"Come on, you two!" called Henry impatiently up the stairs. He turned to Anthony and asked, exasperated, "What is it that takes women three hours to get ready?"
Anthony clapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Not something we're meant to enquire about, I think."
Footsteps on the stairs drew their attention; Rose was coming down, splendid in dramatic black silk, with her red hair as a fiery crown pinned up atop her head. Edith followed her, self-conscious in her peach satin, a single hair slide glimmering with icy diamonds in her autumn hair. Henry came forward to kiss his wife. "Delightful," he declared. "And not a moment too soon, either."
Anthony was silent, staring at the goddess who still stood, flushing prettily, three steps up, just on his level. "Anthony?" she asked hesitantly and he shook himself, hastening forwards to take her hand and lead her down into the hall. "You look… quite beautiful, my dear," he murmured, helping her into her coat.
The party had elected to walk to King's, hence Henry's impatience, and Anthony enjoyed the feel of Edith's arm tucked into his as they walked along. Rose and Henry were bickering good-naturedly about Augustan propaganda in the Aeneid (the subject of Henry's latest paper), but the Strallans were content merely to wander along in comfortable silence up the long tree-shrouded path at the back of King's. As the path inclined upwards, Anthony took a firmer hold of Edith's arm; the quartet paused for a moment on King's bridge and looked over the cool evening gleam of the Cam, before descending into the college proper. "I'll make us known at the Lodge," Henry suggested, and hurried away into the dimness, leaving his wife to be entertained by Edith and Anthony.
Edith's eyes were fixed on her shoes and the flagged pavement of the court; Anthony touched her arm and she looked up at him, shaken out of her daydream. "It will be all right," Anthony reassured her. "No need to be nervous. Just a dinner, a few old friends… nothing too scarring."
She forced a smile, but Anthony's kind words could not dislodge the sensation, that had been dogging her ever since she had begun to get ready, that she would somehow disgrace him.
Henry reappeared. "Gathering in the SCR, apparently," he told them cheerfully, and led them away.
"There," Anthony muttered, "a glass of sherry to settle your nerves, and a chance to be introduced more informally."
The SCR was already crowded when they arrived - a sea of black gowns (men and women, Edith noted), with the bright evening frocks of the remaining women acting as stars to the night sky. Anthony gathered up some glasses and distributed them to the party, and was soon surrounded by a gaggle of old friends. Henry sauntered into their midst, exchanging friendly words and jests; Rose was hauled off by two be-gowned women, presumably wives of King's alumni… and Edith was left alone momentarily, to sip her sherry and admire the spectacle.
"Darling?" Anthony turned his head, drawing her forwards with an encouraging smile. "Gentlemen, my wife, Edith. Edith - " And he reeled off a succession of names; each man shook hands cheerfully, with a murmur of, "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lady Strallan," and then one (was it Edward or Edmund Dorstan?) smiled, "Your husband tells me you're on the verge of publishing a rather excellent novel, Lady Strallan."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Mr Dorstan…"
"Nonsense," Anthony intervened proudly, "it's going to absolutely fly off the shelves!"
The ringing of the dinner gong interrupted them; the party dispersed and wandered towards the door of the SCR. Edith was relieved; the first challenge had been overcome with remarkably little discomfort.
Her relief was such that the magnificence of King's dining hall was enough to make her gasp out loud; Anthony, walking beside her, shot her an amused and pleased grin. Edith, craning her neck back to examine the high vaulted ceiling, was too busy to notice.
Mr Dorstan was seated by them at dinner, to Edith's delight. He made a very pleasant dinner companion, intelligent, self-effacing and good-humoured, and, being a newspaper editor, he and Edith had a fairly large mutual acquaintance. Added to that, he knew Anthony well and thought a great deal of him, and anyone who felt that way was sure of being in Edith's good books.
"I say," he murmured over the pudding, "I suppose this is terribly forward of me, but I don't suppose you'd ever consider writing some articles for the Bugle, would you?"
Edith's mouth opened in surprise, and Mr Dorstan, mistaking the look, hastened to add, "Of course, you probably have your hands quite full enough already, with the novel and managing our esteemed friend over there." He winked, nodding towards where Anthony was listening intently to Rose, holding court in the middle of the table. "But…" he delved into the pocket of his dinner jacket and withdrew his card. "If you ever do decide to take it up again, or would like a change from mystery writing, do please get in touch. I'm always looking for talented writers to join my staff, and I enjoyed your column at the Post very much indeed."
