The River of No Return

by Bee Ridgway

  It had been three weeks since Grandfather’s death, and a week since she had been her cousin’s prisoner. Now here she was in London for the first time in her life. Bella, her oldest and best crony, was beside her, and they were seated at the very center of a world designed to delight the senses, eating the most delectable sweetmeats ever concocted by human hand. Julia was dressed in the highest kick of fashion—albeit all in black. The beautiful mourning clothes were a gift of the dowager marchioness. Upon receiving the news that her son was alive and that he planned to bring Julia to London along with his sister and a Russian nobleman, she had arranged for Julia to have a black walking dress, a black carriage dress, and a black evening gown ready and waiting.

  Julia took another spoonful, sat back in her chair, and gave herself over to pleasure. She banished all thought, except appreciation of the moment and relish of this most beautiful of beautiful spring days. The town houses around the square sparkled white in the sun. Brightly painted high-perch phaetons pulled by prime horseflesh dashed by on the way to Hyde Park. They were driven by gentlemen of the first stare and carried ladies dressed in all the colors of a spring garden. The oval park itself was full of mamas and nursemaids and scampering children, a few strolling couples, the dedicated patrons of Gunter’s, and of course, weaving through it all, the ever-nimble waiters, carrying aloft their silver trays of sugary iced confections. Julia sighed and wished it could go on forever—but the dancing shadows cast by the overarching plane trees made the scene feel like a flickering dream, and she had to eat her ice quickly or it would melt.

  Bella stuck out her tongue and flicked the last of her ice off her spoon. “What shall we do next?”

  “Surely licking your spoon is bad ton, Bella.” Julia eyed her own with temptation but set it back in her empty dish.

  “You are still afraid of London. I have learned that rules are made to be broken. Although you must pick and choose which ones to break, and when.”

  “Hmm. Which rules have you been breaking, pray tell?”

  “Nothing very serious.” Bella stood and brushed out her green cambric skirt. “Licking my spoon. Going alone to Vauxhall Gardens. Tying my garter in public.”

  “Be serious.”

  “How do you know I’m not being serious?” Bella held her hand out and pulled Julia to her feet. “Let us take a stroll around the square and I shall tell you all about it.”

  Bella was small, with black hair and hazel eyes. She looked nothing like Clare and Nick, who were both tall and fair. Luckily, there was an uncanny resemblance to a great-great-aunt on her father’s side. The dowager marchioness, always terrified of What Other People Might Think, had rescued the dour portrait of that otherwise forgotten ancestress from the attics and hung it prominently at Falcott House; nobody was going to accuse her of playing her husband false. Still, Bella’s family nickname was “Changeling.”

  She was a mercurial young woman, mostly full of fun, though sometimes a darker thread appeared in the bright fabric of her personality. A fervent Romanticist, Bella had committed whole swathes of Werther—in German, which she only partly understood—to memory. She could often be found painting by moonlight or sitting at the piano, plunking out the tune of a dreary lied with one finger and paging through her German wordbook with the other hand, discerning the meaning of the lyrics. Sometimes she was not to be found at all, for every now and then she took herself off for a long, solitary walk, preferably when the weather was threatening. She was firmly forbidden to wander off by herself in London, but as she now explained to Julia, it was a rule that was impossible to obey. “I have the wanderlust, you see,” she said, careful to pronounce the word correctly. “I just can’t help myself. Some days I wake up, and I must simply follow my own footsteps and see where they lead.”

  “You came here to find a husband, Bella. Not to explore the underbelly of London.”

  “I know.” Bella squeezed Julia’s arm to her side. “I shall. The Season is excessively entertaining, Julia. The men are ridiculous and the women are worse, but . . .” She cut her eyes sideways at her friend, one black eyebrow winging up. “There are some good apples in among the bad.”

  Julia glittered with intrigue. “Have you discovered any particularly good apples?”

  “It depends on whether you prefer them tart or sweet.”

