleak Scotland, glad of my long sleeves, but wishing I could have stayed behind to wait for you and your words.

I should have actually written something in that first letter and told you, but Mrs. Dewhurst knows. About us. And Arnie suspects something, too. Of course, I had to tell Henry. So, I don’t know. Part of me wants everyone to know, because it feels so good to love and be loved. However, I know how difficult that would make life for you. And for me, too, I suppose. I don’t think anyone will betray us, but if they’ve sussed us out . . . I don’t know how much longer before everyone knows.

If that scares you, well, I’m scared, too. Though I think I’m more scared I’ll never see you again.

I hope I have even a little of the strength you see in me. I think we’ll need it before long.

Yours, with love,

Rae

Sleep eventually overtook her, and when she awoke, it was early morning, a bright sliver of clouded gray-sky light making her squint as she opened her eyes. She sat up and pulled the tiny curtain over the window all the way open. The landscape was shrouded in mist, foreboding. Rae shivered and pulled the thin blanket provided by the railway around her shoulder. It was summer, but didn’t feel like it this far north. She heard the muffled voice of the conductor walking the aisle. “Inverness! Next stop Inverness!” She stood, steadying herself against the wall until she grew accustomed to the sway of the train, then pulled the dress she’d hung up last night on over her head, smoothing the front, then ran a brush through her hair. There was a knock on her door and she reached over to pull it open. It was Izzy.

“Good mornin’, Miss Rae.”

“Morning, Izzy. Did you sleep well?”

“A little. Third class was so crowded, though, and a man tried to use my lap as a footrest in his sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! You should have come and bunked with me. It’s not a lot of space, but I wouldn’t have trampled you in the night.” Rae tried a joke.

Izzy rewarded her with a sly half smile. “Maybe on the trip back. I jus’ needed to think a bit.”

“Well, I can certainly respect that.”

After they disembarked and claimed their luggage, a porter took them to a lane filled with taxis and motors. The Harrises had sent a car, and the chauffeur leaned against the car holding a sign with MISS R. EARL on it. She approached with Izzy and the tall lad stood up to attention, helping the porter load the bags. Rae noticed him giving Izzy an appraising glance and shook her head. If only he knew.

Rae spotted a red pillar box near the station, and snuck over to slip her letter to Finn inside before they headed to Archie’s house.

The drive wasn’t terribly long, but it was terribly bumpy. Rae tried not to gasp every time they hit a rut in the road or climbed over a hill of dirt, but her nerves were already frayed from lack of sleep. She found that she and Izzy had clasped their hands together at some point, and the two of them smiled at each other through gritted teeth.

They were suitably impressed by the facade of the “summer home” which turned out, unsurprisingly, to be more of a castle. It was built high, and somewhat narrow, and rose four stories tall, seeming to grow out of the bare stone at the base. The grey carved stone walls gleamed in the early morning sun. There was a long, low wooden addition that stretched out to one side.

As they climbed to the front doors and entered, looking up at the imposing foyer, the butler informed her that breakfast was still being served in the dining room, if she cared for a bite after they deposited their luggage in their rooms. Rae suddenly realized she wouldn’t get away with having a tray sent to her room here. She would be expected to spend every meal as a member of the party. Just then, her stomach rumbled in mutiny and she sighed, knowing there was no escape. She smiled and nodded.

One of the maids showed Rae to her room. It was impressively large, more than twice the size of her room in London, with dark wood paneled walls, high ceilings, and a small window that overlooked a tangle of woods and distant mountains.

The maid took Izzy to her quarters, and Izzy said she’d be back to unpack Rae’s things once she got settled in. Rae found herself alone, hungry, chilly, and groggy, wishing she hadn’t had to come at all.

She looked longingly at the bed, sorely tempted to crawl in and sleep until noon, but she knew that would be rude. Instead, she hung up her dresses in the large wooden wardrobe, and poured water from the jug into the shallow basin to splash her face with water. Then she patted her skin dry on the rough linen towel and stared at herself in the mirror, which was spotted with age. She realized she’d been pushing a lot of her fears and anxieties down inside, to be dealt with another time. If the day of reckoning ever came . . . she found herself worrying about her worries which, on not enough sleep, was enough to make her head swim.

