How Do I Love Thee? (13 page)

To my disappointment he did not bite but moved to the window and pulled the sheer curtain aside. “There, Ba. Out there are people, teeming with life and emotions, just waiting for you to join them. You say Arabel and Sette went out, and I know Henrietta dines all round, and—”

“Without a chaperon,” I added.

John gasped dramatically, putting his hand to his chest, then staggering backwards against the wall. “Oh no! The hussy!”

I looked downward to hide my smile. “It is not proper.”

“Henrietta is not a child,” John said. “Or even a young woman.”

He was right. My sister was thirty—four. Yet there was still the question of the propriety of her actions. There were consequences to being out in London by herself. Dangers from without-and within. If Papa ever found out . . .

John took a seat and crossed his legs. “You need to follow the example of your siblings, Ba. I admire them for their independence. And Henry too.”

Showing any admiration regarding my foolhardy brother was unthinkable. “You condone my brother’s going against our father’s wishes, simply disappearing to Dover after he had been told not to go?”

“It was his twenty-fourth birthday, Ba. Doesn’t a young man have a right to celebrate with his friends?” John said.

“But Papa told him no; told him it was nonsense.”

“It was not nonsense to Henry.” John put his feet to the floor and leaned forwards. “If you are so against your siblings’ acts of scandalous freedom, why don’t you tattle on them?”

He had made a point I found hard to counter. “I just . . . I cannot do that.”

“Why not?” John asked. “If your father is justified regarding his restrictions, and you agree with him in all ways, then why don’t you act on his behalf and be warden to this Wimpole Street gaol?”

“This is not a gaol,” I said. “Our home is sacred, our home is a loving place, our home is run on—”

“Blind loyalty?”

I felt my heart palpitating yet I could not let Papa’s character be disparaged. “You know Papa allows us to go out, he allows friendships and amusements.”

“Allows. That is the key word which elicits deeper inquiry,” John said.

“Papa simply
suggests
it is not necessary to venture far beyond our own family for satisfaction. We
are
enough. If only my siblings would realize that it would be far better for all of us.” I did not tell him how pained I was when they caused Papa to chastise them. How I detested the sound of loud voices and conflict.

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 getting 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—”