1930's AU. Merthur. DI!Merlin. Criminal!Arthur. Smut. Angst. Too much alcohol and cigarettes. No archive warning. Mature rating.
Two years after Will's death, DI Emrys is still grieving his late lover. The only thing that keeps him going is his desire to bring the Knights down. This crime organisation, lead by a man only known by the name 'Pendragon', is staining London with the blood of innocents. At the dawn of a new war, Merlin believes the man has finally been arrested, only to be fooled once again.
Lost in his glass of whiskey, he will meet a man that will change his life. As he leaves, he hears the blond giving his name. "Arthur."
If only he knew the man he was so desperately running after was the same one he was kissing goodnight.
Her heart had been full to bursting and she let everything spill out in front of him. Now she felt . . . not exactly empty . . . more hungry. She wanted to stuff herself back up; she felt deflated, incomplete.
He’d taken a piece of her with him, along with all the light in the sky. The sun was setting as she watched Arnie drive him away in the car, and by the time she turned and walked up the stairs to her room, the darkness had overtaken. Whatever else she dreaded about life, Rae had never feared the dark before, and she was determined that she wouldn’t let herself start now.
Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t had time to think about what his going would feel like. What it would mean to not have him down the hall and up the stairs. Or in the garden. Or waiting at table. He was truly out of reach and her palms itched, knowing they couldn’t touch him.
Rae felt proprietary over Finn in a way that she never had about anyone else. She didn't understand it, nor did she like it. In her core, she didn’t believe that people belonged to other people, but she was beginning to believe that sometimes people belonged together. She was afraid to believe in anything like fate, because maybe that meant she deserved to be sent away. Could being sent away have been a cosmic preparation to meet Finn? Or was life utterly chaotic, and if you found someone you loved, you should hang onto them with all your might, because they might float away if you didn't?
Now that he was gone home, she had nothing to hang onto. She was aimless and empty, like she didn’t know he was her direction and what filled her heart.
She couldn’t believe they had actually said the words out loud. This was where so many books end, protagonists joined in an embrace, looking forward to their long and happy future. But she and Finn didn’t have a happy future guaranteed for them. True, no one had a guarantee, but many people didn’t have this gulf between them. And on top of everything, Finn was gone. He had embraced her, told her again that he loved her, taken his small case, and left. It was so strange, she’d been thrilled by those three words, I and you, joined by love, but now she was deep in despair. In the book that Finn had taken with him for his journey, an old man says that it is impossible to love and to part. She didn’t know when she’d see him again, and she couldn’t just spend all of that time pining away. She’d go mad again, or become madder still.
Sitting at her desk, she tugged on a strand of hair, agitated. She needed something to occupy her mind. She started opening desk drawers, and saw the letters she’d received only that morning. It seemed like a month ago. She took the card Henry had included, and turned it over in her hand. She’d go to the Galleries tomorrow, take her sketchbook, and hope she could lose herself in drawing.
Then she glanced over and saw Archie’s letter. She had to respond now. Her answer had always been no, from the moment he had suggested their union, but it had been soft and small at first. But that no had grown larger and more solid, and now it would never be anything but no. She pulled a sheet of paper out of her center desk drawer.
Taking up her pen, she tapped the end on her bottom lip, searching for a way to begin. Dear Archie, was a good place. They were friends, after all. She liked him, in spite of him putting her in this predicament. But he wasn’t now, nor would he ever be, her dearest.
Allow me to apologize for not replying to you sooner. I have spent a lot of time considering your offer, vague as it is, but after giving it every consideration, I find still cannot accept it.
I very much hope we can remain as friends.
Best wishes,
Rachel Earl
It was short. Too short? It wasn’t sweet, but she didn’t feel sweet about Archie or this situation. He’d likely want to argue further, try to wear her down, but she felt steadfast in a decision for the first time in her life. Even if she could never be with Finn, she wouldn’t use Archie as a fallback position. As she pondered these thoughts, something nagged at the back of her brain, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It wasn’t regret; more like something was askew, a picture frame crooked on the wall of her mind, but she couldn’t see which one needed straightening.
Then, she wrote a short letter to Henry thanking him for the course information and letter of introduction to his professor. She informed him that he would likely be receiving correspondence addressed to her, and that she’d be happy to meet him at the museum to discuss the matter.
Intent on not wasting anymore time, she folded the notes and popped them into envelopes, addressed and stamped them, and then opened her door to take it down to Mr. Gill to add to the letters for the morning post. Joan stood in the hallway and jumped at the sound, shoved a book into her apron pocket, and lamely flicked the feather duster over a sconce.
Rae was surprised to see her there, and raised an eyebrow. “Little late for dusting, isn’t it?”
“My work is never done, Miss.” Joan sighed gratuitously.
“It’s a wonder you haven’t fainted dead away,” Rae smirked. Joan was a good egg; Rae had felt an unspoken kinship to her ever since that day she’d disappeared, and it was discovered she’d been reading the whole time.
Joan paused, seemingly unsure whether to be offended or to laugh. Just as she was about to speak, Rae asked, “Read anything good lately?”
Now Joan froze. When she didn’t reply, Rae continued, flustered. “It’s just, I know how much you like to read. Sorry, you can carry on; didn’t mean to interrupt your work.” Rae swept past her, down the hall, and glanced back at Joan, wondering if that was fear behind the young maid’s eyes.
When Rae reached the top of the stairs, Joan replied. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon, miss.”
It was Rae’s turn to freeze. Why did Joan say that? She felt she had to conceal, cover, hide. “Who? Oh, Finn? Yes, his grandmother is rather ill, I believe? I do hope she’ll pull through.” The words floated out of her like they were spoken by a stranger. She glanced back at Joan, who was wearing a forlorn expression. Turning away, Rae marched down the stairs.
* * *
After a long and restless night, the morning finally dawned. Rae awoke and groaned as the light assaulted her eyes. She had just propped herself up on her elbows when Izzy rapped on the door before coming in.
“Morning, miss,” she said, keeping her head down as she put the tray on Rae’s desk.
“Morning, Izzy.”
The young maid didn’t respond, which was strange. Rae had grown used to the flighty chatter Izzy would spout while Rae nibbled her breakfast and Izzy darted around the room, choosing an outfit and planning a style for her long dark hair. The silence between them felt awkward and Rae could not account for it.
“Are you feeling well, Izzy?”
“Yes, miss. Miss Rae, I mean. Sorry.” Izzy opened Rae’s wardrobe and stared blankly in at the dresses hung up inside. “Is this dress alrigh’ for today, Miss Rae?” Izzy held up a dark green cotton frock with pleats at the neck. Rae nodded. “I’ll come back an’ fix your hair up in a bit,” Izzy sighed. Usually she waited around until Rae was through with breakfast, but today Izzy floated away in a cloud of sadness.
When she was alone, Rae was reminded that she’d promised to write Finn every day, so she took bite of her croissant and then picked up her pen and opened her drawer to get a page of writing paper. On the right side of the drawer, Rae saw the stack of photographs they had printed the other day. One of the pictures of Finn was on top, she traced her finger along the curve of his jaw, and then opened her lower drawer, taking her journal out from underneath the scarf she’d used to hide it, unclasped it, and slipped the photo in between the pages. Looking back at the photos, she now saw her face was on the top of the pile. He had printed it, after all. She smiled, feeling sheepish.
Turning back to the page, she was stymied. What could she say? What if his mum opened it and read it? How could she tell him in words how much she missed him already, how she couldn’t fathom how much more she would miss him if he were gone a week or more, and how very, very much she hoped that everything would be alright?
Dearest Finn,
Before she realized what she was doing and could talk herself out of it, she drew a hand, then another, a pair of hands cupped next to each other. They were his hands; she’d memorized them. She wondered if he’d recognize them. Then, she drew a heart nestled in his palms. It was not an anatomically correct organ, but she hoped he’d understand. He had her heart. She closed the letter with Yours, Rae. Because she was.
She carefully folded the paper around the photo of her in profile, and gently slid them into an envelope, addressing it with a feather touch. She clasped it to her heart, wrinkling the edge slightly before slipping it into her portfolio. This message she would need to mail on her own, away from prying eyes.
* * *
After breakfast, Rae made her way downstairs. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the light that filtered through the leaded glass panels of the front door, shapes dancing on the pattern of the hall carpet. Her eyes flitted to the marble-topped telephone stand, to the heavy wooden doors of the library which were slightly ajar, and then followed along the brocade wallpaper covered with framed prints to the door of her mother’s study. The door to the kitchen, bare wood denoting it as the entrance to a simpler world, was across the hall, and that was the world to which Rae was drawn. There was no pull to see her mother, to ask her what her day was like and if she could spare an hour to lunch with her. She knew the answer was and always would be that Lillian was too busy. She could easily spare fifteen minutes to dash up to the nursery to see Violet after she’d worked through lunch with her second tray of the day. Much harder to tear herself away from correspondence and account books to sit awkwardly across from her eldest daughter and struggle for conversation. Rae didn’t imagine the disdain she felt from her mother; she was sure of it.
As she made her way down the hall, she paused for the briefest of seconds outside the study door, but continued down the stairs to the kitchen.
She ducked her head as she rounded the turn in the stairs and heard the low tutting of Mrs. Dewhurst. “Miss Rachel, what’re you doin’ down ‘ere? Thought I’d finally dissuaded you!”
A smile crept into Rae’s features. “Can’t keep me away, Mrs. D. I was hoping to make some hand pies, like the ones I made when I was little?”
Mrs. Dewhurst smiled, but swatted her hands through the air, “Oh, go away wi’ you! You prob’ly couldn’t even handle a rolling pin anymore; it’s been that many years.”
Rae feigned shock. “Oh, really? Well, any time you’d like to challenge me, just let me know.”
Mrs. Dewhurst chuckled and started to turn back to her preparations for lunch. A shadow seemed to fall on the cook’s sunny mood, as she asked, “Did you ‘ear about poor Finn’s gran? The lad was so broken up abou’ it!”
Rae felt a pang in her chest. Finn. She hadn’t forgotten him, but for a moment he wasn’t at the very front of her mind. Now he strode forward from the back of her brain at the mention of his name. “Yes, I heard. It’s terrible news. I hope he makes it to her in time. I hope they get to spend some time together before . . .” Her voice faltered. She didn’t want to say before what.
Mrs. Dewhurst came to Rae’s side and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. “‘Ey now, don’t get too upset. Anyone would think it were your gran . . .” Mrs. Dewhurst didn’t finish her thought, apparently not keen to state the inevitable out loud either. “‘Ere, let’s ‘ave a seat.” She gestured to the little sitting area by the fire. When they were both settled in, the cook glanced around the kitchen and said, in a low voice, “We—well, I’ve—noticed how close the two of ya are gettin', Rachel.” She took a breath and seemed to gather her thoughts. “He’s . . . he’s a good lad, and you're a lovely lass, but ya know . . . nothin' can come of it."
Rae nodded solemnly, her heart heavy. She wished she were the type able to conceal her feelings. She felt embarrassed at being caught out. But she could also hear the tenderness in Mrs. Dewhurst’s voice. Rae knew she was only showing her she cared about her and didn’t want her to get hurt.
Rae took a deep breath and said, “I know. I know. It's just . . ." she walked over to the window that looked out into the garden. ". . . I've never felt what I feel when I'm with him. It’s like . . . I was meant to know him. It seems strange that a little thing like who our parents happen to be should make it impossible for us to be friends or . . . anything at all.”
She looked over her shoulder at the old woman, and saw Mrs. Dewhurst’s eyes shining. She stood up and rushed to the counter, stumbling a little on her way. Rae rushed to support her.
“I’m alrigh’, don’t fret about me, dear. I just need to be gettin’ on wi’ me work.” She placed both hands on the edge of the wooden counter, steadying herself. Rae nodded, even thought Mrs. Dewhurst couldn’t see her with her back turned. Rae started to walk over to the door to the garden; she’d really come down to ask Arnie for a ride to the museum. As her hand touched the doorknob, Rae heard Mrs. Dewhurst’s voice, low and throaty, as though she were fighting back tears, say her name. It wasn’t her name so much as a plea, so she stayed. She waited, finally whispering, “Yes?”
“Don’t listen to a daft ol’ cow like me. You should do what makes you ‘appy. You deserve to be ‘appy, after all you’ve been through.”
Rae felt like one of the statues she was hoping to sketch, frozen in time. Her mind raced as her body ran from hot to cold in a matter of seconds. “I—I haven’t been through anything so very terrible . . . ” The unspoken question . . . have I? seemed to hang in the air after her words.
Rae heard Mrs. Dewhurst’s footsteps as she crossed over to her. She thought that if she turned around to face her, the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes would surely spill.
“Please, have another seat. I should—well, truth be told, I prob’ly shouldn’t, but . . .”
Rae slowly sank into the upholstered settee opposite Mrs. Dewhurst, filled with curiosity.
“I know you don’t know this, but I’m not actually Mrs. Dewhurst.”
Rae looked up, bewildered, feeling thrown off balance herself.
“I mean, I’m meself, no mistakin’ that, but I never actually married. The “missus” is a term o’ respect down here. Means you’ve been workin’ a good long time, an’ know your trade.” Her voice had begun to waver, so she paused to steady it.
Rae tipped her head up to glance at Mrs. Dewhurst. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, there’s not much time for romance when you’ve got breakfast lunch tea dinner an’ a tray of puddings to be doin’ every day, wi’ extra refreshments on Sunday. No time for rest, let alone flirtations an’ the like.” She managed a wry smile, like she was remembering something that contradicted what she just said. “Though there might ‘ave been a moment or two. When things seemed . . . possible. Or, maybe, jus’ not IM-possible.”
Rae smiled, thinking of Mrs. Dewhurst as a young woman meeting a young man at the end of a dark hallway or in a corner of the garden.
“There was a young man once . . . but, then, there always is. I ‘ad so much ‘ope, but it just couldn’t be. Now, I tried to tell ya, well, warn ya, really . . . but now I’ll tell you somethin’ else.” The old woman took a deep breath and drew herself up straight in her chair. “I’ve watched you grow from a wee lass, Rachel Earl. I’ve known you from a babe in arms, an’ I’ve seen what goes on. I know more than you do abou’ what . . .” She shook her head. “If—“ She faltered, but only for a moment. “If your mother had treated you better, shown you more compassion, more love, I'd be inclined to tell you to do your duty. To forget about the feelin’ that you get when you see ‘im in the hall. But she hasn't done her duty, not properly. So, you do what you think is best . . . for YOU, Rachel Earl. I reckon you’re the only person you owe anythin’ to.”
With that extraordinary statement, Mrs. Dewhurst put her hand on her knee, sighed, and pushed herself up to stand. As she crossed back to the stove, a journey she must have made a hundred thousand times, she dropped her hand onto Rae’s shoulder, squeezing it for a second, before returning to work.
Rae drew a deep breath in through her nose and held it for a count of ten before she sighed and said, “Thank you, Miss Dewhurst.” She didn’t see, couldn’t, as she was walking through the door, but the cook’s hand sprang to her heart hearing the name of her youth.
* * *
In the garden, Rae felt a little lost. Moments ago, Mrs. Dewhurst had confirmed her fears by saying nothing could ever happen. Her heart felt clenched, like a hundred little fissures were cracking its surface, but hadn’t broken. But then, moments later, she was blindsided with hope. With this strange permission that she hadn’t known she craved until she had it.
Rae was clouded by her thoughts and stumbled against a wrought iron bench, tottering for a second until she gained her balance.
“Y’alrigh’ there, Miss Rae?” Arnie called to her from the garage, coming out to see if she needed assistance.
“Yes, yes. Perfectly sound, Arnie!” She turned and walked over to him, forcing a smile onto her face. “Actually, it’s you I’ve come to see. Would it be possible for you to drive me to the British Museum today?”
Arnie was polishing a brass fitting in his hand with a soft cloth. He looked down at his coveralls. “Well, I’d hoped to put in a couple hours gettin’ things in tip-top condition, bu’ I could change and take ya in. It’s a distraction I’m after, and a drive’s as good as anythin’ for distractin’ me.”
“A distraction?”
“Jus’ don’t wanna be thinkin’ too hard abou’ Finn an’ his gran, like. When he first got ‘ere (I were undergardener then, but we’ve always shared a room) . . . she’s all he’d talk abou’. Then, one day, after a month or so, he jus’ clams up abou’ her, says he can’t talk abou’ her no more, or it’ll drive ‘im spare. An’ he didn’t. I’d forgotten all abou’ it, all about ‘er, until last night when Mr. Gill says I need to drive Finn to the station so’s he can go home an’ see ‘er. One las’ time.” Arnie sighed.
Rae nodded gravely in response. With every mention of Finn, it was like an ocean of tears lapping at the back of her eyes, and high tide was bound to come.
Arnie popped the brass gasket onto at tray of polished hardware and furrowed his brow. “Y’know, it’s funny. All he talks abou’ these days is you.”
Rae felt her eyes pop out of their sockets. Luckily, Arnie’s head was still down.
“Mainly in ’is sleep, mind you,” he lifted his head, raising one eyebrow.
Her face felt hot and she knew that everyone must know. “I—I shouldn’t have . . .”
Arnie’s face softened. “What? Ya’ve done nothin’.” He waited for her to look at him properly and said, “I were only jokin’. He talks abou’ the pictures, too.”
Rae exhaled a long breath to another ten count in her head.
“What time did ya wanna be at the museum?” Arnie asked, his voice softer, like he was worried his words earlier had been too harsh.
“Um, perhaps noon? If that’s okay.”
“I’m at your service, Miss Rae, but even if I weren’t, that’d be fine. See ya then, then.” He doffed his cap at her and she wandered back to her room to gather her thoughts, as well as her things for the museum.
* * *
The ride to the museum was quiet. This time, Rae had allowed Arnie to open the back door for her and she sat in the back, silently filled with an apprehension that Arnie would ask her about Finn and why he talked about her. Not only did she not know what to say, she didn’t know what Finn would want her to say. They had seemed to tacitly agree that secrecy and discretion was necessary, but he wasn’t here with all of these people as much as telling her they knew everything. It made her want to laugh, because they acted like they knew something she didn’t even know herself. Yes, they had spoken the word out loud to one another, but that didn’t mean Finn didn’t regret it, or that something at home hadn’t changed his mind. She couldn’t be sure how he would feel when they saw each other again. Whenever that might be.
