Air and Angels (21 page)

And went, then, to the chapel, to kneel down in distress in the silence and darkness, hoping to still his confusion, to come to terms
with his discovery of himself. He did not pray, formed no thoughts or words in his mind, merely knelt and waited, hoping, gave himself over to God. And wished, in his heart, that the matter had simply not arisen, that he had never been suggested as the possible Master, and the calm tenor of his days had not been ruffled.

But as he knelt, his eyes closed, he saw before him, not any vision of himself
going about in glory, that was swept away and altogether disregarded.

What he saw was simply, the girl again, as she stood on the stone bridge looking down into the water, that sunlit, solitary day of spring; and with the sight came, as it had come before, absolute peace, absolute contentment, absolute joy, so that the recollection of it made him tremble.

A GROUP of women, a tableau, in the carefully lit drawing-room (for Georgiana, like Alice, had gone to a great deal of trouble).

Florence in parma violet, falling full from a tight waist, to show off her hair, her height, her figure.

And Georgiana in claret, with pearls (suddenly full of presence), a match for anyone.

Old Mrs Gray, in black with a plaid stole, upright on the best chair.

The door opened. He saw them, as if arranged for a portrait, and the room as he had rarely seen it, glowing, formal.

And beside the fireplace, stood the girl. Quite still, her hair back from her face, her dress pale.

But her head was slightly turned away, and in shadow.

He stopped dead. And panic and confusion rose to overwhelm him.

The tableau broke. Florence laughed, Georgiana stood, old
Mrs Gray’s eyes were keen upon him. The girl turned her head, he saw her full face and of course, she was not the same. She was a child, after all, this cousin Kitty Moorehead, and plain and pinched and rather hollow-eyed, with a cold and her hair not loose, but tied back in a neat single plait.

But taller than a child. A girl then.

A different girl.

There was delicate soup, and a glazed, decorated
salmon. Alice’s face was smooth with pride, as she stood back from the table, admiring, confident. She had extra help in the kitchen and her friend from the spiritualist fellowship had lent the new little parlourmaid, Ellen, the family for whom they worked being abroad.

And they settled Mrs Gray on Thomas’s right, a good deal of fuss was made of her.

Kitty was opposite.

Looking round, at the
silver and the candles and the dresses of the women, at Alice and the parlourmaid, white-starched, seeing forks raised, heads bent, hearing the murmur of conversation, he thought that this is how it would be in the Master’s house, night after night, people dining formally, guests, elaborate meals, evening dress, and how could he bear it? He was not that sort of man.

But Georgiana was enjoying
herself, she would rise to it, embrace it all.

He caught Florence’s eye. Looked away.

Looked across at the girl, whose head was inclined, listening to old Mrs Gray, and saw then that she was, quite certainly, the same. And, being certain, felt a miasma of disappointment seep up through him. For the sight which had been so extraordinary, and the memory he had carried with him, was ordinary, after
all. It had merely been this plain child, standing on the stone bridge.

Kitty thought, Miss Cavendish is nice but there is something not quite right, it is as though she is playing a part, not being her usual self. But nor is cousin Florence, who is giving herself airs (for she had taken in more of human behaviour in India than she realised. She had seen airs before.).

And the room is so small,
I had expected something much grander, and old Mrs Gray says wise things and mad things and disturbing things and now she is dozing. And they are all so
old
. For she had not seen a young person here, apart from the undergraduates, who did not seem to be very young, and some small children with a nurse bowling hoops along a path.

The Reverend Mr Cavendish was talking, for some reason, about bicycles.
‘And now young
women
on bicycles, clothes flying, I was almost mown down by two of them yesterday, bowling along quite out of control.’

And for a moment she despised him, and dismissed him, and would have been afraid of him too for he seemed coldly angry, except that he spoke quite quietly.

But then he looked at her across the table and his face softened. ‘But there, I daresay Miss Moorehead
would love to bowl along the streets of Cambridge on a bicycle. And why not? It would be the very thing. You must arrange it. Have you some friends yet, to bowl along with?’

