Too Close to the Sun (27 page)

‘Where is he going, miss?’ Sophie said.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Grace replied.

Six or seven minutes later they saw him again, his tall figure coming into sight around the screen of oak and bramble at the roadside. And they saw that in his hand he carried the three birdcages that had hung from the caravan’s side.

Reaching the carriage he held up the cage containing the thrush, saying to Sophie, ‘Here, take it, there’s a good girl, and give it to Miss Harper.’ And Sophie gingerly took the birdcage from him and put it into Grace’s hands. The other two cages he carefully placed in the well of the carriage, then climbed up and sat down at Sophie’s side.

Grace sat with the birdcage on her knees. Like the other two cages, it was a crude affair, the bars were coarsely cut sticks, the base made of some rough hewn piece of wood, the crown woven of thin pieces of willow. Inside it the bird cowered, its speckled breast heaving, so cramped for space, and unable to get away from the perceived threat with which it was surrounded. Grace was reminded of the two exotic little birds in the conservatory at Asterleigh House. They were accustomed to their prisons by now, she thought – not like this plain-looking little songbird.

‘Mind your skirt with the cage, miss,’ Sophie said. ‘You’ll get marks on it.’

Grace said, ‘That’s all right, the marks’ll come out,’ but speaking absently, only trying to see how the cage opened.
And then she saw that one of the bars could be lifted clean out, and she held the cage a little higher in the air, and pulled up the bar, pulled it clear. At first the bird did not see the way to freedom, and so Grace turned the cage so that the opening was away from her and the bird, perceiving her as the enemy, naturally moved away. And, moving, he saw the opening, and in one breathtaking little hop and scrabble, was through the bars and out into the space of the world.

Grace watched its swooping flight, and hoped for a moment that it might pause in its flight, perhaps just to stay for a moment on the branch of that hawthorn, but it did not. In just a couple of seconds it had gone from her sight.

Sophie had sat watching with her hands to her mouth, hardly daring to breathe. And then she turned to her father as if looking to see in his expression that Grace had done right. And seeing his smile, she grinned and pressed her hands together.

‘Now you, Sophie,’ her father said. ‘Now it’s your turn.’ And he took up the cage holding the golden oriole and held it in front of his daughter. ‘I’ll hold the cage,’ he said. ‘You do the rest.’

While the bird fluttered inside the cage, Sophie began testing the bars to see which one came loose, and locating it, said with a little gasp of pleasure, ‘I’ve got it, Papa.’

Mr Fairman turned the cage so that the opening faced away from its captors. ‘Don’t take too long, darling,’ he said, ‘the poor creature is very afraid.’ And Sophie, with one smooth move, lifted the spar clear. The bird saw its way to freedom at once, and in a little flurry of gold and black was through the opening and winging away out of sight.

‘Now you, Papa,’ Sophie said. ‘It’s your turn now.’

Mr Fairman took up the third and last cage, and as he did so Grace said, ‘Ah, it’s a skylark. They need all the space in the world.’

Mr Fairman located the loose spar and turned the cage appropriately. Then, with a whispered, ‘Wish him well, ladies,’ he removed the spar and lifted the cage even higher. And the skylark, without a second’s hesitation, was through the opening and swooping straight up into the blue, blue sky, as if trying to reach the sun.

Sophie’s lessons continued throughout the rest of the week in their usual way, though she was usually conveyed to and from Asterleigh House in a hired cab. Except on the Friday, the day of the week’s final lesson. On this occasion Mr Fairman came to collect her from the house when her lessons were over for the day.

Grace accompanied the pair out onto the forecourt where the carriage stood. After Mr Fairman had lifted Sophie up into her seat, he turned to Grace and thanked her for all her work.

‘Though we might not have a full week next week,’ he added. ‘We have a visitor coming from London for a week. So Sophie, lucky Sophie,’ he looked up and smiled at Sophie as he spoke, ‘ – might have one or two outings.’

‘Who is it, Papa?’ Sophie asked. ‘Who’s coming to stay? Is it Miss Lewin?’

‘Yes, it is. I heard from her today. She’s arriving on Sunday.’

Sophie gave a little cry of joy. ‘Oh, that’s splendid!’ Then to Grace, ‘We sometimes get to do special things when Miss Lewin comes to see us. Miss Lewin lives near us in London – or rather where we
used
to live.’ Turning back to her father she added, ‘But where will Miss Lewin stay, Papa?’

‘She’ll be staying at a hotel in Corster,’ he answered. ‘She won’t have that far to come and visit us.’