She knew she was better than she had been as a child. Whether she had outgrown her fears and insidious patterns, or just learned how to cope with them because there was no one who would indulge them even before she was sent away, she could not say. But what if her more serious compulsions returned, even worse than they’d been before? She couldn’t expect Finn to put up with her in that state. Her eyes welled with tears, which she wiped away roughly. She took a deep breath and counted. Counting was the thing she kept, and she didn’t know if needing numbers was helpful or harmful, but she knew they slowed her heart and cleared her head. Her stomach rumbled again, and this time she laughed at it. “Alright, I get the hint,” she murmured, and headed downstairs.

She thought she might be able to slip a scone or two into her pocket, to eat in the privacy of her room, but back in the foyer, the butler bowed deeply at her and led her to the dining room, rolling back the heavy door. She blinked against the bright light from the high windows, one of which shone directly on her face and shoulders. She tried to slide out of the sun and into the shadows, but Mrs. Harris rose and floated toward her. “Rachel! So good to see you; I’m pleased you could join us. I know Archie will be thrilled to see you.” Rae blinked at her hostess’s smile and nodded dumbly.

Mrs. Harris swept her hand out to indicate the impressive spread on the sideboard. “Feel free to fix yourself a plate; mornings are a little informal around here. Half the house hasn’t even woken up yet, I believe.” She smiled ruefully and floated over to speak to one of the maids.

Rae noticed Callie sitting with a small bowl of oats and fruit, grimly chewing. She nodded at her friend and Callie managed a weak smile in answer. “Morning, Callie,” she said softly, and stepped over to peruse the food offerings. There were eggs, bacon, sausages, kippers, toast, scones, fruit, and the oats Callie was eating. Some sort of cereal for health, Rae supposed. She salivated over the sausages, but took toast and fruit, instead.

As she went to sit with Callie, the door rolled open again, Archie and another young man burst in on the serene scene, laughing loudly. Archie stopped short when he saw Rae, and the smile fell from his face. He looked like he’d been caught stealing.

He recovered quick enough, and smiled, walking over to kiss her on the cheek. “Rachel, so glad you could join us!” Rae tried to parse his tone for anger, but he sounded pleased.

He then gestured to the young man he’d come in with, and said, “Rae, I don’t believe you’ve met my friend, George Barnstaple.” It was the young man Rae had seen at the ball, and who had argued with him him the street.

Rae was confused, but nodded her head in greeting. “Morning, Archie. Pleased to meet you, George.”

George bared his teeth in the approximation of a smile. In his eyes, Rae could detect a coolness, as if he’d appraised her and found her wanting. Rae was used to this look, and shrugged it off.

She wanted to ask Archie if he’d gotten her letter, but she surmised he must not have. She’d sent it . . . four days ago? “When did you arrive?” Rae asked, trying to keep her tone light.

“Oh, we—that is—I came straight from Cambridge after my last exam . . . three days ago?” He looked to George for confirmation who nodded tersely.

So he couldn’t have gotten her letter. They had just missed each other. Rae felt the need to sit down. She perched on a chair opposite Callie, who whispered, “You look as wonderful as I feel. Long journey?”

Rae nodded. “Suppose so. Didn’t sleep well on the train. Never can seem to sleep on a journey.” She took a tiny bite of toast, and then whispered, “How are you, Callie?”

Callie shrugged helplessly. “Same. Doomed.” She looked over her shoulder at the boys, who were piling their plates high with food and having resumed their laughter. Mrs. Harris was still in conversation with a member of staff about a dish on the sideboard. Callie’s voice dropped to a whisper again. “But I’m not even allowed to suffer my shame in solitude. Hassan’s been here for two days and keeps trying to get me alone. Only, it isn’t like it was before. Before, he used to kiss me and tell me I was irresistible. Now, he accuses me of wanting to ruin his life. Saying I planned this whole thing to trap him. Why can’t he see that I’m just as trapped? That I have no options? I’m at his mercy, and he has none.”

