Then it was Saturday.
Oak leaves were trembling in the gentle breeze. Air was clear and crisp, and soft puffy clouds, sometimes covered rays of the pale October sun, which shone on the leaves of the handsome rows of beech trees. Redmond campus was filled with a quiet hum. Dark-clad figures streamed through the wide doors and co-eds enjoyed of their well-deserved week-end.
A playful, almost shy ray of sunlight played on the wall of one of the wide cabinet rooms, in the upper floor. It shone on the crystal chandelier, and in the heavy frames of thepaintings, rows, upon rows, of the former dignitaries of Redmond. The walls were decorated with pennants and sheets with Redmond's colors on on the small tables that were dotted along the room, there were magazine Perennial´s newest issue, as well as the usual stacks of WarBond leaflets. Room was slowly filling with, people, coming in, variable crowd mingled in waiting manner.
Alice saw in the crowd a gray and gaunt Professor Milne, who was conversing in a low voice with Royal Gardiner. Gardiner was dressed in a dark, impeccably cut suit, and his waistcoat was of dove gray silk, with pale mauve-stripes, with violet tie. Suddenly there was a light noise, from the audience, because Dean of Redmond himself strode onto the stage.
A deep silence descended.
Dean looked sharply at the audience, as he said in his slightly fragile voice. " Thank you, to all who have come today. I will soon give the stage to the editor of the Perennial, Mr. Ernest Saunders, and Mr. Dorian Gardiner, who has been responsible for organizing this event today, but first I want to say a few Redmond Board of Trustees has decided today, to announce a new scholarship. The scholar is memorial scholarsip, in memory, and honor, of Walter Blythe. He was illustrious writer, and scholar of literature and poetry, while he was enrolled here with us. The scholarship is quite substantial and it covers at least two years of now collage.
I now propose a moment of silence."
There was an almost pious silence in the room as Mr. Saunders and Dorian took the stage. Alice noticed that Dorian, seemed strained, his eyes were bleak, and the emerald tie accentuated their shimmering color. Mr. Saunders said in his gruff way. "Dear audience. I was skeptical at first when Dorian here, proposed the theme of this issue to be published. War poetry as a genre, describes in a moving way the reality we are living now. I can say that this issue is one of the most current and best in my entire varied career as a journalist and also an editor. All of us, the writers of Perennial have worked very hard on it. Here I want to single out one of them in particular. Miss Diana Blythe, is a tremendous writer, whose insights and extremely good taste, and talent is undeniable. She has given of herself without sparing for this issue in mid of crippiling sorrow."
Saunders, then stepped aside, as Dorian came to fore speaking in his appealing way "When I first heard Mr. Blythe´s poems the heavens seemed to open before me. Though I must confess that I first heard them sung at an occasion here in Redmond. Walter Blythe was but a youth doing his duty, like so many of us, in these extraordinary times. And in doing so he wrote a poem that lives on. I know many of you, dear audience, know Piper by heart, but Walter Blythe was a far more versatile person, than that one poem perhaps suggests. He loved poetry with all his soul. I know he's probably smiling at us, somewhere, satisfied that he's be able to help future rainbow seekers to find their own dreams with this titular scholarship."
There was an unwavering silence in the room, and it slowly broke into applause, as audience, that had been listening intensely, broke up into small groups.
The level of conversation rose, like lapping of waves. Slowly Alice threaded her way through the crowd, as recent speeches were quoted, amid lofty talk of "the sacrifices of our finest sons."
Quietly Alice wondered how far these gleaming parquets and crystals had been from the reality of Walter's last poems.
Poetry showed things as they were, albeit veiled, and propadaga how it was wanted to be bent.
Afternoon wore slowly onwards into early evening.
Di´ s freckles were clearly visible in the bright light, as were the traces of sorrow were clearly seen in her features as she was in the center of the little crowd of the editorial staff of the Perennial, next to Dorian who was flushed with victory. His eyes seemed to be searching for someone, and to Alice's slight surprise, she found Dorian looking straight at her, with a pleading, excited look that seemed to say wordlessly, "Haven't I done well."
So Alice, nodded lightly, to it was extremely difficult to make that nod, for Alice distinctly remembered how, by chance, a couple of days after Dorian's birthday, shimmering bright September afternoon, she had happened to walk, on down Kingsport Street, half-dreaming, of the peace, and grace of library of the Redmond Musical Society, when she had stopped outside one glamourous corner café, for the lace of her shoe had come undone, and after tying it, Alice had glanced inside of that café, and noticed that Dorian had been sitting inside the cafe, but he was by no means alone, but quite near him, was Irene in an extremely elegant vermillion-colored dress.
