And then she spun on her heel and fled back out into the house proper.
Part IV
Rote, Rehearsal, and Repetition
Chapter Fourteen
It seemed toHattie that things did not accelerate with proper urgency at Starling’s Rest until they had crested the halfway mark between the reading of Willa’s final wishes and their culmination. Though, of course, she had been frantic about it all since the very first.
In a sudden tide of activity, there was abruptly an absence of bodies within the Rest itself, with Rhys at his pavilion and Libba at her theater. Monica had taken her seamstresses and fabrics to her workshop while Ruby had opted to set up a small laboratory in Errol’s greenhouse for the time being, insisting that she could not be bothered to go into town whilst preparing for something so imminent.
Even Mr. Harcourt had begun to appear again with startling regularity, often in conference with Malcolm about the termination of his contract at the bank in London and the commencement of his quarter share at Stockton & Holloway, which Hattie supposed must now become Stockton, Holloway, & Lennox, if things were equitable.
Apparently, Mr. Stockton was agreeable to this, but Mr. Holloway and son had reservations about putting a Black man on the awning.
Hattie was not concerned. Mr. Harcourt would set them straight.
She did wonder if Malcolm intended to take Jasper Townsend from his clerk’s post at the East India Company and elevate him at this new post. She had not asked because she was uncertain if such a question would be uncouth.
She liked Jasper and would hate to offend him so shortly after resuming his acquaintance.
Then, of course, there was Elias.
He had also been much away as their wedding and the funeral drew closer.
“Do you want to hear the banns read?” he had asked her last night. “We only have one more Sunday to go.”
She had declined, anxiety spiking in her chest at the thought that such a thing was being announced, week after week, just a few blocks down toward the sea.
She thought about it now, every time the church bells rang.
The master suite was almost ready. She was to move into it first. She had chosen drapery and linens, a new rug, and, naturally, a completely different standing wardrobe, which had never, insofar as she could be apprised, been host to any winged nesting.
The bats did not end in that first discovered cache, as it happened, and Errol had gone with his father to investigate the walls and route them back out into their natural habitat: which was to say, not the house.
Never the house.
After which, Errol, Mr. Cagney, Hattie, Elias, and all four of the maids had been forced to undergo a fully violating examination by Brighton’s best surgeon in search of any tiny bite or puncture marks on their person, lest the bats have transferred to them the ultimate death sentence of rabidity.
“If you find it,” Hattie had pointed out, “there is nothing to be done but experience woe. And then perish.”
“Not so,” Rhys had said from his observational perch in the corner. “The surgeon can muzzle you so you don’t come after us before the perishing.”
“I still shall,” Hattie had replied with a sniff. “And I am faster than you.”
“On foot, perhaps,” Rhys had said ominously.
Luckily, no one had been marked for a horrible death, and all were cleared to resume their normal activities.
How bats had found their way into the upper floors with all the windows sealed remained a mystery, and Hattie was not certain she cared to ever solve it. She had no space in her mind opposite all the other things currently in residence, which did not exclusively refer to one Elias Selwyn, thank you very much.
It also extended to matters like what to do with that portrait of Willa’s childhood family. And the discovery that in addition to half a dozen new costumes and who knew what else, that Monica Thresher had taken it upon herself to make Hattie a wedding dress.
“Ruby gave me the idea,” she had said excitedly as she’d pulled the first assembly of the thing over Hattie’s head for tailoring. “Flame colors, she said, and she was right! You are a flame. So I thought orange and gold for the dress itself and the piping will be blue and red. It will look spectacular!”
“Are you making a matching suit for Elias?” Hattie had asked, still dizzy from the costume fitting for the showcase, her gown fit for a king.
At which point, Monica had laughed for some time. “Of course not,” she said. “No one looks at the groom.”