Rae swallowed her bite.“I don’t know, Callie. I’ve found people go to great lengths to avoid facing uncomfortable situations, especially when they’ve created them.”

Callie wrapped her arms around herself and looked over at the window, the culmination of weeks’ worth of sleepless nights evident in the shadows under her eyes. “And I don’t know what’s worse, the idea that he’ll refuse to marry me and I’m cast out of society, or that he will, and make my life a misery, anyway.”

Rae knew her friend was right. Hassan could ruin her life either way, and was probably resentful enough to try.

“I’m so sorry, Callie.” Rae reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand in sympathy.

Archie and George plonked themselves down next to the girls, and Callie withdrew her hand to pick up her spoon.

“Not feeling well, Callie?” Archie asked, taking a big bite of sausage.

Callie shook her head slightly. “My stomach’s been bothering me,” she said, taking a small bite of cereal. “Must have caught a bug or something.”

Archie just nodded, but Rae noticed George staring at Callie, and she would have sworn he looked skeptical.

“I think there’s something going around London,” Rae said, more confident than she felt, wanting to protect Callie and her secret.

Callie smiled up at her, then looked down at her lap. Rae took another bite of toast.

A comfortable silence had just settled over the room when the door slid open again and Hassan blundered in, looking rumpled and still half-asleep.

Callie looked up at Rae, eyes wide. Her hand flew to her mouth and she murmured her excuses and swept out of the room, past Hassan, who whipped around to watch her leave. Rae bit the inside of her lip. When Hassan turned back to the sideboard, she came into his view and he sneered. “Oh. It’s you. I suppose we had to expect you sometime.”

Archie and George both gave Hassan looks of derision. No one commented on his rudeness, but Mrs. Harris came to sit next to Rae, smiling broadly. “Rachel, we have a lot to discuss, I expect.”

Rae cleared her throat. “Do we?”

Mrs. Harris gave her son a look, saying, “I believe so . . . Archie?”

Archie cleared his throat and swallowed his bite. “Well, I mean . . . I thought we had an understanding.”

George stood up abruptly. Rae wanted to do the same, and run out of the room.

“I—I hadn’t . . .” Rae felt faint. If Archie had told his mother, her mother could already know and . . . the room spun.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?” Mrs. Harris asked, genuinely concerned.

“I—I’m not sure . . .” Rae steadied herself on the table. “I didn’t think anything was understood. Not absolutely.”

Mrs. Harris looked at Archie, eyes wide with disbelief. “Archibald Harris! Did you . . . without even waiting for a proper answer?” She tutted and put a reassuring hand on Rae’s back. “Don’t worry, my dear. I understand. You’re very young and this is a momentous decision. You are welcome here as my guest. Don’t give my assumptions another thought. Though, I’d love to talk to you about your drawing. If you’d be so kind as to indulge me. It used to be quite a hobby of mine, and I’m keen to see some of your sketches.”

Rae nodded, unable to speak once again.

Mrs. Harris stood up. “I think you should get some rest, Rachel. I know how difficult it can be to rest on the night train. If you need to take luncheon in your room, just let one of the maids know. We’ll see you at dinner tonight.” She swept out of the room, and Rae was left with three young men, all of whom were giving her dirty looks of varying shades.

“I—I think I’ll just . . .” Rae pushed her plate away and stood up, swaying for a moment, though she was no longer on the train. Archie started to stand up to help her, but George put a hand out to stop him.

“Let her go, Archie. She looks done in,” he said.

Back in her room, Rae closed the door behind her and leaned her forehead on the wooden wall next to the door. She exhaled a shaky sigh and jumped when she heard a voice.

“Miss Rae, are you alright?”

