How Do I Love Thee?

by Nancy Moser

  John lounged in the chair once again. “I hear George and Stormie are leaving on a grand tour. Apparently, they feel this house is not enough.”

  “That is different,” I said. “And if I were strong and free, I should be running myself all over the world. I should be in Paris and Italy. I should be longest in Germany, in the Alps and the Pyrenees and—”

  John’s face revealed his shock. I realized the duplicity of my comments and felt myself blush.

  His surprise changed to smugness. “So . . . it appears Wimpole Street is not enough for even you, the ever-loyal daughter and keeper of the familial flame.”

  “There is no betrayal in desiring to see the world, the wonders of God’s nature, the cities that gave birth to great civilizations, the architecture of—”

  John sprang to his feet. “Then let us go. Now.”

  “Go?”

  “London is the birth city of a great civilization. There is plenty of architecture and parks and rivers to inaugurate your world journeys.” He moved to the doorway of my room. “Crow? Fetch Miss Elizabeth her wheelchair and wrap. We are venturing out, into the autumn bliss.”

  Crow appeared at the door, her countenance confused. “Miss?”

  “No, no,” I said. I looked at John imploringly. “Please, cousin. Stop. I don’t feel well and—”

  His eyes found mine. Then he sighed, his head shaking with frustrated acknowledgement. “High talk comes cheap, Ba.”

  I raised my chin. “I am allowed dreams, am I not?”

  He offered a barely discernable shrug and checked his pocket watch. “I must go. My dinner party, you know.” He gathered his hat and walking stick, and came to the bedside to kiss me on the forehead. “Forgive me for being so frank with you, Ba, and for causing upset. I only want what is best for you.”

  And so, with a rustle of busyness, he left me. Alone with my dreams.

  My unattainable, unreachable dreams?

  Suddenly, the weight of them pressed upon me and threatened me with suffocation. I needed air. I needed release. I needed . . .

  “Crow!”

  She appeared at the doorway again. “He’s gone,” she said, as if that were the reason for my calling.

  “I wish to go out.”

  “Out?” She repeated the word as though it were foreign. She looked over her shoulder, then said, “Are you going to Mr. Kenyon’s dinner party?”

  I diverted an answer with action, pushing myself to standing beside the sofa. Flush, who’d been asleep in the sunlight, aroused and came to my side. Could I go to the dinner party?

  Crow hurried to my armoire and opened its doors. “I don’t think you have a thing to wear. But maybe you could borrow an evening dress from Miss Arabel or Miss Hen—”

  The image of fussing over dresses and hair and jewelry quickly overwhelmed me. It had been so long since I had attended an occasion that I had no basis for the process. Besides, I had worn only black since Bro’s death. . . .

  I looked at the sofa longingly. It called to me: Sit with me. Recline. Relax in my gentle comfort. Do not venture into the bustle and noise of the world. Stay here with me.

  But Flush, awakened from his nap, scampered towards the door of my room, then back in, then towards the door. He needed to go out.

  Out.

  “Flush needs a walk.”

  She glanced in his direction. “I will take him. Hopefully, he will do his business quickly so I can get back here to help you get ready to—”

  “No, we will take him,” I said.

  “We?”

  “I am not going to the dinner party because I am taking Flush for his walk.”

  “Walk?”

  She took the word too literally. No, I did not walk much, even within the house. “We are taking him out,” I said. “Get my wrap and the wheelchair. We both wish to take a jaunt to Regent’s Park.” I suffered immediate second thoughts. “Is Father at home?”

  “No, Miss Elizabeth. He is still at work.”

  I nodded tightly, my mind reeling. Should I still risk it? What if Papa came home early?

  Crow took the decision out of my hands. “I’ll get the chair put out, then come back for you.”

  She was already on the stairs when I offered a weak, “I’ll be here.”

  And soon there.

  May God help me.