Dorian had seemed to enjoy Irene's company, for he had poured her tea, in his polite manner, and his eyes had sparkled with speechless laughter. While Alice looked on, speechless with astonishment, Irene had calculatedly wiped with her napkin what must have been a non-existent stain from the front of her dress, the better to direct Dorian's attention where she wished him to look. Quickly, Alice had walked with nervous, almost fluttering steps. Only one thought, inexorably, had passed through her mind. It had been how crushingly elegant Irene had seemed, sitting there by Dorian's side, as if she belonged in the café dominating others with her honey-slicing, superiority.
At the library, Alice had nodded to Madeleine Dobson, who had smiled at her dimples on her cheeks, as she made the usual tea, of two cups in her owerflowing office. Alice had shivered, and closed her eyes, and taken the cup of tea held out by Madeleine Dobson. The tea had been steaming dark, slightly lemony. Then Alice had heard Madeleine Dobson gently inquire "Miss Parker, is something bothering you as you seem pale and agitated, war news does that, without even trying mind. When I look at you, here browsing our old catalogues, I often think of shimmering autumn sunbeam, those eyes of yours can conquer anyone. You can safely ask me to mind my own business, old maid, that I am." Alice gave a light sigh, and, holding a stout cup of tea between her hands, she found to her own surprise that she was giving a disjointed account of the scene she had witnessed.
Madeleine Dobson glanced at the blonde girl in a dark blue cotton dress, whose unforgettable eyes, were troubled, and after a moment's silence she remarked in a soothingly musing manner, " Miss Parker, I feel you may be interpreting a little too much now. Sometimes afternoon tea it's just afternoon tea. I remember when I used to be absolutely wild over one certain person, in my time. Well, drink your tea before it gets cold and run your way out of here so I can get my work done, as this is a library, not a parlor. And waiting for you, my dear, are the notes you ordered, they are in your usual place."
Then, the news of Flers Courcelette had come, and the meaning of earlier cares and social sorrows had been lost in the all-consuming tearing darkness, that the loss of Walter was to her.
And only now, did Alice fully realize how much inner strength she had gained from her and Walter's quiet, playful understanding. The way they'd silently scoffed at theseoccasions, even as they'd made the most of them, with flying honours.
Alice slipped through the side door, into another quiet cabinet room with a red color scheme. She tiredly leaned against, small well made oaken table, with delicate legs, and flipped through the latest issue of Perennial, that were on it, in a tidy thick, illustrated pages slowly crunched as Alice read onwards. Dorian's by-word was glowing, and persuasive, without sentimentality, or excessive nationalism.
"Private W.C. Blythe's famous poem Piper was partly the impetus for this theme. These texts published in this voulme of Perennial have been obtained through collection surveys, from various soldiers around Europe, through Redmond's relatively comprehensive alumni network. There are also some descriptions of the home front and civilian life, about which Diana Blythe's essay, Pale smiles, and woven socks, is one example."
The issue were extremely ambitious and its layout and articles and essays and selected poems were a harmonious whole. Di´s essay truthfully stated the everyday life of
Primrose Hollow, somehow exalted and purified, and over it glowed the deep, cutting shadow of loss, and steely reciliance. Di's final sentences were intoxicating,
" In the golden light of the evening, the tattered, light bark of the pine is almost the color of blood, pouring out of a wound, I note as I slighty unnerved, drop my knitting needles on the cold, yellowed grass. Yet another pair of gray military socks is being made, to unknown, nameless, comrades of my brother's battalion, you who are out there somewhere. My fingers, they itch, the thread is thin, a wool thread, a silk thread, a thread of hope and prayers."
Then familiar voice, broke Alice's concentration. Her musings on loss, of Di´ s long pianist fingers, covered with inkstains, and fluttering silvery embroidery and slim knitting
needles, of various purpose.
"May I offer my deepest condolences. I happened to hear him play once, in the premises of the Music Society. I thought there was something otherworldly about that young man." Alice turned, in a smooth half-step, a dance turn, and looked at Royal Gardiner. He was standing behind her.
Gardiner exuded same style as before, and he was surrounded by a light spicy scent of orange blossoms, combined with hair oil and quality cigars, as ever, but for the first time Alice saw beneath the neat, polished surface. Royal Gardiner, now in half-light, looked tired, and worn. His dark hair had more gray streaks, and exhaustion, had drawn light lines on his face. It was almost if autumn news, never-ending course of the war would have finally touched him more personally.
