by Emma Newman
“You really are a sweet young man, William. I hope Catherine realises how lucky she is.”
Will took to stirring his tea. “I’m sure she will.”
When the carriage finally pulled away from the restaurant, Cathy released a long sigh of relief. Finally she could accomplish something useful now that her obligation to Dame Iris was over for the day. She wanted to check her email and see if her tutor had responded. Cathy had been very apologetic, explaining that a family emergency had taken her away from her studies and that she’d be unlikely to return for a few months. She wanted to know if she’d be able to continue her studies at a distance in the interim. She’d ordered books from her reading list and arranged to pick them up at a bookshop only a short walk away. She’d also stumbled across information on P.O. Boxes, a remarkably useful mundane service which would enable her to have a postal address separate from the anchor property. Slowly, piece by piece, Cathy felt like she was starting to make real progress. She wished she could hurry the painting Charm along as easily.
There was also a hire car to arrange so she could sneak out to find Miss Rainer. She’d already found the anchor property on Google maps and even looked at it with the satellite view. The people of Mundanus were so wonderfully advanced! Thanks to the internet she could sort out all the logistics without having to be seen leaving the house. None of the servants had noticed her going off to the nursery, as the corridor leading to it wasn’t used for anything else. She smiled. The room that had made her faint was now her favourite in the house.
The time wasted with Dame Iris had been so frustrating. Cathy’s cheeks ached from the hours of fake smiling and attempts to appear animated when the Dame described various embroidery projects she’d undertaken in the last year. It had been so hard not to just grab the teapot and start pouring it all over the table cloth whilst shouting every expletive she’d learnt in Mundanus. Imagining it was the only thing that enabled her to appear vaguely cheerful throughout the tedious tea with the Dame’s boring friends and then lunch at a restaurant with the atmosphere of a funeral parlour in a healthy neighbourhood.
She wondered whether Will was home and the churning over of the previous evening’s events started again. She felt a flicker of hope that he would be and that they’d kiss again. “Don’t,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t fall for him, you idiot.”
Cathy tried to remember the details of the conversation they’d had, but they seemed to have been pushed out by what had followed. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she remembered how it had felt. She shook her head. What had she been thinking? Then, for the hundredth time since she’d woken up, she hoped she wasn’t pregnant. How could she have been so careless?
The euphoria over finding out Miss Rainer was alive had made the champagne rush to her head and her better judgement collapse. The memories were slippery, muddied by recollections of his kisses, his touch, tempting her down mental alleyways all leading to the same rush in her chest. She needed to talk to Will and see if she really did feel differently about him. Then she changed her mind; she had to stay away from him in case she lost control again. She had to stay focused on her real goal and not be distracted by her handsome husband.
Will was likely to be running around Londinium canvassing for supporters so it was the ideal time to hide in the nursery and get things ticked off her to-do list. The only thing that stopped her worrying about his fight for the Dukedom was the sure fact that Bartholomew would win and she wouldn’t have to face the awful prospect of being Duchess. Shivering at the thought, she took the footman’s hand to descend the steps. The new dress hastily commissioned at the Dame’s insistence wasn’t the easiest to move in. Style over comfort, as always.
She smiled at Morgan despite the aching and headed straight for the stairs up to her room.
“Cathy?”
Will’s voice. She gripped the handrail as her pulse soared. She tried to think of piles of horse dung, dead flies on windowsills and fried eggs, anything to take her mind from the memories he reignited.
“I’m going to have a bath, I’ve had a sod of a day,” she called down, resolutely keeping her gaze on the stairs ahead of her.
“Come to the sitting room. There’s someone you need to meet.”
She sighed. “I’m not up to impressing guests. Can’t it happen another time?”
“No. Sophia is here and she wants to meet you.”
Cathy tried to remember where she’d heard that name, running through the list of wives and notables of the Londinium Court that she’d been given to learn by Dame Iris. It was twice as long as the list Will had given her shortly after they’d arrived.
“My sister,” he added.
The conversation from the night of their first soirée flooded back. The secret child. She peered over the banister and regretted it immediately. His brown hair was slightly tousled like he’d been riding and there was a glow in his cheeks that made him look far too attractive. A flash memory of his hand stroking the curve of her hip as he kissed her throat made her blush and look away from him.
“Cathy? Are you coming down?”
“Why is she here? Are your parents visiting?”
“No. Sophia’s going to stay with us for a little while.” He walked round to the bottom stair, extended a hand towards her. “You’ll love her. I promise.”
“Does she have a nanny?” She didn’t take his hand for fear of throwing herself into a passionate clinch.
“Not yet. I was hoping you could spend time with her when I’m not here. She was being neglected in Aquae Sulis.”
The thought of looking after a child triggered memories of miserable afternoons with Elizabeth throwing tantrums. But those afternoons had been spent in Mundanus. The beginning of a plan formed, involving a day trip to Kew Gardens without the need to hide it from Will. “I’d be happy to play with her in Mundanus, if that’s what she needs.”
