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“Oh, yes?” was all Alicia managed to answer. She blinked and saw that he was wordlessly pointing in her direction, and she flushed as she realized the book was still under her arm.
“Oh, yes!” she repeated, holding it out at an odd angle. “This is yours, then? I saw there was a page marked here. What was it, now…?” She reopened the marked page and began to recite, “‘Finds tongues in trees—’”
“‘Books in the running brooks, / Sermons in stones, and good in everything,’” Laurence finished, his eyes gazing off into the distance. “As You Like It. I’ve always liked that one best.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing it,” Alicia said carefully, unsure of just how to proceed in this dialogue. “Ladies are always reciting monologues from one play or another at parties and shows, though. And sometimes my sister and I go to one of the productions at the theatres in London. Last year’sTempestwas quite a wonderful spectacle.”
Laurence’s smile broadened, portending something unclear to Alicia. “I’m sure it was. I’ve…never seen one of those plays put on, I’m afraid. Honestly, I’m not sure I’d care to.”
“Oh.” She immediately began to regret her haste to connect with him on this topic, looking away once again.
“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” he added. “For me, though, there’s just so many beautiful words and ideas in those plays, I can’t imagine I would be able to appreciate a tenth of it if I were distracted by actors and scenery and whatnot.”
“I’m…sure you’re quite right.”
As terribly and irrevocably as a change in the weather, the silence crept over them once again. Hoping to cover her shyness and her shame at being a poor conversationalist, Alicia gave a small cough, her gaze fixed on an indeterminate point in space.
“Forgive me,” Laurence said in a low voice, his posture straightening. “I should not have bothered you.” He turned to leave and stepped back toward the door.
“No!” she called after him, stopping the man in his tracks. Surprised by the fervour that had found its way into her voice, she gave a nervous laugh and continued in a quieter tone, “It…it is your house, after all. You can do whatever you like. And it should…I would not be bothered if you stayed.”
With the same care that seemed to underlie the man’s every action, he slowly turned back into the room and gave her that damnable smile that was every bit as inscrutable as it was heartwarming.
“Very well, if you like,” said Laurence. With these words, he adopted a strangely casual posture she had not seen before, leaning against the doorframe at a severe angle. He looked to her expectantly, and she struggled to conjure anything to hold his attention.
“Your…sister had a headache, so she went to have a rest in her room,” Alicia murmured.
Laurence shook his head slightly. “Indeed? Poor thing. She does have a weak constitution at times, I’m afraid.”
This conversation, having come to its conclusion, they lapsed once more into a decidedly not companionable silence. Alicia’s fingers sought some pointless activity on the ragged threads at the edges of the armchair’s upholstery, while Laurence made odd, quiet clicking sounds with his mouth.
“I…hope you do not mind that I have been here in your library,” said Alicia listlessly after a few long moments.
“As I said, no trouble at all. But thank you.” Smile.
“…Yes. And thank you as well.”
Alicia had never been comfortable with moments of silence. Yet these long, empty stretches in their conversation bothered her more than usual—she felt as though she were doing something wrong by her host by not being able to drum up any suitable topic of conversation. Somehow she feared that he would think her snobbish, as if in her mind he were beneath her. It was a strange sensation that she had not experienced before, and she felt a bit resentful toward him for this, but she could not deny that she was compelled to devise some way to break the ice.
Yet what am I to talk with him about?cried a voice inside her.We know none of the same people, have none of the same experiences.
With the same surge of melancholy that always accompanied such memories, Alicia suddenly recalled some of the advice her mother had given her during her long illness:
‘Every man in the world wants to discuss the same thing, Alicia: himself.’
“Your family has been here on this land for a long time, Mister Gillingham, haven’t they?” she asked, pushing aside the sad if useful memory.
He looked at her carefully, his head cocked gently to one side as a wild animal regarding an outstretched hand with scepticism. “You could say that,” said Laurence with a subtle grin. “My father farmed it until the day of his death, and his grandfather did the same. The Gillinghams are not an especially long-lived breed, so I cannot vouch for much further than that personally, but Granddad once told me we’ve been here on this spot for the last thousand years.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Alicia hazarded another advance in the conversation. “I…suppose this land must be especially good for farming, then?”
Leaving his position leaning against the doorframe, his large, strong body seemed immediately infused with energy at the question. He slapped the back of one hand against his open palm and grinned as though he had scored a point in a game of some kind. “That’sexactlywhat I’ve been saying! Why would our family stay here unless this part of the country were particularly well-suited to growing crops?”
“Why…yes, that seems to only be logical.”
“You would certainly think so! Yet that very matter has been a matter of some debate in this part of the countryside. Some quite vigorous debate, especially with a friend of mine, a Mister James Barton.”
“Oh?”
