The House of Hardie (7 page)

Every night for almost nine years Gordon Hardie had set aside an hour before he went to sleep in which to further his dream of a future in which he was an explorer and not a vintner: this was in addition to the time he spent, whenever he could spare it, assisting in the Oxford Botanic Garden. By now, his knowledge of botany – which neither his school nor his father had thought important – was scholarly as well as practical. He had acquired a shelf of second-hand books on the subject, and every night he committed to memory a page of text and illustration so that later, lying in bed, he could summon the information before his mind's eye.

Tonight's subject was
Abelia chinensis
, of special interest to Gordon because it had been discovered in China, the country which he was determined to visit one day. As he studied its characteristics, he tried to imagine the feeling of Clarke Abel when he first set eyes on the delicate pink and white flowers, as pale and perfect as Lucy Yates's complexion. If Gordon ever met her again, he could recount the story of Abel, who collected thousands of seeds and plants, only to lose almost all of them to shipwreck, fire or pirates; but who nevertheless saved enough to make his journey worth while. Then Gordon would say that he himself hoped to make such a journey one day. Her blue eyes would open wide and she would clasp her hands together with anxiety and excitement.

Gordon closed the book and prepared himself for bed. As he lay in the darkness he set in motion the waking dream with which he brought every day to a close. He was in China, leading the way along a mountain path. Mules and
coolies plodded behind him, whilst far ahead the snowcapped peaks of the Himalayas soared above the clouds. In a moment – but he was always asleep before the moment arrived – he would round a bend and see in front of him some flower or shrub or climbing plant that no Englishman had ever seen before. Or even – ever since Sir Desmond had first mentioned it to him, this had become his greatest ambition – the lily which had been glimpsed once, many years ago, by a French missionary in a valley ten thousand feet high, and never found again.

Tonight there was a difference in his waking dream. He was not alone at the head of the column. A woman was walking beside him, as adventurous and resolute as himself: the long blonde hair which blew around her shoulders identified his companion as Lucy Yates. Gordon closed his eyes and dismissed the dream from his mind. It was, of course, impossible.

Even Archie Yates, who had little interest in architecture, acknowledged the beauty of Magdalen Tower. Its solid stone walls, pierced parapet and delicate pinnacles stood sentinel at the end of the bridge – not so much guarding the city as welcoming any traveller from the east to the university. The tower was part of his own college: he both took it for granted and felt a possessive pride in it. Once every year, however, it ceased to be merely a landmark. For it was an old Oxford tradition that on May Morning the choristers who more usually provided the music in Magdalen chapel should greet the rising sun by carolling from the top of the college tower. Perhaps equally ancient was the custom that the Magdalen undergraduates should listen to the ceremony from the river at the foot of the tower, first stocking up their punts with picnic breakfasts of a largely liquid variety.

Not often did Archie fail to take advantage of an opportunity to become drunk, but for once he had joined the sober minority. This was to be a respectable social occasion. He had invited Midge Hardie to listen to the singing with him.

Naturally, her mother had to be invited as well, to act as chaperone; but as the last faint, pure notes of the choristers died away and Archie stood up in the punt and prepared to move it away from the congested area of the river, he noticed with satisfaction that Mrs Hardie – no doubt unused to five o'clock awakenings – had fallen asleep.

Smoothly and gracefully Archie pressed the long wooden pole down into the river bed, using it both to propel and to steer the punt. Then, hand over hand, he tossed it neatly up into the air, ready for the next thrust. Not a single drop of water was allowed to splash his white flannels or trickle down towards the cuff of his striped blazer. He was showing off. Midge, sitting on cushions in the shallow boat, knew that as well as he did. She grinned at him teasingly; and Archie, delighted that she should prove as reluctant as himself to awaken her mother by speaking, grinned back.

There was no need to travel far to find a peaceful spot for the picnic, for none of the other May Day revellers had moved away from the foot of the tower. Archie stuck his pole down into the mud near the bank of the Botanic Garden to act as a mooring post and, for safety's sake, tied the other end of the punt to a weeping willow.

