Chapter 15

The Prince Edward Island Redmond contingent had booked the tickets for their return on the same day, much to Anne's pleasure. It was now the second of January, and the breeze at the Charlottetown station was icy. It had been some time since the six of them had been able to travel together, and the reunion of the Avonlea students with Priscilla and Stella was merry- at least, as merry as Charlie's grumbling manner would allow. He had never travelled graciously.

After their luggage had been transferred to the ship, Gilbert grinned as Prissy and Stella disappeared with Anne into the great cabin of the steamboat as it began to move, each talking excitedly. He stood outside for a time watching the island leave the horizon, only partially regretting that she wasn't standing with him as she usually did. She'd been quiet when he and his parents had collected her from Green Gables that morning, no doubt worried about their return- she needed the girls. He also knew that the girls would want to know how their Christmas had gone- in detail, of course. Moody had taken Charlie to the medical cabin as usual for some ginger tea, and for a few minutes at least, he had peace.

The skies and waters were grey and cool, and after a short time, Gilbert turned from the rail to go inside. He readily found Anne's red head amongst the other passengers and walked toward the girls only to meet Moody coming up from one of the lower decks.

"Is Charlie alright?" Gilbert asked.

Moody shrugged, a slight grin on his long face. "He's a bit- er, delicate. Apparently, the captain isn't taking his needs into consideration."

"Dreadful of him." Gilbert sat down across from his wife, smiling at the cheeky smile she now gave him. "And just what have you been doing, Anne?"

"Who says that I did anything?"

He looked amused, laying his coat on the seat next to him. "That smile does."

She chuckled. "Alright then, I was just telling the girls about Davy."

He groaned, and his face was hidden in his hands, making the girls laugh at his discomfort. "I'm sure you did the talk very well, Gilbert."

It was the work of moments to explain the situation to Moody, who immediately turned pale. "Better you educating him than me, Blythe. Although I'm sure the ladies don't want to be discussing this."

Priscilla chuckled and sat back against the wooden bench. "Well, it isn't like we don't hear enough of it at college."

Both Gilbert and Moody turned to her in shock, and Stella shrugged in the silence. "Being a co-ed has a price- and some of the men at Redmond are not as gentlemanly as the two of you were both raised to be."

Gilbert's alarmed look flickered to Anne, and it was a moment before she met his eyes. "There is a reason that we were fastidious about who visited us at Patty's Place," she said carefully.

"Still are," Prissy commented, amused. "Aunt Jimsie is very good at weeding out the less stellar of the bunch."

"I- I wouldn't have thought they would talk like that around you."

Anne smiled slightly. "Gil, most of them are decent enough fellows. But there are always a few who are less discreet."

Gilbert let out a long breath. "You'll need to let me know who, Anne. I want our home to be safe, too."

"I'm still not used to hearing that from the two of you," Stella said lazily. "And I think the first thing you need to do is invite all of us over. We have yet to see this Mushroom of yours."

Anne chuckled. "Well- we have talked about hosting a housewarming, of sorts."

"Yes, you can bring us kindling as a gift," Gilbert added, grinning. "I keep accidentally letting us run out."

Charlie was on deck by the time the boat docked, and there was a rush to make it to the city train on time. To their dismay, when the six of them boarded, the train was already mostly full. Gilbert was fortunate to find four seats together, and as he placed Anne's bag on one, Stella claimed the other, looking for Priscilla, who was coming behind with Anne. It was, however, Charlie who came into view. In his usual manner he stepped over Stella to the seat she was saving, insisting that he needed to be in the middle to avoid motion sickness. Before Stella could splutter in her indignation, Priscilla walked past her with her bag, breathing heavily. "It's full, Stella- every seat is taken. You stay here- one of us needs to catch up on the rest of the Avonlea gossip at least. I'll move further down the train."

