"You've been asleep, luv. Only for a few minutes. It's just gone eight. We've got the whole night ahead of us. Hours and hours."
India looked at him, disconsolate. "I don't want hours. I want days. Months. Years."
"Don't start. You know that's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because of who I am. And who you are. We've talked about this, India. Here," he said. "I brought you some food. You should eat."
He topped up her wineglass and handed it to her. As she sipped from it, he picked up the tray and set it on the bed. "I couldn't find any broccoli. Or porridge. I hope this will do," he said.
"Very funny."
There were all sorts of delicious things: a roast Cornish hen, fragrant with lemon and thyme. Slivers of salty glazed ham. Asparagus in vinai-grette. Blush-pink new potatoes. Brussels sprouts fiecked with bacon. And for afters, a wedge of sharp crumbly Cheddar. Blue-veined Stilton. Plump apricots. A punnet of cherries. And chocolates.
"My goodness, this is a feast! Where did you get it all?" she asked.
"Harrods," he replied, pleased with himself.
India looked at him in disbelief and giggled.
"What?"
"The thought of you in Harrods. Rubbing shoulders with all the dowager ladies and sniffy shop clerks."
"Taking the piss, are we? Right, then. Next time it's pickled whelks and jellied eels for you." He picked up a bit of ham and popped it into her mouth.
She caught his hand in hers, kissed the palm, and held it to her cheek. "Marry me, Sid," she said.
"Finish your ham."
India swallowed, then said, "I mean it."
"Give us that wine glass back. You've had enough."
"I'm not drunk, I swear it. Marry me."
"The woman isn't supposed to ask the man."
"Stop joking. I'm serious, and I want you to be."
He gave her a long look, but said nothing.
"You could make a new beginning."
He laughed bitterly. "You don't know my world. Or the people in it. There are no new beginnings."
"Make one. Walk away. Tell them that you quit."
"Just pick up me bat and ball and go home, is that it?"
"Yes."
"It's a little late for that, luv."
"But why? Don't you want to leave it behind? The violence? The fear?"
"Fear is all I've got. Keeping people afraid is the only thing that keeps me alive."
"But, you could--"
"Christ, India, I don't want to talk about this!" he exploded. "For a few hours I get to forget who I am and what I do, and I get to have something beautiful and good in my life. For just a few bright hours. Just one night every now and again. It's little enough. Please don't take it from me."
He felt anguished. He would have given anything to be able to do what she asked of him--to turn his back on his life and start again. With her. But he knew it was impossible. Although he didn't say it out loud, because he didn't want to upset her, he knew that once you were in his world, you never got out. Unless it was in a pine box.
India kissed him. She shushed him. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I won't say another word about it, I promise. I love you, Sid. I love you so," she whispered.
Sid buried his face in her neck. "I love you, too, India. I wish to God I didn't."
Chapter 50
"Mummy?"
"Yes, Katie?" Fiona said, balancing her daughter on her knees. There was hardly room for them all in the chair--Katie, Fiona, and Fiona's enormous belly.
"Can I have a story?"
"Of course you may."
"Ten stories?"
"Two stories."
"Five stories?"
"You'll make a wonderful merchant someday," Fiona said, laughing. "I'll have to start bringing you to the tea auctions."
"Five, Mummy. Five."
"Five stories it is. Sold," Fiona said. "Now run along and have your bath, and when you're finished, we'll read."
Katie clambered down and ran to her nurse, Anna, who was waiting for her in the doorway of Fiona's study. She turned back to Fiona on her way out. "Mummy?" she said.
"Yes, duck?"
"I want Daddy."
Fiona winced. "I know you do, Katie, but Daddy's not here right now."
"I want him."
"He'll come to see you soon, my love."
"But ..."
Anna, awkward but gentle, said, "Come on, little Katie. We'll have a treat. We'll put some pretty pink bath salts in your water. Would you like that?"
Katie nodded and followed Anna out of the room. Fiona watched them go, heartsore. The damage her attacker had left on her face and body had faded. The damage Joe had inflicted was still raw. She was missing him horribly. Katie was missing her father. Everyone was unhappy and it was all her fault.
Or so Joe said.
He blamed her for this. All she had to do was go to him and tell him she would no longer search for Charlie. He would come home, they would be a family again and happy. Except for me, she thought.
She had lost so much. Her parents. Her sister. Nick. She would lose Charlie, too, if she couldn't find him, couldn't make him see reason. To prison or the gallows. Was it so wrong not to want to lose the brother she loved? Was it wrong to want them both--husband and brother? Joe wanted her to choose. She would if she could, but she didn't know how. She didn't know how to turn her back on someone she loved.