  The noise assailed me first. Although I regularly heard the clatter of the street through open windows, it was far removed. To be out, to be in the midst of it, to have it swarm and pulse around me . . .

  I was afraid.

  I knew it was ridiculous, but I could not help it. I wanted to grab Flush into my lap and cling to him as if our combined strength could make us safe from . . . from whatever it was that was so frightening.

  It was immediately obvious Flush did not share my fears, for he trotted beside the wheelchair as if this were his domain and he were a prince on parade.

  And his subjects responded with adulation. A fruit seller bent low and called him by name, “Come ’ere, Flush, me boy. Come get yerself a berry.” Crow turned the wheelchair towards the man, allowing Flush access to the treat—and a pat to the head and a scratch behind the ears.

  The man stood and doffed his cap. “Afternoon, miss, Miss Barrett, I assume?”

  “Yes,” I said, a bit baffled he knew it was me.

  He must have seen my perplexity, for he added, “We alls around ’ere know Flush, but it’s an honour to meet his famous mistress.”

  Famous? Me?

  Crow took over. “We have to be going now, Will’am. I’ll want a few plums on our way back.”

  He nodded and stepped aside, allowing us to continue our journey towards the park. When we were but a few steps away, Crow leaned close and said, “Last year his daughter married the butcher’s son.”

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  “He’s just found out there’s going to be a baby soon. So proud was he, he nearly gave away the contents of his cart the day he found out he was to be a grandfather.”

  Grandfather. And grandchild. What a blessing.

  Then a thought struck me as mightily as if a hand had struck my cheek: Papa would never receive the pleasure of being a grandfather. If none of his children married, then—

  Suddenly, a man rushed towards us, and before I had time to focus upon his nearness, he snatched Flush into his arms and ran, pulling Flush’s leash right out of my hands.

  “Flush!”

  “Thief! Thief!” Crow screamed.

  People’s heads whipped in our direction, then up and down the street.

  “That way!” I said. “He took my dog and ran that way!”

  William, the fruit tender, caught up with us, gathering men and boys along the way. “That way, men. Go fetch Miss Barrett her dog.”

  Following his direction, they made haste down the street. William stopped beside us. “I am sorry for that, miss. Dog-pinchin’s have become far too common of late.”

  At first I thought he was joking. “Dog-pinchin’s?”

  “There’s an organized band of thieves ’oo call themselves The Fancy. They make a good living from the habit.”

  “They sell the dogs?” I asked.

  William shook his head. “They ransom them.”

  “We won’t pay a farthing,” Crow said.

  “Oh yes we will!” I countered.

  William looked at Crow. “It is the only way to ever see the mutts ag’in. In fact, you best get home so’s to get the ransom note.”

  “But how will they know where to send—”

  “They most likely recognized you, Miss Barrett.”

  “But I don’t go out—”

  He waved a hand at the neighbourhood around us. “We alls know where you live. We alls know your work and your—” he glanced at me, sitting there in the wheelchair, and then away—“your situation.”

  Cousin John had intimated that people of London knew about my personal life, but I thought he was exaggerating towards the cause of gett
ing me to socialize. To know that a fruit vendor, and even dog thieves, knew about me was disconcerting.

  “You best go home and await the demand,” William repeated.

  “Yes, yes,” I said. “Crow, take us home. Quickly.”

  As we hurried away, William called after us, “I’ll keep the boys on it, miss. We’ll do what we can to get our Flush back.”

  Our Flush?

  My Flush. My dearest companion. Taken because I had been fool enough to venture away from the safety of our home.

  I heard the voices of my brothers as they came through the front door and raced up the stairs to my room. Sette entered first with Henry and Alfred at his heels.

  Sette was out of breath. “We’ve posted the flyers as you asked, Ba. Everyone in a ten-block area knows about Flush.”

  “But it’s been a full day,” I said. “How can there be no sign of him?”

