A Mad, Wicked Folly (21 page)

HAT SATURDAY, A
week after my birthday,
the Charing Cross train station was a hive of
activity with people bustling all around. When
Sophie and I arrived, I spotted Will waiting by
the newsagents, leaning against the wall and reading a

Sophie blew out her breath. “Gosh. Lucky you getting
to stare at that whenever you want.”
“I suppose,” I said, in an attempt to sound as though I
didn’t care a whit one way or another.
Sophie and I had cooked up a scheme to tell my mother
that a friend from Miss Winthrop’s had invited me to
her country home in Royal Tunbridge Wells for the day.
Tunbridge Wells was in Kent, far enough away to account
for the length of time I would be away. Mamma at first said
no because she didn’t know the girl’s mother, but then,
having anticipated Mamma would ask, I handed her the
invitation from her mother—the one that I had created
myself in my bedroom. While I watched Mamma read, my
heart was thudding so hard I was surprised she didn’t hear
it. Mamma, looked up from the note, and finally satisfied,
gave her permission. She told Sophie to go with me, and I
argued a little, just to keep her from becoming suspicious.
But this gave Sophie the day off too, which she planned to
spend at Clement’s Inn making scarves and helping trim
hats to sell at the Women’s Exhibition.
Will saw us, waved his hand, and came over to greet
us. I introduced him to Sophie.
As she shook his hand, I thought about what a good match
they might make. Maybe I should try to get them together.
But then I imagined Will kissing Sophie, pulling her close
against his body while her arms wrapped around his neck. I
pictured Will combing his fingers through Sophie’s red hair,
as he did to mine that day in the alley when my hair came
loose. The thought made me want to scratch Sophie’s eyes
out, although I knew I had no claim on Will.
When Will went off to buy tickets, Sophie turned to
me. “You fancy this bloke. I can tell. Your face is glowing.
Your face doesn’t glow like that when you’re looking at Mr.
Carrick-Humphrey.”
“That’s not true. I’m just a bit warm.” I fanned my hand
at my face. “It’s close in here with all the people about.”
“Does he know you’re engaged?”
I shook my head. I didn’t like the accusatory look on
her face.
“Why?”
“It’s none of his business.”
And it’s none of yours either!
She pointed at my hand. “Why don’t you wear your
engagement ring?”
“I don’t like to wear rings when I draw. They get in the
way.”
“You’re not drawing now.”
“I forgot it,” I said sharply. “Sophie, leave it alone.”
She looked doubtful. “Well, he fancies you, I can tell.”
“He doesn’t! We’re only friends.”
She snorted. “Friends?”
“Sophie, you overstep yourself!” I hissed. “You’re my
lady’s maid, not my confessor!”
I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.
I sounded like some of the girls I knew who bossed their
servants about and treated them like they were less than
human. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” The hurt look on
Sophie’s face made me feel horrible. “Please forgive me.”
“No, I’m sorry. I had no right to devil you.”
“Let’s say no more about it,” I said, squeezing her hand.
It was my fault Sophie had said those things. I’d made her
believe we were friends, and so she behaved as though we
were. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so familiar with her. It wasn’t
fair to her.
After Will came back with the tickets, Sophie went
off to the Underground. I tried to forget my conversation
with her, but I couldn’t quite do so. Her question about
why I hadn’t told Will about my engagement bothered me.
Saying
I’m engaged
should be as easy as saying when and
where we would meet next. I should have told him when
he held my hand on the Underground. I had told Harry
straightaway when he tried to hold my hand. I had had no
compunction there. I should have told Will that the summerhouse belonged to me and to Edmund, my fiancé. That
would have been a better time to tell him. But Will was so
honorable. If I’d told him, he wouldn’t have been my friend
and creative partner like this. Certainly he wouldn’t have
ever posed nude for me.
And then I wondered if Sophie was right.
Did
Will fancy
me? He had given me that book of poetry for my birthday,
and now he was taking me to meet his parents. Perhaps
he was just being kind, being a friend. On the other hand,
maybe his actions meant something more. Either way, I
could never return such affections.
Despite this truth, a little feeling of joy started to flicker
inside me.
Our train was announced, and Will and I headed out
onto the platform. I stopped at the first-class carriage and
waited for him to open the door. I hadn’t meant to—it was
force of habit—but I cursed myself for it all the same. Of
course Will wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of such a
ticket. In fact, I should have offered to pay my own fare,
but it was all too late now.
