by Emma Newman
“Fuck,” he whispered. He couldn’t go to pieces now. Eagerboy wasn’t a figment of a crazed imagination. He needed to be trained up and his wife would soon be home with questions.
He noticed his mobile on the shelf next the phone, abandoned after their argument. It had half a pip of power left and the voicemail symbol was flashing. He called her mobile and to his relief it went straight to answerphone.
“Lee, sorry I didn’t call. Stuff came up at work for me too, and… well, I’m glad you’ll be home soon. Love you.”
He ended the call, looking at a photo of the two of them laughing hung on the wall next to him, wondering where that had been taken. Had they ever been like that? He couldn’t remember the last time they laughed together. He couldn’t remember the last time they did something other than the banal oiling of domestic life.
“You hungry, Gordon?” he called.
“Oh, yes, rather.”
“I’ll introduce you to pizza and beer,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of things to do first, OK?”
When he and the kitchen were cleaned up, pizza delivered and beers cracked open, Sam felt more ready to tackle Leanne when she arrived. In between bites of pepperoni, he fielded endless questions from Eagerboy, ranging from how they made the wireless send pictures as well as music (that was the television) and what the dipping-sauce tubs were made out of. There was effectively a whole time-travel-esque adventure happening for the guy sitting on his sofa, but Sam’s chief worry was what to tell work about being AWOL. He texted Dave to let him know he was still alive, and received a message back that he’d reported him sick to bail him out, thinking he was recovering from another bender. Sam smiled for the first time since he’d got home. At least someone was looking out for him.
Too tired to train Eagerboy in how to use a computer, he changed the channel for him and left him gawping at the latest Attenborough documentary. He was glad he only had an HD television; a 3D one could have given the guy an aneurysm.
As he was clearing the pizza boxes away, he heard Leanne’s key in the lock.
“Hello?”
“Lee.” He came and took two large bags from her and gave her a hug. She looked exhausted. “I’m sorry about Saturday.”
“OK,” she said, closing the front door. “I got your message – thanks. I was worried, you know.”
“Yeah… about that…”
“I have the most amazing news though,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “I’ve been given a promotion and we’re moving to London!”
“Eh?”
“We were at the party on Saturday and Marcus got a call from the Brussels office, all hell was breaking loose, and anyway, he asked if I would go and I said yes–”
“Like you always do,” Sam muttered but she didn’t hear him.
“–and before I knew it we were at Heathrow and I just haven’t stopped since.”
Sam tried to drive away the image of Marcus shagging his wife non-stop for two days in a distant hotel room.
She poured herself a glass of orange juice and gulped it down. “Planes always make me thirsty. So anyway, he was so impressed by how I handled it all he gave me the promotion on the spot. He’s starting a new department based out of the Canary Wharf HQ and he wants me to be a director! The salary is amazing. I’ll have a huge office and minions!”
“So… how long have you got before you need to accept or decline?”
She put the glass down. “What do you mean? I already accepted. I start next month. They’ll pay for our relocation and there are company-owned apartments that we can rent really cheaply. And not just any old crappy flats, they’re really swish, he showed me some pictures. This is it, Sam! We’re finally going to get the life we want!”
“We want?”
“Oh, crap, here we go. Can’t you just be pleased?”
“You didn’t think you should discuss it with me first?”
“We’ve always talked about moving to London.”
“Just talked about it. This is completely different.”
“How can I turn that kind of an offer down? We’ll live in–”
“Excuse me, but–” Eagerboy was at the doorway. Leanne yelped in fright.
“Leanne, this is Gordon. From work. I was about to tell you, he might be with us for a few days… see, this project has come up and needs extra hours so Gordon will be staying with us, OK?”
“Hello,” Leanne said to him uncertainly.
“Good evening,” he replied. “May I commend you upon a most impressive home.”
Leanne gave him the suspicious look Sam had been expecting.
“Is something wrong?” Sam asked.
“The gentleman speaking out of the televisual device has changed and started urging me to buy ‘car insurance’ but I have no car… I’m most confused.”
“Oh, OK, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Eagerboy went back to the living room. Leanne looked at Sam. “Where does he come from?”
“It’s a sad story actually. He grew up with his grandparents who were a bit weird, and they died and it turns out he’s this genius but he doesn’t know anything about the modern world.”
“And your boss sent this naïve genius home with you?”
Sam shrugged. “We’ve got a spare room and we’ll be pulling all-nighters.”
She closed her eyes and held her hands up. “You know what? I’m too tired to care. I need a bath and an early night.”
“What about this London business?”
“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” she said and yawned.
“Whatever.” She left him in the kitchen. He grabbed his machine and went to find Eagerboy. “Wanna see something cool?” He sat next to him and opened up the laptop. “This, my friend, is a computer. Before we get to work, let me introduce you to the internet, which is mostly funny pictures of cats with captions and every flavour of porn the human mind can invent. Which would you like to see first?” He didn’t mind which one Eagerboy chose; both were better than thinking about the state of his marriage.
Elizabeth pushed at the edge of Cathy’s ball gown with a groan. “Mama, this is absolutely unbearable! My dress is being crushed by Catherine’s monstrosity!”
