THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE RATLIFFE HOUSE – Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Pfft! Ancient!” Adam said, tossing his napkin aside as we got up from our tea. “Don’t oversell it, Geoffrey.”
“It’s all relative, Adam,” his brother said with a grin, backing his wheelchair away from the table. “Don’t Americans think everything over twenty years old is ancient?”
“Then you’re practically prehistoric,” Adam retorted.
“Oh-ho!” Geoffrey laughed. “At least I get around a bit. Sometimes I think you’re turning into fossil yourself. Do me a favor, won’t you Lucy?” he asked as I was setting back my chair. “Give Adam a good jab in the ribs once in a while. Make sure his heart’s still beating.”
I took my place beside Adam as Geoffrey led the way up a ramp into the house, and excused myself to the first bathroom passed. After walking through the orchard and sitting outside in the elements for half an hour, I was sure I looked like a hot mess. Under the soft hum of the bathroom fan, I smoothed down my hair and rested my palms on the cool granite countertop for a moment to collect myself. Every time I think something is going to be simple here, it’s not. I actually felt stupid for thinking that tea at the manor or crushing on Adam or, heck, even this whole trip to England would be fun. And yeah, I guess you could call it fun, if you’re not the kind of person who vomits on roller-coasters. Sigh. Why did I have to be so curious about everything?
The chill of the granite stone crept up my arms, almost making me shiver. Time to go face the music. Or the noise. I went out in search of Adam and Geoffrey, who had disappeared somewhere down the hall. After poking my nose into a couple of rooms with no luck, I heard their voices around the corner of what appeared to be a large foyer with a wood-paneled staircase in the center.
“I hope it works, for your sake,” Geoffrey was saying. “But I wouldn’t bet the house on it.”
“It’ll work. It has to. Besides, I’ve thought through everything. It’s the perfect scheme.”
“It’s a rubbish scheme! You haven’t thought through any of it! You’re just diving in headlong like you always do. But I don’t know why I even bother talking about it. You won’t listen.”
At that moment, Geoffrey caught sight of me coming around the corner and was all charm and wit again. “Ah, there she is. Come along, Lucy, we’ll show you the gallery first. That way you can ‘meet the parents,’ so to speak.” Meet the parents? My eyes flew to Adam for an explanation, but he appeared deep in thought, his chin lowered and loose tendrils of wavy hair falling forward. I had no choice but to follow Geoffrey as he led the way past the staircase to a large room filled with portraits—some painted, some photographed, all in ornate gilt frames.
“There’s Mum and Dad,” he said, pointing to a family portrait above the fireplace.
A seated woman with clear gray eyes and silver-streaked black hair gazed into the camera, her arms circled around a little boy with wavy black hair and a pensive expression. A man with thinning blond hair, a mild grin, and stick-straight posture stood behind her, his hand on the shoulder of a larger boy who shared his father’s broad-shouldered frame.
“I heard from them today, by the way,” Geoffrey said to Adam. “Dad says they’re coming home for Christmas.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Adam grumbled.
“This time he sounded serious. He said Mum’s already making arrangements.”
Adam only sniffed in reply and folded his arms in front of him.
“Over here’s the rest of our mealy old relatives,” Geoffrey continued, cheerful as ever. He pointed to another man with golden hair and a portly figure with the same blue eyes as the elder Mr. Ratliffe. “That one’s our uncle who left us the place, God rest his soul. Good sort of chap, all around, but he was a bachelor and died quite suddenly of a heart condition.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, surprised at this matter-of-fact description.
“Not to worry; it ended alright. Mum already had the job at Ruxbury and Dad had the office in Woking, so it was convenient enough to move to the manor from the Ratliffe House. Bit more space to run around and entertain guests. But of course, my curmudgeon of a brother wanted to stay in the old place. And now he’s got his wish. Everything exactly as he likes it.”
So that’s why he was so protective of the house. It’s not just his home. It’s his entire childhood. I felt a tinge of guilt as I realized how cavalier I’d been at first, like a stomping boot all over his baby picture album. No wonder he didn’t want Provost Bascomb sending more students to live there.
Geoffrey continued the tour through the house, including the ornate library which was like something from a fairy tale—all kinds of books stuffed in shelves up to the ceiling with one of those rolling ladders along the sides, a large chandelier hanging from the center, and soft upholstered reading chairs with Tiffany-style lamps beside them.
“Well then, Lucy, what do you think of my collection?” Geoffrey asked, making a proud gesture to the book-laden shelves.
“Your collection?” Adam scoffed. “They’re all mine and Uncle Andrew’s.”