Will’s face was made divine by a bright smile. He climbed the stairs between them, slipped a hand around her waist and kissed her firmly on the lips.
The smell of his skin rekindled the memories of the night before. She kissed him back before she realised what she was doing. “Um—” she pulled away slightly “—what about keeping her a secret?”
“I’ve told the staff she’s a distant cousin of mine.”
Hidden in plain sight all of her life and ushered away when anyone visited. Cathy almost wished she’d had the same childhood, free of the pressure of performance.
Then she knew what to paint to satisfy Lord Poppy. She would put Sophia in the painting, but not as the subject and—as in real life—tucked away somewhere unobtrusive. Poppy hadn’t specified that the secret would have to be obvious, or divulged at the point of delivery. In fact, she was certain he would be happier left to wonder what it was, thereby satisfying him without betraying Will’s trust or endangering the child. As long as the Charm arrived on time, there was still hope she could navigate safely through Poppy’s trap.
Will was smiling at her and she realised he was reflecting her own expression. He gently pulled her back and kissed her again. “I like being like this with you. It’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“You weren’t there when I woke up.”
“I’m sorry, my love, I had an early meeting. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Cathy stared at him, processing what he’d called her. She felt giddy and stupid and increasingly annoyed with herself. Why—
“Come on,” Will said, taking her hand and pulling her down the stairs.
“Will, about last night,” she started, but when she reached the bottom he called for Sophia and picked up the pace.
He took her to one of the sitting rooms. Sophia was almost at the door when they arrived, having heard his call. Cathy saw the way she beamed at Will and how it delighted him to sweep the little girl up into his arms and bring her face level with theirs.
“Sophia, this is Cathy.”
“Your Cathy?” she asked him.
&
nbsp; “My Cathy,” he smiled and they both looked at her. She could see the resemblance between them instantly.
“Hello,” Sophia said, and, as much as she thought she was immune to cute children, Cathy did find herself warming to her.
“Hello,” Cathy replied. “Will tells me you’re going to stay with us a while.”
Sophia nodded eagerly, making her ringlets bounce. “I missed Will-yum. Will you take me to the park when he has to do grown-up things?”
“Of course I will, I love parks. And there’s one I’ve always wanted to visit where the trees are hundreds of years old. Would you like to go and see them and have ice-cream too?”
Sophia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please. Let’s go now!”
“We’ll go first thing tomorrow. I need to work out how to get there first.”
“Oh. Do you want to play dolls with me?”
Cathy wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks. Maybe later we could make paper aeroplanes together.”
“Do princesses make paper aeroplanes?”
“Only the best ones,” Cathy said and it seemed to satisfy Sophia. She was less than five years old and already being programmed into only wanting to do “girly” things. Cathy resolved to present some alternative interests to her.
Will kissed Sophia on the cheek and put her down. She returned to the rug and the three dolls in varying states of disarray. Cathy then felt his eyes on her and looked back at him. His smile was soft and he brushed her hand. “Thank you.”
She knew what he was thinking. There was the beautiful child, quiet and well-behaved. Here was his wife, and soon she would be pregnant and full of the delights of motherhood, especially after having the opportunity to spend time with the sweetest child in Society. There was no way in the Worlds Will wanted to be with her for any reason other than furthering the family line, even without the beautiful Rosa hidden away somewhere. Did he touch Amelia in the same way? Did he kiss his wife like he kissed the rose?
“I need to change and make the arrangements for our trip,” she said, anxious to get away from him and the plans he had for her. She’d lost her virginity and the next time Will made overtures towards her it would be harder to turn him down. There was no way she could stay in the Nether and have babies under Dame Iris’s intense scrutiny. No. It was time to find Miss Rainer and step up her plans for escape before Will had made another child to fall in love with.
21
Sam liked to think of himself as a reasonable man, one who could get through life without having to punch anyone to make a point. The concierge was challenging that self-image. Not only did he feel like punching the smartly dressed jobsworth, he also felt like knocking down anyone else who wanted to keep him away from Leanne.
“Look, for the tenth time, it’s a fucking emergency,” he said, slowly losing control of his voice. “She’s my wife, you don’t have the right to stop me from seeing her.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said, no longer calling him “sir”. “Mrs Westonville made it very clear to me that under no circumstances was I permitted to let you see her.”
“That’s because she didn’t know what I know now! If she knew what I know, I know she’d see me in a shot.” He sounded like a lunatic. Sam pressed his hands down on the top of the horseshoe-shaped desk-cum-booth the concierge sat behind, reminding himself not to use them to wallop him. “Look, I know you’re just doing your job, and you might think you’re protecting a vulnerable woman, but I’m trying to protect her and you’re doing more harm than good.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.”
“For what?”
“Trespassing. Breach of the peace. Being a pain in the jacksy. I know divorce is hard, but you don’t live here, she does, so I’m on her side.” He waited for Sam to move. “Right, that’s it.”
The concierge lifted a phone handset from its cradle and Sam patted the air. “I’m going, for fuck’s sake. But if anything happens to her—”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll hold me personally responsible. I’ve seen the same films as you. Now piss off. Sir.”
