Chapter 10

ten

A FTER EDITH HAD run away from Perry with the strongest sense of embarrassment that had ever troubled her, she’d slid inside her bedroom through the window she’d left open, arriving home unnoticed.

Years ago, after Marianne got married, Edith had moved to a small bedroom on the ground floor, claiming she liked it more than her old bedroom upstairs. But in truth, the reason for her choice was that she could easily climb in and out of the ground-floor bedroom without being noticed if she timed her sneaking out and in carefully.

The ‘sneaking in’ part of the night had gone smoothly. The consequences of last night, both physical and emotional, were another matter, though. A headache drummed against her skull after the champagne, the scare in the swimming pool, and the shock of seeing Perry again.

She never drank a lot of alcohol because just one sip of champagne was enough to give her the temporary happiness she desperately needed and also a fierce wave of nausea. Father said she was particularly sensitive to spirits, which was fine with her. But she’d exaggerated last night. She didn’t fully remember what she’d done before the shock of the pool had made her come to her senses.

Her worry was monumental, so thick she could use it as a cloak around her shoulders.

She felt small enough to pass through the eye of a needle after having met Perry and not confessing her lies. To her defence, he’d caught her off guard.

His praise rang in her ears, tormenting her. He was proud of her. He admired her. Goodness, if he only knew. Like a coward, she hadn’t found the courage to tell him the truth. More than once, she’d tried to tell him everything, but staring at his kind blue eyes had destroyed her resolve. She hadn’t wanted to see his good opinion of her crumbling in a moment, not when she’d worn wet undergarments and his clothes.

As she dragged herself to the dining room for breakfast, she ignored the ache in her sore body and the headache she deserved.

“Good morning, Mother,” she said, controlling her voice.

Mother cast a glance over at her. “Good morning. The tea is growing cold.”

“Sorry.” She was so forlorn, her morning tea tasted like vinegar.

“You look so pale,” Mother said, buttering her toast.

“I didn’t sleep well.” Or enough. Barely two hours before the maid had come to light the fire in Edith’s bedroom.

“Are you going to the dispensary today?”

“It’s my free day.”

Mother pressed her lips hard. “Do you know what bothers me the most? The fact you believe I’m stupid.”

“I’ve never said that.” She sipped her tea, but it really had a bitter taste despite all the sugar she’d added.

“Tell me what you did.” Mother shot her a scorching glare. “Are you using opium again?”

“Mother, no. I told you. It happened only once.”

That was true; she’d tried and hadn’t liked it, but ironically, Mother was convinced her daughter abused it.

Edith forced herself to swallow the tea. If she refused to have breakfast, her mother would grow even more concerned.

“I blame myself and your father as well,” Mother said. “We should have been firmer with you. But no, I was sorry for what you went through, for what we all went through. We did everything you asked, and this is the result. And opium got the better of you.”

“Mother, please.”

Edith closed her eyes for a moment. The sunlight bothered her eyes, and her mother’s words stirred something ugly in her chest. She didn’t know what was worse, that her mother believed she was an opium addict or that she kept lying.

“I don’t have the symptoms of an opium addict,” she said. “No mood changes, chronic itching, or nausea. Do you think Father wouldn’t notice if I took opium?”

“I don’t know.” Mother was flustered. “You’re knowledgeable in medical science and work in a dispensary. You can easily find what you need to hide the symptoms.”

Goodness. That was extreme. Edith wasn’t that conniving.

“I’m all right, Mother. I simply didn’t sleep well.”

Sometimes the easiness with which she lied surprised herself.

“So you’re all right, are you? Good.” Mother buttered her piece of toast hard enough to break the slice. “Since you’re all right, I have some news for you. The London School of Medicine for Women is going to open for new enrolment next week. Do you want to try this year?”

If Edith said no, Mother would get angry and lecture her on the importance of having an education and the fact Edith spent her days cataloguing drugs while she could be a medical student, which would lead to another lecture she had no patience for today.

So just to avoid an early morning argument that would go nowhere, she said, “I’ll think about it.”

“I heard the college changed the admission test. It’s harder now.”

Edith nodded.

