Nine Buck's Row (19 page)

“What? No, of course not. Well—” She smiled her pixie smile and sat down on the bench, spreading the red silk skirt out carefully. “If you want to know the truth, I feel a little strange in this dress. I just made it for a lark. Didn't think I'd have the nerve to wear it on the street.”

“Has Jamie seen it?”

“Jamie Caine? He'd fall into a dead faint if he were to see me in an outfit like this.”

“You haven't made up with him?”

“I wouldn't dream of it. That's over with.”

“I've been worried about you,” I admitted.

“Whatever for? Come sit down, Suzy. Tell me everything that's been happening.”

I sat down on the bench beside her and began to tell her all about the theater, describing the play and the people and our encounter with the irritating Mr. Shaw. Millie listened attentively, asking suitable questions, but I could tell that she was distracted, not herself at all. She picked Scrappy up and scratched his stomach, a few coppery curls spilling down on her temples.

“It must have been a marvelous evening,” she said wistfully.

“It was.”

“I'd like to go to the theater some day.”

“Perhaps you will, Millie.”

“There are so many things I'd like to do. Suzy—” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“There—there's something I want to tell you. I—I don't know how to begin, but—” She paused, pressing her brows together. Her brown eyes were very dark, and she put Scrappy down, avoiding my eyes.

“What is it, Millie?”

She glanced up at the house, her cheeks pale. She seemed to be turning something over in her mind. She stood up, wrapping the boa around her arms, frail black feathers fluttering in the breeze. Her face was composed now, and she managed a half-smile, one cheek dimpling.

“Millie—”

“Nothing. It was—nothing. I just wanted to say I love you. I've missed you dreadfully. Come see me. I'll be home. I promise. I have to go now. Daddy's going to be home from the docks early, and he's always upset if I'm not in the flat.”

“Something's bothering you,” I said.

“Not any more, luv,” she said brightly, and the old vitality returned in full force. She tossed her head and laughed. “Dear me, I've been quite a ninny! Whatever made me think—it's hilarious! I do have to dash, Suzy. I'm glad you saw my dress. I don't imagine I'll be wearing it anymore. Do come see me.”

She gave me a merry wave and hurried to the passageway, vanishing before I had a chance to ask any more questions. She had been on the verge of telling me something important. I wondered what on earth it could be. And why had she changed her mind so abruptly? What had made her shake off her tense nervousness at the last moment? The Millie who waved goodbye had been the old, vivacious Millie I knew so well, but the pale, uneasy creature who had stepped hesitantly into the courtyard had been a complete stranger.

Nicholas Craig came home early. He and Maggie were in the parlor as I went up to change for dinner. They seemed to be arguing, his voice cool and controlled, hers irritable and insistent. There was an aura of tension at the dinner table. He was distant and entirely too polite. There were spots of color on Maggie's cheeks, and she seemed about to launch into an angry tirade, barely managing to control herself. We ate in silence for the most part. After dinner Maggie took her ledgers up to the sitting room, and her nephew closed himself up in his study.

I went into the parlor, restless. Maggie had left her knitting on the plush maroon sofa, and there was a pile of fashion magazines by the brown and ivory striped chair. Oil lamps burned pleasantly, washing the ivory walls with light, reflecting on varnished wooden surfaces. I sat down at the piano, and without thinking, began to play Mozart. The music was genteel and subdued, filling the room with soothing melody that helped to dispel the atmosphere of tension that seemed to have lingered.

I played for over an hour and then decided to go up to my bedroom. As I got up from the piano I heard the study doors opening. Nicholas came into the parlor. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was tumbled. I could tell that he had been working. He gave a weary sigh and leaned against the wall, his dark eyes thoughtful.

“I enjoyed the music,” he said. “You should play more often.”

“You're rarely here to listen to it,” I replied.

“True. Maggie tells me you want to go to Cordelia's ball.”

“I—I didn't say that.”

“Would you like to go?”

“Not especially.”

“Don't be evasive,” he said impatiently. “Certainly you'd like to go! Maggie's right. You're too confined. You have too much time on your hands to brood and think about yourself. That's my fault.”

