“Her world has changed, Lucy,” he said calmly, “and the eyes with which she sees that world have naturally had to change accordingly.”
God! Sometimes his reasonableness was maddening!
But I would not give up, not even in the face of evidence, of reason.
“And then there is both she and my father! You would think they would be more interested in finding Aunt Helen’s killer, you would think that at the very least they would be encouraging the police to continue searching! Why don’t they?” I held up a hand, stopping him before the words could come out of his already open mouth. “I know what you will say. You will say that a man of such a noticeable appearance, a monster, he would have been found by now if he was still in London. You will say that it has been a year and a half, and he must be long gone. That is what they all say. That is what I tell myself. But the fact of the matter is, he is still out there! He murdered my aunt. He is still a threat, so long as he is still alive and free, he could still come back someday … and yet no one else seems to care!”
Kit’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say, Lucy?”
I shook my head, as though waking myself from a fever dream.
“I don’t even know myself,” I said at last. “I only know that something is not right.”
He looked at me then as though he would save me if he could, if only he knew how.
But not knowing how, and with me giving him no help in that regard, he did what others often do when tense conversation meets with a dead end: he changed the subject.
“What are you drawing?” he asked, coming to stand behind my shoulder, taking in the picture I had drawn: the body was equine, with four long legs and a swishing tail, while I had placed, where the horse’s head should be, the profile of our most honored guest.
“That is uncharacteristically uncharitable of you, Lucy.” The disappointment was clear in his eyes. “You have married Miss Clarence’s head to the body of an animal! I happen to think it will be jolly to have her as a neighbor.”
“Then if you think that,” I seethed, “why don’t you go back there with all the rest? I am sure that any minute now she will stitch the greatest stitch that anyone has ever seen.”
I did not have to ask him twice.
With Kit gone, and disgusted with myself over what I recognized to be my own jealousy, I flipped the page and began a fresh one. This time, I sought to render Mother’s image as she sat across the room.
But however much I worked at it, somehow, the resulting picture reminded me more of Aunt Helen.
• Twenty-nine •
Whatever designs Mrs. Clarence might have had on her eldest daughter’s behalf where Kit was concerned—and I was certain she did have them—they were not to be. At least not yet.
Kit had elected to join the military.
To be specific, he was to be an officer in the Second Life Guards.
“What are you talking about?” I said when he first told me. “No one can buy a commission anymore—my father told me this—and you have not even been to military academy yet.”
“In truth, I have,” Kit said proudly.
“What are you talking about now?” I said, growing unease and alarm coming out as impatient anger in my tone.
“I have been at Sandhurst.”
“No, you have not,” I insisted. “You have been here!”
“Have I?”
“Of course. I have seen you!”
“But have you seen me as much?” Before I could object further, he went on. “A year ago, I sat for the entrance examination and passed. In the twelve months since, I have been training at the Royal Military College in Sandhurst as a cadet in order to earn my commission. You should be proud of me, Lucy: I have earned it.”
“How is this possible? I would have noticed if you were away for a whole year!”
“Of course you would have. Or, at least I like to think so.” He laughed. “But I have been home sometimes for weekends, for the whole of the summer holiday, for breaks at Christmas and Easter. Really, I have not been away all that much more than I was when I was at school.”
I could not believe this. Important things had been going on in the world around me and I had remained unaware.
“How could you have kept such a secret from me?” I demanded. “Why did you not tell me sooner?”
“Because I did not want to see the disappointment in your eyes if I failed in my goal.”
“Disappointment?” I was stunned at this more than anything else. “I could never—”
“As an officer with the Second Life Guards,” he went on with excitement, “I shall be part of the heavy camel regiment known as the Camel Corps.”
“You are going to ride a camel?” I said, disturbed at a situation that was fast spinning out of my power to control it. If I could raise enough objections, if only I could shout loud enough, he would never go away. “I don’t recall ever having even seen you ride a horse!”
“I used to ride very well,” he said, adding with an infuriating show of equanimity, “Not camels, of course, but certainly horses.”
“If you like horses so much, why did you ever stop? You know, you could stay here and ride horses again. You do not need to go away to ride camels.”
“I stopped riding horses,” he said, flushing with shame, “because even after I recovered from the typhoid, Mother would not allow it and Father agreed with her.”
“So start riding again!” I said. “You are eighteen now! What can they do to stop you?”
But he merely shook his head.
Of course I now saw the source of all this sudden … military fervor. Having been treated like a child by his parents during the years since his illness, he now wanted to acquit himself as a man. He wanted to prove, once and for all, that he was not the frail and sickly thing his parents, his mother in particular, took him to be.
“Where will you go with your … camels?” I said.
I don’t know why, but for some reason, the camels in particular nettled me.
“To Egypt,” he said simply.