  Henry fell into the chair nearest the fireplace and dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. “As we suspected, this is not some random thievery. We heard that the organized dog banditti make four thousand pounds a year from their evil trade.”

  Four thousand? It was an income that would make most men far satisfied.

  Henrietta came to the door of my room. “Papa says it is dinner and you are all to come down at once.”

  “Good,” Henry said, rising from the chair. “I’m famished.”

  “How can you eat, when dear Flush—”

  “I will not expire for a dog, sister.”

  I took offence. “If it were your Catiline who had been stolen, I am certain you would be without appetite.”

  “If those ruffians had tried to steal my mastiff, she would have bitten their hands off.”

  I did not doubt it. I disliked my brother’s dog and kept Flush away from her.

  They left me and I heard the faint rumblings of the family gathering three floors below in the dining room. Crow stood in the hall, peering over the railing. “Would you like me to fetch you up a plate?” she asked.

  “No, nothing,” I said. “I will not eat until Flush is safely—”

  A heavy knock on the front door sped up the stairs to my ears. I held my breath. Was it the thieves?

  I heard a voice in the foyer.

  I motioned Crow close, wanting her to help me up. Together we hurried to the landing to listen.

  “Give him back to us,” Alfred said to the visitor.

  “Well, you see, I can’t do that,” a man said. “I woulda worked with you, but since you had the cheek to post bills, advertising the . . . the situation . . . I just don’t know.”

  “You expected us to stand by and—”

  It was my idea to display the flyers. If my action hurt Flush . . .

  “Well, perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

  “How much?” Alfred asked.

  “Five guineas should do it.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “But I am sure somebody in this grand house does.”

  Suddenly, I heard my father’s voice. “Sir, you are a rascal. I should not give you any money for your crime, but will give you two guineas. If you do not accept my terms, then you shall be given into the charge of the police.”

  “Well, sir, then I bid you adieu. And you can bid your dog adieu too.”

  “Out!” Papa said. “Get out of this house!”

  I heard the door slam shut and would have hurled myself down the stairs if I’d been able. “They can’t let him go,” I said to Crow. “They can’t!”

  From below I heard my father’s voice, muffled by his proximity in the dining room. “Do not tell your sister of this. We should not upset her.”

  I stepped back in my room and leaned against the door. “Not upset me? As if the thievery itself was not cause for upset enough?”

  Crow tried to lead me to my bed, but I remained firm. “Help me downstairs. I must make them pay the money.”

  “You can’t do that,” Crow said. “You know you can’t. Your father . . .”

  She was right. If I were to burst into the dining room and demand my father make the ridiculous payment . . . All that I was, all that I tried so hard to be, would be lost.

  I let Crow get me back to bed. “What am I to do?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know, miss. But we’ll think of something.”

  I thought of something. The idea came to me in the middle of the night, interrupting my fitful sleep.

  I would get Papa to pay the two guineas that he had offered, and unbeknownst to him, I would pay the other three out of my own pocket. If I was careful, he would never find out. I would send one of my brothers to do the deed, and by the time Papa got home from work Flush would be returned and all would be right with the world.

  Henry would be the best one to ask. He was accustomed to taking risks and was known to rebel against Papa. He would probably find satisfaction in the subterfuge.

  It was hard for me to not wake Henry in the midnight and tell him of my plan. I forced myself to wait until the dawn began its ascent and I heard movement in the house.

  I quietly summoned Crow, for no one ever expected me to be up before noon. She was surprised by my call, and I caught her in her nightdress. “Miss?”

  “Go summon Henry. Ask him to come here. Quietly.”

  Her face asked why, but she did not wait for an answer.

  I pulled my dressing gown about me and sat in a chair to wait for him.

  He came to the door, buttoning his shirt, his hair disheveled. “What is it, Ba? I was asleep and have no reason to wake so early—”

  I motioned him close with the crook of a finger. “I have a proposition for you,” I said. “It involves much danger and intrigue.” Some danger and some intrigue.