Will had continued on up ahead and I couldn’t catch up
with him quickly enough. He’d noticed what I had done.
The gap between Will’s life and mine yawned wider than a
chasm. I felt horrid to have put him in such a position.
“You don’t mind second-class, do you?” He looked
down at the tickets in his hands. “I didn’t think. It’s a long
journey, two and a half hours. Perhaps you won’t be comfortable. I should change these for first. Perhaps there’s
time. . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Not at all, Will! I’m happy with second-class.”
Will looked unsure.
“Please, Will. I’m not such a delicate flower. Let’s not
spoil the day.”
This settled, we carried on down the platform and
stepped into a second-class carriage. I had never been
in such a carriage before. In first-class, one traveled in a
private wood-paneled compartment with comfortable
upholstered seats and a little table. A waiter would come
by and serve a five-course luncheon or tea and cakes.
The second-class carriage was worlds away from that. It
rather reminded me of a music hall, with benches grouped
in two lines, facing forward. But instead of a stage, the passengers gazed at a wall papered with a map of the railway
line. And instead of a porter hanging one’s things up, people simply shoved their belongings onto racks above the
seats or carried them in their laps. The carriage was full of
people talking and leaning over one another to be heard.
One man was eating a sandwich over his knees in broad
view of everyone. A crying child sat next to his exasperated mother, who was staring out the window, a grim look
on her face.
We made our way down the noisy aisle and found a
place. There was no armrest dividing the seat, so Will and
I had to sit very near to one another. I edged as close to
the window as I could and pressed my knees together so I
wouldn’t brush against him. I looked out the window, pretending to be immensely interested in the scenery. It was a
beautiful day with the sky blue and the sun shining down.
Soon, the city scene began to turn into a country setting.
Cows and horses cropped grass in the fields; houses with
thatched roofs dotted the rolling hills, and in the distance
a castle loomed.
“You look like you’re trying to become part of the
wall, flattened against it like that,” Will said, breaking the
silence. He laughed. “Do I pong or something? Shall I go
find another seat?”
I turned away from the window and smiled. “Don’t be
silly. You smell fine.”
“You’ve been so quiet. Did I say something?”
“I’m sorry, Will.” I shook my head. “I don’t mean to be
distant. I just have a lot on my mind. It’s nothing, really. Tell
me about your sister. She’s older than you?”
“Yes. She was married, but her husband was a soldier
and he died in the Second Boer War seven years ago.”
“How sad.”
“She was only seventeen, and Jamie was just a baby. So
she moved back in with my parents. She’s lived there ever
since.”
“Are you very close to her?”
“We are. She likes to boss me about, and I like to pretend to let her.” He grinned.
I laughed. “My brother, Freddy, whom you met, is much
the same.”
“I got the feeling that was true. He seemed very exasperated when you pitched up that day. I’ve seen that look
on Jane.”
Will went on about some of the things Jane did when
they were young. While I listened to Will talk, the train’s
rocking began to make me feel sleepy. In anticipation of
being invited to sit the exam, I was continuing my early-morning drawing sessions in order to work on my final
presentation, and they were beginning to take their toll.
I tried to concentrate as Will told me about his father. I
yawned and leaned my head back against the seat. I would
just close my eyes and listen.
“. . . village constable . . . for . . .”
“Uh, huh . . .”
“He said I should . . . London . . .”
I nodded. It was so warm, sitting there in a shaft of
sunshine next to Will. So warm and comfortable that I fell
asleep. And I began to dream. I dreamt I was walking with
Will, hand in hand, in a meadow filled with wildflowers
so beautiful I could almost smell their sweet scent. Bees
buzzed and butterflies floated all around us. And then Will
turned to me and pulled me so close against him that I
could feel his heart beating. He felt so lovely, so solid and
strong. He felt like a place I had never been to before; a
place I never wanted to leave.
“Vicky,” he whispered in my ear; his breath fluttered
across my face.
I cuddled closer, pressing my cheek against his coat.
“Wake up, Vicky,” he said louder.
My eyes popped open. Will’s face was only an inch
away from mine, an amused look in his eyes. I had fallen
asleep on his chest, my hand in his. I sat back. “Oh.”
“We’re here.” He smiled. “I don’t think they’ll let us stay
for much longer.”
The conductor stood in the aisle. “Final stop, lad. Or are
you heading straight back to London?”
I stood up and followed Will off the train, embarrassed
beyond measure and blasting my traitorous heart.

