Chapter 6
The drive to the Cotswolds was pleasant, especially in the back of the Hispano Suiza.
Countryside flew past the windows, interrupted by cozy pubs and stone cottages and trickling streams beset with swans.
The twentieth century felt like a distant dream, and everywhere Ezra looked he kept expecting to see knights on horseback, or young boys pulling swords out of honey-hued stones.
Even their host’s house was covered in roses, like something out of a fairy tale.
Pink and white blossoms wove around the front door as a neat line of servants stood ready to take the guests’ luggage.
There was quite a bit of it. Dozens of Bright Young Things had descended on the house for the weekend, and according to Biz, they’d had several costume changes to pack.
“Don’t worry,” she’d assured him as Vincent’s driver had valiantly tried to fit Ezra’s small weekend bag (which was filled with more books than clothes, to be honest) in the car’s boot. “We packed plenty of extras for you!”
Apparently this included a pair of swim trunks, as the first item on the agenda was an afternoon around the pool. This looked nothing like the lily-laden waters at the Seek and Find: The colors that flashed beneath the surface belonged to swimmers’ suits instead of rainbow-scaled koi.
Ezra paused to scan the pool deck. There were plenty of young women lounging on chairs—their sequin-strung cover-ups winking back at the sun.
Hugo and Everett held court at an umbrella-shaded table.
He scanned their crowd of admirers for Celia’s black bob.
No luck. He felt a dip of disappointment in his throat. Surely she would be here… right?
There was no sign of Celia in the water either.
Ezra recognized many of the swimmers from the Seek and Find—having shed their wolfskins for more revealing suits.
Rose had a captive audience as she sauntered over to the deep end’s board and performed a swan dive.
Droplets spattered Ezra’s face as some eager men dive-bombed after her—water thrashed and screaming girls covered their drinks.
Minnie, Biz, and Vincent were already joining the fray.
Still, no Celia.
Ezra settled back on a lounge chair, his mind racing.
The whole reason he’d agreed to come on this weekend getaway was so he could see Celia Sinclair again.
I don’t know if it’s a good idea to go too deep with this.
Over the past day and a half Ezra’s own warning had reverberated through his head.
He wished he could go back in time and unsay it—offer her his last piece of bacon instead.
For as scared as he was, he’d give anything to learn more about his magic.
Perhaps if he understood the darkness that slept inside him, he could control it.
He could ensure that nothing like the foxhole ever happened again.
You’re not safe.
The horseplay screams of the swimmers hadn’t changed, but they started to sound sharper, the way such noises always did, after France. Ezra fought the urge to cover his ears.
“You aren’t going to swim?” Biz had emerged from the pool. She hadn’t removed her ring, and it glistened in the sun as she wrapped a towel around her neck. “There’s no crocodiles in this pool—I promise.”
An old reference. Ezra had long refused to swim in Thornhill’s reflection pond due to its dark waters.
In Egypt, such places held teeth. He’d wandered too close once, as a child.
He could hear his mother’s screams through the papyrus, and see the sudden ripple of scales.
The memory of what happened next went fuzzy, but he recalled his mother holding him on the shore, shaking and sobbing. No, not my son. Do not take my son…
Quite a different scene than the one that surrounded Ezra now. Still, he wasn’t in the mood to swim—especially not when Vincent was sluicing through the nearby water, his muscles flashing under the sun.
“Maybe later.” He forced himself to look back at Biz’s ring. “I’d like to get the lay of the land before I venture into the water.”
“Wise.” The young woman nodded and took a seat on the neighboring chair.
“Well, here’s a primer. That young man over there is Hugo Pratt—it’s his house we’ve descended upon for the weekend.
The sparkly gentleman dressed as a merman is Stephen Tennant.
And then there’s Cecil, over there, with his camera—trying to immortalize us.
There’s the Jungman sisters and the Plunket Greenes and of course Rose and Minnie.
Oh, and that’s Elizabeth Ponsonby over there.
Don’t even think about approaching her without an extra drink in your hand. ”
Most of the Bright Young Things were holding cocktail glasses. Their lips dripped red, thanks to a bowl of fresh strawberries a maid had brought up from the kitchens. Celia was still not among them. She wasn’t among the names Biz kept reciting either… The list was growing unwieldy.
“I haven’t a hope of remembering them all,” he confessed to Biz.
