The Winter Rose (3 page)

For an instant, she thought of the one person who would have come if
he could--a boy who would have walked all the way from Wales to be with
her today. Hugh. She saw him in her mind's eye. He was running up Owen's
Hill, laughing. Standing on Dyffyd's Rock, head thrown back, arms
outstretched to the wild Welsh skies. She tried to push the images from
her mind, but failed. Tears burned behind her eyes. She hastily blinked
them away, knowing Maud would be looking for her, to take her to tea.
Knowing, too, that Maud had little patience for tangled emotions.

"Stop it, Jones. Right now," she hissed at herself. "Feelings cloud judgment."

"So does champagne, old girl, but that's why we like it!" a male voice boomed, startling her.

India whirled around, astonished. "Wish?" she exclaimed, as her
cousin kissed her cheek. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in
the States!"

"Just got back. Ship docked yesterday. Got the car off it and drove
hell for leather all night. Wouldn't have missed this for the world,
Indy. Didn't you see me in the back? I was clapping like a lunatic.
Bingham, too."

"Bing, is that really you?" India asked, peering around her cousin.

George Lytton, the twelfth Earl of Bingham, was standing behind Wish.
He shyly raised a hand in greeting. "Hullo, Indy," he said. "Congrats."

"This is such a lovely surprise! I didn't see either of you. Maud
swiped my specs. Oh, look at you, Wish! So suntanned and handsome. Was
your trip a success? Are you a billionaire?"

"Not quite yet, old mole, but soon," Wish said, laughing.

"Oh, for God's sake, darling, don't encourage him. His head's fat enough." The voice, her sister's, was heavy with boredom.

"Maud! Give me back my glasses," India said.

"Certainly not. They're beastly. They'll ruin the photographs."

"But I can't see."

Maud sighed. "If you insist," she said. "Really, though, India, if
your specs get any thicker you'll be wearing binoculars." She wrinkled
her nose. "Can we leave now? This place has the stinks."

"Listen to your much older sister and get your things, Windy Indy," Wish said.

"Very funny, Wish!" Maud said.

"Don't call me that horrible name, Wish!" India scolded.

Wish grinned. "It is horrible, isn't it? I gave it to you, remember?
When you were ten and holding forth on the nesting habits of wrens. A
proper boffin even then. And such a wordy old thing."

"That nickname doesn't make her sound wordy, it makes her sound flatulent," Bing said, blinking owlishly.

Wish and Maud roared. Bing cracked a smile and India tried not to.
They'd all grown up together and tended to revert to old ways the minute
they were reunited. She watched them--all three were nearly breathless
with laughter now--half expecting Wish to thump Bingham with a serving
spoon or Maud to pour ink in the teapot. Finally, unable to help
her-self, she dissolved into giggles, too. Their sudden appearance had
made her forget her earlier sadness and she was very happy they'd come.
As chil-dren they'd all been inseparable, but now they were rarely in
the same place at the same time. Maud tended to swan off to exotic
destinations on a whim. Wish was forever starting up new ventures. A
banker turned spec-ulator, he was known to make a fortune in a matter of
days--and lose it again just as quickly. Bingham hardly ever left
Longmarsh, preferring its quiet woods and meadows to the noisy streets
of London. And Freddie-- India's fianc�nd Bingham's
brother--practically lived at the House of Commons.

"Look, we've got to shake a leg," Wish said impatiently, "so get your things, Lady Indy."

"Don't call me that, either," India warned.

"How about we call you late for lunch, then? We've a reservation for
half one at the Coburg--a little party for you--but we'll never make it
un-less we get started."

"Wish, you mustn't--" India started to say.

"No worries. I didn't. It's on Lytton."

"Bing, you shouldn't--"

"Not me, Indy," he said. "My brother."

"Freddie's here?" India asked. "How? When? He said he'd been summoned to C-B's for the weekend."

Wish shrugged. "Dunno. S'pose he got himself unsummoned. He was just
trotting down the steps when I called at his flat so I gave him a ride."

"Where is he now?"

"Outside. Bringing the car round."