And at once she was grateful to him for including her, for being aware of her at all.

Florence said, ‘Now that is one of the things I must talk to you about. I have been busy this past week, arranging what Kitty will do,
and of course she should have friends, we will find those for her – though I am not altogether certain about bicycles – but she is here to have her education completed, that is why Eleanor has sent her. I have been looking into the matter of classes. Only it all takes time. And we shall be visiting plenty of galleries and museums. She should see as many objects of beauty as possible, do you not agree?
And then just mix in intelligent society. I am sure she will find friends in due course, she will …’

Thomas glancing across at Kitty again, saw her downcast. Said, ‘But I think we should let Miss Moorehead speak for herself.’

Kitty flushed, would have said, oh, this and that … everything, there was so much she wanted to say. But suddenly, could not, did not speak at all, and, indeed, was almost
near to tears, without at all knowing why.

Was saved by Mrs Gray beside her, who woke from her doze. ‘I should like some more fish. It is excellent fish. I am very fond of fish, I was brought up on it as a girl in Scotland.’

And so the talk broke like a wave, swirled and changed direction. Moved away from Kitty.

The table was cleared, for a crown roast of lamb, ludicrously frilled.

He had
opened the doors to two of the cages, so that after a while, some of the small birds came out and flew up to the roof, or here and there above their heads. Kitty stood absolutely still, entranced, and at last, one, emerald of wing, alighted for a few seconds on her outstretched hand.

She said, ‘We have them in India. They are everywhere. But free.’

Disturbed by her voice, the bird flew in quick
darts into a high branch of the tree that grew up through the centre of the conservatory.

The others were taking coffee in the drawing-room.

‘Well, they are released like this as often as is practicable. But it is true, of course, and you are right, they should be free.’

‘Oh, I was not criticising. You must not …’

‘No, no.’

She went to the cage of moon-yellow weavers.

‘These fly in the garden.’

‘You miss home. India.’

‘It is so strange – you see, I do not … it is as though it is, not just another place, another world, but somehow … not real. A dream … it is there but not there. I can’t explain.’

He was silent. The birds fluttered softly. Kitty turned back.

‘You see, I have come here because I want to learn. I chose to come. I am so pitifully ignorant … I want to know about, oh about
everything. I don’t want only to visit picture galleries and improving exhibitions in that genteel way, like … like a young lady. I want to learn about … about the stars and planets and Darwinism and the Greek gods and heroes and the history of religion and calculus and … oh, so much.’ Her peaked face was transformed, shining, eager.

Moved, Thomas asked quietly, ‘And then?’

‘Oh, then I want
to do good in the world. No, you must not laugh at me.’

‘I would not dream of it.’

She sat down on the circular seat that ran around the trunk of the tree and a cloud of the birds rose up in a bright panic, above her head.

‘I had wondered … I had
known
there was so much in the world … I … that is why I came here. To be educated. India is only tea parties and tennis and balls … which I quite
like, but … And then there would have been marriage, I suppose. Cousin Florence says I must meet girls of my own age, and she is right, and of course I would like to have friends. But it must not be the same.’

‘The same?’

‘I mean, the same as India.’

‘I think you can be sure that it will not.’

‘Mrs Gray says I should certainly meet young men, too. She is very modern, for such an old person.’

‘We must all seem very old to you.’

‘Yes.’

‘You must take care … take care not to lose anything.’

‘Lose?’

‘Oh … freshness. I suppose I mean simply – the joy of being young.’

‘But Miss Lovelady was right. I have thought about it so much. Life must not be wasted.’

‘Miss Lovelady?’

‘She was a missionary … on the boat. I … she became my friend. She was a saint, I think. I learned everything
from her in a few days only. I think I am quite different because of her. And then she died. I went to her cabin and … but she was dead. She had been ill … that was why she was returning to England. She didn’t want to. She wanted to die in India.’

Kitty looked up at him.

‘Where is she?’

‘Where… ?’

‘Oh, they buried her body at sea. I know that. I watched it. But
where is she
?’

He knew he should
say, with God, but he could not speak.

