CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
All evening and the next day, the deliveries kept coming. An entire flower shop sprung up in the entrance hall. At every ring of the doorbell, Mother’s eyes widened with delight.
It was, as far as she was concerned, an extremely romantic gesture – a small fortune’s worth of flowers. Not only honeysuckle and lilies but enormous bouquets of roses, a rainbow of carnations, along with sunflowers and tulips and asters. Every bloom you could think of. But it didn’t feel romantic at all. It felt sinister, and I had the marks on my arm to prove it. When I looked at the cluster of small bruises in the shape of Laing’s fingers, I knew I was seeing a glimpse of the real man behind the mask of gentility.
Each delivery to the door was more and more oppressive, as if I were under siege. I could run but I couldn’t hide from his attentions, and it seemed he was letting me know that. In my mind, I heard Laing’s words: nothing stands in the way of what I want.
And what he wanted was me. Far from putting an end to matters, in confronting him, I had done nothing but stoke the fire.
What I really wanted was to talk to Izzy, but I hadn’t seen her since before Lady Endsleigh’s tea party. As far as I could tell, my sister-in-law hadn’t been home in the last twenty-four hours, though of course Mother was carefully kept under the impression they were just missing one another.
I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to feign illness unless the situation was dire. The last thing I wanted to do was to give Mother more reasons to fuss over my “delicate nature”, but this … well, this felt dire.
“I’m sorry, ” I said now, eyeing the teetering piles of flowers. “I think I was overzealous in my suggestion that we go out walking. I have a headache, and I’m not sure I should go with you to Lady Verne’s this evening.”
“Oh, darling.” My mother was all sympathy as she clucked over me. “I did think you were still looking a bit peaky. I’m afraid it’s been something of a whirlwind since I arrived. I know it’s terribly exciting, but we must remember how easily tired you are, that you haven’t the constitution for anything too rigorous. And, goodness, one forgets how large the park is – I swear we must have walked miles !”
It had barely been one mile and at the most horribly sedate pace, but who was I to disagree? I pressed a hand to my forehead and murmured in agreement.
“I’m sure it must be all this reading and letter writing that keeps you in such a fragile state,” Mother continued. “You have been left far too much to your own devices and mentally exhausted yourself – that much is obvious. You need pulling away from those dusty old books, and to be with other young people.”
“I don’t think—” I began.
“We mustn’t rush our fences,” Mother swept onwards, “but it’s clear to me that you’ve fallen into the clutches of melancholy, spending too much time in solitude. It’s like these poets!” she exclaimed, seemingly at random.
“Poets?” I repeated, confused by this strange conversational turn.
Mother nodded furiously. “Dreadful, the lot of them. Anaemic creatures, draping themselves over the furniture and constantly spouting off about rain clouds on even the nicest of days.”
“Do you … know a lot of poets?” I ventured.
Mother sniffed. “Sir Percival has one staying with him. A horrid woman.”
“Ah,” I said, keeping my tone soothing. My mother had always had a legion of loyal admirers – Sir Percival was one of her favourite suitors out in the country. He had been devotedly in love with her for three decades now, and, while showing no signs of accepting any of his many marriage proposals, it was clear that Mother enjoyed having him dote on her and didn’t want his attentions elsewhere.
“Actually, you’re quite right,” I said. “I met a young man who compared my eyes to violets at a party recently and he was anaemic-looking. Like an extremely silly glass of milk.”
Mother burst into giggles, and I felt something warm inside me.
“You sound dangerously poetic yourself, Felicity.” Her expression sobered. “And I’ve told you time and again that you’ll end up disordering your system with all this … endless studying. It’s a good thing I have come and so I will tell your brother if he ever appears! Clearly he’s been neglecting you.”
“Oh, no…”
“Don’t you worry about a thing,” Mother cut me off, her voice soothing. “You and I will have a comfortable night in together.”
This was decidedly not the plan.