WILL AND I
walked along the harbor past people hawking their wares and toward a cobblestone street that led up
a hill. I felt even more awkward around him now. Thankfully he didn’t tease me about falling asleep on him. Instead he pointed out sights as we walked.

“I’ve been mad to show you this street for ages,” Will
said. “It’s called Mermaid Street. Not sure why, but there’s
an old hostel here named the Mermaid Inn, too. Just up the
way there.”

Mermaid Street was lined with medieval, Tudor, and
Georgian houses all crowded together higgledy-piggledy along the cobbled street. They had peculiar names
like The House Opposite and The House with the Seat.
It was like walking into a Turner landscape painting, it
was that picturesque. Its old-fashioned charm reminded
me of the French village of Trouville, where I’d attended
finishing school. I wondered if Bertram had ever visited
Rye. I could see why many artists wanted to live and
work here. The light was beautiful, and there was a harmonious feeling to the place that beckoned to an artist’s
spirit.

After a bit, we turned down a narrow alley and through
a shaded garden. We heard a shout, and then a young boy
came blazing through a small vegetable patch, dirt flying,
and threw himself at Will. The breath left Will with an
“oof,” and he staggered.
“What the devil, Jamie? You nearly knocked the stuffing out of me!”

The boy untangled himself from Will and grinned up
at him. “I’ve been watching for you all morning!” The boy
was very young, maybe seven or so, and he had a mischievous look about him, with freckles spattered across his
upturned nose and a rooster tail of hair poking up on the
back of his head.