  His face lost its sleepy softness and gained an awakened edge. “What is it?”

  I told him my plan and he nodded his approval. “You surprise me, Ba.”

  “I surprise me too,” I said. “Let’s just say my despair has overcome my sense of obedience.”

  “I applaud the cause and hope it is the first of many acts of courage to come.”

  “It is my only act,” I said, “and it is accomplished for the sake of poor Flush, who is probably suffering horribly at the hands of those hooligans.” I motioned him away. “Now go. You must ask Papa for his two guineas before he leaves for work.”

  Once he had gone, Crow asked, “Do you think it will work?”

  “It has to.”

  I could not read. I could not write letters. I could not sleep. My ears were those of a deer in the forest, keen to all sound.

  Although Crow and my sisters had tried to lure me downstairs to be closer for Henry’s return from the dog thief, I could not bring myself to do it. Now, above all other times, I needed the comfort of my room.

  And yet, all around me were reminders of my Flush. His pillow on the floor, placed where it could be warmed by the sun for his afternoon nap. His bowl of water near the fireplace, his favourite knotted stocking that he loved to play tug with, and a bone from the beef roast that had been enjoyed by all the evening before he was taken.

  He is just a dog.

  I shook such traitorous thoughts away. Although they toyed with logic, they also toyed with my very soul. Flush was more than a dog to me, he was mine. In this household, in the midst of this family, we belonged to each other, and loved each other unconditionally, ignoring our imperfections as inconsequential, and taking our strengths and attributes to a higher level simply because.

  I had heard Henrietta whisper to Arabel, “If this does not turn out . . . we will get her another dog,” and it had taken all my self-restraint not to verbally attack her cold illogic. How I wished to march to her chair, stand over her, and say, “Could you be replaced with another woman off the street? Could Arabel? Could I?” But I did not say the words aloud. I knew my love for Flush was unique. That my sister did not know such a love was her loss.

  I looked at the mantel clock. Henry
had been gone over three hours, and Papa would be home from work any minute. I didn’t want to have to explain—

  I heard the front door open and held my breath, waiting to hear Papa’s usual “I’m home, family” or Henry—

  The sound of feet scampering up the stairs pulled me out of my bed as though yanked by a leash. Flush ran into my skirts and I knelt down to take him into my arms. He licked my face, and I buried my nose into his fur. Henry and my sisters found us very much in celebration-which I left in order to embrace my brother.

  “How can I ever thank you?”

  He put a hand on the cheek that I had kissed-too seldom. “You can take care to not let it happen again, for next time I will not go after him.”

  All entered my room and sat. Without any prodding Flush jumped upon my lap and snuggled on the cushion of my skirt. “Was it so horrible?” I asked.

  “I never want to venture into such a neighbourhood again. I, who like adventure, have hereby realized there is a limit.” He shuddered. “The conditions those people live in, the filth. The atmosphere of ever-present danger.”

  I pulled Flush’s head to my chest. “I cannot abide the thought of the horrors my Flush has experienced these past two days.”

  “He seems well enough,” Henrietta said.

  Arabel wrinkled her nose. “Though he is a bit more . . . fragrant.”

  I allowed myself to inhale the scent of him. She was right. I had been so enraptured with his return, I had not noticed. I looked for Crow and saw the edge of her skirt as she slunk into the hall, out of sight.

  “Crow?” I asked.

  She stepped into the doorway with a sigh. “A bath for Prince Flush, yes, yes, I’ll see to it. Come, boy.”

  Although I hated to let him out of my sight, I let him go.

  “The thief did not ask for more than the two guineas?” Henrietta asked.

  I gave Henry a quick glance. We had decided not to share the details of our arrangement to lessen the chance that Papa—

  We all heard the front door open once more. “I’m home, fam—” Then, “Well, well, young Flush. Glad to have you home.”