The Linnet Bird: A Novel (26 page)

I tried to keep my face composed, smiling and taking the calling card.

“So. A week from Thursday,” she repeated. “And of course your guardian will accompany you. It will be a surprise for Celina when she sees Mr. Smallpiece. I can’t wait to see her face.”

I murmured something, feeling suddenly weary. Although I was pleased at Faith’s artless acceptance of me, it was hard work to try to keep up with her, needing to weigh everything I said so as not to appear a fool. Or the liar that I was.

“What did you think of Mr. Prinsep’s lecture?” she asked then.

My shoulders relaxed. I had spent some time with a book on varieties of butterflies before this evening, in order to prepare myself. Now I felt on safe territory. “Some of his illustrations were beautiful, weren’t they? I’ve never thought much about butterflies.” At last. Speaking the truth. “And he made the country itself sound exotic and wonderful,” I said. “I’ve never thought much about India, either, I realize. Quite grand, from what Mr. Prinsep recounted.”

“He only told us the pretty bits. He’s an artist, after all, and doesn’t see the world as realists do. There are awfully wicked things in India as well as the beauty.” Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “They worship idols, and apparently there are friezes in the temples depicting . . . well, I can’t speak of it. I’ve heard that some women swoon if they accidentally view some of the statues; they’re that shocking. My brother’s good friend is a lawyer in Bombay. He came home for a visit last year, and I listened in when he and my brother were speaking in private. Of course, he only told my mother and me charming stories, but I know better.”

“Really,” I said, pressing my lips together, trying to hold back a wide smile. Faith was perfectly delightful. In some tiny, ridiculous way she reminded me of my friends on Paradise—not that she was crude in any way at all; it was her forthright manner that was so refreshing. Or maybe I felt so pleased because Faith accepted me. She wasn’t judging me or looking at me with any suspicion. She made me feel that I belonged here, that I had every right. And for this alone my gratitude was such that if I were Linny Gow, and not Linny Smallpiece, I might have hugged her.

“I sometimes think about going there!” she added breezily. “Don’t you think it would be absolutely the most wonderful adventure?”

“I really wouldn’t know,” I said, anxious to keep listening to her, but Celina returned with the older woman and interrupted our conversation. The talk was steered into idle gossip, which held no interest for me, and I was aware of my discomfort returning now that Faith and I were no longer alone. I bade them farewell as soon as it was proper, and the doorman helped me into the hired carriage waiting to take me back to Whitefield Lane.

On the short journey my head swirled from the pretense of belonging and from the excitement of trying to keep up with Faith’s questions and comments.

That night, after I blew out the candle by my bed and stared into the darkness, I made out the shape of the crude painting over the oak dresser, and realized I’d seen a much more professional rendition among Mr. Prinsep’s paintings. I smiled wryly to myself. The Taj Mahal at Agra. How much I didn’t know.

S
HAKER AND
I went to the musical evening at the Vesprys’ the next week. He took little persuading; gallantly, he invited his mother, but she declined, as I’d hoped she would. He looked very smart, wearing a well-cut suit of brown silk he obviously kept for such occasions.

The evening was pleasant. Shaker and I sat at the back of the Vesprys’ drawing room, listening to the piano and harp recital. Later we were served small plates of pastries and glasses of sweet sherry. We shared the pastries, which were more delectable than any cakes I had ever tasted. I saw that in spite of Shaker’s trembling he managed to eat and drink with only slight difficulty; I realized he had, in the past, been more nervous when alone with me than he was in mixed company. Later I brushed the crumbs from his lapels and his shirt front with its delicate ivory buttons, and we mingled with the crowd. I saw Celina watching Shaker, her face quite rosy, which improved her looks. Talking to Shaker so that he followed, I moved closer to her, until finally it appeared that she and I bumped into each other, although I had been fully aware that she, too, was moving toward us. The three of us spoke in a slightly stilted manner at first, but before long Celina and Shaker were involved in a conversation about the choices of the pianist. I left them and made a pretense of studying the family portraits in oil that were arranged along one wall of the drawing room, glancing back at the couple occasionally. From across the room I realized that Shaker was almost handsome, dressed so smartly, his long hair thick and shining.

Faith found me and introduced me to a man—Mr. Gerrard Beck—whom I assumed to be her suitor by the way she held his arm and smiled daintily at him, so that her gums remained hidden by her top lip. She introduced me to a number of other people whose names I promptly forgot.