“I haven't complained.”

“Not openly,” he said. “But you've been brooding. You don't smile very much. You don't fill the house with girlish laughter. Good thing you don't. I'd probably strangle you with my bare hands.”

“You've been talking to Maggie.”

“Listening. She gave me quite a tongue-lashing. It seems I don't understand the needs and requirements of a young girl. I'm boorish and rude and a terrible guardian. I am, in fact, a cold-hearted monster.”

“Maggie said that?”

“She can be quite nervy when she's fired up,” he said, looking at me with a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“It really doesn't matter about the ball,” I said quietly. “I realize how important your work is. Why should you take me to a ball? You'd hate it.”

“Undoubtedly,” he replied.

“I don't expect anything from you, Mr. Craig.”

“How stiff and formal you are, and how reasonable. You're really a remarkable young woman, Susannah. Well, we're going to the ball. I've decided to take you.”

“You needn't,” I said in a cool voice.

“I know that.”

“Besides, I have nothing to wear.”

“Christ! How utterly typical! We'll buy you a ball gown, Susannah. We'll go to the salon tomorrow. I imagine I'd better select the gown myself if you're not to disgrace me.”

“But—”

“I don't care to discuss it any further. Go on upstairs and go to bed. I imagine we'll have a very busy day tomorrow.”

I could hardly sleep that night, I was so excited, and the next morning I took special pains with my dressing, wondering if he would go back on his word. He was taking me to the ball. He was taking me into town to buy a gown. It was incredible, completely unexpected. He wasn't at the breakfast table, but Maggie informed me that he'd be ready to leave at ten. She smiled cheerfully, terribly pleased with herself, and I knew that she was responsible for this turn of events.

“You look enchanting this morning,” she said. “That blue dress is almost the color of your eyes. Are you excited, dear?”

“Terribly,” I admitted. “I still can't believe it.”

“I think Nicky's looking forward to it himself,” she remarked. “I actually heard him whistling while he was shaving this morning. I thought my ears were playing
tricks
on me!”

A hansom cab was waiting for us at ten o'clock. Nicholas seemed in an unusually good mood, relaxed and almost pleasant as we rode in the cab, leaving the slums behind and driving into a London far more beautiful than the one I knew. There were green parks, flower gardens, majestic granite buildings, tall copper spires. He pointed out various landmarks, telling me something of their histories.

“It's fascinating,” I said. “I've never been in this part of London before.”

“Would you like to see Buckingham Palace?” he inquired.

“Are we near it?”

“Quite near.”

He pulled open the wooden window behind the driver's seat and gave the cabbie directions, then settled back with his top hat on his knees. I was elated. As I peered out at the vivid green trees, it was almost as though the East End no longer existed. The palace was enormous, regal, steeped in history and looking it. We drove on through St. James Park, and he asked me if I would like to get out and walk for a while.

“Shouldn't we get to the shops?”

“We have all day,” he said amiably.

We left the cab and strolled leisurely for over an hour. Even the air here was different, fresher, cleaner, and the children playing in the park had rosy cheeks, the girls in crisp white dresses, the boys in neat suits, plump nursemaids in black uniforms gossiping together on the benches while their charges rolled hoops or sailed toy boats on the pond. Leaves rustled overhead, and sunlight splattered the walks. There was a fragrance of rich loamy soil and blossoming flowers and, as we neared the river, the smell of water.

We walked halfway across Westminster Bridge before turning back. The Thames was a mossy green, spangled with silvery sunlight, and on our left the great houses of Parliament seemed to rise out of the water, towering magnificently against a solid blue sky. The Clock Tower was directly before us, while in the background the towers of Westminster Abbey were swathed in shadows, pigeons fluttering like scraps of confetti around the eaves. Big Ben struck twelve, solemn, reassuring bongs filling the air.

“I wish I could write a poem about it,” I said in a hushed voice.

“It's been done,” he replied, smiling.

