The gloom and grayness of late autumn, dim days, seemed to hang heavily over the Redmond campus. Lecture halls were filled, and books were borrowed and waited for the libraries. And the Red Cross offices practiced charity work for the soldiers on the front. Several collection points had been set up in different places, and the women of the Laidies Aid and Sewing Clubs, and Knitting Circles, sewed woolen socks in piles, which were sent to the front.
Silence prevailed in the handsome halls of the Redmond Music Society's Library, as Alice Parker, in her dark dyed dress, fluttered thoughtfully between the shelves. The thick sheet music folders seemed to whisper to her, in passing. A piece of sky could be seen from the large oval window, it was a shiny watery gray. On the frozen grass on the ground was a pile of black-brown alder leaves with a thin layer of frost on top.
Shivering, Alice wrapped her woven gray shawl more tightly around her shoulders and as she moved cautiously around large room filled with old photographs, her steps echoing. Suddenly Alice stopped to look at a photograph, on a small dresser, for the woman in the photograph looked very familiar, just as if she had recently met that dark-haired, proud-looking, rich woman somewhere.
And suddenly shrill whistling of a teapot, echoed further down the hallway. It broke hushed silence, and turning in slow circle Alice started briskly towards Madeline's librarian's little office was a messy barely held anvalanche of paper and forms, as always, with overfilled shelfs and cabinets. The same chair Alice sometimes sat in was occupied. The person was dressed in a cream colored two-piece, and a warm, familiar voice said softly, "And you know, Maddie, then she tried to persuade me to change my mind, of course it was to no avail." Madeline's dry, matter-of-fact voice said with extraordinary warmth, "Naturally. If you get something into that curly head of yours, you usually make it happen, come hell or highwater. It's been too long since I last attended our small gatherings. Do you still hold them in the same premises, or have you changed plans?"
The hinges of the door creaked as Alice leaned against the door. Madeline turned and a faint smile spread over librarian's features, which in this light looked a little worn. Madeline was practically dressed in brown, as usual, just as if she wanted to blend in with her beloved books. She said calmly, " Ah welcome Alice. I guess you heard the shrill siren call of the teapot? A cup of excellent tea, my special blend, is very welcome, especially on a chilly day like this. I think I can find a third cup around here somewhere, please come join us."
The tall figure in the old rickety chair had turned, and Alice looked into the dark smiling eyes of Dorothy Gardiner, who held out her gloved hand and said, in her soft, captivating way, " Dear Alice. How wonderful to have met you here. I have a piece of music, in my valise, which I think you and Di Blythe will like. Our breakfast conversations were really interesting, although it was more of a brunch, even if Christine Stuart Dawson threw in her own opinions, as did my sister." Alice raised her eyebrows, and suddenly the missing piece fell into place.
Alice remembered opulence of Hall's breakfast room, and the watery sunlight, and Christine Dawson's caressing soft voice that seemed to prick everyone at the table, just like Irene, but only ten times more skillfully. Adeline and Christine's conversation seemed to be from a completely different planet, full of travel, and sights, of Nice, Pisa and Rome in the spring seasons, and the booking lists of Paris fashion designers' ateliers, and Irene, elegant as always, listened carefully to every word.
Alice had noticed a gentle, subtle disapproval in Christine's deep blue impenetrable gaze, as she had occasionally glanced at the Ingelside twins. They had sat across the long table, side by side, near Dorian, who had been pale, and unusually quiet, as if he were thinking something fiercely, or maybe he was suffering from a hangover. Halfway through brunch, Royal Gardiner, dressed in a burgundy velvet jacket, with pure white shirt, and straight trousers, and a small group of haggard-looking men in tailcoats entered the room. And one of them, a slender blond man, raised his glass in Irene's direction, teasingly. With one precise glance, that man looked at each person at the table briefly. And when he looked towards at Alice, a soft smile appeared on his face, and Alice, didn't like that smile at all. So for the rest of the brunch, Alice focused on pushing her scrambled eggs on her plate, and talking in a low voice, with Di and Nan.
