Chapter 24
“Come along, Miss Stirling, drinks in the JCR.” Pen had thought she’d escaped for the evening. She had not been late to hall; she had more sense. But she had come in with two more senior women, who had been deep in a discussion about some point of science that Pen could only half-follow.
By the time they’d actually sat down to eat, she’d got enough of an explanation to contribute here and there to the conversation.
It had something to do with breeding strains of wheat, and how to make them more resilient, along with matters like the soil.
The maths of the yields were actually quite interesting, because it wasn’t like actual crops obeyed logic reliably.
But then she’d heard the comment behind her, by name, and she couldn’t duck out.
Or rather, Pen could, but it would be immediately obvious to everyone that she had.
Best to face the gossip and get it over with.
She turned on one heel. “All right.” She put a pleasant expression on, but this was going to be rather awful.
The thing of it was that— around the actual reason for the dance— she’d actually entirely enjoyed herself last night. Edmund Carillon moved and talked like black tie was made with him in mind. He had been annoyingly handsome. Worse, he had been an utter gentleman.
Edmund had managed himself. He had expected nothing of her she hadn’t offered.
That was the way to put it. He had brought her drinks and kept them safe.
There’d been that matter with Tibbs. He’d handled that not only promptly but without fuss.
This afternoon, he’d been interested in her thoughts and ideas.
He’d consulted, not walked all over her.
It was not the way she was used to men behaving.
Oh, on average, they were civil to her. Some of them asked her questions about maths and listened to the answers, when relevant.
But none had somehow managed that combination of ordinary manners with a sense that what she was saying mattered, outside of Bletchley.
When, honestly, mostly she had not been the one coming up with the interesting ideas, just implementing various approaches.
As she followed the others into the Junior Common Room, there was a decent crowd, but not an overwhelming number. That was better than it might have been. Vesta was in the corner, but Audrey wasn’t about. That at least meant she’d have someone to check with after, about people’s reactions.
Mum had taught her that trick long ago. It had no end of use in parish life. In any gathering where the gossip got more visible, there were multiple layers. There was what was actually said, but there were also all the reactions to it. No one person could keep track of it all.
Pen accepted a glass of sherry— the respectable drink in this circumstance— and perched on a footstool.
Around her, the other women of Somerville found their own chairs.
It didn’t take long for the chatter to sort itself out, and for someone to say, “You hadn’t said you were going to the dance with Mr Carillon, Stirling. ”
“I suppose I hadn’t.” Pen shrugged slightly, wanting to go at this as calmly as she could. There was no need to make enemies. Just as one of the other women— Miss Hall, reading modern languages— was about to speak, Pen saw Cecily Styles come in.
“How do you know Carillon?” Pen couldn’t tell if Miss Hall was approving or disapproving.
Pen considered her options and settled on the one that was both true and that would not be revealing to anyone who didn’t already know she’d gone to Schola. “I was at the same school his younger sisters are at. A place in Wales.”
She could have sworn she saw a brief twitch from Miss Styles, but Miss Hall coughed. “Well. I suppose that might explain it. He rarely takes people out. He’s gone about with a crowd, not paying much attention to any one woman.”
This was the part that Pen was bad at. She’d had so little practice, for one thing.
People had walked out at Bletchley, but it was done quietly, mostly.
Or they’d already been married or engaged or whatever.
Not that Pen was an innocent. She was sure there had been an affair or three, or people having a massive blowup when a relationship went wrong.
But it hadn’t been visible to her. And it certainly hadn’t come with this kind of gossip or people wanting to know her own personal business.
When she’d walked out with people before, first, it had never got terribly serious. There wasn’t enough privacy for that. But the only people who commented were the people who knew both of them.
Now she shrugged slightly. “A kindness, I suppose. Maybe he doesn’t like everyone making assumptions about him.
” She realised, just as she finished speaking, that there were all sorts of assumptions.
She didn’t think he preferred men, though now she was deeply curious about what data there might be about that if she looked.
But she also wasn’t sure how to tell if someone wasn't making it obvious.
He wouldn’t here, despite the comments about Oxford tendencies towards that sort of thing in some periods. It was illegal in the non-magical community. If he’d been inclined that way, he’d have kept it within Albion, anyway.
“Will you be seeing him again?” That was Miss Wallace, a third year.
“Possibly.” Pen kept her voice casual. “We both turn out to like a crossword.” That was again, a truth, and truth was easier than a lie.
At that point, Miss Styles sniffed rather pointedly.
The conversation thankfully went off in other directions from there, the usual sort of comments about what people had worn, who they had been with.
