Chapter Text
Despite having received her note, Barbara’s parents presented themselves at the St Cross gate promptly at nine o’clock the next morning. They did not come into college, thankfully, instead sending a message by an irritated scout, who delivered the message with additional grumbles about being taken from her legitimate work. Fortified by Rosamund’s presence, and Stacie’s, Barbara went down to meet them and reiterated that, since she was able to stay at college for the rest of term, she would do so. It would entirely depend on them both, she stated, if she came home for the vacation.
Her father looked bewildered, and her mother, as usual, was folding any strong emotion she was feeling behind a mask of good manners. “Don’t be so ridiculous, darling,” Mrs Lyvedon said, although without much in the way of fondness in her tone. “This is nonsense. Get in the car. Louise can pack your things for you.” Louise was Mrs Lyvedon’s maid.
“You’re not listening to me,” Barbara said, holding on desperately to her composure. “I’m not coming home now and you can’t make me.”
There was a long silence. Barbara and her parents regarded each other. Stacie, watching silently, thought that they looked like each were trying to see inside the other’s minds. A few outgoing students glanced curiously at the tableau but hurried on without making remark.
“Very well,” Mrs Lyvedon said, at length, flatly. “Do as you like.” She stalked to the big car, her skirt fluttering in the breeze beneath her linen coat, waited for the chauffeur to open the door for her, and slid inside gracefully. Mr Lyvedon stooped his head and kissed Barbara’s forehead rather tentatively. “Please come home, Barbara,” he said, quietly. “Your mother misses you.”
Barbara shook her head, wearily. He evidently agreed with his wife; even if he was a little more sympathetic to their daughter’s disappointment, he honestly had no idea why the news might have devastated her. “No, she doesn’t. I hope you have a safe journey home.” She turned away, trying to hide the shine of tears in her eyes which she would not let fall, and felt Rosamund’s clasp on her hand with relief.
Stacie addressed Mr Lyvedon, saying more kindly than she expected, “You won’t change her mind like this, you know. Oxford means so much to her.”
Mr Lyvedon looked down at her without any trace of friendliness, pointing his superior height and position. “I see whom we should blame for our daughter’s intransigence. Good day to you.” Bathetically, as if unable to help himself, he raised his hat to her, before joining his wife. Presently, the chauffeur had managed to turn the big car in the narrow road, and then they were heading south, and had gone.
“Let’s take out a boat,” Rosamund said, decisively. “Do you want to come, too, Stacie?”
Stacie glanced at them both, and it was with something of a pang that she shook her head: they looked like they wanted to be alone. “No, thanks – I’ve work to do.”
Barbara gave a rather wobbly smile. “Me too, I suppose.” Unexpectedly, she hugged Stacie affectionately. “Thank-you.”
Stacie went back into college to her accustomed place in the library, while the other two made their way instead to the boathouse. She mused on the difference between families, contrasting her own circumstances with Barbara’s, and concluded that she was extremely lucky that her own relatives had no desire to interfere so drastically in her life now that she had left school. But then, if her parents were still alive, she could not imagine them ever preventing her from realising her academic dreams. More, that they would not have strongly encouraged her on such a path.
*
Over the next few days and during the last three weeks of term, Barbara and her friends tried to pretend that things were the same as they had always been, though it was not always possible. In the main, Barbara’s correspondents took her parents’ part, writing in their letters to her their conviction that she should obey their wishes and go home like a good daughter. Her parents did not write, and Barbara was not sure if that was a relief or not. Even Monsignor Forest, who, while he did not agree that his niece and her husband were in the right, did not go so far as to support Barbara in her resistance. However, it was reassuring to know that her friends, and fellow students, even those who barely knew her, went out of their ways to express their sympathy.
*
After a smooth voyage, Evadne Lannis landed in Southampton with her father, and travelled to London to make their base at the Savoy for their month’s visit. A couple of days later, she came up to Oxford for the day. Stacie met her at the station, eagerly looking out for her friend and wondering how much they would each have changed since they had last seen each other, more than a year ago.
Evadne descended from the train. They caught sight of each other at the same moment, and waved energetically. Since she was only visiting for the day, she had no luggage except her handbag with her, and she was dressed, Stacie saw, very stylishly in a dark green tweed suit with an elegant hat. The first impression was of a very adult stranger: an impression quickly dispelled, since as soon as she had made her way through the barrier, Evadne grinned delightedly, and they hugged each other.
“It’s so good to see you!” Evadne said, linking her arm with her friend’s. “It feels so long since we left Austria – that must have been the last time I saw you, I guess?”
“I think it would have been in Paris, when we came home after the summer term.”
“Of course, I forgot that was your last year.” Evadne sighed. “I do miss school. Writing to friends isn’t the same, and of course the friends I have at home are more... acquaintances, maybe.”
