and the Pyrenees and—”
John’s face revealed his shock. I realized the duplicity of my comments and felt myself blush.
His surprise changed to smugness. “So . . . it appears Wimpole Street is not enough for even you, the ever-loyal daughter and keeper of the familial flame.”
“There is no betrayal in desiring to see the world, the wonders of God’s nature, the cities that gave birth to great civilizations, the architecture of—”
John sprang to his feet. “Then let us go. Now.”
“Go?”
“London is the birth city of a great civilization. There is plenty of architecture and parks and rivers to inaugurate your world journeys.” He moved to the doorway of my room. “Crow? Fetch Miss Elizabeth her wheelchair and wrap. We are venturing out, into the autumn bliss.”
Crow appeared at the door, her countenance confused. “Miss?”
“No, no,” I said. I looked at John imploringly. “Please, cousin. Stop. I don’t feel well and—”
His eyes found mine. Then he sighed, his head shaking with frustrated acknowledgement. “High talk comes cheap, Ba.”
I raised my chin. “I am allowed dreams, am I not?”
He offered a barely discernable shrug and checked his pocket watch. “I must go. My dinner party, you know.” He gathered his hat and walking stick, and came to the bedside to kiss me on the forehead. “Forgive me for being so frank with you, Ba, and for causing upset. I only want what is best for you.”
And so, with a rustle of busyness, he left me. Alone with my dreams.
My unattainable, unreachable dreams?
Suddenly, the weight of them pressed upon me and threatened me with suffocation. I needed air. I needed release. I needed . . .
“Crow!”
She appeared at the doorway again. “He’s gone,” she said, as if that were the reason for my calling.
“I wish to go out.”
“Out?” She repeated the word as though it were foreign. She looked over her shoulder, then said, “Are you going to Mr. Kenyon’s dinner party?”
I diverted an answer with action, pushing myself to standing beside the sofa. Flush, who’d been asleep in the sunlight, aroused and came to my side. Could I go to the dinner party?
Crow hurried to my armoire and opened its doors. “I don’t think you have a thing to wear. But maybe you could borrow an evening dress from Miss Arabel or Miss Hen—”
The image of fussing over dresses and hair and jewelry quickly overwhelmed me. It had been so long since I had attended an occasion that I had no basis for the process. Besides, I had worn only black since Bro’s death. . . .
I looked at the sofa longingly. It called to me: Sit with me. Recline. Relax in my gentle comfort. Do not venture into the bustle and noise of the world. Stay here with me.
But Flush, awakened from his nap, scampered towards the door of my room, then back in, then towards the door. He needed to go out.
Out.
“Flush needs a walk.”
She glanced in his direction. “I will take him. Hopefully, he will do his business quickly so I can get back here to help you get ready to—”
“No, we will take him,” I said.
“We?”
“I am not going to the dinner party because I am taking Flush for his walk.”
“Walk?”
She took the word too literally. No, I did not walk much, even within the house. “We are taking him out ,” I said. “Get my wrap and the wheelchair. We both wish to take a jaunt to Regent’s Park.” I suffered immediate second thoughts. “Is Father at home?”
“No, Miss Elizabeth. He is still at work.”
I nodded tightly, my mind reeling. Should I still risk it? What if Papa came home early?
Crow took the decision out of my hands. “I’ll get the chair put out, then come back for you.”
She was already on the stairs when I offered a weak, “I’ll be here.”
And soon there.
May God help me.
The noise assailed me first. Although I regularly heard the clatter of the street through open windows, it was far removed. To be out, to be in the midst of it, to
John’s face revealed his shock. I realized the duplicity of my comments and felt myself blush.
His surprise changed to smugness. “So . . . it appears Wimpole Street is not enough for even you, the ever-loyal daughter and keeper of the familial flame.”
“There is no betrayal in desiring to see the world, the wonders of God’s nature, the cities that gave birth to great civilizations, the architecture of—”
John sprang to his feet. “Then let us go. Now.”
“Go?”
“London is the birth city of a great civilization. There is plenty of architecture and parks and rivers to inaugurate your world journeys.” He moved to the doorway of my room. “Crow? Fetch Miss Elizabeth her wheelchair and wrap. We are venturing out, into the autumn bliss.”
Crow appeared at the door, her countenance confused. “Miss?”
“No, no,” I said. I looked at John imploringly. “Please, cousin. Stop. I don’t feel well and—”
His eyes found mine. Then he sighed, his head shaking with frustrated acknowledgement. “High talk comes cheap, Ba.”
I raised my chin. “I am allowed dreams, am I not?”
He offered a barely discernable shrug and checked his pocket watch. “I must go. My dinner party, you know.” He gathered his hat and walking stick, and came to the bedside to kiss me on the forehead. “Forgive me for being so frank with you, Ba, and for causing upset. I only want what is best for you.”
And so, with a rustle of busyness, he left me. Alone with my dreams.
My unattainable, unreachable dreams?
Suddenly, the weight of them pressed upon me and threatened me with suffocation. I needed air. I needed release. I needed . . .
“Crow!”
She appeared at the doorway again. “He’s gone,” she said, as if that were the reason for my calling.
“I wish to go out.”
“Out?” She repeated the word as though it were foreign. She looked over her shoulder, then said, “Are you going to Mr. Kenyon’s dinner party?”
I diverted an answer with action, pushing myself to standing beside the sofa. Flush, who’d been asleep in the sunlight, aroused and came to my side. Could I go to the dinner party?
Crow hurried to my armoire and opened its doors. “I don’t think you have a thing to wear. But maybe you could borrow an evening dress from Miss Arabel or Miss Hen—”
The image of fussing over dresses and hair and jewelry quickly overwhelmed me. It had been so long since I had attended an occasion that I had no basis for the process. Besides, I had worn only black since Bro’s death. . . .
I looked at the sofa longingly. It called to me: Sit with me. Recline. Relax in my gentle comfort. Do not venture into the bustle and noise of the world. Stay here with me.
But Flush, awakened from his nap, scampered towards the door of my room, then back in, then towards the door. He needed to go out.
Out.
“Flush needs a walk.”
She glanced in his direction. “I will take him. Hopefully, he will do his business quickly so I can get back here to help you get ready to—”
“No, we will take him,” I said.
“We?”
“I am not going to the dinner party because I am taking Flush for his walk.”
“Walk?”
She took the word too literally. No, I did not walk much, even within the house. “We are taking him out ,” I said. “Get my wrap and the wheelchair. We both wish to take a jaunt to Regent’s Park.” I suffered immediate second thoughts. “Is Father at home?”
“No, Miss Elizabeth. He is still at work.”
I nodded tightly, my mind reeling. Should I still risk it? What if Papa came home early?
Crow took the decision out of my hands. “I’ll get the chair put out, then come back for you.”
She was already on the stairs when I offered a weak, “I’ll be here.”
And soon there.
May God help me.
The noise assailed me first. Although I regularly heard the clatter of the street through open windows, it was far removed. To be out, to be in the midst of it, to
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