“You are going to ride camels in—”
And so we went on, with me expressing outrage at what I saw as his whimsical decision, while he parried my outraged utterances with a reasonable calm that made me want to slap him.
“Your mother must be devastated,” I said.
“She is,” Kit allowed, “and for that I am sorry. But she has had a year to grow accustomed to the idea, and I will not change my mind.”
“And what does your father say?”
“That he had thought I would attend university and then follow him into the law.”
“I must say, your father’s plans for you sound more sensible to me than your plans for yourself.”
“He thought so too. But when he saw that I would not be moved, he accepted it. He even came along when I went to have my uniform fitted.” His eyes lit up. “You should see it, Lucy! The tan tunic and breeches—I suppose that is so we blend in with the desert; the boots; the hat. The hat actually looks like a hat for playing polo.”
“No doubt it is too big for you. It probably comes down half over your eyes. Oh, no!” I put a palm against my cheek in mock horror. “With that big hat, how will you ever find your camel?”
But Kit ignored my sarcasm.
“And we are given this band of bullets to wear across our chest,” he said excitedly, illustrating how it would drape his body from shoulder to waist.
“Be careful that you do not shoot yourself,” I said dryly, but again my words had no impact, not even when I added, “And for God’s sakes, don’t shoot your own camel!”
We carried on that way right up until the night before his departure.
In the dead of night, as Kit had bade me do so, I met him in the tunnel.
“I cannot say good-bye to you properly in the daylight,” he’d said, “not with everyone else looking on.”
“Have you come to your senses yet?” I asked now, neatly sidesteppi
ng his grasp as he sought to embrace me. “You know, it is not too late. You could still resign your commission.”
“Of course it is too late!” For the first time, he showed exasperation with me. “There would be great dishonor in backing down now.”
“Dishonor,” I echoed the word disdainfully. “A word no doubt invented by some man.”
“Do not pretend you do not care about honor, Lucy.” His words were soft again now, dangerously soft, so much so that I feared that if he went on in this vein I might shed tears in front of him. “I know you better than that,” he continued. “You would fight to the death over a matter of honor.”
“Ohhh … you think you know me.” I folded my arms tight against my chest.
“Better than anybody.” He put his hands on my forearms, gently tried to tug the armor of them away from my chest, but I would not let him. “And you me.”
“You are just saying that,” I said, refusing to relent. It was a trick I had learned from Mother after the death of Aunt Helen: so long as I stayed angry, I would never have to be sad. “No doubt, as soon as you leave me here, you will go to meet Minerva Clarence in some … clandestine tunnel too. You will whisper pretty words to her about honor and … and … and …” I could not find a word I felt as contemptuous about, having already overused “camels,” and so at last I settled lamely on, “Helmets.”
“Silly Lucy.” He traced a fingertip like a feather from my temple to my chin. “We have so little time remaining. Why do you insist on spending it all on nonsense, fighting over trivial things? I like Minerva Clarence—”
There! He had confessed!
“—but I like her in the way you like any nice person. You must admit, in a world filled with complicated people, it is a relief to occasionally meet someone who is exactly as they seem: nice, sweet.”
“If you think she is so nice, then … if you think she is so sweet—”
“Oh, shut up, Lucy,” he said, pulling me to him, crushing his lips to mine.
Kit had kissed me before, more times than I could now count, but even our first magnetic kiss in the tunnel had not been like this. The room spun away from me, my knees threatened to give way beneath me and would have done so had his arms not been so strong around my waist, his tight grip telling me he did not want to let me go, not then, not ever. I think now I felt so dizzy, so weakened, because I feared losing him so much. A world without Kit? Might as well tear down the sun as well. The world would not need it again.
He broke away first. Had it been up to me, that kiss would never have ended.
“You will look in on Mother for me from time to time, won’t you?” he said. “I hate to think of her being lonely.”
I promised that I would.
“And you will write me? For I will write you every day, or at least as often as I can, and it would be crushing if you did not write me back.”
I promised that too.
“Be proud of me, Lucy. Your high regard matters more to me than I think you know.”
“If you want me to be proud,” I said, tears at last filling my eyes, so that the image of him swam before me like an image of something already fading away, “then you must promise me not to die, for if you die, it will be very hard for you to know that I am proud.”
“I shall try, Lucy,” he promised. “I will do my best.”
. . . . .
The next morning, I rose early to see him off with his family.
We stood beside the carriage that was to take him away from us, the horses stamping their impatience.
Do not hurry time, I silently begged as the dawn mist circled all around us, so thick it was impossible to see the end of the road. Only speed up again once he is away, and then hurry him back to me.
“This is a fine adventure you are embarking upon.” John Tyler’s voice was cheerful as he clapped Kit on the shoulder, but he did not fool me. “And when you return, there will be time enough for us to see to your finishing your studies and entering into the law.”
“I look forward to that day, Father.” Kit returned the manly shoulder clap.
