It didn’t take Hank but a moment to decide what to do. He took Amanda’s pen, some pieces of Caulden’s expensive stationery for scratch paper, sat down in a leather chair, a book for a desk, and began to work the problems. Thirty minutes later, he had finished and Amanda hadn’t moved. He put the paper on the desk just as he’d found it, then, on impulse, wrote Amanda a short note and put it in her lap. Also on impulse, he kissed his fingertips and touched her hair, which was once again tightly drawn back. “Goodbye, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispered and left the room and the house.
Chapter Eleven
Well, Amanda,” Taylor said loudly, startling her awake so that she nearly fell out of the chair. “It looks as if my assignments bore you, as if you do not care whether you pass a test or not. Perhaps it’s me who does not matter to you.”
Amanda took a moment to adjust to where she was and what was happening, then she felt a sense of panic. She’d so wanted to do well on this test that she’d stayed up all night studying, which had caused her to fall asleep the moment she’d sat down to take the test.
Her fists clenched at her sides and she once again knew that Taylor’s anger was caused by Dr. Montgomery. If he’d never come to Kingman she’d never have ended up going to a dance and being nearly raped, nor would she have had a test at six o’clock on Sunday morning. Nor would she have to see Taylor picking up the blank test paper.
“I can explain,” she began, then fell silent. Explain how? she thought desperately, trying to make up a story other than the real one. “I…”
Taylor turned surprised eyes on her. “You have done very well,” he said quietly. “I had no idea you were so good at mathematics.” He had never given her much tutoring in mathematics, not because she wasn’t good at numbers but because he’d never done well at the subject himself. He much preferred the arts and literature. He’d been so angry at her for her disgusting sexual display that he’d wanted to give her the most difficult assignment possible. Her study assignment had been from a beginning book of calculus but her test had come from a third-year book, yet, according to his answer sheet, every answer was perfect. According to this test, she was well past his knowledge of any form of mathematics.
“Good?” Amanda asked stupidly. “But I didn’t even understand the questions.”
He gave her a cold look. Was she making fun of him? “You have proved your point,” he said. “Now go and change your dress. Wear the mauve silk. I do not like that dress at all. And fix your hair. It is coming undone. After breakfast I will inspect your sewing.”
He put her test paper on the desk, then turned and left the library so abruptly that Amanda thought he was angry about something other than her sleeping. He hadn’t said a word about her blank test paper.
She reached across the desk and took the test paper, then stared at it in astonishment. Neatly, concisely, each problem was answered in what looked to be her own handwriting. Even the fives were made the way she made them. Had she answered the questions in her sleep?
Even as she thought that, she knew it was impossible. It was while she was staring at the test in bewilderment that she saw the folded paper in her lap. She opened it.
Dear Miss Caulden,
Forgive me for interfering in your life; I was wrong. The test can in no way make up for my presumption but I hope it helps.
I wish you and your fiancé the best in the future.
Yours very sincerely,
Henry R. Montgomery
P.S. My doctorate did not come from a mail-order catalog.
It took Amanda a few moments to realize that Dr. Montgomery had saved her with Taylor and that the tone of the letter said that he was gone. At once she felt a great sense of relief. He had somewhat redeemed himself for the horror of last night, but nothing could fully make up for all he’d done to her in the past days.
She leaned back in her chair for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. Now she could get her life back to the orderly, calm pattern it had been. Now she could make Taylor want to marry her. She’d follow his directions, keep to his schedule and study without stop, and before long he’d mention marriage again, and after their marriage they’d…What? she thought. Continue following Taylor’s schedule? Study forever? Would she be delivered of a baby in the morning and have a French test in the afternoon?
Stop it! she commanded herself. She’d marry Taylor and live happily ever after is what she’d do. And she’d start right now by going upstairs and changing her dr
ess and pulling her hair back into place.
She slipped Dr. Montgomery’s note into her pocket and meant to tear it into a hundred pieces and flush it, but when she was alone in her room she found herself carefully folding the note and putting it in the very back corner of her top drawer, in with her underwear. She told herself she could use it as evidence if needed. Evidence of what she didn’t know, but she kept the letter just the same.
She went to her closet and took out the mauve dress and frowned. It was a color she did not like. The pale bluish purple made her skin look sallow and her eyes colorless. On impulse, she took down a hatbox from the top of the closet and removed tissue paper until she reached the beaded white-satin gown she’d worn last night, then held it up before her to see herself in the mirror. The fringe of beads would have been lovely if she’d danced.
Her heart nearly stopped when Mrs. Gunston gave a perfunctory knock on the door and entered. Amanda was standing in her slip and she hastily thrust the beaded dress behind her.
“You are not dressed,” Mrs. Gunston said, looking shocked. “You were to have been downstairs three minutes ago.”
“I was busy,” Amanda said, holding the white dress at arm’s length inside the closet. “I will be down as soon as possible.”
“As soon as—!” Mrs. Gunston gasped, her big ugly face looking even uglier. “You are not on schedule. The master shall hear about this.” She turned on her heel and left the room, nearly slamming the door behind her.
“The master?” Amanda said, then recovered herself. She had to get ready to go downstairs to breakfast and she had to get back on schedule. Then she remembered she hadn’t even looked at her schedule that morning.
She dressed rapidly, tried to memorize the schedule and get downstairs as soon as possible, but something seemed to be slowing her down. Maybe it was the heat; maybe it was the fact that it was Sunday, but something was making her late.