A Portrait of Loyalty

by Roseanna M. White

  Ivy laughed. “Why bother, when you can just supply my need? Besides, it’s cozy.”

  “Until you have to walk home in the rain without it later.”

  Her sister sent her a mischievous smirk. “Clarke is walking me home this evening. So if it happens to still be raining and I happen to not have my own umbrella and must share his . . .”

  “Ah. So this was planned irresponsibility. I see.” Lily gave up and chuckled as they neared Ivy’s school. “Are the girls getting antsy yet, ready for their summer holiday? I remember this last term taking forever to finish.”

  “They’re little monsters.” Though still Ivy smiled as she said it. “This last month is always impossible. And Diana Oglesby has been especially disruptive this week because her brother is coming home to recover—trench fever, she tells me. And everyone else in the class. Repeatedly.”

  “Luckily, their teacher is in the best of moods, thanks to a certain someone.”

  Ivy grinned, though it only lasted a second. She sent Lily a woebegone look and said, “I miss having you and Mr. Marin out with us. It’s been a month—do you think Daddy will relent soon? I mean, I know he’s allowed him to come to dinner, but it just isn’t the same as the four of us out for a promenade in the park.”

  Lily sighed. “I’ve been prodding him. But I’m afraid to push too hard, lest he rescind what he’s granted.”

  She’d been plotting exactly how far she could make that “dinners are acceptable” dictate stretch, though. This Saturday marked the day Zivon should have been celebrating his wedding to Alyona, and Lily meant to support him through it. Distract him from it. And, yes, see if any emotion peeked out about it. Mama and Daddy would be dining elsewhere that evening, so she couldn’t just beg for him to be invited to their table. There had to be something she could do, though.

  Ivy sighed too and adjusted her hat. “I think it may be time for some well-placed rebellion.”

  “Ivy.”

  “What?” Her sister shot her a look that was somehow both all innocence and all mischief. “You’re a grown woman. And Daddy’s letting fear govern him. Wouldn’t we be honoring him more if we checked him in that than if we let it govern us too?”

  Before Lily could do more than open her mouth to reply, Ivy jumped out into the rain and ran through the school’s gates, up the steps, and into the shelter of the door.

  Lily could only shake her head and keep walking toward the hospital. She couldn’t imagine actually bucking her father’s orders, regularly and with planning. She still lived in his house. She would obey his rules.

  But then again, she also couldn’t imagine going on like this much longer.

  A few minutes later, she shook the water off her brolly and pulled open the door to the hospital. She stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the quiet that reminded her of how loud the rain had been.

  “Oh good, you’re here.”

  Lily looked up and frowned at the white-faced specter moving toward her. Arabelle, obviously, as no other nurse here was so tall. But . . . “Why are you wearing a mask?”

  Ara held out another one toward Lily. “You know how I said we had a train full of troops coming in last night, a few of whom had three-day fever? Well, it seems to be rather contagious. The three on the train has turned into seven. We’re shorthanded as it is, so let’s be cautious, shall we? I’ve quarantined them as best I can. We don’t need the whole ward vomiting and delirious.”

  Lily’s brows pulled down as she took the mask from her friend’s outstretched fingers. “Is it as bad as all that?”

  Ara shrugged. “It could well be that the other four had already contracted it before they were in close quarters on the train. Or that the train itself acted as an incubator—we’ve certainly seen that before. But regardless, no one else wants it. So wear the mask, and do take care to wash your hands regularly, especially after contact with any of the newcomers.”

  “Yes, nurse.” She smiled and then covered it with the cloth.

  Arabelle glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “I think you’re the last of the morning VADs. But if you notice anyone else come in, direct them to me for a mask. Otherwise, the breakfast trays are ready.”

  Lily nodded and followed her friend up to the fourth-floor ward. She was soon delivering porridge and tea to the men, handing it off to those who could manage it on their own and settling on a chair to assist one in need of help. It was odd to smile at him from behind a mask, but aside from a few jests, none of them seemed to mind. No doubt because Arabelle was right that no one else wanted to catch three-day fever. They had problems enough.