When Arnie pulled up outside the museum, she didn’t make any pleasantries, just sprang out of back of the car and tossed, “Thanks for the ride, I’ll find my own way back” over her shoulder, not giving Arnie a chance to respond before she shut the door and walked quickly through the gates.
Inside, she was directed to the Galleries of Sculpture and presented the card Henry’s professor had provided in his letter. The guard nodded at her to enter. Entering the enormous room was like stepping into a cathedral; it seemed almost religious. The skylight above flooded the center of the room with the clean white light of the midday summer sun, and the marble and granite statues gleamed at her in rows. Some artists had brought easels with them, and were standing, but there were also a few benches provided, and Rae gravitated to one of these.
She glanced around at the artists, most of whom were wearing canvas smocks to keep their clothes neat and clean and berets to keep the hair out of their eyes. Rae only had her sketchbook and a few pencils and drawing tools; she felt underprepared and inadequate. She decided to take a quiet turn about the gallery, partially to inspect the statues and find one she wished to sketch, but also to quietly take a peek at the work of the others, to see if she was hopelessly out of her depth.
To her surprise, there was a wide range of talent, not to mention different styles. Rae had always tended to draw things realistically, possibly even with too much honesty, wanting to present each subject as it really was. But some of these drawings she inspected bore little resemblance to the finely chiseled statues in the room, though she got the sense that the lines they had chosen did convey the feeling of the statues. Rae realized, not for the first time, that she had a lot to learn.
She returned to her bench and decided that the Greek statue in front of her, of a young man holding a discus, was as good as any, and she began to sketch. Almost immediately, she slipped into that state she could never describe to anyone else, because it was like she was operating on another frequency to the rest of the world. Time seemed to both stand still and slip away, because when she finally came to, she was disoriented and shocked that two hours had flown by. It had seemed like only a few moments. She blinked her eyes to clear them and looked at her drawing. She’d only focused on tiny sections while she was drawing, so now she could take in the whole picture. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but . . .
“Looks alright, but that face is a bit off,” spoke a jovial voice from over her shoulder. “Well, it’s a fine face, but it isn’t the one on the statue.”
Rae turned around to find Henry smiling at her through his beard.
“Henry! What a nice surprise!” She started to stand up, but he motioned for her to keep her seat.
“I got your letter in the morning post, and as I was coming in anyway to meet with my professor, I thought I’d see if you were here. How have you been?”
“Very well, thank you. How’s your fiancée? Or do you prefer betrothed?”
His smile widened at her joking. “She’s very well, too. We’re thinking of getting married at Michaelmas.”
“Lovely!” Rae looked back at her sketch, at the face. Of course. It was Finn. She shook her head, flipped the sketchbook cover over the drawing, and started to pack up.
“Leaving?” Henry asked.
“Well, I’m done for now,” Rae said, uncertain.
“Thirsty? We could share a pot of tea downstairs.”
She found she was, and nodded. “Yes, that sounds . . . yes.”
Downstairs in the tea room, Henry pulled out a chair for Rae and they sat facing each other at a small table.
“So, what’s going on, Rae-Rachel?”
Rae looked at her hands, and picked at a cuticle for a moment. “What do you mean?” she asked, knowing very well what he meant.
“Well, your letter was mostly expected, that you’d be coming to the gallery to sketch today, that you were thinking about the program at Camberwell . . . but what’s this about you might be getting letters sent to my address?”
Rae sighed. “If it’s a problem, let me know. It’s . . . just . . . you were the only person I could think of that might understand, might be fine if I couldn’t tell you why.” She picked up a spoon and twirled it nervously between her fingers.
“Can you tell me why?” Henry asked, his voice low and gentle; he seemed to understand this was difficult for Rae.
She raised her head and met his gaze, which she had been avoiding. “I think I can. I can’t account for it, but I think I can trust you.” After a deep breath, she told him, if not everything, everything he needed to know. That she and Finn were good friends (her significant glance probably revealed they might be more), that his grandmother was ill and that she wanted to write to him to make him feel better, but he couldn’t write back without fearing discovery and possibly much worse.
Henry nodded, humming thoughtfully as he twisted the side of his mustache. “Yes. You know—well, of course you don’t—my father was a day laborer. My mum took in washing. I was a weedy lad growing up, too slight to do much good on a farm or a building site, so I was sent to school. I was good at learning, and got a scholarship to Oxford. That’s how I met Sarah. She was in St. Hilda’s; I was in St. John’s. We met at the Ashmolean one rainy Saturday afternoon.” He smiled at the memory. “Anyway, she and her family are rather posh. She’s taking a step down in the world to be with me. And though I feel the weight of that, the fear that she’ll regret it . . . well. Sometimes you just know, you know?”
Just as he finished his speech, the waitress arrived at their table with a tray of tea things. By the time they’d gotten everything set out and the tea poured and fixed, Henry was caught by surprise when Rae replied, “I do.”
* * *
Her walk home from the museum had been invigorating at the start. Between Mrs. Dewhurst and Henry and even Arnie . . . maybe she was getting a nod from the universe. But, the question remained, to what? What options did she and Finn have?
The hope she felt at the start of her walk slowly swung closer to despair by the time she got home, and when she came in the front door and her mother was standing in the hall, the last glow of hope faded at once. Here was the only person whose approval mattered, and she would never get it.
“Ah, Rachel, there you are! I wanted to speak with you.” Lillian held her hand out to have Rae join her in her study.
Rae ducked down to lean her portfolio against the telephone stand, then followed her mother.
“Please have a seat.” Her mother seemed . . . pleased? Not angry, at any rate.
Rae wore an expectant smile. “What’s this about?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual.
“We’ve been invited to Scotland for a house party,” Lillian said, allowing herself a smile, as well.
“Oh! Well, that’s . . . nice. I hope you’ll have a nice time.” Rae guessed that her mother wanted her to stay behind and keep the house open.
“No, Rachel, you’re coming, too. In fact, it’s because of you we’ve been included in the party. Mrs. Harris has invited our entire household!”
Rae’s eyes felt like they might drop out of her head and roll across the carpet. She’d just sent Archie her rejection; she couldn’t spend two weeks in the Highlands with him!
True to form, Lillian didn’t notice Rae’s discomfort and carried on. “Normally, I don’t like to be away from the business for such a stretch, but Mrs. Harris says there is room for Violet and her nursemaid, and we can even bring a few of the servants. Karim could use a break, and Hassan always likes a bit of sport. It’s really rather perfect, don’t you think?”
Rae nodded without thinking, then said, “But, mother, I just . . . started . . . a course of study at the British Museum! I’d hate to miss out on something.” It was a lie, but a plausible one.
“Rachel, this is a wonderful opportunity, and an honor for our family to be asked. The Harrises are a family of influence, and anyway, you are such good friends with Archie and Callie . . . I thought you’d jump at the chance?”
“No, I mean, yes. It sounds lovely, Mother.” Her mind raced for a moment, trying to fashion a solution. “If I might be allowed to go once more to the museum, to explain to the . . . instructor? When are we expected to arrive?”
“Well, we could leave anytime; their summer house is open for the season. I had planned for you to go up tomorrow on the noon train, and Karim and I would finish up some work and bring Violet in a few days. I suppose Hassan will work to his own timetable, as usual.” Lillian was distracted by thoughts of her stepson for a moment, then looked at Rae with a skeptical eye. “I don’t like the idea of classes; what is the subject?”
“It’s just a drawing class, new techniques and that sort of thing.” Rae continued to lie, feeling panic rise within her. She had to write Finn again. She had to let him know where they would be, and why she wouldn’t be able to answer anything from his letters for a bit. And Archie . . . had he already received her letter to him? A thought occurred. “What if I go up the day after tomorrow? I’ll go to the class tomorrow, and explain I have to postpone my studies.”
Lillian furrowed her brow. “Well, I suppose. I suppose that could work, and wouldn’t look too odd. Though I did promise Mrs. Harris . . .”
“Thank you, Mother.” Rae was already scheming how to stay behind for longer, when Lillian decreed, “Nothing else must detain you, though. This is an important invitation, and Mrs. Harris will be expecting you.”
Rae nodded, and left her mother’s study to pick up her portfolio. It had never occurred to her that she wouldn’t be here to get Finn’s letters. That she would be asked to a summer house . . . in Scotland . . . to spend two weeks with Archie and his family? This was going to be torture.
* * *
The next day, she went back to the museum, and explained to Henry that she was going away. “Could you keep any letters for me, till I get back? I’m sorry; this came up so suddenly.”
Henry nodded sympathetically, and said, “It’s not a problem, Rae. Only . . . did you want the one I got this morning?” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, a sly grin on his face.
Rae looked between him and it, disbelievingly. “Is that . . . from him?”
“Well, the postmark is from Stamford. You know anyone else in that part of the world?” He held it out to her. She took it and turned it over in her hands, but didn’t open it. She wanted to wait until she was home. Or maybe until the walk home. Definitely until she left the museum.
“Rae-Rachel,” Henry ventured.
“You can call me Rachel, you know,” she said with a smile. “Or just Rae.”
“I know, but I’m fond of my nickname for you.” He smiled back, but then his face assumed a serious expression. “I’m happy that you’re happy, but . . . think about the Camberwell application. No man, nor woman neither, can live by love alone. It’s a wonderful thing; just think about what else will fill your life.” He took a breath. “If you let romantic love consume you, it will.”
Rae nodded. She couldn’t trust love absolutely, in any case. And she wanted something to distract her. The art program application was actually the perfect thing. Even if she wasn’t accepted, which she didn’t expect she would be, it would be something to fill her time, occupy her mind. Though . . . she could still read his letter, and write a response. And think of him in gaps, when she caught her breath, when she could no longer stand it and just had to think about him.
Dear My dearest Rae,
I’m writing this by candlelight with a bad pen, and the only people I write to are my mum and my brother, so please forgive me if this is terrible.
I arrived safe and Nan is still with us. She’s always been strong, and I think it’s strength that’s kept her here until she could see me. You remind me of her in some ways, though that might sound odd. I see you having a pillar of strength inside, too. You must have, to trust in anything at all, after all that’s happened to you. I hope you can trust in me.
I hate that I had to leave just as we were—starting things, I suppose? I hate that life can give you something wonderful and then make you leave it behind. I hate that I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.
I know it’s not the same, but I think I understand a little of how you felt returning home after a long time away. I don’t quite fit here anymore. Everything looks the same, but I’m not the same, you know? Now I wonder if the only place I fit is when I’m with you. (Sappy clap-trap, I know. Probably heard that at some picture or other.)
Words can’t express what I feel, so I won’t waste anymore.
Love,
Finn
Rae blushed furiously, both at his perfect letter, and her inability to write a single meaningful syllable to him in her initial correspondence. She slipped his letter into her portfolio, and wished she hadn’t already mailed the drawing to him.
* * * * *
Two days later, Rae was on a train bound for Inverness, filled with apprehension.
She’d prolonged this journey for as long as she could, but her mother was adamant that she join Archie and Chloe in Scotland. “You’ve never been to a house-party, Rachel. It will be good for you to socialize with young people, make more friends and acquaintances, broaden your horizons.” Lillian seemed to say this last sentiment with an odd emphasis, like she felt Rae had been narrowing her horizons somehow.
Rae had managed to delay her going an extra day, but now she found herself on a sleeper car on her way to Archie’s family home near Beauly Firth. She never received a reply from Archie, and was tying herself up in knots, wondering if he’d gotten the letter.
This anxiety compounded with her missing Finn, and she once again failed to get any decent sleep, alone and awake at three in the morning, hurtling through the night toward an unknown fate. Her mother and Karim were planning to come up in a few days, but couldn’t accompany Rae. Hassan was already in residence, and Callie had written, apparently the day he arrived, imploring Rae to come and join them, the subtext being that she didn’t like to be alone with him.
Izzy was traveling with her, though she had her own seat in Third Class. Rae had asked Izzy to sit in her sleeping compartment, but Izzy seemed to want to sit by herself, which Rae thought odd. She was probably upset at being separated from Arnie. He was not a member of the party, as they weren’t driving up, nor would they be in possession of a motor on their trip. Rae had given them a moment alone when Arnie dropped them at the station, going to a newsstand, pretending to take her time choosing something to read on the journey. When she’d returned, the two of them sprang apart out of an embrace and Rae hoped her face hadn’t betrayed that she’d seen them.
As she stared up at the polished wood ceiling, Rae tried to think positively about this trip, not dwell on the fact that Archie would likely be angry with her, which would make his mother upset with her. Callie might even join in. And Hassan was never nice to her. She could use Izzy’s friendship just now, but she wondered if she still had it.
She decided to cheer herself up and read Finn’s letter again. She switched on the dim light bolted to the compartment wall, and reached for her portfolio.
Rae gingerly took slid it out of the envelope and unfolded it with the utmost care. She read over his words, closing her eyes and shaking her head at the perfection of them. She couldn’t keep responding with drawings, so she picked her pen and took a deep breath.
My dearest Finn,
You keep telling me that you’re not very good with speaking or writing, as though words somehow elude you. Yet, you still manage find the precise ones I need to hear again and again. Whoever told you that words were your enemy was wrong. I loved your letter, and I wish I were still in London to receive every word. Unfortunately, my mother insisted I come to Scotland, to Archie’s summer house, to . . . well, I’m not sure why. I think it is simply because we were invited, and it would be rude to decline such an invitation.
So, here I am, in cold, bleak Scotland, glad of my long sleeves, but wishing I could have stayed behind to wait for you and your words.
I should have actually written something in that first letter and told you, but Mrs. Dewhurst knows. About us. And Arnie suspects something, too. Of course, I had to tell Henry. So, I don’t know. Part of me wants everyone to know, because it feels so good to love and be loved. However, I know how difficult that would make life for you. And for me, too, I suppose. I don’t think anyone will betray us, but if they’ve sussed us out . . . I don’t know how much longer before everyone knows.
If that scares you, well, I’m scared, too. Though I think I’m more scared I’ll never see you again.
I hope I have even a little of the strength you see in me. I think we’ll need it before long.
Yours, with love,
Rae
Sleep eventually overtook her, and when she awoke, it was early morning, a bright sliver of clouded gray-sky light making her squint as she opened her eyes. She sat up and pulled the tiny curtain over the window all the way open. The landscape was shrouded in mist, foreboding. Rae shivered and pulled the thin blanket provided by the railway around her shoulder. It was summer, but didn’t feel like it this far north. She heard the muffled voice of the conductor walking the aisle. “Inverness! Next stop Inverness!” She stood, steadying herself against the wall until she grew accustomed to the sway of the train, then pulled the dress she’d hung up last night on over her head, smoothing the front, then ran a brush through her hair. There was a knock on her door and she reached over to pull it open. It was Izzy.
“Good mornin’, Miss Rae.”
“Morning, Izzy. Did you sleep well?”
“A little. Third class was so crowded, though, and a man tried to use my lap as a footrest in his sleep.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! You should have come and bunked with me. It’s not a lot of space, but I wouldn’t have trampled you in the night.” Rae tried a joke.
Izzy rewarded her with a sly half smile. “Maybe on the trip back. I jus’ needed to think a bit.”
“Well, I can certainly respect that.”
After they disembarked and claimed their luggage, a porter took them to a lane filled with taxis and motors. The Harrises had sent a car, and the chauffeur leaned against the car holding a sign with MISS R. EARL on it. She approached with Izzy and the tall lad stood up to attention, helping the porter load the bags. Rae noticed him giving Izzy an appraising glance and shook her head. If only he knew.
Rae spotted a red pillar box near the station, and snuck over to slip her letter to Finn inside before they headed to Archie’s house.
The drive wasn’t terribly long, but it was terribly bumpy. Rae tried not to gasp every time they hit a rut in the road or climbed over a hill of dirt, but her nerves were already frayed from lack of sleep. She found that she and Izzy had clasped their hands together at some point, and the two of them smiled at each other through gritted teeth.
They were suitably impressed by the facade of the “summer home” which turned out, unsurprisingly, to be more of a castle. It was built high, and somewhat narrow, and rose four stories tall, seeming to grow out of the bare stone at the base. The grey carved stone walls gleamed in the early morning sun. There was a long, low wooden addition that stretched out to one side.
As they climbed to the front doors and entered, looking up at the imposing foyer, the butler informed her that breakfast was still being served in the dining room, if she cared for a bite after they deposited their luggage in their rooms. Rae suddenly realized she wouldn’t get away with having a tray sent to her room here. She would be expected to spend every meal as a member of the party. Just then, her stomach rumbled in mutiny and she sighed, knowing there was no escape. She smiled and nodded.
One of the maids showed Rae to her room. It was impressively large, more than twice the size of her room in London, with dark wood paneled walls, high ceilings, and a small window that overlooked a tangle of woods and distant mountains.
The maid took Izzy to her quarters, and Izzy said she’d be back to unpack Rae’s things once she got settled in. Rae found herself alone, hungry, chilly, and groggy, wishing she hadn’t had to come at all.
She looked longingly at the bed, sorely tempted to crawl in and sleep until noon, but she knew that would be rude. Instead, she hung up her dresses in the large wooden wardrobe, and poured water from the jug into the shallow basin to splash her face with water. Then she patted her skin dry on the rough linen towel and stared at herself in the mirror, which was spotted with age. She realized she’d been pushing a lot of her fears and anxieties down inside, to be dealt with another time. If the day of reckoning ever came . . . she found herself worrying about her worries which, on not enough sleep, was enough to make her head swim.
She knew she was better than she had been as a child. Whether she had outgrown her fears and insidious patterns, or just learned how to cope with them because there was no one who would indulge them even before she was sent away, she could not say. But what if her more serious compulsions returned, even worse than they’d been before? She couldn’t expect Finn to put up with her in that state. Her eyes welled with tears, which she wiped away roughly. She took a deep breath and counted. Counting was the thing she kept, and she didn’t know if needing numbers was helpful or harmful, but she knew they slowed her heart and cleared her head. Her stomach rumbled again, and this time she laughed at it. “Alright, I get the hint,” she murmured, and headed downstairs.