Sam sucked in a deep lungful of air through his teeth. Now he understood why people flipped out. “Twat,” he said loudly, heading for the door. He’d wait on the pavement outside until she came out. It didn’t matter if he had to stand in a doorway all night, he had to warn her about Neugent.
She’d stopped taking his calls after sending a text saying, “Nothing to say, give me a break for at least a month.” He left a voicemail asking her to call, saying it was urgent. She didn’t. On the train up to London he’d hammered the redial button, thinking that surely she’d get the idea that this was more than just him panicking about a separation. He suspected she wasn’t even using that number any more. That was what she’d do: switch it off, get a new phone and new number and get on with her job. She kept different parts of her life in separate mental boxes. For a long time he’d been in the crappy battered one left in the corner whilst she played with the big shiny work box. Now he felt as if she’d put him into one of his own, one she was soon to throw out altogether.
He rubbed his eyes. As the adrenalin from his confrontation with the concierge ebbed he became aware of the fatigue again. He’d been suffering from varying degrees of panic since the conversation with Max and the gargoyle.
Sam ducked into the doorway of a generic office building out of the concierge’s line of sight and looked at his wedding ring. He still wore it, even after everything that had been said about it. He wasn’t divorced yet. Taking it off seemed too premature, and too final.
At the sound of high heels clipping on the pavement he peered round and saw Leanne, handbag over her shoulder, wearing a brilliant red coat. She’d lost even more weight and her legs were starting to look too thin.
“Leanne!” He stepped out a few metres ahead of her.
“The concierge told me you’d been a pain in the arse.”
“I need to talk to you, Lee, it’s important.”
She started walking again, eyes fixed on a point past his shoulder. “You’ve got until I get to the tube station.”
He fell into step alongside her. “Are you OK? You’ve lost too much weight, you know, you’re wasting away.”
“Good start, Sam, offend me, that’s bound to make me more receptive.”
“Shit. Sorry, I’m just worried about you, that’s all. Look, there’s something wrong with this thing you’ve got with Neugent. A friend looked into the forge and there were other people who made their rings there and ten of them died before their time.”
She frowned at him, not slowing. “Do you realise how pathetic you sound? ‘This thing I’ve got with Neugent’? You mean a career? And what the hell have those people got to do with me?”
“They all worked for Neugent, Lee. It’s a pattern.”
“Oh, right, so after realising what you’ve lost you’ve cooked up some amazingly shit story to try and frighten me into resigning so I’ll move back to Bath? That’s really sad.”
“Are you even listening to me? They died!”
“Of what?”
“Well, different things but—”
“Oh, so you’ve carried out a detailed statistical analysis of all of the people who have ever had any contact with Marcus who happened to make their own wedding rings and concluded that dying is weird? Do you know how many people work for him? Do you know how many people have used that forge? Do you know how statistically unlikely it is that a failed marriage could be repaired by husbands making outlandish claims about their wife’s boss?”
“They all died too young!”
“By whose standards? Thousands of children die every day. Show me your analysis and explain to me which age you define as the correct time to die. Oh, that’s right, it doesn’t exist.”
“I’m trying to protect you, Lee, that’s all. I know you’re in danger.”
“I’m in danger of telling you to fuck off before we get to the station, I’ll give you that.”
She stopped and looked at him. “What is this about, Sam? Do you need help?”
“I’m trying to tell you, you need help! You need to come back to Bath with me. We can talk. No, even better, we’ll go somewhere else…Cornwall…Scotland, wherever you want to go, and we’ll talk it all through and we’ll start again.”
She closed her eyes. He wanted to touch her but she wasn’t giving the impression that would be allowed. “Sam,” she said with a sigh, “you’re assuming we have something to try to save here. We don’t. I’ve changed, you haven’t. I don’t see any point in stringing this along any more. I’ll get in touch with my solicitor, let’s just divorce as quickly and cleanly as we can so we can move on.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Sorry. There’s nothing I can do about that. Let it go. You’ll be happier without me, you really will.”
“No, I won’t.” Sam felt like a child, powerless in the face of a diktat from a parent, something non-negotiable and world-breaking and utterly out of his control.
“I have to go or I’ll be late. Get some help, Sam, talk to a counsellor or something, but don’t try and suck me into this car crash.”
“I’m not your problem anymore, is that it?”
“More that I don’t want to be yours anymore. My solicitor will be in touch.”
She walked off, leaving him standing on a London pavement with people tutting as they had to walk around him. He watched her, not knowing whether to run after her or stop believing all this stuff anyway. Filtered through her it did sound stupid. But he still believed it and he still wanted to protect her, even though she’d made it clear there was nothing she felt for him other than irritation and pity. If he pursued her, she’d get angry again and it wouldn’t achieve anything. He could feel a surge of panic and impotence threatening to make him do something stupid like throw her over his shoulder or burst into tears. Neither was acceptable. He rubbed his eyes as he lost sight of her and decided the only sensible thing to do was go and get pissed.