  Julia thought of Blackdown striding angrily up the hill in the rain. “I think it’s possible to find an apple that is both tart and sweet,” she said.

  “Oh.” Bella’s eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed—much like her brother’s. “It sounds like perhaps you have come across just such an excellent fruit. I must hear all about him.”

  Julia pressed her lips together. She didn’t like to think of Blackdown’s rainy kisses, not since that scene in the Blue Drawing Room.

  “Ah.” Bella nodded. “And Julia becomes a clam.”

  They were rounding the north corner of Berkeley Square, which meant they passed the Falcotts’ London town house. Bella raised her hand and waved, though Julia could see no one—the windows reflected back the trees and the sky. Then she saw a pale hand rise to the glass of a second-story window. “Is that your mother?”

  “Yes. She watches all day when I am out without her, simply waiting for me. Now that Nick is back, she is ten times worse. You’d think she would have rallied with the news of his return. But instead she is even more tormented, because she fears losing him again. Last night she stayed up until three awaiting his return from his club.”

  “He was out until three?” Julia slowed her steps.

  Bella sighed. “I know. Aren’t you consumed with jealousy? Imagine such freedom! But in actual fact, he was out until even later—or should I say earlier? For it was only that Mother finally gave up and went to bed at three. She came along the hallway weeping, convinced he was dead again, and I had to gather her up and tuck her in like a child. I am surprised we did not wake you.”

  Julia hadn’t heard anything. She had lain awake late thinking over her own problems, only to fall into a dreamless sleep just before two. “Do you think the marquess came home at all last night?”

  Bella kicked a pebble with her silk slipper, and it skittled away into the grass. “Call him Nick, Julia, like you used to in the old days. It’s so dreary, hearing his title on your lips like he’s something special all of a sudden. Lord, I hope he stayed out all night. Imagine if you were a gentleman and you arrived home after three years. Not just any three years, but years when you didn’t even know who you were. Suddenly it turns out you are not a wandering, penniless soldier, but a great lord with a vast fortune. You discover that you have a town house in the heart of a throbbing metropolis, and everything you see is yours for the asking. Would you spend your first night at home at home, if you know what I mean?”

  Julia knew exactly what her friend meant, but she wasn’t going to commit to it yet. “I’m not sure.”

  “Peagoose.” Bella pinched the skin on the back of Julia’s hand. “Doesn’t blood run in here anymore? I mean that he must have gone out with all his old friends, wining and dining and wenching the night away. At breakfast he denied it. He said he’d been with the Duke of Kirklaw, catching up on old times. But I don’t believe him. Kirklaw is a terrible bore. Nick was carousing, I’ll wager you anything. Just imagine. The jollity, the gay abandon, the laughter and song. I wish I were a man or . . . or . . .” Bella subsided.

  “Or what?”

  “I don’t know. A woman who could do those things.”

  “A member of the demimonde?”

  “Well,” Bella said, “why not?” She tossed this shocking statement off lightly, half an eye on Julia. Julia smiled at her friend’s daring but was terribly distracted. She could not now rid herself of the image of Nicholas Falcott, his arm around a beautiful woman. The woman was spilling out of her clothes and kissing him, and he had a bottle of champagne raised high in his other fist. Was he that sort of man? A rake? He had been a bit of a roaring boy before he w
ent to war. Bella clearly thought he still was.

  Rake, dandy, Corinthian . . . it didn’t really matter what kind of man Blackdown was. Now she knew something far more important about him, something awful. Blackdown was involved somehow in a much larger world of time manipulation than Julia had dreamed possible. And he was bound up with his terrifying friend, the Russian count.

  The kiss seemed distant now, like a dream that fades to nothing. Indeed, as she looked around her everything seemed dreamlike. Berkeley Square, Gunter’s, ices, pretty dresses . . . it was all just a passing vision and would be washed away with time.

  Time.

  Blackdown and his friend were able to manipulate time, like her.

