A Split Worlds Omnibus

by Emma Newman

“Have a nice evening, dear,” Mother said, coming over to peck him on the cheek.

  He smiled at her, but was still unnerved when he climbed into the carriage. She never used to do that. He adjusted his gloves and tried to think ahead to the dinner and what he would talk to Catherine about, but his mind kept returning to the way his mother had been standing so close to his uncle. He shook his head and looked out of the window, forgetting momentarily that there was no scenery to take him out of his thoughts. He felt a longing for greenery and for a changing sky, for women who laughed in the tumbling foam of Sicilian waves, and for salt on his lips that tasted like freedom.

  Catherine looked very different at the restaurant. Will realised how much of a difference Lord Poppy’s gift had made. She was pale, appeared more tired than she should and was wearing a most austere outfit, something he’d expect from his grandmother’s generation. She was helped out of the carriage by her brother. There seemed to be some tension between them but Thomas Papaver was much better at hiding his feelings than she.

  “Good evening,” Will said, shaking him by the hand.

  “Good evening, William,” Thomas replied as Cathy lurked nearby.

  She was doing her best to distance herself, even to the extent that she stood apart from them and was looking away as they shook hands. Her manners were abominable and her lack of social grace was second only to her lack of physical grace. Imogen was right; they were trying to palm her off and he could see why.

  “Good evening,” he said and she jumped slightly, as if she’d been daydreaming.

  “Hi,” she said as Thomas cleared his throat loudly. “Good evening,” she added hurriedly and extended a gloved hand towards him which he kissed dutifully.

  “Shall we?” He gestured to the restaurant and offered her his arm.

  “I will be at the table in the corner,” Thomas said and took his leave.

  The restaurant was quite full, it being the season, catering for guests in Aquae Sulis as well as residents before they went on to whichever social event they had slated for the evening. They were seated at a reserved table in one of the most private nooks, drawing attention as they walked past the diners and leaving a wash of whispers in their wake.

  Will inspected the wine list as the waiter brought the menus. It gave them both something to do for a minute, for which he was grateful. “What will you have?”

  “The steak.”

  “Medium or well-done?”

  “Bloody,” she said, looking him right in the eye.

  “Really?” He laid his menu down and the waiter took the cue. It was one of the minor advantages of being an Iris in Aquae Sulis; they always had the best service.

  “Rare steak for my fiancée,” he began as she was taking a breath. He gave the rest of the order with the distinct impression he’d offended her. The waiter collected the menus and hurried off. “That was what you wanted?”

  “I could have spoken for myself,” she replied.

  He sat back and looked at her, puzzled. Her eyes were a pleasant pale blue, quite attractive with brown hair usually, but hers was too mousy and noncommittal in colour to be as striking as her sister. Her lips were a little thin, her nose inoffensive enough; it was more the sour expression that never seemed to leave her face that gave the impression of ugliness. “Is that what they’re teaching in Swiss finishing schools now?”

  The flush in her cheeks helped her complexion. She shut her eyes, as if readying herself for an exam rather than dinner.

  “Sorry,” she said finally, opening her eyes but not looking at him. Instead she started to fiddle with her napkin in a most irritating manner.

  “So,” he said, leaning forward again, determined to make the best of it. “I thought it would be beneficial to discuss the future in a setting more conducive to conversation.”

  “What’s to discuss? It’s a fait accompli, isn’t it?”

  She said it with such heaviness he didn’t know how to respond. “The contracts are settled, yes; it doesn’t mean there isn’t anything to talk about.” When she just stared down at the napkin he sighed. “Catherine, I’m not an ogre. I really do want this to be a success.”

  “That’s a contradiction in terms,” she muttered. “Look, I know you mean well, but really, there’s no point. We don’t want to marry each other. It doesn’t matter how much you decorate a dog turd, it still smells of–”

  She put a gloved hand over her mouth. He didn’t know whether to laugh or be shocked. “What an interesting turn of phrase,” he commented as the wine was brought over. He tasted and approved it as she blazed scarlet. Once the wine was poured he picked up his glass, briefly considered a toast, but decided against it and took a long draught instead. “I know how you feel and I’m aware of your poor regard. You do little to hide it.”

  A flash of guilt crossed her face. She was as easy to read as Sophia. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely. “It’s nothing personal, really, I swear it. You’re very handsome and rich and all of that stuff. Anyone else would be delighted.”

  “Well, I feel so much better,” he said with a wry raise of an eyebrow, which seemed to soften her a little. “Why aren’t you?”

  “I don’t think that’s a conversation we should have.”

  “I have the distinct impression that there is a lot you want to say but feel you can’t.”

  She looked at him then, maintaining eye contact longer than ever before. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to say. Talk to me, Catherine. Tell me how we can make this more bearable. Is there anything specific about being married to me that upsets you?”

  “Apart from–” She cut herself off again, dropping her head as she appeared to struggle with herself. She glanced over towards where her brother was sitting and her shoulders sagged.

  It was a risk, but he decided to take it. He reached across the table and took her hand gently. “I won’t report anything you say to another soul.”