And for the rest of the visit, Alice stayed as far away from the library as possible. She sat alone in the pink room, looking out into the gray grounds of Hall, as Nan and Di went sightseeing. Nan's excited exclamations echoed through corridors, it seemed that she was very fond of the staircase and frescoes in the great vestibule. And just before Thompson drove Ford, onto the front steps, Dorian came up to Alice.
Dorian looked at her silently for a moment, then a light smile lit up his grave face as he said, "Dorothy is right. My mother's pearls really do belong to you. So I am giving them to you. It is better that you have them, dearest Alice, than they are buried here among other old memories."
And from his pocket Dorian carefully took out a blue velvet box, which he handed to Alice. Nearby Christine Stuart Dawson glanced in Alice's direction, and something that might have been irony, or feminine self-satisfaction flashed across her face.
Freeing herself with effort, from the mostly unwelcome, and sudden recollections which Dorothy's words had stirred, Alice cautiously tasted her tea. It was velvety soft, with just the right ratio of sugar.
Then Dorothy got up and handed Alice a faded blue folder with Gardiner's coat of arms embroidered on it, saying playfully, "I wish you both very happy times with that piece of music. Come and visit me sometime, Di and you."
Alice watched as Madeline automaticly handed Dorothy a pink loan note on which she wrote an address in elaborate handwriting. On the threshold Dorothy turned and said, "Sometimes it feels like my duties never end. Canvassing, and other things. Well, Madeline, it was lovely to see you, after a long time. As usually Adeline is here, running our, my familys errands. Alice, bring my warmest regards, to the rest of Primrose Hollow crowd." A flash of cream, and hurried heels, and vivid Dorothy was gone.
Silence fell.
Madeline cleaned her desk and carefully Alice opened the sheet music folder. The notes rustled, and the beautiful old ink smelled, and slowly Alice's eyes widened as she examined the notes. And Madeline's voice said, with a slightly amused nostalgic intonation, "Judging by your reaction, I think you got a golden treasure at the end of the rainbow. Well, Dorothy has always been able to please, often unintentionally, but also sometimes on purpose. It's a dangerous thing that Gardiner charm." Alice nodded vaguely as she thought of Dorian, and that elusive charm of his. Alice had imagined that it, was part of his personality, that light, airy combination of sarcasm and benevolence and, surprising sensitivity, but now Alice found that it was a family-trait, as all of Gardiners had that to some extent, even Adeline.
Feeling restless she finished her chilled tea. For the rest of the day, Alice glanced at Hardy´s collected works, and occasionally poured over Waughan-Williams sheet music, of which there were only a few in the library, Fantasia in particular was phenomenal.
Cottage named Primrose Hollow seemed to be bathed in the soft elusive light. Its small-paned windows were like inviting smiling eyes in the grayness of November. And the well-kept garden slept, waiting for the arrival of spring, when the multitude of colors would rise again, all anew. Honeysuckle bushes and thorny yew stand guard, in the rear-end of garden perimeter. In this corner of Kingsport, there was still a bit of wild nature, bent to the norms of urban planning.
In the drawing room, Nan laughed heartily as she read certain letter from Ingelside. Her laughter was so merry and bright that, Di, Alice and Faith, all looked up. Di, having been engrossed in Shelley, and Alice had been doing her crafts, and Faith was bending Latin conjugations. So, Faith said in her perky style, " Has Rilla perhaps brought a new war orphan in a soup bowl to Ingelside? Or has Laidies Aid from Glen and Lowbridge perhaps come up with a project that would really help our boys 'over there' ?"
The crackling fire brought out light reddish streaks in Nan's shiny hair, and she shook her head cheerfully and said, "I'm reading Mumsy's letter. She's written a delightful description of Susan's reactions to both the situation in Romania and the outcome of the US presidential election, which was just a couple of days ago."
