Chapter 33

No matter Kitty's feigned concern at the hastiness of her engagement, Mr. Johnson would not be swayed, nor would Sir Wright. Mrs. Johnson kept her thoughts to herself, but Kitty had caught her watching her with poorly disguised concern in her eyes. Kitty wasn't even entirely sure what she was attempting to drag her heels about; there had been no further word from Miss Alcott, and she was half-convinced that she had dreamed up the whole strange episode. To put her faith in a young lady whom she had no real knowledge of was asking quite a bit.

Kitty was caught up in a current that she could not fight, swept along the river of wedding preparations. She had inured herself to all of it, which allowed the days to pass along in something of a mindless blur. Sir Wright had largely ignored her, except for on one occasion where he had presented her to the Prince Regent, who had also largely ignored her except to stare at her ankles.

The only attempt at independence that Kitty made was to sneak into her father's office, smaller and more cramped than it used to be, spent a solid hour rifling through old receipts and stock orders. None of it made any sense to Kitty, and she was at the point of giving up when she spotted a worn trunk, covered with an old lace shawl. It was incongruous, this antique bit of femininity in the middle of the masculine environment of her father's office.

Drawn toward it, she slowly lifted off the lace covering, but her heart sank when she realised that it was locked. She was at the point of giving up when she gave the lock an experimental tug. It was new and shiny, unyielding, but the wood about the latch was old and soft, and the latch nearly popped free. Casting a glance about herself to ascertain that she was alone, Kitty put both hands to the latch and gave a solid pull. It came loose in her hand, and she stared down at it for a moment.

Quickly casting it aside, she lifted the lid, unsure of what she would find, but hopeful that it would reveal something, anything, that would shed some light on the situation. Within, there weren't any stacks of papers with helpful labels like How to Remove Oneself From an Unwanted Engagement, or Secret Plots and How to Commence Them; instead, it seemed to be piled high with all manner of bric-a-brac that had cluttered the walls of Mr. Johnson's office when he had enjoyed larger accommodations.

Kitty groaned inwardly as she tried to sift through it, nearly losing her nerve when she came across the head of a taxidermized creature that Steven had sent home, something like a rabbit with antlers. He had sworn up and down that it was a real specimen, telling Kitty wild stories about them, which she had listened to with rapt attention. There were a number of years between them, but he had always been kind to her, complying with her demands for tales of his far-off ports of call or a new ribbon for her hair. Her heart hurt, for she missed him, and wondered what he would have thought of her current predicament.

"Boldness, little sister," she could almost hear him saying behind her. "If bravery fails, boldness will triumph."

Shaking her head free of the memories, she pushed aside the disturbingly furry head on a plaque, rummaging about more. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for, or even why she was bothering searching through this particular trunk.

It's not as if I have that many options , Kitty grudgingly admitted to herself, stifling a sneeze.

She was at the point of giving up when a small frame caught her eye. The frame was relatively simple, the gilt flaking off. The glass over what was within was darkened with dust, grimy to the touch. Frowning, Kitty lifted it, tilting it this way and that in an attempt to see what it was. It appeared to be a bit of old parchment, the markings on it obscured by the filthy glass.

Glancing about, she picked up the old shawl that had been covering the trunk. With a silent apology to what had surely once been a beautiful garment, Kitty took one corner and delicately tried to wipe some of the smuts free. It was not wholly affective, mostly moving the grime about in swirls. Enough was cleared, however, that when Kitty peered close, she saw that it was a small slice of map.

Her eyes widened as she stared at it, her mind racing. The shape was instantly familiar; she had seen it hanging on the wall of her father's office, sandwiched between larger paintings, from the moment she was old enough to take notice of such things. That was not the only reason it was familiar, however: Though Miss Alcott's rendering had been crude, it was clearly the same outline that she had shown to Kitty. She lifted the framed bit of map, possibilities racing through her mind.

A sound from the hallway broke the spell that she was under, startling her into almost dropping it. Working quickly, she put everything back into the trunk, closed it up and replaced the latch from the hole it had popped from. It was only precariously sitting there, and would surely fall out of the trunk were in the least jostled. Kitty crossed her fingers and hoped that it would hold long enough for her to solve this mystery.