“Well, you left them here. Except for the ones you lent to the university. You’ll be lucky if you ever see those again.” Geoffrey leaned over to me. “I keep telling him to get these agreements in writing, but he never does.”
“If there’s ever a real problem, I’ll make my lawyer handle it,” Adam said over his shoulder as he made his way over to one of the shelves.
“Easy for you to say!” Geoffrey shot back. “I have paying clients, you know. Someday I won’t have time to clean up your stupid messes.”
Adam pulled a book off the shelf and began leafing through it as he replied, “Of course you will. You like arguing too much to let a good opportunity pass you by.”
While they continued bickering, I let my eyes grace the shelves where a dark blue volume with gold stamping caught my eye. I felt myself drawn across the room by an inexplicable desire to touch it. Through the Looking-Glass, Lewis Carroll, spelled out the letters on the spine, framed by ornate Moroccan borders and gold-stamped cameos. I slid the narrow volume off the shelf and felt the lightness of it in my hand. Opening it slowly and gently, having learned my lesson from Jane Eyre, I read the name “Alice Hargreaves” in black ink inside the cover. One of the owners, I guess. I turned to the story, where one poem graced the page opposite an engraving of young Alice looking up to an aged knight on horseback.
Child of the pure unclouded brow
And dreaming eyes of wonder!
Though time be fleet, and I and thou
Are half a life asunder,
Thy loving smile will surely hail
The love-gift of a fairy tale.
“Found something of interest?” came Geoffrey’s voice beside me. I suppose he had given up the argument with Adam and abandoned him to his book. I showed Geoffrey the cover of Through the Looking-Glass. “May I?” he asked, and I handed it to him. He flipped over the inside cover for a moment. “I thought so. This is the one that’s signed by the original Alice. Lovely edition, isn’t it? Lots of pictures.”
“The original Alice?”
“Yes, you know, don’t you? The one who inspired the story for Carroll. The publisher had her sign a few copies in her old age.” A glint came into Geoffrey’s eye. “Now, watch this.” He turned and shouted across the room. “Adam! How much do you think this Lewis Carroll book is worth now?”
“The one signed by Alice? About four thousand, I think. There should be a copy of Wonderland next to it.”
“You see? He’s an encyclopedia of worthless knowledge.” Geoffrey smiled and handed the volume back to me. I slid it back on the shelf as quickly and carefully as I could, sighing with relief when it was seated next to its companion. Geoffrey wheeled around and went over to where Adam stood with his back to us, a thick volume in his hand.
“What are you looking at now? Not thinking of taking another one, I hope. It’s starting to look awkward in here with all the gaps.”
“There aren’t any gaps,” Adam said, without looking up.
“Yes, there are. I know what you’re doing. You’re taking them all for your own library.”
“Only the ones I bought in London. And I am taking this one, it belongs to a set.”
“What is it?” I asked, following Geoffrey from behind, eager for a clue about what Adam read for pleasure.
“Probably one of those petticoat novels, with all the women fainting and sighing over some rich snob. ‘Oh, Mr. Darcy!’” Geoffrey said, smirking.
Adam sneered at him. “It’s Villette by Charlotte Brontë.”
“Well, you’d better not lend it out. Didn’t you say some student ripped the cover off the other one?”
I gasped and held my breath. Does he know it was me? I glanced at Geoffrey. His face betrayed no knowledge of my guilt. My eyes crept up to Adam, even as I feared his reply.
“It was an accident,” he said, looking steadily at me with those green, green eyes.
I let my breath escape once more. Does this mean he forgives me? But how could I know for sure? In fact, I realized, insomuch as he had never brought up the broken book once since I moved in, neither had I, and it was more my responsibility to do so than his. But I had been so distracted by my own pursuit of pleasure that it was just too easy, too necessary, to leave the guilt behind, even as it nipped my heels.
“What do you expect when you throw your pearls before swine?” Geoffrey dismissed. “Enough book talk, I want Lucy to see the crown jewel.” He led the way out of the room.
Adam gave me a half smile and tucked his book gently under his arm, then followed Geoffrey out of the room. I kept behind him, afraid to go any closer. I should say something. I have to. I’ll bring it up on the walk home. I’ll be honest and tell him I don’t have the money to pay for the damages now but promise to do it later. He’d believe me, right? Didn’t I have enough goodwill built up to draw some credit? But then, maybe I’ve made too many withdrawals already.
Adam noticed me lagging and came alongside. “You might like this one, if you ever have a break from classwork.” He withdrew the book from under his arm and handed it to me. “It’s one of my favorites. Every phrase she writes is so beautiful. It’s like perfect lines of code. Go ahead, open it up. Read anything you see.”