“Oh! Izzy. It’s you.” She sighed a second time, this time in relief, and gave her a weak nod. “Yes, everything’s . . .” Her voice trailed off. Things were not alright, not in the strictest sense of the word. Rae could feel her world slowly tilting off its axis. She needed to talk to Archie, but also dreaded the meeting. And Mrs. Harris was being almost unbearably kind.

Izzy interrupted the chatter of her brain to chide her. “Y’shouldn’t ‘ave put your things away yourself, miss! That’s why I’m ‘ere, right?”

Rae nodded again. “Yes, I’m sorry. I just . . . don’t know if I’ll ever get used to having someone else do things like that for me.” A part of her was afraid of getting used to it, and then being sent away again. Deep-down, Rae didn’t want to lose the self-sufficiency her exile had instilled in her.

“Oh, well, I know it’s my job an’ that, but I actually like helping you, Miss Rae. As daft as that might sound.”

Rae smiled. “Thank you, Izzy. That doesn’t sound daft at all. I didn’t mean to make you think I don’t appreciate all you do for me.”

“That’s okay, Rae. I know we . . . we got a strange relationship. I mean, I’d like to count ya as one of me friends, bu’ I know I couldn’t.”

“No, Izzy! I do think of you as my friend! But it feels so lop-sided, with all you do for me, and I just sit around while you braid my hair.” Rae shrugged.

Izzy looked at her in wonder. “Miss Rae . . . don’t you . . . don’t you realize? You listen when I talk! You give me advice and laugh at my daft sayings! No one . . . you’re the only one who ever did tha’. Here, an’ at my last place . . . I was jus’ someone to be in the corner, stayin’ out of the way, as invisible as possible. But you . . . I dunno how, but you see everythin’. Everyone.”

Rae scoffed lightly. “I don’t feel like I see anything very clearly. I feel so muddled right now. I think I know what I want, but . . . I know what I want isn’t really possible. And everyone else is telling me what I should do, and it’s enough to make me want to scream!”

Izzy guided Rae to sit at the vanity by the window, and started to brush her hair. “Okay, why don’t you start by tellin’ me what’s goin’ on?” Izzy asked in a soft voice.

Rae glanced up at Izzy in the mirror, who looked back at her with eyes softened by a small smile. “Well . . . there’s a lot to tell. And I don’t want you mix you up in anything.”

“Then tell me one thing, and if you feel like it, tell me another, until you’ve told me what ya can.”

Rae started with Archie’s strange proposal. Izzy looked excited at first, but Rae shook her head and told her she couldn’t accept. He didn’t love her and she didn’t love him; and Callie had given her strange warnings that she still didn’t quite understand. Then, Rae let slip that even if she didn’t have someone else she cared about, she wouldn’t want to marry Archie before seeing more of life, taking time to determine what she wanted out of it. It would feel like she was released from one prison right into another.

Izzy listened sympathetically. “An’ this other fella you care for . . . that’d be Finn, would it?”

Rae’s eyes flew up to meet Izzy’s in the mirror once again. “I—yes. Of course! Apparently, we should have taken out an advertisement in The Times, as it’s the only way more people would know about it.”

Izzy rushed to calm Rae down. “I don’t think everyone knows, Miss Rae! I only figured it out as you were speakin’ jus’ now. You didn’t mention him once, an’ that’s how I was with Arnie, when I didn’t know . . . when we weren’t . . . It was, like, I noticed it more that you never said his name. ‘Cause I never trusted myself with Arnie’s name in my mouth . . . I felt like everyone would know as soon as I . . . y’know?”

Rae closed her eyes and breathed heavily, gripping the sides of the vanity. “You, Arnie, Mrs. Dewhurst . . . everyone probably knows. I’m . . . this is . . .”

“Rae, Miss Rae . . . I don’t think anyone who hasn’t seen the two o’ ya together will figure it out. It’s jus’ . . . you two’ve been together downstairs . . . the photographs an’ all tha’. Don’t fret, Miss Rae. Please.” Izzy put her hands on Rae’s shoulders, and then impulsively wrapped her arms around her, pressing her cheek to Rae’s in a hug. “Rae, you’re . . . please don’t worry. I won’t say anythin’ to anyone.”