  When the breakfast shift was over, though, Lily was assigned to folding sheets, blankets, and towels fresh from the laundry, which meant her mind was free to wander straight back to where her thoughts had been when she came into the hospital. Where they wandered most of the time, if she was being honest.

  At least today she had some actual problems to solve in regards to Zivon. She knew he’d be working a half day on Saturday, as usual. But what could she offer as distraction during the afternoon that Daddy wouldn’t object to?

  Maybe . . . maybe something with a group. He didn’t seem to mind those sorts of activities so much. It was a bit short notice to gather many guests, but she could see who wasn’t busy. If she got Mama on board, they might be able to get approval for a garden party—or a tea party, if the weather didn’t cooperate. She would invite Ara and Cam, and Clarke, of course, some other colleagues from OB40. She’d even see if Brook was available. And perhaps some of the Russians Zivon had mentioned meeting at church—the Suvorovs, the Smirnovs. Surely Zivon would like that.

  It wasn’t a bad idea. Though the fact that Mama was the linchpin made her nervous. It was true that she’d championed Zivon . . . but Lily was fairly certain that was mostly to irritate Daddy.

  She put the last folded sheet in the basket and glanced at her watch. An hour left in her shift here. She’d ask if she could borrow the telephone in Arabelle’s office and ring up Mama. Maybe it would be easier to carry on an actual conversation with her over the telephone.

  It couldn’t possibly go worse than every other attempt she’d made. It seemed every time she found Mama alone and opened her mouth, prepared to bare her heart and say how much she missed their friendship, her mother would leave the room before she had a chance, or speak first about something so impersonal that Lily didn’t know how to build the bridge to what she really wanted to say.

  She hurried up the stairs, repositioning the mask that she’d taken off while in the steamy laundry facilities, and deposited the fresh sheets in the closet. Then she turned toward her friend’s office.

  Arabelle was coming out of it. “I was just going to come looking for you, Lily. Would you run a note to Cam for me when you go to the OB? I’m afraid I can’t get away for lunch with him today.”

  “Of course.” Though she frowned at the thought of her friend taking no time away from the ward. No doubt she’d be missing that chance for a respite by the end of her shift.

  “Perfect. I’ve left it on my desk. Just run in and grab it before you leave.”

  “I will. And I was actually going to ask if I could borrow your telephone to ring my mother. It’ll only take a moment.”

  “Of course. You know I—”

  “Nurse Denler!” Another volunteer came careening from a ward. Her mask was a bit askew, her hair escaping her kerchief in frazzled strands. “One of the men with the fever—you’d better come. He’s turning blue, and I don’t know what to do!”

  Murmuring a prayer through her mask, Arabelle took off every bit as quickly as the aide. Lily nearly followed, but she had no more idea what to do than the other VAD. The man needed Arabelle, a trained nurse, not her.

  She could pray, though, and she did as she slipped into the office. For wisdom for Ara and whatever doctor she’d likely call. For healing for the soldier. For calm in the ward.

  The small envelope sat on the corner of the over
crowded desk, Camden scrawled hastily on the front. Lily picked it up and slipped it into her pocket, then turned toward the candlestick phone that had its own stand in the corner of the office. After drawing in a fortifying breath that did little to make her feel stronger, she asked the operator to connect her to Mayfair-1003.

  “Hello?”

  Her mother’s voice sounded . . . normal. Bright. Cheerful. Not the voice Lily had been hearing from her lately. Without warning, tears clogged her throat. How could she miss her so much, when they were still together every day?

  “Hello?”

  She cleared her throat. “Mama. It’s Lily. I had a question for you.”

  A pulse of silence. “What is it?” And just like that, the sunshine had been eclipsed by clouds in her voice.