So, compelled by a sudden impulse, Alice said, more softly that was her wont when conversing with him. "Thank you for your words. He really was a most rare soul, and a very lovely friend, to me and many others too."
Royal Gardiner sighed lightly, and stepped further into the room, past Alice. The room was decorated with dark oak, shiny mirrors, and reddish wallpaper. A few lamps glowed on the wall, light table with a graceful clock on it, a few chairs, and a red-striped empire-style sofa with lion legs. Gardiner said in a nonchalant tone with a light faint trace of amusement twined in. "Unfortunately gaudy these Redmond cabinet rooms aren't they, dearest, but they are private. It seems that once again we are alone, together as everyone else are celebrating Perennial or remembering, the fallen ones. One may call that fate, or just circumstances. For my darling, you are too utterly ravishingly lovely, to wear black, though you look regal in it." Gardiner took a step forward, toward her, as he said, with intimate tone of voice, "This may cheer you up, in your sorrow, and put the roses back into your cheeks." And produced from his pocket a four-fold package, wrapped in white silk paper, with a rosette the color of cocelicout. With unsteady legs Alice sat onto the lion-footed slightly sinking sofa, as she just looked at the package held in Gardiner´s hands.
Alice felt Gardiner's gaze, assessing, probing, and attentive on her, as she leaned against the back of the silken striped sofa. Glancing at Royal Gardiner out of the corner of her eye. Alice said with quiet, steely rebuke in her soft voice. " Mr. Gardiner, you shouldn't have bought it, as it is not proper, whatever it is. I do not want to open it, would you put it away. "
Alice heard then Gardiner laugh lightly; It was light, cutting, and cold, when its echo had died down. He inquired in artfully, carelessly, airy tone. "Never accept anything but flowers from men, not even a dollar or two, for a grass cure. Maidens, or virgins, may make an exceptionwith small jewelry, brooch, or perfume, but only if the gift giver courts them, with intent. Is that what advice handed down for matrilineal generations of village life, have been saying for decades, dearest. Still there is no excuse for poor form, so charmingly old-fashioned are those reams of morality and straight-laced customs, that still govern our society. Even though our known world is burning, with this fierce, bloody war that is fought in Europe. Sometimes I wish that I one beautiful day, I will do what I want, to follow my whims, without the light corset of morals and etiquette."
Alice pressed her hands to her flowing hems, and she looked without flinching to dark, fixed gaze of Royal Gardiner, which seemed even more penetrating than usual. Alice replied in a pointed tone "As you previously admitted to me in the upper hallway of Gardiner Hall, at Dorian´s party, you haven't believed in rainbows and rose gardens for years. I think you're not nearly as cynical as you tell yourself. Isn't happiness or love important in your world view? Because the world can't just be full of shadows, greed, and various passions?"
"Everything has its price in this wormy and wretched, corrupt world of ours. Where deals are made in back rooms that could straighten a few curls from your golden hair, if only you knew about them. Passion is an extremely human, and intimate, emotional state under the right circumstances" Gardiner pondered in drawling tone.
Then something dark and burning, flashed for a moment in his eyes, or it could be only trick of light, as he regarded Alice evenly with a light, cynical smile on his shrouded features.
The gilded clock, on the top of the little chest of drawers tinkled, softly. It chimed, in a clear bell-like tone, that shattered the silence that had fallen, like sudden bullet.
The candles were lit in the crystal chandelier on the ceiling and everywhere liveried waiters carried trays full of champagne. On stage, Redmond´s orchestra was tuning itsinstruments, light snatches of music floated, like gossamer.
Nan looked at Di a little questioningly, and inquired, "Alice hasn't been seen for a while, but I guess she's somewhere in the corner of some side room concentrating in her
upcoming performance. Do you happen to know what she is performing?" Di shook her flowing tresses, as she said, "No, I do not. She has not said one word about it, to me."
Di looked around, as people were once again mingling. There was no sing of Alice, but she saw Royal Gardiner walking past them. He was looking a little flushed. Beside the twins of Ingelside, Dorian observed with keen manner, "Papa's in a peculiar mood, for normally he hates Collings like plague, and nowhe's drinking champagne with that short, oily man, utterly strange that is." And then Dorian's sentence broke off, and as Di glanced at the stage she knew the reason for it. Professor Milne was standing on the stage and a little behind him was Alice, in her dark-hued flowing dress, delicate red flush, glowed on her features, and if Di didn't know better, she'd guess that Alice had borrowed blush, from someone, but Alice, didn't wear cosmetics, only perfume, and that only rarely. With fluid movements, Professor Milne, began to lead the orchestra.