“Whereas I’m guessing you could recite the lineage of Middle Kingdom pharaohs at the drop of a hat?” she teased. “Vincent told me how much you’ve excelled at Oxford. What a lovely surprise to discover that you two already know each other.”
Ezra swallowed. “Biz…”
“Ezra.”
He didn’t want to ask, but the question had been clawing at his chest on their entire drive through the countryside. “Are you quite sure you want to marry him?”
To Elizabeth Ellington’s credit, she did not say yes. Only “Why?”
More droplets from the pool misted over their heads, but Ezra refused to look in that direction.
He didn’t stare at Biz’s diamond either—he met the emerald cut of her eyes instead.
“Our last spring with the oak tree, you wished for the love of your life. Someone you could share your heart with. You deserve that, Biz. A man who adores every single part of you—inside and out. You deserve a marriage that’s more than just a mask. ”
Biz’s eyes widened. Her ring glinted as her hand tightened into a fist. “Deserve? How would you know what I deserve?” When she spoke, her voice was like ice.
“You say a part of you died in the war… You aren’t the only one who’s changed, Ezra.
I’m not a child anymore. I can’t keep chasing fairy tales to run away from my problems.”
“Please, Biz, don’t get upset. I’m only trying to protect you…”
“If that were true, you would have come back for me.” It was hard to tell, with all the mist, if Biz’s eyes were shining with anger or tears or both.
“Everything fell apart without you and George… I couldn’t hold it together.
I tried. I’m trying.” She glanced down at her clenched fists and took a hissing breath in. “Father isn’t doing well.”
At the mention of Lord Blackwood, Ezra’s chest tightened. He could taste the ashes of his letters; see the shimmer under that forbidden basement door. You aren’t safe. Stay away. Stay away!
Yet it seemed that no matter what he did—stay or go—Ezra was hurting someone.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s…” She faltered then. “He’s unraveling.
It was little things at first. After George’s funeral he would leave the front door open after walking in or forget to turn off taps.
There was a flooding incident where he managed to turn the grand staircase into a waterfall.
” A dry laugh, sharp and disjointed, yet miraculous, considering the rest of the mist. “The carpets hadn’t even dried out when he started putting his shoes on the wrong feet.
He refuses to talk to me about it, but I’ve heard him, sometimes, speaking to people who aren’t there… ”
Biz squeezed her eyes shut at this.
Ezra felt his arm hairs bristle.
“I know you’ve lived with hallucinations all these years, but Father isn’t as strong as you. And I… Well, I have a referral to a psychiatric hospital, but the thing is, I can’t afford to send him.”
More and more of Ezra’s skin prickled against the swim trunks the Cains’ fortune had bought him. “That’s why you said yes to Vincent…”
Biz’s eyes opened, and in them he saw exactly what those eight years had cost her. A certain light had vanished; she’d learned to smile with lips alone. A grin worn like even more jewelry.
A maid came by with an offering of strawberries. Biz plucked one from the bowl and bit into it with a furious resolve. “I deserve this.”
Each word was a punch to Ezra’s gut. He didn’t fight back… How could he?
“Now.” Red juice sluiced down Biz’s chin as she stood and extended a hand. “Are you ready to swim?”
The weekend getaways of the Bright Young Things, as Ezra soon learned, were an endless string of distractions.
Afternoon activities involved dressing up as chess pieces and playing a live version on the lawn.
There was also a game where a bow tie was tied to a hunting hound’s tail, and giggling girls chased the dog around the garden, trying to lure it with biscuits and bones.
(The winner turned out to be Biz, who used one of her fox furs to get the hound’s attention.) There were more glistening hours by the pool, where someone had dragged out a gramophone to play the latest jazz from America.
All of it left Ezra feeling itchy.
He kept looking out of the corner of his eye for signs of magic: a color-changing dress or a glowing drink.
But Hugo didn’t seem to be offering any more enchanted elixirs.
He wasn’t playing with fire either. Ezra tried not to stare too closely whenever the magician pulled out a cigarette.
He wasn’t supposed to remember Hugo at all—though he’d caught their host studying him at least twice.
Perhaps coming here was a mistake.
This thought crossed his mind more than once. It settled in even deeper when Biz knocked on his bedroom door and handed him a garment bag.
“What’s all this?” He could hear something inside jingling. It was disproportionately heavy.
“You have to get dressed for dinner!” she informed him.