Chapter 14
Rosalind was left to her own devices for some hours after the morning began in earnest, when Matthew had to attend to some business down in the church.
He had kissed her hand before leaving, and then, thinking it was not quite enough as a gesture of departure, he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her again on the lips.
That kiss had been gentle and swift, not like the kiss under the fig tree.
The kiss under the fig tree was following her about all morning, whispering in her ears as she unpacked her things and explored the corners of her new home.
It fluttered throughout her body and even sang in the ache of her leg, like a half-told story that had broken off just as an exciting reveal was half told or the heroine was dangling in peril.
She sat on the chair under the little desk in their bedroom and turned it toward the long mirror he had propped against his wall to comb out her hair.
She pulled on the thicker velvet dressing gown that Millie had gifted her and belted it around her waist, and slid the slippers she’d finally excavated onto her feet just in time for the rap at the door that would bring the rest of her belongings to the house.
She tied her hair back in one of the ribbons that had accompanied her crown of flowers from the wedding as she hobbled down the stairs to answer, calling out as she went that she was on her way and to please, please be patient.
Abe and Millie were awaiting outside, and both immediately moved to prop the door open and relieve her of any effort as soon as she revealed herself to them.
“Go sit down, you wee daftie,” he said when she bent to pick up one of the smaller boxes. “Stop being heroic.”
“Oh, here, I brought this for you,” said Millie with a hand to her arm before she could turn to obey. “I thought you might like to see it.”
Rosalind accepted the little folded paper with a blink and opened it in her hands as she made her way back to the sofa and turned on her good leg to sink into the cushions. It was a newspaper, she realized, turned to the social pages in the rear.
Her eyes fell immediately to the little illustration in the corner. It was her, she realized, being carried across the churchyard in Matthew’s arms and planting a kiss on his cheek.
Miss Manners Pecks Her Parson read the little caption.
She blinked at it a few times, uncertain that such a thing could be real, and scanned the page for an explanation.
There was none, save for a small note in the summary edits at the end of the section that said Miss Rosalind Murphy, popularly known as Miss Manners, wed the Reverend Matthew Everly in a private service on Monday morning.
She glanced back up, dropping the paper into her lap, to find Millie watching her from across the room. “It seems,” she said, her voice mild but her eyes betraying her concern, “that you have become a figure of fondness rather than disdain. It might have gone either way, Rosalind.”
“Yes,” said Rosalind, watching as her sister-in-law crossed the room, her blue dress catching the light as she perched on the other sofa cushion and reached out to put a steadying, warm hand on Rosalind’s knee. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”
“My sister’s husband was a villain in the gossip sheets for a time,” she said.
“I wish he hadn’t already gone back to his estate, or he might have been able to offer you some counsel.
I, myself, was in danger of being in the same situation after Hannah published my letters some years ago and caused a stir, but luckily my identity was never uncovered. ”
Rosalind nodded, frowning. “I know. I know it could be a lot worse.”
“I know you are not hiding by choice,” Millie said, giving her a reassuring little smile and a shake of her dark curls. “You truly have no choice, limited in ambulation as you are, but perhaps it is wise all the same. If you don’t feed the strays, they do go looking elsewhere.”
“They went looking for the clinic, though,” Rosalind pointed out. “They keep coming to the church.”
“That is true,” said Millie with a shrug.
“But if their itch for gossip results in more visibility for the good works of London, perhaps it will have been worthwhile. From what I understand, Lady Aster has managed to guilt many of them into donations instead of directly chasing them off, as far as the clinic is concerned, and when that doesn’t work, Miss Casper feigns concern over a suspicious rash or imagined boil until the fool either withers and submits to an exam or runs away. ”
Rosalind laughed, cupping her hand over her mouth. “Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “They are spectacular, aren’t they?”
Millie smiled.
“I wish I were more like them,” Rosalind said, softer, leaning toward the other woman. “I wish I could be like that.”
Millie did not argue with her but instead paused and considered her, leaning back against the arm of the sofa as though to really allow the light from the window to illuminate Rosalind opposite the words she’d said.
“You are not like them,” Millie agreed.
It surprised Rosalind enough that she almost smiled, though it was not that she was happy to hear it.
“I am not like my friends either,” Millie said. “Have you met my friend Ember? Mr. Beck’s business partner? She is the boldest, loudest, bravest woman I’ve ever come across. And so funny, Rosalind. I never stand in her company and do not laugh.”
“I have met her,” Rosalind said, blinking, “but not at length.”
Millie nodded. “And Dot, Mrs. Cain, was my dearest friend for all my life. She would be the most powerful barrister in London if she were a man. She is the cleverest person I’ve ever known.
Oh, and my sister Claire. My little sister.
She was ever the beautiful one, you know, and she writes fantastical stories that she creates out of thin air. I could never do that.”
“Oh, but Millie,” Rosalind said, reaching out for the other woman’s hands. “Millie, you are exemplary. I look up to you so! Your manifesto inspired women all over Britain, even if they do not know you wrote it.”
Millie gave a mild little smile. “But I am not like my friends,” she said. “I do not shine the way they do.”
“What are you two plotting?” Abe demanded, stomping down the stairs as he dabbed his brow with a kerchief. “Casting spells? I told you no hexing before luncheon.”
“Are you already finished?” Millie asked, looking up at her husband as though they really had just been having a light and meaningless chat by the window while he worked. “That was fast.”
“Aye, well, I’m miraculous, aren’t I?” Abe said with a grin. “Ros, do you feel up to going out to eat, or shall we bring something here? Oh, and I got a letter from Mam and Da. Where is it?”
“Yes, Abe,” said Millie, frowning while she watched him search his obviously empty pockets. “Where is it?”
He huffed and stammered and made some faces. “Well, I must have left it,” he concluded after checking under his collar and inside his own sleeves. “You didn’t remind me, wife.”
“I certainly did,” she returned with absolutely no feeling in her voice.
“Well, what did it say?” Rosalind asked, leaning forward as though she might spot the letter when Abe lifted one shoe or the other. “Did they get my letter about the wedding?”
“Yes, it was that,” said Abe, looking relieved.
“They’ll come to visit round autumn time and stay in the room, now that it’s empty.
They want to meet your beau, and there was some business about installing a new professor at the office in Charing Cross.
I skimmed that part. Mr. Muir, I think it was? ”
“Muir,” Rosalind repeated a little thinly. “Did it say Muir, Abe? Douglas Muir?”
He paused, his brow wrinkling up. “Douglas? No, not that … certainly not!”
“Is that what it said?!” she demanded again, her voice gone squeaky. “Abe, is that what it said? Was it Douglas? My Douglas? No, not mine. Not …”
“I will check!” he shouted back, red patches creeping up his throat.
“Well,” said Millie calmly. “I think we’ll go out and get luncheon and bring it back here after all. I shall order it while Abe goes to the house and finds that letter. How does that sound?”
The Murphy siblings both turned to her with dazed, half-sagging expressions as she nodded crisply and stood. “Yes,” she decided. “That is what we will do.”
And then the door was shut behind them and Rosalind was alone again before she could scarcely get her mind around the shape of the words that had been spoken.