“Naturally – I feel that myself, particularly having spent so many holidays in Austria and not in Devon. You’ll have a chance to catch up with so many folks, I hope.”
“I’d planned to. I’m going to see the Lintons at the weekend and Margia next week.”
“That sounds splendid. Anyway, now that you’re here, what would you like to do? Shall I show you Oxford?”
Evadne assented to this, and Stacie talked about the treasure hunt, making it the basis for their tour, and amusing her friend with the telling. She was interested to see Stacie’s childhood home, and lamented that they could not go inside to see it, given that it was let. Conversely, Stacie wished that she might one day travel to America and see Evadne’s home, too. They had lunch at Shrewsbury, and Evadne got on well with her college friends, even if she seemed to be amused at the familiarity of eating a meal in a large hall with scores of other young women.
After lunch, they went for a walk by the river, and Stacie mentioned Barbara’s predicament. “Might your father know someone who needs an assistant or researcher?”
Evadne considered this. “He might. I’ll ask, of course. Do you think there’s really no chance that, if she went home, they might reconsider? It seems just awful for her to be at outs with her parents – they must have a good reason for asking her to come home.”
“Obedience to a parent’s wishes is all very well if they’re reasonable wishes,” Stacie replied dryly. “But they’ve given no good reason.” She shrugged.
“Well,” Evadne said, a little doubtfully, “if you say so. I’m lucky, I guess, that Poppa and I get along so well.”
“How’s your mother?” Mrs Lannis had been an invalid for as long as Stacie and Evadne had known each other, though Stacie had never been entirely clear from what disease she was suffering. She suspected that Evadne had never actually been told, in the way that adults never did tell children anything important, and wondered if, now she was older, her father had taken her into his confidence.
“Not well,” Evadne admitted. “Poppa told me that she contracted polio when I was a kid, and was very ill for a while. Then she seemed to get better for a space, but the last couple of years it seems to have come back – not so badly, at first, but now she can’t get out of bed, and she has a full-time nurse.” She tried to smile. “She’s so cheerful, though, it almost hurts. I see her every day, when I’m at home, but not for long, since it tires her out too much. I feel kind of torn, coming to England, but I’m more useful to Poppa than I am to Momma, and I hope she doesn’t miss me too much.”
Stacie squeezed her friend’s shoulders briefly. “I keep her in my prayers, if that’s a comfort to you.”
“It is, thanks.”
They had tea and buns at a small teashop off St Giles, and chatted about schooldays and Austrian food, and laughed at remembered cookery mishaps and Frau Mieders’ resulting despair. Neither mentioned their hope that all their friends and former teachers from countries now under the Reich were safe and well, for all they could do was pray – and they did – for their safety.
At last, they returned to the station, and Stacie bade her friend farewell, waving as the train pulled out of the station. As she walked back to college, she thought how this was another instance of the outer world impinging on the academic one, a brief conjunction of circling planets, before each went singing on their way.
The next week went past quickly. The others had examinations, whereas Stacie did not (for Mods was not until the next year), and so Jerry came up for the afternoon on Wednesday, for a change, and they took a punt upriver and had a picnic tea from a hamper he had brought with him. They talked idly about what they had each been reading, and he amused her by recounting the apparently amazing success of Meg’s dance the previous evening. “Nobody got drunk or made themselves objectionable, there were only a reasonable number of gate-crashers, and Mother seems to think that a number of likely partis came away impressed.”
Stacie laughed. “The definition of success, I see! It does seem an old-fashioned way of finding a spouse. How is one supposed to know whether you like a person when you might dance with them twice at a party?”
He shrugged. “I’ve no idea. How did your parents meet?”
“Do you know, I haven’t the foggiest notion. They didn’t talk about that sort of thing with me when I was a child. I’m not sure that, even now, I’d have been able to ask. Yours?”
“They’d known each other for years, actually,” Jerry said. “They’re cousins. On the Wimsey side, not the Delagardie one.” Stacie wrinkled her nose a little, and he made a wry face. “I know. One can’t say that they weren’t warned.”
“It was something my mother used to talk about, how marrying within a family was wrong. She blamed a lot of ailments on it – inherited weakness, and so on. And one of her hobby horses was family planning, because she was convinced that a lot of poverty and disease could be reduced if families only had one or two children, instead of seven, or twelve, or more.”
“’Tes wickedness. ’Tes flyin’ in the face of Nature!” he said, with a grin.
It took a moment before Stacie recognised the quotation, and raised her eyebrows at him. “Ah, but she does take Flora’s advice after all.”
“Naturally. Everyone takes Flora’s advice: she’s always right. Rather like my uncle, now I come to think of it.”
Stacie laughed at the picture conjured up, of imagining the very correct Lord Peter at Cold Comfort Farm, sorting out everyone’s lives. Jerry smiled at her, amused by her amusement, and she felt her heart leap in response. She leaned in, almost involuntarily, and he read her intention, meeting her lips with his own.