Edith blushed and asked, "Mr Dorstan… are you aware of the circumstances surrounding my departure from the Post?"
Dorstan nodded once, firmly, his expression devoid of anything which could be construed as disgust or even mild dislike. "Yes. And, unfashionable though it may be, I still say that you are a talented writer and would be a valuable asset to my newspaper."
Edith hesitated, toying with her cutlery. "And if the public found out?"
Dorstan waved a hand dismissively. "The Duke of Wellington once told a man who was attempting to blackmail him with a scandal involving his mistress, 'Publish and be damned.' My reply to any readers foolish enough to abandon my newspaper over anything which has so very little to do with them would rather be, 'Go elsewhere and be damned.'" He took a sip from his wine glass. "I'm what's known as something of a maverick, Lady Strallan."
Edith smiled and accepted the card. "In that case, Mr Dorstan, if I ever do decide to return to journalism, you will be the first I call."
Dorstan let out a delighted bark of laughter. "Wonderful! I shall look forward to your call, very much."
Anthony turned his head to look at Edith and she gave him a smile, a true one this time. How nice it was to be among such open-minded, intelligent people! For the first time, she understood how Anthony could be so accepting; it was this atmosphere, that had shaped him at the most critical point of his life. Edith sent up a prayer of fervent thanks to the University's long-dead founders and finished her treacle pudding.
They didn't set out for home until at least eleven o'clock; there had been coffee and conversation in the SCR, and then a gathering in Dorstan's rooms; he had been far more organised than Edith and Anthony in arranging matters with his alma mater. At last, the Underwoods and the Strallans tore themselves away, wincing when they recalled exactly how early they would have to be awake the following morning for the chapel service which was being held in honour of the reunion.
Their walk home was much less orderly than their walk to college had been; both the women were slightly tipsy, and even Anthony, usually sober as a judge, had cheeks which were slightly flushed from the wine of which they had all partaken liberally. Just inside the hall, back at the Underwoods', Rose turned to her husband and confessed, "Well, I am dying for a gasper. Be up in a moment, darling." Rosie kissed Henry's cheek and then looked at Edith. "Feel like joining me?"
"Mmm, I think I could do with a breath of fresh air," Edith admitted. "Clear my head after the wine." It was true; she did feel slightly giddy still. Anthony kissed her forehead. "I'm for bed, my dear. I'll see you shortly?"
They sat in the back garden, on the bench by the roses, still wrapped in their evening coats, lit by an old paraffin lamp Rose kept by the back door, presumably for occasions such as this; Rosie lit up a cigarette and offered the case to Edith, who accepted gladly.
"Well, that was certainly an interesting night," commented Rose, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Good food, which one can always rely on at King's, anyway. And so many people I hadn't seen for an age!"
"Not too many awkward questions asked," Edith agreed, relieved.
Rosie looked suddenly, sharply at her. "You regret Michael Gregson still."
Edith closed her eyes and rested her head back against the bench. "Anthony told you."
"Just the bare essentials, about Gregson and your life with him," Rose answered. "He worried that mine and Henry's… arrangements would embarrass you, or bring back memories you'd rather forget. I'm sorry - we wouldn't have mentioned it at all if it hadn't come up."
"No, not at all," Edith reassured her. After a moment, she murmured, in the manner of a woman making a long-held in confession, "I don't regret Michael, necessarily. Just… the way the choice was made, of him, of living with him out of wedlock, of not seeing him clearly right from the start…"
"Elinor?" asked Rosie incisively.
Edith's quiet vehemence caught both of them unawares. "No. I could never regret Elinor."
Rose's hand on her arm surprised her; it was a gesture of comfort Edith wouldn't have expected from the other woman, brisk and practical as she was. "Never regret any choice, Edith. It does no good. Learn from choices which have not brought you happiness, but do not regret them."
Edith bit her lip. "You and Henry have been very happy together…" she began, unsure how to frame her feelings in a way that would not cause offence. Fortunately, Rose was perspicacious enough to understand what she was getting at.