We stopped a moment, and reluctantly, with almost trembling fingers, I unfolded the book while he waited. My nervous eyes jumped across the page, finally settling on one paragraph.
Most of M. Emanuel's brother professors were emancipated freethinkers, infidels, atheists; and many of them men whose lives would not bear scrutiny: he was more like a knight of old, religious in his way, and of spotless fame. Innocent childhood, beautiful youth were safe at his side. He had vivid passions, keen feelings, but his pure honour and his artless piety were the strong charm that kept the lions couchant.
I looked up, seeing he was waiting to hear my opinion. “Well?” he asked eagerly. “What do you think?”
Though my heart was beating in my ears, I knew its weakness. I would never bring up Jane Eyre. I had no such honor as that. I would keep walking the tightrope, day to day, hoping to evade both scrutiny and punishment, until circumstances delivered me to a new set of trials. And I was nothing like Adam, who was willing to lend me another book, his car, his home, knowing only a little of how careless and selfish I was. Just imagine if he knew it all.
I handed the book back to him. “You’re right. It’s beautiful. I wish I could read it, but I’m pretty booked-up for class.”
I thought a cloud of disappointment crossed his face, but he only said, “I understand. Perhaps at the end of first term? You’ll have a bit of a holiday then, won’t you?”
I couldn’t answer. If only he would tell me what this all means! If only I could stop myself. If only I could tell him …
Geoffrey came back into sight at the end of the hall, glancing between the two of us. I noticed that strange, pitying look on his face again. “Are you coming or not?” he asked, loudly but not impatiently.
“Yes, you can show her your television that’s bigger than mine and get it over with,” Adam said, rolling his eyes.
We followed Geoffrey into an enormous room that held not one, but two giant televisions and a projector screen that took up an entire wall. Rows of overstuffed reclining chairs in gaudy red leather faced the screen. The walls, which appeared to have once been a lovely dark-stained wood, were covered with Manchester United memorabilia.
“I don’t suppose you’re a football fan?” Geoffrey asked me. “Probably prefer that American football?”
“Actually, I like baseball better. But my mom works for a sporting goods company so I’ve been to some MLS matches. Can’t beat free tickets.”
“So, you’re acquainted with the glory of United?” he asked with an expectant smile.
“Sort of?” I offered. “I’ve seen Bend It Like Beckham.”
Geoffrey’s smiled waned. “Well, I suppose that’s something. And what are you sniggering about, Adam?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Adam chuckled as he settled himself into one of the red armchairs and propped up his book. “Please, continue.”
“I will, thank you very much,” Geoffrey retorted. “Now please, come this way, Lucy. Since you like the film, we’ll start with my autographed copy.”
Though I’d only watched the movie in the background on cable one night while I was studying for an exam, I decided to keep that detail to myself, and play the role of good sport for Adam’s brother. I nodded politely as he gave me a lengthy history of the football club’s career and tried to act interested in the saga of each signed jersey acquisition. Apparently, I succeeded to the point that he invited me to stay and watch a recorded preseason match with his friends that evening.
“We’ll be having dinner catered in, and lots of delightful tasty bits besides. Everyone would be so delighted to meet you. Think of it as the next natural step in your education on all things British.”
Geoffrey’s Marlowe-manner had begun to make a reappearance, albeit in subdued form. I looked at Adam, who was watching us over the top of his book. He gave a little motion of his head. You can if you want to, he seemed to say. But now that Jane Eyre had slipped from my mind once again, I only wanted to be with Adam.
“That sounds really nice, but I should get back to studying. I have a lot of reading to do.”
Geoffrey seemed unsurprised. “Of course. Well, if you change your mind, the offer stands. Same goes for the house. There’s lots of room for guests here,” he said, giving another pointed look to Adam. “In fact, the room beside mine has a lovely view of the new garden. I could show you now—”
“It’s getting late. We should be going,” Adam cut in, rising from his chair. The firmness in his voice had returned, with that defensive edge to it. Geoffrey’s eyes sparkled with delight at the reaction.
“As you wish. I suppose I’d better see how Mrs. Scott is coming along with the hors d’oeuvres.”
“You mean annoy her and sneak away bits of ham and cheese until your friends arrive.”
“Exactly! You see, Lucy?” Geoffrey asked me. “That’s why Adam and I can’t live together. We’re too familiar to enjoy each other’s bad habits.”
“Like being a pompous blabbermouth?” Adam suggested, tucking the book under his arm.
“Or an insufferable know-it-all,” his brother returned. “Still coming for lunch on Sunday?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Good.” Geoffrey took my hand again, but only shook it this time. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lucy. I hope I’ll see you again.”
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