Free Miss Grimsleys Oxford Career by Carla Kelly

men less wise in the ways of the world than they thought themselves.
    She thought too of James Gatewood. Already she was having difficulty remembering his face, seen only briefly that afternoon of her entrance into Oxford. He had not returned after delivering the candy. She had told herself that she would not think about him anymore, but she did, as she stood at the window and chafed after Gordon.
    “And what would you do if James Gatewood were here?” she asked herself. “Tumble all your troubles into his lap?”
    She would never do that, but as she considered the matter, she had a feeling that his lap was big enough to carry them all. How she had come by this knowledge, she could not tell, but it was the one warm thought in an evening of fret and worry.
    She was walking from geography next morning, chewing on her lip and wondering where she had misplaced her pathetic bit of embroidery for the afternoon's class, when she heard someone hissing at her.
    Startled, Ellen looked around. There was no one but Becky Speed, watering the plants by the stairwell. She came closer.
    “Thank goodness, miss,” Becky said. “There's someone here who wants to see you in the worst way.”
    The maid set down the watering can, looked both ways, and darted for the door that led belowstairs. Ellen followed, after a careful look of her own.
    And there was Gordon, sitting at the servant's dining table, rubbing his head as though it hurt. He looked up when Ellen came clattering down the stairs, and winced as she shrieked, “Gordon!” and threw her arms around him.
    “Have a care, sister,” he pleaded, holding his head with both hands. “My head is screwed on upside down.”
    Flashing a grateful look at Becky, Ellen sat down close to her brother. She sniffed the air around him and drew back slightly. He smelled as though he had not changed his linen since their last meeting. His face was a rough field of whiskery stubble and he smelled of gin, sweat, and stale tobacco.
    He acknowledged her presence with a gusty sigh and then rested his head on the table again. “Ellen,” he croaked, “you don't know what I have been through.”
    His eyes were red puddles in his pale face. Ellen waited for him to speak, waited for some explanation.
    The realization of what had happened dawned on her. “Gordon,” she said, her voice overloud. She shook his arm. “You didn't lose all your money?”
    “Softly, softly,” he pleaded, clutching his hair this time. “Every farthing, El. And then there I was in the gutter, looking up at this huge watchman.” He sat up at the memory and groaned.
    Ellen stared at him, her eyes wide. “Papa would be aghast,” she said.
    The look he fixed on her had nothing in it of exhaustion or alcoholic muddle. “He's not going to hear about it from me
or
you,” he said, clipping his words off and then sinking his head to the table again, as though gathering strength for his next thought.
    She waited for him to speak. Becky plunked a cup of tea on the table and pushed it close to his nose. “I found him out by the back door,” she whispered to Ellen. “I thought he was your brother.”
    Ellen gave her a grateful look. “Becky, you're a wonder.”
    Becky only smiled. “I … had a brother once, miss.” Ellen pushed the cup closer. In another moment, the odor reached Gordon's nostrils. He sat up and took a sip. “You're as bad as Mama,” he grumbled. “El, tea doesn't cure everything.”
    Ellen touched his arm. “It helps, Gordon. Now you have merely to tighten your belt until the next quarter rolls around and …”
    Gordon let out a sound between a wail and a moan and turned his face away. “El, you don't know the half of it,” he said. “I needed that money to pay the student who has been writing my essays for me. He won't continue without more blunt, and I lost it all!”
    Ellen stared at him as the words sank into her brain. “Good heavens, brother, do you mean …?”
    Wearily, Gordon propped his head