Faith chuckled softly, and lightly she fingered something under her collar. Then she stretched out in her flexible way, and said "It's unbelievable that little Bruce will be nine in the summer. I had a letter from Una a couple of days ago, and it was full of news from Bruce, as usual. My sister is really devoted to him. Bruce is still an ardent admirer of Jem, as we know, but I'm not sure where this enthusiasm for the piano of his comes from, though. Definitely Rosemary's influence, though I'm sure my sister has a part in it. Una's postscript was a bit odd, she said, that Bruce wants to send warm regards to a fairy who likes cherry jam." Nan and Di looked at each other, a little puzzled.
Alice burst into a soft laugh that jingled like a dark bell, and wiping her eyes lightly with an embroidered handkerchief, she playfully remarked, "That particular fairy is me. When I went to the Manse, one glimmering hot August day I met Bruce. Una had apparently just read Lang's fairy tales to him. Of course I had tea with Una, and we played Elgar."
Faith said mischievously, "Well, now things clear up. So, you are to blame for the fact that my father's sermons were full of sea references at one time. Did you know that several notable people from Laidies Aid had complained to Rosemary about it, apparently the theology had been solid, but the rest had been quite incomprehensible."
Alice, said in her soft, dignified way, "Elgar's compositions are very inspiring, so why shouldn't Reverend Meredith be enchanted by them." Di, said warmly, a slight quiver in her voice, "when you performed Elgar's song about waves, Sea Slumber Song, at the launch of Perennial's latest issue, it was unforgettable."
Nan glanced sharply in Di's direction. Alice had been impressive revelation, more than few steps up from, Glen's church choir solos, there was no question about that, but the blond girl was not a world-class star like Nellie Melba. And out of the corner of her eye, Nan saw a light shadow pass across Alice's delicate features, suddenly making her look older.
Nan noted that, Di nodded a little sadly, her freckles showing, so clearly on her pale skin. And Nan felt again, that she had been completely left out of the communication between her twin and Alice, just as she had been in the first few weeks after Walter's passing, when Di's grief had frozen her solid. The light vivid echo of that sadness seemed to be pulsating again, almost alive in every corner of the room.
Feeling utterly helpless, Nan squeezed her slender hands together and tried to concentrate on more positive matters, as to what to make Jerry, for Christmas. Maybe she would have time to do something more laborious, more loving, than the usual woolen socks and scarfs. Past years, there had been books, vague and esoteric, style, which they had discussed with great burning enthusiasm amid the loving atmosphere of Glen.
Suddenly, whistling of the teapot mixed with clean notes of Brahms, on the slightly out of tune piano, Alice was playing. The music shimmered, caressing, like dew on summer roses Nan thought. Di's eyes shone like stars, despite the dark shadows under her eyes, and she seemed to be humming softly along.
Soon, Faith brought steaming teapot into living room. There was also date cake and cinnamon buns. When there were only a few crumbs left to be in evidence of excistence of cinnamon buns. Di inquired "Alice, where did you get those notes. That music is quite somehow speaks to me in a special way, isn't it funny?"
Alice, stirred her dark tea, a little hesitantly Nan thought, and after a moment's pause she said softly, "I happened to run into Dorian´s Aunt Dorothy last week, at the Redmond Musical Society´s Library. As you may know both of Dorian's aunts are active members there, or at least Adeline is, but Dorothy sometimes too. She was having tea with librarian Madeline Dobson, and lent me those notes, she had them with her. Dorothy, sent her warmest regards to all of us." Di nodded silently, and broke her piece of date cake into small pieces, handing half of them to Alice's plate. Alice, smiled, lightly, and dipped a piece of cake into her tea.
