“Ah, but these bones do ache, my dear,” Miss Darlington admitted in a whisper. “And that doctor stitched me up as if I was a roast ham. How can a wound breathe fresh clean air if it is sewn shut? Should I die overnight, the house is yours, as are the emeralds I have hidden beneath my bed. Make sure Pleasance doesn’t read too many horror tales.”
Cecilia swallowed a rush of sentimentality. “You’ll be fine, Aunty. Death wouldn’t dare approach you without your advance permission.”
Miss Darlington snorted, but in fact she had been angling the conversation toward a different point. “So he really is gone?”
“I’m afraid so,” Cecilia murmured.
“Ah. At least now, after all these long years, I may grieve his loss fully. Although it will be difficult to do so without a lock of his hair or a photograph of him sitting dead in a chair, holding a book and with a pipe between his lifeless lips. The scar he has given me will have to suffice. Here we are at home, thank goodness. Why is there water and blood on my foyer floor? I can verily see the germs swimming in it! Egads, we shall all perish from diphtheria. Now, close the door, Cecilia—let us have some peace.”
22
tranquility—a rousing game of football—the queen of bohemia’s smelling salts—a shining wigwam—invasions—the misses fairweather receive justice appropriate for their crimes—a visitation—kindred spirits
It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the one most equipped with helpful servants and unmarried nieces willing to do their bidding. Miss Darlington was within the half hour in a fine state of well-being, despite her several wounds and the inconvenience of age in her aforementioned bones.
One might not be immediately cognizant of this, however, due to her moans and sighs. Cecilia and Pleasance were expert at translating that sublanguage—although they still fussed over the lady, out of training and love. Shawls were procured, a footstool moved into place, handkerchiefs fetched from a table comfortably within Miss Darlington’s reach. All the ladies washed in warm perfumed water, then dressed in fresh clothes. Outside, the cacophony of voices went on, but within the Lilac Drawing Room of Darlington House, tranquility reigned.
“A splash of sherry in the tea,” Miss Darlington whispered achingly to Pleasance. “Just to sweeten the pot.”
Pleasance dripped sherry from Countess Brabinger’s crystal decanter into Lady Askew’s teapot. An explosion from Northangerland Abbey shook the house.
“That’s not a splash; that’s a speck,” Miss Darlington said. “Add more, if you please.”
Pleasance continued to pour until Miss Darlington deemed the amount splashish—about half a cup.
“Cecilia dear, will you read aloud to fill the silence?” Miss Darlington asked.
As gunfire scattered in celebration and soldiers began singing, Cecilia took up the volume ofHiawatha. Memory stirred in her heart. She saw again a wickedly endearing smile, a lock of hair falling over a bright eye, a brochure about auks. She remembered the feeling of his fingers sliding up her thigh and—
“That is an awful lot of throat clearing you are doing,” Miss Darlington observed.
“Forgive me, Aunty. Don’t worry, I’m quite well.”
“You are on the brink of laryngitis! Pleasance, fetch Miss Bassingthwaite some lemonade.”
“Yes, miss,” Pleasance said. She began to cross the room but stumbled as the backwash from a rising house shook theirs.
“Someone is leaving?” Miss Darlington said with surprise. “Olivia will be displeased if she doesn’t have even numbers for her party table.”
Cecilia leaned aside to look out the window. “No, it appears some people are playing football,” she said.
“And how would that create”—Miss Darlington paused as the house trembled again—“a backwash?”
“They are playing with houses.”
Miss Darlington pursed her lips in disapproval of such youthful high spirits. “Football is not a suitable pursuit for ladies. But this is asign of the times, alas. I fear as the new century looms we will lose the dignified feminine habit of gentleness.”
“Perhaps,” Cecilia replied. “Oh dear, you have dropped the Queen of Bohemia’s bottle of smelling salts for which you kneecapped two guards and seduced another before pushing him out the window. Shall I pick it up for you?”
“No, don’t bother. Useless thing. It is far too small for its purpose. Read to me, dear. Soothe my troubled mind.”
Cecilia turned toThe Song of Hiawatha. She had just found her place beneath the level moon when a fervent knocking came upon the front door.
Pleasance entered to inform them of a caller in much the same way a doctor informs a Romantic poet of their tuberculosis.
“Ignore it,” Miss Darlington murmured from her cozy state.
“Ignore it?” Pleasance’s mouth fell open. For her, an unanswered knock was equivalent to having to put down a book three pages before the ending. She threw Cecilia a pleading look.