“It’s not my fault,” Cathy said, reddening, trying to occupy as little of the carriage seat as possible.
“Elizabeth, stop fussing and be grateful that your sister finally took an interest in what she wears,” their mother said.
“Typical that she chose the most inconvenient, most unfashionable shape there is!”
“The Censor wore a crinoline not three days ago,” Mother said sharply. “And she made the most excellent point that, as the privileged, we should be able to pick and choose from amongst the best of the fashions. Crinolines may be less convenient, but they do give the impression of a tiny waist, and I think it’s wise of Catherine to choose a style that draws one’s eyes away from her face.”
Cathy shook her head at her mother. She couldn’t give a compliment without kicking the legs out from under it. She felt like a fool in the vast amount of burgundy satin, but it was the only way she could smuggle in the device the Sorcerer had given her to send a message. The tube was tied in a stocking and strapped to one leg, the capsule strapped to the other in its own stocking, using bandages she’d managed to trick the maid into giving her for a fake twisted ankle. The stockings gave the smooth surfaces enough grip to be held in place but she’d tied them so tight, for fear they would slide down whilst she was dancing, that she had pins and needles in her legs. She just hoped she could remember how to use them; the Arbiter’s hurried instruction had been given almost a week before.
Then she started to giggle. It was the nerves, and the simple absurdity of the situation; she was crammed into a carriage wearing a ridiculous gown with her hateful family, an illegal sorcerous artefact strapped underneath her hooped petticoat less than a metre away from her father.
“Stop that,” he said and she chewed the inside of her cheek to
drive away the urge.
“Papa, is it true that Lady Rose made the new Nether road to the Gallicas’ house?”
“Her patronage was involved,” he replied gruffly. Cathy had never seen her father in a good mood; it never coincided with her presence, but he was particularly sour this evening.
“And is it true that Horatio Gallica-Rosa will become a citizen of Aquae Sulis now?”
“That’s for the Council to debate, not girls to gossip about.”
“But it’s important! I have to know whether to worry about Imogen catching his eye.”
“The Albas are much more pleasant, if you must seek the attentions of a Rosa,” Mother said.
“Oh, yes, William Iris seems very taken with them,” Elizabeth said, aiming an acidic smile at Cathy. “Why, I’ve heard that he’s been seen with them every day this week.”
Cathy ignored her. She couldn’t care less about what William Iris had been doing and who he’d been doing it with. She wondered whether Sam had managed to talk his way out of the Sorcerer’s clutches yet. He seemed like a nice guy and he probably had a lovely wife. She imagined them going to the cinema together and sharing the popcorn like she and Josh used to. She forced herself to focus on the conversation in the carriage.
“I wouldn’t trust any of the Rosas,” she said, thinking about what Sam had seen.
“Have you heard something?” It was the first interest Elizabeth had shown in what Cathy had to say.
Cathy tried her best to give the kind of enigmatic smile that Elizabeth would use in this situation.
“Are you feeling unwell?” her mother asked and Cathy gave up.
“I thought you liked Nathaniel Iris anyway.”
“Of course I do, I just need to be strategic,” Elizabeth said with all seriousness.
“Do you even know what that means?” Cathy asked, but Elizabeth was no longer paying attention.
“A new road, just to travel to your house, fancy,” Elizabeth breathed, looking out of the carriage window like an excited toddler. “Papa, if he becomes a citizen and Imogen marries him, I’ll never forgive you.” She was ignored for a comment that would have earned Cathy a stern word. “We’re there!” Elizabeth clapped, then grasped Cathy’s hand. “Don’t you dare do anything embarrassing tonight. Especially with that dress on.”
“If I do, I’ll make sure it’s when you’re nearby,” she replied. “I’d better get out first, don’t you think?”
Elizabeth gasped. “Is that why you wanted to wear it?”
Cathy was unable to think of a reply disparaging enough for her needs.
The footman helped her out, her mother wrestling with the crinoline hoops from behind. She took a few tentative steps, trying to ascertain whether the tubing and capsule were still where she’d strapped them. All seemed as well as it could be.
Tom and Lucy came soon after. There was a seemingly endless stream of carriages arriving; it was more like the first ball of the season than the average private ball. But this was far from average, and everyone wanted a glimpse inside the house that was the talk of the city.
Lucy waved at Cathy, who returned it as Tom goggled at her dress and then was prodded gently by his wife to escort her in.
Cathy walked with Elizabeth, following their parents into the grand entrance hall. It was slow going as the people ahead kept stopping to comment on the extravagant rococo décor. Cathy would have been bored senseless if she hadn’t had a mission. When she thought about it that way she actually felt quite excited about the evening.
“Mr and Mrs Gallica-Rosa are here!” Elizabeth whispered. “I had no idea his parents were coming. I must get a closer look at his father.”
“Why?” Cathy asked, worrying that Elizabeth was going to steer her over to the people she least wanted to meet. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“I want to see whether they age well.”
“Oh, look, there’s Nathaniel,” Cathy pointed him out. “Is that Amelia Alba-Rosa he’s talking to?”