Gilbert courteously took Anne's coat and hat from her and saw her seated, scowling at Charlie for suggesting that Stella should move his hat so that it wouldn't fall. Gilbert briefly shuddered, thinking of the fellow being on their doorstep from now on, and sat down after turning to check that Priscilla was alright. "She's with Moody," he told the others, and Stella relaxed, knowing their friend would be safe.

A light rain began to fall as the train sped across the Nova Scotian landscape, now shrouded in darkness. Anne dreamily watched the movement of the hanging lamps in the panes of the window, seeing small towns dotted here and there along the journey while Stella and Gilbert argued somewhat ironically about the rules of the Debating Club. She was content to think long thoughts as the light rain pattered against her window, wondering how the little Mushroom had fared in their absence. Mrs Whitley had promised to keep an eye on Rusty for Anne, adding stiffly that a well-behaved animal was no trouble to care for. Anne had some faint doubts about her pet's behaviour, however, she had thanked their landlord profusely. Surprisingly, the older woman had laughed outright at Anne's explanation of Rusty's origins- and agreed that a cat would make his home where he liked.

Charlie nodded off to sleep soon into the journey, to everyone's relief. Stella soon turned to her book, and Gilbert sat with Euclid on his lap, idly jotting down notes in pencil in the margins. Anne settled back, the cool of the glass beside her making her shiver slightly on the bleak winter evening. Gilbert's arm had fallen down beside her own to rest on her gloves on the seat, his book propped up on his knee, and her eyes traced down to where his grandfather's ring caught the light. Without moving, and her eyes flickering up to make sure that everyone was occupied, she raised her left hand to look at the creamy pearl ring on her fingers, her eyes soft.

The ring wasn't what she had pictured when she was younger- and yet it was perfect for her, as pale as her own skin and gleaming in the lamplight. Gilbert had told her a little of his grandparents- the ones who left Charlottetown behind them to build the Blythe farm when it had all been open countryside. There was a tiny bubble of happiness in her as she studied the ring. It wasn't new- no, it was far more precious than that, it was something that had come from the heart of his family. She bit her lip, not wanting anyone to see the girlish smile on her face. How would her parents feel if they could see her now? She was no longer a Shirley, but a Blythe. Anne carefully looked up at Gilbert's profile, a faint smile peeking through. Her mother and father certainly wouldn't have been able to fault Gilbert on his looks. And his gentleness with her since this all began had been wonderful. Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden snore and grunt from Charlie that made her wince. Imagine if she had found herself in a similar situation with someone like him! No, if this was the way she married, it certainly could be with no one but Gilbert.

Still, a part her wondered at her being where she was. There had been little time for introspection over the past five weeks- with anxiety over sharing their news, and the need to maintain a perfectly unified front, Anne had found herself simply too busy to take stock of their almost month-old marriage- and they had rarely been alone in Avonlea. The Blythe and the Green Gables households had claimed their time with the young pair most avidly- especially considering they would not see the children again for another six months.

The sound of the train clicking over the tracks was oddly soothing, and she gave an unconscious sigh as she settled into the seat, with Gilbert's sturdy warmth beside her. It was just six months now until the end of their junior year of college; after that, there would only be another year until they were done. She stifled a yawn behind one slender hand now. The rain was coming down steadily, and she began to relax, her grey eyes blinking sleepily. Her littlest finger brushed his then on the seat, and in that liminal space between the waking world and sleep, her fingers curled around his own. Her eyes at last closing, she didn't see the furtive glance her husband gave her, or the satisfied smile on his lips as he turned his palm to cradle her hand in his own.

It was almost nine in the evening when the train pulled into the Kingsport station, and it took several minutes for the quicker passengers to clear from the aisle. As the sound of the whistle went, Gilbert turned to see Anne's big, grey eyes blinking up at him. He'd needed to wake her when the faint lights of the city began to show on the horizon, chuckling at the way she groaned and stretched in the limited space. She'd been so peaceful resting against his shoulder, but the train was now beginning to empty, and Gilbert had already been hit by several people walking past him with large suitcases.