"No, I'm not. I'm right here," a young blond man said. He was tall
and slender, beautifully dressed in a cutaway coat and cheviot trousers.
A dozen female heads turned to admire him. A few--a doddery aunt, a
younger sister--might have asked who he was, but most recognized him. He
was a Member of Parliament, a rising star whose bold defection from the
Conservatives to the Liberals had his name constantly in the papers. He
was Bing-ham's younger brother--only a second son--yet Bing, shy and
retiring, faded beside him.

"Freddie, what took you?" Wish asked. "You had me worried."

"I'm touched, old man. Truly."

"Not about you. About the car." Wish's motor car, a Daimler, was brand-new.

"Mmmm. Yes. Had a spot of trouble with the car," Freddie said.
"Couldn't get the damned thing in reverse. Or neutral. Couldn't shut it
off, either."

"Freddie..." Wish began, but Freddie didn't hear him. He was kissing India's cheek.

"Well done, my darling," he said. "Congratulations."

"Freddie, you ass!" Wish shouted. "What do you mean you can't shut it off? What's it doing? Driving itself?"

"Of course not. I told the porter to drive it. Last I saw, he was headed for King's Cross."

Wish swore, then dashed out of the auditorium. Bing followed.

Freddie grinned. "Car's perfectly safe. Parked it out front. Did you see Wish's face?"

"Freddie, that was awful! Poor Wish!" India said.

"Poor Wish, my foot," Maud said, lighting a cigarette. "Serves him
right. He's gone absolutely car mad. Now, can we please go, too? I can't
bear the smell of this place. Really, Indy, it's awful. What is it?"
she asked.

India sniffed. "I don't smell a thing."

"Have you got a cold? How can you not?"

She sniffed again. "Oh, that. Ca--" She was about to say cabbages. A
nearby church ran a soup kitchen for the poor and cooking smells were
always drifting over, but Freddie cut her off.

"Cadavers," he said. "Indy told me about them. The best go to Guy's and Bart's. The women's school gets all the ripe ones."

Maud paled. She pressed a jeweled hand to her chest. "Dead people?"
she whispered. "You're joking, Freddie, surely. Say you are."

"I'm not this time. I'm being most grave. I swear it."

"Good God. I feel quite ill. I'll be outside."

Maud left and India turned to her fianc�"Most grave?" she said.
"Must we always become twelve years old again when we're all together?"

"Yes, we must," Freddie said. He gave her a golden smile and India
thought then, as she had a million times before, that he was the most
glori-ously handsome man she had ever seen.

"You are awful, Freddie," she said. "Truly."

"I am. I admit it. But it was the only way I could get five minutes
alone with you," he said, squeezing her hand. "Now get your things, old
stick. We're off to the Coburg."

"Wish said. But really, Freddie, you mustn't."

"I want to. It's not every day of the week one becomes a doctor, you know."

"This is so lovely. So unexpected. I thought you'd be at C-B's all weekend."

C-B was short for Henry Campbell-Bannerman, leader of the Opposition.
There was talk that Lord Salisbury, Britain's prime minister and head
of the incumbent Conservative Party, would call a general election in
the autumn. Campbell-Bannerman had called his shadow cabinet together to
prepare the Liberal Party's platform. A handful of prominent
backbenchers, including Freddie, had also been summoned.

"The old boy canceled," Freddie said. "Felt a bit punky."

"When did you find out?"

"Two days ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?" India asked, hurt. She'd been so disappointed when he'd said he couldn't be here today.

"I was going to, darling," Freddie said contritely. "And perhaps I
should have. But as soon as I knew I was off the hook, I decided to
surprise you with a party. Now stop looking daggers at me, will you, and
get your things."

India felt ashamed. How could she have scolded him? He was always so
thoughtful. She led the way out of the auditorium down a narrow hallway
to a lecture theater where she and her fellow graduates had stowed their
belongings. It was quiet in the room when she and Freddie entered it,
qui-eter than she'd ever heard it. Freddie sat down in one of the wooden
seats and busied himself with a bottle of champagne he'd swiped from
the drinks table. India looked around--not for her things, but at the
room it-self. She looked at the raked benches and the dissection table,
at the book-cases crammed with heavy texts, at Ponsonby the skeleton
dangling from his stand--and realized that it was the last time she
would do so. The sad-ness she'd felt earlier overwhelmed her again. She
walked over to Ponsonby and took his lifeless hands in hers.