Mother wasn’t fooled if the way she narrowed her gaze was any indication. “Your father and I are tired of seeing you waste your talent like that.”

She sipped more tea. Her stomach churned in reply. It seemed she couldn’t avoid a sermon.

Mother’s expression softened. “I understand the incident was harrowing. I barely survived it, too. We have to thank your father’s knowledge of medicinal drugs for saving us. But if you don’t want to study, then do as Marianne did.”

Edith paused drinking. “Find a husband?”

“Why not?” Mother’s tone became more high-pitched. “Why waste your time in a dispensary and be tempted by opium every day when you could start your own family and manage a house? Being the mistress of a house isn’t a simple job. It requires organisation and expertise, hard work and patience.”

Hard work and patience seemed things Edith couldn’t afford anymore.

“Honestly.” Mother shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re the same girl who spent all her time studying and reading books. I had to force you to stop reading. You dreamed of becoming a doctor, and now what do you do all day? You lie to us and go out with people I barely know. What a disappointment. Aside from Miss Ferguson, who’s a fine lady, I don’t know any of your friends.”

Daphne had simply more experience than Edith in hiding her vices and her real personality. Edith pushed away her plate of toast. Her stomach didn’t want food anywhere near it. Darn champagne.

Mother’s words weren’t new. At least once a week, she made the same speech about how Edith was a disappointment and how she should find something proper to do.

But that morning, those words hurt like red-hot needles piercing her chest. Maybe because Perry had told her the same things. No, his speech had been ten times more painful than Mother’s because he believed Edith was a doctor. At least Mother, even though ignorant of all the things her daughter did at night, was aware of Edith’s situation and lack of any accomplishments—medical or otherwise.

Mother lowered her voice. “You must think of Marianne as well. She’s a viscountess now. Your behaviour reflects badly on her. Thomas might decide to send Marianne away if the rumours about you ruin her.”

“My name has never appeared on the scandal sheet.” She wasn’t stupid enough to cause a scandal. She was careful not to make that mistake, and Marianne helped, too.

Marianne’s reluctant complicity was another source of worry. More than once, she’d paid for Edith’s mistakes, literally. Marianne’s money had silenced more than one witness to one of Edith’s wild adventures. Not that Marianne condoned her sister’s behaviour, but between dragging her aristocratic husband into a scandal and spending a few pounds, she chose the latter.

“It’s a matter of time before something terrible happens.” Mother wasn’t finished, but the door opening cut her off.

“Madam, miss.” The maid carried a large, colourful bunch of flowers. “These have just arrived. They’re for Miss Winkworth.” She handed the bunch to Edith.

“Flowers?” Mother shifted her gaze from the maid to Edith. “From whom?”

“I don’t know, madam.” The maid curtsied and left.

Edith remained speechless, holding the ridiculously big bouquet. The display of colours brightened the room. There were roses, daffodils, baby breath, tulips, and beautiful, open-mouthed orchids.

“There’s a message.” Mother snatched the small envelope nestled between two roses.

“Mother, wait.”

Mother opened the letter with eager fingers. Her expression of curiosity changed into that of confusion. “They’re from Lord Ravenscroft.”

Oh, no. Edith held her breath, hoping Perry hadn’t written anything compromising in the message.

“I don’t understand.” Mother scowled at her before reading out loud. “ Dear Edith, I’m sorry for what happened. These flowers carry my apology and my congratulations on your new medical degree. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful career as a doctor. Yours sincerely, Perry .”

Heavens. Edith put the flowers on the table.

Mother lowered the letter. “What is the meaning of this? Why does Lord Ravenscroft believe you’re a doctor? And why is he apologising?”

She cleared her throat. “There must be a misunderstanding.”

“Obviously. I simply wonder how the misunderstanding started. This is serious, Edith. You can’t lie to an earl who is also a family friend.”

“Mother, I…” The lie she was about to tell, that she knew nothing about the misunderstanding, died a merciless death on her tongue.

Somehow, her mouth refused to tell yet another lie. It was a first. Perhaps she’d reached her lifetime’s share of lies, and from now on, she wouldn’t be able to tell a single lie, not even ‘I love your parasol; it matches your eyes.’

“Well?” Mother prompted.