Faith pointed out, "Tell me, was Irene Howard really there, at Gardiner Hall? I heard something from Nan earlier, of the sublimeness of Hall. Unfortunately I couldn't make it, because of my Red Cross work shift, which I couldn't manage to reschedule. I cut bandages and wove socks, while you all celebrated among glittering parquet floors and businessmen who probably had waxed mustaches and stern expressions. Nan said that she saw Alice and you Di, talking to Irene for a few moments, and then Irene was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the evening."
Di said lightly "Irene was Irene, but the way Dorian's Aunt Dorothy treated Irene was quite masterful. I don't believe in class divisions, but lovably gorgeous Dorothy can sometimes be quite wittily chilling. I don't think Irene quite noticed, that she was insulted. It was almost pure Wilde social comedy."
A hoarse cuckoo clock rings. The ringing, broke the calm, homely silence.
Softly Alice rose from the table as she muttered abrupt apology, and slipped to the doorway, swift-footed like wili-spirit. The closing of the front door was like a light scream, because the hinges needed oiling. Faith and Nan glanced at each other, and Di chuckled as she said, " If you, Nan-let look at the clock, you'll see that it's almost time for compline. Alice has always been careful to attend that service at least relatively often."
Faith's golden laugh sparkled and she said "I bet Glen's strict Presbyterian circles would be horrified to know that, while we all attend church and services regularly, our Episcopalian visits her own church most often." Di said, "Somehow that spirituality suits Alice. Her hair smells absolutely lovely afterwards, like honey tart, which must be because of the beeswax candles." Nan glanced sharply at Di, her twin's voice had a soft dreamy tone.
By and by Primrose Hollow grew quiet, and collecting her books Nan walked across piano nook, and as she passed she straightened a little table-cloth - with hand-crocheted lace - Alice's work, for only Una of all the girls in the Glen could make one so fine, and Nan recognized Una's style in an instant. And then a bluish flash caught Nan's attention, a worn folder was displayed on the piano, half open. Feeling curious, carefully Nan opened it, as she wanted to know what was it about these notes that had, so enchanted Di.
Books fell from Nan's suddenly numb grip, with quite a clatter to the floor. With weak knees Nan sat down on the piano bench. Old-fashioned beautiful fracture writing in the notes was unchanged, Brahms Op.94 – Sapphiche Ode. In disbelief Nan glanced at lyrics of lied. They written in the enemy's language, which may or may not have been entirely innocent. Nan knew not a word of German, but the declaration of the title, cut, for she could deduce what it might be. Immoral, Greek-influenced, verse styles of poems swarmed like a mess in Nan's mind, all those iambics, trochees, dactyls. Nan felt like whole familiar atmosphere of Primrose Hollow had suddenly been shattered into pieces, those pieces were sharp, and hurtful. Nan put her head in her hands, as slowly shadows deepened in the living room.
Familiar footsteps echoed on the stairs, and Di's soft humming, faintly heard, was the comfortingly familiar Sunday hymn often sung in the church at the Glen. Di put more wood in the fireplace. Soon soft glow of renewed fire lit up living room.
Di turned and said in a worried tone "Nan-my dear. I hope there's no bad news from the front. I can't think of any other reason for why you're sitting here in the dark? Is Jerry all right?" Nan swallowed. For first time in her life, Nan felt she couldn't look into Di's worried eyes, her very own twins eyes. So she looked past Di into flickering fire and said haltingly, "Jerry's all right, I think. And the mail hasn't arrived either."
"Well, then, everything is as good as it can be these days." Di pointed out. Room was bathed in semi-darkness, there was something confessional about it, or so Nan found it so, in this precise moment. So gathering her courage, Nan softly said in her clever way"Dear Di, I've somehow felt lately that you're pushing me further away. We don't talk the same way we used to. Before these two, almost three years of war, I mean. Walter was always closer to you, in certain things, and I accepted that. Just as Jem was closer to me, in his own way, but now Walter is gone from us forever. And I see that you have been troubled by something unspeakable all autumn, or maybe even before that. I've been too caught up in my own worries, perhaps, and for that I´m so heartfully sorry. You know I'm almost sick with worry when I think of Jerry over there somewhere."
