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Bid her have good heart:

She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,

How honourable and how kindly we

Determine for her; for Caesar cannot live

To be ungentle.

—Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra (c.1607)

Sarah received nothing for her walk in the rain apart from a bad cold, which confined her to her room, to be sustained by Mrs. Barstow’s (successful) jelly and occasional sips of broth.

“You’re awake! Hurrah!” cried Frances on the fourth day, when she entered with a tray to find her sister-in-law pale and tousled but blinking at her. “Everyone will be glad to hear it.”

“What day is it?” It emerged as a croak.

“Monday. You’ve missed our final dance lesson—Tommy Wardour was as disastrous as the first day and had to be paired with Mr. Langworthy throughout, for everyone’s safety—and then you missed church and a half-dozen callers.

The Deres, of course, and the Lanes and the Chaunceys.

And then Dr. Rearden and Mr. Langworthy came yesterday afternoon. ”

Still drowsy, Sarah yawned and murmured, “He was in my dream.”

“Who was? Did you have a nightmare about Dr. Rearden smothering you in his whiskers. Because when I peeped in once, you were tangled in the coverlet, and your forehead hot.”

“No. No, it was—the other one. Mr. Langworthy. He was—on a ship.” As full consciousness returned, she just managed not to add, He was sailing away, and I felt…bereft.

“Isn’t that curious,” said Frances, “because sadly he very soon will be on a ship, he says. Or at least he hopes so. His uncle writes that the country—and the navy—must prepare again for renewed hostilities, so Mr. Langworthy says he will likely go again shortly after the children’s ball.

” She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“Mama shed a few tears about it—I think she wished he might stay for much longer—so please don’t mention his departure, if you can help it. ”

Sarah shook her head weakly, grateful that any tears which inexplicably threatened her own eyes would be attributed to her cold.

But Frances was too preoccupied to notice and fairly buzzed with eagerness.

“How do you feel? Do you think you could sit up and take something? Mama says you will get better ten times faster with something substantial in you. And I have a full budget of news which I am dying to share, if your head doesn’t ache too much to hear it. ”

“Help me sit up, and I will eat and hear your budget,” replied Sarah. “Where is Bash? Can you call him to join us?”

“That is the first item I have for you, I’m sorry to say.

I’m afraid Bash has caught your cold. No—don’t try to get up—he’s a good, strong boy, and Mr. Travers has already seen him and says his fever is so slight he expects it will be altogether gone tomorrow.

Mama has taken him into her room, where he has been sleeping as much as you have, and we have all been peeping in at him and hovering over him as much as even you could. ”

Even if Sarah didn’t believe her, her effort to rise was so unsuccessful that Frances easily pushed her back.

“Oh,” Sarah sighed, “but I would feel better if I could see him.”

“You will, you will, if you will only eat and drink and not tax yourself,” insisted Frances. “And you simply must get better because you are already going to miss something today, and I don’t want you to miss another tomorrow.”

Dutifully, Sarah took hold of the teacup and managed a sip. “What am I going to miss today?”

Frances gave a delighted wriggle. “Why, Della invited us all to Keele’s this afternoon because the pupils have prepared speeches and scenes from Antony and Cleopatra ! Mr. Weatherill thought it would lighten the winter days and bring alive both their Latin studies and Mr. Keele’s Egyptian stories.”

Sarah almost wailed. “That’s for today? I should very much like to go. What time is it? Perhaps if I dress very warmly—”

“Pooh! And make yourself sick again? You know nobody would let you. But I promise Maria and Gordy and I will do our best to reproduce it all for you later. Besides, if it is a wild success, they might even be persuaded to recite again.”

“Is everybody going? Surely the Deres are, to see Peter.” What Sarah meant, if she would only admit it to herself, was, Were the rectory people invited?

“Certainly the Deres will be there,” answered Frances. “They’re coming in the coach for us. But I don’t know who else. I suppose whichever of the pupils’ families are nearby.”

Despite her disappointment at missing the performance, Sarah had no difficulty attacking her toast. She found she was ravenous.

“Very well,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand while she chewed, “that is the thing I must miss today. What is the other? The one tomorrow? I refuse to be deprived of it, even if you must wheel me there in a chair.”

Frances clapped her hands and bounced on the bed as if she were as young as Maria. “Mrs. Dere has invited us to dinner tomorrow!”

