Page 68 of The Austen Escape
Day Three.Tomorrow I would have to get her home.
A huge white canvas caught my eye. “Over the top” was an understatement. Across the lawn, situated at the edge of the formal gardens, sat an elaborate picnic. It looked as if they’d moved an entire room out of the house and onto the lawn. There were two of the canvas shades held high on tall wood poles. On the rug laid beneath them sat a table filled with tiered silver trays and two tea services. Chairs were arranged in groupings, and at the edge of the scene stood large wicker bins. I saw the handles of badminton rackets and what I thought was a cricket bat sticking out. The bowls were scattered across their court, a small patch of lawn leveled and cut close like a putting green.
“How did they do all this?”
“When you went up for your bath, I watched from a window.”
I yanked at his hand.
“Not you. This. I watched this. They’ve been carrying all this out for the past hour... Come on.”
“There she is.” Helene noticed us first and stepped off the carpet to envelop me in a tight hug. She looped her arm through mine and pulled me close. She smelled of baby powder and roses. “I wondered where you were. I was afraid your adventure was too taxing.”
I met Gertrude at the table. “Thank you for sending Sonia up with the tea. It was wonderful to find it sitting on the desk.”
“I can’t imagine how cold you were.” Gertrude looked to the house. “The last time I fell in that stream I was sixteen. My brothers pushed me.”
I followed her gaze and studied the house as well. The back was even more impressive than the front. The front was straight—one austere expanse of stone from end to end softened only by the semicircular bays on the corners. The back, however, had two wingsflanking each end of the house at ninety-degree angles. Glass windows filled the center section across both floors, and the wings were capped in their own bay windows, also two stories high.
I looked back to Gertrude. Her face had paled and fallen. She threw me a tremulous smile. “They’re all gone now.” The china rattled as she set down the teapot. She clenched her hands, released them, then reached to hand me a cup.
Everyone was present. Isabel sat with Grant near the bowls lawn. She sat ramrod straight, no twenty-first-century slouch. I needed to call Dr. Milton.
Gertrude poured two more cups of tea. I handed mine to Nathan and helped her pass two more to Helene and Herman.
Herman’s eyes looked clouded and young to me. Their expression was not that of the vain, proud Sir Walter Elliot.
“How are you, Admiral Croft?”
“Helene.” He whispered his wife’s name as if it were contraband. “She called you a different name on our ride. I can’t remember it.”
“She called me Anne, but don’t worry about that. If the names are confusing, don’t use any of them. It’s only meant to be fun.”
He nodded but did not look assured. He shifted to face Isabel. “I don’t remember your name either. This is all becoming—” He looked back to me. “Who is she again?”
Isabel didn’t hear us, or if she did, she didn’t acknowledge Herman’s question. She was listening to Helene and the Lottes. It took me a moment to catch on.
“All the common rooms have one,” Sylvia was saying. “Gertrude told us about them when we arrived, but you’d never notice. They are so cleverly hidden.”
“That might be nice for our rest this afternoon. Herman lovesthat new BBC mystery,” Helene returned to Sylvia. “He’s finding it hard to be away from the fixtures, the familiar things from home. I am too, if the truth be told.”
“That’s understandable. The line can feel too blurry for comfort.” Aaron cast a glance to Herman, who was slowly tuning in to the conversation.
“I do missJeopardy. We watch it over dinner. Do you knowJeopardy? It’s an American show.” Helene directed her question to Isabel but didn’t wait for an answer. She smiled to Sylvia. “It’s what keeps my brain so young.”
“Clara does that for me,” Sylvia laughed.
“Can we watchJeopardytoo?” Clara asked.
“If Mrs. Mueller finds it, sure. You might find it dull though.” Sylvia handed her a napkin to place under her cookie.
Clara. Mrs. Mueller.Real names. I looked to Isabel—half concerned, half relieved—to find her sitting straight. I watched her a moment more. There was something off, too rigid, in her stance, and her eyes were unfocused as if seeing the past rather than any of us.
“Isabel?” I handed her a cup of tea. I wanted to capture her focus. I needed to make sure she was all right. “Isabel?”
She looked at me and... She was not all right. There was an almost animal panic in her expression. It reminded me of Grant’s description of war. Before I could react or inquire, Clara plopped next to her, almost climbing onto her lap. “Momma said I don’t have to play anymore and Gertrude’s going to move chairs and pillows into the Day Room and make it like a movie theater this afternoon. We can have popcorn too. Do you want to? You can pick the movie.”
Isabel jerked away, and a startled Clara dropped her teacup straight into Isabel’s lap. Isabel jumped up, clutching at her skirt to pull it from her legs, and Clara fell to the ground.
