That Inevitable Victorian Thing

by E. K. Johnston

  Helena allowed herself to go on about Fanny and Hiram and the intricacies of the two households’ connections. Now that they could actually write the letter—and send it—she found her resolve was flagging. Finally, Margaret left her cake and reached across the table to take Helena’s hand, their fingers twining against the daisy print of the tablecloth.

  “What are you going to say?” Helena met Margaret’s gaze and Margaret saw her determination return. “In our letter, I mean. What will we say?”

  “Mostly the truth, if that’s all right with you,” Margaret replied. “I’ll say I’ve met a girl whom I have come to like very much, and that her genetic reading was perplexing, and that I volunteered to do what I could, in the name of discretion, speed, and clarity.”

  Helena couldn’t help but wonder whether “like very much” might be the full extent of Margaret’s feelings or if that was what made the letter only mostly true.

  “All right,” she said, once she had control of her voice again. “I would still like to read it before you send it, though.”

  “Of course,” said Margaret, and set to typing.

  While she worked, Helena tidied up the kitchen. The sweeper –bot had got itself lost somewhere in the wood-room the night before, but she didn’t feel like tracking it down, so she swept with a broom instead. The sound reminded her of the wind in the balsam needles, a summer sound that had always calmed her when she heard it outside her window. It didn’t calm her now, but it reminded her that she could be calm, and somehow that helped.

  She came back to the table and looked out the window for a few moments, until Margaret finished typing with a flourish, and passed the screen over to her. Helena read it quickly, while Margaret did her best not to fidget. She stopped at the bottom, where Margaret had signed her name: Love, HRH Victoria-Margaret. Seeing it spelled out like that made Helena’s breath catch in her throat.

  “It’s a silly way to end a letter to a man who helped change my nappies, I suppose,” Margaret said, somehow knowing what had upset her. “But it’s a formal letter, and the signature will show him how serious I am.”

  “Thank you,” Helena said, passing the screen back. She heard the soft chime, indicating the message was sent. “Thank you so much.”

  Margaret took her hands and then got up from her seat and came around the corner of the table. She snuck a look out the window, checking for Fanny, and then bent over to kiss Helena lightly on the mouth. Helena sighed. She couldn’t keep kissing them both, but she wished she could. At least Margaret knew that Helena was kissing two people. She really ought to have told August the truth, except soon he would be gone, and she had no time to tell him. He deserved to be told in person, not by –gram, and so she would wait until he got back. And damn it if she wouldn’t kiss Margaret in the meantime.

  The sound of a motor—a car, not a boat—broke the silence. That would be Hiram, coming back from dropping August at his train. Suddenly, Helena wanted to do something that was probably not entirely sensible.

  “I’m going swimming,” she said. “Come and watch?”

  She meant the part with the actual water, but when Margaret followed her upstairs to change into her swimsuit, she didn’t complain. They had dressed and undressed in front of each other for long enough that it was almost unremarkable, but this time, Margaret was watching her on purpose. Helena thought she would be self-conscious. Her pale skin was freckling already, even this early in the summer, and she’d never had the sort of body she believed people found attractive in a girl: she still had too many sharp corners. Only, Margaret didn’t seem to mind her small breasts and the slight curve of her hips. She made no move to touch Helena while she was naked, and somehow Helena managed to stay relaxed and not scramble into her bathing suit.

  When she was ready, Margaret came and stood in front of her. She looked, Helena thought, as though she were looking at a painting, standing the way that children stand when they’ve been told to appreciate a piece of art and forbidden to touch it. The look in Margaret’s eyes was far from childish, though, and Helena thought her heart might pound out of her chest. No one had ever looked at her like this before, and Margaret knew the deepest of her secrets.

  “We should go out.” Helena’s voice cracked. Margaret’s smile in response made her stomach flip. “The sun will be on the water now. It’s as warm as it’s going to get.”

  “Still sub-Arctic, you mean,” Margaret said.

  “I imagine I’ll be warm enough.” Helena was not a natural at innuendo and hoped that she hadn’t sounded incredibly foolish just now.

  Margaret smiled again, and this time it was Helena who leaned in for a kiss.

  “You know,” she said, when they drew apart for breath. “You don’t need to actually go swimming in order to wear a bathing suit. You could just put it on and sun on the dock.”

  “Are you sure it won’t be seen as an invitation for more?” Margaret asked.

  Helena burst into giggles, and after an indignant moment, Margaret followed suit.

  “I meant for splashing, Helena,” she said, rummaging through a drawer for her suit. She hadn’t brought her own to Canada, but Elizabeth had been only too happy to take her shopping for one once Helena’s invitation had been extended.

  Helena nearly managed to get control of herself in time to watch Margaret put on the sober, one-piece maroon bathing suit she had ended up purchasing, despite Elizabeth’s urging to get something more adventurous. Then, she kissed Margaret again. Kissing-while-laughing, she had decided, was her favourite. Well, her favourite after kissing when Margaret had that smile.

  “Let’s go,” Margaret said, retrieving a wide hat from her closet. “Before we get carried away entirely.”

