—
Beatrice did her best to carry on as usual, but some rumor, perhaps whispered first by Mrs. Turber, exerted an influence as slow and subtle as a change in the barometer before an oncoming bank of rain clouds. Mrs. Turber’s friends continued to come for tea. But where they once came to catch an eager glimpse of beauty, they now seemed more inclined to stare, chewing sandwiches in silence and whispering to Mrs. Turber in the passage afterwards. The Belgians in the garden studio seemed to amuse their own children a little more, leaving Celeste to her silent embroidery; while her father borrowed thicker and thicker books from Mr. Tillingham’s library and read by himself in the window.
At school Miss Devon and Miss Clauvert were noticeably cool towards Beatrice. Whenever she came to take her regular cup of tea in the staff room, they seemed to pull their chairs closer together in a corner and turn their shoulders against her. But Beatrice put this down to Miss Clauvert’s recent discovery of Beatrice writing a letter to Mr. Dimbly before lessons began. As she was informed by a severe Miss Devon, after the weeping Miss Clauvert had to go home with a headache, Mr. Dimbly had asked Miss Clauvert to write to him and this had been taken as a promise of some kind, against which Beatrice’s letter had the appearance of flagrant interloping. Beatrice had little use for such silliness and was glad to be left alone to her morning tea.
Even Eleanor Wheaton had ceased to drop by unannounced or send invitations, but the absence of Eleanor’s cheerful excess and generosity, while it contributed to the air of melancholy in the small cottage, did not raise an alarm. Beatrice’s failure to notice was perhaps willfully blind.
It was the ladies of the Relief Committee who finally gave shape and sound to the intensity of excited feeling collected under the huddled roofs of Rye. At an emergency lunchtime meeting, Mrs. Fothergill suggested that Beatrice be excused from the discussions.
“I’m sorry,” said Beatrice. “What is to be discussed to which I am not allowed to be privy?”
“A delicate matter, my dear,” said Lady Emily. “We think only of your sensibilities and of your position.”
“I have made it clear that I think this is not the place to discuss such a matter at all,” said Agatha Kent, feigning to be distracted with searching for a handkerchief in one of her pockets.
“And you may make such a note in the minutes, dear Agatha,” said Mrs. Fothergill. “But it is my opinion that we have a responsibility to those who donate to the cause and a moral obligation to supervise our guests.”
“I assure you I am not the most sensitive woman in this room,” said Beatrice. “You need have no fear of shocking me.”
“As a guardian of young minds, you should perhaps be more protective of your reputation,” said Mrs. Fothergill.
“I think this concerns her directly,” said Agatha, ceasing to fiddle about her person and looking Bettina Fothergill in the eye. “If you are bent on bringing the matter forward, Bettina, let the girl know what she is facing.” Beatrice detected a strain under her neutral tone, and her heart constricted.
“I have no objection to her staying,” said Lady Emily. “We may need her cooperation.”
“I would like to remind everyone that what we discuss here is to be kept strictly confidential,” said Agatha, glaring at Bettina Fothergill. “Let’s for goodness’ sake get it over with before Mr. Tillingham comes in.”
Mrs. Fothergill, given the floor, seemed suddenly hard-pressed to begin. She gave several little coughs and worked her lips as if practicing different opening phrases.
“It is completely regrettable, of course, that the girl has suffered an outrage,” she said. “Mrs. Turber is the most Christian and charitable of ladies, and she is in tears at the impossible nature of the situation.”
“Mrs. Turber has an unfortunate taste for gossip and all the compassion of a coal scuttle,” said Agatha Kent. “I find it hard to imagine her weeping.”
“It is hardly gossip, dear Agatha,” said Mrs. Fothergill. “Mrs. Turber assures me she would have confirmed nothing had that de Witte woman not already mentioned it to me.”
“What are they talking about?” Beatrice asked Agatha, though she knew at once and she held her breath in shame at the bald way they proposed to dissect and examine Celeste’s private pain as if it were just another problem with subscription tallies or the price of soap for the hostel in the lower road.
Agatha looked at her own shoes and grew flushed about the neck, all attempt at disinterest in tatters. Beatrice had never before seen her at a loss for words.
“It has become common knowledge that your boarder has suffered an unmentionable indignity,” said Alice Finch, to some audible gasps around the table. “Well, ladies, if we are going to discuss it, we should be plain about it,” she added.
“That poor, poor girl,” said Minnie Buttles.
“So regrettable. Such a lovely girl,” said Mrs. Fothergill. “But this is a respectable town, and something must be done, ladies. Mrs. Turber has expressed to me, with the utmost discretion, that she would like her out of the house in a week.”
“I will not have her thrown in the street,” said Beatrice.
“You don’t have a choice, my dear,” said Mrs. Fothergill. “The school governors are looking askance at the continuation of your arrangement. Your employment is to be discussed at the very next meeting.” She fanned her face with her handkerchief and added, “I can only imagine what Lady Marbely might say on the matter.”
“It was not her fault,” said Minnie.
“Is this not the cause for which our armies entered Belgium?” asked Alice Finch. “To avenge such outrages?”
“We do not shrink from our larger duty,” said Mrs. Fothergill. “But it is impossible that in her condition the girl should continue to be received in our drawing rooms.”
“Will you not speak for me, Mrs. Kent?” asked Beatrice. She could not manage a voice above a hoarse whisper. Her horror at the crudeness of the conversation was compounded by the shame of being afraid for her own position.
“I could not imagine until now that England might fall,” said Alice Finch, leaping to her feet. “But what is England if you will not stand and protect one innocent girl from the wounds of tyranny?”
“Some people’s social eccentricities have received more protection in this town than they have any right to expect, Miss Finch,” said Mrs. Fothergill, her face gleaming with triumph at Agatha’s silent acquiescence. “Perhaps you would care to take her in?”
“It would put my father, the Vicar, in a very strange position,” said Minnie as Alice sat down again abruptly and glared. “But we will try if no other home can be found. Perhaps Mrs. Kent can take her?”
Agatha shook her head.
“Were she one of our peasant refugees, we might certainly overlook the situation,” said Lady Emily. “But she and her father dine in our homes and she mixes with our own daughters. I must agree with Mrs. Fothergill that to simply move her to another home will not solve the problem.”
“Mrs. Kent has attempted to hide this disgraceful situation from us for days,” said Bettina Fothergill, her eyes glittering with pleasure. “We could not count on her to confine the girl in an appropriate manner.”
“Where is she to go?” asked Beatrice, her sick feeling of shame challenged by a small flame of anger. “She has already been driven from her home. She is among strangers here. Having suffered so much, is she really to suffer again at our hands?”
“In a new place no one would know her history,” said Agatha, speaking at last. “It might be for the best for both Celeste and her father to make a fresh start.”
“It would have to be sufficiently far and secret,” said Lady Emily.