“Jamie, this is my friend Vicky. Vicky, this is my
nephew, Jamie.”
Jamie stared at me. “She’s prettier than Eliza.”
“Jamie!” Will warned. “Hush now.”
Jamie slid his hand into mine. “You’re prettier than
Eliza,” he repeated. “She had a pig’s face with a nose like
this!” He pushed the tip of his nose upward with his thumb.
“She even had pinky-red hair. And she snorted when she
laughed, just like a pig.” He demonstrated loudly. I was
beginning to like Will’s nephew.
“Jamie, that’s not nice,” Will said, trying not to laugh.
Jamie eyed him. “It’s true,” he said, his voice rising
indignantly.
“Who is Eliza, Will?” I asked.
Will shrugged.
“Well, this must be the artist we’ve heard so much
about,” I heard a feminine voice say.
A young woman stood in the garden gate, arms folded
and an amused look in her eyes.
“She’s my friend first, Mumma!” Jamie clutched my
hand with both of his so hard I winced.
“I can well see that from the state of my runner beans.”
She smiled wryly. “Trampled to bits, nearly. Well, give us a
kiss, then, Will.”
Will stepped forward and kissed his sister’s cheek. He
pulled me over and introduced me. She shook my hand
briefly and then folded her hand back under her arm.
Jane’s brown hair was caught into a bun, and she wore a
long apron over a navy-blue serge skirt and brown linen
blouse. It was a no-nonsense outfit, and I had a feeling Jane
was not the kind of woman who would tolerate silliness.
“Mum and Dad are waiting inside. Dad’s just got home
from his beat, and Mum is getting lunch ready.”
We followed Jane around the house and through a
small yard where chickens pecked at corn strewn on the
ground. I hung back, eyeing the cockerel warily.
Jane looked bemused. “You’re not frightened, are you?
Have you never seen chickens before?”
“Um . . . not like this, no.” I sheltered behind Will as one
of the chickens came over to investigate, pecking at the
silver buckle of my boot. Jamie thought that was hilarious
and bent in half with laughter.
“Vicky lives in the city, Jane,” Will said. “No chickens
in London.”
Several other hens ran over with wings flapping to see
what had interested their sister. Just as I was playing with
the idea of bolting out of the yard, a short, round woman
came out of the house and shooed the chickens away. She
smiled broadly.
“Now, Jane, you should have brought Will and his
sweetheart to the front door, not round the back. She’ll
think we’re not civilized with all these biddies about.”
Will glanced at me quickly, his face reddened. “Vicky’s
not my sweetheart, Mum, I told you. We’re working
together, remember?”
“So you said,” she replied, patting Will’s cheek and
grinning. Jane, who didn’t seem to find the jape funny at
all, scowled at the chickens. Will’s mother then put her
hands on her hips and eyed Will. “Now, let me take a look
at you.” She tutted. “I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s
pencil!”
“I’m fine, Mum!” Will said. “I eat plenty.”
We followed Mrs. Fletcher into the cottage. It was
dark inside, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust.
But there wasn’t much to see; it was the tiniest house I had
ever been in. The entire first floor was no bigger that my
mother’s sitting room. The room was divided in half by a
staircase. One side held a table set with china for lunch.
The other side served as a makeshift sitting room. A settee
and two battered upholstered chairs were grouped in front
of a blazing coal fire. A man slept in one of the chairs with
a newspaper on his lap, his stocking feet on a little stool
close to the fire.
“Up you get, sleepyhead!” Mrs. Fletcher said in the
direction of the man. He stirred and blinked at us. “Will
and his friend are here.”
“Well, now. PC Fletcher come home to visit! That’s
grand!” He got to his feet and we went over so that he could
greet his son. He shook Will by the hand, at the same time
patting him on the shoulder affectionately. Will was taller
than his father, but the resemblance was uncanny. They
shared the same kind eyes and floppy hair that refused to
be tamed.
I was overcome by shyness, but I made myself shake
Mr. Fletcher’s hand. Will and I sat on the settee together.
Jane sat on one of the chairs, pulling Jamie onto her lap.
Mr. Fletcher settled back down, and his wife perched on
the stool at his feet. It was a very close fit, but it looked as
though everyone was quite used to being this near to one
another.
“What’s in there?” Jamie asked, and pointed at my art
satchel, which I had placed at my feet.
“Jamie,don’tberude!”Janesaid,foldinghislittlefinger
back down. Jamie glared at her.
“I keep my art materials in there, but I’ve also brought
some things from London.” I had splurged and bought presents for Will’s family from my grandmother’s ring money. I
had enjoyed buying the gifts, browsing through the shops
in Mayfair, looking for the perfect choices with Sophie’s
help.
Jamie immediately slid off his protesting mother’s lap
and came over to lean on my knee.
“Did you bring something for me?” Jamie asked. Will
and his parents laughed, and Jane spluttered.
“I did, indeed!” I took up the satchel and drew out a
bag of sweets, which held a mixture of bull’s-eyes, humbugs, and licorice allsorts, as well as a small box of painted
wooden policemen I found at Hamley’s Toy Shop on Regent
Street.
Jamie’s eyes grew round with amazement. He stared at
the packages I held out as if he didn’t know what to look
at first. Finally he took the bag, opened it, and stuffed his
mouth with a peppermint humbug. Then he tore the lid off
the box of policemen and drew one out.
“See, Mumma!” Jamie hopped over to his mum to show
her one of the policemen. “It’s Uncle Will!”
We all laughed. It was fun to make Jamie happy. I
smiled and watched him go through the box and show his
mum every figurine. I glanced at Will and found he was
looking at me and not Jamie, as everyone else was.
“I have something for you too, Jane.” I pulled out the
foil-wrapped box of rose and violet creams I had chosen
at the confectioner’s in the Royal Arcade. “I hope you like
Charbonnel et Walker. I hear the king adores them.” I realized I sounded like a snob just then. As if Jane was used to
eating luxury chocolates. My face burned hot. I’d even said
Charbonnel et Walker
in a French accent.
Jane took the box. “I’ve never et them,” she said with a
short smile. “But I suppose the king’s favorites must trump
good old Cadbury Dairy Milk any day of the week.”
I thought I heard a note of sarkiness in her voice, but
I acted as if I hadn’t noticed and finished handing out
the other presents, which I had purchased at Liberty: a
decanter of port for Mr. Fletcher and a little casket of bath
items for Mrs. Fletcher. But my pleasure in the gift giving
had faded.
Mrs. Fletcher was as thrilled as Jamie with her gift. She
undid the lid and drew out the bottle of rose bath oil and
then the cake of lavender soap done up in sprigged paper.
She held the soap to her nose and breathed deeply.
“That’s lovely, that is. I can’t thank you enough, Vicky.”
She replaced the soap in the box. “I’ll keep that in my bottom drawer for best. Now, I’d better see to the lunch.”
For best.
It was only toiletries. I pictured Mrs. Fletcher
eking their use out for months, maybe years.
Mrs. Fletcher disappeared down a narrow corridor
toward what I assumed to be the kitchen, judging by the
smells coming from that direction. Without a word, Jane
set Jamie on his feet and went off to join her mother, the
box of chocolates discarded on a side table.
I felt like a massive toff, throwing my expensive gifts
about, showing off. Like my pause at the first-class-carriage door, my gifts had only highlighted the differences
between myself and the Fletcher family. And Jane had felt
it too.