"You think that makes me unqualified to speak?" she grinned, amused. "Present happiness doesn't mean that my life has been free of mistakes, my dear." She sobered, looking ruefully out over her roses. "I was a very uncompromising young woman and when my family had difficulty accepting my choices - Henry, Cambridge, this life - I was very quick to cut them out of things. There are some times when I wish that I still had my mother and my father, and my brothers." She shrugged. "I sometimes even wish that I had married Henry when he asked. Not for myself," she added hastily, "but I can sometimes see that he feels the irregularity of it all and… well, he's always been more conservative than I am."
"Shall you ever, do you suppose?" Edith asked, her curiosity piqued.
Rose blew out a cloud of smoke, airily. "Perhaps one day, when we're old and grey - greyer in Henry's case. Do you know, I've always secretly liked the idea of an elopement? I'd hate to become predictable, after all."
Edith chuckled and took a drag from her cigarette. A comfortable silence fell between them. Rose finished her cigarette, reached for the secateurs she kept in the gardening box beneath their bench and idly began to prune one of the rose bushes, allowing Edith to speak in her own time. "Anthony and I were talking about university today," Edith offered at last, blowing out a cloud of smoke into the night air. "For me. Whether it would be practical…" She paused, biting her lip, and Rose looked up, secateurs hovering still over one of the offending stems.
"Oh, my dear, it would be a splendid idea!" she confirmed after a moment and snipped off the stem. "I understand that Cambridge might be inconvenient, with your living arrangements and everything, but I've a friend at Queen Mary's, if you'd like me to put you in touch…"
Edith breathed a sigh of relief; here was proof, if proof were needed, that she had passed muster with Anthony's old friends, and had not caused offence. "Rose, that would be wonderful." A moment's silence, and she added, "Anthony was… more enthusiastic about the idea than I'd expected him to be."
Rose shrugged, attention back on her roses. "Well, he's far more progressive than you'd expect to look at him, isn't he? Think how accepting he is of Henry and I."
"And of Elinor and I," Edith admitted softly.
"Well, love does that to people, doesn't it?" Rose pointed out bracingly. "I'm sure you forgive him all his little faults."
"I don't believe Anthony has any faults," Edith sighed, finishing her cigarette. "He just thinks very little of himself, sometimes."
Rose stood up, brushing down the skirt of her dress, and returned the secateurs to their box. This done, sitting back down on the bench, she slipped her arm through Edith's. "Well, that's where you come in, isn't it, my dear? My mother once said that it was every wife's job to bolster her husband's ego. Complete rot in most cases, of course - two-thirds of husbands are self-centred enough as it is - but your Anthony has no ego whatsoever." She smiled slyly. "As it is, I think you're doing a splendid job."
Edith flushed and squeezed her new friend's arm in silent thanks. Rose looked searchingly into her face and for the first time that evening seemed hesitant. "If you ask me," she announced at last, "you're far better for Anthony than Maude ever was."
Edith's sharp little intake of breath made Rose click her tongue with impatience. "Oh, my dear, don't be churlish. Henry and I knew Maude - albeit not well - and we both knew she wasn't right for him. Too… flighty, too far removed from his interests. Now, I don't say that she didn't try her best to be a good wife to him. Locksley was always well run, one couldn't fault her housekeeping, and of course… she did try for children… but… Edith, she wasn't the sort of woman who could make a friend of a man. She wanted Anthony to be always a husband - always chivalrous and on guard for her comfort - and never just a man. He could never talk to her, I don't think - not about music or books or politics. I don't say she didn't care for him, nor he for her, but… Anthony missed out on a lot, being married to her."
Edith swallowed. "Diana thinks much the same," she admitted at last. "But Anthony did love her and doesn't regret marrying her. At least… he wouldn't say, even if he did."
Rose nodded. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is… you've no cause to be jealous of her. You offer Anthony something entirely different - good companionship, a shared sense of humour. The chance to be a father." As she spoke, she stood up and Edith followed her.
"Did Anthony tell you… why we got married? The whole story?" she asked Rose's back.
Rose turned, and Edith could see her half-frown in the light of the paraffin lamp. "Well… I would have thought it was obvious. After the unpleasantness all those years ago, and then finding one another again - "
"The truth is," Edith interrupted shakily, "he married me because Michael wanted to take Elinor away from me. We thought a married woman, a baronet's wife, would have a better chance of winning the case. So I married him for convenience. I'm not offering him anything, not really, not compared to what he has given to me and Elinor."