The reddish flames made Di's hair glow as Nan strode across the room and embraced her twin, as she made a sudden decision. Di smelled of the same perfume as years ago, barest hint of Lily of the Valley. Quietly Nan whispered in a firm voice, "Remember that if you want to talk and open your heart, on any subject. I promise to listen, without preconceptions, if I can."Nan felt Di's pulse jump under her fingers. Slowly, Di nodded almost perceptibly. Then Faith's cheerful voice fractured silence as she said "Do you think that we can roast some apples. We've been stockpiling winter apples, just for moments like this?"
Streets of Kingsport were dark, and Alice made her way carefully through winding streets, towards Episcopal Church. In the honey-colored silence, where brightly colored windows sparkled and the candles burned with a steady flame. Alice sat among the rest of the congregation and was soothed by familiar, ancient routines of responses twined in the liturgy. Afterwards, Alice walked thoughtfully towards Primrose Hollow, as she remembered what Dorian had once said in passing, in bleak tone, when the subject of religion had come up, one of those Saturday Picnics. "The intention was to build a small Catholic chapel in the Hall to honor of my mother, that was when they had returned from their honeymoon tour. Apparently, materials and fresco-sketches had already been thought about, and also cost estimates, but Adeline absolutely refused. She thought the end result would have been a heretical mess, and Papa relented. So, my mother never got her chapel, and over the years she drifted away from her faith, or so it was claimed." Dorian had a stiff expression on his face which had slowly melted into a soft smile as he had glanced in Alice's direction and remarked, in his coaxing, earnest way, "Aren't those clouds above the greenhouse quite like a light herd of Pegasus? Tell, me do you belive that deepest dreams can come true, if one whishes them to?" And for a little while Alice felt like answering as she would have done if Walter had asked the same question, in his soft, playful, way, but with difficulty Alice had stoppered that impulse.
Gate to Primrose Hollow creaked in the light freezing wind. Living room of Primrose Hollow smelled of soft roasted apple, and there were three skewers in front of the fireplace. And a covered plate. Faith sat drinking tea at the table, and with her golden brown eyes twinkling she said "Di is upstairs and Nan went to the library, perhaps some surprising writing idea, you know Nan, how she is. If I may say so, Alice I do think that, you seem a little calmer, now, than earlier. My father, Reverend always swears by good Service, but he would. Rosemary trusts sacramental power of tea, in all situatios. There's still hot tea in the pot if you want it?"
Alice smiled lightly, and softly she slipped to take one apple on a small plate, and crept upstairs. The twins' room was one of the largest rooms on the second floor and Alice peeked in cautiously. The twins' temperaments were clearly on display. Nan's side had embroidered cushions and everything was extremely neat, and a soft rose pink woven blanket was over her bed. Di's bedspread was greenish, and her multitudes of books and notebooks were in a slightly messier pile than Nan's. Di was writing something, intensely focused. Alice quietly tapped her knuckles on the door frame. Di said in a distant voice, "Nan, I don't want to talk. " With a light chuckle Alice said "Differences in harmony huh?"
Di spun around and half-accidentally spilled her ink bottle. The scent of iron ink spread into room, and cream-colored writing sheet was soon soaked through. Di mumbled a vulgar French curse under her breath. Alice giggled brightly as she said, "It's interesting that I have that effect on you. Not many spill ink bottles around me." Di wiped spilled ink with a rag, and sprinkled soda and salt, and vinegar on the table, and quietly ink stains disappeared. Di said in a low voice, a little huskily, "I think you know very well what effect you have." Alice raised her eyebrows, and took one half-dancing step towards Di, and softly, with the lightness of a butterfly, touched her face with her warm palm. Di´s eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks as Alice whispered, "you had a little ink on your face, my dear, but now, it is gone. " There were footsteps on the stairs, and like startled hare, or roe, Alice smiled, and nodded with carelessly arch grace, as she slipped away, to the hallway. Di, began to write again, with burning, elevated, renewed enthusiasm.
