All He Ever Wanted (9 page)

“Well, Van Tassel.”

“Sir.”

My nerves had pitched my voice embarrassingly high. I cleared my throat.

Fitch sighed once. A decision had been made.

“I should not like to lose you after all this time,” he said. “But I shall be forced to if there is a second offense.”

“There was no first offense.”

“You seem firm in your denial.”

“I must. There was no crime.”

“I shall have to pay great attention to your work.”

“I hope you have been doing so all along,” I said.

“We shall say no more about this now,” he said, making a small notation on a piece of paper in the folder. I strained to see
what he had written but could not in the darkened room.

“No, sir.” I sought to hide my considerable relief (not to mention my trembling hands) by crossing my arms and once again
clearing my throat.

Fitch folded his fingers under his nose and regarded me for some time. Beyond the door, I could hear the echo of boot steps
making their way along the corridor.

“I hear you have been walking out with a young woman,” he said.

“She is not a young woman,” I said inanely, rattled by the abrupt change in subject. “She is twenty-five.”

“Van Tassel, sometimes you strike me as excessively… accurate.”

“I should hope so, sir.”

“Well, I know the person in question. I have dined with Etna Bliss. You’re a lucky man.”

“Dined with her?”

“Yes. It must have been, let me think, three weeks ago. Bliss had a few of us to dinner.”

Us
to dinner? Who exactly were the
us?
I wondered. And why had I been excluded? The thought rankled.

“A handsome woman, Van Tassel,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said.

Fitch stood. The interview was over. Across the desk, he handed me Severence’s monograph, which I had no choice but to accept.
“I believe we have said all there is to say on the subject of coincidence,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“And unless I was absolutely convinced of a deliberate, as opposed to a careless, wrong, I should see no point in discussing
the matter with any other person.”

Fitch, I knew, was a man of his word. Perhaps I did then betray some relief, for he fixed me with his gaze, as if in final
assessment.

There was a knock upon the door, my own summons to depart. With quickening step, I brushed gratefully past a worried-looking
student.

When the door had closed, I leaned against the wall in the corridor. It was the worst infraction I had ever been accused of.
I thought of Moxon’s importunate appearance, of my missed chance with Etna on the college path, and of Fitch’s intolerable
suspicions; and I imagined the day could not possibly get any worse, until I happened to glance at my pocket watch and saw
that I was late for my tutorial with Edward Ferald.

Ferald was waiting for me in my sitting room — leaning with a languid pose against a stool near the window, one foot on the
floor, the other on a rung, his hands insouciantly folded upon his thigh. He was looking out at the view and pretended not
to notice me when I entered the room.

“Yes, Ferald,” I said. “Sorry for the delay.”

My breath was short and tight, and I was perspiring mightily, which put me at a distinct disadvantage with the preternaturally
cool Ferald; but there was little I could do about it beyond sitting down in one of the wing chairs by the fire and unwrapping
my muffler.

He turned slowly in my direction.

He was, as always, impeccably dressed in an expertly tailored suit coat with a long pearl silk scarf. His shirtfront was so
white and so crisp, I decided it must be new. Ferald had impressive manners as well, though I knew those to be a mask that
hid a canny nature.

“No trouble at all, sir.”

The “sir” that I had employed just minutes earlier with what I hoped was true deference to Noah Fitch sounded faintly mocking
from Ferald’s lips.

“Have you been here long?” I asked.

“Since five.”

It was now twenty-five minutes after the hour.

“Then I shall simply go overtime,” I said, opening my case.

“Sir, I am afraid I cannot. I have promised myself to Merrit.”

I tried to think. Merrit was a third-year student rumored to be a bookmaker.

“For what purpose?” I inquired.

Ferald hesitated. “I do not wish to seem rude, sir, but is that relevant? The fact of the promise would seem to be the point.”