  She could barely make sense of what she had seen and heard during that amazing sojourn in the priest’s hole. It had been the Russian who pushed against her while she tried to stop time. But, thank God, the Russian hadn’t realized that she was his adversary. He thought it had been Eamon. She needed him to keep thinking that. For as long as possible.

  The count was searching for “Ofans,” people with talents like hers, and the Russian wanted to stop them. In fact, he wanted to kill them. Blackdown wanted to stop them, too; he had even offered to end Eamon’s life right there.

  But Blackdown wasn’t exactly the Russian’s bosom friend. He had been angry at the count, frustrated with him. There had been that tussle, when Lebedev had insulted her honor. Julia had discovered that it isn’t, in fact, pleasant to be the object of a fight between men. Especially not when the man who is defending you is trounced. The count had easily overpowered Blackdown, though Blackdown was tall and strong and a soldier.

  Fear tickled up her spine. She had escaped Eamon, only to gain a far more formidable enemy. Julia allowed herself to concentrate on the Russian. He was a wiry, powerful man, well over six feet tall. But his physical strength was not what really frightened her. The Russian seemed coldly intelligent, and he seemed implacable. There would be no time to explain, were he to discover her talent. He would discover the truth, and then he would kill her.

  Indeed, Blackdown must be a killer, too. He had said that the Russian had brought him home to kill the Ofan people. People like her. And he must be good at killing, in order to have survived the war in Spain. He had a scar on his face. His kisses had ranged from gentle to fierce. She wasn’t so much of a fool as to think that the passions of love and the passions of war were unconnected.

  But love was not something she could allow herself to contemplate, not after what she had seen through the peephole. Thank God Blackdown thought she was just Julia Percy, just a girl with whom he had whiled away a luscious hour. Not even an hour. The fact that he had kissed her might even protect her, for perhaps now she was just one of many others in his list of conquests. A face in the crowd.

  He did seem to have lost interest in her since that day. She had been whisked away from Castle Dar in that ridiculous traveling coach. The Russian and Nick had stayed behind to deal with Eamon and had not come back until late. Then the marquess had told her, quite formally, that after some discussion Eamon was content to allow her to accompany the Falcotts to London.

  Since that moment Blackdown had kept a strict distance from her. He was never alone with her, and he never addressed her directly. While their entourage of coaches had made its slow way from Devon to London, the marquess had ridden his bay hunter rather than joining the ladies in the traveling coach. Indeed, it was only when Julia chose to ride Marigold for an hour that he had decided Boatswain needed a rest. He had bowed to her, his eyes remote, and had taken her place inside the coach. It had been a relief, in fact. She couldn’t think clearly when she was near him.

  Now he had been out all night, doing God knows what while she lay awake worrying about the future. The future and the past and the present and all of time itself. Worrying for her very life.

  “Julia? Julia.” Bella was peering at her. “Did I shock you so dreadfully?”

  “What?” Julia realized that her steps had slowed until she was almost standing still. “What were you saying?”

  “I was talking about becoming a lady of easy virtue. And you go meandering off into your own thoughts. What kind of friend are you? Are you so ready to see me sacrifice my good name?”

  Julia frowned. Joining the demimonde; it was the fantasy of a silly child. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing to joke about. Just a few days ago I was wondering what I would do to keep body and soul together if I were forced to run away from my odious cousin before reaching my majority. Very little stood between me and just such a life.”

  “But would you?” Bella’s voice thrilled with intrigue. “Would you really turn to prostitution, if the alternative were death?”

  “No.” Julia raised her chin. “Of course not. I never would.” She looked out over the square rather than meet Bella’s eyes.

  Bella hugged Julia’s arm close. “Liar liar, brimstone and fire. You would, you know. We all would.”

  “I do not care for this conversation, Bella.” Julia’s scowl deepened.

  “Oh, please.” Bella pulled Julia along briskly. “Stop pretending to be a prude, because I know for a fact that you are not. Who spied on the stable hands as they washed themselves, then broke her arm falling out of the hayloft because she leaned out to get a clear view of Martinson’s you-know-what?”