“No!” Elizabeth hissed and abandoned her as swiftly as Cathy had predicted. It was time to disappear into the crowds.
Blending in whilst wearing a burgundy crinoline was slightly more difficult than she’d predicted. She was turning heads, without tripping or saying something inappropriate, and she hated it. She avoided eye contact as best she could, hurrying towards one of the darker corners at the foot of the staircase, trying to fathom out the layout of the house.
The majority of the guests were gravitating to a large set of doors on the right, and when she craned her neck she could see a huge ballroom lit by startling numbers of sprites trapped in elaborate crystal chandeliers. That was the room Nathaniel had been heading towards, and most likely where William would be. He was the one she wanted to avoid the most. She was sick of the stilted greetings they had to endure every time they attended the same event, the bowing and hand-kissing and all the other subtle ways of reinforcing their positions in Society.
She imagined running up a few stairs, turning around to address the crowd below and shouting, “This is all bollocks!” as loud as she could. The fantasy made her smile for a moment, but she realised she was trying to avoid the inevitable. Time to be brave.
It was impossible to scuttle in the shadows in a dress the diameter of a small kitchen table, so she decided to brazen it out. Enough people were curious about the rest of the house to collect in little groups, drifting to doorways on the ground floor to peep through and comment on the stylish furniture. She tagged on to one of them, mimicking the behaviour of the nosey guests, realising it was exactly what she was supposed to be doing.
It was hard to determine if anything was out of place when there was such a riot of decorative extravagance everywhere she looked. The group had reached a size that was becoming more shameless about its intent, one lady at the front commenting that there should be a tour of the house as well as the ball. Another questioned whether it was possible for it to be one of the most desirable houses in Aquae Sulis when its anchor property was a school. Cathy knew the anchor property of that lady’s house was a hotel and couldn’t see why she felt that was any different.
“Good evening, Miss Papaver.”
The female voice was pleasant but unfamiliar. Cathy was dismayed to see that it had come from Amelia Alba-Rosa, who had fallen into step alongside her.
“Good evening, Miss Rosa,” Cathy replied.
“What do you think of the house?”
It was the question Cathy had been dreading. What should she say? “It’s… not to my taste,” she said, hoping that was inoffensive enough.
“Oh, I’m so glad you feel that way,” Amelia said. The jewels in her hair were the same colour as her eyes and the way she smiled made Cathy feel even less secure than usual. She was truly beautiful in a way she never would be, even more striking than Elizabeth. “I find it all rather over the top, don’t you?”
Cathy nodded with an uncertain smile. Why was Amelia talking to her? “I didn’t think you’d be here tonight,” she said, and immediately regretted it.
“Oh?”
“Well… it being a Gallica-Rosa house.”
“The Gallicas will show off to anyone they can, even those they don’t like,” she said. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Cornelius and I were top of their list. They must have been desperate to rub it in.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not as much as they’d like. May I compliment you on your dress? So many people have commented on it.”
“Probably not in the way my mother would wish.”
Amelia laughed, making Cathy feel even more awkward, since she wasn’t trying to be funny. “Nonsense. And I’m sure it will work.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you wear it to impress Will?”
That made Cathy laugh a little too loud. “No! Why–” She cut herself off. Of course that would be a perfectly reasonable assumption for anyone else in Aquae Sulis. Then she realised what
she’d called him. Perhaps there was something in what Elizabeth had said. And, more than that, Amelia was making it clear to her; she’d never refer to him in such a familiar way by accident. “It was my dressmaker’s idea,” she lied.
“Well, I’m sure it will impress. You’re very lucky to be engaged to him.” Cathy’s eyes widened at the intimacy of the comment and Amelia blushed in response. “I’m sorry, that was very rude of me.”
“It’s all right,” Cathy said with a shrug, uncertain what to say and desperate to extricate herself from the conversation.
The group had moved down the hallway, the lady at the front encouraged by her peers to open one of the closed doors they’d come to. The ballroom din was now just a background rumble and the ladies at the front were tittering in excitement behind their fans.
“He’s been so kind to my brother and me,” Amelia said. “And I would like it very much if you and I could become friends.”
Cathy stifled her first response of “why?” and forced herself to smile. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said, and winced at how it came out. “Look,” she said, realising she didn’t really care. “I’m not very good at this small-talk stuff.”
Amelia’s smile was sweet. “That’s why we should be friends. It cuts out that bit of the conversation and gets right to the interesting things, don’t you think?”
“I’m not very interesting,” Cathy said as the group filed into the room with nervous laughter.
“I don’t believe that for one moment,” Amelia said, and Cathy had an awful feeling that something lurking beneath the surface of this conversation could rise up and bite her at any moment.
She glanced around the room, desperately looking for something to comment on, to shift the focus of the conversation. They were in a drawing room, just as sumptuously decorated as everything else they’d seen. Cathy had the feeling something was missing about the house but couldn’t identify what. She scanned the walls, hoping to find a picture to say something about, but they were all landscapes and dull as dinner conversations at her father’s table.