She thought of her parents and wished they were here. She missed them so much right now that it hurt. They would know what to do. Her mother would tell her the right things. She'd always known what the right things were. Her da would have upended every pub in East London until he'd found his son, then dragged him out by the scruff of his neck.
"Tell me, Mum. Tell me, Da," she whispered, eyes closed. "Tell me what to do."
She waited for the sound of her mother's voice, whispering in her heart. For her father's words, echoing in her mind. For some kind of sign, some di-rection, but her only answer was a knock on the door.
"Come in," Fiona said, grateful for the distraction from her sad thoughts.
It was Foster. "Mr. Finnegan is here to see you, madam," he said.
"Mr. Finnegan? My brother?" Fiona whispered, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Yes, madam. Shall I send him in?"
"Yes!" Fiona cried, rising from her chair.
Charlie was here. He had finally come. Charlie. Oh, how she had longed for this! They could talk at last. She would tell him of the danger he was in. She would convince him to leave London. And when he was safely away, she could go to Joe and tell him the good news, tell him to come home.
She heard footsteps in the hallway and was suddenly gripped by nerves. Would he be friendly to her? Angry? What would he say to her? What would she say to him? She didn't have long to worry, for the door suddenly opened and a red-haired man stepped into the room.
"Hey, Fee."
Fiona blinked at the tall, wiry teenager standing before her. "Seamie?" she said, completely surprised to see my younger brother instead of Char-lie. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Um... nice to see you, too," he said, kissing her cheek. She kissed him back, tried to embrace him. "Wow, I can hardly get around this," he said, patting her belly. "You having one baby or half a dozen?"
His teasing didn't even register. She knew why he was here. Something bad had happened. Why else would he come all the way from America without wiring first? Someone was ill. Or hurt. Or dead.
"Seamie, what's wrong?" she said. "Uncle Michael, Aunt Mary, the children..."
"Nothing's wrong. Everyone's fine. They all send their love."
"But why are you here, then? It's only October. You're not on your holi-days yet."
Seamie took off his jacket and sat down on the settee. "I've finished with school, Fiona," he said.
"Finished? How?" she asked, sitting down herself. "The school year's only just begun. Did y
ou graduate early?"
"Not exactly."
"Oh, no," she said. "Seamie, you weren't expelled, were you?"
"Um...well...yes."
"Why?"
"The head said I was spending too much time climbing and sailing and not enough time in class."
"He said that and then he expelled you? Without letting you make amends? Doesn't he believe in warning his students before he chucks them out?"
"Yeah, he does, actually," Seamie said, looking uncomfortable. "He gave me four warnings, then he chucked me out. Can't blame him. My grades were pretty bad. But the way I saw it, there was nothing left to learn. Nothing more they could teach me."
Fiona blinked at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. Seamie was--or had been--in his final year at Groton, an exclusive private school in Massachusetts. He was to have graduated in June and then gone on to university.
"Nothing more they could teach you, Seamie?" she sputtered. "What about science and maths and history and Latin? What about--"
"It doesn't matter, Fee. None of it matters. The head was right. I was spending all my time climbing and sailing. I became the youngest person to climb all forty-six high peaks of the Adirondacks. The youngest person to sail from Nova Scotia to the Keys alone."
Fiona listened, incredulous, as he went on about peaks and ridges, sextants and stars. When he finished, she said, "You've thrown it away. Your education. Your future. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to go exploring. It's the only thing I want to do."
She shook her head. This conversation was becoming more unreal, more outlandish, by the second.
"That's why I'm here, Fee. In London. The Royal Geographical Society is financing an expedition to Antarctica. Captain Robert Scott's leading it. I'm going to approach him. Ask him to take me on as a crew member. Beg him, if I have to."
"Antarctica? You can't go to Antarctica! You can't go anywhere! You're only seventeen!" Fiona shouted. She had recovered from Seamie's sudden appearance and his news. The shock she'd felt upon seeing him had been replaced by anger at his rash, foolish move.
"Fiona, I know this is hard on you, I know it was unexpected--"
"To say the bloody least!"
"But you have to try to understand something: The world is getting smaller every day. If I wait until I'm through university--nearly five years from now--it'll be too late. Everything will be found and climbed and crossed and mapped."
"Seamie, I'm not interested in a bloody geography lesson!"