  “His cock,” Julia muttered. “You taught me that word, Arabella Falcott. Now who’s the prude?” She sniffed. “Martinson didn’t have anything worth looking at, let me tell you.”

  “Ha! Indeed. Welcome back to yourself, Julia Percy. This is exactly the sort of conversation we have had every day since we were thirteen years old.”

  “We are not thirteen now.”

  “No,” Bella said, “we certainly are not. That is why we must talk about these things without blushing.” She fixed Julia with a serious gaze. “It means ‘half the world,’ you know.”

  “What does?”

  “Demimonde.”

  Julia stopped, bringing her friend to a standstill. “But of course it does. I never thought of that before. How remarkable. Half the world.”

  They had now walked back around to the Gunter’s side of Berkeley Square. Carriages were lined up outside the shop, and gentlemen were procuring ices for ladies, then leaning against the park railings and chatting with one another while the ladies ate without alighting. “Look at them,” Bella said.

  Julia looked. She began to see that each woman ate her ice differently. Some scraped the ice onto their spoons, others scooped it. Some took big bites, some little. Some allowed the relish they had for the treat to show on their faces, others appeared bored or even disgusted. Quite a number of them, she realized with a start, must have ordered their ice to match their gowns. “People can’t help but look ridiculous while they are eating,” she said.

  Her friend looked at her blankly for a moment and then started laughing. “Oh, Julia.”

  “What?”

  “You are watching them eat.”

  “Well, of course I am. Look at all the flavors I have yet to try.”

  “Do you know what I see when I look?”

  “You are probably looking at the gentlemen.”

  “Not at all.” Bella gestured at the scene as if she were discussing a painting in a gallery. “Look at that lovely woman in pink, with the high-poke bonnet.”

  “I see her.”

  “Is any other woman looking at her? Now look at that beautiful creature in the dark blue spencer. Are any other women looking in her direction?”

  Julia began to follow the eyes of all the females eating ices. A woman’s eyes slid unseeingly over one lady, to alight happily upon another. Waves and greetings were exchanged between two ladies across the body of another woman who stared straight ahead, as if she were alone on a mountaintop. “Oh,” Julia said. Suddenly her vision cleared and she could see, as if a veil had been lifted. All the women were eating ices, but only some women were acknowledged to exist, whi
le others were subtly . . . spurned. Made invisible. Except that Julia could see them. It was like magic.

  “Yes,” Bella said. “Half the world. Now you can see it.”

  Julia looked at her friend with awe and something like pride. “How did you work it out? Surely your mother didn’t . . .”

  Bella snorted. “My mother thinks a girl should reach her wedding night as ignorant as a fluffy duckling.”

  “I know. Remember when she had the brass to tell a pair of sixteen-year-old girls that she had found all three of her children in cabbages?”

  “How could I forget? And when you asked her to describe harvesting cabbage babies, she revealed that it is a dangerous matter, because apparently cabbages grow in trees.”

  “I love your mother,” Julia said, “but her innocence—of vegetable life—is truly amazing.” The smile faded from her lips. “I’ve missed you, Bella.”

  Bella pressed her hand. “I know. When we marry we most likely will not see one another from one end of the year to the next. We shall simply have to find husbands with neighboring estates. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  They walked on in silence for a moment. Physical distance hadn’t been what Julia meant when she said she’d missed Bella. Neighboring estates wouldn’t mend the rift that now yawned between them. They could talk about men and sex and prostitutes until the cows came home. But time, and Grandfather, and the problem of being the Talisman . . . the problem of Blackdown and the Russian and the mysterious tribe they were hunting . . .

  Pretend, Grandfather had said. Tell no one.

  Julia felt the warmth of her friend’s arm tucked against her side. The arm felt sturdy, and her friend was true. But Bella, London, this day . . . it was all light and shadow. She could trust no one.

  As they came again to the corner graced by the Falcott town house, Bella spoke. “I shall have to introduce you to a friend of mine. I met her on one of my walks. She showed me what I showed you today.”