*
In the last week of term, a letter came for Barbara postmarked from London SW1 with a typewritten envelope, although the sheets inside (good quality blue laid paper) were handwritten hastily if legibly with blue-black ink. The address stamped at the top of each sheet was 13b Cleveland Row, London.
Dear Miss Lyvedon,
I was very sorry to hear recently of your estrangement from your parents in the wake of their decision to withdraw their financial support for your studies at Oxford. I may be able to assist materially and with advice, if you wish.
Firstly, I think that trying to persuade them to change their minds would be a task beyond me. But if you think they might listen to me, I will make the attempt. It’s so difficult to be persuasive in letters, though, and I shall have very little opportunity to visit in the next few months. Still, let me know, and I will do what I can.
Secondly, my upstairs neighbour (there are three flats in this building: Scott’s is 13c) is being posted overseas for the next two years and, having heard a little of your circumstances, would be pleased to have you living there while he’s gone. He will be leaving England at the end of June. I must emphasise that no rent would be charged for this, except to take care of his flat during his absence. My man, Carson, can be relied upon for elucidation of electrical mysteries – plumbing is more my forté. You would need to be responsible for gas and electricity while in residence.
Thirdly, and this is more advice than an offer of assistance, I suggest you enlist in one of the women’s Services. The pay is not, I’m told, substantial, but will increase significantly once you are commissioned; the job will give you occupation and independence. I don’t think I’m giving away much by stating that war is coming, and probably sooner than expected. If you are living in London, your skills and talents are likely to be useful.
Do let me know if the offer is acceptable, so that I can let Scott know. This address will always find me.
Yours sincerely,
Jonathan Mansel
Considerably surprised by this missive, Barbara read it again, hoping that she had understood him correctly. This sounded promising. So Cleveland Row was nowhere near the more intellectual quarter of the city, but she was sure she would be able to budget on whatever pay she’d get if she did not have also to spend half of it on rent.
At lunch, she conveyed the offer to her friends. Stacie and Rosamund were in agreement that it sounded like just the thing for her; Rosamund’s only concern being that, if Barbara gave the address when she was job-hunting, any prospective employer would think her in no need of wages. Beth, however, was more sceptical, putting forward her cynical view that Mansel’s motives ought to be more scrutinised. “Are you sure you can trust him?” she asked, not saying out loud what she was really worried about.
“Yes, pretty much,” Barbara said, a little offended. “I’ve known him all my life.”
Beth opened her mouth to make another remark, then closed it again. In her view, very few people ever did wholly disinterested acts of kindness, particularly middle-aged men for women young enough to be their daughters. She supposed it was possible Mansel was one, and hoped it: saying ‘I told you so’ in the future, would not be at all satisfactory. She would have offered to have Barbara stay with her, were she not going to the States for the summer with Patrick.
So Barbara wrote to Mansel accepting the offer with gratitude, and explaining that she would be visiting a friend and her family for the first few weeks of the summer vacation so she would move in whenever was convenient.
The pace of work slowed in the last week, those students having had examinations receiving their results: Barbara, Beth and Rosamund each did well in their respective subjects, with Barbara particularly commended. They all went out for dinner together to celebrate, Beth insisting on standing the others champagne.
The following day, trunks and cases packed, addresses exchanged and plans made, they headed to the railway station having said farewell to Beth, who was disconsolately awaiting the arrival of her brother’s car at college. Stacie’s train to Newbury would depart before Rosamund and Barbara’s to Birmingham, so they sat with her, from time to time checking their own luggage was safe on the other platform. “I don’t regret this year at all,” Barbara said, abruptly. “I do wish I was coming back for next year, but I’d rather have had these three terms than not have come to Oxford at all.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Stacie said, “I’m glad you did, and that you’re my friend. I do wish my aunt and uncle lived rather closer to London, because I would be able to invite you to stay for weekends.”
Barbara smiled ruefully. “We might wish for a lot of things. This looks like your train, Stacie.” The three girls embraced fondly, Stacie checked that her porter was ready to transfer her trunk to the luggage van, tried to say farewell and found the words clotted in her throat.
Once she had found a seat in a relatively empty compartment, and was awaiting the guard’s shrill whistle, she stood at the door and reflected that parting was not sweet sorrow at all, it was miserable. At last, the signal came, there was a great hiss of steam and a jerk as the couplings took the strain, and they were slowly moving. Stacie waved and Barbara and Rosamund waved in return. She sat down when she could no longer see them, not even as pale blobs on the distant platform, and determinedly opened her book.
Her eyes would not focus on the printed page. Instead she could not help running through the events of the last year, both academic and personal. Her sorrow at parting from her friends was lessened a little when she thought of Jerry and their hopes for the future.
Hours later, at Taverton station, tired and weary, it was a relief to see her aunt and youngest cousin waiting for her, the family she had once scorned but had come to love.