Camille by Tess Oliver Page B

“Red paper.” I hurried across the path to a table covered
with a wide variety of flowers. A man grouped them by color and
length before wrapping them in red paper. “Pardon me, I would like
to purchase two pieces of this.” I touched the paper on the table
which was wet with the moisture of fresh cut flowers. The man
looked at me suspiciously. I pulled out
    my coin purse. “I will pay you two shilling.”
He eyed the coins on my palm, reached under the table into a
basket, and retrieved two pieces of red paper.
    We walked away leaving behind a very puzzled
flower laborer.
    “Most girls prefer the flowers,” Strider
said.
    “It is for my sister, Emily. She is an
extraordinary artist.”
    “Your sister? Where does she live? Is she
older than you?”
    “Emily is my twin, although she was born
first so she considers herself to be older. She lives--” I paused,
embarrassed to tell him, “---she lives at Bethlem Hospital…for
now.”
    “Bedlam? The lunatic asylum?”
    “Emily is not a lunatic. She just does not
care for living in society, and I’m sorry I told you.” I rushed on
ahead of him.
    He caught up and took hold of my arm.
“Forgive me.”
    I stopped and faced him. He needn’t have
apologized with words. His incredible face made it impossible for
me to stay angry at him. Part of me wanted to reveal the tragic end
to my story. It would help explain Emily’s seclusion and reveal the
seriousness of his situation. But standing next to him, I could
feel sparks of energy radiating from him. His existence was
miserable, yet none of the misery showed. There was no need for him
to know at this moment.
    “I ‘aven’t forgotten that you promised me
some pears. I can see a cart filled with them over there.” He took
hold of the bag from the apothecary. “I’ll carry that. You pick the
fruit.”
    “Mind you, I’ve plenty of money so don’t pick
any fruit yourself.” I said.
    “Yes, Sister Collins.”
    “I’m beginning to think Sister Collins
deserved sainthood for putting up with you, Nathaniel Strider.”
    He smiled. “Sainthood? Only if they’re giving
sainthood for being scurrilous.”
    I busied myself picking the ripest pears I
could find. My companion wandered off. I paid the man and searched
for the black head of hair and found him moments later by a barrow
of apples. He strolled toward me with a grin of guilt on his face.
The fruit seller began yelling. Strider raced to me, grabbed my
arm, and pulled me along. We did not stop until we were well out of
view of the street stalls, by which point, I was sucking in breaths
as if all the oxygen had been removed from the air.
    “Blasted, Nathaniel, I told you I had
money.”
    “But you were over near the pears.” He
plucked the apple from the apothecary’s bag, and we both stared
wide eyed as the spring lancet came out as well, impaled into the
side of the fruit. He pulled the lancet out and held it up for
closer inspection. “Does this have something to do with me?”
    My heart rate had finally slowed. I
nodded.
    He dropped both the lancet and the apple back
into the bag.”Don’t really feel like apple anymore,” he said. He
reached into his trouser and pulled out a branch of green
grapes.
    “Is there anything else hidden on you?’ I
asked.
    He held out his arms. “You can search me if
you like.”
    My cheeks warmed. “No, I’ll take your word
for it. What does it matter now? They are painting my name on a
chair in hell as we speak.”
    We headed home eating grapes. “Hell won’t be
so bad, you know. After all, I’ll be there to keep you
company.”
    “Splendid.” I pushed a grape into my
mouth.
    “But do you really think they’ll let us use
chairs?”
    We laughed the rest of the way home. And I
wondered how I was going to keep my heart from being crushed.

     
     

Chapter 12
     
    “Miss Camden sent some boiled rice pudding,”
Dr. Bennett called from the lab as we stepped inside.
    “Did she? How thoughtful of her.” I