Rae closed her eyes and leaned against Izzy, returning the unexpected affection. She took a deep breath, counting. “Alright. Alright.” She tried to calm herself as her mind raced through scenarios of Mrs. Harris forcing her to leave and her mother telling her to take her luggage and keep going all the way back to France. Of never seeing Finn or Izzy or any of them ever again after it was revealed. Of a long, lonely existence far away from those she had grown to care so much about. She shook her head and counted under her breath. Izzy kept ahold of her; she didn’t let go.

* * *

Rae took a fitful nap, sleeping through luncheon, having dreams of an angry Finn, upset because she hadn’t denied everything absolutely. When she awoke in the early afternoon, Izzy was still there, apparently having kept watch over her in an armchair. Rae had Izzy choose her an outfit to wear for the evening meal, and then said she could go. She needed to think.

Rae was angry, too. A little at the circumstances that took Finn away, but mostly at herself. She hated this feeling of desperation, of needing another person. She had been the one to initiate their friendship, but she’d never imagined that he would mean so much to her, so soon. That she’d feel these pangs of longing if she didn’t see him everyday. She’d always felt kind of disconnected from her body, but when she thought of Finn, of his lips on her, of his hands on her, she became all too aware of her physical form. She got these strange pangs and . . . she could only describe them as yearnings, and she didn’t know what to do about them.

And the fact that she might never a chance to ever do anything about them . . . that certain vision of her future she’d had before she came back to London flashed in her brain, taunting her. She honestly didn’t know what was worse, a certain bleak future or the cruel uncertainty of hope.

A knock came at the door, and Rae started. She glanced in the mirror, and saw that she looked as flushed as she felt. She waved a hand in front of her face to try and calm down, calling out, “Um, just a moment, please!” She took a few breaths and crossed the room to open the door, only to find Archie waiting there. She sighed. “What do you want, Archie?”

“Well, you . . .” Archie looked down at the hall carpet. “I’m sure you must have deduced that I told Mother about our engagement.” He adjusted his spectacles and looked up at her.

“Archie, what engagement? I told you no, and you insisted I think it over. I gave you that courtesy, and you disregarded my feelings. You really shouldn’t have done that.”

Archie nodded gravely. “May I come in?”

Rae gave him a skeptical look.

“Just for a moment. I—I just wanted to explain . . .” He trailed off, not completing his thought.

Rae bit her lip, but nodded, opening the door a bit wider. She did not shut it behind them. Archie looked at the door standing ajar and seemed unnerved by it.

After a moment of silence, Rae spoke. “I sent you a letter. To Cambridge. I . . . I can’t accept your offer, Archie. I’m sorry. I think of you as a good friend, but I cannot say further than that.”

Archie looked down at his hands, his thumbs running along the outsides of his fists. “I—Rachel—I don’t know what to do!” He bolted for the door, running away.

Rae stared after him and looked down the hall, but Archie was long gone. She felt frustrated. She just wanted this one thing to be dealt with. For him to accept that she didn’t want to marry him or be complicit in whatever deception he was planning. She felt it should be the simplest thing in the world. She would say, “No” he would say, “Fine” and they would shake hands and move on with their lives. But he wasn’t listening to her. He didn’t want to take no for an answer, and Rae was getting restless and even angrier. She didn’t want to be here.

* * *

Dinner was about as comfortable as she had expected it to be. Tonight, Rae decided to eat her fill. She was hungry and didn’t feel the need to hide that fact from this crowd. She even complimented the main course, a local salmon poached in butter and herbs, aloud.

Archie was practically mute all through the meal. There wasn’t much conversation, apart from Rae and Mrs. Harris. Rae said she would probably take her sketchbook on a walk the next day, and Mrs. Harris told her of a few spots with lovely views, if she was interested in sketching landscapes. They chatted easily, and Rae almost wished she fancied Archie, because Mrs. Harris certainly would be a pleasant mother-in-law. Hassan cut in now and again with requests for his wine glass to be refilled, and George tried to engage Archie on a couple of topics, but Archie just shook his head and kept silent. Callie’s mouth stayed in a permanent smile, but not even she added to the dinner conversation. Rae almost wished for her mother and Karim to arrive early, just to liven up the dining room.