"And you wonder why I never want you to sit on the aisle," he grumbled, picking up his hat from the floor after it had been knocked off for the second time.

Anne was pulling on her overcoat now, and yawned. "You might wish to have the window seat sometime, Gilbert."

Stella was just standing up and turned around with a sigh. "I could only wish someone else was that considerate." She turned to the fellow beside her and scowled. "Mr Sloane! We're in Kingsport now!"

Anne couldn't help but smile at the way Stella not-so-delicately pulled her hatbox down from the rack above her head, making no attempt to avoid hitting Charlie, who had also just woken up- and in no fine mood at that.

Priscilla took the lead then, smiling as she and Moody passed the foursome with a sly wink at Stella, who rolled her eyes. When the six of them were once more out on the platform in the noise and bustle, Charlie turned to the others pompously.

"Gilbert and Anne, we'll take the first cab- Moody had best escort the girls home before he goes to Deniston Street."

Anne choked slightly. "Charlie, you- you have moved into the boarding house already?"

"Naturally. I had my things moved in the day before I went home- and some of the fellows I lived with were frightfully keen to help me get going."

"I just bet they were," Gilbert muttered until Anne elbowed him.

Moody rolled his eyes and turned to Stella and Priscilla. "I would be happy to escort you, if that works for you."

Stella shivered, pulling her coat closer. "Well, we'd better head home quickly- and I do hope Aunt Jimsie has the fire roaring. Come along, Mr MacPherson."

It was almost twenty minutes later when Gilbert and the driver finished loading the trunks into the cab, and he straightened to see Anne standing on the curb waving goodbye to the girls. He swallowed, seeing the fleeting pain on her face as she stepped back, for the first time not going home to Patty's Place.

Anne turned when she felt Gilbert's arm slip around her waist, and his look was kind. "We can go and see them tomorrow if you like," he said softly. "I know how much you miss them."

She turned to hide her face against his shoulder for just a moment. "It's foolish."

Gilbert turned her towards the cab. "It's not. But we have a Rusty-cat waiting for us at home-"

"Presumably-"

"And a Mushroom house that hopefully hasn't succumbed to mould in our absence."

He was pleased when she smiled, and he helped her in to sit across from Charlie, who was already instructing the driver on where he needed to go. All conversation was conducted by him, with complaints at the speed of the carriage, the rain that dared to fall, and the fact that his luggage was sandwiched between Anne and Gilbert's most unwisely. There was no conversation from the other two- they sat in silence as the cab moved through the streets, and Gilbert's gloved hand held her own through Charlie's diatribe.

At the house, Gilbert helped the cab driver with Charlie's belongings, thinking it prudent to rid themselves of his grumbling before they tackled their own. Charlie announced that he would visit the young couple for tea the following day, and left them on the doorstep- at which point Anne and Gilbert took their luggage in hand and proceeded to walk down the path to their home, surprised to see a curl of smoke coming up from the chimney, and a lamp lit in the windows.

"Mrs Whitley must have been in," Anne murmured, and Gilbert smiled, turning to pay the cab driver for assisting with their trunks.

Anne took the key from her purse while Gilbert was still searching in his pockets, and she pushed the door open to be greeted by Rusty purring around their legs ecstatically, and a surprisingly warm house. Anne smiled as she dropped her bags on the ground to pick up her cat, looking around her in contentment. Oh, everything was still brown, but after their time away, it was home. She could hear Gilbert grumbling good-naturedly about being left with the trunk, and chuckled to see him dragging it inside unassisted. He straightened up as Anne shoved the heavy door closed behind him, and she turned with a sigh of relief.

"Well, we may not get out, come morning; however, we are safely inside for the night," she said cheerfully, turning to see Gilbert picking up a note from their landlady.