She thought she might be able to slip a scone or two into her pocket, to eat in the privacy of her room, but back in the foyer, the butler bowed deeply at her and led her to the dining room, rolling back the heavy door. She blinked against the bright light from the high windows, one of which shone directly on her face and shoulders. She tried to slide out of the sun and into the shadows, but Mrs. Harris rose and floated toward her. “Rachel! So good to see you; I’m pleased you could join us. I know Archie will be thrilled to see you.” Rae blinked at her hostess’s smile and nodded dumbly.
Mrs. Harris swept her hand out to indicate the impressive spread on the sideboard. “Feel free to fix yourself a plate; mornings are a little informal around here. Half the house hasn’t even woken up yet, I believe.” She smiled ruefully and floated over to speak to one of the maids.
Rae noticed Callie sitting with a small bowl of oats and fruit, grimly chewing. She nodded at her friend and Callie managed a weak smile in answer. “Morning, Callie,” she said softly, and stepped over to peruse the food offerings. There were eggs, bacon, sausages, kippers, toast, scones, fruit, and the oats Callie was eating. Some sort of cereal for health, Rae supposed. She salivated over the sausages, but took toast and fruit, instead.
As she went to sit with Callie, the door rolled open again, Archie and another young man burst in on the serene scene, laughing loudly. Archie stopped short when he saw Rae, and the smile fell from his face. He looked like he’d been caught stealing.
He recovered quick enough, and smiled, walking over to kiss her on the cheek. “Rachel, so glad you could join us!” Rae tried to parse his tone for anger, but he sounded pleased.
He then gestured to the young man he’d come in with, and said, “Rae, I don’t believe you’ve met my friend, George Barnstaple.” It was the young man Rae had seen at the ball, and who had argued with him him the street.
Rae was confused, but nodded her head in greeting. “Morning, Archie. Pleased to meet you, George.”
George bared his teeth in the approximation of a smile. In his eyes, Rae could detect a coolness, as if he’d appraised her and found her wanting. Rae was used to this look, and shrugged it off.
She wanted to ask Archie if he’d gotten her letter, but she surmised he must not have. She’d sent it . . . four days ago? “When did you arrive?” Rae asked, trying to keep her tone light.
“Oh, we—that is—I came straight from Cambridge after my last exam . . . three days ago?” He looked to George for confirmation who nodded tersely.
So he couldn’t have gotten her letter. They had just missed each other. Rae felt the need to sit down. She perched on a chair opposite Callie, who whispered, “You look as wonderful as I feel. Long journey?”
Rae nodded. “Suppose so. Didn’t sleep well on the train. Never can seem to sleep on a journey.” She took a tiny bite of toast, and then whispered, “How are you, Callie?”
Callie shrugged helplessly. “Same. Doomed.” She looked over her shoulder at the boys, who were piling their plates high with food and having resumed their laughter. Mrs. Harris was still in conversation with a member of staff about a dish on the sideboard. Callie’s voice dropped to a whisper again. “But I’m not even allowed to suffer my shame in solitude. Hassan’s been here for two days and keeps trying to get me alone. Only, it isn’t like it was before. Before, he used to kiss me and tell me I was irresistible. Now, he accuses me of wanting to ruin his life. Saying I planned this whole thing to trap him. Why can’t he see that I’m just as trapped? That I have no options? I’m at his mercy, and he has none.”
Rae swallowed her bite.“I don’t know, Callie. I’ve found people go to great lengths to avoid facing uncomfortable situations, especially when they’ve created them.”
Callie wrapped her arms around herself and looked over at the window, the culmination of weeks’ worth of sleepless nights evident in the shadows under her eyes. “And I don’t know what’s worse, the idea that he’ll refuse to marry me and I’m cast out of society, or that he will, and make my life a misery, anyway.”
Rae knew her friend was right. Hassan could ruin her life either way, and was probably resentful enough to try.
“I’m so sorry, Callie.” Rae reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand in sympathy.
Archie and George plonked themselves down next to the girls, and Callie withdrew her hand to pick up her spoon.
“Not feeling well, Callie?” Archie asked, taking a big bite of sausage.
Callie shook her head slightly. “My stomach’s been bothering me,” she said, taking a small bite of cereal. “Must have caught a bug or something.”
Archie just nodded, but Rae noticed George staring at Callie, and she would have sworn he looked skeptical.
“I think there’s something going around London,” Rae said, more confident than she felt, wanting to protect Callie and her secret.
Callie smiled up at her, then looked down at her lap. Rae took another bite of toast.
A comfortable silence had just settled over the room when the door slid open again and Hassan blundered in, looking rumpled and still half-asleep.
Callie looked up at Rae, eyes wide. Her hand flew to her mouth and she murmured her excuses and swept out of the room, past Hassan, who whipped around to watch her leave. Rae bit the inside of her lip. When Hassan turned back to the sideboard, she came into his view and he sneered. “Oh. It’s you. I suppose we had to expect you sometime.”
Archie and George both gave Hassan looks of derision. No one commented on his rudeness, but Mrs. Harris came to sit next to Rae, smiling broadly. “Rachel, we have a lot to discuss, I expect.”
Rae cleared her throat. “Do we?”
Mrs. Harris gave her son a look, saying, “I believe so . . . Archie?”
Archie cleared his throat and swallowed his bite. “Well, I mean . . . I thought we had an understanding.”
George stood up abruptly. Rae wanted to do the same, and run out of the room.
“I—I hadn’t . . .” Rae felt faint. If Archie had told his mother, her mother could already know and . . . the room spun.
“Are you quite alright, my dear?” Mrs. Harris asked, genuinely concerned.
“I—I’m not sure . . .” Rae steadied herself on the table. “I didn’t think anything was understood. Not absolutely.”
Mrs. Harris looked at Archie, eyes wide with disbelief. “Archibald Harris! Did you . . . without even waiting for a proper answer?” She tutted and put a reassuring hand on Rae’s back. “Don’t worry, my dear. I understand. You’re very young and this is a momentous decision. You are welcome here as my guest. Don’t give my assumptions another thought. Though, I’d love to talk to you about your drawing. If you’d be so kind as to indulge me. It used to be quite a hobby of mine, and I’m keen to see some of your sketches.”
Rae nodded, unable to speak once again.
Mrs. Harris stood up. “I think you should get some rest, Rachel. I know how difficult it can be to rest on the night train. If you need to take luncheon in your room, just let one of the maids know. We’ll see you at dinner tonight.” She swept out of the room, and Rae was left with three young men, all of whom were giving her dirty looks of varying shades.
“I—I think I’ll just . . .” Rae pushed her plate away and stood up, swaying for a moment, though she was no longer on the train. Archie started to stand up to help her, but George put a hand out to stop him.
“Let her go, Archie. She looks done in,” he said.
Back in her room, Rae closed the door behind her and leaned her forehead on the wooden wall next to the door. She exhaled a shaky sigh and jumped when she heard a voice.
“Miss Rae, are you alright?”
“Oh! Izzy. It’s you.” She sighed a second time, this time in relief, and gave her a weak nod. “Yes, everything’s . . .” Her voice trailed off. Things were not alright, not in the strictest sense of the word. Rae could feel her world slowly tilting off its axis. She needed to talk to Archie, but also dreaded the meeting. And Mrs. Harris was being almost unbearably kind.
Izzy interrupted the chatter of her brain to chide her. “Y’shouldn’t ‘ave put your things away yourself, miss! That’s why I’m ‘ere, right?”
Rae nodded again. “Yes, I’m sorry. I just . . . don’t know if I’ll ever get used to having someone else do things like that for me.” A part of her was afraid of getting used to it, and then being sent away again. Deep-down, Rae didn’t want to lose the self-sufficiency her exile had instilled in her.
“Oh, well, I know it’s my job an’ that, but I actually like helping you, Miss Rae. As daft as that might sound.”
Rae smiled. “Thank you, Izzy. That doesn’t sound daft at all. I didn’t mean to make you think I don’t appreciate all you do for me.”
“That’s okay, Rae. I know we . . . we got a strange relationship. I mean, I’d like to count ya as one of me friends, bu’ I know I couldn’t.”
“No, Izzy! I do think of you as my friend! But it feels so lop-sided, with all you do for me, and I just sit around while you braid my hair.” Rae shrugged.
Izzy looked at her in wonder. “Miss Rae . . . don’t you . . . don’t you realize? You listen when I talk! You give me advice and laugh at my daft sayings! No one . . . you’re the only one who ever did tha’. Here, an’ at my last place . . . I was jus’ someone to be in the corner, stayin’ out of the way, as invisible as possible. But you . . . I dunno how, but you see everythin’. Everyone.”
Rae scoffed lightly. “I don’t feel like I see anything very clearly. I feel so muddled right now. I think I know what I want, but . . . I know what I want isn’t really possible. And everyone else is telling me what I should do, and it’s enough to make me want to scream!”
Izzy guided Rae to sit at the vanity by the window, and started to brush her hair. “Okay, why don’t you start by tellin’ me what’s goin’ on?” Izzy asked in a soft voice.
Rae glanced up at Izzy in the mirror, who looked back at her with eyes softened by a small smile. “Well . . . there’s a lot to tell. And I don’t want you mix you up in anything.”
“Then tell me one thing, and if you feel like it, tell me another, until you’ve told me what ya can.”
Rae started with Archie’s strange proposal. Izzy looked excited at first, but Rae shook her head and told her she couldn’t accept. He didn’t love her and she didn’t love him; and Callie had given her strange warnings that she still didn’t quite understand. Then, Rae let slip that even if she didn’t have someone else she cared about, she wouldn’t want to marry Archie before seeing more of life, taking time to determine what she wanted out of it. It would feel like she was released from one prison right into another.
Izzy listened sympathetically. “An’ this other fella you care for . . . that’d be Finn, would it?”
Rae’s eyes flew up to meet Izzy’s in the mirror once again. “I—yes. Of course! Apparently, we should have taken out an advertisement in The Times, as it’s the only way more people would know about it.”
Izzy rushed to calm Rae down. “I don’t think everyone knows, Miss Rae! I only figured it out as you were speakin’ jus’ now. You didn’t mention him once, an’ that’s how I was with Arnie, when I didn’t know . . . when we weren’t . . . It was, like, I noticed it more that you never said his name. ‘Cause I never trusted myself with Arnie’s name in my mouth . . . I felt like everyone would know as soon as I . . . y’know?”
Rae closed her eyes and breathed heavily, gripping the sides of the vanity. “You, Arnie, Mrs. Dewhurst . . . everyone probably knows. I’m . . . this is . . .”
“Rae, Miss Rae . . . I don’t think anyone who hasn’t seen the two o’ ya together will figure it out. It’s jus’ . . . you two’ve been together downstairs . . . the photographs an’ all tha’. Don’t fret, Miss Rae. Please.” Izzy put her hands on Rae’s shoulders, and then impulsively wrapped her arms around her, pressing her cheek to Rae’s in a hug. “Rae, you’re . . . please don’t worry. I won’t say anythin’ to anyone.”
Rae closed her eyes and leaned against Izzy, returning the unexpected affection. She took a deep breath, counting. “Alright. Alright.” She tried to calm herself as her mind raced through scenarios of Mrs. Harris forcing her to leave and her mother telling her to take her luggage and keep going all the way back to France. Of never seeing Finn or Izzy or any of them ever again after it was revealed. Of a long, lonely existence far away from those she had grown to care so much about. She shook her head and counted under her breath. Izzy kept ahold of her; she didn’t let go.
* * *
Rae took a fitful nap, sleeping through luncheon, having dreams of an angry Finn, upset because she hadn’t denied everything absolutely. When she awoke in the early afternoon, Izzy was still there, apparently having kept watch over her in an armchair. Rae had Izzy choose her an outfit to wear for the evening meal, and then said she could go. She needed to think.
Rae was angry, too. A little at the circumstances that took Finn away, but mostly at herself. She hated this feeling of desperation, of needing another person. She had been the one to initiate their friendship, but she’d never imagined that he would mean so much to her, so soon. That she’d feel these pangs of longing if she didn’t see him everyday. She’d always felt kind of disconnected from her body, but when she thought of Finn, of his lips on her, of his hands on her, she became all too aware of her physical form. She got these strange pangs and . . . she could only describe them as yearnings, and she didn’t know what to do about them.
And the fact that she might never a chance to ever do anything about them . . . that certain vision of her future she’d had before she came back to London flashed in her brain, taunting her. She honestly didn’t know what was worse, a certain bleak future or the cruel uncertainty of hope.
A knock came at the door, and Rae started. She glanced in the mirror, and saw that she looked as flushed as she felt. She waved a hand in front of her face to try and calm down, calling out, “Um, just a moment, please!” She took a few breaths and crossed the room to open the door, only to find Archie waiting there. She sighed. “What do you want, Archie?”
“Well, you . . .” Archie looked down at the hall carpet. “I’m sure you must have deduced that I told Mother about our engagement.” He adjusted his spectacles and looked up at her.
“Archie, what engagement? I told you no, and you insisted I think it over. I gave you that courtesy, and you disregarded my feelings. You really shouldn’t have done that.”
Archie nodded gravely. “May I come in?”
Rae gave him a skeptical look.
“Just for a moment. I—I just wanted to explain . . .” He trailed off, not completing his thought.
Rae bit her lip, but nodded, opening the door a bit wider. She did not shut it behind them. Archie looked at the door standing ajar and seemed unnerved by it.
After a moment of silence, Rae spoke. “I sent you a letter. To Cambridge. I . . . I can’t accept your offer, Archie. I’m sorry. I think of you as a good friend, but I cannot say further than that.”
Archie looked down at his hands, his thumbs running along the outsides of his fists. “I—Rachel—I don’t know what to do!” He bolted for the door, running away.
Rae stared after him and looked down the hall, but Archie was long gone. She felt frustrated. She just wanted this one thing to be dealt with. For him to accept that she didn’t want to marry him or be complicit in whatever deception he was planning. She felt it should be the simplest thing in the world. She would say, “No” he would say, “Fine” and they would shake hands and move on with their lives. But he wasn’t listening to her. He didn’t want to take no for an answer, and Rae was getting restless and even angrier. She didn’t want to be here.
* * *
Dinner was about as comfortable as she had expected it to be. Tonight, Rae decided to eat her fill. She was hungry and didn’t feel the need to hide that fact from this crowd. She even complimented the main course, a local salmon poached in butter and herbs, aloud.
Archie was practically mute all through the meal. There wasn’t much conversation, apart from Rae and Mrs. Harris. Rae said she would probably take her sketchbook on a walk the next day, and Mrs. Harris told her of a few spots with lovely views, if she was interested in sketching landscapes. They chatted easily, and Rae almost wished she fancied Archie, because Mrs. Harris certainly would be a pleasant mother-in-law. Hassan cut in now and again with requests for his wine glass to be refilled, and George tried to engage Archie on a couple of topics, but Archie just shook his head and kept silent. Callie’s mouth stayed in a permanent smile, but not even she added to the dinner conversation. Rae almost wished for her mother and Karim to arrive early, just to liven up the dining room.
After dessert, Rae made her way out to the garden. It was a small garden, enough for one gardener to take care of, since the family were only in residence a few weeks out of the year. But it overlooked a small loch and you could see the distant mountains, covered in moss and heather, wreathed by fog. It was summer, and the sun lingered late in the sky this far north, and Rae watched as it slipped below the ridge line, and dusk gathered in.
Rae wished for the thousandth time that she could draw the dark. This dark was a purplish gray and had the muted landscape lit by both the last rays of the sun and the rising moon, lending the scene an eerie calm.
She breathed deeply and closed her eyes to make another wish: that Finn could be there to enjoy it with her. Just as she was imagining him coming up behind her and gently catching her in an embrace, kissing her neck like he had that day on the boat, she swore she could feel a hand on her shoulder. For a long moment, she believed she must have been dreaming it, until the hand grazed over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. Rae’s eyes flew open and she turned to see who was there. There wasn’t anyone to her left, the side she’d felt the touch. She sighed in relief and then turned to her right, where she was face to face with . . . Hassan. He leaned towards her, as if he were going to kiss her.
She recoiled and stumbled backwards. “What-what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she stammered.
“Relax, please. There is no need for that sort of language. I did not mean to startle you. You just looked . . . I had not noticed . . .” He didn’t seem able to articulate what it was about her, and Rae did not wish him to. How could he think he had the right to do this? After how he had treated her? Not to mention how he had treated Callie.
Rae’s brain struggled to form words, but eventually she hissed “Hassan, are you mad?”
His brow furrowed instantly. “No, I am not mad! I think we both know it is you who—”
Rae cut him off, not interested in him turning the tables on her. He was going to answer for himself. “Then, what are you doing? Callie is just inside!” Rae gestured to the yellow glow of the well-lit windows behind them, keeping her voice to a whisper, in case anyone should come out and find them.
“I—I just wanted . . . and she does not . . .” Here he faltered. Rae knew he didn’t want her; she was just the only other girl near his age and he was currently fed up with Callie. Her old friend wasn’t a good time anymore; she and the secret she carried inside her had become a burden he didn’t want to carry. He wanted to be in control again, to feel he had power over someone.
“I know,” Rae said evenly. The helplessness on Hassan’s face made her feel the smallest atom of compassion for him. He hadn’t considered this would happen to him. She sighed. “But you can’t do this anymore, Hassan. You can’t treat people like this, taking what you want and leaving other people to clean up your messes. You can’t ruin Callie’s life because you don’t like how things turned out. You have to face the consequences of your actions.”
Without a thought, Hassan shouted, “You cannot tell me what to do!” He sounded like a petulant child, and her atom of compassion popped like a bubble and disappeared.
Rae shook her head, weary of this conversation, knowing she couldn’t change his mind, glad he hadn’t had any real intentions toward her. “No, you’re right. I can’t. I can only hope you’ll do the right thing.” Hassan set his jaw and stared out at the loch, white lines of moonlight outlining the gentle waves. His anger was evident in his features, even in the dim moonlight. For the first time since she’d known him, Rae sensed that anger was directed at himself. Perhaps his anger had been at himself the entire time, feeling incomplete and lost, not knowing how to channel the sorrow and disappointment he felt over his mother’s death. Rae could understand his loss, but not how he chose to cope with it. His thoughts were no longer with Rae, if they ever had been. She turned away from him to return to the house, and didn't look back.
