Knightsbridge was two miles away: a walkable distance if Emmy had not already covered five miles that day and had more time.
She made for the Tube station, drawing no more stares from passersby. Having Julia in tow had made them noticeable. Now that she was traveling alone, she knew she didn’t look like a child. And she didn’t feel like a child. She wasn’t about a child’s business.
Twenty minutes later Emmy was at Knightsbridge station, with plenty of time to find Cadogen Square. She consulted the wall map posted underground and saw that the street she was looking for was only a half mile away. Emmy emerged from the station on Brompton Road and walked to Pavilion, passing walls of sandbags and signs for shelters. Above her the barrage balloons, hovering soundless, threw weird shadows onto the sidewalk.
Knightsbridge was a well-to-do area very much like Mayfair, where Mum went to work every day. Emmy didn’t know how well-off Mrs. Crofton was: She had never mentioned to Emmy where she lived, but Mrs. Crofton’s cousin apparently had money—or had married into wealth. As Emmy approached Cadogen, theresidences became more and more elegant and stately. She found Mr. Dabney’s home, a Georgian town house flanked on either side by half a dozen matching, three-story, wedding white homes. Each was flawlessly kept with window boxes of flowers and ferns, and ocean blue front doors that glistened in the late-afternoon sun.
She had five minutes to spare, but she didn’t have the patience to stand outside and wait. Surely the Dabneys and Mrs. Crofton would find her punctuality an asset. Emmy could not stop her hand from shaking as she pressed the bell.
The door was opened by a uniformed maid not much older than Emmy.
“I’ve an appointment with Mr. Dabney. My name’s Emmeline Downtree.” Emmy’s voice squeaked as she spoke her name.
The maid swung the door wide. “Please. Won’t you come in?”
Emmy followed her into a tiled entry. A golden chandelier hung from a tall ceiling. Potted ferns flanked a tall wardrobe, one of only two pieces of furniture in the foyer. A round, marble-topped table in the center of the room was the other. A vase of silver-pink roses adorned it.
“May I take your... jacket?” The maid cocked her head and held out her hand. It was a nice day outside. No one was wearing or carrying a jacket.
Emmy handed it to her as her cheeks warmed.
“And your bag?”
Emmy’s hand instinctively felt for the padded corners of the brides box inside her satchel. “I’ll keep this with me, thank you.”
She nodded. “Right this way, miss.”
Emmy was shown to a sitting room that wasn’t agreat deal bigger than Mum’s, but the furnishings could not have been more different. Chintz-covered sofas were arranged in the center of the room on top of a thick rug in shades of mauve and russet. A marble fireplace graced one wall, a tea cart another, and an escritoire the last. Paintings of parks, woods, and rose gardens decorated the walls. French fashion magazines from before Paris fell were fanned out on the coffee table. Emmy had never been in such a pretty room before, except on school field trips to royal residences and museums.
“If you’d like to have a seat?” The maid motioned to the tableau of sofas and Emmy sat down, grateful to be off her trembling legs.
The maid left the room and Emmy took several long breaths to quiet her nerves, reminding herself that she had been asked to come to this elegant room. She wasinvitedhere.
Emmy reached into her satchel to remove the brides box from the shawl she had wrapped it in so that she would be ready to show Mr. Dabney the sketches. She pulled the bundle onto her lap and unfolded the layers of cloth.
The careful work she had done to calm her anxious heart disintegrated in a blinding instant.
Inside the shawl was Julia’s book of fairy tales.
Seventeen
FORseveral seconds Emmy could do nothing but stare at the book. Then she closed her eyes, willing the brides box to be on her lap when she opened them, because surely, surely, what was inside the shawl was not Julia’s book.
It couldn’t be.
Couldn’t be!
Emmy opened her eyes slowly and the book’s honey-gold cover met her gaze.
Julia.
Julia!
How could she have done such a thing? She knew there hadn’t been room for her book in the satchel. She knew how important this day was to Emmy. She knew Emmy was meeting with someone who wanted to see the brides box. She knew—
And then clarity slammed into Emmy. Of courseJulia knew. That was why her behavior was so odd while she ate her lunch. She knew Emmy wouldn’t be showing anyone her brides today. Emmy had said the day before that she had only this one chance with the brides. Julia had deduced that if this chance was eliminated, she would never have to worry about the brides box parting them. Ever. She knew Emmy would arrive at this meeting, thinking she had her brides, and would discover that she didn’t. Emmy would have to leave the meeting. No brides, no meeting.
No meeting, no parting.