  Lily’s eyes slid shut. “I need your help. This Saturday marks the day Mr. Marin should have been marrying his fiancée in Russia. I have to think he’ll be eaten up all day by guilt and sorrow.”

  “Oh. The poor man. I hadn’t realized the date was so quickly upon us.” Mama sounded sincere in her sympathy. “We ought to do something kind for him.”

  At least they could still agree on something. “That’s just what I’ve been thinking, and I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with something Daddy won’t object to. Do you think he would approve an afternoon garden party? Or tea party?”

  Her mother made a scoffing sound, and it sounded like hope to Lily. “Let him try and stop us. If you can create a guest list during your lunch break, I’ll call at the OB and pick it up and have the invitations out before your father even gets home this evening. Be sure and put someone important on it so he won’t want to risk offending them by canceling.”

  Perhaps her smile was a little sad, that they were resorting to clever manipulations rather than just enjoying the harmony they’d always had before. But it was a smile nonetheless. “I was thinking I’d invite Brook. Is a duchess important enough?”

  Mama laughed. “That’ll do. I’ll go and discuss menu possibilities now with Cook. One o’clock at the front entrance of the OB, if you would.”

  Lily promised. “Thank you, Mama,” she then said quietly into the receiver.

  Was it her imagination, or was the silence a little lighter this time? “He’s a good man. He deserves better than what he got—and what he’s getting. Not to mention that any man who looks at you as he does is clearly sensible.”

  Warmth swelled up like a flood. “I’ll see you at one.”

  She rang off and slipped out of the office, hurrying forward when she spotted Ara coming out of the ward. “How is the patient?”

  Even with most of her face invisible behind the mask, the horror was plain to see in Arabelle’s hazel eyes. “He’s . . . dead.”

  “What?”

  Ara shook her head. “I’ve never seen the like. He wasn’t even one of the first to fall ill. He only began complaining of nausea this morning, but he—he suffocated. His chest was clear earlier, but it just filled. . . .”

  Lily’s stomach twisted. She reached to grip her friend’s hand. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. There was nothing anyone could do.” Closing her eyes, Arabelle drew in a sharp breath. “Let’s call your shift over, shall we? Go ahead to the OB and deliver that note to Cam for me. I’ll feel better when I know he and Margot and the others are praying.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Very. Go.” After giving her fingers a squeeze, Ara pulled her hand free and gave Lily a little nudge.

  It felt a bit like abandoning ship, but if that’s what Arabelle most needed, she would get the note to Major Camden with all speed. It took her only a few minutes to leave her mask in the laundry, pull her brolly from the rack, and hurry to the Old Building. After depositing her bag in the darkroom, she climbed the stairs up to the codebreakers’ lair.

  It felt strange to aim not for Hall’s office but for the corridor that housed the cryptographers themselves. And she had no idea which room Major Camden called home, so she had to peek into several before she spotted his telltale olive green uniform.

  A vaguely familiar secretary smiled up at her. “Hello, Miss Blackwell. May I help you?”

  “I have a note for Major Camden from his fiancée.”

  The major looked up with a frown, rising from his chair before the secretary could answer. “From Ara? Is everything all right?”

  She held out the note as he approached to take it from her. “There’s a nasty fever going around the ward. She said she wouldn’t be able to make your lunch date.”

  His frown didn’t lessen any. “So she intends not to eat?”

  Lily shrugged. “Let us pray things relax a bit and she can steal a few minutes away. But it’s a bit frantic there right now. A man just died. She and the matron have everyone wearing masks.”

  Camden’s face went darker still. “It’s that contagious?”

  “I’m sure they’re just being cautious.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  “Lily?”

  She spun, smiling despite the grim news when she saw Zivon emerging from the room across the hall, a piece of paper in his hands that he held out to Camden. The major took it without a word; he must have been waiting for it. “Good morning,” she said to Zivon.

  “You are here early.”

  She explained again, quickly, ending by saying, “But I had better get down to my desk. Mama will be coming by at one to get a list from me.”

