Chapter 7

Sir Henry maintained his calm as he strode towards the stables. He knew his father’s position, and had planned to plant just a seed of an idea today. Yet even though Lord Byron’s reaction was predicted, Sir Henry could not quell his disappointment. He was used to his father’s temper and his half-hearted, semi-amusing insults, which he did not believe afflicted any real wounds. Apathy may be a sort of wound as it was. He found it encroaching on his grand scheme as well. What good is an education when one’s relationships are so strained. He would wait out the storm on horseback.

A few hours later he drew towards the Coleworth’s road. He came upon Catherine carrying some parcels home. When she heard the approaching horse steps, she turned. Sir Henry saw her smile before she quickly concealed it behind an impassive face. “Good afternoon, Miss Coleworth.”

“Good afternoon, Sir Henry.”

“Would you like Roman to carry your goods?” he offered as he dismounted.

“They aren’t a burden, thank you.”

“May I walk with you, then?”

“Surely.”

“I know I haven’t been around lately.”

“You must be very busy,” Catherine hurriedly filled in to keep him from having to explain.

“Busy,” he said shortly.

Catherine decided not to push the conversation further.

“What have you been reading lately?” he asked to distract himself.

“Actually nothing. I can’t keep my mind on it.”

“I’ve been wondering about the point lately anyway. I was so happy to hear of your family’s enjoyment of books, and thought it would make such a difference. It has made a difference. I don’t know if we would have understood each other so well had we not read many of the same or same types of things. But what if neither of us had? I suppose we would have been happier with what we were told from our forefathers.”

“I don’t know about happier. At least accepting. But what if our immediate forefathers were wrong? Aren’t ancient writers also our forefathers?”
“Excellent point. Somehow though, accepting them can make it harder to accept one’s closer relatives, which feels like disloyalty. Besides, they had similar ideas of class.”

“When I read them, I can’t help but consider their point of view rather than the point of view of other objects and classes of their scrutiny. If they are free to categorize about the world, then so should I be because I’m hearing first person and interpreting in first person. I think most people identify, unless it’s too unpalatable, with the author.”

“But those in power wont feel you have the right,” Henry said bluntly.

“I haven’t had much dealings with them, nor sought it out.”

Henry looked at her and wondered how that would be. “Until I showed up. Not that you’ve sought out my visits.”

Catherine kept her eyes on the road before her.

“Do you mind my visits?”

“I enjoy them, but at the same time I find them confusing. I don’t know how candid I should be, for one thing.”

“I like your candor.”

“Don’t you think about the ‘should’ness of it?”

“Not really.”

“That confuses me too. How is it so easy for you? I guess because you are used to freedom. Till now I have been free in my reading, but nothing else. It was all very innocent. Father did not tell us until you started visiting that the books were borrowed without permission. I don’t know what I’d have thought if he’d told us that it was our right to learn without the consent of the Lords. Now it feels wrong. I’m not really the rebellious type.”

“I am if I’m convinced that wrongs are being done. I don’t think the aristocracy is right to keep workers uneducated. However, once you decide to fight something, there’s going to be casualties. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

“I don’t feel that I need the liberty to read or death. Like I say, I don’t even want to read right now.”

“I wonder why that is.”

She turned moistened eyes up to him. Her look caused a tremor in his chest. He stopped himself from reaching for her.

“Hard to read with misty eyes I guess.” He handed her his kerchief, and she dabbed her eyes as they walked along in silence.