Alice closed her eyes as light oboe solo played with a haunting mysterious lightness, and as it was about to end she began Marguerite's aria from La Damnation de Faust,
D'amour l'ardente flamme were flung in the audience. Soft violins and cellos provided a creeping, erotic background, as Marguerite´s plea shimmered through the hall as her voice shone controlled, creamy, gleaming cognac-like smoothness, in the middle register, and flexible, and light with shimmering goldeny top notes, all in sync with the Berlioz´s flowing music.
Di listened to Alice with burning cheeks. The haunting, intoxicating tone shimmered, and the French lyrics were dark with barely restrained passion, perfectly fitting, because Walter had also loved the legend of Faust and all its variations. Di pressed her teeth to her lower lip, for the crushing, fluttering mix of grief, loss, and passion in Alice's voice was almost overwhelming and Di found herself shivering
Di noticed, that Alice was having a little conversation with the orchestra. Soon again, she came on stage and said in her sublimely clear, but slightly shrouded style,"I feel it only right if I present a piece that was one of his favorites. "
And as the soft violin played, with its haunting, wavelike note, Alice's voice was soft, and nostalgically caressing, as she sung Sea Slumber Song, from Elgar´s evocative Sea Pictures.
Sea-birds are asleep,
The world forgets to weep,
Sea murmurs her soft slumber-song
On the shadowy sand
Of this elfin land.
Piece was distantly familiar to Di, and she seemed to remember that Walter had sometimes played it Ingelside, with Gertrude Oliver humming along. And that memory of oldendays, before everything, brough tears that Di hadn't been able to shed before. Vaguely Di noticed that Nan handed her a pure white handkerchief with a Hardy verse And I thought it was you/ There stood as you used to stand,/ and saying, at last you knew, embroidered in Alice's careful style with a burnt orange thread.
A couple of days after that occasion, one afternoon, a sealed package and a small note were brought to the front steps of Primrose Hollow. Nan picked it up, and turned it carefully. The paper was fine and was sealed with a blood red varnish with some sort of seal design, but it was a little fuzzy.
Shrugging, Nan brought the package into the living room, saying in a gentle mischievous tone, "Alice, I assume this is for you. Probably from Dorian, maybe there's chocolate in it." Alice was just about to flavor pumpkin pie and so she replied in a slightly vague tone, "Nan, put the package on the tea table. And I promise if it really is chocolate, you'll all get your share."
Soon Alice was sitting drinking tea, with curious Nan and Di sitting next to her, as Faith was doing her shift with Red Cross. With a slight smile, Alice opened the small note and read it.
Di noticed that Alice's smile disappeared, and with violent movements she folded the note in half, almost tearing it, with her haste, as she put it in her pocket. "Well, open that package, already", Nan teased, "we've been waiting too long." Di gave Nan a reproachful glance, but for once it was completely ineffective. And in the crossfire of curious eyes, Alice carefully opened the package. The fine, translucent thin paper crumpled lightly as a square box too small to contain chocolates was revealed.
And soon on the little table in the Primrose Hollow´s living room was a graceful tear-shaped glass bottle with a crystal cap. The liquid in the small bottle was almost colorless, but when held up to the light it had a light, hazy pink tint.
Nan's eyes widened, as she said extremely softly, "Alice, that is truly a royal courting gift. Don't you want to try it?" Alice glanced slightly anxiously in Nan's direction, but then she cautiously twisted the cap open, as she touched the pulsepoints of her wrists, with a glass pipette, and rubbedthem together in half defiant way. Involuntarily, Di 's eyes widened, for the scent was something indescribable; an intoxicatingly light, hazy, soft, powdery, yet spicy, scent with hidden dark depths; the top noteswere intriguing mix of jasmine, and rose, middle notes, slight hint of sour cherry, orange blossom, dark edges of smooth blackcurrant, and base notes, were filled with, delicateamber, and hints of patchouli.
Di glanced at Alice, only a light blush shone on her cheeks, giving her a feverish tinge. Suddenly Alice, stood up and said in a choked voice, "Sorry, but I need air." Soon the frontdoor of Primrose Hollow opened, the twins of Ingelside saw Alice's slender figure were walking in the sunset-tinged garden, she was leaning against the yew trees.
Nan looked at the bottle on the table, said a little pointedly " Did you notice that Alice doesn't seem at all happy. I'd be delighted, but Alice is evaisive as, ever. What you think Di?" Di, said in a thoughtful tone. " I feel that scent is quite intoxicating, and it suits her as if it had been designed for her. Alice, is Alice, she feels things deeply. Dearest Nan, I will not break her confidence, even if she has said something to me which she has not done." Nan giggled softly. Her eyes were twinkling, in a muted manner. "Perhaps Dorian has requested that, so suave and dashing , to find from his travels a perfume for Alice, because you can't get anything like that in Redmond, isn't it romantic if that really happened?"