He chuckled. "You know, I'm sure I remember being told that we would get no special treatment, Mrs Blythe- however, she's done it again: Mrs Whitley had some milk delivered to us since we would have no chance to shop tomorrow, and left a loaf of bread. And you are invited for tea whenever you are free."

Anne smiled, removing her jacket. "If I had been catering for ten or so men for a decade or two, I would be happy to have some female company as well," she added dryly. She sighed then, turning to survey the luggage with her hands on her hips. "I don't think I can face this mess tonight, Gil."

"Then don't. There's nothing that won't keep till tomorrow."

Anne couldn't hide her exhaustion and nodded. She found herself in their bedroom once again, her cheeks flushed. It hadn't been so long since they were there- and yet there was a shyness that was resurfacing as she moved to the chest of drawers to find a clean nightgown to change into. They had grown closer since they had last been here, it seemed- and now they were back in their bedroom, she found herself inexplicably wondering what Gilbert thought of her nightgowns. Perhaps Phil was right about them. Not that it mattered, of course- there certainly didn't need to be any awareness of each other in that sense, she told herself confusedly- and yet it was the prettiest one she selected now.

Completely for warmth, of course.

She readied herself for bed, somehow knowing that Gilbert was giving her all the space she needed. She had turned down the lamp by the time he knocked softly and was in her small bed with a book in her hand. He gave her a brief smile, somehow seeming larger than life as he crossed to turn down his own bed. Even with her eyes steadfastly on the pages- Dickens or Eliot, she wasn't at all sure- she could feel him moving past her into the changing room, his tie carelessly slung over the doorknob. She shivered slightly as the door closed behind him, now berating herself wondering about his pyjamas. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? They had shared a room for two weeks, and she hadn't been this aware of him before, had she?

Anne didn't look up when he came out of the room, throwing his suit over the small chair in their bedroom. She waited for him to go toward his bed, however, it was to her that he came now, and she lifted her head to meet his eyes, furious at herself for blushing again. He reached down to touch the curls that had been tied back loosely with a ribbon.

"Oh- I hadn't put it back yet," Anne muttered sheepishly, reaching up to pull the mass over one shoulder.

"It's pretty, however you have it," Gilbert said with a shrug. "Even in those braids you wear to bed." She folded her arms crossly, however, he only grinned, bending down to kiss the top of her head. "Oh, and let me know what you think of my Chemistry book when you're done."

Anne looked down in shock to see that she had inadvertently selected a textbook to pretend to read- and it was clear that Gilbert knew that she hadn't been reading. She flushed in embarrassment as he moved to his own bed, and threw himself down with a satisfied groan that made her face like fire.

"I never thought I'd say this about the Mushroom, but there's no place like home."

Anne chuckled, pulling the ribbon from her hair to begin to braid it back as she heard Rusty come padding into the room. "So the damp didn't carry it away after all."

"No, and Rusty survived."

After a moment's indecision, Anne dropped the book beside her bed, turning to blow out the lamp. She snuggled down under the covers, allowing the long journey to recede from her mind as she finally relaxed. "Goodnight, Gil."

"Night, sweetheart."

Anne was woken at midday on Sunday by her grinning husband, who placed a tray of food by her bed and sat down in the small chair between their beds while she ate, his stockinged feet propped up on her bed. He had woken fully re-energised that morning, and after puttering around the house for some hours had decided that he had spent enough time without his wife. Anne commented that the trip had never seemed so long before- she could only surmise that their situation had placed extra strain on their holiday after all.

By four o'clock that afternoon their luggage was safely stowed away, and the extra blankets had been placed on the beds- and Anne and Gilbert sat down to tea with Mr Charles Sloane, Esquire. Anne's biscuits were light enough to make Marilla proud, and she served tea from the chipped blue teapot with all due decorum. Charlie was not easily impressed, and had a good deal to say about the monochromatic colour scheme- however, he admitted that for a ramshackle cottage, it wasn't so terrible. He had inspected the little house as far as he was able before a smiling Anne shut the bedroom door firmly, ushering him with great cordiality to the fireplace. Gilbert had caught the nosy gleam in his eye at the only door he had not been invited into, and they had no intention of allowing him to satisfy his curiosity about the finer points of their relationship. Thankfully Charlie was prompt to depart at six o'clock in the evening, not wishing to miss Mrs Whitley's much superior spread.