She was spared from giving an answer as the maid entered once again.

“Sorry, madam, miss. Miss Daphne Ferguson is here to see Miss Winkworth urgently,” the maid said.

Thank goodness. Edith rose. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Our conversation isn’t over.”

She turned towards the maid. “Please put the flowers in a vase. Thank you.” She left the dining room in a hurry despite Daphne’s visit wasn’t exactly happy news.

Daphne was waiting for her in the sitting room, wearing a pristine lemon dress and showing a perfect complexion. She didn’t look like a woman who had spent the night drinking champagne, dancing in her undergarments, and doing all sorts of debaucheries. Frustration flamed Edith’s chest. Once again, Perry’s words about who a real friend was echoed in her ears.

“There you are.” Daphne hugged Edith, enveloping her in a cloud of expensive perfume. “I knew you were all right. What happened to you after the pool? You disappeared without a word. Tell me the truth. Did you find a nice gentleman to spend the night with?” She batted her eyelashes.

“Absolutely not.” Edith disentangled herself from Daphne’s embrace and shut the door. “I couldn’t find you, Neville, or Valentine, and my clothes disappeared.”

“I took them.” Daphne laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. It was a joke.”

“A joke? I was naked.”

“Heavens!” Daphne walked around the room, lifting vases and photograph frames as she went. “What happened to you? Honestly, you’ve become so boring. You’re ruining my morning with your tone. I had such a lovely night in the Scarlet Room, and you’re doing nothing but complain. How can you be so selfish?”

Edith didn’t know if Daphne had changed and become cruel all of a sudden, or if she’d always been like that, but Edith hadn’t noticed it until that moment.

“I wouldn’t complain if Valentine hadn’t tossed me in the pool, and you encouraged him.” She forced her voice down. The last thing she needed was for Mother to hear about the Scarlet Room. “You know how terrified I am of water, and you didn’t care.”

Daphne scrunched up her face at a porcelain figurine of a shepherdess. “See what I mean? You’re complaining again. The pool was shallow. I didn’t think it would be a problem for you. Really, you should do something about this infirmity of yours. It ruins everything, and quite honestly, it’s embarrassing. I’d be so ashamed of myself if I were you. I’d drown myself in the Thames.” She laughed. “Oh, right. You can’t get near it!”

“Daphne!”

“Shush. The dive in the pool was meant to be a joke, nothing more, and after all, you’re all right.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so mean.” Edith paced as the headache pounded harder.

Perry had been right. She could have died in a stupid, shallow pool just because the panic had frozen her. And while Daphne had never been cruel, she certainly was now.

Daphne huffed. “I’m not mean. I’m simply tired of your complaints. You weren’t so whiny before Neville’s nephew returned.”

“I’m not whiny. I’m tired.”

Daphne flashed a wicked smile. “Excuses. I know what will make you feel better. Let’s go.”

Oh, no. Not now. Her mouth soured at the thought of yet another party. “No, I don’t think I want to go anywhere. I need some time alone. I need to think.”

Edith put a hand on the knob, ready to ask Daphne to leave. Her life needed a change. The night at the Scarlet Room had taught her that. Or rather, Perry had. Although she wouldn’t know where to start to change aside from telling Perry the truth. If she didn’t do something, the sense of void devouring her would leave only fragments of her soul.

“Don’t be difficult. There’s something I need to tell you.” Daphne hooked her arm through Edith’s. “Or rather, Valentine needs to tell you something. A surprise.”

Maybe Edith was biased, but there was a mocking note in Daphne’s voice.

“Surprises are the last thing I need,” Edith said.

“You must come with me to Valentine’s atelier.”

“No.” She removed her arm from Daphne’s. “No more. I need to get ready for work.”

“It’s your free day.”

“I want to go to the dispensary anyway.”

“Valentine is waiting for you. Something exciting happened, and he expressly asked me not to tell you anything. He wants to tell you himself. I came here to take you to him.”

Edith shook her head. “Not this time. Please, go. I need to get changed.”

“You whiny?—”

“I said please!”

Chin tilted up, Daphne walked out of the room. She paused in the hallway. “Well, I tried. Remember that.”