Sophie said, ‘Once with Miss Lewin we visited the Crystal Palace, and another time we went to the zoological gardens. Papa, shall we be going somewhere nice?’

‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Oh, good!’ Sophie said. ‘Do you know where we’ll be going?’

‘We’ll have to see.’

‘Somewhere nice,’ Sophie said. ‘And Papa – when we go, can Miss Harper come with us?’

He looked at Grace, and as his eyes met hers, she lowered her glance. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’ll have to see when the time comes. Maybe Miss Harper will have other things to do.’

The next morning, Saturday, Billy brought Grace a letter that had just arrived in the post. It was from Stephen.

Dear Grace,

I learned from Mrs Tanner where you are now living
.

You might have heard that my circumstances have changed. I would like to see you. Please write and let me know if we might meet. I have to be in Berron Wick on Thursday the 3rd May, and with your permission I’d like to see you then. I could either come to Asterleigh House or meet you somewhere nearby. Whatever is agreeable to you I’ll fall in with. I should be grateful if you would let me know your response as soon as possible so that I can make any necessary arrangements. I need hardly add that I am aware that in many eyes perhaps I don’t deserve your consideration. But I hope you will at least see me and let me speak to you – for old times’ sake if nothing else
.

Yours,

Stephen Cantrell

Grace read the letter through several times, sitting in her little chair beside the window in her room. Billy, standing nearby, watching her, as always sensitive to her moods, looked at her expression and said, ‘What is it, Grace? Who is it from?’

She turned to him as if coming out of a dream. ‘What? Oh – it’s from Stephen. Mr Cantrell. You remember him, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. We haven’t seen him for a long time.’

‘No, we haven’t.’

‘Why is he writing?’

‘He – he wants to see me.’

‘What for?’

Grace paused, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know, Billy. I don’t know.’

Grace went back to Stephen’s letter repeatedly over the weekend, so many times that in the end she had learned most of it by heart. The questions came silently over and over. After all these months, why was he writing? Why did he want to see her?

Freed from the schedule of teaching Sophie, who, she surmised, was occupied with their London visitor, Miss Lewin, Grace spent more time with Mrs Spencer over the days immediately following. In part, it seemed to Grace that Mrs Spencer was aware that she, Grace, might be somewhat at a loss without the responsibility of her teaching post and perhaps called upon her now out of a sense of kindness. But Grace also had the sense that Mrs Spencer, with her husband being so much away from the house, was truly glad of her company. So they spent their time sketching together, playing the odd game of chess, working on their embroidery or general sewing, and chatting in a desultory fashion. On one occasion Grace joined Mrs Spencer at the piano, where they worked – not altogether satisfactorily, but with good humour – on a piece for four hands.

So often Grace thought of Stephen’s letter, and tried in her mind to compose a reply. But she was never able to. She
simply did not know what to say. And so she left the words unformed and unwritten.

On Thursday, it being market day in Corster, Grace decided to go into the town to buy some things for Mrs Spencer, Billy and herself.

As Rhind was off with Mr Spencer, and Mr Johnson appeared to be well occupied with the horses, Grace walked to Berron Wick and took the train.

Arriving in the town – busy as usual for a Thursday – she consulted her list and set about her errands, buying for Mrs Spencer coloured silks and a couple of paintbrushes. While passing along the busy street from the small draper’s she encountered Mr Timmins, who had come into the market to sell some of his livestock. They stopped to talk for a minute and he asked after her welfare and that of Billy. Afterwards she went on her way.

At one point in her shopping she saw the back of a tall man’s form, and was reminded at once of Stephen. It was not he, but the likeness was sufficient to bring him into her mind. And through her mind ran once more the contents of his letter. She must reply to it. But what should she say? What did she want to say?

When at last her shopping was done she decided she would drink a little tea before starting back to Asterleigh. She was crossing the street when she heard over the noise of the people a child’s voice calling her name, and, turning, she saw Sophie come dodging through the crowd towards her.

‘Sophie, what a surprise!’

Grace bent to her and Sophie, smiling broadly, pressed Grace’s arm. ‘We came to the market too, miss,’ she said.

Looking over Sophie’s head, Grace saw Mr Fairman standing near a stall on the edge of the milling crowd. Their eyes met and he smiled at her through the moving heads. She saw his mouth shape a greeting, and murmured some
words in return. Then Sophie was pulling at her arm, saying, ‘Come, Miss Harper, come and see Papa,’ and Grace allowed herself to be drawn across the cobbles to where Mr Fairman was standing.