Shaker spoke quite animatedly all the way home—of the music, the food, the company. He didn’t mention Celina Brunswick specifically, but I felt a sense of pleasure in knowing that he had enjoyed himself.

I
SAW
F
AITH
a few days later, chancing upon her and Mr. Beck as they stood outside a shop on Bold Street, but both looked flushed and ill-tempered, as if they had been arguing, so I simply greeted them and then went on my way.

Another invitation arrived at the house on Whitefield Lane, this one for Mrs. Smallpiece and Shaker and I to attend a dinner party at the Vesprys’. This time, surprising me, Mrs. Smallpiece agreed. I sent back a reply in my best hand, stating that Mrs. Lucinda Smallpiece, Mr. Geoffrey Smallpiece, and Miss Linny Smallpiece would be pleased to attend.

There were sixteen people in attendance, including the Brunswicks. Faith seated me at her right. Shaker sat across from me with Celina on his left. Mrs. Smallpiece was farther down; beside her was a plain young woman who appeared to be a missionary, judging by her dress and her pious expression. I knew that Faith must have designed the seating.

The meal boasted a puréed soup, a saddle of mutton, and turkey in celery sauce. There were sweetbreads larded in a white sauce, as well as potatoes and kale. Dessert was an elaborate soufflé. I worried for Shaker about being faced with this meal in public but when I glanced at him, as we were being led to the table, he blinked his eye at me in what I realized was a wink. Was it an assurance that he was, after all, fine in these situations, or was it quite the opposite—him letting me know that he had complete trust in me to handle myself with the necessary decorum?

Faith and I spent much of the meal talking, although twice her mother glared at Faith, making it clear that she was to converse with others at the table. I saw that Shaker and Celina were also caught up in conversation. Shaker ate little, but it didn’t appear that anyone else noticed. At one point I heard him laugh quite openly at something Mr. Vespry said, and was shocked, realizing I had never before heard this sound. It made me smile.

A
FTER THAT
F
AITH AND
I spent more and more time together. I sensed she found it difficult to fill her days. She sometimes sent a note to the library telling me she would be coming in—her father was a member—over my lunch break, and we’d sit at my desk, behind the screen, to eat whatever she produced from her bag with the simple meal Nan had packed for me. Other times we simply walked up and down Bold Street for that half hour, arm in arm, glancing in the shop windows, neither of us particularly interested in the wares. It was more enjoyable to talk.

I grew to be comfortable with her during our time alone, mainly because with me she dropped her mindless chatter—obviously kept for the rest of company. Instead, she spoke of interesting topics—
politics and her views on the Whigs, history, literature, the art movement, and so on, and asked my opinion and wanted to hear what I thought. She was clearly more well read and knowledgeable than she cared to let on in the presence of others; because I worked in a library it was obvious that she considered me of a different mind-set than her society friends, whose concerns ran to fashion and gossip. And, realizing, after that first evening of becoming acquainted, that Faith didn’t seem interested in asking any more about my past—or, actually, my present—I relaxed.

Eventually I began to see that Faith, in order to conform to what was expected, was careful to keep her true self hidden most of the time. I also realized that she sensed this same careful cover in me, although the genesis of our similarity could not be compared. But for all of this I felt a begrudging admiration, as well as a growing sense of friendship.

S
IX MONTHS AFTER
our first meeting—it was a wet day in early June, and the rain had been coming down heavily for hours—Faith was in the sheltered portico of the Lyceum when Shaker and I stepped through the doors. She’d obviously been waiting some time; the hem of her skirt was dark, thoroughly soaked, and tendrils of deep red hair, curled by the moisture and bright with beads of rainwater, escaped from her bonnet.

“Linny, I’d like to invite you as my guest for dinner. Right now. I know we don’t have a chaperone, and it’s early, but could you come? I’ve booked us a table at the tearoom on Lord Street.” Her voice was even more breathless than usual, which I attributed to waiting for me. Later I knew it to be something else.

I looked at Shaker. Obviously the unexpected invitation didn’t extend to him.

“I know you don’t think it proper, Mr. Smallpiece—two ladies dining on their own—but I assure you my parents have allowed me to come out. In fact, my father has just deposited me here. I’ll see that she gets home safely afterward,” Faith told him. “I’ll hire a carriage. And we won’t be late. I just . . . there’s something I’d like to discuss with her.”