* * *
That night, Rae slept soundly; they next day, she awoke refreshed. She still had a tangle of problems, but she was starting to understand herself and what she wanted, and that made all the difference. And when she looked around at the problems of her friends and family, her life didn’t seem so bleak. The indignities of her past seemed farther away than ever, and though she missed Finn, ached for him, really, she reveled in the honesty of her feelings.
She bounded down the stairs, bound for the dining room and a plate of breakfast. At the bottom of the staircase, out of the corner of her eye, she spied two people in an embrace. She turned instinctively to see who it was and they scrambled out of sight, hearing her intake of breath. But before they were gone, she recognized Archie . . . and George.
Suddenly, Callie’s words came back to her. “Practically everyone knows his bread is buttered the other side . . . people don’t care as much about that as they used to as long as he’s discreet . . . he thinks he’ll please his mother by marrying . . .” Rae realized there was much she didn’t know, but things finally clicked into place. There had been some girls at the academy, sent away because they preferred the company of girls in a “perverse” way, and one of them had lent her a book called The Well of Loneliness.
And, just like that, all the goodwill she’d woken up with was gone. Archie didn’t care about her at all. Why did he make her think he did, with those flowers and letters? What was that about her being “part of his happiness” and him “hoping to make her happy, too”?
She marched down the hall, away from the dining room, in the direction she’d seen Archie and George escape.
She opened the first door and looked around the billiard room. Nothing.
Then she crossed the hall and stuck her head into the library. No one.
At the end of the hall, there was a door that led to the addition that included the kitchen and the servants quarters’. She didn’t think they would have gone in there, but she opened the door to check, and heard someone around the alcove, breathing heavy. She poked her head around the corner to see who it was and found Archie staring back at her, wide-eyed. She could tell he wanted to run, but she wasn’t having it. She stepped in front of him, using the size that she so often despised to her advantage. They were going to settle this for once and for all. She grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket and dragged him back through the door into the main hall.
“Whoa, where are you taking me?” he yelped.
“Somewhere where we can actually TALK about our . . . situation. I’m tired of you running away and not listening to me.” She glanced around and chose the library. They’d had a heart-to-heart among books before, and she had just ascertained it was unoccupied.
“Sit down,” she ordered, unballing her fist and releasing him from her grasp. He stumbled back into a chair and did as he was told. “Now talk.”
He looked down at his hands. “What do you want me to say, Rachel?”
“You could start with the truth.”
“No, I couldn’t!”
“Well, I’m not letting you mess me around anymore. You want me to be your wife? But you won’t even let me know why you want to marry me? Other than it seems to satisfy your familial expectations or . . . something.”
He remained silent.
Rae’s bravado and bravery started to melt away. “You must really think I’m simple.”
At this, Archie looked up, surprised. “What? No!”
“Well, you won’t even try to explain to me what’s going on.”
“I CAN’T!” Archie buried his head in his hands for a moment. “I really like you, Rachel. You’re smart, and you seem to know yourself. I admire that in you, really. And, I thought you liked me. Can’t that be enough? There are marriages built on much less. Things were . . . I had to say something or . . . I thought you were just stalling, playing coy! It’s not like you’ve got any better offers, have you?”
Rae, who had been softening ever so slightly, starting to feel sympathy for this boy who had messed with her mind, now sat up straighter, realization dawning. “Oh! Lovely! Now I know what you really think of me. Poor, sad, fat Rae! She’ll never get married if I don’t ask her, and she can help me keep my secrets!”
Archie held his hand up to his mouth, trying to quiet her. “No, no, that’s not—“
“And what’s more, you’re fine, absolutely fine, with consigning me to the same unhappiness you feel!”
Archie shot her a look of surprise. “What?”
Rae nodded to herself, everything had become very clear. “You’ve decided that I’m a decent companion. I won’t bore you, but I won’t demand anything, either. I won’t . . . question your late nights and weekends away. You’ll have someone to introduce, someone people will wonder about, but they will figure that you’re such an intellectual, you’d never choose a wife just for how she looked on your arm. And I’ll, what? Be alone while you live the life that my presence in it makes possible?”
He shook his head in protest, “No, no! I don’t quite see how you—”
Rae interrupted him, feeling no need to hear him deny what she knew must be true. “I didn’t, either, at first. And I know you’ve not done it deliberately. Your mind worked out the puzzle, but you convinced yourself we could both benefit from this arrangement.”
Archie stopped shaking his head in protest to muse aloud, “Well . . . couldn’t we?”
A small smile curled on Rae’s lips. “That depends. You made assumptions about what I want out of life. What you think my life is like, and how few options you believe I have.”
Archie was thoroughly confused now and didn’t even attempt to respond.
“When I got back from the academy, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I kept my hopes small. Romance, love, marriage, I never imagined those were on the table for me. I thought I had to earn my mother’s love, that if I weren’t the best I could be, she’d send me away again. So, I made myself scarce, thinking, if she didn’t have to see me, she wouldn’t be offended by what she saw. But in hiding, I was found.”
Archie looked utterly flummoxed now.
“I didn’t realize it till just now, but those lovely people who make our lives livable found me. Mrs. Dewhurst, Mr. Gill, Izzy, Arnie.” She took a deep breath. “Finn.”
“Ah, so that’s how it is, eh? I can call your mother right now! I can tell her what you’ve been up to and she’ll fire him and send you away so—” Archie cut himself off, like he couldn’t believe he’d said those words.
Rae’s eyes grew wide as she backed away from him. “You’d do that? To save yourself from whatever you think will happen if you are simply yourself, you’d destroy that many lives?”
“I-I don’t want to, Rachel, but . . .” Archie’s voice wavered.
“You’d be destroying Finn’s whole family, and mine, and possibly yours.”
“I’m trying to save my family, Rachel. You—you have no idea what awaits me if I’m ‘myself’ as you so naively put it.” He spun on his heel and covered his face with his hands.
Just then, George came in the room. Seeing Archie upset, his eyes flashed angrily at Rae. “What have you done to him?”
“Nothing,” Rae said.
George went and put his arm around Archie, who shrugged him off. “Get away from me! You’re making everything impossible! I—I—I have to get out of here.” Archie ran once again.
George narrowed his eyes at Rae and she could feel the curses his brain was inventing against her. She could agree with Archie on one point of this matter. She wanted to get out there, too.
* * *
Somehow, Rae managed to make pleasantries at the table the rest of the day. It was gray and gloomy and spitting rain, so she kept to her room the rest of the time, sketching pictures of Violet from her photos, or writing in her journal. She really just wanted to leave, but her mother and Karim would be arriving soon, and she didn’t feel she could. Izzy came to commiserate with her, though she didn’t know about Archie’s proclivities.
The next day, the sun struggled out from behind the clouds now and again. At breakfast, Rae chatted with Charlotte (Mrs. Harris had insisted Rae use her first name) about drawing. Charlotte did not let on that Archie had told her anything of their discussion of the day before. And she also didn’t seem to mind that Rae didn’t want to marry Archie. Rae was glad that at least she wasn’t being made to feel awkward by her hostess, on top of everything else.
Rae had tried to talk to Callie about what had happened with Archie, but Hassan kept interrupting them, like he didn’t want the two of them to speak to each other. Archie and George were silently sulking at the other end of the table. Eventually, Rae just wanted to escape the dramas playing out around her.
After luncheon, she took her sketchbook and a tartan blanket from the chair in her room, and crept to the front door, avoiding everyone but a footman on her way out. She wandered out past the garden and found a tree in a mossy clearing. She spread out the blanket over the moss and settled back against the wide weathered trunk. After producing a few half-hearted sketches of the mountains, she lay her book to one side and closed her eyes to catch a few moments’ sleep in the peace of this secluded spot.
As she always did when she found herself enjoying a moment, she wished Finn were with her to enjoy the moment. She wanted to share more and more of her moments with him. She smiled as her head drifted down until her chin was almost resting on her collarbone, breath coming deep and even. Soon, she was happily dreaming of him.
She had no idea how much time had passed, but she stirred when a boot crunched against the mossy stones near her feet. She inhaled sharply and sat up, looking around, startled, and she saw someone standing before her, the sun behind him. She squinted and held her hand up to shade her eyes. When her vision cleared, she gasped “Finn!”
Just letting you know how excited I'am to read chapter 14!! 😁😁😁😁😁 I LOVE it so much!! Just showing you love 😘😘
THANK YOU!!! I'm pretty nervous for you guys to read it, mainly because I hope it lives up to the "hype" and is worth the wait. There isn't much Finn, as this is a Rae chapter and if you remember how I left it . . . yeah. BUT, lots still goes on and I think it'll build nicely to the NEXT chapter, which will not be six months away.
Just working out the last part of the chapter . . . you'll see it soon! xo
Hey, everyone! My cold got worse, not better, so I'm a little off pace. However, I did tighten up the first 2/3 of the chapter, and I basically have to write one big scene and piece together the final 1/3 of the thing.
This is what it looks like when I write something longer than a couple thousand words:
(I purposefully blurred the words . . . I've learned from Nico's mistakes.) I print it out to read through it and basically grade myself like an adjunct Comp professor, while sipping tea from my mug from girlinplaits. Once it gets to a certain length, it's hard to keep everything straight and the scrolling back and forth becomes dizzying. Hence, this.
I super-admire everyone who can write fics longhand, but I type pretty damn fast and when I write stuff out, my hand cramps up and my handwriting, which can just about hold itself together for a postcard, starts to get pretty illegible.
Anyway, now I'm shooting for this weekend, which is only a day or two off my promise. Thanks for hanging in there! As you were, I'm getting back to writing!
You poor thing... You're putting all this effort into the next chapter of the 1930sAU, and we are all going to gobble it down within minutes and then reflexively start obsessing over the next part. We are like addicts, and you have the only source to appease our addiction. I would like to apologize ahead of time for obsessing over part 15 before part 14 is even finished. :)
Awwww, thanks Anon! I wouldn't keep writing it if the drive wasn't there, and I'm just glad I got my creative juices flowing again over this story. I can only hope and pray that this next chapter lives up to the hype and makes up for the hiatus! That's my biggest worry right now.
I've devoured other people's fanfiction, and totally understand that it's something that takes a lot of effort to produce, but little effort to enjoy . . . though I think your concern is so thoughtful and lovely.
I got knocked out by a bit of a cold these last few days, and though my plan is still to put the story up by Thursday, please forgive me if there's a tiny delay.
And, of course, I can't say when chapter 15 will be out, but I promise you won't have to wait another six months. :)
Thanks for hanging in there, Anon and everyone else!
One summer, Madame Broussard had taken a handful of girls who had been particularly well-behaved to the seaside for a treat. They took the rickety old bus, which had been an ambulance in the Great War, but was converted into transport for the school by adding a couple of wooden slats to the back. They bounced along for almost an hour before they arrived at the beach. It was on an inlet of the English Channel, and the water was almost calm. Rae hadn't yet completely outgrown her swimming costume. Though it was tight around her hips and pulled across her chest, it still covered her to the satisfaction of the headmistress. The beach was secluded enough, and she was allowed to go swimming with the other girls.
The water was cold at first, but soon it felt just right. Rae was a strong swimmer, and found herself farther out than anyone else, beyond the shouts from the beach that she should come in closer to shore. It was liberating, knowing that, for once, she was this little thing compared to the vast sea she was floating in. Even though it probably should, it didn't frighten her the way so many other things did. She took a breath and submerged herself into the sea opened her eyes and felt the water embrace her completely, caress every pore of her skin. She felt alive, and free, and oddly safe. There were no numbers in the ocean; its volume was infinite and its depth unfathomable.
Kissing Finn had felt almost exactly the same. Like she had plunged into unknown depths and found herself welcomed. It could have lasted a moment or a millennia, she was that unaware of everything else in the universe but this boy in this room. His warm soft lips on hers. His fingers tracing the curve of her neck.
Finn had apologized immediately afterward, but she silenced him with another kiss. Of all the moments in her life, she was least sorry for that one, and she told him so. He had flushed and turned away, and no prints were made that afternoon. They had not been intruded upon, for once, but didn't know how to be with each other anymore. Everything had changed in that moment, yet nothing had. They embraced again, and she reluctantly went upstairs, but knew she had to.
Her diary entry was short that evening:
He kissed me. I kissed him back.
Even if she had had a million words and endless hours, she knew she could never adequately describe her feelings about that evening, so she just stated the facts and hoped her memory would fill in all the details of that moment when she looked back.
Rae was reliving those details again, like how his starched collar felt against her palm when she'd grasped the back of his head to steady herself, how Finn's upper lip had slid in between hers, his mouth pulling gently yet insistently on her lower lip, when Izzy came in with her tray. She felt the heat creeping up the back of her neck in pinpricks, sneaking around to her face, making her cheeks flush pink. She sat up taller in her desk chair, pretending to be engrossed in the closest book at hand, which happened to be her diary. As soon as she realized this, she slammed it shut and leaned her elbow on it, plastering a smile on her face for Izzy, who set a tray down next to her on the desk.
"Good morning, Miss Rae!" she chirped, seeming not to have noticed Rae's strange behavior. She got to tidying Rae's bedside table and Rae sighed with relief.
There was an envelope propped up between her tea cup and the jam jar. Rae knew who it was from before even looking at the address, and any wind that had filled her sails promptly died away. That letter was reality. Yesterday was just a beautiful dream. One she didn't want to wake up from.
But, of course, she had. And in the cold light of morning, she realized that as much as the kiss has meant, as full as she had felt in the moment, it wasn't something she could keep. She didn't know much about the ways of the world or society, but even she knew that kissing the valet was not acceptable. All the problems she faced were still there; she'd just added one to the pile.
She waited until she had finished with breakfast to read what Archie had written. It was the fourth letter she'd received since he fled back to university. She hadn't answered any of the three previous, and knew she'd have to respond soon. Especially since his mother was coming to tea this afternoon.
When she picked it up, she found a smaller envelope hiding behind Archie's note. She didn't recognize the handwriting, and it was thicker than a normal letter, like it had several pages to it. Rae laid Archie's letter aside to take up this mystery missive. She turned it over in her hands and glanced up at Izzy, who looked like she was waiting expectantly for Rae to open her letters and reveal their contents. Rae hated to disappoint her friend, but she wanted to be alone to read them.
"I-I'm sorry, Izzy, but do you think--?" Rae gestured to the door. "I'd like to read these . . . on my own."
Izzy looked dejected for a moment, but nodded. "Of course, Miss. Miss Rae. I'll be back to help ya get ready in a bit." She turned to leave, but paused and said, "I'll make sure to knock before I come in."
Rae's stomach sank. She hadn't meant to upset Izzy, but she needed time and space to think.
She took a deep breath and opened Archie's letter first. Best to see what he had to say now, so she could start to figure out what best to do about it.
Dearest Rachel,
I will continue to write you until I receive a reply. I'm aware that my declaration probably seemed too sudden, but I assure you, I have thought long and hard about what would secure my future happiness. I am convinced you will be part of that happiness, and I hope I can make you happy, too.
I must admit, I did mention the offer I posed to you to Mother when last she came to tea in my rooms. She seemed surprised, but you were also, so that is not so great a worry. I believe she is planning to meet you, and I have every hope the two of you will get along wonderfully.
I beg you to give me some sign of your feelings. It is agonizing to receive silence in response to every letter I send. I know this is a momentous decision, but if you can give me any hope of a possibility that you might say yes, I will be content.
Until I hear from you, I remain
Yours faithfully,
Archie
Rae sighed, and gingerly placed the letter next to her on the desk. She slumped forward, propped her chin on her fist and took a thoughtful sip of tea. Her answer was no, but what if her mother's was yes? What if Mrs. Harris let it slip that Archie had proposed? She wanted to rush downstairs, take Finn's hand, and run. This impulse was followed quickly by an equally strong instinct to avoid Finn. What if he regretted last night? It was the darkroom, maybe, that made him do it. But, the way his eyes bore into hers just before their lips met--maybe he did feel something for her like she felt for him.
Those feelings had been growing stealthily and silently, so that when Finn had kissed her, the emotion seemed to spill out of her, like some secret spring had been tapped. That's why she'd had to leave him so soon after. She was afraid she was going to gush, spill over and out of herself. She'd once seen a photo of an enormous geyser in America called Old Faithful, and she immediately thought of it as she was walking up the stairs to her room, that she was bursting, not with water, but with every imaginable feeling, a hundred feet high.
Archie had never made her feel like that. If anything, he made her feel small, almost insignificant. Love should make you feel big and bold. Love. Oh, that's what this was, wasn't it? It was. She was in love with Finn. She needed to think about something else for a minute, or she'd start counting to infinity to steady her nerves.
She picked up the other letter and opened it, her hands shaking slightly. As she unfolded the paper, three snapshots fell out. "Henry!" she exclaimed. It was the photos she had taken of him at the museum. She'd almost forgotten about that.
Dear "Rae-Rachel,"
Finally tracked you down! (It wasn't that hard, from our conversation.) Wanted to thank you for taking these shots. My fiancée Sarah was so pleased with them. Many thanks for making me smile, too! I wanted you to see how much of a natural you are at photography; hope you are snapping away with your new camera.
If you are interested in sketching at the Galleries of Sculpture, I mentioned you to my professor. He's at the museum almost every day and said he'd put your name on a list. I've enclosed his card, which you can present as a reference. Apparently, the gallery can fill up, so it's "by-invitation" of sorts. He also mentioned a program at Camberwell in which you might be interested.
I've included the details of the course and my address, should you wish to respond.
Best,
Henry Boylston
Rae's didn't realize she'd been smiling the whole time, until she finished the letter and noticed her cheeks aching slightly. She picked up the prospectus that was attached to the back of the letter. She scanned the first page and then shuffled it behind the next, which wasn't a second page to the prospectus, but rather, an application. She quickly folded the pages away, pocketing Henry's letter and the course information. She then put Archie's latest letter with the others he'd sent in her desk drawer and stood up. This was a lot to consider first thing in the morning. She paced a bit and then looked out of her window. Finn wasn't in the garden. She was half-disappointment, half-relief. She didn't actually want to avoid him, quite the opposite. But she felt she needed time to think about last night with as clear a head as she could manage.
