"No! No! I am positively not here!" Professor De Busque shouted in a rather agitated manner, rushing over to the Trollope and giving him an angry tug before disappearing off into the house. Professor P'ohlig looked over at Maude, who had caused all of the trouble by saying that she was wanted on the telephone.
"Whatever do you think all that was about?" Molly said, patting down her hair for a lost pencil that never did reappear.
Maude shook her head and uncovered the mouthpiece to say, "I'm most apologetic, I'm sure, Father, but there's a sort of a commotion going on at the moment and Professor De Busque seems to have gotten away from us in the affray....yes, of course I shall tell her that you called."
"Not Father Inigo again!" Molly said in amazement as Maude put down the receiver. "I do believe that something is afoot there, Maudie, that's the fifth time today!"
Maude nodded. "And he sounded more than a little distressed the last three times," she said with a knowing raise of her eyebrows as she went back to the task that had been interrupted by the phone call, dusting the Professors writing surfaces with a very lovely set of feather dusters that had been given to Poppycock by the makers of Masterpiece Theatre. Later on in the day there was to be a Poppycock showing of "Upstairs, Downstairs", Season Nine, in which the dusters themselves appeared.
Molly gave a sharp little nod of her pointy little chin, resolved. "I knew something was awry when two dozen roses arrived this morning for her rather than just the usual tulips. Maude, I think we must close up for the day and get this problem sorted. We must tread carefully, and we're going to need some help. Let's see..." she said, going over to the bursting bookshelves and having a little rummage. "Lawrence, Bronte, Shakespeare, Hardy, all excellent guides on how to ruin a romance. We'll leaf through a few of these to see what we need to avoid."
Maude put down the duster just in time to catch the first edition "Mrs. Dalloway" that Molly threw at her. "But I don't understand, I mean, I can see that we need to know what to avoid, but how will we know what we should do the might help Emily?"
"Mr. Periwinkle's due in just a few moments," Molly said, glancing at the grandfather clock, newly draped with a stuffed snake from the estate of Rudyard Kipling, for Poppycock's work on a kinder, gentler version of "White Man's Burden". She took a velvet ribbon (that Lytton Strachey's niece had worn for her first disastrous wedding) from around her neck and tossed it and the key on it to Maude. Maude looked alarmed, and Molly's visage was similarly grim. "Yes, Maudie. Tell him to go down to the cellar. I'm afraid we're going to require the Jane Austen."
***
"Oh, but I just don't know!" Emily moaned. "Of course, he's very kind and gentle--"
"And handsome!" Maude piped up.
"Yes, that too, and he's ever so helpful and thoughtful--"
"And pious!" Molly shouted, sloshing just the tiniest bit of wine out of her teacup. Emily shot her a vaguely dirty look.
"Yes, and that," she said drily. Then she slumped her pretty shoulders again, and pulled a little tighter the angora shawl that Maude had woven from one of the rabbits willed her by John Updike. "But he doesn't....he's not...."
"Emilia De Busque," Mr. Periwinkle said haughtily, lifting his pinkie finger as he savored a sip of one of the last bottles of Ernest Hemingway's brandy, "If you mention Mr. Darcy one more time, I will tell Professor P'ohlig to farm you out to edit Harlequin romance novels."
"Oh, Mr. Periwinkle, I do wish you'd behave," Molly huffed, and then turned her attentions back to the bigger problem at hand. "Look here, though, Emily, the thing about Mr. Darcy is that at the beginning even Elizabeth didn't know that he was Mr. Darcy!"
Emily looked up, bleary-eyed, and Maude passed her another handkerchief. "I've absolutely no idea what you're on about."
Molly smushed herself into the large leather chair next to Emily. "It's what happens in all of the books, dear! At the beginnings, the fellows who seem, well, not exactly what they were after, turn out to be just the thing! Dull Darcy, boring Edmund, old Colonel Brandon, unsuitable Wentworth, and persnickety Mr. Knightley! It just takes a little time. I doubt old Jane ever heard the phrase "love at first sight", but I don't doubt she would have put it down as absolute twaddle if she had."
"But how can you all lecture me so?" Emily pouted. "Especially you, Molly. I do believe you loved Mr. Denning madly from his first 'ello."
Molly blushed hotly. "Well, er, that was a special case. I've always been more of a Hardy girl myself. And you know how they end up! Drowned!"
"Girls, you're beginning to go in circles!" Mr. Periwinkle trilled. "Or is the brandy speaking? Anyway. Here's the thing of it: Love must happen the way it happens. All at once or little by little or never at all. And one must simply wait and see. There's no point rushing about, if things are meant to be then there's no way around them. My dear," he turned a little too sharply here and nearly fell into Emily's lap, but managed to right himself. "Father Inigo is indeed a worthy young man, but only time will tell if your affections wend the same way as his. For now, accept his roses and enjoy his frivolities. You should have an admirer. If someday you realize that your feelings for him are of a more...shall we say, "Manon des Sources" flavor, well, that shall be dealt with when the time comes."
Apart from his unusual proclivity for making obscure references to mid-twentieth century French novels, Mr. Periwinkle really could be quite sage sometimes.
***
"Did you have a nice time? Come and sit," Molly patted the carpet next to her, and Emily curled up in front of the fire. The flames flickered a charming reflection on their white nightgowns, a gift of thanks from a descendant of Louisa May Alcott, just a month after Poppycock had completely revamped the plot of "Little Women" to make it a little less twee. AND they let Jo and Laurie get married, while Amy ended up an old maid. Anyways, Molly and Emily sat in their nightgowns before the fire with mugs of hot milk and rehashed Emily's night out with Father Inigo.
"And after a lovely dinner we thought we might go dancing, but Father was wearing his clerical collar, so we decided on a lovely moonlit stroll along the lake instead." Emily put her dreamy drowsy head down onto a cushioned footstool. "He really is a darling, and I think someday I might....or I might not...but for now it doesn't matter. I'm just going to flit about in party dresses and dainty shoes for a while and not give it another thought."
"I think that's an excellent idea," Molly declared. "Now, who wants their hair braided?" And the two professors of Poppycock Industries stayed up late into the starry night, talking of what might and what could and what may, and not a word of what never could have been.
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