“What’s so wondrous about that? We go all the time. I would far rather miss that and see the Keele’s pupils instead.”

“It’s not any old dinner,” protested Frances. “It’s a special one.”

Remembering Mr. Langworthy’s announcement that he would leave Iffley soon, a fear clutched Sarah. Could it be a farewell dinner? One they must have now, if he were to leave directly following the ball?

Frances soon relieved her. “It’s a special dinner because Mrs. Robson’s cousin at the Angel Inn has sent Mrs. Dere the two new footmen for the ball!

And he told her—Mrs. Robson’s cousin told Mrs. Robson—that they will have to do at this short notice because he can’t spare anyone.

But Mrs. Dere declares they are raw and unskillful, and she suspects neither one has ever been in service before, despite the glowing testimonials they presented, which she thinks must surely be forged!

. She says she dare not let them serve at the children’s ball unless they have proper training.

So we are going to dine there tomorrow , to give them practice! ”

Sarah laughed at this, and Frances was glad to see some color return to her face.

“Only you could think it delightful, Frances, to be the subject of Mrs. Dere’s experiment!

All it means is that we will likely have soup spilled upon us, or those of us at one end of the table will not taste the dishes at the other until they are cold. ”

“Pooh!” said Frances again. “It will be amusing, and it cannot be that hard for them to learn service, or why would Mr. Langworthy say he thinks Harry Barbary already acquits himself well? When we told Mr. Langworthy yesterday about Mrs. Dere’s plans, he said she would do better to enlist Harry than two incompetent strangers, even if Harry is only eight or so.

But you know Mrs. Dere will never hear of it, be the strangers ever so incompetent. ”

Her first meal in days gave Sarah enough energy to dress and come down, where she was fussed over, asked solicitous questions, and re-told Frances’ news a few times.

But when she had assured herself Bash was on the mend, she let them place her before the fire, with blankets tucked about and books near at hand, and promptly nodded off the moment the family had gone.

A soft scratching awoke her.

Blinking slowly, she noted the winter sunlight had grown fainter, and Reed must have come in at some point to light the lamps.

The scratching continuing, Sarah shifted, leaning past the wing of the chairback to discover its source.

And there at the little desk sat Horace Langworthy, of all people, his pen scratching as he wrote!

She must have made a sound because he looked up.

“Ah. You are awake.” Gesturing before him, he added, “Reed said you were sleeping, and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I was writing you a note.”

For the second time that day, she spoke without thinking. “I hear you are going.”

“Going where?”

“Going—leaving Iffley. Frances said—” she broke off, conscious of her face warming. Swallowing, she changed the subject. “Er—what are you writing?”

He stood, sliding Mrs. Barstow’s dainty chair back in and holding up the sheet of paper. “‘Mrs. Sebastian,’” he read, tucking the other hand in his waistcoat and throwing back his shoulders as if he were a candidate delivering a speech, “‘I am glad to hear you are feeling more the thing and—’”

Her lips twitched in spite of herself. “And…?” she prompted.

“And…that’s as far as I got.”

Then Sarah did laugh, eliciting that boyish grin from him.

“Would you like anything, Mrs. Sebastian? I can call the maid. A cup of tea, perhaps? Or the fire built up?”

“Thank you, no.” Then, with an effort she forced down her shyness to say, “I am surprised to see you. I thought you might be in Oxford.” She blushed because that sounded like she had been thinking of him and picturing where he might be.

“Er—that is—I thought everyone was gone to Oxford this afternoon. For the students reciting Shakespeare. The Keele’s students, I mean.

But—er—obviously not. Because here you are.

Won’t you—won’t you sit down and—chat with me? ”

Her babbling received the punishment it deserved, for he lifted one eyebrow in the teasing way she had come to expect. ( As if I had said something quite improper! ) Then, tossing aside the unfinished note, he took hold of the nearest chair, placed it directly opposite hers, and dropped into it.

“Chat with you? If you insist, Mrs. Sebastian.”

Here we go again, she thought, bristling at the word “insist.” He picks at me, and I respond.

But this time she flattened her palms against her lap, the wool blanket tickling her skin.

This time she was determined to change the tune of their conversation.

If he intends to leave after the children’s ball, I will not let any hard feelings remain between us.

We will part as friends. Not only for Sebastian’s sake, but for our own.

For the sake of the living.