Rae was about to head down to the library, when there was a knock at her door. She drew a sharp intake of breath and waited for Izzy to open the door. When she didn't, Rae got up and crossed to the door, calling, "Yes?" before opening it. There, in the hallway, was her mother.
"Mother! What--how can I help you?" She instinctively smoothed her hair from her face and adjusted her dress.
"I just came to inform you that Mrs. Harris will be here in an hour. She was planning to come for tea, but something came up, and elevenses it is. Mrs. Dewhurst is a bit put out, but I doubt I'll be able to manage more than a cup of tea. I imagine you'll have the same difficulty." Rae nodded and watched her mother march purposefully down the hall to the stairs. Whether or not she was hungry, her stomach was already churning with worry about Mrs. Harris' visit. She'd been counting on more time to prepare herself, but now she'd have to face her in, she glanced back at the clock, just over an hour.
Maybe she wouldn't even bring up Archie's proposal? Maybe she just wanted to meet her and say hello? Rae took a breath and muttered one of the expletives she'd learned in France, "Couilles!"
* * *
An hour later, Rae sat perched at the edge of an armchair in the library, calves flexed and ready to jump up and greet Mrs. Harris. She'd changed into her most sensible tweed skirt and a plain blouse, and had Izzy come up to change her hair into a plait, and then back again. She honestly didn't know what kind of an impression she hoped to make, but she was always on some level seeking approval from everyone, if only for validation. Rae supposed she wanted Mrs. Harris to think Archie had made a good choice, but not to be so enamored that she wished the pair to be immediately married.
The doorbell rang and Rae sat up even straighter, bounced once in her chair, but remained seated. She sat on her hands, elbows locked, wishing she could disappear in a puff of smoke. There were muffled voices in the hall. Her mother shot her a curious look, and settled back in her own chair, perhaps subconsciously compensating for her daughter's anxious demeanor.
Mr. Gill appeared at the open door and bowed slightly before announcing, "Mrs. Gideon Harris." Archie's father's name was Gideon? Rae thought, amused. She tried to keep her composure as Mrs. Harris floated around the corner, arm outstretched in greeting. She shot up and noticed that Mrs. Harris had kept her rather large hat on. It was a wide straw hat, dyed blue, the pale blue netting swept up onto the brim, so she could see. "Mrs. Earl," she declared in a lilting voice. "So lovely to meet you."
Lillian sat up at this and said, "It's actually Mrs. Khan, now. I've remarried."
Mrs. Harris dropped her arm to her side and assumed a sober look. "I am truly sorry for my mistake. Archibald did mention that, of course. Well, let us not stand on ceremony, in any case! Please call me Charlotte."
Lillian rose from her chair and gestured to the seat across from her. "You may call me Lillian." She nodded in Rae's direction. "This is my daughter, Rachel. The one you said you wished to meet." Mrs. Harris clasped her hands together dramatically and came to stand right in front of Rae, maybe a foot away. She searched Rae's face with her blue eyes, and then stood back a bit to scan the rest of her. It only took a few seconds, but felt like an eternity to Rae, who hated to be inspected. Reminded her of lining up in rows at the academy, standing at attention and holding her hands out, palms down, then up. She finally glanced down and Mrs. Harris held out a hand for Rae to shake, which she took. "It's lovely to meet you, my dear. Archibald has spoken VERY HIGHLY of you." Rae tried to discern a tone of disapproval in Mrs. Harris' voice, but couldn't. She nodded shakily and let go of Mrs. Harris' lace-gloved fingers.
Lillian cleared her throat. "Shall we have a seat? Gill will bring us some tea. Would you care for any other refreshment, Mrs.-I mean, Charlotte?"
"No, no. A cup of tea would be delightful. The Ladies' Guild meeting this afternoon, which completely slipped my addled brain, will have plenty of treats. I have to try one of everything, you see, or risk insulting someone. So, I'll save my appetite for that. But, thank you."
Rae wanted to smile at how open Mrs. Harris was. She had swept in in a cloud of activity and there was a distinctly jovial energy to her. But Rae could not tell what Mrs. Harris thought of her, nor what she thought of Mrs. Harris.
"Just one lump, thank you, and no milk." She continued to keep her hat and gloves on, but her eyes drifted back to Rae. "Rachel, Archibald tells me you are a great reader. What are you reading at the moment?"
Rae had been in mid-sip and coughed slightly as she pulled the teacup away from her lips. She swallowed and said, "Oh, I--I'm actually re-reading some E. M. Forster essays."
"Forster, eh? One of the few authors Archibald tolerates. Mostly, he sticks to his musty old history books. Reading it at Cambridge, don't you know."
Lillian leaned forward. "What profession do you think he might take up when he completes his degree?"
"Well, his father is a solicitor, so he might try his hand at that, though I believe he wishes to write a volume about the life of Alexander the Great. It's so difficult to know whether one should let him try his hand at academia, to get it out of his system, before steering him towards the law."
Lillian nodded in agreement. "Young men can never get started too early in their chosen profession. I'd hope he goes straight into his father's practice."
Charlotte nodded. "Mmmm. I suppose." She took a sip of tea, and then asked, "Rachel, do you have plans to study any particular subject?"
Rae looked up from her tea, startled. This question seemed most propitiously timed to the letter she had received that morning, so she stammered her confusion. "I-I . . ."
Lillian cut her daughter off. "None that I'm aware of."
"I'm interested in art and photography, but I'm not sure I'd ever--" she cut herself off. Perhaps she shouldn't have said anything, but the way her mother had forestalled any notion of Rae studying something had rankled her. Surely, if she wanted to learn more about a subject, it was her decision? If the school admitted her, what could her mother actually do? She didn't know where these feelings were coming from, so she stared at her hands and bit the inside of her cheek.
Lillian just smiled at Charlotte, the mouth curling up out of habit and politeness, but her eyes did not crinkle. They just drifted over to stare coldly at her eldest daughter, and Rae could hear the question, "Just what exactly are you talking about, young lady?" as surely as if her mother had said it aloud.
Charlotte took a sip of her tea and replied, "I wish I'd had the opportunity to study for a bit before being married off! I mean, what's a year or three when you're young? I think it's marvelous that the universities are admitting ladies. I mean, Oxford has conferred some degrees to women!" Rae looked up and smiled at this vivacious lady. She couldn't believe she had been so worried about meeting her. Had she really thought Mrs. Harris might be even worse than her own mother? Such a fearful woman could scarcely be imagined.
Charlotte met her eye and Rae could have sworn she saw her wink. She then pulled a dainty silver timepiece out of her purse and exclaimed, "Is that the time? I really wish I had another hour to get to know you better, Rachel, but I must dash." She grasped a card and scribbled something on the back, handing it to Rae. "This is my card. Please feel free to stop by. I'm not usually this busy, and I'd love to learn more about your interest in art. Perhaps you could bring some of your drawings!" She stood up and swept out, tossing a goodbye over her shoulder to Mrs. Khan.
When she'd gone out the front door, Mrs. Khan and Rae stood at the window, watching as the slate blue Benz that had been idling out front the entire visit pulled away.
"What an extraordinary woman," Mrs. Khan said in a wry tone, Rae perfectly understanding that her mother did not mean that as a compliment. "I felt sure she had some other purpose for coming here today, but it seems she did just want to meet you." She gave Rae a suspicious glance out of the corner of her eye. "And just what was that talk of studying art and photography, young lady? Hobbies are one thing, but . . ." she didn't finish her thought, but just shook her head.
"I don't know, Mother. Would it be so very terrible if I took some classes? I've gotten an invitation to draw at the Galleries of Sculpture at the British Museum, and I thought I'd go soon."
"You--what?" For once, Lillian didn't seem to know what to say. "I suppose, I'll have to discuss it with your step-father. I'm sure he'll take a pretty dim view of you going to college, though." She smiled as she made this proclamation, but the tone in her voice didn't convey her usual confidence. "Well, now that I've wasted the better part of a morning on this pointless visit, I'd better get back to the books."
She attempted to sweep out of the library with the same imperious grace Mrs. Harris had, but her bustling frame was no match for her guest's poise and panache. Rae allowed herself a small grin, but felt her muscles still tensed, as they had been since an hour before Mrs. Harris' arrival. She sighed and allowed herself finally to relax a fraction, as she slumped into an armchair.
In a fit of dramatic pique, Rae flung her head back and threw her forearm over her eyes. What a morning! By rights, she should still be swooning over the previous night with Finn, but she had a hundred other things crowding her mind. She'd wanted to think about that moment without reliving it, to see if there were any way it wasn't doomed, and tried now to ponder it. When she lifted her arm from her eyes and stared up at the dark wood ceiling of the library, counting the beams between thoughts of Finn.
She'd barely begun to delve into the wonderful world of Finn, when she was startled by Callie appearing in the doorway. Her friend looked drawn. She wore a large fur coat, though it was a warm day, and there were noticeable shadows under her eyes, which seemed to be red from crying.
Rae was shocked to see her stylish friend in this state. She wouldn’t have thought Callie would be seen out if she weren’t looking her best. “Callie, what are you doing here? Are you feeling quite well?” She gestured to an armchair opposite and said, “Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?”
Callie shook her head numbly. “Nothing that will help.”
Rae stared at her friend, confused. "Did Archie write to you, too?"
"What?" Callie snapped. "Ohhh, his proposal. He said you were thinking about it," Callie said off-handedly as she unfastened her coat, but kept it on. "I'd keep thinking, if I were you."
"What do you mean?" Rae was confused, she thought Callie would be happy about this turn of events. "You seemed . . . pleased that Archie had taken an interest in me?"
"Darling, I was. Because Archie seemed so pleased to find a girl interesting. Don't you--practically everyone knows his bread is buttered the other side, and I've told him people don't care as much about that as they used to . . . as long as he's discreet. But he thinks he'll please his mother by marrying." Callie gave Rae a sharp look. "You don't love him, do you?"
Rae immediately shook her head. "No! I mean, not like that. We're friends, to be sure, but I don't think . . ."
"Well, if you don't love him, you might marry him. If you did love him, it would be disastrous." Rae was still confused by Callie's odd statements. She started to ask once again what her friend meant, when Callie blurted out: “Can you close the door, please, Rachel? I need to talk to someone, to you, without the servants hearing.”
“Of course!” Rae sprang up, drew the doors together, then returned to her seat facing Callie.
Chuckling hollowly, Callie said, “I’m in trouble, Rachel. Real trouble. And I don’t know what to do.”
“What kind of trouble?” Rae asked.
“The kind that ruins lives and reputations. Worse than anything Archie fears for himself." She looked up at the ceiling, swallowing thickly. "I . . . I’m expecting.” Callie looked away and, with shaking hands, pulled her cigarette case out of her bag, lighting one and blowing the smoke out of the corner of her mouth.
"Expecting . . . ?"
"A baby!" Callie shouted a little too loudly, and then looked around, though there was no one else in the library, and whispered, "I'm pregnant, Rachel."
Rae was dumbstruck for a moment. She didn’t know what to say. She only had the vaguest notion of what would lead to this condition. Finally, she found some words. “F-for God’s sake, Callie! How do you know? What were you thinking?”
“Clearly, I wasn’t.” She took another drag of her cigarette. “I’ve tried everything to get rid of it. Gin. Hot baths. Even took up riding again, which made Mother suspicious. I took a walk in the bloody rain last week, hoping I’d get an infection.”
“Did you?”
“No, just a sniffle.” Callie sniffed to illustrate her point, then looked around for an ashtray; Rae handed her a decorative vase.
“Well, what are you going to do? Do you know who the father is?”
Callie scoffed. “Yes, Rachel. Credit me with that, at least. I may be a fallen woman, but I know the man who tripped me.”
“I’m sorry, Callie! This is all new to me.” She chewed on a nail, something she hadn’t done since the academy. She tried again to ask the important question: “Well? What are you going to do?”
Callie sighed and buried her head in her hands. “I don’t know. I could try and find one of those women who take care of things, but . . .”
“But what?”
Callie, head still in her palms, shook her head. “Priscilla Longmead. Girl I came out with. She went to one of those. She got a seriousl infection from unsterilized instruments and died.” Rae gasped. “Her mother will tell you it was pneumonia, but everyone knows what really happened.”
Rae went silent for a few minutes, her mind racing. “Could--could you keep it? Get married, I mean, and keep it?” Even Rae herself thought this was too optimistic. Callie just shook her head mournfully. “Who is the father, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Callie looked up at Rae sharply, chin jutting out defensively. “You don’t cotton on to much, do you?” Rae thought this was harsh. Callie sighed, exasperated. “It’s Hassan’s, alright?”
Rae took a good look at Callie. For maybe the first time ever. She could see no signs that Callie was joking. Callie had always burned a little too bright, which made her hard to observe. You had to look at her in reflections of windows, in your peripheral vision, or through a pinhole camera, if you didn't want to be blinded by her. Today, this afternoon, Callie was beautifully rumpled. Her hair was mussed, but in a way that looked almost deliberate, and those shadows under her eyes were an enchanting shade of plum that brought out the green in her irises. Her face was pale from lack of sleep, but her skin was so smooth and perfect, the absence of color in her cheeks was barely noticeable.
It was at that moment that Rae realized that she hadn't been a good fried to Callie, either. While Callie had feigned interest in Rae's drawing and books, she had feigned interest in Callie's beaus and society. She'd stopped listening and paying attention, and probably missed all the clues that she was mixed up with Hassan. When she thought back to the times she and Callie and Archie had spent together, it was she and Archie who had conversed; Callie just threw in with the odd anecdote.
Rae realized she'd been selfish. Born and raised an only child with a single parent, sent away to fend for herself when she was not yet twelve, she hadn't had to think about anyone else for years. She did, of course. She thought about her new friends. She thought about her old friend, Trixie. She thought about lovely Mrs. Dewhurst. She thought, obviously, a lot about Finn. She wasn't entirely solipsistic. But, she'd tuned out this lovely girl who, for some reason, sought her company.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know." Rae's head really hurt, like it had caved in and her brain was throbbing against her skull. "Does he-Hassan-know? Or-or even suspect?"
Callie shook her head. "I haven't told him; he'll be so angry. I was hoping I'd just . . . wake up one morning to a bit of a mess, burn the sheets, and move on with my life." She lit another cigarette, hands shaking slightly less now.
"I know you'll think I'm mad, but . . ." Rae took a deep breath. "I think you should tell him."
Callie scoffed and took a deep drag from her cigarette. "You are mad if you think I'm ruining my chances of a good marriage, to him or anyone else, by telling him about this."
Rae protested. "You didn't get into this state all on your own, Callie! I know he can be . . . harsh. Vindictive, even. But, you're carrying his child; surely, if anything would melt his heart, even a little, it would be that?"
Callie's eyes grew even bigger, and welled with tears. "Rae, I'm scared. If he leaves me over this . . . I'll never get another man. I'll be forever marked as the girl who couldn't wait . . . only that won't be what they call me. I know. I've called other girls what I'll be named."
Rae's face crumpled with concern for her friend. She felt like telling Callie her secret, that she'd been sent away, not at a fancy boarding school, to make her friend understand that everyone had secrets and shame. She started, "Callie."
Her friend sniffed and swiped her hand under her nose. "Yes?"
"I--I wasn't at a regular boarding school in France. You know, when I was away?"
Callie turned to look at Rae. "What are you TALKING about? What do you mean?"
"I-I'm trying to . . . tell you that--" Rae was cut off as the library door opened and Hassan marched in.
"Callie," he said, in a rough tone of voice. "What are you doing here? I thought we agreed--"
"I just came to visit my FRIEND, Hassan."
Hassan blinked.
"Rachel. I'm here to see Rachel. Not you. So . . . just . . . bugger off!" Callie turned away from Hassan, burying her head in the crook of her arm.
Hassan took a step towards her, but stopped himself and balled his hand into a fist.
Rae looked evenly at Hassan. "You'd better go, Hassan. Especially since you're worried about being seen with her."
Hassan flinched at her words, like he hadn't even remembered she was in the room. Then, he turned to look at her and spat, "What do YOU know about it, you . . . interfering bitch!"
Rae glared at Hassan and Callie stood up, furious. "Don't take your anger for me out on Rachel! If you don't want to see me, then leave. I'll be going soon enough." Callie pointed her arm at the door to the hall.
Hassan blinked. "I actually need to talk to you, when you have finished with your . . . friend."
"We can talk here, Hassan. I won't be meeting with you alone, so if you have something to say, say it now." Callie sat back down, folding her arms defensively. "Well?"
"If you are going to be like this, Callie, then . . ."
Callie stared daggers at him. "Then what?"
"Fine. But do not say I did not try to speak to you alone." Hassan glanced at Rae. "I would ask you to leave, but I know you would not extend me the courtesy." He turned back to Callie. "Did you send my valet a . . . love note?"
"What?" Both Callie and Rae exclaimed at the same time. Hassan looked at Rae with undisguised annoyance, then addressed Callie again. "Well? Did you?" Callie's eyes widened as she looked down at the library floor. "You can deny it if you wish, but I know the truth. It was your handwriting and your perfume on the note he received." Hassan turned away from Callie, as if the sight of her hurt him. "To think that I even considered--"
"What?" Callie's head was back up, and there was a renewed fire in her eyes. "What did you consider doing with me that you did not already do?"
"It hardly matters, since you have so demeaned yourself." Hassan started to walk out of the library.
"I only did it to make you jealous!" Callie shouted after him. Hassan paused in the doorway and swiveled his head to peer at her out of the corner of his eye. Rae didn't understand what was happening. What had Callie sent Finn? And why did Rae feel as angry as Hassan looked? "I knew you wouldn't give a toss if I picked up with ten other men in our circle of friends. You'd be relieved you could move on to your next conquest. But, if you thought I liked someone beneath our station . . . I knew that would make you sit up and take notice." Callie stubbed out her cigarette in the vase for emphasis. "Well, was I wrong?"
"You are mad. It has only made me notice that you are unstable and . . . unsuitable." Hassan started out once again.
Rae found herself proclaiming, in a loud voice. "You're well-rid of him, Callie. He wouldn't have done right by you, anyway. You'll find a much better man than Hassan." Callie's eyes widened and she began to shake her head. But Hassan swiveled around to protest.
"She will have a hard job finding another man like me!" he said, eyes glittering with malice. "Callie knows I can have any girl I choose, and--"
"--and you've already had her?" Rae said, understanding the full weight of her words.