The holiday, and the relaxation of the previous day was far from Anne's mind by the time she arrived at Redmond the next morning. Gilbert had left for his classes earlier than she had, and she was running late as she entered the smaller of the English classrooms. Professor Winston was at the door as she rushed up, and he nodded, bored.

"Welcome back, Mrs Blythe. Head down the front, there is a seat between Mr Gardner and Miss Hallett."

Anne schooled her features as best as she could, and made her way to the front row of desks, as the professor proceeded to write the course outline on the board for them to copy down. The class were kept busy with their notes, and Anne was relieved to not have time for social niceties with those sitting beside her now. Three new set texts, a handful of smaller essays due in the weeks to come- she looked at the list of dates, feeling somewhat bewildered by the increase in workload this year.

Towards the end of the class, Professor Winston began handing back the assignments they had submitted before the holidays, taking time to talk to the students about their results. Anne was startled to be addressed by her neighbour now.

"Miss Shirley, had you a nice Christmas?" the velvety voice said from her left.

Anne cleared her throat, very aware that Claire was listening avidly on her right.

How had she not noticed her in this class before?

"I see that you possess a short memory, Mr Gardner," Anne said carefully, her eyes on the parchment beneath her pen. "I spent Christmas with both mine and my husband's families."

"Ah, the husband, yes," Roy said lazily. "Forgive me, Mrs Blythe. You could make things simpler and allow me to use your first name, you know."

There was an interruption as Professor Winston handed Anne a sheaf of parchment while his students compared notes across the rows. "Excellent, Anne. I wasn't expecting anyone to pick the more subtle nuances in this piece- the author was a friend of mine."

Anne looked up in surprise. "Neil Cross?"

The older man nodded, his smile pleased. "He published it ten years ago- I've only just managed to get it added to the curriculum." He turned to Roy, his look stern. "Now, Mr Gardner, you performed moderately well on this essay- however, you need to delve more into the text."

Anne's eyes were on her own work, smiling slightly at the high score written in red at the top. It was the first she had completed since the incident at the football game- she was still faintly surprised that she had even remembered to turn it in. Over the rustling of papers around the room, she heard clearly the conversation going on beside her.

"I found the text rather whimsical, sir," Roy said, composed.

"In what way?"

"The author wishes to portray the plight of the poor- I simply believe that he exaggerated for the purpose of creating pathos."

Professor Winston's slate-grey eyebrows rose. "Your evidence?"

Roy shrugged kindly. "Sir, my family has been involved in charitable projects for many years now- I have visited these orphanages and shelters, and quite honestly have seen little deprivation and no misery."

Anne's red head came up, and she turned suddenly green eyes to the speaker. Professor Winston gave her an oddly appraising look, however, he turned back to Roy.

"You think they do not suffer?" he asked gravely.

Roy sighed, sitting up as he closed his notebook. "Professor, I have no doubt that many suffer; that is until help can be offered to them. I think the work being done in cities by those who can afford to be benevolent is good- and Mr Cross does a great disservice to the wealthy who give their time and finances toward such places. I should think gratitude should be expressed, first and foremost."

Anne placed her pen down on her desk in shaking fingers, and Roy turned at the sound to meet her inexplicably furious gaze.

"Do you not think that what you and your family saw was the public face presented for a benefactor?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

"Miss Shirley-"

"That is Mrs Blythe, Mr Gardner," Anne said crisply "Of course, the tables would have been polished when you visited. Everyone was in a nice, clean dress, and the tea was served on immaculate china. No doubt there were smiles all around for you, the people who hold their job security in your hands."

