It was my own bad fortune that Maggie was already here in the room when I returned. I could tell by her expression that she knew. I saw her displeasure. Her disapproval.
As the week wore on, her countenance remained; a new dismissive air replacing her previous kindness.
Nick and I, thankfully, were unharmed. We worked easily side by side, and neither of us mentioned that night again.
I dutifully followed every instruction, leaving my foolish emotions well out of our conversations. But the feelings remained, and for me, at least, they were only growing stronger.
My body surged at every glance he gave me, every time our eyes met. I craved his closeness, the cruel rasping of his stubble against my skin. I wanted more. The forbidden deep kissing that stirred the place between my legs... I wanted it all, so badly.
I just couldn’t have it. Time moved on, and we worked past it, focusing on my development. I was able to attend my first funeral. Marcus, the groundskeeper, apparently pulled duty as a hearse driver, too. He wore a black suit and gloves, and a smart driving cap on his head. I wore a simple black dress with long sleeves, and sat beside Marcus on the way to the church. I bowed at the casket once the pallbearers placed it at the head of the hall, and returned to the very back to the sound of organ music. We handedout orders of service to the guests, and stood while the mourners spoke.
I watched as the speakers put a hand to the glossy surface of the casket, speaking kind and loving words about the elderly woman inside it; the woman I had helped to embalm. The woman I had washed, dressed, and decorated with her own make-up. The guests touched and felt the soft velvety white petals of the lilies I had laid above her. Pride swelled inside me to know that everything was just as it should be, and that I had done a good job.
Back in the mortuary, I told Nick about my first funeral while he worked on a new client. Nick lifted Mr Collins’ left leg by the ankle and was massaging it, encouraging the blood to flow out, when he first spoke about teaching me to drive.
“Driving?” I asked, aghast. I simply couldn’t imagine it. “Driving acarin the city?”
He chuckled. “It’s a requirement of your role, Grace – and frankly, it’s a practical life skill. You’re learning to drive. I’ll book you the lessons this afternoon. We’ll squeeze them in somehow.”
Nick was using that clipped, deep, yet reassuring tone that I so enjoyed. The tone of a loving father, ensuring that his child got what they needed, and not simply what they desired.
The object in my pocket hummed. It was so alien to me that I almost missed it. It was the phone Nick had bought for me. When I took it out, I saw there was a text from an unknown number – but the message made it clear that it was Dorian. He said he looked forward to Saturday afternoon and, if I was still up for it, he would pick me upat 1:30 p.m.
I could feel Nick’s eyes on me as I stared, frowning, at the rectangular object in my hand.
“It’s Dorian Gable, about Saturday,” I told him.
“You don’t need to announce your messages to me, Grace,” said Nick. I did detect a slight smirk in the corner of his mouth, as if he was actually glad that I’d told him. “Are you still looking forward to it?”
“I am,” I said, pocketing the phone as I assisted in massaging Mr Collins’ right leg. In truth I would be happier down here, in the cold , clean mortuary with Nick, than anywhere else in London or the whole world. When I was around him, I was home.
But he wanted me to go with Dorian, and make new friends, and so I would. For him.
Saturday came.
I looked out of my terrace window and observed the chalky grey clouds gathering, hanging over Crowthorne House like a bad omen. I put it out of my mind as I dressed and combed my hair, pinning it behind my head in a round coil. I wore the short white cocktail dress I’d purchased on my shopping trip, and a pair of tall heels that required practice to walk in. I’d made use of the hard wood flooring in the library, walking up and down, up and down, until I knew I wouldn’t humiliate myself. All the while I glanced nervously at the window, expecting to see that face again, but it never appeared.
As I looked down at my manicured feet in their new shoes, I realised just how fast I was changing; how far removed I already was from the girl who fled Heather House. The girl who wore rubber boots and raincoatsand slept in a bed piled high with musty old blankets, threadbare and eaten by moths.
Yet deep inside, I was still the same Grace; still the same girl who looked unflinchingly at death. Even as I stood before the tall ornate mirror and observed my gradually-changing image, I detected, in the distance, the steady knock of the woodpecker.
A text appeared on my phone from Dorian.Nearly with you.
I took a deep breath and decided to take the mahogany staircase down, using it for practice before the event. I took the steps slowly and as gracefully as I could, holding a tentative hand on the polished bannister without leaning or looking too strained.
I can do this, I told myself.Like the dead, I will appear normal to the naked eye. I will hide the rot inside behind this facade. For a short time, I will fool people that I am normal.
Nicholas was pacing the ground floor hallway, his shoes making a soft noise against the chequerboard tile. He seemed deep in thought, stroking his jaw with a knitted brow, his eyes far away. When I paused on the stairs, he looked up, startled, as if just noticing me there. I enjoyed the thrill in my belly, the little flip of joy as he looked at me. He looked as if he’d spotted a Kingfisher among the reeds, its golds and blues making him speechless, as if he’d waited such a long time to see one.
“Grace,” he said breathlessly. His eyes roamed my entire form, from my face, to my figure, to my long legs.
He was dressed in a shirt and trousers with no tie, looking dapper yet casual. I wished he could come with me, that people could see me on his arm.
“I was thinking...perhaps you could take me. Perhaps we could go together, the two of us,” I said hopefully.
I avoided using the phraseas acouple. I knew he wouldn’t like that, even if I did. Even if I fantasised about it far too much.
He smiled gently, pocketing his hands as he took the few steps to meet me.