Di smiled lightly, as only yesterday Alice had brought copy of Walter´s poem called Aftermath, to Perennial´s officies, along with a jar of her unique had eyed Alice warily as she'd moved about Perennial's premises, as if baking cookies was against some of his own aesthetic preferences, while she had been talking toMr. Saunders, the editor, across the vast, cluttered , Di had broken off one of the cookies and thrown it at Dorian, saying, "Alice makes these cookies better than anyone, and she won't share the recipe, so stop being arrogant and eat while there's still some left." Turning at the door, Alice had said in her light teasing way, "Well, thank you all, but especially Di and Dorian for this moment, in the world of magazines. Be ingenious, and write with enthusiasm, but don't be too romantic, for the Werther model is long gone."
Afterwards, Di had tried to focus on her work again, but with little success. Nearby Dorian had been whistling Berlioz.
And most of today Dorian had tried to coax Saunders´s to print and publish Walter´s poem, with poor success, as he had been utter raptures over it. Saunders had only said "That poem is too honest. It's against everything that's being published now, there was nothing like that even in our last issue, and there were all kinds of shades, as you wellknow. I suggest saving that poem for posterity, maybe some years from now it can be published somewhere, but now it's not profitable. In fact, I've been severely criticized for publishing our latest issue at all. So we'll have to tread carefully, because even the influence of your last name doesn't protect Perennial from everything, even though you might think so at times. Tempers are running high at the moment, understandably so when you look at the latest newspaper headlines proclaiming Transloy Ridge, and Ancre, the bloody sloughs of Somme."
Pouring more tea for Nan, Di thought to herself that Nan might be right, but decided nonetheless to watch Alice, and all members of the Gardiner family, very closely when the
next opportunity came. For Dorian had already hinted in passing about his aunt's plans for All Hallow's Eve. Invitations were already planned, and lists were drawn up. Di had inquired "Dorian, which of your aunts is in charge of the arrangements?" Dorian had raised his focused gaze from the budget calculation and said nonchalantly, "Adeline, of course. It may be that Dorothy will also be there with her one or two of her acquaintances. They all are active in various organizations. Dorothy usually meets them in various places, rented quarters, wherever. I have never inquired further." Di had exclaimed, "Why haven't you inquired?" Dorian, had taken a quick glance at Di. Then he had said in a downright infuriatingly arrogant tone, "Because I'm a Gardiner."
The cross of Alice's rosary glowed in a small patch of gaslight, and her narrow fingers twirled, beads thoughtfully.
Suddenly Alice remembered Mrs. Channing's words when that clever, kind woman had offered her a new cup of well steeped Pennyroyal tea, nearly three years ago, in cold September evening, in Lowbridge Boardinghouse. "Well, my sweet, a little advice for you. Remember, always, that even the best men are beasts, they stalk, take, and conquer, one way or another, and we will suffer the consequences. Oh, I almost forgot, Mr. Blythe wants to come and see you. He walks down the hall like Hamlet's ghost, almost wearing a hole in my carpet. Do you want to see him, or shall I chase him away with my broomstick?"
Shaking her head, very carefully as, light, headache raged in her temples, Alice slowly recovered from her bitter memories, which were tempered with Walter's gentleness, that she would never again experience.
Flexing her fingers, she braided her hair for the night, as she took a hair band from her pocket, something rustled, and she fished out a folded mark of a high-quality ink pen and precise handwriting were clear, even in a wrinkled form. Alice straightened it, and read the dense lines once more, in the flickering light.
"Darling, you were an utter revelation. Alluring, passionate Margurite and that Elgar was a glowing underwater enchantment. I believe that the softness of your silky skin will make the different notes of the fragrance sing.
R.G.
With light fingers, Alice lifted the hood of her oil lamp from its place, and placed the note in the flame. Soon ravenous flames had engulfed it, and all that remained was a small pile of ashes. Alice opened window for the wind to blow the ashes away, they flew almost incorporeally in the light, cold wind.
The garden of Primrose Hollow looked dead, the branches of the apple trees were like a surreal charcoal drawing, and only the yews and larch trees brought some variance tothe gloomy landscape, as all the colors had been leached away, by blue-black night.
Wearily, Alice blew out her lamp, and opened her door, ajar, in case Di would creep in during the night.
And she did.
