New Redmond term had begun, and the libraries were full of students, but the lectures were no longer touching girls of Primrose Hollow. They discovered bit by bit anew how much Redmond and the university areas had really dominated their time in that charming city that had an old-time charm, despite the hustle and bustle of streetcars, cars and a bustling port. Only now did they get to face the secrets of Kingsport, as part-time residents. Over everything hovered awareness that Ingelside twins and Alice, lived only temporarily, in borrowed time, stolen, almost golden hours, away from their usual surroundings, of Glen and Lowbridge, before the road would turn again if the war ever ended.

The idea of peace was like a golden dream, which slowly grew stronger day by day, as September progressed, newspaper headlines fiercely proclaimed, Battle of Dobro Pole, in the Balkans, between the Central Powers Germany and Bulgaria and the Allied forces, France, Serbia and Greece, as the collapse of the Bulgarian front was reported fiercely, vehemently.

Di divided her daily life between the Red Cross office, the editorial office of Ourania magazine and Helene's cafe, where she sometimes did shifts. Sue, had paid work as a companion, to an infirm old dignified woman who told now-forgotten anecdotes about "the good old days," Nan, taught in a nearby school, and in the evenings toiled with the Red Cross work, between her markings of essay and geometry papers. Alice, had found a job in a small antique store, on the edge of Kingsport, Mahler's, where she helped the old owner, with running errands, in the silence smelling of dust and antiquity, a dark-furred cat, Behemont, purred and snored on stacks of sheet music, where Walter had found treasures in years past. The pay wasn't much, but it helped to get by, as none of them had a trust fund or inheritance to fall back on, unlike Dorian did.

Dorian had offered to help, but that generous offer was almost nipped in the bud, as both Nan and Di said a little stiffly, "We don't accept alms, we're Blythes and we go our own way, thank you."

Sue, had looked momentarily as if she had considered Dorian's offer, but then seeing Nani's steadfast expression, she too had declined, as had Alice too, in her demure way.

Dorian had chuckled a little dryly and said, "Well, then I'll make a donation to the Red Cross and the Widows and Orphans Association, that money will go to good use, though."

And when Matron saw Dorian's check, she had glanced calculatingly at her till and said as if to the air, "That Gardiner lad, knows his way around outreach - breeding will tell out." Nan had barely stifled her burst of laughter on her sleeve, as Sue had murmured, "I'm sure Gardiner Hall will be receiving several collection requests after this, more than normal I meant. "

One calm, golden, brilliant day the leaves of the maples and aspens quivering softly in the garden of Primrose Hollow, Nan looked up from her notebook filled with wedding plans and said a little pointedly, "I'd like to forbid any Howard from coming, but I guess I can't do that. Rilla's last letter was so startlingly funny, as Rilla and Irene apparently went toe to toe, over some matter. Rilla's letter is almost all of italics, twined with quite unfamilliar sarcasm, which is her inheritance from splendid Gertrude Oliver, as a rule our Spider is not sarcastic. It's another news that Clive Howard has proposed to Olive Kirke, or according to Rilla, that's what Mary Vance claims."

Di, looked up from her article proofs and said sincerely, "Well, if Mary Vance says so, it might be true. She often is almost too good as she can ferret out sercets, in most peculiar way."

Alice, glanced towards Di´s way, and hummed her assent, as the scent of plum custard slowly spread through the rooms of Primrose Hollow.

Sue lowered down her Edith Warthon's novel, Age of Innocence, which she had been engrossed in, as she remarked, "Those Howards, they can't be so awful now, can they?"

Nan, placed her ink pen carefully on the table as she characterized quickly, in her smooth way "Trials and Tribulations of Irene Howard has caused at Glen" and as the veritable barrage of anecdotes ended, Sue chuckled lightly and said, "I do stand corrected, she sounds poisonously sweet."

