Chapter 20
“Here, Miss Stirling.” Pen heard the voice before she saw him. Carillon was standing by a punt on the far side of Magdalen Bridge. She crossed the bridge, coming down to meet him. She had been dubious when he proposed a punt, but she did not know how to argue with him about it.
He looked as if he never did anything other than go punting.
Carillon could have been one of those pictures that got pointed out to visitors as a landmark of Oxford.
He had on a brown sports coat, like he’d grown up wearing it, darker trousers, a green jumper or vest under it, and a brown hat that matched the coat.
Entirely too perfect, and it made her annoyed all over again.
It was warm enough he might take off the jacket and roll up his sleeves. That would be even worse.
She’d dithered over what to wear besides ‘sensible shoes’.
Those were easy. She only owned one pair of less practical ones.
Pen could manage her own warming charms, so she hadn’t had to worry too much about that.
In the end she’d gone for a skirt, blouse, and cardigan jumper, with a cloak that had been her aunt’s over that.
It wasn’t an elegant outfit. Audrey would have tutted over it.
But she hadn’t told Audrey. Pen hadn’t wanted to explain who she was meeting.
And at least the cooler temperatures made it less likely that people who knew her would be out near the river.
“Good afternoon.” Pen took a breath. “I hope—” Then she couldn’t figure out how to say the rest of it. There was a man at the other end of the building.
“Good afternoon.” Carillon gave her a slight bow. “How about we get ourselves out on the river before we settle into talking? I've got a spot in mind that should be quiet today. There’s a hamper there, just mind you don’t tip it over.”
“A hamper.” That seemed a ridiculous extravagance, given rationing. She tried to keep the scepticism out of her voice.
“Oh, first things first. I passed along your note. You’ll have something written tomorrow or the day after, but I’ve a message for you as well.
Here we go.” He offered his hand for balance.
Pen gave up and did the expected thing, letting him assist her into the punt.
He gave her a minute to settle the cushions to her liking— he’d already put them in.
That done, he cast off from the dock, picking up the long pole and standing on the bottom of the boat as was Oxford’s proper custom.
She thought he looked remarkably well. It wasn’t anything about the light, just that he seemed to be rudely glowing with vitality, as if everything else around him were slightly faded in comparison.
Pen had only ever been out on the river with other women.
She found it changed the dynamic somewhat.
She was capable enough on a punt. Pen had never lost the pole or risked sliding into the water.
But Carillon, to add to the long enumerated list of annoyances, made the whole thing look easy.
She felt the hardest part was getting the punt away from the hire.
Now, there weren’t crowds of people around, barely an audience at all.
But he guided them smoothly away from the dock and into the centre of the river.
“How far are we going?” Pen asked before glancing down to consider the complexity of the hamper.
“I thought down the Cherwell to the Isis; there’s a spot past the boathouses that should be quiet. Do you need to be back at any particular point? That would take us two hours, maybe three.”
It was rather longer than she’d expected, though it explained the need for a hamper, beyond the usual tradition of it. Pen took a breath. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Do you need to get back?”
“Oh, you needn’t worry I’ll keep you out too late. I have two translations and a bit of reading to do tonight. The hamper has some Pimm’s and various things from home.”
Pen refused to open the hamper for him. “Where’s home? No, wait.” She should know this.
“Ytene. The northern New Forest.” There was something warm, like velvet, in his voice, and she’d never heard anyone talk about a place like that. “It’s been in the family for ages.”
She did not know how to interpret that in the context of a place that had been called the New Forest since just after the Conquest. It could mean that long. It could mean a century, three, or anywhere in between. She certainly didn’t know how to ask.
Not having anything to say, however, meant that she sat there, watching him.
Pen steered a punt by trailing the pole behind.
Carillon was vastly more skilled, pushing or pulling each stroke as it touched the ground to adjust the angle of the punt as it slid smoothly through the water.
He turned down the branch of the Cherwell that would loop down toward the Isis.
That brought a particular question to the surface. “Why did you suggest the punt?”