In Gardiner Hall, in the peace of his own room, Dorian looked out into the quiet, dark courtyard, and at last he opened a drawer in his desk, and glanced at a thick letter written by Alice´s in clear, handwriting, with one word in the envelope: Dorian. Sighing irritably, he toyed with the letter but didn't open it, not yet. Dorian opened his worn and beloved Hardy and read a few shimmering verses.
O doubt not I told him then,
I told him then,
That I had kept me from all men
And just as if the poetry had encouraged him, Dorian opened the letter. Its many pages crumbled, as silence throbbed, or was it perhaps Dorian's own aching heart, when at last there was some explanation for Alice's lovely, enchanting, evasive behavior.
At Bluenose Gentelman's Club, mahogany surfaces gleamed, and air smelled of vintage whiskey and old money. Royal Gardiner sat in one of the six cognac-colored armchairs, in a cabinet room, the walls were elegantly wallpapered with a dark burgundy diamond pattern, - all the walls on that floor were different card suits. Colored windows reflected and refracted light into shimmering colorful spots on shiny parquet.
Whiskey glasses glinted in the light and then Robert's voice broke his concentration, "Well, Gardiner, we need one more to play billiards. Are you coming to play, or do you want to brood in peace. By the way, at the Hall I happened to talk to that honey-blond girl dressed in red silk, Irene, I think her name was. Promising, pastime it was. There was a girl sitting at brunch, she had most charming eyes. Their vivid shade reminded me of my grandmother's old paperweight. I think she's the one you bought that French perfume for. An excellent choice, but for her red roses are completely wrong, they should be pink! Also Roy, your son is so vague that I can't figure him out even on a clear day. Why does he surround himself with beauties, but apparently courts none of them? If I were Dorian, I would have chosen red-haired one, or utterly lovely Irene, but unfortunately I'm not Gardiner, and I'm already bound by painful marital ties." Robert smirked, as Royal's face showed a slight irritation. Then Gardiner said sharply, "Robert, the mess you're in, I mean your marriage is your own fault. It's the reason your wife spends more than half the year in Nice." Robert whistled a cabaret tune and replied, "We just happen to be modern. We meet sometimes, always at Christmas, usually. In all seriousness, that girl looks like she might turn you down in a witty way."
Royal tasted from his glass, smoky irish whisky was tangy and rich. Still in his ears he could heard rustling of Alice's silken hems, on the doorway of the library, and felt the imported French first-class brandy drip in wet drops upon his face. The expression in Royal's dark eyes was rueful, as slowly he got up, and threw his coat with carefree elegance on a chair, and began to play billiards.
On the other side of Kingsport, in an old Victorian brick house, candles burned softly, and two dark-haired women laughed, merrily. The light of the candle was reflected on the oval mirror, which showed a smoky and hazy image. Elaborately, statuesquely carved pillars, silk dressing gowns, and a top hat that had been thrown carelessly on the floor. There was subtle scent of powder, expensive perfume, and incense mixed together, and the crystal glasses glowed a dark, blood-red claret. And then one of them stretched, and said in a dark, sultry voice with a slight arch hint of command, "You know what I expect, by now." Only sound in the room was the opening of the lid of one of the chests, and clicking of a lock, accompanied by the rustling needle of the gramophone, as the light tunes of Herbert´s Enchantress floated along.
One morning all newspapers were proclaiming only one headline, Battle of Ancre, where Canadians had excelled, despite extremely challenging conditions, in snow and slush. As a result of the news, flags were flying in the yards, and the steps of the people of Kingsport were a little lighter than they had been for a long time. Then on the 18th of November came the big news. Over four months of fighting over the Somme had ended, at least temporarily, to the very costly Allied victory.