"Listen, Fiona, listen--the source of the Nile's been found and just about every other river, too. There have been attempts at the North Pole, and many of the major mountains have been taken. Everyone's talking about Everest now. It's the third pole. All the good climbers want a shot at it, but the Tibetans won't let anyone in. Francis Younghusband, the explorer, spoke at the Royal Geographical Society last month. I got a copy of his paper. Word is that the viceroy's going to send him in. To Lhasa. To open talks. He's been everywhere. Manchuria. The Gobi Desert. Mongolia. Nepal. And now he wants Everest. Everest! Can you imagine?"
"What I can't imagine," Fiona said, "is how you've taken the opportunity I've given you, and all the money I've spent, and chucked them into the rubbish bin. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? There were boys who would have given their eyeteeth to have the education you were getting. I want you to finish and graduate, Seamie. I want you to go to university."
"What you want and what I want are two different things."
"Apparently so! I want what's best for you."
"But you don't know what's best for me, Fee. Only I know that."
"Oh, you do? At seventeen years of age, you know what's best?"
"Look, you didn't stay in school. You left when you were fourteen, but you want me to stay."
"Left? Left? I was taken out of school. I had no choice. I had to go work at Burton Tea to help feed the family."
"It doesn't change the facts," he said. "You were on your own at seventeen. In charge of your own life. You had more adventures before you were eighteen than most people have in a lifetime."
"Is that what you call them, adventures? I've news for you, they weren't adventures, Seamie, they were tragedies," she said, beyond furious now.
She saw that he at least had the good grace to look shamefaced.
They were both silent for a few seconds, then Fiona said, "I'm going to telegraph the headmaster. I'll beg him to take you back. If I succeed in fixing this disaster, you are getting on the first ship back to New York."
"No, I'm not. I'm not going back."
"And what if you don't get on this expedition? What are you going to do for money? There would have been a place for you at TasTea or Montague's--a good place--after you'd graduated from university."
"I was hoping--"
"Well, don't! Don't hope for a handout, Seamie. Or for any special treatment. You can work in the bloody warehouse if you want a job. I've an opening at Oliver's. You can go see the foreman in the morning."
"I was hoping you'd let me have the money Nick left me."
Nicholas Soames, Fiona's first husband, had married Fiona when Seamie was a child. Nick had adored Seamie and regarded him as his son. When he died, he left Seamie a legacy. The money--two hundred thou-sand dollars--had been placed in a trust for him until he turned twenty-one. Fiona was its executor.
"You must be joking," she said.
"I'm not."
"Do you really think I'm going to hand over that kind of money to a seventeen-year-old truant?"
Seamie stood up. He picked up his jacket.
"Where are you going?"
"To stay with friends," he said, wounded. "With the Aldens. It's clear I'm not welcome here."
"Seamie, don't be ridiculous. Of course you're welcome here," Fiona said.
"As long as I agree to what you say and do what you want. Well, I'm not going to. I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a grown man. And I'm going to Antarc-tica. I'll see you around."
"Seamie..." Fiona said, trying to get up out of her chair. Her belly slowed her, though, and by the time she had gotten up he was already downstairs. She hurried to the window and watched him walk out of the house and down the street, a duffel bag in his hand.
She closed her eyes, trying to hold back her tears. My God, how had this happened? How had she managed to chase Seamie from the house? He'd arrived only a few minutes ago and now he was gone again.
Her elder brother wouldn't see her. She'd driven her husband from the house. And now she'd driven her younger brother away, too. All the men she loved had left. A tear rolled down her cheek, then another. Her family was fracturing. Right before her eyes. They were coming apart when all she wanted was to hold them together. To keep them near her. To keep them safe.
She heard the door open. Foster was there again, a tea tray in one hand, a handkerchief in the other. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bristow, I don't mean to intrude, but I thought you might be in need of a cup of tea."
Fiona realized he'd probably heard the row between herself and Seamie. She watched him as he set the tea tray down on her desk, and the handkerchief discreetly beside it, then made his way back to the door.
"Thank you, Mr. Foster," she said, grateful for his thoughtfulness and his tact.
"Is there anything else you need, Mrs. Bristow? May I be of any help to you at all?"
"Can you tell me how to make men stay put in one place?"
"Yes, madam, I can. It's quite simple."
"Really, Mr. Foster? How?"
"Turn them into women."
Chapter 51
Frankie heard the voices from the street. He was surprised anyone was in the Bark. It was half four, and Des closed the pub punctually now from
three to five to avoid trouble with the rozzers. He listened for a bit before going inside and realized he knew the voices--one was Gemma's, angry and shrill. The other was Sid's. His was low and contained. Barely.
Winter Rose, The Page 49