“No, no!” I exclaimed again. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I know how excited you were about the party this evening. You’ve been talking about seeing Lady Verne again since you arrived. You must go. I’ll have an early night and be right as rain tomorrow.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Mother said, but fortunately at that moment I was visited by genius.
“And didn’t Madame Solange deliver that blue silk ballgown for you this morning?” I asked innocently. “You can’t miss the opportunity to show that off. I know several women who will be green with envy. You look so lovely in it.”
Mother seemed struck by this. “Well,” she said. “If you’re certain you won’t mind, I suppose I could stop in for an hour or two. It would only be polite as we did accept the invitation.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “And what good could it do for you to be cooped up here if I’m only going to be asleep, anyway? It’s not as though I will benefit from your company.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mother said, brightening. Her eyes turned to the clock ticking in the hallway. “I’d better start getting ready!”
“And I’ll turn in.” I gave an exaggerated yawn, which immediately felt like a bad pantomime performance. Fortunately, Mother didn’t notice, already swept up in the excitement of preparing for another party.
I had to lie in bed for an awfully long time, waiting for her to leave. I spent half of that time fretting about Edward Laing and his intentions, and the other half in a state of dazed relief to be lying in a dark, quiet room rather than being paraded around a ballroom.
Finally, when I heard the front door close and decided enough time had passed to be safe, I got up and dressed myself quickly in a gown of dark navy silk – the best I could manage for a night-time excursion at short notice. Perhaps I should try and procure some boy’s clothes like Izzy had. I imagined that such a disguise brought with it a significant amount of freedom.
One quick trip down the pear tree later and I found myself slipping as inconspicuously as possible round Grosvenor Square. It wasn’t as if this was my first time sneaking out of the house at night, but for obvious reasons I felt more jittery than usual. There was none of the thrill – only a strange itch between my shoulder blades, where I was sure I could feel someone watching me.
I would have to be careful to avoid anyone Laing might have keeping an eye on the house, and I stood for long moments listening and observing before I moved. I stared into the darkness, focusing particularly on the spot where I had seen the glow of the cigarette, but it seemed totally clear. Once again I was forced to question whether I was only overreacting to a series of coincidences.
It was past midnight; certainly the street seemed deserted. Overhead, the moon was a silver crescent, sending long, sharp shadows slicing ominously across the paving stones. A shrill sound had me freezing, pressed against the wall of a nearby building, my heart pounding. It took me several deep breaths to realize it was only the call of an owl in the trees above me.
I took the most roundabout way to the Aviary that I could manage, checking back over my shoulder often, but I couldn’t see anyone following me. At one point, a noisy group of young men weaved their way down the opposite side of the street and I tucked myself into the darkened entrance to a narrow alleyway until they had passed. Aside from them, there was no one who caused any alarm.
When I reached the Aviary, I was relieved to see the lights upstairs. I wondered if there were always lights burning up there. The shop seemed like a lighthouse in the inky black sea of the night surrounding it, a beacon calling me towards safety, and given the work that the Finches did, I guessed that was rather the point. I was certain I wasn’t the first woman to arrive in the middle of the night, in need of help.
The door to the shop was locked and I had to ring the bell and wait, still looking back behind me as the feeling that I was being watched persisted, despite my careful efforts.
After a moment, it was Izzy who appeared, dressed not as a boy but in a plain dark gown similar to my own. Behind the glass window I saw her eyes widen.
“Felicity!” she exclaimed, wrenching the door open. “What on earth?”
“I wasn’t sure where you were,” I said, making my way inside, keen for her to close the door behind me, to shut the world outside. “I hoped I’d find you here.”
Izzy took my hands in hers. “Is it something to do with Edward Laing?”
“Yes, how did you—” I began, then shook my head.
“You spoke to Sylla. And you had someone watching him – they saw him talk to me in the park?”
“Right.” Izzy nodded, and I noticed that her face was pale. She looked tired. “Come upstairs,” she said, already heading for the hidden door. “Mrs Finch is here with Sylla. We can talk about it all together.”