Hassan was not expecting her to be so forthright and, for once, seemed to be at a loss. "Whatever do you mean? I have enjoyed spending time with Callie as a very good friend."
Rae stepped over to put her arm around Callie. "Yes! No two friends could be closer than the two of you have been. So, it seems strange to me that you would treat her this way."
"You know nothing about it!" Hassan barked.
Rae looked him dead in the eye. "Clearly, I know something about it. From my friend, Callie. And why do you think she would tell me about what good friends the two of you have been? What could be the reason?"
Callie shook her head, fear on her face. "No, Rachel. Please don't say anything else."
Hassan's eyes widened. "Is she saying . . . that you are . . . ?" He spoke as quietly as Rae had ever heard him.
Callie shook her head quickly. "She hasn't said anything, and she doesn't know what she's talking about, anyway. She's been locked away in a school for five years, reading books that make her imagination wild." Callie lit the fourth, or was it the fifth, cigarette since she'd arrived twenty minutes ago. Her hands shook, but she tried to play it off that she was trying to wave the match out. "I only tried to make you jealous for a bit of fun . . . to see if you'd fall for it. And you did, like a ton of bricks!" Now it was her voice that shook. She turned to face the window, and Rae didn't know what to do. She was out of her depth in this drama. She wanted to comfort her friend, but she sensed that Callie wouldn't like that. She also wanted to ask Callie why she'd dragged Finn into this mess, but she knew that would make things worse.
Callie stubbed out the cigarette she'd just begun to smoke and turned on her heel, pulling her coat close around her.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Rachel, but I must be going. Please give my regards to your mother." She stood up straight and held her head high as she strode out of the library past Hassan, who stood dumbstruck, for once. Rae was filled with a frustration she hadn't felt in a long time. She glanced at Hassan for a moment, but could hardly stand to look at him, so she walked out of the library, too.
* * *
In the hall, she didn't know where she should go, just knew she didn't want to be around Hassan anymore. She glanced up the stairs, then down the hall, eyes landing on the door to the kitchen. She nodded and headed downstairs. Izzy was talking with the other maid, Joan. They stopped their conversation to look at her curiously. "Where's Finn?" she asked, without thinking.
"Erm, I think he's in the garden? Didja need somethin', Miss Rae?" Izzy asked.
"No, no. Well, yes. Actually, Mr. Khan wanted something. I'll just . . . go and tell him." She nodded at both girls and was out the garden door in a flash. She looked left, where the conservatory was, but he wasn't in there. Then, she turned to her right and walked around the house to the open garden. There Finn sat, on a bench with a pair of Hassan's shoes. The tin of polish was open on the seat next to him, but Finn was gazing into the air, lost in thought, left shoe dangling in his hand. Rae cleared her throat and took a step closer to him. He looked up, dropping the shoe.
"Oh, bollocks!" he swore. "I mean, bother! Sorry, sorry for swearin', Rae." He picked up the shoe and put it next to the polish, wiping his hand on a cloth and standing up. "What're ya doin' here?" he asked, nervously, fidgeting with the cloth in his hands.
"I--I'm not sure, exactly," Rae admitted. "I just--there was a bit of a . . . to do . . . just now. And I realized, I wanted to see you." She took the long way around the hydrangeas to the bench, and faced Finn, keeping a bit of distance between them, aware Izzy and Joan were likely watching through the windows.
"A to do, eh? I hope everythin's okay." Finn furrowed his brow and flashed a look of concern at her.
"Well, the . . . bother didn't include me, for once, but . . . I don't know. I don't know if things are okay." She looked around the garden, agitated. She saw the stairs that led to the street. "Would you get in trouble if you left for a bit?" she asked, feeling rash.
"I--I dunno. Prob'ly not. I jus' hafta finish these shoes and be back by about six to help Hassan dress." He looked up at her curiously. "Why? What's up? What were ya thinkin'?"
"Let's go," she said boldly. "Let's just go . . . to the park. That's not far, right? We can take a walk and . . . clear our heads."
"Are ya sure nothin's the matter?" Finn worried.
"I'm sure that many things are the matter, but none of them matter right now, if you know what I mean." She walked past Finn to the steps, glancing in the window long enough to see Joan and Izzy jump at being spotted. Then, she turned back and shrugged her head in the direction of the road. "Come on," she said. "I mean, if you want to." She paused, her hand on the cool concrete wall. Finn seemed to carry on a brief argument in his head, as he nodded, then shook his head, then nodded again. He lobbed the cloth he'd been fidgeting with on top of Hassan's shoes and nodded once more, exclaiming "Okay!" He yanked the apron off over his head and tossed that on the bench, too.
"Okay?" Rae smiled and lightly stepped up the stairs, Finn following behind. When they reached the street, Finn rolled his sleeves down, and pocketed his bow tie. They walked at Rae's pace, which was quick. With him in his shirtsleeves and suspenders, and her in her simple tweed skirt and blouse, they looked just right together, anyone walking by wouldn't have blinked an eye.
"Hey," Finn said, jogging to keep up with her. "Hey, what's the rush? Seriously, is somethin' wrong?"
Rae shook her head quickly. "No, no. Not really. Just needed to get out of the house. It's been . . . an eventful morning."
Finn was walking next her now, and she could see he was trying to catch her eye. "Are we gonna talk abou' last night?" Finn looked down. "'Cause I don't want you to be uncomfortable aroun' me. If you wanna just pretend it never happened . . . I mean, you said you didn't regret it last night, but if you changed your mind . . ."
"No, Finn, I meant what I said. I suppose I . . . I'm not sure how to talk about what happened." Rae slowed down a little bit; they were a few blocks away from the house now. "But I'm absolutely not sorry it did." She glanced over at him in time to see a look of relief wash over his face, and smiled to herself.
They ambled along a little more slowly, keeping pace with each other, their elbows brushing every other step. Finn glanced over his shoulder, then at Rae. He took a deep breath and murmured, "I really wish I could hold your hand, Rae."
She smiled demurely and threw him another glance. He looked away when their eyes met. "Perhaps not just yet, let's get to the park first," she murmured in return. Finn started walking faster and now it was Rae who had to keep up with him. "Hey, slow down," she laughed.
Finn shook his head. "Nope, we've got a park to get to!"
A few moments later, they crossed through the iron gates. It was a lovely day, end of May, and the flowers were a riot of color along the paths. They wandered around near the place where Finn had met Rae several weeks ago, when he'd had to deliver the news that she'd been stood up on her picnic. Rae noticed Finn glance at her out of the corner of his eye. He was so sweet, worried about her all the time.
Just past the bench where they'd shared their picnic was the boat house. It hadn't been open a month ago, but now there were rowboats dotting the Serpentine. Rae flashed a look at Finn. "What do you think?" she asked. "Shall we give it a go?"
Finn raised an eyebrow. "Really? Dunno, I didn't think this would be your kinda thing. He put a hand in his pocket, and Rae saw that he was looking at the sign that said "Row Boat Rentals ~ 2s."
She pulled a half crown out of her own pocket and handed it to the man at the window. "We'd like to rent a rowboat, please." The man nodded and reached behind him to grab a set of oars. Finn looked sheepish and put his other hand in his pocket, hunching his shoulders a bit. Rae smiled at him encouragingly. "Don't worry about it. This was my idea, after all."
Finn shrugged, hands still in his pockets. Rae glanced around and then boldly threaded her arm through the crook of his, "Let's try to have a good afternoon. My morning wasn't the best, and I don't want the whole day to be a dead loss." He looked down at her arm, surprised, and then met her gaze, eyes seeming to question, "Are you sure this is okay?" When she didn't pull away, he took his hand out of his pocket and grasped hers, sighing through his smile. It was a brief gesture, but her heart soared for a moment.
The boatman led them to their craft, carrying the oars. In a gruff tone, he asked Finn, "Y'know 'ow to row one o' these?" Finn nodded and the man seemed satisfied, thrusting the oars into his hand.
"Thanks very much," Finn said, as the man walked away unceremoniously.
He saw Rae was settled in before climbing in carefully and pushing them off into the Serpentine. It was a lovely day and there were several boats floating around the river, most with couples, some with groups of friends. The trees were almost in full leaf, and the air was warmed by the sun. Rae squinted up at the sky and noted a few wispy clouds that seemed very far away, but the sky itself was impossibly blue. She looked back to see Finn staring at her as he rowed. He dragged his eyes from hers as he looked over his shoulders to make sure he wasn't about to row into another boat.
When he looked back, Rae said, "It's strange, having you row me around. I didn't mean for this to be another outing where you're doing something noble. It must get tiring, being so . . ."
"So . . . what?" Finn raised an eyebrow.
"Noble, like I said. Honorable, if you like." Rae blushed a little. "You always seem to be doing something to help me, and I don't know that I've ever helped you. Doesn't seem right, somehow."
Finn deftly turned the boat to head toward the narrow end of the river, and then made an exaggeratedly thoughtful face. "Hmm, you might be right." Then he shook his head, grinning. "I've never felt I did anything special, but if ya want to take a turn rowin', be my guest. You'll hafta come over here, though. Unless ya wanna try and turn the boat around from yer side, which I wouldn't recommend." He smiled at her, waggling his eyebrows.
Rae glanced around, they were headed to the narrower end of the lake that curved away from the main. Most of the boats were in the wider part of the Serpentine, so she pulled her skirts tight around her knees and scurried over, careful not to rock the boat too much. That's all she'd need, to show up at home dripping wet with Finn in a similarly bedraggled state. Finn scooted himself back into the prow of the boat. Rae rearranged her skirts, and swept her long black hair around over one shoulder. After she settled in, she felt Finn guide an oar into her right hand, then the other. He kept his left hand on hers for a long moment, and then slowly withdrew it, clearing his throat and asking "Where d'ya wanna go?"
Rae glanced over her shoulder. "Around that curve, somewhere quiet."
"Okay," Finn responded. "Erm, to go straight, you row with both oars, but to turn you use the oar opposite where you wanna go. Does that make sense?" She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, pinpricks of sensation trailing down her spine. She took a deep breath herself and nodded, trying to concentrate. "I-I think so." She gripped the oars tightly, fearful she would lose one into the depths of the Serpentine. "Push the oars away from ya, an' then drop 'em in the water and pull even, try not to lift 'em out, above the surface."
Rae set her jaw and pushed the handles forward, dropped the oars slightly and then pulled with all her might, which sent her flying back into Finn. She gripped the oars even tighter, knuckles whitening, as she scrambled forward on her seat, apologizing profusely. "Hey, whoa! No, you're alrigh', no need to apologize." Finn placed both hands on her shoulders, making sure she was steady and centered. Then, he said, "That was good! You gave it plenty of welly, but maybe try a bit lighter stroke. W-with the oars, that is." He cleared his throat and kept his palms on her shoulder blades, to make sure she didn't pitch backwards again. This time, she finished the stroke without leaning too far back, and the boat drifted back as she pulled the oars. "See?" said Finn. "You're already gettin' the hang of it."
Finn watched for other boats and gave Rae direction on where to row, which oar to favor, until they found themselves around the curve of the Serpentine, where the trees grew thicker and branches hung low. There were far fewer boats here, and Finn leaned forward to place his hands on Rae's to guide them close to the bank, among some reeds. "Sorry, is this okay?" he asked, after he'd already done it. Rae nodded breathlessly. Now that she no longer had an occupation to focus on, she was aware of just how close behind her he was. He lifted his hands away from hers, and she felt the loss of them. But in the next instant, he placed them either side of her ribs and leaned forward. She could feel his chest pressing against her back and his breath on the place where her neck and shoulder met. And then, he was kissing the side of her neck. She nearly dropped the oars, but after her initial shock, she smiled.
Finn slowly pulled his lips away from her skin, but kept his hands on her sides. "Sor--" he began, but Rae cut him off.
"Don't apologize! If you say you're sorry every time you touch me or . . . kiss me . . . I think you'll be begging my pardon forever after." She winced. She hadn't meant to say forEVER. Now he'd think she was delusional. But he just seemed stunned.
"Forever?" he echoed.
"Oh, you know, just a turn of phrase," Rae tried to chuckle, but it came out more like a cough. She still faced away from him and longed to know what face he was making.
"Finn?" she said, uncertainly.
"Yeah?" he breathed into her hair.
"What do I do with the oars?" Rae looked down, noticing her stocking garter was showing, but powerless to pull her skirt down while she still gripped the oars in both hands. Finn wrested one, then the other, from her grasp and laid them on either side of the boat. Then he slipped one leg after the other over the bench Rae was sitting on, so they were side by side. Rae hastily fixed her skirt and then finally looked at him. Their faces were so close, and all she wanted to do was kiss him, and he clearly was feeling affectionate, but they just stayed there for a long moment, breathing each other's breath, getting light-headed.
Finally, Finn closed the distance and kissed her. His right arm encircled her waist, which made her squirm a bit, while his left came up to rest on her collar, quite near where he'd just kissed her neck. Suddenly, Rae felt self-conscious. Was she doing this right? Did he really want to kiss her or did he just want to kiss someone? She opened her eyes and pulled out of the kiss, placing a hand on Finn's chest to stop him from diving back in for another.
"Finn," she whispered.
His eyebrows knitted together. "Is everythin' okay? Did I do somethin' wrong?"
Just hearing him ask that made her heart lighter. She shook her head. "No! No, everything is . . . just fine." She glanced around, but they were pretty well-hidden in the spot where Finn had guided them. "I just . . . wanted to make sure we were alone." It sounded lame; she wished they didn't have to be careful at all, but they absolutely did.
"Oh, right, yeah." Finn took a peek around, as well, but soon enough they were face to face again, breath hot on each other's lips. Finn licked his lips and watched as Rae did the same. "Rae?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"I'm a little worried."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I'm worried if I start kissin' ya again . . . I won't be able to stop."
Rae grinned. "We should have brought the timer from the dark room to remind us when to come up for air." This time it was she who leaned forward to capture his lips. The boat swayed slightly beneath them, and they carefully twisted themselves to face each other and embrace. Suddenly, Finn's tongue darted into her mouth. It felt like a small, warm animal, and after the surprise of it that made her eyes pop open for a split second, she squeezed her eyes shut blissfully and smiled into the kiss, pushing her own tongue forward into his mouth. She'd read descriptions of kissing in several books, but none of them prepared her for this full-scale assault on her senses. Her hearing shut down and her eyes were tightly closed, but her heartbeat pulsed in her ears, and scenes of how their mouths met and arms intertwined played out behind her eyelids. Of course, she could smell him and taste him, but it was the touching that overwhelmed her the most. The feel of his lips on hers, how his rough fingers slid over her neck and the fabric of her blouse, how solid and warm and real he felt in her arms.
After what seemed like a very long time, they finally broke apart from one another, each panting for air. Finn relaxed his vice grip on Rae, sliding down to sit in the floor of the boat, beckoning Rae to join him. Their backs rested against the seat they'd just been sitting on, and Finn gently took her hand in his and threaded his fingers in between hers, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of hers. He leaned his head forward, and so did she, their foreheads resting on each other. From this close, she could only focus on one eye or the other, and the one she chose stared into hers so steadfastly, she was almost afraid to blink. She wasn't sure how they had ended up here, but she wasn't about to complain.
The splash of a fish or frog in the water startled them both and they broke their gaze. After sharing a sheepish smile, they settled back against the seat again, still holding hands. When Finn unlinked his hand from hers, her heart dropped until a second later when he cradled the hand he'd just released in his, drawing abstract patterns on her palm. He looked up at her as he drew one that wasn't so abstract, a heart. He traced that heart several times and then threaded their fingers together once more. Rae stared at her lap, too overwhelmed to say anything.
When she finally spoke, she said, "This is probably a mistake, right?"
Finn sighed deeply. "Yeah, probably."
She pursed her lips and nodded. It might be a mistake, but it was one they were making together.
There's a difference between knowing something is true and actually feeling it. Finn had known all along that Rae was the daughter of his employer, that she was different to him, a better class. But until the moment he saw Archie's hand on her arm, Rae looking so intently into his eyes, Archie kissing her cheek, he hadn't really FELT it.
Now it was all he could feel. It was this huge emotion, with side helpings of shame and anger. How could he have imagined it would turn out any differently? She and Archie were proper. On the same level. He would just have to get used to it.
He avoided the garden, polishing Hassan's shoes in his bedroom until Arnie complained of the smell. He became an amateur student of architecture when serving at table, finding some small cornice or chamfer to fixate on when he wasn't fetching or serving, willing himself not to look at her, even when he could feel her eyes on him.
* * *
One early evening, about two weeks after Finn had last spoken to Rae, Finn went to Hassan's room to help him prepare for dinner. He brought with him Hassan's mail from the second post. There were several pieces of correspondence, though Finn had stopped paying attention to the addresses long ago. He placed the letters Mr. Gill had handed him in the kitchen on the sleek silver tray that adorned Hassan's modern desk. Hassan had begun to dress for dinner. "Oh, good. You are here in time to help me with my studs. Is that my mail?"
Finn nodded. "Yessir."
"Here." Hassan shoved a pair of cufflinks at Finn and held out his wrists, waiting for Finn to fasten them.
Finn glanced at his employer's insolent face, but then focused on his task. When he had finished, he turned to pick up the studs in Hassan's wardrobe, but Hassan said, "No. Before you do that, bring me my letters." Finn obliged and Hassan started flicking through them while Finn laid out a selection of ties. He'd turned to ask Hassan which one he preferred, when he saw Hassan, frozen, staring at one of the envelopes.
"Anythin' the matter, sir?"
Hassan thrust the envelope at him. "This one is for you." He looked almost shaken as he held the letter out for Finn.
Finn took it, confused. "I-I don't remember seein' any letter from 'ome, sir."
The name was addressed in an almost illegible hand, and the first letter almost looked as if it had started out as an H, but was revised to be an F. It wasn't in any handwriting Finn had ever seen, and there was no return address, so he put it in his pocket and said, "I'm very sorry for the mix up, sir. It won't 'appen again. I'll finish gettin' ya ready, an' read it later."
Hassan had been staring at Finn. "No. No, I think you should read it now. Out loud. I am curious to hear what it has to say."
Finn blanched at this suggestion. Or was it an order? "I-I'd prefer not to, sir. I dunno what it says; I dunno who it's from."