"I can't believe it's over. I can't believe I'll never sit here again," she said.

"Hmm?" Freddie was frowning at the cork.

"This place... this school... all the years I spent here... it's all behind me now..."

Her voice trailed off as images came back to her. Bright fragments of
time. She saw herself and Harriet Hatcher in anatomy lab bent over a
cadaver. They were peeling back the derma, naming and drawing muscles
and bones as fast as they could, trying to stay ahead of the rot. Trying
not to vomit. Sketch and retch, they'd called it. Professor Fenwick had
been there, calling them ham-fisted bumblers one minute, bringing them
bicarb and a bucket the next.

He'd been there again, materializing out of thin air like a guardian
angel, when a group of drunken first years from Guy's had surrounded
herself and Harriet outside the school's entrance. The men had exposed
them-selves, demanding to have their members examined.

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, my students cannot comply with your
request," he'd said, "as they are not permitted to take their
microscopes out of the building."

And Dr. Garrett Anderson, the dean. She was a legend, the first woman
in England to earn a medical degree and one of the school's founders.
Brisk, brilliant, stronger than Sheffield steel, she had been a constant
inspiration to India, a living, breathing rebuttal to those who said
women were too weak and too stupid to be doctors.

"This foil is a bugger," Freddie muttered, fiddling with the champagne bottle. "Ah! There we are."

She looked at him, wanting so much to tell him what this place meant
to her, wanting him to understand. "Freddie... ," she began. "Never mind
the champagne...."

It was too late. He aimed the bottle at Ponsonby and popped the cork. It glanced off the skeleton's head.

"Poor Ponsonby," India said. "You've hurt his feelings."

"Stuff Ponsonby. He's dead. He has no feelings. Come and have a
drink." Freddie patted the chair next to him. When India was seated, he
handed her a glass. "To Dr. India Selwyn Jones," he said. "The cleverest
lit-tle brick in London. I'm so proud of you, darling." He clinked her
glass, then emptied his. "Here," he added, handing her a small leather
box.

"What is it?"

"Open it and see."

India eased the lid up, then gasped at what was inside--a beautifully
worked gold pocket watch with diamond markers. Freddie took it out and
turned it over. Think of me was engraved on the back.

India shook her head. "Freddie, it's so beautiful. I don't even know what to say."

"Say you'll marry me."

She smiled at him. "I've already said that."

"Then do it. Marry me tomorrow."

"But I start with Dr. Gifford next week."

"Bugger Dr. Gifford!"

"Freddie! Shh!"

"Run away with me. Tonight." He leaned toward her and nuzzled her neck.

"I can't, you silly man. You know I can't. I've work to do. Important
work. You know how hard I fought for that job. And then there's the
clinic...."

Freddie raised his face to hers. His beautiful amber eyes had
darkened. "I can't wait forever, India. I won't. We've been engaged for
two bloody years."

"Freddie, please... don't spoil the day."

"Is that what I'm doing? Spoiling the day?" he asked, visibly hurt.
"Is my telling you that I want you for my wife such a dreadful thing to
hear?"

"Of course not, it's just that..."

"Your studies have come first for a long time, but you're finished
now and a man can only be so patient." He put his glass down. There was a
serious-ness to him now. "It's just that we could do so much good
together. You've always said that you want to make a difference--how can
you do that working for Gifford? Or in some ill-funded clinic? Do
something bigger, India. Something huge and important. Work with me on
health reform. Counsel me. Advise me. And together we'll make that
difference. A real difference. Not just for Whitechapel or London, but
for England." He took her hands in his and continued talking, giving her
no opening to reply. Or to object. "You're a remarkable woman and I
need you. At my side." He pulled her close and kissed her. "And in my
bed," he whispered.

India closed her eyes and tried to like it. She always tried to like
it. He was so good and so kind and he loved her. He was everything any
woman could want, and so she tried to warm to his kisses, but his lips
were so hard and insistent. He knocked her spectacles askew with his
fumblings and when he slid his hand from her waist to her breast, she
broke away.

"We ought to go," she said. "The others will be wondering what's become of us."

"Don't be cold to me. I want you so."

"Freddie, darling, this is hardly the place."