Chapter Twenty-One #3
It’s Sylvia. She’s looking at me expectantly.
I know what she’s thinking: have I managed to persuade Nessa to come home?
Her lips are drawn into a thin scarlet line.
Beside her is a portly man with receding hair, a fleshy, coarse face, potato nose and small, whisky-coloured eyes.
He’s standing very straight, puffing out his barrel chest importantly.
I notice the thick chain of a gold pocket watch lying against his white waistcoat and the diamond studs that glitter at his chest. Mr Blunt, no doubt.
Eddie’s brother-in-law and Nessa’s father.
I get the measure of him at once. His energy is hard and unyielding.
The energy of an ego that demands supremacy.
‘Edwina,’ says Sylvia. Between her fingers is an ivory cigarette holder, and I can’t help but wonder what poor elephant had to die for someone to make that.
‘Hello, my dear,’ says Humphrey, and his weaselly eyes glint like steel. He glances over my shoulder, then lowers his voice. ‘Any luck with Nessa?’
Sylvia leans in eagerly through his cigar smoke.
I decide to tell the truth. Of course, whatever I say will make no difference to Nessa. But it might make a difference to them, after she is gone. ‘I’m afraid she is determined to follow her heart,’ I tell them. I watch Humphrey turn the colour of Bull’s Blood.
Sylvia digs her chin into her chest and blinks at me, incredulous. ‘You promised you would talk to her,’ she says through gritted teeth, the smile still stiff upon her face.
‘I did talk to her,’ I reply. ‘She wants what she wants. Unfortunately, she won’t be performing Lady Macbeth tonight, but I wish that she was, so you could see what an exceptional talent she has.
Mr Bentley says she’s the best Lady Macbeth he’s ever seen, and I concur.
I’m considering accompanying her to London to see if she can make it in the West End. ’
Sylvia’s mouth falls open. Humphrey almost has steam coming out of his ears.
I put a hand on his arm. He looks at it with horror, as if I’ve just laid a dead rat there.
‘Humphrey, listen to me. We don’t own our children.
They come through us to walk their own paths.
They’re not small versions of us, they’re independent souls who are here to have their own adventures.
You have to step out of the way and give Nessa space to grow. ’
Sylvia looks at her husband, her fixed smile is unable to hide her terror. ‘I told you she’s not herself.’
I cut in crossly, allowing my contempt for the misogyny of this culture to get the better of me. ‘I have always believed women should have the right to choose what they do.’
‘Good God!’ Humphrey splutters, spraying me with spittle. ‘Have you lost your mind, Edwina?’
‘No,’ I reply calmly. ‘My mind is very focused. Nessa is a young woman who knows what she wants. It just happens to differ from what you want for her. But aren’t you a forward-thinking man, Humphrey?’
Sylvia’s eyes dart to her left and right like a startled bird. She’s frightened that we’re being overheard or observed.
‘Forward thinking? What balderdash!’ Humphrey exclaims.
Now Sylvia puts a hand on his arm. He shrugs it off.
‘I will not be dictated to by a woman.’ He hisses the words rather than speaks them.
‘No daughter of mine will stoop so low as to work for a living. It simply will not happen. I want Nessa home by tomorrow evening, is that clear, Edwina? And you are not to meddle any more in her life. I insist upon it.’
He sniffs furiously before disappearing into the crowd.
Sylvia turns on me. She’s staring at me with round, startled eyes, as if she no longer recognises her sister. Not a surprise to me. I am not her sister. ‘What has got into you, Edwina?’ she demands.
‘I don’t know what you mean?’
‘You know exactly what I mean. How could you speak to Humphrey like that? He has never been spoken to like that before in his life!’
‘By a woman?’
‘Well, of course.’ She looks at me awry.
‘What is all this ghastly feminism talk? Tom would turn in his grave to hear you speak like this. You know how he laughed at the Suffragettes. How would he feel to know that you are fast becoming one? I can only assume that you are being led astray. By whom, I do not know. But someone is a bad influence on you.’
‘I must get on,’ I say. I don’t want to get Eddie into any more trouble. ‘I need to talk to Mr Pengower.’
She huffs and puts her horrible ivory cigarette holder to her lips with a quivering hand.
I feel a rising sense of panic as I push my way through the throng.
Time is running out and I must speak with Cavill alone.
I must tell him the truth before I slide back.
I need to finish this, for both of us. And for Eddie.
I feel sick with anxiety. I fear that I have let Eddie down.
That I’ve put her in compromising positions both with Cavill and with her sister and brother-in-law.
But there’s no time to dwell on that now.
I must talk to Cavill and then go and find Nessa before the fire starts.
I’m going to have to walk a tightrope – witness what happens without affecting the outcome. Oh, for Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. How on earth am I going to do this without it?