‘Miss Harper!’ he said. ‘How nice to see you here. Though I suppose it shouldn’t be seen as so much of a surprise, since it seems that all of Wiltshire has come to market today.’ He looked down at Sophie. ‘And Sophie loves to come here. She likes to see the animals in the cattle market.’ He grinned, smiling down at his daughter. ‘Even the smell doesn’t put her off.’

Sophie spoke up, saying, ‘We’re just going to have some tea, miss.’ She looked up at her father. ‘Papa, can Miss Harper come and have some tea with us?’

‘Oh, no, really,’ Grace began to protest, ‘I really couldn’t dream of intruding –’ But Mr Fairman said quickly, ‘Of course – what an excellent idea. Although perhaps you have other appointments, Miss Harper …?’

‘Well, no,’ Grace said, ‘I have not,’ and had she continued she would have had to admit that she herself had been on her way to get a little refreshment. ‘Then you must come with us,’ said Mr Fairman, and as she half-heartedly protested again, added: ‘Oh, come on – you have time to join us for a little cup of tea, surely.’ And Grace, feeling that she had protested quite enough, could only give a nod and murmur words of acquiescence.

Grace expected then that they would all three move off, but Sophie said, ‘We have to wait just a minute for Miss Lewin. She’s gone to buy some lozenges from the sweet-shop.’ And Grace felt her spirits sink. She should have remembered that Mr Fairman and Sophie had their guest from London, and should also have realized that Miss Lewin would in all likelihood be accompanying them to the market. For a moment she felt words of protest and excuse coming to her lips but she forced them back; it was too late
to do anything about it now, and Mr Fairman was smiling, gazing off into the crowd and saying, ‘Ah, here comes Miss Lewin now.’

Miss Lewin came to them out of the throng, a tall, slim young lady wearing a grey cape trimmed with sable over a dark blue dress. She carried her reticule and umbrella in one hand, and in the other two small packages. On her head she wore a neat little toque trimmed with ribbons and a bird’s wing.

Reaching the little group who stood waiting for her, she took in Grace’s presence with an interested glance, then turned, smiling, to Mr Fairman, as if asking for information on the newcomer. Mr Fairman at once produced the introductions: ‘Miss Harper, this is our friend from London, Miss Lewin. Miss Lewin – Miss Grace Harper, Sophie’s teacher.’

As Grace murmured ‘How do you do,’ Miss Lewin gave a wide smile and said, ‘How do you do, Miss Harper. How very nice! Sophie has been telling me all about you.’ Her face, Grace thought, was strikingly beautiful with fair skin and finely arched eyebrows framed by black hair.

‘I just suggested,’ Mr Fairman said, ‘that Miss Harper joins us for some tea, and I’m happy to say that she’s agreed to come.’

‘Well, that’s splendid,’ Miss Lewin said, adding with a little laugh, ‘The more the merrier.’

Mr Harper said to Grace, ‘When we’ve settled on a place, I’ll leave you ladies having your tea while I complete a little business with my solicitor. It won’t take me long.’

They went to a little teashop in a side way leading from the high street and, looking in, saw that they could get a table without having to wait. At once Mr Fairman turned to Miss Lewin and Grace, saying, ‘If you’ll excuse me, then, ladies, I’ll just pop back into the high street. I’ll join you here in ten minutes.’

‘Well, don’t you dare make it any longer than that,’ Miss Lewin said, ‘or we shall send the search party for you – not to mention the Bow Street Runners.’

Mr Fairman laughed, touched Sophie’s cheek, put fingertips to his hat, and turned and started away.

The two women and the child went into the teashop and sat down at a table, Grace and Sophie on one side, Miss Lewin on the other. When the waitress had come over with her notepad Miss Lewin said, ‘Now, ladies, you must tell me what you’d like,’ and after ascertaining what was required said to the waitress that it would be a pot of tea for three, and one lemonade. ‘And any little treats?’ Miss Lewin asked. ‘Perhaps a pastry or some sandwiches?’ Grace declined, but Sophie, seeing at the next table a youth eating some sponge cake confection with cream, whispered to Miss Lewin that if it was all right she would like some of the same. Miss Lewin gave the order to the waitress, then turned to Grace. ‘Are you sure, Miss Harper,’ she said, ‘that you wouldn’t also like some cake or a pastry?’ and before Grace had a chance to refuse again, said to the waitress, who was already turning away, ‘Bring two of the cream sponges, please.’ Grace raised a hand in protest and opened her mouth to speak, but the waitress had already gone.