11. Chapter 11 #2
‘I’m here for you, my darling.’ Odette tightened her hold on her friend as a flash of guilt tore through her.
Memories of all the meetings she had missed or left early rose in her mind.
She’d always been in a rush to get to the next rehearsal, to prepare for the next tour or show, and Iris had always seemed so competent.
She was one of the most intelligent women Odette knew.
She was more than capable of managing it all.
But Odette, possibly like everyone else, hadn’t ever paused to think whether she should have to.
‘You do so much.’ Odette pressed Iris’s cheeks between her palms and searched her face, chasing a need for comfort. And forgiveness, perhaps. ‘Darling? What else is worrying you?’
Iris took a breath, and even the effort of that made her chest shake.
‘There is something I wanted to talk to you about… about your wise woman. With the herbs and the sponges. The one you said I should see when I asked you about babies and not having them once Hamish and I married. When I told you I wasn’t ready to have children. ’
‘I remember,’ Odette said.
‘Do you know someone who can help in the opposite way?’
Sadness shot through Odette. Hamish had been desperate for children when he and Iris had married, but Iris had asked for a little time. He’d agreed, but as time went on, his patience had frayed.
‘How long ago did you stop taking the herbs? Using the sponges?’ Odette asked.
‘Months and months ago. Just after we found out what had happened to Abberton and Co. and bought it back. I didn’t tell Hamish.
I thought it would be a… a nice surprise.
But every month, nothing happens. And now I don’t know what to think.
Rosanna has her baby, and even though I stopped with my precautions at about the same time that she and Phineas married, it hasn’t happened for me.
I’ve read every book and medical treatise I can find, and now I am worried.
Do you think I am being punished? For doing too much?
Did I damage myself when I climbed all those trees, or with all that running?
When I refused to wear my corset every day—or any of those other stupid things Hamish and I used to do? ’
Odette could only pull Iris against her chest. She rocked her like Babcia had done at the end of a tiring day or after a bad audition. It was all she could do.
‘It can’t be,’ she answered. ‘Rosanna ran and climbed and was just as wild. The doctors who say such things about women’s bodies can’t always be right.
What about the women in the fields? Or the factories?
They are not kept locked up in tight corsets and drawing rooms. Whatever the reason, I do not for one second believe it was because your father allowed you to be free. ’
However many tears Odette thought a body could hold… she was clearly mistaken, because Iris collapsed against her again. And Odette continued to embrace her, because there was nothing left to say.
‘I have never needed such advice. But if you ask the wise woman who you saw before, I imagine she will help you.’
Odette held Iris close, partly to comfort her, but also for herself.
One ear rang, piercingly high. If only her wise woman had some advice or concoction for her, but when she’d asked, the woman had only shaken her head.
And after seven days of the Calomel pills, there was no sense of the trouble easing. Just a constant upset in her stomach.
Odette rang for Gena, who brought raspberry fizz and elderflower cordial along with some shortbread, and settled Iris on the sofa beside her father with a blanket wrapped tight around them both.
Then she gathered up her music, sent them both one more encouraging smile, and slipped from the room to head downstairs and make her way home.
‘Thank heavens. Miss Delaney!’
Odette stepped back from the entrance to peer into the former dining room, now the meeting room for Spencer and Co.
Travel. Elise Hartright sat alone at the large meeting table, papers and sketches spread out before her.
Elise lived in Number 7 with her aunt Petunia.
She also worked as Iris’s assistant, although she was so competent and ambitious already at twenty-one, she’d undoubtedly outgrow the simple role soon.
At fourteen, she had borne the brunt of her sister’s scandal, but with the gentle strength of an oak, she’d raised her chin and thrown herself into her aunt’s choir, the business, and almost every fundraising committee in London.
If only she possessed a voice like her sister.
Odette could have taken her under her wing and turned her into a sensation.
The scandal wouldn’t matter. But while the lovely young Elise had many wonderful talents and could hold a tune, she was not a songbird like her long-absconded sister Charlise.
‘Yes, my darling?’ Odette stepped into the room.
‘Is this your construction for the block next door?’ She picked up one of the sketches that showed the floor plan of a narrow, three-story building.
Different rooms were marked as offices and meeting rooms. There was a kitchen at ground level, and then bedrooms, sitting rooms, and parlours upstairs.
Finally, storage and staff rooms extended beneath the rafters.
‘Mr Holt has done such marvellous work. Look!’ Elise leapt out of her chair and pointed at different spots on the ink and watercolour plans, her words a cascade of enthusiasm.
‘This is the meeting room. There’s a wall for a big map, and shelves for records and papers and all the things we need to run the business.
Well, all these things!’ Elise swept her arm wide, indicating the books and folders stacked in lopsided towers around them.
‘This room here is for storing older paperwork, for keeping records and tickets, that sort of thing. And up here, there are rooms for living. Aunt Petunia loves this street, but some days, she struggles with the stairs at Number 7. I’m hoping she might agree to move, to rent out or perhaps even sell her townhouse.
And once this is finished, Iris and Hamish can have their home back.
Everything will be better, and everyone will be happy. Won’t they?’
Odette could only blink at Elise’s robust optimism and eager smile. ‘Perhaps, darling. We can hope. What did you want my help with?’
‘The contracts!’ Elise leant over the table and slid a thin folder towards her.
‘I would ask Johannes, but he is still away, and Rosanna has barely a moment as Betty fusses so much. I advertised for a builder, but they’ve all returned their proposals in different ways.
Mr Holt said that sometimes a builder will not put something in, and then charge more for it afterwards, and I am so confused.
Jonah said you are good at these things. Will you help me?’
Odette rung the bell for Gena. ‘First, tea.’
By the time Odette had finished reading the contracts and compiled lists with Elise, the sun was beginning to shift from bright white to the soft yellow of an elongated May afternoon.
She paused at the top of the stairs outside the house, inhaling a deep breath.
Sunday, the day of rest? Not on this street.
She raised her parasol and was just about to pop it open when she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.
A man shifting beneath the tree, partially hidden by dappled shadow.
Grey suit, black waistcoat, bowler hat. Did news outlets issue a uniform to them?
He might as well have a sign hung from his shoulders that proclaimed in large letters: I AM A JOURNALIST. He crossed his arms as if he were waiting for someone and had some legitimate business here, but she knew as well as everyone else on Honeysuckle Street knew that no one wandered onto this street to wait.
They either went directly to one of its doors, or they did not pass by at all.
She spun her parasol. It would be easier to make a dash for it if she left it closed.