‘We could walk a little,' he suggested to Midge, standing on the bank after he had made all secure and speaking quietly in order that Mrs Hardie should not be disturbed. ‘You must be cold, sitting still on the river for so long.'

‘We mustn't go out of my mother's sight.' But even as she spoke, Midge was rising to her feet and holding out both hands towards his own so that he could help her on to the bank. Her spring was light and athletic and she needed no help in regaining her balance. Archie, nevertheless, continued to hold her hands for a few seconds until, with her mouth twitching in a smile, she disengaged them.

Side by side they walked to and fro along a short section of the river bank, glancing towards Mrs Hardie each time they passed the punt, so that she should not be alarmed for long if she woke to find herself alone. The grass was wet with the early-morning dew, so Midge lifted the skirts
of her Liberty gown an inch or two off the ground to keep it dry. The movement enabled Archie to see and approve of the smallness of her feet and ankles. But he knew better than to remark on them.

‘What made you choose to become a student here?' he asked. ‘Since I first made your acquaintance, I've enquired amongst my friends and learned that there are more young women studying for examinations at Oxford than I'd realized. But most of them seem to be the daughters of clergymen, and –'

‘And you think that a vintner's daughter shouldn't presume to be of such company?'

‘Of course not. Nothing of the sort. Only perhaps that in your case it mightn't be your father who pressed you to extend your studies. It must have been your own choice.'

‘Indeed it was.'

‘Then I repeat my question. Why?'

‘Wouldn't it be enough for me to say, when speaking to a scholar such as yourself, that the fascination of exploring history –'

‘You mustn't tease me, Miss Hardie,' protested Archie. ‘It's unfair, when chivalry prevents me from teasing you back – even if I could find any ground on which to attack. I'm sure Dr Mackenzie has made my lack of scholarship very clear to you. And in any case, you might more pleasantly have explored the subject without the stress of submitting yourself to examinations.'

‘The examinations are the important ingredient,' Midge told him. ‘The only way in which I shall be able to prove that my education must be held in as much respect as yours.'

‘Prove it to whom? No gentleman is likely to pause before choosing a wife in order to enquire as to her marks in the Final Examinations.'

‘Not every young woman, Mr Yates, has the good fortune to be “chosen”.'

The emphasis which his companion placed on this last word was puzzling to Archie, suggesting that she in some way disapproved of the normal system by which marriage was proposed and accepted. ‘Someone so attractive,' he began, but was forced to bring both speech and perambulation to a halt when Midge stopped and turned to face him. Her dark eyes were still bright, but now it was with earnestness rather than teasing.

‘You didn't think I was fishing for your compliments, I hope,' she exclaimed. ‘I wasn't thinking solely of myself then, but of all the young women … A gentleman as fortunate as yourself, Mr Yates, can have little idea how many girls sacrifice the years of their youth and beauty to take care of a parent and find themselves penniless and alone in the world when they are past the age to be attractive to anyone. I'm not talking of the rich or the poor, but of women who have enjoyed a comfortable upbringing and believed themselves secure. Almost the only position open to them is that of governess – and although they may succeed in finding employment, all too often they're incapable of carrying out their duties satisfactorily, because their own education has been so inadequate.'

‘Dash it all, you're surely not suggesting that the lecture halls of Oxford should be overrun by governesses.'

Midge laughed, her momentary seriousness forgotten. ‘Indeed no. For a single spoiled child in some wealthy family to receive the benefit of so much learning – but only in a single subject – would be a waste of resources and the cause of a most unbalanced education. What the future governesses need is an all-round education – the
same kind of education that you yourself must have enjoyed at school.'

‘So you've answered my question at last!' exclaimed Archie. ‘You propose to be a schoolmistress! You will educate governesses, who will educate more governesses, who –'

‘Now you're teasing me.' Midge's eyes sparkled with merriment. ‘Let me ask you this. You have a sister, perhaps. Or let us come closer to home and say that one day you may have a daughter, for whose education you will be responsible. Will you think it right to place your daughter in the hands of someone more ignorant than yourself?'