  She was shaking, seeming more like a prisoner on the scaffold facing a noose rather than a woman of privilege facing her fiancé. “I don’t like life in the Nether,” she eventually said.

  “I see,” he said, keeping hold of her hand, feeling its slight dampness at the palm of the glove. “Have you been back to Mundanus since you came of age?”

  She laughed, not a gentle, ladylike titter, but a guffaw that made the diners closest to them look over. She bit her lip and nodded.

  “I must confess, I miss the sunshine,” he said, and was rewarded with the first genuine smile he’d ever seen on her face.

  “And the blue sky. And the breeze, don’t you? And those crisp autumn days.”

  He nodded, heartened by the breakthrough. “I even miss the rain. In the Amazon, the rain was thunderous on our tents.”

  “You went to the Amazon?”

  “Yes. We trekked for a couple of months. Oliver wanted to catch a moth or a butterfly. Something small and winged at least. I forget what exactly.”

  The flurry of conversation stalled and she withdrew her hand awkwardly. In fact, almost everything she did was riddled with awkwardness. He was determined to keep some of the momentum. “If you could visit Mundanus, would it make the marriage more bearable?”

  She shrugged. “I suppose. Visiting isn’t the same as…” Another abrupt stop. He had the feeling he was only hearing ten per cent of what was on her mind.

  “But it’s better than nothing. Perhaps you just need to get it out of your system. How about a weekend there as part of the honeymoon?”

  “A whole weekend,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Most husbands would not be so generous,” he snapped, irritated by her unladylike retort.

  “There you are with the gratitude thing again.” She shook her head. “You throw me a bone and hope I’ll sit up and do nice tricks for you.”

  The waiter arrived with the food before he could reply. There were a few minutes of silent eating and he used them to consider his a
pproach.

  “I’m starting to think there isn’t anything I can say to you that will make you feel better about this,” he said.

  She was pushing a potato around her plate. “I think you’re right.”

  “This is how I see it.” He laid his knife and fork down, sipped the wine. “I have done everything I can to open a dialogue with you. I used a powerful Charm to help you at the ball, I did everything I could to make you look good.”

  “Only so you would look good,” she muttered, but he ignored it.

  “I’ve given you the opportunity to discuss any grievances or concerns you may have and I’ve attempted to offer a solution. Every single time you’ve either ridiculed, scorned or even been offended by my efforts and I have no idea why. It seems to me you’re determined to be miserable about this marriage and if that’s the case, there’s nothing I can say or do about it. So, you have a choice.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Sarcasm is not becoming in a lady.”

  “Spare me.”

  He clenched his jaw, aware of the diners around them. “Your choice is to continue to be rude and obstructive and marry a stranger with little regard for your feelings, or to meet me halfway and be gracious enough to see that an improvement in your behaviour will make the rest of our lives much more pleasant.”

  Cathy blanched, but remained silent, simply staring down at the meal she’d barely touched.

  “You have a lot to think about. In the meantime I’ll tell you about the Amazon so that the people watching us will think we are actually having a conversation. I strongly suggest that by the soirée at the Peonias’ house tomorrow evening you will have something more positive to say to me.”

  “Is there no way to avoid this marriage?”

  “No,” he replied firmly and picked up his cutlery again.

  She sat in silence as he trotted out a tale from his Grand Tour and she barely responded to his jokes. Occasionally he asked her a direct question so she would be forced to interact with him for the sake of appearances. He decided against dessert.

  “I know I’m upsetting you,” she said as he dabbed his mouth with the napkin. “I can’t tell you why I’m like this and you were right – there is nothing you can do or say. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Catherine,” he said, standing up to pull her chair out as she stood too. “Just be civil. It’s not too much to ask.”

  He escorted her out of the restaurant, Thomas joining them outside. She looked close to tears as she was helped into a hansom cab and her brother made an embarrassed goodbye for the both of them.

  He pulled on his gloves, cane tucked under his arm as he waited for another cab.

  “Good evening, Mr Reticulata-Iris.”

  He turned at the voice, not placing it immediately. Horatio Gallica-Rosa had emerged from the restaurant and was making his way towards him.

  “Good evening.”

  “I’m planning to go to the club. Is that where you’re heading?”

  Will paused. It was members only. “Yes.”

  “Oliver has sponsored me in,” Horatio replied, seeing the momentary confusion. “Would you like to share a cab?”

  “Thank you, yes,” Will replied, even though it was the last thing he wanted.

  Soon enough one came round the corner and they both climbed in after Horatio instructed the driver.

  “How was dinner with Miss Papaver?”

  “Very pleasant,” Will lied.

  “I was most interested to see the announcement of your engagement last night,” Horatio said. “I take it you don’t know about Miss Papaver.”

  “Know what, exactly?” Will said, hackles up. He didn’t like his tone.

  “Ah.” Horatio inspected a stitch on his glove. “Well, it’s fortunate we ran into each other like this. Permit me to give you a word of advice, Mr Iris. If I were you, I would call off the engagement as soon as possible.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because Miss Papaver, as the more astute of us may have noticed last night, has not spent the last three years at a Swiss finishing school. She’s been living in Mundanus, in the dark city of Manchester, I believe.”