A little after five that afternoon, Alice walked into the quiet halls of the Redmond Music Society's library. Alice knocked on the door of Madeleine's study, and peeked in, noticing that the door was indeed open. That study was in as messy a state as usual, full of folders and stacks of papers that swayed precariously. But the tea corner was just as meticulously clean as usual. A pale light green teapot was sitting in a narrow shelf on the wall. On the corner of the table was a bluish vase full of autumn leaves.

Madeleine looked up from the colorful slips of paper that seemed to have stamps on them and said with good-natured perspicacity, "Well, now I understand, my dear, why you weren't seen with the others at the theater. I understand the production has been a success, the critics have been quite laudatory. Do you need a spot of tea?"

Alice, smiled with slightly quivering lips as she said, "Di, did tease me that it only takes one pot of tea to tell you the secrets of my heart."

Madeleine, stood up and surprisingly nimbly, waving her arms commandingly, "Sit down if you happen to find a chair that isn't full of folders. I´m behind of my perennial filing. There's a new filing system here, courtesy of Isabelle, and it works, of course, but is not the same as my own order."

The light scent of jasmine tea spread into the study and Madeleine said softly, "I remember well that feeling, the emptiness after studies, when you haven't quite found your place yet, but are looking for, and waiting for, something to happen. Often life tends to surprise, or so I have noticed from my own experience. Tell me if something is bothering you, but only if you want to, because earlier you talked about the secrets of the heart."

Alice, collected her thoughts, her still painful, and half-formed ones, finally she burst out, "Mama passed, it was sudden, and there was almost nothing that could be done. It was the flu that was circling around, it was here too. Hopefully it will not return, but there is no guarantees. I think we came to a final understanding, before the end came. We had a challenging relationship, Mama and I. We clashed. It's been difficult in Lowbridge, this past summer, as atmosphere is tense. Papa almost forced me to come here, he said that I have done all I can there, and it would be better if I was useful here and chased and built my own dreams, and not live for others, or words to that effect. My brothers on the Western Front did not take the news of Mama not very well, their letters, the few they have been dark, bleak, and angry, but that too may be of other things, as they too keep their heart closed, often. My elder sister, Cora, was coolly formal in her condolences, she has a life of her own, away from Lowbridge, has been for years. I feel lost, and I don't quite know what I can do except be of service, but to whom or how."

Madeleine looked thoughtfully at Alice's distorted features, as a repressed emotion almost vibrated in the room, and then she said, "Music might help. I remember myself that at least it once did so for me. Come on."

Half curious, Alice followed Madeleine's blue practical shadow, across the cool hall, into the gloom.

Madeleine stopped in front of a shelf and said uncharacteristically imperiously, "Pick one." Alice, blinked, as a forest of music folders spread out in front of her. And hesitatingly, her eyes fell on one midnight blue thin folder, and she reached on her tiptoes, and took it.

The concert hall spread out in front of them - shrouded, sanctified by silence, as Madeleine stepped onto the stage and gently touched the shiny concert grand piano, as if to capture in her hands, some lost memory or feeling.

And not for the first time, Alice wondered what path had brought Madeleine here, to guard not only books, but encounters, of certain kind. Madeleine looked up and noticing Alice's expectant expression, she said matter-of-factly, "Well go ahead. Do what the singers do."

And taking a deep breath Alice opened her voice, scales, thrills and candences sparkled. Madeleine nodded in satisfaction and remarked, "Give me the notes, please." And seeing Alice's dumbfounded look, Madeleine laughed and remarked, "Sometime around the time of the flood, I was a student at the Kingsport Conservatory, and my major was piano."

Calmly Madeleine opened the notes, momentarily her hands stopped on the keys, and then slowly, Strauss´s dreamy, Wiegenlied spun out, it blossomed in that space, for a few heartbeats, as Alice´s honey- caramel-tinted smooth mezzo captured, all the hidden bliss, and aching love inherit of that sweetest of lullabys.