‘We won't discuss the question of whether it's possible for anyone to be more ignorant than myself.' Archie matched Midge's grin with his own. ‘And we won't talk about my non-existent daughter. I have an actual sister, who has indeed been educated by a governess. She has lived comfortably at home while I have been imprisoned at Eton – and treated caringly while I went in fear of beatings. While I have had my face pressed into the mud of a playing field by the weight of bodies on top of me, she has been taken for delightful country walks in order to appreciate the beauty of the countryside. She has been able to ride every morning of her life, instead of only during the vacations. And she has been allowed to sit and paint to her heart's content, whilst I have been forced to waste the best years of my life on the study of Latin and Greek. She is a most fortunate young woman, and if I ever have a daughter, I trust that I shall be able to offer her as happy a childhood.' This, for Archie, was a long speech. He laughed at himself deprecatingly as he brought it to an end.

His companion was smiling as well, and yet not
surrendering her argument. ‘But suppose that your sister's passion had been not for painting but for Greek. Would her governess have been able to complete her education in such a subject?'

‘You stretch the imagination too far, Miss Hardie.' The thought of Lucy requesting an opportunity to compose Greek verse was so far-fetched as to be laughable. ‘You're coming dangerously near to the suggestion that girls should be educated in the same manner as boys!'

‘But why – ?' The argument might well have continued vigorously for some time, had not a slight disturbance of the backwater's calm surface suggested that Mrs Hardie was stirring. Archie, noticing this, put a hand up to his companion's elbow to turn her back towards the punt before her absence was noticed.

It was astonishing that such a light touch could have so violent an effect on him. He had enjoyed looking at Midge as she sat in the punt, and the clasp of her hand as she jumped from it had briefly disturbed him. It had given him pleasure to elicit her flashing smile, and the earnestness of her conversation amused him. But this simple gesture of caution and convention seemed to move the two of them out of mere acquaintanceship and into some more intense relationship. He was, after all, touching only the sleeve of her dress, and yet that was enough to flood his body with the desire to take her into his arms. Convention controlled his behaviour; but as he followed her back towards the punt, assuring Mrs Hardie that she had slept for only a few seconds and handing the ingredients of the picnic breakfast for Midge to lay out, his imagination was exploring the social possibilities of the term.

He would like to see her in a ball dress. How slim and white her bare arms would be! How straight she would
hold herself, allowing a
décolleté
bodice to show her neck and shoulders to advantage. If she were to be his partner, he could legitimately take her hand, turn her into his arms, place his own hand lightly on her back, hold her closer as they spun round the floor in a waltz or a reel. If only …

But there was no point in thinking along such lines. He had already promised his sister that he would take her to Magdalen's Eights Week Ball. Sternly he dismissed his imaginings. It must be enough to enjoy the pleasures of the day. With a practised hand, he sent the first champagne cork flying into the air.

Nothing like Eights Week in Oxford had ever happened to Lucy before. Suddenly grown up, she floated round the city on a cloud of delight. It was not merely her own self-confidence which told her that she had emerged at last from the schoolroom, but the manner in which everyone treated her. True, she was still required to be accompanied everywhere by Miss Jarrold, but that was only because she had no mother. Miss Jarrold herself instinctively recognized a difference in her role, transforming herself from a governess into a companion during the course of the journey from Castlemere.

Magdalen was to hold its ball on the Thursday of Eights Week, and Lucy had not allowed Archie to forget his promise to invite her. Her grandfather, who proposed to go with her to Oxford, had in good time given her a generous present of money to be spent on new clothes, telling her gruffly that she was to be a credit to her brother and hang the expense. So on this calm, warm June night of the ball she had put up her golden hair and worn her golden dress and had been the prettiest girl at the dance. All her partners had told her so – and even if they had not, Lucy, without being vain, knew it to be true. Archie had made sure in advance that his friends would fill her programme, but there was no need for his solicitude; from the moment of her first appearance she had been surrounded by young men begging for a dance.