  Helena wasn’t entirely sure she’d mind getting carried away entirely, but that was, perhaps, a conversation for another time. They were moving rather fast enough already.

  Fanny was sitting on the flying fox, which could double as a swing if you had a good sense of balance. Fanny looked up and smiled, and then continued to write. She had any number of cousins, not to mention friends, at home, and probably had a lot of notes to send.

  The dock at the Marcus cottage was old, but solid. It was a few different colours of brown, depending on how long it had been since the planks were replaced. The oldest were almost grey, while the newer ones were closer to yellow. Helena took an inner tube with her to the very edge.

  “The key,” she said grandly, “is to throw the tube in. Because then you’ve no choice but to go and get it.”

  “If you say so,” said Margaret.

  Helena laughed, and threw the tube as far as she could, aiming towards the mouth of the bay, because the current would carry it back towards her. Then, before she could give too much thought to how cold the water was going to be, she dove, an arc from wood to water, cutting a clean line through the surface and kicking up barely any splash. She came up grasping for the tube, and settled herself sitting so that only her middle was actually in the water.

  “You’re barely in at all!” Margaret said, sounding a little insulted.

  “Of course,” Helena said. “It’s kind of cold. Are you coming in, or what?”

  To her credit, especially considering what the water would do to her hair, Margaret hesitated only briefly after tossing in her own inner tube before taking the leap.

  When the Computer’s chat function was launched in 1988, there was some doubt as to its security. The point of the Computer, the argument ran, was complete confidentiality. Users logged into the –gnet (not its official name, but the unofficial combination of “gene” plus “internet” stuck like glue. There has been no consensus on how to pronounce the g), would be able to discuss vastly personal information, and since the primary users were young people, there was much handwringing involved.

  The Church pointed out that unauthorized chat platforms were already sp
ringing up, and having everything together would be more practical in the long run. –gnet conduct was added to sex-ed, and life continued.

  While the Computer’s database is extremely secure, the chat functions are at the mercy of God and local firewalls. All users agree to the TOS when they enter chat.

  —Meditations on the Genetic Creed,

  the Archbishop of Canterbury

  CHAPTER

  25

  They made enough noise that Addie and Matthew came wandering over, towels in their hands, before Margaret’s fingers had even pruned. One of Hiram’s sisters was with them, Eliza or Matilda, Margaret wasn’t sure.

  “Have you come to trade?” Helena said, proud as any queen for all she sat in an inner tube. “We get Addie and Matthew and you steal Fanny?”

  “Oh, please,” Addie said. “We haven’t been on the flying fox all summer.”

  Helena did not point out that it was not yet technically summer. Addie and Matthew were schooled at home for now, the better to learn their Chinese and Algonkian traditions. It was never said out loud, but Charlotte regretted not having ensured her own children grew up with knowledge of their heritage on both sides, as public school instead broadly covered Canada. When they were older, Addie and Matthew would go to a regular school, where they would learn about their British-Canadian history and experience the injustice of having to sit in a classroom while the weather was fine. For now, their mothers agreed that there would be plenty of time for that later.

  Margaret wasn’t used to having the care of anyone, certainly not small children near water. Even when she’d played with her sisters, far away from water, there had been governesses and, of course, the Windsor Guard, which was probably watching now.

  “It’ll be all right,” Helena whispered. Her hand on Margaret’s arm was cold from the water, and warm at the same time. “They both know how to swim—and they’ll wear life jackets, anyway.”

  If Helena wanted company, she could hardly blame her, and if the company would remind her of August, well, Margaret couldn’t exactly complain about that, either. Helena would be torn, and all Margaret could do was present options, which, she supposed, was a much nicer thing to say than “provide temptation.” The bathing suit display had probably been adventurous enough for them for one day. Probably.

  Addie was into her life jacket and ready to jump before Matthew finished all of his buckles, but neither of them hesitated so much as a breath before leaping off the end of the dock. They dog-paddled towards Margaret and Helena with a great deal of splashing.

  “Do you people not feel cold at all?” Margaret said when Matthew reached her, and nearly overturned the tube trying to climb in beside her. She shrieked as he splashed, and Helena couldn’t help laughing.

  “Canadians store up summer,” Addie said, as though it were perfectly reasonable. She got into Helena’s tube much more gracefully. Helena winked.

  The lake was calm, and before long both of the children were bored just floating aimlessly. In the shelter of the bay, they could hear the boats out on the main part of the lake, but none of the wake reached them, and that made for boring swimming as far as Matthew was concerned, which Margaret knew, because he told her.

  “Very well,” Helena said. “We’ll set up the fox.”

  Matthew whooped, and tipped himself off the tube and into the lake. Margaret wobbled, but managed not to capsize. Addie looked scandalized at Matthew’s behaviour, but lost no time swimming after him towards the dock.

  “Come on,” Helena said. “I’ll show you how it works, and then you can help them on land. In the sun. Where it’s warm.”

  Margaret noted that her fingers were starting to turn purple, and decided that this was a good idea. She wrapped herself in a towel as soon as she was on the dock, and did her best not to stare at the water dripping off Helena’s hair and down the bare skin of her shoulders.

