She’d gone up to her room, to see it one more time.
Just past dawn, Dot appeared at her door.
“I’ve been down to call a hack for you, Miss Wylde. And wouldn’t you know it, there was one waiting practically right outside already!”
And down they went.
“Mr. Malloy!” For that’s who her hack driver indeed was. “Oh, my goodness. I’m delighted to see you. And you’ll be delighted to know my straits have improved considerably since last we met! Fate must have brought us together again.”
“Oh, aye, fate’s what did it, not commerce,” Mr. Malloy said dryly. “Still the one trunk, Miss Wylde?”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll take the valise inside with me.”
Because she did now have a valise, and it was stuffed full of parting gifts.
While Mr. Malloy applied himself to loading her trunk onto the hack, she turned back to the little crowd touchingly gathered in front of The Grand Palace on the Thames to wave her off.
“We shall miss you! Come and stay again please, when you’re famous for different reasons!” Dot called.
“Or even if you’re never famous at all!” added Mr. Delacorte, as she was helped into the hack.
“. . . as ifthat’sa possibility!” she called out the window, all bravado to the last. To make them laugh, because smiles and laughter were balm.
“You don’t have to be famous to have worth,” Mrs. Pariseau called cheerfully.
“You’re famous to all of us for being a delight,” the diplomatic Mrs. Hardy said firmly.
Mariana blew them a kiss. She waved a handkerchief initialed with TGPOTT. She would keep it her entire life, no matter where life shuttlecocked her next.
She had wondered. But she did not, in her heart of hearts, think he would be there, among the crowd. She was glad, truly glad, he was with his son. She thought he would eventually find some peace and solace there.
And she couldn’t imagine him waving a handkerchief.
Too close to the white flag of surrender.
Through the carriage window, she saw the little crowd before the little boardinghouse laughing and dabbing their eyes, and with an ache in her chest, she watched the building for as long as it remained in sight.
Which was a long time, since it was the cleanest and shiniest building for miles.
She’d plenty to keep her occupied on her journey to Dover. She’d been made a gift of the newest book by the author ofThe Ghost in the Attic. It was calledThe Ghost in the Scullery, which Dot had promised her was just as thrilling. They’d begun reading it two nights ago in the sitting room, andDot had read a little bit ahead without telling anyone, and suffered great secret guilt over this.
Delilah and Angelique had given her an embroidery hoop and some pretty silk thread, so she could make a pillow to add to the collection at The Grand Palace on the Thames. She would send it back to them from Paris. Perhaps she would embroider a mermaid on it.
She could practice her Italian by reading, again, the libretto ofThe Queen of the Deep. She could look out the window at the road she had last traveled when she had gone with her family to the seaside so many years ago and marvel at the change of scene. In short, there was enough to occupy her every moment so that not one fleeting thought about James could sneak through.
She fell asleep instead.
A sleep so sudden, black, and total that when she awoke with a start, she had no idea how long she’d been asleep, or even where she was. She knew her cheek was warm when she awoke.
She turned her head sleepily toward the window.
She sat bolt upright. There were no buildings of any sort in sight. Everywhere, everywhere, were rolling green hills. Confined by low wooden fences.
She closed her eyes and opened them again, in case she was dreaming.
The view remained unchanged.
She spent a moment or two merely gawking.