Roy, to his credit, was utterly confused at the passion of her words. "Mrs Blythe, I meant to give no disrespect. I simply wonder if the author managed to see the work that was being done- or if he merely wished people to feel a certain way about the subject."

Professor Winston intervened now. "Gardner, you are entitled to your opinion. However do be aware that your privilege will not necessarily allow you to see another side to this."

Roy had the grace to concede this point, and rose to collect his books. "Sir, I agree, that we students are all privileged here. I flatter myself that I have always tried to understand another point of view- I will attempt to go back and see what I may have missed."

He nodded at Anne, and walked up the aisle to the door, leaving her to take up her own books in shaking hands. Her Professor's words stopped her.

"I'm sorry, Anne, I should not have questioned him before you, given the subject matter."

Anne's chin rose, and she gave him a piercingly clear look. "As you say, he is entitled to his opinion."

"And yet if our society- including those who have the most to give- is ever going to learn the truth, people need to speak up. To write."

Anne stopped, her brow lowered. "Sir?"

The older gentleman leant on the desk between them. "I was curious to see what you would make of Cross' work. It's told as fiction, and yet it's the truth, isn't it?"

Anne swallowed, her hand clenching around her notebook. "Yes."

"Anne, I have been waiting for you to write me something real," the teacher said quietly. "You can write, I saw that in your freshman year. It's fanciful, pretty- and it's an escape. Your own, I would assume."

Anne was pale, but she stood her ground. "I don't wish to glorify the ugliness of the world, sir. There is too much of it."

The older man's look was tired as he regarded one of his favourite pupils. "We need both, Anne. We need the writers who will give us joy, and rest from our labours- but we need people who will bring us the truth that comes from experience. Neil Cross is like you, Anne. He lived it. If the people don't know, how else can they change? How else can we reshape a deeply flawed and neglectful society?"

Anne managed a shaky laugh. "I was under the understanding that I needed to not rock the boat for the next eighteen months."

He nodded, his look thoughtful. "Perhaps what this world needs is someone who dares to rock it, Mrs Blythe. Personally, I think that you need to write the story that frightens you the most. I think the world needs to read it."

He gathered his books, leaving behind a shaken Anne. Eventually, she made it outside, her gloves in one hand, hitching her satchel higher on her shoulder.

"Mrs Blythe," she heard, then, and turned to see Roy standing beside the steps. He was oddly pale and took her free hand in his. "I apologise, Anne- I didn't mean to offend you."

Anne drew her hand back immediately, her grey eyes huge. "Mr Gardner-"

"Roy," he insisted. "I have no idea what I said that was so upsetting to you, but I apologise."

Anne stiffened, seeing several people watching them curiously. "Mr Gardner, our differing opinions needn't concern you."

"Then why should my opinion upset you?"

Anne's chin rose, her eyes watchful. "Forgive me, but your opinion on this subject is a result of ignorance. Understandable ignorance, and perhaps justifiable, but still wrong."

There was enough pride in the man to make the dark eyes flash, however, his voice remained calm. "Anne, I do not understand what I have done to earn such censure from you about a mere story."

"No. You wouldn't," she said, her eyes glittering. "I will only say that you will never be able to understand what goes on behind the doors of one of your institutions. No one in charge of such a place would ever allow you or your peers to see it."

Roy's forehead creased. "And why would you be aware of that?"

A faintly bitter smile rose on Anne's lips as she stepped away. "I suggest that you read the book again, Mr Gardner."

It was Roy who watched her slim figure walk away this time, his forehead creased in confusion. At the sound of the bell from the tower, he shook himself and turned to walk toward his next class, not seeing a pair of narrowed blue eyes following him the whole way.

When Anne arrived home from college later that day, she threw herself onto her bed in a way that would have made Marilla scold terribly. She looked up at her brown ceiling with a frown, angry at herself for being so upset by Royal Gardner's misguided opinions.