After dessert, Rae made her way out to the garden. It was a small garden, enough for one gardener to take care of, since the family were only in residence a few weeks out of the year. But it overlooked a small loch and you could see the distant mountains, covered in moss and heather, wreathed by fog. It was summer, and the sun lingered late in the sky this far north, and Rae watched as it slipped below the ridge line, and dusk gathered in.

Rae wished for the thousandth time that she could draw the dark. This dark was a purplish gray and had the muted landscape lit by both the last rays of the sun and the rising moon, lending the scene an eerie calm.

She breathed deeply and closed her eyes to make another wish: that Finn could be there to enjoy it with her. Just as she was imagining him coming up behind her and gently catching her in an embrace, kissing her neck like he had that day on the boat, she swore she could feel a hand on her shoulder. For a long moment, she believed she must have been dreaming it, until the hand grazed over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. Rae’s eyes flew open and she turned to see who was there. There wasn’t anyone to her left, the side she’d felt the touch. She sighed in relief and then turned to her right, where she was face to face with . . . Hassan. He leaned towards her, as if he were going to kiss her.

She recoiled and stumbled backwards. “What-what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she stammered.

“Relax, please. There is no need for that sort of language. I did not mean to startle you. You just looked . . . I had not noticed . . .” He didn’t seem able to articulate what it was about her, and Rae did not wish him to. How could he think he had the right to do this? After how he had treated her? Not to mention how he had treated Callie.

Rae’s brain struggled to form words, but eventually she hissed “Hassan, are you mad?”

His brow furrowed instantly. “No, I am not mad! I think we both know it is you who—”

Rae cut him off, not interested in him turning the tables on her. He was going to answer for himself. “Then, what are you doing? Callie is just inside!” Rae gestured to the yellow glow of the well-lit windows behind them, keeping her voice to a whisper, in case anyone should come out and find them.

“I—I just wanted . . . and she does not . . .” Here he faltered. Rae knew he didn’t want her; she was just the only other girl near his age and he was currently fed up with Callie. Her old friend wasn’t a good time anymore; she and the secret she carried inside her had become a burden he didn’t want to carry. He wanted to be in control again, to feel he had power over someone.

“I know,” Rae said evenly. The helplessness on Hassan’s face made her feel the smallest atom of compassion for him. He hadn’t considered this would happen to him. She sighed. “But you can’t do this anymore, Hassan. You can’t treat people like this, taking what you want and leaving other people to clean up your messes. You can’t ruin Callie’s life because you don’t like how things turned out. You have to face the consequences of your actions.”

Without a thought, Hassan shouted, “You cannot tell me what to do!” He sounded like a petulant child, and her atom of compassion popped like a bubble and disappeared.

Rae shook her head, weary of this conversation, knowing she couldn’t change his mind, glad he hadn’t had any real intentions toward her. “No, you’re right. I can’t. I can only hope you’ll do the right thing.” Hassan set his jaw and stared out at the loch, white lines of moonlight outlining the gentle waves. His anger was evident in his features, even in the dim moonlight. For the first time since she’d known him, Rae sensed that anger was directed at himself. Perhaps his anger had been at himself the entire time, feeling incomplete and lost, not knowing how to channel the sorrow and disappointment he felt over his mother’s death. Rae could understand his loss, but not how he chose to cope with it. His thoughts were no longer with Rae, if they ever had been. She turned away from him to return to the house, and didn't look back.

* * *

That night, Rae slept soundly; they next day, she awoke refreshed. She still had a tangle of problems, but she was starting to understand herself and what she wanted, and that made all the difference. And when she looked around at the problems of her friends and family, her life didn’t seem so bleak. The indignities of her past seemed farther away than ever, and though she missed Finn, ached for him, really, she reveled in the honesty of her feelings.

