That was enough.
*
Just as thecarriage jolted over the stones of Harley Street, Maisie glanced at the boy opposite her. John sat very straight for his age, though the swing of his small boots against the floor betrayed him. Deena’s soft humming drifted up, threading through the clatter of hooves.
John tipped his head, studying her with mild suspicion. “What is that tune you’re always humming?”
Deena only shrugged, her gaze fixed on the window. “Just a song Father used to sing to me at bedtime.”
Maisie looked up from the gloves in her lap. Her voice softened before she could stop it. “Not only bedtime, Deena. He sang it with Mother for you, too, when you were too little to remember.”
The carriage seemed to quiet around them, as though even the horses slowed to listen. Maisie’s throat tightened—she hadn’t meant to let it slip, hadn’t meant to open that door. The memory of those voices—her parents, twined together—rose inside her, both balm and blade. She forced her gaze back to her gloves, steadying her hands for Deena’s sake.
Deena’s reflection blurred in the glass. Her lips pressed together, as though holding the tune inside. Maisie longed to reach over, smooth her sister’s hair the way their mother once had. Instead, she allowed the silence to linger, anchoring them to shared memories of the dear past.
When the wheels slowed to a halt, Maisie lifted her chin. She smoothed the blue wool of her pelisse across her lap, armor for theday ahead. Deena’s humming had returned, quieter now, the old Viennese lullaby rising and falling without words. Maisie closed her eyes briefly, letting the sound settle around them like candlelight. The ache in her heart sharpened, but she didn’t want to worry her sister and gave a warm smile. Children carried the past forward—not as chains, but as echoes. That was why she must keep them safe.
John shifted, peering out at the house before them. His careful posture melted a little, replaced by the plain worry of a boy about to sit in a dentist’s chair.
“Will it hurt terribly?” His voice was small, but steady.
Maisie leaned forward, her tone calm, warm. “Dentists trusted by the Crown Jeweler are the best in London. Whatever you feel, it will pass quickly. If we leave it, though, the pain will grow worse—especially once you’re at Eton and won’t have me to give you cloves.”
He considered this like an adult weighing testimony, his brow furrowed. After a moment, he gave a small, solemn nod. “If you think so.”
“I know so.” Maisie reached across, touching his wrist lightly. “Our father was a dentist. He treated your father for many years. You’ll be well looked after., Rachel promised this one’s the best.”
The boy blinked, surprise softening the edge of his fear. “I didn’t know my father was your father’s patient, I thought he was only his friend.”
Maisie held his gaze, her hand warm over his. “Now you do.” She gave a wistful smile. “You weren’t there. You were always in England.” Maisie took a careful breath, hoping she hadn’t unsettled him. She’d seen many children freeze in fear at the sight of the chair. “And your father was always grateful for the gold that kept his teeth from hurting.”
“It will look like I ate a girl’s necklace.” He grimaced. “It will show when I laugh. What will the other boys at Eton say?”
“That you’re precious. Not everyone can afford proper goldfillings. It shows you come from refined stock and shouldn’t be trifled with.”
“I shall command respect then?”
“As marquess, you’ll know just what to say—if you listen to your heart.” She reached out, steadying the fall of his cravat with a sisterly care that faltered at the edges of something deeper. She was not his mother; she could never be. And yet here she was, filling a silence that should have been hers to speak into. “You are braver than you think, John. Whatever they see in your mouth, let it stand as proof of courage—of facing what’s imperfect, and making it your strength.”
“How am I doing it?”
“You’re taking something that causes you pain and making it strong again.” Maisie gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“You make it sound like the dentist will build a dam in his mouth,” Deena said.
I hope not.
“How do you know this dentist is as good as your father was?” the boy asked again. “Are you not coming inside to meet him?”
Maisie glanced out the window at the elegant row of buildings. The door had a fanlight; the brick facade was stately and symmetrical, with wrought iron railings and high windows. Just as Rachel had described—a hub of refined expertise.I need to find my Faivish. He’s somewhere in the world…
“You don’t need me. The doctors here have a Royal Warrant. There’s no one better in England.” Maisie glanced again at the polished brass plate by the door—her pulse stuttered. Something about the serif of the lettering, the precise spacing, the faint lavender wafting from within… A memory stirred. A trick of hope, perhaps. She looked away quickly lest her vulnerable heart let the tears come again in front of the children. Not this time.
John seemed more settled. When Deena slipped from the coach to guide him inside, he turned back. “So you’re truly not coming with us?” he asked, his small hand on the doorframe.
Maisie shook her head with a regretful but firm smile. “Not today. I have another matter—one that cannot wait. You’ll be in the best hands with Deena. She can speak on my behalf.”
At the step, Deena turned, her bonnet shadowing little of her face. For a fleeting moment, Maisie caught her breath. Deena looked so composed, so English, her gown fitted to perfection and her bearing already that of a young lady. It was hard to reconcile this careful companion with the child who once ran wild through the Vienna streets with baskets of apples and berries, hair streaming loose. A pang of loss tugged at her, bittersweet and sudden. “I hope you find him,” Deena said softly, her voice steady with more understanding than her years should hold.