A sudden loud round of applause split the silence of the concert hall, as the last notes had faded away. Madeleine looked up from the sheet music as Isabelle exclaimed, "Lene, Lene, will you play again, you haven't for a long, long time. That Strauss was charming, if unwise in these days."

Madeleine glanced at Alice and answered Isabelle with gentle emphasis, "Sometimes all means have to be used, if the hope is that they will help." Isabelle grumbled in most dramatic tones, " Why don't you ever speak directly, Lene. You're lovely, but sometimes, like right now, downright annoying. But now I finally understand why you stay here year after year. You get to play here as much as you like when the customers are gone. "

In Madeleine's study, Isabelle stretched gracefully, as she did so, glancing intently at Alice, when Madeleine said as if in passing, "Alice, you may not know, but the Gardiners and also Christine Stuart Dawson has been in rocky place, this past summer season. As a result, library's budget has been reduced in the fall, but we will manage. There are always borrowers and customers, and new acquisitions will have to be thought about a little more carefully in the future."

The blond girl seemed to startle a little, but she covered it up relatively quickly. Isabelle, fixing the collar of her pale peach dress, as she said, knowingly, but in a tone that was not gossip, but presentation of fact, "Madeleine, is too modest. Christine Stuart Dawson has a certain reputation. She offers, her expertise, I don't mean to conservatory students, or aspirants, as you might know by your own association with her. In the spring, an article attacking Royal Gardiner partially revealed it."

Isabelle´s features were perfectly calm, but her saltpetre-green eyes were attentive, waiting, as if she knew something. Alice felt a slight blush rise to her ears as the silence continued. Isabelle stirred her jasmine tea with a graceful, nonchalantly merciless gesture. On the side table, the gramophone flooded, strains of Mozartian Giunse Alfin il momento. Deh, vieni, creamily lush, of secret rendevous in the verdant nature.

Isabelle, smiled one fleetingly impish smile, and pointed out, suddenly cuttingly sharp, "It is quite feeling to be seen, although sometimes certain gaze may hit, so deep that one may want to keep it hidden, locked away, isn't it?"

Alice barely kept herself from shivering, as yet a cool, self-consciously amused smile had risen to Isabelle's lips. Then as Alice's gaze met Isabelle's, in the blink of an eye, that look changed, sharpened into a quivering vulnerability as sharp as broken glass.

Madeleine pointed out a bit sharply, "Isabelle, that's enough, do not test her. Alice is not used to your sharp moods. Alice, pay no mind to her."

Isabelle calmly chose Schubert's Piano Trio No. 2, into the gramofone, as the notes of that radiant, bright, and complex composition sparkled in the study, as Alice, embraced Madeleine and nodded to Isabelle as she slipped out of the library and wound her way through criss-crossing streets of Kingsport.

Christine Stuart Dawson observed that Alice Parker seemed strained, even subdued, as she stood on the threshold of a bluish room shrouded in a clearly home dyed mourning dress. Smiling softly, with a calculating glance, Christine remarked, "The toll of this ongoing war is heavy, I see, as you are in mourning. Do you want tea, or perhaps something else to go with it, to get your mind off your haunting troubles?"

Alice's neck dipped, in low nod. Then her gaze snapped, keenly burning towards Christine.

On the low table was a delicate teatray, smelling of strong malty Assam.

Christine opened the leather-backed novel and quoted emphatically, with a slow blooming smile, "I was soon carried into a spare room I had never entered; it contained very little furniture, except the carpet, and one comfortable easy chair; but on the walls hung several bunches of twigs, and in one corner stood a thing like a stepladder, but covered with red baize, and fitted with six rings, two halfway up, two at bottom, and two at the top."

Alice questioned a triftle hoarse voice, " Did you happened to have that one lying around, then?" Christine cast fond glance towards Alice, as she murmured, " Well, that kind of purient literature is still popular, and relaxing, or so I have been told. And this one, well Pearl by Anonymous is not De Sade by any accounts, but it can set the mood, if one wants it to, or not. "

Alice looked up from her tea as Christine's skirts rustled quietly, as she crossed suite to a corner where there was a low bench. Christine sat down on the bench, and said calmly, slightly challengingly, "If you want something, talk about your preferences, and then we'll see, but only if you want?"

