Page 28 of See Me After Class

"No problem,"he said, smiling a little curiously. "Anytime."

I hurriedoff toward the line of trees leading to the two cottages at the edge of the estate, more unnerved than I liked to admit.

Ms. Wainwright would knowwhat to do here. I needed to go talk to her, at once.

10

Dessie

Ilet out a sigh of relief as I stepped into the comforting embrace of Letitia Wainwright's home. The garden, a cozy patchwork of colors, greeted me with its orderly flower beds. Begonias blushed in vibrant hues beside the proud blooms of rhododendrons, all nestled under a quaint stone arch leading to the old yew alley, a favorite haunt for local romantics.

Ms. Wainwright, with her usual composure slightly ruffled, opened the door, her eyes widening in mild surprise. "Desdemona, my dear. I wasn't expecting you today."

I chuckled softly. "I did send a text earlier," I reminded her gently. "Maybe you missed it?"

She laughed, a touch of self-deprecation in her voice. "Oh, texts and apps, they're a bit beyond me, I'm afraid. In my time, a good old phone call did the job."

I smiled warmly, stepping inside. "It's fine, really. I just wanted to ask you something. If now's not a good time, I can always come back."

"No trouble at all, dear. Do come in," she insisted, ushering me into her home.

Ms. Wainwright's cottage reminded me of a time long gone. I inhaled the scents of pine and something distinctly woodsy as I stepped inside. Warm shadows pooled in corners, chased by dancing tendrils of a gentle firelight. Bookshelves bowed, their racks lined with worn leather volumes. Sunbeams sliced through the latticed window, painting diamonds on the worn stone floor. Beautiful porcelain cups stood further inside, in glass cabinets framing a homely kitchen. The walls, adorned with rose-patterned wallpaper, created a warm, inviting backdrop for the treasured Derby China plates, each displayed with pride in glass-fronted cabinets.

A wicker basket sat on a fat kitchen table, spilling sun-kissed apples, their cheeks flush with autumn's kiss. In the living room, on the wall behind a plump sofa, a grandfather clock ticked a steady tempo. This was, in all, a space where a man's presence seemed almost unimaginable. Lace doilies and hand-embroidered rose cushions dotted the space, adding a touch of personal charm.

The house, impeccably neat and spotlessly clean, always struck me with its quiet, orderly charm, yet it held a certain stillness, a tranquility that bordered on lifeless. It was as if the cottage itself were content to rest in the memories of yesteryear, a peaceful haven untouched by the rush of the outside world.

Ms. Wainwright had always been inexplicably attached to Oswald and her work with him. I didn't even know anything about her beyond her role as my adoptive father's secretary who had come to help him run the Institute. She had stood by him through all these years, making sure he never wanted for company or sound advice. The head on her shoulders was incredibly level and good-tempered. Oswald relied heavily on her.

I felt a burgeoning spurt of guilt. I realized I had been far too occupied with my own feelings of loss following Oswald's passing. In doing so, I'd neglected to see that he had been Ms. Wainwright's whole life as well. I'd never thought to check in with her after he passed.

Now was the time. I cleared my throat. "How have you been coping, Ms. Wainwright?" I asked quietly. "Are you settling in, given the new changes? Considering how we never… I mean… after…"

The questions I wanted to ask died in my throat. It still seemed an impossibly painful topic to talk about. She picked up on the trail, though.

"After my employer passed and left me at a loose end?" she replied acridly. As she spoke, she laid down a pot of steaming milk tea and a plate of freshly baked scones on a small table in front of me. "Help yourself, dear. You don't need to worry about my state. Oswald made sure I was taken care of."

"I know," I assented, reaching out to pour myself a cup. I loved the tea here, a strong Assam brewed with cinnamon, sugar, and a single chunk of ginger. "This house, and there are stocks he put in your name so you have a decent income for this lifetime. But that's not what I'm asking, Ms. Wainwright."

Silence fell between us. She pulled out a chair and sat daintily on it, crossing her legs in front of her. I poured her another cup and she accepted it.

Steam made her features retreat into a hazy backdrop for a second. She traced fingers over the delicate porcelain cup, painted with blackbirds. After some time, she exhaled audibly. "I worked for him for three decades, my dear. It is odd to suddenly wake up and not have… anything to do. But I am coping, as we all are and must. I try my best not to repine too much."

Repine.So old-fashioned and quaint, I thought fondly. It was perfect for little old Ms. Wainwright in her curious cottage full of Old World charm.

"So, you harbor no regrets," I pondered aloud. "That's commendable. Yet, here I am, haunted by thoughts of all the moments I'd let slip away. Had I known the end was near, I would have never ventured far from home."

Ms. Wainwright,her tone brimming with an unusual intensity, countered, "That's utter folly, my dear. Oswald's deepest wish was for you to carve out your own path. He was acutely aware that it wasn't right to confine you here, devoid of peers or diverse pursuits. His life may have been entwined with the shadows of that estate" —she nodded sharply toward the looming structure on the hill— "but he often confided in me his hopes for you to avoid the solitude that marked his own existence."

"But I wasn't living in solitude," I argued, a hint of defensiveness in my voice. "My days in the house with him, and with you as our neighbor, were filled with contentment."

Ms. Wainwright's expression hardened, her voice adopting a brisk, authoritative tone. "Nevertheless, it's undeniable that this place was no environment for a young soul to flourish," she asserted. "I voiced this to him repeatedly, but did he heed my warnings? No. He was adamant about raising you within these walls, personally overseeing every aspect of your upbringing. It's all in the past now, but as you well know, once Oswald set his mind to something, no force on earth could dissuade him."

"I cherish the time I spent here," I declared, a rebellious undertone in my voice. "This place was my sanctuary, my first true home. I never yearned for perfection. All I wanted was to make him proud."

"And proud you made him," Letitia Wainwright responded, her penetrating black eyes, undimmed by age, surveying me intently. "You were the living testament to his efforts, transcending the flaws of a substandard education to carve out a successful career and achieve financial autonomy. He often spoke of you as his crowning achievement, eclipsing all his other accomplishments. Desdemona Cassandra Miller Gardner, you also have no grounds for regret."

Her words brought a surge of emotion, tears momentarily clouding my vision. "Thank you," I managed to say, deeply moved. "Your words mean more than you know."

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