  As she’d hoped it would do, that brought Zivon’s brows up. “I will walk with you. And this is good news, yes? You and your mother are working together on something?”

  “On a little garden party for this Saturday. You’ll come, of course, won’t you?”

  He paused with his elbow extended for her. “Saturday?” His gaze searched hers. And a small, sad smile touched the corners of his mouth. “You remembered the date.”

  She tucked her hand into its place and gave his arm a squeeze. “Of course I did. And you shan’t pass it alone.”

  “You are too good to me.” They started down the corridor.

  “Nonsense. Besides, it gives Mama and me something to work on together.”

  “And this is a good thing indeed.” He covered her fingers with his opposite hand. “Of course I will come. To be honest, I will welcome the excuse to stay longer away from my flat.” Amusement saturated his words.

  “I think I’m missing some information.”

  He chuckled and pushed open the door at the end of the hallway. “I told you of the enthusiastic welcome I was given at the Orthodox church.”

  “You did, yes.” He’d seemed genuinely humbled by it. And she’d felt a bit of satisfaction in realizing that her words to him in the park had been what spurred him to make that connection.

  “I seem to have underestimated exactly how small and close a community the Russians in London are. All the mothers and grandmothers have descended upon me with borscht and blini—and endless talk of their eligible daughters and nieces and sisters.” He shook his head, but his eyes still sparkled.

  Lily may have exaggerated her frown, but she didn’t force it. “Should I be jealous?”

  “Would you be?” The sparkle only grew. “I have never had a woman jealous over me. This is an intriguing idea.”

  She gave in to a laugh, and they started down the stairs. “Well, I don’t know how fond you are of borscht or blini. What if I lose your heart to these girls whose mothers can cook Russian foods?”

  He grinned. “If I feel this is a danger, you have my word that I will deliver a few recipes to your cook. In the meantime, I would complain to my landlord about the matushkas always camped outside my door—if it weren’t his fault they were there to begin with. The Hamiltons seem to think it great fun that my community has just discovered me. They provide them all with tea and biscuits and sit about with them exchanging stories. Mrs. Hamilton has unearthed every book in her shop that even mentions Russia, and Mr. Hamilton has been reminisc
ing with them all about his time in that part of the world during the Crimean War.” He shook his head. “Poor Clarke had to run for cover yesterday evening when he walked home with me. The matushkas mistook him for another of us at first and all but had him engaged to Svetlana before he could open his mouth to prove himself an Englishman.”

  Lily nearly choked on another laugh. “Ivy would declare war on this Svetlana.”

  Zivon chuckled too. “I daresay Clarke would be fighting right by her side.”

  And what would all these matushkas think of her, she wondered? What would his mother have thought of her, if she were still alive? She had a feeling none of them would be terribly pleased that he was courting an English girl. And she knew so little of their culture. She didn’t even know what blini was. Borscht had beets, didn’t it? They had those in their vegetable garden. Perhaps she should talk to Cook about getting her hands on some recipes.

  “Lily?”

  “Hmm?” Clearly she’d missed something. They’d somehow arrived at her darkroom already, and he was looking down at her with a combination of amusement and concern.

  He turned to face her. Cupped her cheek in a warm palm. And leaned down to brush his lips against hers. “Thank you.”

  All those questions melted away. “For what?”

  “For finding me worthy of such loyalty. It was always Evgeni who made the girls frown like that over thought of others. I never imagined myself capable of inspiring someone to such feeling.”

  She could relate. It had always been Ivy to inspire the lads too. “You’re more than worthy. You’re the most remarkable man I’ve ever known.”

  He glanced at her door, and she could easily follow his thoughts this time. He was also a man with enemies. A man not quite trusted by their government. A man who wasn’t certain what his future held.

  He sighed. “A third photograph has arrived. Hall did not show it to me, but he mentioned it. I know they have kept you out of this too—I am not asking you to say anything about it. But if you would pray that the truth comes to light, I would be grateful.”