Men, I thought. Why did they not simply embrace? It was so obvious they wanted to.
“Now, you must remember to eat regular meals,” Victoria Tyler cautioned.
“Of course,” Kit said with a patient geniality as she threw herself at him.
I would not manfully clap him on the shoulder, nor would I hurl myself at him. I would maintain my calm, I would hoe the middle row, I would—
“Books!” I shouted at him, incipient panic sneaking up my spine. “Books! I had set aside some wonderful ones for you to take with you! If you just wait I will go back and—”
He grabbed on to my hand, then raised our joined fists to my lips, the back of his knuckle gently stopping my words—the fact that his parents were standing in full view of us be damned.
“It is all right, Lucy,” he said. Then he laughed gently, patted his bag. “I have already packed a few of my own. So you see, when I am not busy shooting myself or my camel, my time will be gainfully filled.”
On another day, I would have had my revenge on him for mocking me. But instead, I tilted my chin upward proudly, as he would want me to, and witnessed him toss his bag into the carriage, pulling himself up afterward.
And then he was gone, disappearing into the mist.
. . . . .
“You saw Kit off?”
My father’s words startled me as I entered the house, sagging back against the door I’d just closed. It had taken all that was in me not to collapse in the road.
“You are awake early,” I said.
Either that or he had not gone to bed yet, I thought. Sometimes now, my father drank so much and so late into the night, it must be difficult for him, I thought, to know where one day ended and the next began.
But no, I saw now. He did not think it was still night. He had on his dressing gown, so he must know that it was morning.
“I was worried about you,” my father said. “I know how close you and Kit are. He is your friend. I did not want you to be alone when you came back.”
“Kit is not just my friend, Father,” I said. “He is my only friend.”
“Oh, Lucy.”
I fell into his open arms, allowing him to hold me while I cried.
• Thirty •
“I am not sure of this, Aliese,” I heard my father say.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. I do not think it is a good idea.”
“Then that is too bad, because I think it is an excellent idea. What’s more, your sister happens to agree with me.”
Since when I entered the room they ceased talking—my father departing for his study, while Mother said she had many letters to write and that she’d best get started—I returned to my reading.
I had persuaded my father to purchase for me a subscription to the Boy’s Own Paper. I had not told him why I wanted the weekly publication, but it was so that I could learn more about a life I would never have the opportunity to live: the life Kit had lived, being away at school.
I cannot say that I was very impressed with what I read. Still, it was rather thrilling, all the same: boys lived in such a different world than I did, a world where boarding schools and wars were almost regarded as one and the same. When Kit had been here, I could fancy we lived in the same world, but now I had to face the fact that that was not the case, now that he had gone away.
“And are you feeling more Christian yet?” my father inquired, interrupting my reading.
“Pardon me?”
“Boy’s Own Paper. Did you not notice? It is published by the Religious Tract Society. No doubt, it is not only meant to encourage you to read, but it is also intended to instill Christian morals in you.” That last time he said “Christian,” he rolled the word pompously, wiggling his eyebrows at the same time and causing me to laugh.
“I do not know if it is making me more moral.” I giggled. “But now at least I know that when fi
ve hundred boys are gathered in one place, it is likely that mayhem will ensue.”
“I would like to see just what it is that you have persuaded me to purchase for your reading matter,” he said with a mock seriousness.
He held out his hand for the paper, and I handed it to him, looked on as he perused it with amusement.
“Father, what were you and Mother discussing earlier?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard you say that you thought something was a bad idea and then she said it was a good idea. What was all that about?”
“Oh. That.” He had sobered instantly. “That you shall have to take up with her.”
. . . . .
But when I asked Mother, she would not tell me. All that she would say was that we were to have a party for which Mrs. Wiggins had been commissioned to make me a new gown.
“What party?” I asked. “What is the occasion?”
But Mother would not say.
When the gown was delivered, I saw that it was a rich satin, royal purple in color.
“Try it on!” Mother urged me.
I did so, standing in front of the long looking glass in her room to take in the effect. But as I studied my profile, first the left and then the right, fists boldly placed on hips, I did not see a young woman in formal dress.
“What do you think I would look like in tan?” I asked absently.
I was envisioning myself in a tan tunic and breeches, high boots polished to a shine, a long braid of bullets cascading across my chest. The picture in my mind made me think that I would make a fine officer, although I could not see myself ever killing anyone.
“Tan?” Mother’s tone was exasperated. “What are you talking about, Lucy? No girl wears tan to a ball!”
. . . . .
I was late to the party.
Having grown tired of Boy’s Own Life, I had taken up Treasure Island, finding Mr. Stevenson’s tale of buccaneers and buried gold to be more to my present taste. I at least had my gown on already, but I was lying on my stomach crosswise upon my bed and had just passed the part where Jim’s father dies, when a servant came to remind me that my presence was required.
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