words.
Gatewood cleared his throat. “Miss Grimsley, in my wildest imaginings, I never thought to be ejected from the Bodleian.”
She looked up, fearful of his wrath, into smiling eyes. “I am so sorry. Will your reputation suffer damage?” she asked in all seriousness.
“Probably.” He laughed and leaned against the wet stones. “Miss Grimsley, you look like a drowned rat. Or mouse, in your case. Which reminds me. I must brave the Bodleian again.” He stepped from the protection of the doorway and into the rain.
Ellen grabbed for his hand. “I must have my notes, sir. Oh, please, can you fetch them?”
He kissed her wet hand and dashed back into the library. Ellen drew her gown around her again and huddled in the doorway. She thought at first she would run. In another moment she could be across the High Street and safe in the kitchen belowstairs at Miss Dignam's. But that would mean abandoning her notes and leaving Gordon to his well-deserved fate on Saturday, and she could not do that.
Since when have I become so scrupulous about casting Gordon to the fates?
she asked herself.
Let us be honest, Ellen. You want your notes back. You want to write that paper.
Gatewood was back then, his cloak draped about his shoulders this time and her notes in his hand. He glanced at them as he handed them to her. “I noticed Chesney's
Commentary
on the table.”
She accepted the notes. “I wish you could have smuggled that out for me, sir. I had only just begun it.”
“Please call me Jim,” he said promptly. “And I will call you …” He paused and looked her over as she blushed. “Somehow, Miss Grimsley, or even Ellen—it is Ellen, isn't it?—sounds misplaced for someone in trousers.”
She grimaced as she pocketed the notes. “I am supposed to be Gordon Grimsley.”
“‘Worse and worse it grows,’ ” he quoted, his eyes twinkling again. “I scarcely need remind you that women, even women in their brothers’ trousers, are not allowed to undertake serious scholarship in the Bodleian. Or any scholarship, for that matter.”
When she made no reply, he looked beyond her into the rain, the smile gone from his eyes. “And more's the pity, I suspect.”
She looked at him then. “Well, thank you, sir.” Her teeth began to chatter and she shivered.
He put his arm around her and pulled her into the rain again. “Bundle up, Mr. Gordon Grimsley,” he said, speaking loudly to be heard about the thundering downpour. “I feel the need of a pint.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Sir, I have never been in the taproom of a tavern!”
He only laughed and tugged her along. “Then you should not have got yourself into a pair of trousers, Miss Grimsley!”
She pulled back. “Sir! I should think that you could wish to see the back of me, after the embarrassment I just caused you.”
He released her and they stood regarding each other in the pouring rain. “I suppose you are right,” he said slowly. “After all, scholarship is a stodgy thing, is it not? No?” He did not put his arm about her again but started walking toward the High Street.
The fact that he did not look back to see if she followed piqued her own interest, and she trailed after him. In another moment, he slowed down and walked by her side.
“I confess to curiosity, Miss Grimsley,” he continued. He seemed unaware of the turn their brief acquaintance had just taken in the rain and the narrow alley. “From my knowledge, I have never before encountered a female in the Bodleian. As you are the first, and I may claim some slight acquaintance, I thought I should ask you.”
“Yes, but a tavern?”
He continued his slow meander down the alley, unmindful of the rain. “If I escort you to Miss Dignam's, I fear you would be in the suds indeed, unless that dragon's ideas of females and academe have changed. I would have no leave to find out more.” He bowed. “And as a student, is not my task to find out more? I ask you, Miss
Gatewood cleared his throat. “Miss Grimsley, in my wildest imaginings, I never thought to be ejected from the Bodleian.”
She looked up, fearful of his wrath, into smiling eyes. “I am so sorry. Will your reputation suffer damage?” she asked in all seriousness.
“Probably.” He laughed and leaned against the wet stones. “Miss Grimsley, you look like a drowned rat. Or mouse, in your case. Which reminds me. I must brave the Bodleian again.” He stepped from the protection of the doorway and into the rain.
Ellen grabbed for his hand. “I must have my notes, sir. Oh, please, can you fetch them?”
He kissed her wet hand and dashed back into the library. Ellen drew her gown around her again and huddled in the doorway. She thought at first she would run. In another moment she could be across the High Street and safe in the kitchen belowstairs at Miss Dignam's. But that would mean abandoning her notes and leaving Gordon to his well-deserved fate on Saturday, and she could not do that.
Since when have I become so scrupulous about casting Gordon to the fates?
she asked herself.
Let us be honest, Ellen. You want your notes back. You want to write that paper.
Gatewood was back then, his cloak draped about his shoulders this time and her notes in his hand. He glanced at them as he handed them to her. “I noticed Chesney's
Commentary
on the table.”
She accepted the notes. “I wish you could have smuggled that out for me, sir. I had only just begun it.”
“Please call me Jim,” he said promptly. “And I will call you …” He paused and looked her over as she blushed. “Somehow, Miss Grimsley, or even Ellen—it is Ellen, isn't it?—sounds misplaced for someone in trousers.”
She grimaced as she pocketed the notes. “I am supposed to be Gordon Grimsley.”
“‘Worse and worse it grows,’ ” he quoted, his eyes twinkling again. “I scarcely need remind you that women, even women in their brothers’ trousers, are not allowed to undertake serious scholarship in the Bodleian. Or any scholarship, for that matter.”
When she made no reply, he looked beyond her into the rain, the smile gone from his eyes. “And more's the pity, I suspect.”
She looked at him then. “Well, thank you, sir.” Her teeth began to chatter and she shivered.
He put his arm around her and pulled her into the rain again. “Bundle up, Mr. Gordon Grimsley,” he said, speaking loudly to be heard about the thundering downpour. “I feel the need of a pint.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Sir, I have never been in the taproom of a tavern!”
He only laughed and tugged her along. “Then you should not have got yourself into a pair of trousers, Miss Grimsley!”
She pulled back. “Sir! I should think that you could wish to see the back of me, after the embarrassment I just caused you.”
He released her and they stood regarding each other in the pouring rain. “I suppose you are right,” he said slowly. “After all, scholarship is a stodgy thing, is it not? No?” He did not put his arm about her again but started walking toward the High Street.
The fact that he did not look back to see if she followed piqued her own interest, and she trailed after him. In another moment, he slowed down and walked by her side.
“I confess to curiosity, Miss Grimsley,” he continued. He seemed unaware of the turn their brief acquaintance had just taken in the rain and the narrow alley. “From my knowledge, I have never before encountered a female in the Bodleian. As you are the first, and I may claim some slight acquaintance, I thought I should ask you.”
“Yes, but a tavern?”
He continued his slow meander down the alley, unmindful of the rain. “If I escort you to Miss Dignam's, I fear you would be in the suds indeed, unless that dragon's ideas of females and academe have changed. I would have no leave to find out more.” He bowed. “And as a student, is not my task to find out more? I ask you, Miss
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