The old lady smiled gently.
“Teseris is well beyond Alice.Videmus nunc per speculum in aenigmate. Do you know any Latin? ‘For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face. Later we’ll see everything as it is, we’ll know even as also we are known.’ ”
Miss Prim quietly cleared her throat. Outside, snow was falling again.
“But if you believe in all of this, why didn’t you stay with your family at the abbey this evening? Why keep that distance?”
She picked up her cup in both fine-boned hands and finished her tea. Then, with a severe look at the librarian, she said quietly, almost in a whisper: “Because I can’t. I’m not ready yet. I don’t feel ready.”
“Not ready for what?”
The old lady smiled wryly. “Not ready to lay down arms, my dear. To bow this proud old head and lay down arms.”
PART III
Unraveling Skeins
1
The departure of the Man in the Wing Chair’s mother left an odd void in the house. Outside, the bitterly cold weather continued, with snow piling up on window ledges, blocking doors, freezing on tree branches. Inside, Miss Prim’s work was progressing despite frequent interruptions from the children, who burned off their inexhaustible energy playing, running, and hiding in the rooms, corridors, and staircases of the house. The librarian spent her afternoons cataloguing heavy, dusty volumes, some with no more value than the fact of having been in the house for many lonely years; others were true survivors, brought long ago to San Ireneo by the family’s forebears. Miss Prim liked these books. It moved her to think of them there, on those old shelves, bearing witness to the stealthy arrival of night and the dawning of each new day.
“I’m amazed that I’ve never once heard you sneeze, Prudencia. There’s more dust on those books than any human could possibly endure.” The Man in the Wing Chair came huffing and puffing into the library, bundled up in a scarf that nearly covered his face, a hat, thick coat, and heavy snow boots.
“Is that really you under there?” asked the librarian jokingly.
“Laugh all you like, but it’s fiendishly cold outside. You can’t stay out in the garden for more than half an hour,” he replied, removing his scarf, hat, gloves, and coat.
“You should take off those boots and put something warm on. Shall I ask for tea to be brought in?”
“Yes, if you would, I’d be really grateful. Damn, my hands are so cold I can’t untie my laces,” he complained.
Miss Prim went over silently. She bent down, taking care not to kneel, and began undoing his bootlaces.
“That’s very kind. Believe me, I appreciate the significance of the gesture,” he said with a smile.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked sharply, struggling to keep her balance and untie his right boot still without kneeling.
“That I think I can guess the symbolic resonance certain attitudes and gestures have for you.”
“If that were so, I wouldn’t be doing this, would I?”
“Of course you would. Your Prussian sense of duty always triumphs.”
She pursed her lips and continued with her task.
“I think it’s done.”
“Thanks,” he said gently.
Miss Prim went to fetch the tray that the cook had left on the hall table. Since their recent falling-out, the two women had tacitly agreed to avoid each other insofar as was possible. They greeted each other as they passed in the hall or came across each other in the kitchen or garden but, beyond this minimum of politeness, relations between them were as icy as the weather. The librarian was quite happy with this arrangement; after all, she was not part of the domestic staff. If she needed anything, she asked one of the three girls from the village who worked at the house as cleaners, maids of all work, and ad hoc nannies. She didn’t need to speak to the dragon at the stove, not at all.
And yet, she reflected as she set out the tea things on the table in front of the fire, she had to admit that Mrs. Rouan was good at her job. Her cream puffs, wonderfully light cheesecake, delicious carrot cake, and dainty sandwiches—arranged in four stacks of triangles, each with a different filling—were beyond compare. Her tea trays always featured China tea, creamy milk, and slices of toasted home-baked bread, thickly spread with butter and honey. Miss Prim was compelled to concede that this was all very much to the cook’s credit.
The Man in the Wing Chair rubbed his hands together and observed in silence as Miss Prim performed the ritual of serving the tea. The house was unusually quiet as the children were in the greenhouse, watching the gardener take cuttings and lovingly tend the seedlings that would be planted out next year.
“The variety of books that has accumulated in this room is fascinating,” remarked the librarian. “I’ve been playing a game, guessing which belonged to men and which to women.”
The Man in the Wing Chair smiled, slowly stirring his tea.