"How very intriguing. You can understand that I am curious to find out who is sending my servant mysterious letters, surely? Do you have something to hide?" Hassan always seemed to have a cruel tone in his address to Finn, but this time it seemed even icier than usual.
"I-I don't think so. Not tha' I know of." Finn felt slightly panicky, but tried not to let Hassan sense his fear.
"Then, let us hear it." Hassan sat at his desk chair and folded his arms expectantly.
Finn pulled the envelope from his trouser pocket and smoothed it flat with the back of his hand. His nails had been bitten down to nothing over the last week or so and he fumbled his initial attempt to open it. Hassan, apparently anxious to hear its contents, slid his top desk drawer open in a huff and pulled out a small sharp object. "Allow me," he said, plucking the letter from Finn's grasp. He ran the letter opener along the long edge, and pulled the folded page out. He seemed to freeze once again, but he hadn't even unfolded the missive to read it. Finn couldn't imagine what had alarmed him.
Hassan handed the letter back to Finn, who unfolded it and scanned the page. After a moment, he face flushed hot.
"Well?" Hassan barked. "What does it say?"
"I-I'd rather not say, sir."
"Well, I would rather you did, Nelson!" Hassan slammed the letter opener onto the blotter that lay atop his desk.
Finn knew Hassan would not let the matter rest until he acquiesced. Finn cleared his throat, and stammered as he started to read the short note in a monotone:
"Dear Finn,
I have noticed you from afar. You are more handsome than John Longden from the pictures. I imagine you would be even better at rescuing a damsel in distress. It makes me want to find some distress, just so you could rescue me. I'm sure you will think me forward to send you this note. Maybe one day I will reveal my feelings in person.
Until then,
Yours adoringly,
X"
Finn's mouth had gone dry and his voice started to crack halfway through reading it out. When he finished, he shook his head and tried to swallow.
"How very sweet." Hassan said, voice dripping with acid. "I am sure my father and his wife would be most interested in this correspondence."
Finn folded it up, and then ripped it into several pieces. "No, please don't! I dunno who sent it. I don't 'ave a . . . sweetheart. This must be some sort o' joke!"
Hassan's eyes lit up. "Yes! Yes. A joke." He sniffed at Finn with disgust. "Give me the letter."
"Why? I already ripped it up." Finn desperately clutched the scraps of paper.
"Do as I say!" Hassan demanded.
Finn handed them over reluctantly, and Hassan placed them in the drawer along with his letter opener. He shut it and locked it, pocketing the key. "Come, come. I must finish dressing. Dinner will be in a few minutes." He chose one of the ties Finn had laid out, and lifted his chin for Finn to tie it. Finn had to steady his shaking hands, and restrain himself from strangling Hassan.
Tie knotted and studs fastened, Finn then helped Hassan on with his dinner jacket.
"I will not say anything about your letter, on the condition that you do the same. Never mention it, and let me know immediately if you receive another." Hassan tugged the ends of his shirt sleeves and stuck his chest out for Finn to brush any lint off his lapels. "Is that understood?"
Finn's jaw ached from how tightly it was clenched, but he nodded. It would be fruitless to try and convince Hassan that he really had no idea who sent the letter. All he could do was be quiet, agree, and hope that Hassan would keep his word, so Finn could keep his job.
When Hassan had gone down for his pre-dinner cocktail, Finn let out a shaky sigh and wiped away the nervous sweat that had formed on his upper lip. When he did, there was a scent of something he couldn't place. Perfume from the paper? Women were peculiar creatures.
He racked his brain; who it could be? A traitorous corner of his heart had hoped for a moment it was Rae, or Miss Rachel, as he must get used to calling her. But this wasn't her style. She didn't wear perfume, but instead smelled of lavender soap. And he'd seen her handwriting, which was small and neat. Could it be Anna? He would have said it was her without hesitation a month ago, but since she'd met that fellow up the road, she'd barely spoken to him, not that he was complaining. It wouldn't be Izzy, and Joan also didn't seem the type. That blonde girl he'd danced with a few weeks ago seemed off-kilter enough to try something like this, but how would she have gotten his address?
It was surely a joke, no matter who sent it, and he should just forget about it so he could get back to forgetting about Rae. Miss Rachel. He sighed, and went downstairs to serve dinner.
* * *
The next day, Finn had shoved the incident to the back of his mind. Hassan still seemed upset, more than usual, and asked Finn after breakfast to pack him a bag. He said he would not be back for at least two or three nights, so Finn prepared a case. Hassan never asked Finn to accompany him on any of these trips, for which Finn was typically grateful. He filled in, helped Mr. Khan dress and did odd jobs for Mrs. Dewhurst or Mr. Gill, but he had liked the free time. Until now, when he desperately wanted to be busy.
Hassan took his suitcase and left before noon. After the mid-day meal, Finn already found himself at loose ends. Mrs. Dewhurst had gone to meet her friend who ran a teashop a few streets over, and didn't leave him any errands to run. It was Mr. Gill's day to pick up the order from Foyle's. He didn't like anyone else to do it, and usually made an afternoon of it, browsing the shelves at the bookstore, even though he was already there to pick up four or five titles for the library.
Arnie was driving the Ambassador to a luncheon and the various maids had scattered throughout the house when they finished eating. Finn was left alone in the kitchen. He took his dish over to the sink, washed it, dried it, and put it away. He picked up a section of the paper Mr. Gill had left out and tried to focus on an article about shipping in the North Sea but, unsurprisingly, failed.
He put the newspaper back on the table and surveyed the kitchen while he unbuttoned his collar. Everything appeared to be in order. He craned his neck to look over his shoulder and spotted the door to the darkroom. Curious, he wandered over to see what state it was in. He hadn't seen Rae come through to go to the darkroom, but he'd been keeping himself out of the kitchen, apart from mealtimes.
The door was ajar, and he pushed it open, surprised to see it seemingly untouched since that night Rae had burnt her fingers. He tried to think poorly of her, how it must be nice that she could take up and drop expensive hobbies, but he knew she wasn't like that. If she hadn't been back it could be because she was afraid of upsetting him, or worse, afraid of him for some reason, which did make him upset. He picked up the instruction manual that was still open on the crates. He started reading through it, and one or two things began to click into place. He didn't know if she would even want his help, now the room was basically set up. That was the only help she specifically asked for; she probably wanted to do the developing herself.
Finn looked up at the light coming in through the high windows and decided he could paint that, at least. And he'd change the bulb before he did, while there was still natural light to see what he was doing. He went out to get the ladder and also picked up a tin of black emulsion and a small paint brush that were in the repair cupboard.
He changed the bulb and then moved all the developing equipment to the other side of the room. He took off his waistcoat and shirt, which left him in his vest and trousers. He tied a plain apron around his waist and then climbed the ladder, placing the tin and brush at the top before stepping over onto the crates, testing them. They creaked a bit, but held his weight, so he grabbed the emulsion tin and brush and got to work painting over the small panes of glass. Even though it was a task for Rae, he could engross himself in it enough to forget about her for a bit. He had just reached the halfway point and stood back to assess his progress. His arm was sore from reaching up, but his ribs had healed. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow and started to resume when he heard the sound of a throat being cleared significantly.
His arm still held high, ready to slap the brush onto the glass once again, he peered around his bicep to see if it was who he thought it was. Rae. She looked pale and serious, her hair all pulled back into a braid, no tendrils loose around her face. Finn's chest contracted. He had been right to try and stay away.
"R--Miss Rachel," he nodded, quite rightly feeling exposed, but not wanting to show it.
She exhaled a small sigh. "We're back to that are we, Mr. Nelson?"
"I think it's prob'ly best, Miss." He turned back to continue painting.
"Will that need a second coat?" Rae asked. He turned around, their eyes met for a second before she shifted her gaze to look past him at the windows.
He stopped for a moment and leaned back to assess them for himself. There was a bit of light still creeping through in some of the paint strokes. "Reckon you're righ' about that."
"I'd try and help, but I don't think the crates are sturdy enough for two. That and . . ." her voice faded out vaguely as she looked down at her feet. She didn't finish her thought.
"It's no trouble, Miss Rachel. I should've already done it by now. I'm sorry if ya were waitin' on me ta finish the room." Was that it? he thought. Had she been silently reproaching him the past week?
"No, no! I've been distracted by . . . well, my mind's been a little muddled lately. I've been . . ." she seemed to lose herself in thought for a moment. "I've been taking some pictures, but haven't screwed up the courage to try and develop any. I have the most awful feeling I'm going to muck it up and ruin a whole roll." Her mouth twisted into a wry smile, while her eyes remained downcast. Finn simultaneously longed for her to look up and dreaded it at the same time. He thought he would probably be undone if she met his gaze, but he wanted to see what he could find in her eyes, a clue to how she was feeling.
Her head still hung low, so Finn turned back to the window and said, in as curt a voice as he could manage, "I'll be finished in here in a little bit. Was there something ya required?" It actually hurt his throat to speak so formally to her. But, he'd seen Rae on the street with Archie, the two of them looking earnestly into each others' eyes. And that . . . he couldn't bear to envision Archie kissing Rae's cheek again, but his brain tortured him by replaying that moment on a seemingly endless loop whenever he closed his eyes. He had to remember that he was just a hired hand, interchangeable with a hundred other boys who would love to have his wages.
"No. Nothing specific. Just thought I'd come down and see what needed to be done." She sighed. "And, I suppose . . . to see you."
Finn swallowed hard. "M-me? Why?"
"I just--I thought we were friends," Rae mumbled. "I hoped we were . . ."
Finn heart quickened and words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Maybe I don't want--"
Rae looked up suddenly; pain flashed in her eyes. "--to be my friend?" she finished in a hoarse whisper.
"No!" Finn exclaimed. Then, in a quiet voice, "That's not . . . exactly . . . what I mean." He took a deep breath. He couldn't tell her what he wanted her to be, so instead he mumbled, "Just, maybe I was right all those weeks ago. Friendships where you aren't equal . . . don't seem to work."
And, he realized, it was more than that. The more he saw her, the more he wanted to see her. Even when they were alone together like this, he couldn't just enjoy it. There was always a chorus of nagging thoughts at the back of his mind whispering what ifs. What if this was it, as close as they'd ever be? What if he didn't get anymore time with her? What if she went back to school, leaving as quickly as she had arrived? That would be that. He'd never see her again. So, it would be better if they just kept everything as detached as possible.
He noticed her eyes light on the instruction manual he had been reading earlier. She seemed to focus on it intently, to distract herself. He thought he could hear her saying something under her breath, but couldn't catch what it was. He cleared his throat and resumed painting. Looking at the paintbrush instead of Rae gave him the courage to say, "I hope ya don't mind, I looked through tha' book a bit. I don't understand everythin' in it, bu' a few things are gettin' clearer in my mind. I s'pose, if ya wanted some help, developin' the pictures, I could lend a hand." He dipped the brush back in the tin and industriously attacked another pane of glass while he waited for her answer.
Rae paused a moment before replying. "It's got me spooked with all it's warnings of what could go wrong, so if you understand any of it, I'd be truly grateful for the help." Finn didn't know why the mere act of looking at her made him feel like he had lost a battle with himself, but eventually, he glanced over his shoulder again. Catching his eye, Rae continued: "I went back to the park and took a roll of random snaps to practice developing. I didn't--don't--want to ruin that first roll, with the pictures of Violet, and of . . ." Rae held his gaze for a long moment before looking down. " . . . of everyone."
Finn's face suddenly flushed with heat. He faced the window and kept painting, so he would have an excuse not to turn around and see her again. "I hope ya was careful . . . remember what happened the last time ya went to the park." Who did he think he was, her father? He shook his head slightly and snuck a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She was smiling, and replied with a chuckle: "Don't worry, I didn't have my camera out and I didn't take any photos in the street. I waited until I got to the park and shot a whole roll there. It's kind of you to worry after me, though. I feel like I've been a lot of trouble for everyone. For you, especially."
"No, Rae. Miss Rachel, I mean. Ya shouldn't think that!" He didn't seem to be able to control his mouth around her. "Ya've been absolutely . . ." He couldn't say 'wonderful,' which was the word that hovered on his tongue, but he had to say something, so out came ". . . fine." Fine? "More than fine," he tried to amend himself, but knew he sounded stupid.
Rae's face wore a look of confused amusement. "Alright, then. That's good, I guess."
Finn kept painting, shamed into silence by his runaway mouth. A few minutes later, he had finished the first coat. He stepped back gingerly, to inspect it, and then hopped over to the ladder, climbing down. He placed the brush in a cup of water and washed his hands. He put his shirt back on over his vest, but left the apron on; he'd have to go back up for a second coat soon enough.
Rae had been standing quiet, leaning against the wall. "I-I suppose I should go, but . . ."
Finn had been buttoning his shirt, but paused, not wanting even the almost imperceptible rustling of cloth to stop him hearing her words. "But?" he asked, simply.
". . . I don't really want to," Rae responded. "It's funny, but I always feel more myself down here. Must remind me of . . . something."
The hairs stood up on the back of Finn's neck. How could everything she said affect him like this? He picked up the tin of paint and looked around for the lid.
"It must be almost a fortnight since I've been down here," she continued.
Finn nodded, mumbling, "Not since that day--"
"--Archie came to see me, yes." Rae finished Finn's thought as if she were apologizing for something.
"Yeah." He placed the lid on the tin and pressed down hard.
"That . . . that's a lot of what has been on my mind. He asked me something. And, I was surprised by it. I didn't know what to say at first."
"What did he ask and what did you say?" The question tumbled out before he could stop it. Rae didn't look to be upset, though. It seemed she wanted to talk.
She squinted her eyes and took a deep breath. "He asked me if I could ever . . . consider marrying him." It felt like every last molecule of air had been knocked out of him. He stared at the paint tin in his hands and waited for breath to return to his lungs, hoping he didn't seem nonplussed. When his chest no longer felt tight, he asked, "Oh, yeah?" in a strangled tone. He'd already asked about her reply and if she didn't want to tell him, he couldn't demand to know.
Rae was silent a moment before she continued. "I was knocked for a loop, but when I thought about it, even for a minute, I knew." Finn was back to being breathless. At this rate, he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen. So, that was it. She knew.
"I knew I couldn't. Archie's a good friend, but--" Finn started to instinctively exhale a sigh of relief, but he knew he shouldn't, so he started coughing to cover the sigh. The fake cough soon became real, and Rae rushed over to put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright, Finn?"
"Erm, yeah." Finn cleared his throat once more for good measure. "Air went down the wrong pipe, I guess." He moved away to sit down on the bench Mr. Gill had put in the darkroom. He shouldn't keep talking about this with her, but he had to know. "So, you've told him you don't want to? Marry him, that is?"
Rae sat next to him, and slumped down in her seat. "I tried. He told me to think about it, really think about it. And I haven't seen him since. He went back to Cambridge for exams. He sent me more flowers, though. And a couple of letters." She sighed and squirmed next to him. "Oh, I don't know! My gut says no, but what do I know? And, maybe . . . maybe it isn't my choice to make, anyway. If his parents and my mother decide we should get married . . . and, you know . . ." Rae's voice trailed off into silence, seeming to follow Finn's heart in its free fall into an endless void.
"What?" Finn whispered, tears pricking the back of his eyes.
" . . . I might not get another offer. I know I'm young, but I'm not . . ." Finn couldn't imagine what she wasn't because, to him, he finally realized, she was everything. " . . . I don't think I'm the kind of girl young men dream about. I'm not pretty or dainty or accomplished; I'm just . . . me."
Finn stood up quickly, because if he didn't, he felt he was going to crawl out of his skin. How had he become her confidante in this matter? He grabbed the paintbrush and took it to the sink to rinse it, the only thing he could think to do.
"I'm sorry," he barely heard her whisper over the blood rushing in his ears.
"What're ya sorry fer? I'm jus' rinsin' out this brush before the paint sets and it's ruined." He shook his head and turned on the water. Once again, being around her made him all philosophical and poetic, and he found himself thinking the paint in the brush was like Rae. She'd gotten inside him and he hadn't washed her away quickly enough. Now, bits of her would be stuck with him forever. He'd never hear certain songs without remembering dancing with her, never see a camera or a sketchbook without thinking of her trying to capture the world in an image.
She didn't say anything, so eventually, he looked over his shoulder at her. She was staring at the floor forlornly, but looked up at his subtle movement. When she met his eyes, she shrugged, her mouth twisting into an expression of barely disguised misery. She'd clearly been struggling with this, and didn't have anyone to talk to about it. She must not have even confided in Izzy, because Finn hadn't heard the news from the young maid, just feared the worst from what he'd seen in the street.
He rinsed the brush as best he could, and then wiped his hands on one of the old tea towels Mrs. Dewhurst had donated to the dark room. He took a deep breath and walked back to sit down next to Rae on the bench.
"So, ya've taken a practice roll?" He thought maybe a change of subject would take their minds off the matter. Rae looked like she could use a break from thinking.
Rae looked up wonderingly, but his question had surprised her enough to make her smile. "Erm, yes."
"Well, should we give it a go?" He glanced up at the newly painted windows. "It's dark enough, even withou' the second coat. And if we don't ruin th'pictures, we can develop the first roll when it's properly dark." A look of worry fluttered across Rae's face. "Won't Hassan--" she started to say. "Hassan's gone away for a few days. I'll be lookin' fer somethin' to do, if I don't help ya out." He flashed her a small smile. "You'll be doin' me a favor, really."
"Well, if you're sure," Rae said. "I'd be awfully grateful to you."
Finn shook his head. "We'll call us even, then."
* * *
In the darkroom, working to figure out the process for developing the film, they really were even. Both novices, but eager to both impress and assist the other, the work helped Finn to keep his head around Rae. There were, of course, moments when he'd glance up to see her deep in concentration, sweeping the loose tendrils of dark hair that had escaped her braid away from her eyes, and he'd have to steady himself. But there was so much to do that he wasn't unsettled for very long. It didn't occur to him that Rae might be having the same sort of moments, as he measured the water and developing chemicals, or when he leaned over to put a bottle back in its rightful place.