Slowly, Alice stood up and walked across the suite. Her eyes caught a gray oriental-decorated cabinet, but she passed it by. Hesitantly, Alice glanced around, but there was nothing to be seen anywhere, of course. Too distinctly Alice felt Christine's amused attention, and faintly Alice murmured, with scarlet cheeks, " That quotation, is there anything like it here, or?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Alice saw that Christine's smile had spread a hint, as she took a small key from her pocket and opened the cabinet built into the bluish brocade wall, and with graceful gesture, she nodded, and remarked, with caressingly flippant way, " Do you want to look, or do you trust what I choose, not knowing what you might yearn?"

Alice, glancing into the brocade recess, found it to be a precise narrow cupboard, with narrow shelves on one wall, full of neatly folded articles of pleasure. On one of the shelves was an object that looked exactly like a rosary, but Alice wasn't entirely sure if it really was, given the rest of the contents. Scarves, and long smooth silken opera-length gloves, in pairs, a bunch of thin candles, tied with a dark blue ribbon. A pile of books, and a small narrow box that smelled like incense. And on the back wall, in a clear row, whips, and floggers.

Christine watched with pleasure as Alice first stiffened in place, like a startled hare, and then let out a small, almost inaudible gasp as she glanced at the contents of the cupboard. And seeing where Alice's attention had been fixed a little longer, just an instant, she commented," Marks of this kind of handling, are going to be quite spectacular, but if I remember correctly you do not want coddling."

Alice nodded, in faint way.

Christine stepped closer, and took the girl's chin in a soft grip, and tilted it, as she murmured, with caressingly sweet timbre, " Very well."

Christine Stuart Dawson looked appraisingly at the flushed creamy muslin covered figure lying crosswise in front of her. And carefully, with purpose, she leaned forward and remarked, "Remember to breathe, lightly all the way down to your toes."

Alice nodded, slowly she felt how sharply, soft keening whisper of cat of nine tails, shivered. It crackled, the sound was controlled, so near. Alice shivered, and looked up. Christine´s violet eyes had dilated pupils, although she affected an aura of distance, carefully calculated.

Alice swallowed. Shivering, she felt how tremors ran through her body, and sharp twist of arousal twined into touch of apprahension. The snap of the cat of nine tails was heard sharply, nearer, but not touching, at all.

Suddenly, it was gone.

Alice felt the thin, narrow, and all-too-familiar ropes slowly, almost lovingly, wrap around her. She felt her breath tighten in her throat, as the scent of Christine's rose perfume was suddenly so close, as Christine's fingers touched her neck, and collarbone, caressing her, or just checking her pulse. And at that moment Alice shattered, slowly, gently. There was low moaning, it rose into keening gasps, and then modulated into sobs.

Christine strained her hearing, as amid her sobbing Alice was mumbling something inaudible, heart-rendering loss etched in her voice. And looking at the lithe girl, in front of her, Christine found that her professional distance had been broken. She noted that she wanted, no yearned to, ease with touch and caresses, that burning sting of ropes she had caused, as those ropes slowly slithered away, leaving behind, thin reddish depressions.

Christine, took a step back and said in a slightly hoarse timbre than usual, "Have you had enough yet?"

Alice raised herself on her elbows on the bench and glanced at Christine, in mute pleading clear in every line of her. Christine, fighting loosing battle, lightly, touched Alice's mussed braid, as she murmured, "There, there, dearest. Now some hot chocolate, I think, as it is eminently suitable for autumn evenings."

Pink peony tint bloomed on Alice's cheeks, as she requested, " No, Bizet, please?"

Sensually slow, strains of Bizet, sparkled as Christine hummed, those litling, captivating, burning melodies of Seguidilla.