‘She was such a good woman. And she only wanted to stay and die in India. Is she in heaven? I expect that is what you would tell me.’

Thomas shook his head, turned away in distress. But she sat quite composed, clear-eyed.

After a moment, he said, ‘We should go back to the drawing-room now. The birds must be left to roost.’ And led her out.

In the hansom
going home, old Mrs Gray, having dozed contentedly on and off during and after dinner, was wide awake.

But in between, she had watched them, and missed nothing.

Now, she would not sleep again until the early hours.

She sat very upright in the corner of the cab, the plaid stole drawn around her.

Said to Kitty, ‘You should be dancing. That is what all young girls should do. Dance until dawn.
I danced until dawn from being seventeen until I was married and left Scotland for good.’

‘But she is not seventeen, Mother, she is not yet even sixteen. There will be time enough for all that. It was because of the dancing that Eleanor thought it best she should come
here
.’

Mrs Gray ignored her, turned a little, to pat Kitty’s hand.

‘Dancing,’ she said, again, ‘dancing until dawn.’

Kitty
smiled, liking her.

But felt dazed, heavy-headed, her cold suddenly worse again. She did not recall much of the evening just past, did not think at all, only let the movement of the cab soothe her.

But she had liked very much to see the birds, fluttering free. And had expected to be tongue-tied then, but was not. She realised that she had told no one else about Miss Lovelady, until this night.

She closed her eyes, which were smarting with cold and tiredness.

And Florence dreamed, like the young girl that Kitty was, and saw herself descending a staircase, entering a room, sitting at a glittering table beside Thomas Cavendish, and knew that she was envied, that she commanded the scene. Knew that she had seen his eyes, admiring, upon her.

And now could think of no possible reason why
he would not eventually marry her.

Georgiana, returning from the kitchen where she had been to congratulate Alice, paused in the doorway of the drawing-room and saw the whole evening spread out before her, felt the air still seething with their presence, their finery, their conversation. There, Florence had sat, and there old Mrs Gray, and Kitty, leaning back into the shadows a little, deep in
her chair. (But Kitty, she thought, had done very nicely, had been quite composed and not too shy. Kitty, for all her peakiness, had made a pleasant impression.)

Flushed with the success of it, she wanted to hold on to the evening, a little longer, to have time pause.

Thomas stood beside the fireplace. The embers had slipped down low in the grate, and were almost out.

He said, ‘I have decided
not to allow my name to go forward for the mastership.’

And the bubble of the evening burst and lay in fragments around her. She sat heavily down.

‘I have been foolish to entertain it. Of course the position, the way of life would not suit me – it would be wholly alien.’

‘If you are sure,’ she said, and could not argue, could not think of it at all, she was suddenly exhausted, barely able to
form the words in her mouth. ‘If you are sure …’

But of course he was not. As he spoke, he was again thrown into confusion and indecision.

After a while, he said, ‘But now is not the time to discuss it.’

Georgiana did not move. The room felt suddenly cold.

She said, ‘Well, it is for you to decide.’ And then, ‘But at least I am glad we welcomed the little cousin Kitty Moorehead. It was the
right thing to do.’

‘I hope she will not be a bluestocking.’ He spoke harshly. ‘She is certainly plain enough.’

And did not say anything more, and after a pause, left the room.

THE HOUSE is quite empty.

(Apart from the servants, of course. But they do not count, they live their own, separate, alien, impenetrable lives.)

Lewis leaves at dawn, and returns as late as possible from the club, and then only to sleep here. (Though there is no real sleep, the nights are scarcely less intolerably hot than the days now. Only the glare of the sun, the brightness is gone, there
is relief from that. Otherwise, one lies choked by a thick blanket of humid heat, under a net on the verandah. And still it is too hot.)

He will sweat it out here another month, and then join Eleanor in the Hills, for the rest of the Hot Season. The Hills are ahead of him, a cool, blue mirage. Sometimes, waking out of a turbulent half-sleep, he hallucinates the sound of running water from the
endlessly trickling streams.