After Rae had gone to get the egg timer off the Aga, and they double-checked everything, they started to develop the roll she had shot in the park. There was a bit of a scramble to get to the safe light while she wound the film into the developing canister, and then, there were a few awkward pauses as they waited between agitations. Neither of them seemed willing to take up the topic that had been abandoned earlier, but no new ones presented themselves, so they worked mainly in silence, apart from discussion about the next step, or directions on how to proceed.
After almost ten minutes, they pulled the length of film from the canister, held it up to the light in the kitchen and saw the stark lines that showed the negative space. Finn and Rae grinned at each other, so pleased they hadn't ruined the film on their first try. They didn't rest on their laurels for long, but quickly went back into work mode to cut, hang, and dry the negatives.
"Should we risk it?" Rae asked breathlessly, as she turned around, hands on her hips.
Finn put down the canister he just rinsed. "Wha' d'ya mean?" he asked in a high voice.
"Should we keep going . . . develop the other one?" Rae had both eyebrows raised.
Finn smiled softly at her earnestness and eagerness. He'd never known any girl, any PERSON, to be as guileless as Rae was. "Sure," he said. "Don' wanna lose momentum an' forget how we did it."
They repeated the processes, and found it was nearly dinner time when they finished.
Finn heard some movement in the kitchen. "We got a bit lost jus' then, eh? Didn't even hear Mrs. D come back and start cookin'."
Rae smiled. "Yes, it's . . . engrossing work." She wiped her hands on a towel and bit her bottom lip. "I suppose I should get dressed for dinner." Finn nodded, trying not to be distracted by the way her lower lip kept disappearing as she worried it with her front teeth. She continued, "We'll have to choose some to make prints another time . . . maybe tomorrow?" Finn kept nodding, filled with competing emotions of pleasure and pain at the prospect of spending tim with Rae again so soon after avoiding her for weeks. She slipped out of the darkroom, and he followed her to the kitchen like he was tied to her with string, stopping only to watch as she wandered up the stairs. His eyes were still fixed on the point where she'd disappeared out of sight, when Mr. Gill broke his reverie.
"Finn!" he practically had to shout to break through the dense fog of thought into which Finn had fallen.
"Sorry?" Finn dragged his eyes from the spot where he was staring to look at his superior, whose face plainly showed his annoyance.
"I've been trying to tell you that Mr. Khan requested that you help him dress for dinner, as Hassan is out. Try to stay with us here on Earth, Finn." He gave Finn a significant glare and added, "This is where we live, not up in the clouds, lad." Finn nodded sheepishly, and started up the stairs.
* * *
The Ambassador generally preferred to make his own arrangements, and was nearly ready when Finn arrived at his dressing room a few moments later. Finn was confused about why he had been summoned, then fearful that Hassan had betrayed him about the letter, as he helped Mr. Khan to fasten his cufflinks and arrange his tie. When he was done, Mr. Khan said, "Finn, may I ask you a question?"
Finn tensed, bracing himself for the worst. "Of course, sir. What would ya like to know?"
"Did Hassan say where he was going when he left this morning?" Mr. Khan turned to straighten his tie in the mirror.
"No, sir. I don't believe he did. He usually jus' says he's goin' to stay at the club."
Mr. Khan inhaled a deep breath and held it for a moment. Finn found himself holding his breath until Mr. Khan finally exhaled. "I see. Yes. Thank you, Finn." Mr. Khan
Finn picked up the suit jacket Mr. Khan had been wearing earlier and carefully placed it on a hanger, making sure the shoulders were properly placed before putting it in the wardrobe. He furrowed his brow and said, "Is anythin' the matter, sir?"
Mr. Khan picked up a small comb from his bureau and swept it through his moustache. "No. Not at all. I was just curious. My son . . . does not always think to inform me of his whereabouts. I sometimes fear I indulged the boy too much after his dear mother passed. It is just . . . I wanted him to meet someone at dinner tonight, but it will have to wait until another opportunity."
Finn nodded, clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention. "Is there anythin' else I can do for ya, Sir?"
Mr. Khan shook his head. "That will be all. Thank you, Finn."
As he made his way downstairs, Finn wondered if he had been brought up just so Mr. Khan could ask about Hassan. How ungrateful his son was. Hassan had a father who cared about him, but he didn't appreciate it one bit. Finn felt the unfairness of the world very keenly in that moment. Why was it so hard for anyone to get what they wanted? Was it just a case of substitution? That as soon as you got a thing, you no longer cared about it and instead longed for something else? He didn't believe that could be the case for everyone. Finn loved his mother and disdained his father. As much as he wished for a father who was present and honorable and good, he didn't dismiss his mother for being those things. Yet Hassan seemed to resent his father for surviving, for trying his best. Every overture Mr. Khan made to his son was rebuffed, every opportunity squandered. Finn shook his head as he made his way back to the kitchen.
* * *
The guest Mr. Khan had invited was a bank manager, red-faced and middle-aged. He sat next to Rae and kept sneaking glances over at her chest, which made Finn's blood simmer. He stood very upright in his corner, wishing he could just focus on the carved wood details around the mantlepiece once again, but his time with Rae had been like tuning into her frequency again, and he found himself noticing her subtle movements and expressions: the way she kept adjusting the napkin on her lap so the points lined up along the fold, the little lift of her eyebrow when Mr. Wilberforce made an indelicate remark. He remembered Mr. Gill's admonitions, though, and made sure to pay attention to when the next course should be served and plates cleared.
When the meal was nearly over, Finn having just served the raspberry tarts, Mr. Khan cleared his throat to gain the attention of his guest. "Mr. Wilberforce, I feel I must once again apologize for my son's absence. I hope we may tempt you to join us again in future."
"What's that, Khan? No need to apologize; I'd be delighted to come back! Your wife and daughter are most charming, most charming." Mr. Wilberforce smiled at Rae, who looked down to inspect her dessert intently.
Mrs. Khan addressed Rae. "Rachel, I meant to say earlier, I spoke with Mrs. Harris today. You know, Archie's mother?"
Rae, who had been pushing a crust of tart around her plate, dropped her spoon in surprise with a loud clatter. "Sorry! I'm sorry." She picked the spoon up and clutched it near her throat. "No, Mother, I've never met her."
Mr. Khan sighed. "I understand that, but you know OF her, correct?" Rae nodded meekly. "She would like to come for tea this week, to meet you."
Rae's eyes flew from her mother to Finn to her plate. The spoon slipped from her grasp once again; this time it fell to the floor. Finn darted around the table to pick it up. He placed the spoon in a towel and swiftly obtained a replacement from the sideboard behind her.
"Why?" Rae asked quietly. She looked up at Finn, bewildered, as he silently set the clean spoon next to her plate. His eyes met hers as he lingered by her side for just a second, pretending to take pains to line the utensil up next to her plate before returning to his spot by the wall.
"Not that is your place to question, Rachel, but, apparently, her son has spoken very highly of you." Mrs. Khan looked at her daughter askance.
Rae sat in silence; she didn't seem to know what to say.
"I told her I was busy tomorrow, but that she should come the day after, for tea. I'll expect you to be here." Rae didn't make a reply. "I trust that is agreeable, Rachel?"
Finn watched Rae nod slowly, her head hung low. Saddened, he stood up a little straighter and fixed his gaze on a bronze sconce, then on the screw that held it in place, then on the groove in the center of the head. If he kept noticing ever more minute details about the house, maybe he wouldn't have time to notice details about Rae.
"I believe we have finished." Mr. Khan's voice derailed his train of thought. Finn rushed to pull out Mrs. Khan's chair. She walked out of the room without acknowledging him, chatting to Mr. Wilberforce as they moved into the library for after dinner drinks. Rae still sat at the table, apparently stunned. Finn stood behind her and said, "Allow me, Miss," in case anyone was within earshot. Rae glanced up in surprise as Finn gently pulled her chair out. She stood, but not as tall as she usually did. The news that Archie's mother wanted to meet had clearly dazed her. When she met his gaze, her eyes were wide and wary.
Finn decided to try and take her mind off it. "What time do you want to get started tomorrow, Miss?" There wasn't anyone about, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Pardon?" Rae was understandably confused.
"For developin' the prints, Miss. Ya said ya wanted to try your hand at that tomorrow. Jus' wondering when ya wanted to begin." He smiled and watched as she straightened her spine to stand a little taller. Now they were exactly at eye level, and she wasn't trying to look down, or turn away. She smiled and said, "Anytime. After breakfast? Ten o'clock?" Finn nodded. "That sounds . . . very agreeable to me, Miss."
She hesitated for a moment, but then turned to walk out of the dining room. She paused just before she reached the hall, resting her hand on the door frame and glancing back at Finn. "See you then, then."
He inclined his head and whispered, "Good evening . . . Rae."
With a smile, she ducked out of the room. Finn was also wearing a grin as he cleared the table. Mr. Gill returned from the library a moment later. "You seem inordinately pleased to be tidying up, Finn," he remarked with jovial suspicion. Finn's mouth dropped its smile like a hot potato, but he didn't deny that, in that moment, he was happy.
* * *
Every night, no matter what had happened that day, Arnie would be asleep and snoring away within three minutes of his head hitting the pillow. Finn marveled at his roommate's sleeping habits. More often than not, he'd find himself staring into the dark, trying to count sheep. Lately, he'd been replaying a lot of moments with Rae over and over before finally drifting off.
Tonight was no exception for Arnie; he was sawing logs on his side of the room while Finn remained wakeful. However, he wasn't particularly trying to fall asleep. He had that night before Christmas feeling in his belly. It was the buzz of hopeful anticipation. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he'd woken up that morning not knowing he would spend the whole afternoon in close quarters with Rae; now that he knew he had another day with her, it was like his birthday had come early.
It was strange. The facts of their situation had not altered. If anything, they were more dire, for him having relented and spent more time with Rae, he found himself deeper in than he ever had been before. But something in him seemed to be at peace. Whereas just that afternoon he had been anxious, worried that he might not get enough time around Rae, now he knew that even if he spent every day of the rest of his life with her it likely wouldn't be enough, so he might as well take his opportunities and enjoy whatever time he got with her.
He couldn't account for his change of heart, and he knew it might change back at any moment, especially if Rae did get engaged to Archie. But, he told himself, she wasn't engaged yet.
* * *
Finn was starting to wonder if he actually needed air to live. He'd been breathless so many times in the past two days, but still he managed to exist.
He had gotten to the dark room early. He knew Rae wouldn't be down until the time agreed upon, but his breath kept catching in his throat at every noise he heard while he painted a second coat of paint on the windows, rinsed the brush, and read the instruction booklet twice over again. He got out the paper for printing photos and was starting to wonder if she was ever coming down, when there was a light knock on the door. He turned to look over his shoulder as she slipped into the room.
"Sorry I'm late," she exhaled. "Izzy wanted to try a new plait in my hair, and had to do it three times over." She shook her head, smiling. Finn was happy she mentioned something about her appearance, so he could admire her openly for once. He gestured for her to turn with his head. "Let us see, then," he said through a smile.
She awkwardly swiveled enough for him to see the braid that swept the top of her hair to one side.
"Very nice," he said. "I approve." They both laughed. Finn had kept looking at Rae, noticing her dress was one he hadn't seen before. It was a deep blue, and made her amber eyes seem even warmer than usual, in comparison. She started to squirm under his gaze, so he said, "Sorry, jus' thinkin' we should get ya an apron, or ya'll ruin your nice dress."
"I only have nice clothes now, which is a change from when I came," Rae said, ruefully. "I never used to think twice about getting charcoal on my sleeve or tea on my skirt. Now I have to worry all the time."
"Wait here," Finn said, adding a "Please" as he went into the kitchen to find an extra apron for Rae. Mrs. Dewhurst gave him a look.
"Can I help ya find somethin', Admiral Lord Nelson?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Finn frowned at her joking nickname. "I'm jus' looking' for an apron for R-Miss Rachel. She asked me ta help her develop some prints." Finn fidgeted with the tie on his own apron.
Mrs. Dewhurst pointed to the cupboard by the side door. "There should be some extras in there. Mind ya give 'er the cleanest, now." Finn smiled and nodded. He chose the one that looked the newest, and rushed back to the dark room.
"Sorry, couldn't find 'em at first." Without thinking, he rushed forward and slipped the apron over Rae's head, careful not to muss her hair. She had reached up to put it on herself, and their fingers got tangled together for a moment. Finn turned bright red and apologized again. "Sorry-sorry, I don't know what I was thinkin'."
Rae shook her head, "No, no. That's--it was--fine." When he allowed himself to look up, she was smiling at him. "Thank you," she said.
Finn shrugged uncomfortably. He wanted to walk to the other side of the small room, open the door to the wine cellar, find the darkest corner, and start burrowing to the center of the earth. Instead, he picked up a row of negatives and said, "I s'pose we should pick which ones ya want to print, right?"
"Yes, we could take them out into the light and decide there." One of the shortest words in the English language, but hearing her say "we" made his heart thrill for a moment. It was all so silly, and he knew it, but it didn't change the way he felt. He held the door for Rae and they made their way to the table. Mrs. Dewhurst made them each a cup of tea, as they placed the negative strips in order and took turns looking at them one by one.
The first photo was of Violet, all posed and perfect. There was one of Izzy standing next to the window in Rae's room, trying to appear wistful, a smile threatening to break across her face. Arnie in his chauffeur uniform, cap under his arm, standing tall next to the freshly waxed Rolls. A few of Mrs. Dewhurst stirring a pot on the stove, glancing over at Rae out of the corner of her eye.
Rae chuckled and murmured, "I couldn't get her to stop looking at me! I'll have to draw her looking unaware." Finn had forgotten these were all studies for portraits Rae wanted to draw.
Then, one of Mr. Gill, adjusting his glasses while going over the books, actually unaware. In the next photo, he was surprised to look up and see Rae taking his photo. One of Anna in the garden, her lips pursed and eyes heavily lidded, trying to look alluring.
There were several shots of ducks on the Serpentine, from the day of the picnic. One of the unpacked hamper, the feast spread across the bench. Next was a photo of Finn just after he'd popped a scone in his mouth, and Rae had said something to make him laugh. Finn protested. "Ya shouldn't print that one!" Rae's eyes sparkled in response. "We'll see," she said merrily. Another of Finn, without the antics.
Then came the photos Finn had taken. The one of the boys skipping stones was good, if framed a little oddly. The next two photos were the ones he'd taken of Rae, when she wasn't paying attention. Both were in profile. The first was a little blurry, as Finn had been moving the camera when he'd clicked the shutter. The next one was perfectly in focus, however, and showed Rae looking out at the water, a small smile playing about her lips. Finn felt anxious, and glanced over at Rae, to see what she thought of these secret pictures. She had looked away. "Ya shouldn't have wasted the film on pictures of me, Finn." She let out a gentle scoff, trying to make light of her self-deprecation. Finn felt a flash of anger that she should think so little of herself, but it died away. He knew she couldn't help it, anymore than he could help wishing he could have taken a hundred photos of her.
He shook his head when she glanced up at him, but didn't say anything. He picked up the last section of negatives and handed it to Rae. She looked at the first picture, which was the last one Finn had taken, of a nurse pushing an old man in a chair. Then, even though she hadn't said anything, Rae seemed to grow quieter. After studying the last few photos intently, she handed the row back to Finn, who finally saw the negatives of Mr. Khan playing with Violet.
"We'll certainly have to make copies of those," she said. After a pause, she added, "Violet is such a pretty baby." It was as if she had made the remark to herself, but Finn nodded in agreement. "Those are lovely pictures," he said. "You have a real eye for . . . what's it called? . . . Composin'. That's it. A real eye for composin' a shot."
"Thank you, Finn," murmured Rae. "Though I don't think I did anything special with them, just tried to keep them both in frame."
They carefully trimmed the negatives and gingerly made two piles, one for those that would be printed, and one for those that wouldn't, but would be kept for future reference. When Finn put one of the pictures he took of Rae on the "to be printed" stack, Rae gave him a look, shaking her head.
Finn tried to keep it light, guessing Rae's thoughts. "Why not?" he asked, chuckling.
"No one needs a picture of me," Rae said, starting to move the negative to its own pile, Finn feared to be discarded. He picked it up and said, "Well, I don't suppose anyone needs pictures of anyone else, really." Rae didn't say anything. He decided to take another tack. "Tell ya what. I'll let you print that one of me stuffin' my face, if I can print this one of you, alrigh'?"
Rae shook her head almost imperceptibly and looked up at the ceiling, shrugging silently. "Is that a yes?" he asked quietly. Still no reply. Rae stood up and looked around, before heading into the dark room, leaving the negatives on the kitchen table. Finn followed her.
"Rae? What's the matter?" He knew she was self-conscious, but this was something else, something bigger. The light from the kitchen bounced off her back, but her face was turned away and in shadow. He heard her mumble something he couldn't make out. "What was tha'?" he asked.
Rae swiveled a quarter turn, light now touching half her face. She repeated herself: "It doesn't seem worth it, wasting paper on a picture of me. Why do you even want it?"
Finn looked at her, overcome with a desperate sadness, and cried out "Don't you KNOW?" Perfect. Once again, his utterances could not be controlled.
Now, finally, facing him, Rae's eyes were wide with a fearful wondering. Finn bravely stepped closer.
"Know what?" Rae whispered. She didn't move toward him, but she didn't move away, so Finn took another step. Then another.
He took a deep breath and tried to think of what he could say that wouldn't sound too mad. "That I--" Love you were the only words left in his head, but he knew he couldn't say them. So, he did the only other thing that was on his mind, moved forward one last step and pressed his lips to hers.
Her head had been inclined, so he'd had to almost swoop his head up and under to meet her mouth, and now he used his lips, along with his hand, which had floated up to rest in the soft crook of her neck, to guide her face even with his. He was so worried she didn't want this kiss, he didn't notice at first that she had started kissing him back almost immediately. But then, one of her hands found its way to his waist, the other drifted up to rest on the back of his neck, her fingers curling into his hair. His heart jittered against his ribcage as he leaned forward, wrapping his arm around her to hold her as tightly to him as he could. Once again, she didn't move away. He didn't know if she had imagined this moment, but he had, a thousand times or more. However, his brain couldn't have predicted the reassurance he felt as her body pressed against his, or how intoxicating the warmth of her embrace felt. It was like nothing he'd imagined, let alone experienced, and if it were the last thing he ever did, he wouldn't have minded at all.
