Chapter 7
Over the next few months, William began to realize that up to now he had led a very sheltered life. After Father had gone bankrupt, and died of heart failure, William had taken on the responsibility of a semi-invalid mother and young sister. He had left the posh public school, where he had once beaned Wavy with a cricket ball, for one much less exclusive. At his new school, the other boys, who had known each other for years, pretty much ignored him. He was quiet and studious and was thus able to win a partial scholarship to King's.
If William had gone away to University, perhaps things might have been different, but King's was a twenty-minute ride from home on the new Underground, and there were Mother and Amanda to think of. His job in the bookshop, while acceptable in terms of salary, was not exactly exciting. Uncle Charles and Arthur were kind, but the other clerk, Reginald, was an insufferable bore, who William avoided as much as he could.
William had met several girls at Kings, the school having been coeducational for years, but they tended to be bold and outspoken Suffragettes, and William had been too shy to speak to them, except about school matters. He had an image in his heart of the ideal woman, and those brash bluestockings did not quite fulfill his romantic dreams. So his social life had been, as Amanda observed, non-existent until the Waverlys had, literally, skated into his life.
Suddenly everything William had ever known was turned completely topsy-turvy. Since the Waverlys had, for whatever reason, taken him under their wing, William felt an excitement in life that he had never before imagined. The theatre party was followed the next week by a hilarious trip to Madame Toussaud's Wax Museum, where the group made fun of all the exhibits, particularly the 'Chamber of Horrors.' Miller's Pond had been closed for skating after the tragic drowning there, but there were still sleigh rides through the snowy northern countryside, and parties and concerts at the Albert Hall.
Under the guidance of Wavy, Michael and James, William had improved his wardrobe, and had learned to drink whiskey and brandy and appreciate a good cigar. He would never have their easy self-confidence, but was at least able to keep up his end of a conversation, more or less. William soon lost his shyness with Elizabeth. She was easy to talk to and very funny, though sometimes at the expense of others. In this, she was often brought up short by Cecily, who seemed to be more serious and thoughtful, traits William admired as much as her beauty. But try as he might, William never got to know Cecily very well. In their outings, he could never seem to contrive to be alone with her. What little he did know was from conversing with Beth, who was a ready gossip. He knew that she had a brother, Bernard who was at present attending Harvard University in America. He knew that she had once been interested in James, but that was long over with. He knew that both Elizabeth and Cecily had vowed not to even think about marriage until they were at least twenty. He had been to a soiree at the Addams home, which was quite elegant, and had met Cecily's parents, who were cool but polite. But he really did not know Cecily, which was the one disappointment in his new life.
But William was patient. Cecily didn't seem to have any other beaux at the moment, and he knew that one day his chance would come, if he could just be man enough to take it. And so, as when he was a boy and sought to improve his physical condition, now, in turning his life around, he sought to make himself worthy of her notice and attention. William was spending almost all of his salary in keeping up with his new companions, but it would be worth it if Cecily could ever be his.
The winter gradually faded into a beautiful spring. Sleigh rides and museum trips gave way to tennis games, picnics and boating on the Thames. One beautiful May afternoon, William met the group at Bushey Park. The trees were in bloom and the lake was sparkling in the sun. Michael and Felicity had hired a punt, and were out on the water. Their nuptials were planned for June, and Felicity's incessant wedding talk was beginning to irritate Beth and Cecily to no end, so they were very happy to see her safely away, annoying Michael instead. Wavy and Evelyn had brought a gigantic kite, which they were attempting to launch into a non-existent breeze amid much laughter and not very helpful comments from James and Melanie who were lounging under a nearby tree. Beth and Cecily were setting up the picnic, from a huge hamper bought from Fortnum and Mason. William had found a tree of his own and was relaxing in the sun, watching the ladies work. As he watched Cecily lay the 'table' which was in reality a large blanket, he could fancy her doing that in a home of their own. He quickly took out his pad and pen, which he carried with him always, and began scribbling. But the sun was warm, and the breeze, gentle and he soon found himself drifting off to sleep.
His pleasant idyll came to an end when he felt his hat being pulled down over his eyes. He awoke to find Elizabeth sitting beside him. Cecily was nowhere in sight. Elizabeth laughed, "Please forgive me…you looked so peaceful, I couldn't resist."
William stretched, "It's quite all right. Where is everyone?"
"Oh, Cecily was summoned to help with the kite project. Wavy is determined to get the thing up. I, myself, find it too tiresome for words. Have you heard the big news? Bernard is coming home."
"From America?"
"Yes, he has deigned to spend his holidays here amongst us lesser mortals."
William knew that Beth had once had feelings for Bernard, when she had been 'young and foolish,' in her words. "When will he arrive, then?"
"Wednesday, next. Cecily is planning a dinner party to welcome him back on Friday. She just told me about it."
"Will you be happy to see him again?"
"Oh, he can remain in America indefinitely, as far as I am concerned, never fear."
William had no answer to this. He suddenly felt that he was somehow missing something, that Elizabeth was expecting something of him, but he was at a loss. Elisabeth shook her head, and looked at his lap, where he was still holding his pad.
"I saw you writing before. A new poem?" William quickly thrust the pad beneath him.
"Nothing worthy of notice."
"Will you read us one of your poems this afternoon?" William had recently found the courage to read one of his poems about boating on the Thames aloud to the group. They had seemed to like it. Of course he could never share his Cecily poems with them, or anyone. Those he was saving for that moment when he could tell Cecily how he felt. He smiled at Elizabeth.
"I do have one, about the Linden tree in bloom outside my window."
"Oh lovely," said Elizabeth. Cecily and the others were returning to the blanket. "I do believe that the kite flyers have surrendered. Which means that luncheon is served."
Over luncheon, the group discussed the return of Bernard and the proposed dinner party. James also mentioned the latest news report of a missing woman. In the months since the Twelfth Night Ball, no sign of Ethel had ever appeared. And since then a few other people in London had been reported missing. Wavy suggested that perhaps there were still bears lurking in the woods outside London.
"Bears! Here? In this day and age? Heaven forbid!" exclaimed William. Once when he was small, Father had taken him to the London Zoological Garden, where a Grizzly bear had lunged at him, stopped only by the bars of his cage. William had taken a terrible fright, and remained petrified of bears to this day.
"Well, bears or no, you ladies must all agree to go nowhere alone." Wavy lectured. "London has become increasingly unsafe."
"We are well aware of the dangers, Wavy, but it is not just ladies who have disappeared," answered Cecily, "You men must also take care." She was looking in William's direction when she said this, and his heart soared. She cared; surely she cared for him, and was concerned for his safety!
William preferred not to think about the disappearances. When he looked at Cecily and the other young aristocrats lounging on the grass, it was hard to believe that there was anything ugly or sordid in the world. He changed the subject by offering his poem, and they listened to it with interest. For the first time in his life, William was beginning to feel accepted, like somebody appreciated him for his artistic aspirations.
When William arrived home that evening, his mind was full of a new poem about Cecily. One that would capture the effect of the sunlight on her face, that he had noticed at the picnic. He looked for his pad in the bag that he had brought to the park, but was unable to locate it. In frustration he tried to recall when he had last seen it. Surely he had possessed it while reading his Linden tree poem. After that, he had put it down under his bag and had not thought of it again until now. It must have gotten mixed up with the picnic things in the hamper, returned to the store. This was most distressing. His best Cecily poems were on that pad, ones he had meant to transcribe onto parchment over the next week. Now they were lost. He would have to put his mind to recreating them.