  “I’ll go first,” Helena announced. “And show Margaret how it’s done.”

  She still had the inner tube in one hand and, with the other, she unlooped the fox. She tested the rope and found that it was still sound. She could feel Margaret’s eyes on her as she put the tube over her shoulder, and stood with one foot on the swing.

  “When they do it,” Helena said, “they’ll stand with both feet and you pull them back, all right?”

  “What if they decide not to jump and swing back?” Margaret asked. She put a hand on Helena’s shoulder, even though neither of them needed steadying.

  “Then they owe you a forfeit,” Helena said. Both Addie and Matthew giggled. “Think of something really humiliating, though with these two I doubt you’ll get to use it.”

  “The important thing,” Addie continued, “is to make sure that you catch the swing when it comes back. If you miss, then you have to pay the forfeit.”

  “To Helena?” Margaret asked, without thinking, “Or to you?”

  Helena turned bright red, though neither child seemed to notice. Instead she prepared for her jump. From where she was standing, Margaret could appreciate the design of the flying fox. It was tied to a tree that grew out over the lake anyway, but it also had a wide hollow to the right of the trunk, which meant that almost all of the fox’s swing was out over the lake. Helena could get a running start, and not sacrifice any of her air time, such as it was.

  “Ready?” Helena said.

  “Yes!” said the children.

  And Helena took three quick steps, and jumped. The fox arced out above the water, and when Helena reached the highest possible point, she let go of the rope, threw the tube, and somehow managed to turn into a dive before she hit. It was one of the most beautiful things Margaret had ever seen.

  “Margaret!” said Addie. “The swing!”

  Margaret flailed out by instinct, and caught the fox just as it was about to hit her in the face. From the water, Helena laughed. Margaret loftily ignored her and focused on getting Addie positioned properly. The girl was heavier than she looked.

  “Wait,” said Matthew. “What’s the challenge?”

  “The national anthem,” Helena said, treading water next to the inner tube. “As far as you can before you go under.”

  “Too easy!” Matthew complained.

  “Fine, then do it in French,” Helena amended.

  This was deemed a sufficient challenge, and Margaret steadied Addie on the swing before pushing her out over the hollow.

  Whatever Addie was singing might have been in Swahili for all Margaret understood the words. She knew the national anthems of all the countries in the Empire of course, but sung at top voice and top speed by a seven-year-old, pretty much anything becomes muddled. The tune was approximate, at least, before Addie’s cannonball ended it. And then it was Matthew’s turn.

  They went again and again, changing out the national anthem for the alphabet, also in French, and then a host of animal impressions. Helena would shout out the challenge when the child was airborne, providing an interesting level of improvisation. Matthew swallowed about a third of the lake protesting that armadillos didn’t make noise, reducing Addie to such giggles that she had to sit down beside Margaret, who took advantage of the break to stow the flying fox and rest her arms a bit.

  “Oh, it’s the photographer!” Addie said, waving at a boat that had drifted into the bay, its engine idling.

  “The what?” asked Margaret, every hair on her body standing up.

  “The photographer,” Addie repeated. “He’s renting the Olson cottage until they come up at the end of July. His specialty is birds, so he uses a handheld instead of a drone, because a drone would make too much noise.”

  Margaret tried her best to hide her growing discomfort.

  The children of British monarchs had an uneasy relationship with photography that was as old as the medium. The English press in particular had been given to describing Victoria I’s grandchildren in
monstrously prejudicial terms in the captions of photos they had obtained by any means necessary. The Crown’s backlash had been severe. By Margaret’s time, an uneasy accord had been reached with the English papers whereby royal children were occasionally photographed at formal events—but only with express permission, and from a respectful distance. Other families in the Empire copied the example set by the Royal Family, and this was how, even with the publicity surrounding the debut ball and the events that followed, Margaret had been able to maintain any of her subterfuge at all.

  “How do you know him?” Margaret said when she finally regained control of her expression.

  “He stopped at the end of our dock the other day,” Addie said. “Evie was asleep, so we weren’t in the water. He said he had come over to apologize to our grandmother, because he’d received an invitation to the Victoria Day party, but hadn’t realized it was for him until it was too late.”

  “I see,” Margaret said. She tried to look at the man in the boat without making it obvious that that was what she was doing. It was a good camera. It was a big lens.

  “I told him all about it,” Addie said. “How Matthew got to wear the dress, but that it was all right because I can take it out of the tickle trunk anytime I want to.”

  “That’s nice,” Margaret said distractedly. She had the overwhelming urge to rewrap the towel around her, even though it was completely secure where it was.

  “I told him about you dancing the Log Driver’s Waltz with August,” Addie went on blithely. “He asked if it was strange for someone to dance that dance with a stranger. He thought that maybe August dancing with you meant that he liked you more than he likes Helena, but I told him that you are August’s friend, and that he danced with Helena later anyway, so it was all right.”

  The boat was drifting closer. Everything in Margaret’s body screamed at her to get away as fast as she could. Her father had trained her to listen to her instincts, but she wasn’t exactly sure how to get out of the situation without raising alarm.