Chapter Twenty-Six
Ava’s feet dragged a little as she walked to Manchester Street the following day – past the imposing sandstone structure of the World Museum.
She’d thought it a palace when her mother had first taken her and Oliver there, but instead the rooms had been filled with towering skeletons, and glass cages filled with creatures she’d never seen before.
Her favourite had always been the butterfly collection – for there were thousands of them; walls and walls covered in butterflies of different sizes, different colours – some with the wing span of her whole hand, others small enough that she could’ve balanced them upon the tip of her finger.
And then Oliver had spoiled it all by announcing loudly that they were all dead.
‘That’s why they’ve got pins through their wings,’ Oliver had said grandly – relishing in the wisdom that came from being eleven years old to her eight.
‘All of them?’ Ava had reached out to tap upon the glass, as though perhaps one of them was merely sleeping.
And Oliver had laughed. ‘It’s so we can come and look at them,’ he said. ‘They need to pin their wings, so they don’t all fly away.’
Walking now, towards Jem’s shop – she thought she understood how that felt. Sometimes, on that stage, it’d felt like she had wings – as though she could lift her arms, and soar with every gasped breath of the audience, every wondering whisper.
But they were pinned, too. For the butterflies, in their glass cases, only had to be beautiful.
On that stage she’d had to be enchanting, but not inhuman.
She’d had to be captivating – enthralling, but still demure.
She’d had to be everything a respectable woman should be, while also being up on display for the world to see – which immediately made her the very antithesis of a respectable woman.
It was an impossible shape to try and contort herself into – and yet she’d still tried.
Tried to be all of those things, all at once.
And she’d done the same with Jem. She’d tried to twist herself into someone else – someone he could love.
When all he wanted to talk of was pharmacology, she’d checked books out of the subscription library – endless, dull tomes about the medicinal properties of charcoal, and the myriad ways you could use foxglove.
And when he’d asked her what she’d thought, she’d lied, and told him they were fascinating, though in truth they’d been the fastest method she’d found of falling asleep.
Because it was impossible, wasn’t it? Twisting yourself into something someone could love. It was impossible – which was precisely how this felt, now, standing outside his shop, watching the sign creak back and forth.
‘Ava!’ Jem said with surprise as she stepped inside, the wind chimes on the door tinkling. ‘I … I wasn’t expecting you.’
The bruise upon his right eye had almost faded, and the smile he gave her was so bright and beautiful it hurt.
‘You said I could come if I needed something,’ said Ava, trying to stop the flashes of memory from engulfing her – the way he’d looked when he’d asked her to marry him, the feeling of his arms around her—
‘Is it your sleep again?’
His sea-blue eyes were filled with genuine concern, and she had to look away, focusing instead on a small chalkboard advertising a carbolic smoke ball which claimed to cure almost any ailment. ‘I came to ask if you are still renting that room in the back?’
‘Why? Is Oliver interested?’
She’d forgotten about that part of his offer. The fact that it had originally been intended for Oliver.
‘Actually, I thought I might rent it from you.’
Now his forehead creased into a frown. ‘What? Why?’
‘To see clients.’
‘Clients?’ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘So that poster of yours got some responses, did it?’
‘Well, a client.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Oliver told you about the posters?’
‘I saw them,’ Jem said. ‘And I admit I was glad, because Mrs Moss told me you’d quit, and I’d thought …’ He grimaced, huffing a sharp breath through his teeth. ‘Well, I suppose I thought that was something else I’d ruined.’
‘You didn’t ruin anything,’ she said quietly. She plucked a bottle of Mrs Winslow’s Soothing Syrup from the shelf, focusing on the label, rather than slanting a look upon his face.
‘I ruined this,’ he said. ‘Ruined the friendship between us. Between myself and Oliver, too, it seems.’
Ava put the bottle down. ‘You two still haven’t spoken, I take it?’
He shook his head. ‘Not since the market – although I’m not sure that counts.’
‘Did something happen between the pair of you?’ Her eyes flicked once more to the last remnants of his bruise.
Jem’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Are you asking if Oliver hit me?’ he snorted, his voice rich with disbelief. ‘I know I annoy him at times, but no, Ava. I-I walked into one of these damned drawers.’
He gestured at the wall, at the neat array of labels that read things like Lavender and Ginger root. Some of them hung open, midway through being stocked, and – she noticed now – a lot of them were dangerously close to eye-height.
‘Honestly, Ava,’ Jem muttered. ‘I … I have no idea why he’s still so furious at me.’
Ava’s mouth twisted into a line. ‘Well … have you broken off any other engagements, recently?’
Jem had the grace to huff a sharp laugh through his teeth. ‘That is a mistake I hated making the once, and one I shall not repeat.’
Ava felt a pang in her stomach at the word mistake – an ache that had been sitting there, ignored for so long she’d forgotten how deep it was. How hollow.
‘Does he know that you came here today?’ Jem asked. ‘That you wish to rent the room?’
Ava scrunched her nose a little. ‘My brother doesn’t need to know everything I do, Jem.’
‘Except when it can backfire on me,’ he said, running a hand through his copper hair. ‘He’ll think it was my idea.’
‘It was your idea.’
‘He’ll think I’m doing this to get back into your good books.’
Now Ava frowned. ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’
‘Yes. No—’ Jem sighed, leaning over the counter. ‘He’ll just think this was some smart little plot of mine, and it’ll only make him even more furious.’
A part of her wanted to reach out and press her hand against his, to steady him from tapping his fingers upon the counter.
She silenced that part with vicious speed.
‘What if I told him I begged you?’
‘He likely wouldn’t believe you,’ Jem huffed.
‘He might. After all, he’s part of the reason why I need to move my sessions elsewhere. Pa being the other part, of course.’
Her father had made his opinion on the matter of strangers traipsing through his house quite clear, by not coming down to eat for two full days.
Jem grimaced. ‘All the same …’
‘Please, Jem,’ she said. ‘I’ll do whatever I need to do to smooth it over with Oliver. I’ll ensure it doesn’t backfire on you. Just please, let me use the storage space if you’ve no need of it.’
He swallowed then, looking away. ‘Very well, Ava.’ He waved a hand towards the back of the shop, and the door that lay there. ‘Though I’ll warn you – the room is a mess.’