“Have you read
The Bride of Lammermoor
? I asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Yes, sir, but I am having difficulty with your seventh question — that of the historical novel versus the ‘turbid mixture
of contemporaneousness,’ as you put it. I cannot see how a work not from one’s own time permits the isolation of essentials
from accidentals. It seems to me a false endeavor, since the author cannot know or ever write authentically about the past.
We are, of course, referring to
Waverly,
which is just outside Scott’s period. And which rather begs the question, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps you have not read your text carefully enough,” I said.

“I have done the work,” he said in an aggrieved tone. “I simply have it all in a muddle and shall need your help in sorting
it all out. Indeed, I am looking forward to your commentary.” He took no pains to hide his slight smile. “As ever.”

The gall,
I thought.

“Very well,” I said. “Take out the text.”

Ferald’s feigned pedagogical and literary interest irritated me no end, particularly as he had so little need of an education,
and I doubted he should ever use it. He would, I knew, shortly come into considerable property nearby and would retire, at
a young age, to the life of a gentleman farmer.

I told Ferald to take the seat opposite mine. He did so with a languor that, were he not my student and were I not impatient
to be done with him, I should have admired. I reflected then that there would always be a Ferald. Sometimes his name would
be Wiles or Mutterson or simply Box, but there would always be one boy who clearly mocked his teachers, though never openly,
and by his behavior played at a labyrinthine game of wits, one that would necessarily amuse him greatly, and one that he almost
certainly would win.

But in the game of teachers and students, the teacher will always have the last word; and I must confess that as I sat there
and watched Ferald take out his Venetian glass pen and his Italian leather notebook (doubtless souvenirs of tours abroad),
I began to consider seriously the notion of being unable to find sufficient merit in his final examination and so having perforce
to fail the boy.

When Ferald left, I paced in my rooms in an emotionally exhausted state. The monograph Fitch had given me lay on my desk,
but I ignored it, having no desire to read it or to compare it to mine, for I knew only too well what I should find. It had
been a clerical misstep only, I told myself, a consequence of being preoccupied and overtired and thus somewhat careless.
And the sentences were not
precisely
the same, were they? If there seemed a marked similarity in ideas, were ideas the sole property of one mind, one voice? Might
not a brilliant critic arrive at the same conclusion in the same year as another as a result of normal evolution in a field
of study? Besides, were not the questionable passages Fitch had referred to but a tiny part of the whole? Nevertheless, I
reminded myself, I should have to guard against haste and distraction in the future and return at once to my disciplined ways.

The week did not improve. Etna sent a brief note saying she deeply regretted that she would not be able to see me on Wednesday,
as we had planned, since she was otherwise engaged with an unexpected visit from her sister and brother-in-law, but she would
be happy to see me the following week. This meant I should have to wait more than a week for an answer to my question, a wait
that seemed agonizing. I suffered through an interminable weekend, trying to catch up on all of my course work, which I had
much neglected, only to receive a nasty shock at an all-college faculty luncheon on Monday, when William Bliss surprised me
at my table in the dining hall.

“Van Tassel,” he said as he passed my table. “I am surprised to see you with such a hearty appetite, considering our sad news.”

I did not understand the man. I noted that he did not seem sad, however.

“What sad news?”

“Did Etna not write you? No, perhaps not. It was very sudden. Her sister and brother-in-law came abruptly to fetch her back
to the family house in Exeter. I gather Keep, the brother-in-law, thought it unseemly to have Etna board elsewhere, even though
he seems to have snatched the family homestead right out from under her. Quite frankly, I rather think the man has it in mind
to make a governess of her for his children.”

“Etna gone?” I asked, stupefied.

“I’m afraid so.”

I stood. “This is not possible,” I said in a voice loud enough that several of our colleagues glanced up at us from their
meals.

Bliss put an avuncular hand on my shoulder. “I am afraid that it is so. Forgive me for having informed you in so public a
place. I thought you knew.”

Bliss had gone pale. He was a gentle scientist, unused to displays of emotion. “Shall we step outside a minute?” he asked.

I went, as a steer will be nudged toward the abattoir.