We strolled back toward the park. He took long strides, the top hat on his head, gloves clasped in one hand, an impressive figure of a man in his elegant clothes. We took another cab to a quiet little restaurant off a leafy square. There was a low-beamed ceiling and a huge red brick fireplace, copper pans hanging on the fumed oak walls. Through the diamond-pane windows I could see the square, flowers blooming in neat, colorful beds. Although it was crowded, a waiter showed us immediately to a table covered with a snowy white linen cloth. Nicholas consulted the menu only a moment before ordering.

The lunch was magnificent, and he seemed pleased. His manner was still rather patronizing, like that of an indulgent parent giving a child a Sunday treat, but I had never seen him so relaxed and at ease. He merely toyed with his food, drinking several glasses of sparkling amber wine served with the main course. When the strawberries and cream came he pushed his aside, sitting back languidly to watch me eat mine. A faint smile played on his lips, and his eyes gleamed darkly.

“Enjoy it?” he inquired as we left the restaurant.

“I've never had so delicious a meal.”

“It was quite ordinary,” he said, “but I'm glad you liked it.”

“Your being very kind to me, Mr. Craig.”

“I can be kind, you know. On rare occasions. I don't mistreat servant girls and kick stray dogs every day of the week. Come, Susannah, we'd better get to the salon. If I know anything about women, it'll take hours to select a gown.”

He took me to a fashion salon on the first floor of a spacious emporium. It was actually a large drawing room with maroon carpets and a spectacular crystal chandelier. A clerk led us to the fragile white chairs before a small stage, and a woman in black rushed in, looking overjoyed. Her raven black hair was worn in a bun on the back of her neck, her eyelids coated with violet shadow, and she wore a strong and exotic perfume. Her voice was husky, with a pronounced French accent.

“But, Monsieur Neek-o-lay!” she exclaimed, hands fluttering expressively. “How mar-vell-ous to see you again! Eet's been years!”

“Good afternoon, Madame Helene. This is my ward, Susannah. I want a ball gown for her.”

“Won-der-ful! Such a stunning jeune fille! A ball gown? But I 'ave just zee thing.”

“Something simple,” he said.

“Per'aps zee young lady would like to see zem all?”

“I imagine so,” he said wearily.

I was far too intimidated to speak up. The salon reeked of wealth, and I knew the gowns must be frightfully expensive. Nicholas Craig sighed deeply and slouched back on his chair, lighting a cigar. A servant dashed over with an ashtray. Madame Helene left the room, and I could hear her clapping her hands in the beautiful girls wearing exquisite gowns. They walked across the antechamber. In a few minutes the parade of models began, cool, stage, paused, whirled around, skirts billowing. I wanted every gown I saw and knew it would be quite impossible to decide. Half invisible behind a cloud of smoke, Nicholas peered at the models with a bored expression, making no comments.

“Which one did you like?” he asked when the parade ended.

“All of them. They—they must cost a fortune.”

“That needn't concern you. Have you no choice?”

“They were all so lovely—”

Madame Helene hovered behind us, watching with an eager expression on her thin face.

“Let me see the white again,” he told her. “The one with the flowers on the skirt.”

“Ah, yes!” she exclaimed. “Exactly what I would have selected for zee young lady.”

“I'll take it,” he said after examining the gown a second time. “I'll need it delivered day after tomorrow.”

“But Monsieur Neek-o-lay! That's quite impossible—”

“Not at all,” he said abruptly. “You'll need to take Susannah's measurements, of course. She'll need a wrap to go with the gown, and slippers, perhaps a fan—I'll leave all that to you.”

“You expect meer-a-cles,” she protested.

“Only because I know you can perform them,” he replied, lowering his eyelids over seductive eyes.

Madame Helene flushed with pleasure, laughing girlishly, then took me to the fitting room. She chattered gaily about “zat 'and-some devil” while I was measured. I could tell from the way she talked that he had come here several times in the past. With Valerie, no doubt. She and the fitter broke into French, speaking very rapidly, and I knew just enough of the language to tell that my assumption had been right.

Nicholas gave a sigh of relief when we finally left the store and were in the cab on our way home. Packages were piled on the seat beside him, tumbling onto the floor when the driver went over a bumpy stretch.