  “Whatever gives you that idea?” Will asked, playing it calm, nonchalant.

  “Only the fact that I intercepted her and her brother on a mundane road out of the city a few days ago. She was dressed as a mundane, her brother clearly had little idea of what she’d been up to in recent times and her behaviour was reprehensible. Of course, that isn’t the main reason I wouldn’t marry her for all the tea in China.”

  He was drawing it out, hoping to make him squirm. Will remained glacial, not wanting to give him the pleasure. “It can’t be because of her taste in clothes.”

  Horatio chuckled. “Indeed, no, it’s because she was obviously having an affair with a mundane, someone she went out of her way to protect from my wrath. Which is the reason our paths crossed. Of course, you are entirely free to ignore my advice.”

  “Are you certain about the mundane?”

  “Oh, yes.” His wolfish smile made Will want to hit him. “I know what a woman in love looks like. And I didn’t see that this evening. Oh, and there is, of course, the evidence from my patron that linked her directly with the misdemeanour that brought about these revelations.” He flicked a speck of dust from his trouser leg. “Evidence enough, I fear.”

  “Indeed,” Will said, grateful that the carriage was stopping outside the club so he didn’t have to share it a moment longer with the odious man. “I will consider your advice carefully.”

  “Not much to consider, old chap,” Horatio said, stepping out first. “I’m just pleased I had the opportunity to save you from the embarrassment. A secret like this always comes out, one way or another. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  21

  “It’s just at the end of this street,” Petra said, and slipped her hand into the crook of Sam’s arm. “So what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a computer programmer. You?”

  “I’m a librarian. I don’t know a thing about computers.”

  “Really? Don’t all libraries have them now?”

  “Not the one I work in. The owner is very traditional. It’s a private library.”

  Sam nodded and smiled at Petra. She was so much warmer than his wife. Then his smile faded. Don’t think about Leanne, he urged himself, she’s off having the time of her life with that evil dick of a boss.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no.”

  She stopped outside a set of gates leading up to a huge house. “This is it.”

  Amazed, he scanned the frontage with its stone pillars, impressive triangular pediment and the elegant fountain at the centre of the circular drive. It was Georgian and worth millions. He’d never been into a house that grand without having to pay for a ticket beforehand. “You live here?”

  She nodded. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

  He hesitated, not sure what to say. “No” would be impolite but “yes” seemed like the first step towards infidelity.

  “I hate going into the house by myself. I know it’s silly, but it’s the dark.”

  “Um, OK, I’ll see you in, then I need to go home.”

  “Of course.”

  He followed her up the drive as she got her keys out of her bag. “I’m really grateful for this,” she said, putting the key in the lock and turning it. She opened the door, but bent down to straighten the seam of her stocking before she stepped into the house. Eyes glued to her shapely legs, he stumbled in after her, trying not to imagine the tops of the stockings. She closed the door behind him, smiling in a way that almost made him forget he was married.

  She guided him into a spacious living room, lit several large candles on the mantelpiece and pointed to one of a couple of sofas in the middle. “Take a seat, I’ll get us a drink.”

  “But I should really…” He began, but she left. “…get home.”

 
He looked around the room. It was cluttered and old-fashioned and there was a hearty fire burning in the grate. He frowned at it. She couldn’t have been out that long. Or maybe there was someone else in the house, but if that were the case, why had she asked him in? He decided it was time to leave, impolite or not.

  Before he reached the door Petra returned with two glasses of whisky, followed in by a tall, thin man dressed in an old-fashioned tweed suit and the private detective from the pub.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as she handed him a glass.

  “Sorry,” she said. “We really need to talk to you.”

  “Bollocks,” he muttered. “I knew something was wrong with all this.”

  He put the whisky down, not trusting it. The tall man was staring at him in a way that made him edgy.

  “This is the one?” he asked Max.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see,” said the tall man and walked out again.

  “Who’s that bloke?”

  “He owns this house,” Petra replied as Max hobbled to a sofa and eased himself down.

  “I suppose you’re not a librarian either.”

  “That was true.” She looked offended. “I wouldn’t lie about something as important as that.”

  “So is the tweedy guy your husband?”

  “No, my boss.”

  He came back in, but about a dozen other men followed him into the room, each one of them stranger than the last. Not one wore anything resembling modern clothing; their suits looked like costume from a range of historical films. All carried notebooks and pencils.

  “Is there some sort of weirdo convention in town?” No one answered him. “Look, I was happy to answer your questions in the pub but this is taking the piss.”

  “Good evening,” the tall man said before turning to Petra. “I haven’t the faintest idea what he was just talking about. I take it he’s comfortable?”

  “He’s just a little annoyed at being brought here under false pretences,” she explained.

  “Hello, I’m right here,” Sam said.

  “Hello, yes, I understand you lost your wallet,” the tall man said, speaking slowly as if he were talking to a child. “And when Max asked you about the night you lost it, you spoke rather strangely.”