“More privacy and better comfort than most of the other options, to be honest.” Carillon spoke comfortably, as if he weren’t bothered by anything. “It’s not the most beautiful day it could be, but it’s a pleasant May. Did you get up for the singing at Magdalen?”
She nodded. “A whole lot of us went round. People do. And then there was a thing at the Academy.” Pen hesitated. “I’m curious, but I suppose it would be frightfully rude to ask why you went home.”
Edmund considered, glancing around. There was no one remotely near them at the moment, and even the banks were clear.
“I’m Heir to my father, and we’ve customs in the nearest village.
I didn’t need to be there. Papa’s entirely competent at the whole thing, of course.
But I wanted to be. My youngest sister came back from Schola for it and one of her friends.
Well, two, but one of them lives on the estate. ”
He didn’t explain any of that, but she didn’t expect him to. She did blink for a moment at the fact he called his father Papa, and out loud. Pen would have expected ‘father’ or maybe even ‘pater’ from a family like his.
He went on without noticing her confusion. “Uncle Giles and Aunt Cammie came out later in the morning, some other family friends. I enjoy seeing the people I care about. There wasn’t enough of that during the war. I’ll take any chance I can get.”
That certainly didn’t permit a followup question, but it gave Pen a thing she could say.
“I had that, missing them. Only my grandfather’s a vicar.
So, the times people particularly want to be home— Christmas, Easter, all that— are the busiest times for him, and everything is all about that.
As it should be.” She said that hurriedly.
“But it’s not good for spending time with just my family. ”
“No.” Carillon shrugged slightly. “This was good for that.”
“Tell me a little about your sister, if you like?” Pen offered.
“Until we get to where you want to talk.” That, apparently, was an excellent question.
He talked comfortably about his sister at Schola, then about a middle sister who was apprenticing and travelling.
None of it was private. It was all information that she could have heard through other people, but she was taken by his obvious fondness for both of them.
It wasn’t overly protective, either, wanting to seal them up in a vitrine. His middle sister was apprenticing as something of an adventurer, in fact. Carillon obviously wanted the best for them and was not shy of showing it here. Other men would have hidden that inclination. Did.
He’d just finished telling a story about one of his younger sister’s recent attempts at art when he guided the punt toward a bit of bank nestled between some trees.
It was indeed rather quiet, far enough away from the boathouses or playing fields not to have people wandering by.
“Here.” He tied up the punt to a ring set in a tree that overhung the river, keeping them steady, then turned around to join her in the seats. “Comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you.” Before she could say anything else, he drew a small bound book out of his jacket, opened it across his knees, and pressed three fingers to spots on the pages as he murmured a phrase.
She could see a brief flicker of something— not light, so much as a sort of heat haze— before he looked up, an entirely boyish cheerfulness on his face. “There. Quite private now.”
“Most people would use a charm.” She said it before closing her mouth sharply. “Pardon.”
“Most people would.” Carillon didn’t seem bothered.
“This is also a charm, just a little more effective. It’ll let me know if people start coming this way.
” She had to admit that most of the charms she knew of wouldn’t do that, and the ones that did were fussy, especially outside.
“Now, the hamper, the message for you. And then what I wanted to ask you. I hope you’ve not been worrying over it. ”
“I can’t imagine what I could help you with, but I wasn’t worrying, no.
” Worrying would imply he had more sway over her thoughts than she would permit.
He tugged the hamper closer, opening it to reveal several layers.
A bottle, yes, with what indeed looked like Pimm’s.
But there were also little baskets and boxes.
He took everything out, closed the hamper to make a table, and opened the first container up, revealing some rather passable scones.
“Fig preserves, no cream, I’m afraid. But there’s some soft cheese, small toasts, a little mushroom paté.
Oh, and the little miniature quiches. They have asparagus and spring onion in them.
” He opened one of the larger containers, revealing several of those, an inch or two wide.
“Do— wait.” She swallowed down her question. “Where did this come from?”