“Of course, we were much dismayed ourselves,” Bliss added when we were safely outside the building. “But Keep is formidably
persuasive. And my niece apparently made little protest, or if she did, I do not know about it. Doubtless she was glad to
see her sister again, and perhaps to return to her home, even if the circumstances are a bit …” (he hesitated) “… compromised.”

I could not absorb the blow. “What is the address?” I demanded. “I must go to see her.”

“Now, now,” said Bliss, again employing the restraining hand on my shoulder. “I shouldn’t want you to get too exercised about
this. I am sure she will write you in good time.”

“But I love her!” I blurted. “I wish to have her for a wife! It is all I wish for!”

“Oh, my dear man,” Bliss said, dropping his hand. “Van Tassel, you surprise me.” But I could see that he was surprised only
by the occasion and the vehemence of my declaration, not by the fact of it, which he had doubtless anticipated. “Has Etna
returned this… this love?” he asked gently.

“Not in so many words,” I said. “But I believe she is not averse to my affection.”

“Have you spoken to her of this?”

“Just five days ago,” I answered.

I spun away from him, my hands in my hair. I could scarcely think. Etna
gone?

“You must get ahold of yourself,” Bliss said. “I am sure she is carefully considering your proposal. Allow my niece to write
you and explain her abrupt departure for herself. Perhaps in that letter you will have the answer to your question.”

I shook my head, too bewildered to reply.

“Now let us go in to our dinners, which have grown cold in our absence,” he said. “I shall call for some brandy to restore
your color.”

But I could not reenter that dining hall, nor converse further with any person, and so I bolted across the lawn, leaving a
doubtless much relieved Bliss to return to his Indian pudding. I made it to my rooms without encountering anyone with whom
I should have felt compelled to converse. I staggered up the stairs, wanting only privacy. On the hall table just outside
my rooms, there was a letter waiting for me.

March 25, 1900

Dear Nicholas,

Please forgive this sudden and abrupt correspondence, but I write to tell you that I have left Thrupp and the household of
my kind aunt and uncle to return to my former home in Exeter, now that of my brother-in-law Mr. Josip Keep. The departure
was sudden, as Mr. Keep had urgent business at home and could spare only the weekend to come and fetch me. I tell you truthfully
that though I had no inkling of his mission prior to his arrival, the choice to leave was mine alone.

I fear I have overstayed my welcome at my uncle’s house, though I assure you they gave me no hint of this at any time. And
since I do wish to be useful in my life, and not merely dependent upon the kindness of
others, I thought it best to take up residence with my sister so that I may help to educate her children. My sister, alas,
has no love of learning.

But do not imagine that I have made this decision lightly. I have appreciated your company and have valued your friendship
greatly. It was always stimulating for me, and I doubt I should have borne my exile with as much good cheer had I not had
the anticipation of your visits and the distraction of the lovely books you lent me. (The Hardy, by the way, is with my uncle.
He said that he would have it delivered to your rooms.)

As to your offer of marriage, I cannot consider your proposal at this time, as I am sure you must know. I release you from
all commitment whatsoever and shall understand perfectly if you should choose to take my departure for a refusal. I cannot
say to what decision I should have come had I remained at Thrupp; I had no time to ponder your grave request and the equally
grave responsibility of answering it.

I know that this will not be easy for you, but you must not think it was easy for me either. I shall miss your companionship.
I hope you will find solace in your work and that the Lord will keep you safe in all your endeavors.

I remain, most sincerely yours,
Etna Bliss

It was fortunate that I had thought to bring the letter into my rooms before opening it, for I then behaved in an unseemly
manner that might have made another cringe to behold. How long I was in this state I cannot say, but gradually I calmed myself,
and though I was subject to intermittent and brief seizures of both anger and grief, I was finally able to regain my composure.
I had not come so far to go down so easily in defeat.

* * *

Perhaps there is some truth to the notion that stars collide or are out of balance in the universe and thus, in disarray,
exert an influence upon individuals here on earth. I say this for want of any other explanation for the confluence of unpleasant
events that day and the next.