She had known she was right from his first words. How many people had she seen come and go through the orphanage in one year? Richly dressed men and women, looking at the orphans in their shining morning faces, curtsying as they had been taught, to show deference to the people who visited. Anne shivered and clamped down the memories as she had often done, closing her eyes and imagining Dryad's Bubble in the springtime. In the early days at Green Gables, she had often gone there when memories plagued her, imagining them washing away with the trickling spring. The mellow sound would soothe her, and then she would hear Marilla calling her from the house- and she would remember that it was nothing more than a memory.

There was the sound of the front door screeching, and she chuckled half-heartedly- Gilbert must be home. After the unpleasantness of the day, she smiled to hear his cheerful call, and he soon stomped into the bedroom to stop at her prone state.

"You told me I shouldn't do that," he said, amused.

"After the day I had, I decided that I was justified in flopping on my bed."

Gilbert sat down beside her, leaning his head back against the quilt tiredly. "I quite agree. I can't believe it's only been one day. You were right, Avonlea was a respite."

Anne sat up, turning to place her feet on the floor beside him again, tucking her skirt in carefully. "What happened?"

He sighed, raising a hand to ruffle his brown hair. "Hallett wants me in his office in the morning."

Anne paled. "Why?"

"Oh, he's checking up on me- on us," Gilbert said, his lack of enthusiasm apparent. "'After the circumstances of last year,' was how he put it."

Anne bit her lip, nervously. "Well, I suppose we had that coming. Are you worried?"

He tipped his head back to look at her and shrugged. "Not really. We've done what they asked, and our grades are higher than ever. He just wants to keep an eye on us, I think, to make sure we behave ourselves appropriately."

Anne chuckled suddenly. "Mrs Lynde would agree. I wonder what she would make of him?"

"Mincemeat, I should assume." Gilbert reached up to take her hand, then. "So what happened to you today?"

Anne was still and then shook her head. "Can I perhaps tell you later?" she asked slowly. "I just want to forget it for a little while now."

He turned to her fully, his eyes anxious. "Are you sure we shouldn't talk now?"

She nodded, and slipped down beside him on the braided mat Marilla had insisted on sending with them. "Would you make me laugh, Gil?" she asked tiredly. "Just for a little while, before we start to get our supper ready."

Gilbert couldn't help but smile. "Charlie almost burnt off Professor Elston's moustache today."

Anne blinked at him, a disbelieving smile on her lips. "Really?"

Gilbert soon had her chuckling, hearing how their classmate had attempted to explain that the mistake was entirely the sixty-year-old professor's fault. He was pleased to see her lighten, and soon the two of them moved back to the kitchen to assemble a simple meal to indulgently eat before the fire. She looked content, and her hand was brushing his on the sofa, and Gilbert decided that he couldn't bring himself to ask what had gone wrong that day. She would tell him sometime, he was sure. He rose to do the dishes instead and announced that he would take his bath in the bedroom then, leaving her to study in the living room before the fire.

Anne assisted him to fill the bath with only a minimum of blushing that time and soon found herself in front of her desk with a primrose shawl around her shoulders; looking thoughtfully at the sprig of pine that Gilbert had placed in a jar, the spicy scent rising in the warmth of the room. She pulled from her box a story she had been working on in her free time, a tale of romance from the Arabian courts- and her eyes skimmed the words. She worried her lip as she placed it back, and drew out a fresh sheet of paper.

It would be for no one else, she thought stubbornly. She didn't owe the world this story, whatever the professor believed about it. She swallowed suddenly, thinking of Roy's dismissive comments- similar echoes of which had fallen on younger ears when she lived at the Hopetoun Asylum. Perhaps- perhaps she owed it to herself- to the girl who had been allowed no voice in her welfare. Anne's pencil hovered above the page for a time, wondering if she could do it- if she dared.

She lowered the pencil to the page- and there in the neat script that Miss Stacey had helped her to shape as a girl, she slowly wrote these words-

Beneath the Stairs.