Rose raised her eyebrows and digested the news. "Do you feel guilty about it?" she asked bluntly.
Edith nodded tightly. "Of course. Not all the time… but - it sneaks up on me sometimes, I won't deny it. I can't help it."
Rose clucked her tongue scoldingly. "Well, you shouldn't feel guilty. Anthony didn't have any need to marry you. Oh, I know you'll want to rave on about his sense of honour, but… that was Anthony's decision, wasn't it? No one forced him into it, least of all you."
"Anthony would find it as easy to ignore his sense of honour as he would to stop breathing," Edith pointed out.
Rosie accepted this with a graceful incline of her head and began to lead them back towards the house. "Perhaps. But he's still capable of making his own decisions, isn't he?" She paused and then added, "Edith, you do know, don't you, that if you hadn't told me any of this, I wouldn't have been any the wiser? What I mean is… if either you or Anthony feel a lack of joy in this arrangement, then you both must be terribly good actors. And, in Anthony's case at least, I know that isn't true."
Edith bit her lip. "Anthony and I have always been very good friends. I… find it difficult now to remember a time when we weren't. We… fit very well together. And, yes, I love him." The words surprised her; she hadn't realised that the alcohol had loosened her tongue that much. "He's a wonderful, kind, gentle man. Elinor adores him."
"But?" Rose prompted.
Edith sighed and brushed a hand across her forehead. "There isn't just my guilt to consider. Anthony… still feels a lot of responsibility for… my situation, as it was. For… what Michael did to me. He'd believe any feelings I expressed might be due to… gratitude, or something silly that. And I am grateful, of course I am, but… it wouldn't be like that. And… how would I know that he wasn't accepting any love I could offer, and reciprocating, because he feels guilty and responsible himself? It's impossible."
Rose opened the back door and let them in. "Not so impossible as you believe, I think. Call me a hopeless romantic if you like, but I don't believe anything's impossible if there's love."
Edith took off her coat. "If there were only Anthony and I to consider, I'd probably agree with you. But I have Elinor to think of, as well. She's already lost one father. I couldn't bear for her to lose another."
Rose's face was serious in the dim light. "Of course. Well, I've thrown my two penneth in, for what it's worth. If it's meant to be, then it will come together, my dear. As it is, I think you're making each other very happy - and that can only be a good friend."
Edith smiled and then opened her mouth, hesitating on the verge of a new request. Once again, Rose anticipated her. "Don't worry. I can keep my own counsel when needed. This has all been between you, me and the gatepost. Henry won't ask, and I won't tell."
Impulsively, Edith hugged her. "Thank you, Rose. Good night."
Anthony was sitting up in bed reading when Edith entered their room. He looked up, removing his reading glasses, and smiled as she entered. "Blown away the cobwebs, my dear?"
Edith began to remove her jewellery and put it away. "Mmm, yes, thanks. Rose and I had a nice chat. She's terribly bracing, isn't she? Good at solving problems."
Anthony nodded, setting his book aside. "Yes, I suppose so. Funny - Henry mentioned this afternoon that you reminded him a lot of her."
Edith turned, a surprised smile breaking onto her face. "How nice of him." She stepped behind the dressing screen and emerged a few minutes later in her pyjamas. At the dressing table, looking at Anthony's reflection in the mirror, she asked, "Do you agree with him? Henry, I mean?"
Anthony shrugged his shoulders gently. "Partly. About the problem solving, certainly. And you're both exceptionally intelligent, independent women. But… you have a little more of lightness and sympathy about you than Rose - and I say that as a very good friend of hers."
Edith was silent for a moment; tonight Rose had shown no lack of sympathy towards her, and she would be forever grateful for it. "Thank you for bringing me to meet them," she said at last. "I like them both immensely." Another pause, a few more strokes of her hairbrush, and she added, "Thank you for letting me into this part of your life."
Anthony's face softened. "Our life," he corrected gently, and beckoned her towards him. "Come to bed. You must be tired - only time you're ever maudlin."
Edith's eyes flickered closed in amused agreement and she set aside the brush. "Whatever would I do without you?" she asked as they slid under the covers.