Delicately, she replaced the shawl back on top of the trunk, and nodded to herself, pleased by her cleverness and duplicity. Clutching the little picture to her chest, Kitty scurried out of the office and back up the stairs as silently as she could. There was no reason for her to be skulking about at this hour, and if caught, she would have to speak quickly to answer any questions.

Luckily, she made it to her room, her feet flying through the small upstairs hall as lightly as possible. Gently, she closed her door, latching it behind her. The fire in her room was banked, the floors and her narrow bed bathed in shadows. She crawled into her bed, kicking her shoes off but refusing to let go of the strange little map in the frame. She stared at it until her eyes grew heavy and at last, she slept.

* * *

It was a wholly unwelcome surprise to be awakened early the next morning by her bedroom curtains being thrown open, letting the sunlight hit her directly in the face. Kitty groaned and squeezed her eyes closed tighter, reaching up to fold her pillow over her face. She wished herself fervently back asleep, but the sounds of people entering her room made it impossible.

"Come now, Kitty!" Mrs. Johnson said, breezing into Kitty's room as if it weren't an ungodly hour. "The modiste has come to finish your fitting."

"Fitting?" Kitty asked blearily, cracking one of her eyes open a bit. "What fitting?"

"Oh Kitty, really," Mrs. Johnson chided, standing over the maid as she mended Kitty's fire. "For your wedding dress, of course."

Kitty groaned and rolled over, pulling her blanket up over her head. This was in vain, however, for Mrs. Johnson merely snatched the blanket away, the shock of the cold morning air making Kitty squeal and bolt upright.

"Mother!" she gasped, her teeth immediately chattering. "This is really unnecessary. Why can't I simply wear something in my closet from my last season?" Even as she said the words, she knew that they were absurd.

Mrs. Johnson agreed, turning slowly to stare at Kitty as if she had sprouted a second head. "That might do well enough for a tradesman's daughter, but you are going to marry a peer of the realm, a close personal friend of the Prince of Wales! What can you be thinking of?" When Kitty didn't answer, Mrs. Johnson came closer, peering into her daughter's face. Kitty avoided her gaze, sullen. "When have you ever turned down a fitting for a new dress? Are you quite well? You're not feverish, are you?" She pressed the inside of her wrist to Kitty's forehead, who sighed.

"I'm not ill, Mother," she said, pulling her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms about them. "It just…doesn't feel real."

Mrs. Johnson patted her on the knee. "I understand. I felt as if I were moving through a dream before my wedding, too. Some breakfast will help to set you right," she continued, waving off the maid back downstairs. "In the meantime, let's get you prepared for the modiste."

With another groan, Kitty allowed herself to be pulled from the bed. She was quickly put into her chemise and stays, her hair pinned up out of the way, then left to shiver for a few moments alone. She wrapped her arms about herself, standing as close to the fire as she dared. The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house, setting the old-fashioned leaded windows to shaking in their loose frames.

Steps soon followed, creaking their way up the stairs. Mrs. Johnson's voice floated upward as well, chatting quietly with their guest. Each step that they made sounded to Kitty like the hammer of an undertaker on the nails of a coffin. Her arms clutched about herself tighter and tighter, as if she could physically hold herself together.

The door to her bedroom pushed open a bit, and a voice called through the margin, "Kitty?"

Kitty stared at the door, certain that she could not possibly be hearing what she thought she was. Her heart thudding loudly in her ears, lifted by hope, Kitty watched as the door opened wider, admitting the guest more fully into the room.

But this was no modiste; a stylish brunette head poked into the room, accompanied by the loveliest face that Nature had surely ever seen fit to bestow on a lady. Immediately, tears of joy sprang to Kitty's eyes, and her throat nearly closed over with sentiment. After only a moment's hesitation, Kitty threw herself at the interloper, arms outstretched, crying her name. The force of her embrace nearly knocked both of them over, right into Mrs. Johnson.

"Eva!"