She bounded down the stairs, bound for the dining room and a plate of breakfast. At the bottom of the staircase, out of the corner of her eye, she spied two people in an embrace. She turned instinctively to see who it was and they scrambled out of sight, hearing her intake of breath. But before they were gone, she recognized Archie . . . and George.

Suddenly, Callie’s words came back to her. “Practically everyone knows his bread is buttered the other side . . . people don’t care as much about that as they used to as long as he’s discreet . . . he thinks he’ll please his mother by marrying . . .” Rae realized there was much she didn’t know, but things finally clicked into place. There had been some girls at the academy, sent away because they preferred the company of girls in a “perverse” way, and one of them had lent her a book called The Well of Loneliness.

And, just like that, all the goodwill she’d woken up with was gone. Archie didn’t care about her at all. Why did he make her think he did, with those flowers and letters? What was that about her being “part of his happiness” and him “hoping to make her happy, too”?

She marched down the hall, away from the dining room, in the direction she’d seen Archie and George escape.

She opened the first door and looked around the billiard room. Nothing.

Then she crossed the hall and stuck her head into the library. No one.

At the end of the hall, there was a door that led to the addition that included the kitchen and the servants quarters’. She didn’t think they would have gone in there, but she opened the door to check, and heard someone around the alcove, breathing heavy. She poked her head around the corner to see who it was and found Archie staring back at her, wide-eyed. She could tell he wanted to run, but she wasn’t having it. She stepped in front of him, using the size that she so often despised to her advantage. They were going to settle this for once and for all. She grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket and dragged him back through the door into the main hall.

“Whoa, where are you taking me?” he yelped.

“Somewhere where we can actually TALK about our . . . situation. I’m tired of you running away and not listening to me.” She glanced around and chose the library. They’d had a heart-to-heart among books before, and she had just ascertained it was unoccupied.

“Sit down,” she ordered, unballing her fist and releasing him from her grasp. He stumbled back into a chair and did as he was told. “Now talk.”

He looked down at his hands. “What do you want me to say, Rachel?”

“You could start with the truth.”

“No, I couldn’t!”

“Well, I’m not letting you mess me around anymore. You want me to be your wife? But you won’t even let me know why you want to marry me? Other than it seems to satisfy your familial expectations or . . . something.”

He remained silent.

Rae’s bravado and bravery started to melt away. “You must really think I’m simple.”

At this, Archie looked up, surprised. “What? No!”

“Well, you won’t even try to explain to me what’s going on.”

“I CAN’T!” Archie buried his head in his hands for a moment. “I really like you, Rachel. You’re smart, and you seem to know yourself. I admire that in you, really. And, I thought you liked me. Can’t that be enough? There are marriages built on much less. Things were . . . I had to say something or . . . I thought you were just stalling, playing coy! It’s not like you’ve got any better offers, have you?”

Rae, who had been softening ever so slightly, starting to feel sympathy for this boy who had messed with her mind, now sat up straighter, realization dawning. “Oh! Lovely! Now I know what you really think of me. Poor, sad, fat Rae! She’ll never get married if I don’t ask her, and she can help me keep my secrets!”

Archie held his hand up to his mouth, trying to quiet her. “No, no, that’s not—“

“And what’s more, you’re fine, absolutely fine, with consigning me to the same unhappiness you feel!”

Archie shot her a look of surprise. “What?”

Rae nodded to herself, everything had become very clear. “You’ve decided that I’m a decent companion. I won’t bore you, but I won’t demand anything, either. I won’t . . . question your late nights and weekends away. You’ll have someone to introduce, someone people will wonder about, but they will figure that you’re such an intellectual, you’d never choose a wife just for how she looked on your arm. And I’ll, what? Be alone while you live the life that my presence in it makes possible?”

He shook his head in protest, “No, no! I don’t quite see how you—”

Rae interrupted him, feeling no need to hear him deny what she knew must be true. “I didn’t, either, at first. And I know you’ve not done it deliberately. Your mind worked out the puzzle, but you convinced yourself we could both benefit from this arrangement.”