Pen picked up a few tidbits about the names she and Edmund were paying particular attention to, though she thought nothing actually new.
When she made her way out of the JCR, she found herself not far behind Miss Styles. The other woman turned around once, and said, “I hadn’t realised you knew Mr Carillon.”
Pen kept her answer brief, sensibly. “He was a pleasant escort and a superb dancer. There’s nothing serious. Do you know him? I could introduce you if you liked.”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you. I know his family by reputation.” That wasn’t informative at all, though it was a specific and particular wording, the more Pen thought about it. Then Miss Styles turned away saying, “I’ve some work to do.”
It was likely true, and it was also a completely blatant excuse. Pen watched her walk away, still feeling like something was not quite right about how Miss Styles held herself. Nothing Pen could pin down — that was the problem with it.
Vesta came out behind her. “You all right?”
Pen shrugged slightly. “Was that conversation as odd as it sounded? How much did they gossip once I left the room?”
“About what you’d expect. Come along, we can talk about it in Audrey’s room.
” Vesta led the way across the quadrangle, cutting through the grass.
She continued to delight in that particular Somerville privilege.
Five minutes later, they were settled with tea, and Audrey listened to Vesta fill in what she’d seen of the conversation.
There had been gossip. Mostly that Pen had looked far better than she had any right to, with no notice. And that Edmund Carillon never paid anyone that kind of attention.
“He turns up in the society pages of the Moon sometimes.” Audrey tapped her fingers on her knee. “I wasn’t paying attention last winter. You know there always spreads from the Council rites, and whatever other posh parties there are. He’s at those.”
“How did you get talking with him?” Pen wanted to be more forthcoming with her friends. But the evening’s gossip had made her a bit skittish. Also, what could she reasonably say.
She stared at her teacup for a moment. “Crosswords to start. He does them too. We talked about a couple of clues. Then I saw him with someone and asked him about it.”
Pen definitely hadn’t talked about that part. “What someone?” Audrey leaned forward. “A woman?”
“Yes, but not like that. I mean, he calls her Aunt Cammie? Cammie Gates-Clark. I don’t know if you’d know her.” It was nothing near either of their known interests. Both of her friends shook their heads.
“She— I mean.” Pen tried to figure out how to explain this.
“She’s got a reputation when it comes to cryptography.
Applied maths. An excellent one. The sort of thing I want to go into.
I don’t know what she was doing during the war.
But I know a couple of people who worked with her early on.
Not just someone who follows the set procedures, but someone who can think through new problems. Cheerfully.
” Pen’s shoulder twitched. “The cheerful curiosity’s not something you find everywhere, it turns out. ”
“And you wanted an introduction?” Audrey cupped her mug in her hands.
“Something like that. It turns out she was with Major Lefton— he’s a don, Oriel.” Pen gave the relevant information automatically. “He’s who I sort of wanted a tutorial with all along, but he hasn’t been taking any for the last two years. And Edmund knows him as well.”
“Edmund, is it now?” Audrey grinned. “Well. I suppose you went to a dance with him. And does Edmund know this Major Lefton?”
“Old family friend, apparently.” Pen set the mug down so she could throw up her hands in mock-despair.
“I don’t know what to do with that, only he took them a letter about an idea I had and it’s apparently a decent idea?
So something might come of it when they get a minute.
” She added, since she’d left that part out.
“Magistra Gates-Clark apprenticed with Major Lefton. Formally, I mean. But she didn’t come up to Oxford. ”
Audrey considered and then said firmly, “I hope it works out for you, then. Tell us if there’s anything we can do. Dress you for something again. Were they all jealous of your frock? They ought to have been.”
“Yesssss.” Pen drew it out. “I didn’t mean to do that. It makes a bother.”
“That wasn’t why Styles was like that. I saw her coming in last night.
She looked gorgeous herself.” Vesta offered it.
“Like she’s dressed for some, I don’t know, performance.
I keep thinking of the snake goddesses.” Vesta posed, the way the figurines she’d shown Audrey and Pen did.
It was something about the arch of the lower back, it made Pen think of ritual.
Edmund would know something about that, actually.
It was something she could ask him about that might be a neutral topic. She still wasn’t sure what to do about some of him. For example, that casual reference to a trip to Greece and Italy like it was stepping to Trellech through the portal.
“I’ll keep an ear out.” Audrey said amiably. “All right. You both go away. I’m ready to do my work now.”
Pen snorted and stood to take herself up to her own problem sets. And then, if the timing went right, working on a bit more of the notes she’d started putting together. She wanted to get them in good order before she went back to the library and the newspapers tomorrow.