Archie stopped shaking his head in protest to muse aloud, “Well . . . couldn’t we?”

A small smile curled on Rae’s lips. “That depends. You made assumptions about what I want out of life. What you think my life is like, and how few options you believe I have.”

Archie was thoroughly confused now and didn’t even attempt to respond.

“When I got back from the academy, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I kept my hopes small. Romance, love, marriage, I never imagined those were on the table for me. I thought I had to earn my mother’s love, that if I weren’t the best I could be, she’d send me away again. So, I made myself scarce, thinking, if she didn’t have to see me, she wouldn’t be offended by what she saw. But in hiding, I was found.”

Archie looked utterly flummoxed now.

“I didn’t realize it till just now, but those lovely people who make our lives livable found me. Mrs. Dewhurst, Mr. Gill, Izzy, Arnie.” She took a deep breath. “Finn.”

“Ah, so that’s how it is, eh? I can call your mother right now! I can tell her what you’ve been up to and she’ll fire him and send you away so—” Archie cut himself off, like he couldn’t believe he’d said those words.

Rae’s eyes grew wide as she backed away from him. “You’d do that? To save yourself from whatever you think will happen if you are simply yourself, you’d destroy that many lives?”

“I-I don’t want to, Rachel, but . . .” Archie’s voice wavered.

“You’d be destroying Finn’s whole family, and mine, and possibly yours.”

“I’m trying to save my family, Rachel. You—you have no idea what awaits me if I’m ‘myself’ as you so naively put it.” He spun on his heel and covered his face with his hands.

Just then, George came in the room. Seeing Archie upset, his eyes flashed angrily at Rae. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing,” Rae said.

George went and put his arm around Archie, who shrugged him off. “Get away from me! You’re making everything impossible! I—I—I have to get out of here.” Archie ran once again.

George narrowed his eyes at Rae and she could feel the curses his brain was inventing against her. She could agree with Archie on one point of this matter. She wanted to get out there, too.

* * *

Somehow, Rae managed to make pleasantries at the table the rest of the day. It was gray and gloomy and spitting rain, so she kept to her room the rest of the time, sketching pictures of Violet from her photos, or writing in her journal. She really just wanted to leave, but her mother and Karim would be arriving soon, and she didn’t feel she could. Izzy came to commiserate with her, though she didn’t know about Archie’s proclivities.

The next day, the sun struggled out from behind the clouds now and again. At breakfast, Rae chatted with Charlotte (Mrs. Harris had insisted Rae use her first name) about drawing. Charlotte did not let on that Archie had told her anything of their discussion of the day before. And she also didn’t seem to mind that Rae didn’t want to marry Archie. Rae was glad that at least she wasn’t being made to feel awkward by her hostess, on top of everything else.

Rae had tried to talk to Callie about what had happened with Archie, but Hassan kept interrupting them, like he didn’t want the two of them to speak to each other. Archie and George were silently sulking at the other end of the table. Eventually, Rae just wanted to escape the dramas playing out around her.

After luncheon, she took her sketchbook and a tartan blanket from the chair in her room, and crept to the front door, avoiding everyone but a footman on her way out. She wandered out past the garden and found a tree in a mossy clearing. She spread out the blanket over the moss and settled back against the wide weathered trunk. After producing a few half-hearted sketches of the mountains, she lay her book to one side and closed her eyes to catch a few moments’ sleep in the peace of this secluded spot.

As she always did when she found herself enjoying a moment, she wished Finn were with her to enjoy the moment. She wanted to share more and more of her moments with him. She smiled as her head drifted down until her chin was almost resting on her collarbone, breath coming deep and even. Soon, she was happily dreaming of him.

She had no idea how much time had passed, but she stirred when a boot crunched against the mossy stones near her feet. She inhaled sharply and sat up, looking around, startled, and she saw someone standing before her, the sun behind him. She squinted and held her hand up to shade her eyes. When her vision cleared, she gasped “Finn!”

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