26. Epilogue

Epilogue

Christmas Eve, 1876

Phineas set his ruler against the ledger. Readied his pen. Drew a long, crisp line.

‘Not still working, are you, sir?’ Felix stepped into the upper room, now converted into an office. ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’

‘Only completing the entries for this quarter. Then I’ll finish up.’

‘I’ve set your whisky and a glass in the library, just how you like it. Are you certain you don’t mind me heading out? It seems a sad thing to spend Christmas alone, with only liquor for company.’

Phineas cast a crestfallen glance at the telegram that had arrived earlier that afternoon. Owing to a shift in the weather and ice on the rails, Rosanna and Johannes had been delayed on their return from Brighton. They’d been away these past two weeks, and now she wouldn’t be home for Christmas either. Phineas shrugged off his disappointment. He’d spent Christmases alone before. Better she get home safely than not at all.

‘Don’t fret, I’ll only be having one drink. Enjoy your evening with Letitia. Best of luck. I hope she says yes.’

‘How did you…?’

Phineas raised his brows. ‘I always know.’

He hadn’t actually known. Rosanna had pointed out to him how much time Felix spent on the upper floors and how smitten he seemed with the lady’s maid. But no point in letting that fact slip. His wife was right often enough as it was. ‘Don’t feel as if you need to quit. A married couple will want their own lodgings, I understand, but there’s always employment for you here. If you want it.’

‘Thank you, sir. Fingers crossed, ey?’ Felix buttoned his coat. ‘Merry Christmas. Don’t work too late.’

Felix left. Phineas returned to his ledgers. Across the top margin, he wrote the date, the costings, and the sale price in his smooth hand. The steady work of breaking up and selling off the individual components of Abberton & Co., of trying to recoup losses and refund shareholders, was best done in a quiet house. After he’d discretely provided the bank with everything they needed to carry out their own investigations, he’d resigned from his position. Pennington had been right about his skill at making investments and speculating. It had been a long time since Phineas had relied on his clerk’s salary, and the thought of sitting in a room adjacent to the tall Mosler safes still left him unsettled. Besides, this was where he was needed. This was where he could help.

Phineas tallied the final column. He closed the book, sat back, and rubbed a hand across his weary eyes. The room had turned darker as he worked, so he lit a candle to guide his way downstairs. He walked along the hallway, papered with bright woodblock and decorated with paintings purchased during their honeymoon in Venice and Rome, into the stairwell where photographs hung frame-to-frame. A stretch of happiness filled every wall, and even though he was the only person in his residence this evening—Jean had begged time to visit her grandmother in France, while Hugh had travelled to see his parents—he didn’t feel alone. That’s what home was, wasn’t it? A place where you never felt alone because you knew you belonged and the spirit of those you cared about remained, even if they weren’t with you.

In the library, Phineas set his candle beside the whisky. He poured an inch into a glass, then eased the decanter back to stop the drip. He took a sip as he crossed the short distance to the mantlepiece, then tapped the top of the frame that held the photograph of Imogen. After he’d sent her sufficient forgeries of paperwork to pass as a woman named Mabel, she must have stopped putting off the farmer who brought her flowers. An envelope containing a newspaper cutting from the Chelmsford Chronicle wedding announcement column was the only acknowledgement he’d received, but all he needed. And in the unlikely event that Pennington ever saw life outside a cell again, Phineas couldn’t imagine the fiend would bother to chase down the woman who’d once been his wife. Would he be full of enough fire to come for Phineas after his release? Possibly… And yet, if that day ever came, Phineas would be ready—because as much as it worried him, he would not be alone.

Phineas clinked his glass against the frame beside Imogen’s, the frame that held an old calotype of his friend, the failed duke. ‘Here’s to you, Arley. Joyeux No?l .’ Next, he raised his glass to a picture of Mother, the corporal, and himself as a boy. Rosanna had found the carte postale hidden in a book and insisted that the only relic from his childhood join the little line-up of his past. Some days, he felt warmth at seeing the small family of his memory. Others, a little sadness. And he was learning to accept that both those feelings could exist side by side. Neither needed to be put into a box just because they didn’t get along.

A slight tug and a bump against his shin shook his thoughts into the room. At his feet, little baby Hazel blubbered, rocked on all fours, then rolled onto her bottom.

‘Who let you in?’ he asked.

Hazel looked up, her green eyes bright and happy. ‘Mum mum mum,’ she recited, before clapping her hands and pursing her lips to blow a pffft .

‘You cannot spend Christmas alone,’ Wilhelmina said as she entered the room. ‘We also received a telegram. And we thought we’d save you the pitying invitation to dine with us by coming to you. Do you have a tree?’

Behind her, a flashing line of red coats and loud voices filled the space just outside the library door. This was what came of giving his in-laws a key. Some Hempels stomped upstairs to the front parlour that looked out over the street. Elliot stuck his head into the room. ‘Did Jean leave any little cakes?’ he asked, then took off before waiting for the answer, likely making for the kitchens to investigate for himself.

‘I feed them. All the time. I swear it. Children are always hungry.’ Wilhelmina squeezed his arm. ‘You watch Hazel. Leave the rest to us.’

‘I’m fine, really, I—’

‘Rosanna would never forgive us if she thought we left you to spend Christmas alone. You know I’m right,’ Wilhelmina called over her shoulder as she left.

There was no use denying that. And when it came to Rosanna, resistance was futile. Phineas scooped the baby up. She swayed a little, then clasped his shirt. Chubby little fingers gripped his waistcoat, and with her other hand, she poked a finger into his eye. ‘Steady on,’ he said with a laugh and a flinch. ‘Not every Hempel needs to wage war on me.’

The house echoed with shouts, noise, and activity. He carried Hazel to the window and settled onto the seat. She pressed her palms against the glass, her eyes wide as she followed a flurry of snowflakes that dashed past the window to settle on the shrubs. A small group of people emerged from the shadows and ascended his staircase with a flip of coats and boots, shortly followed by the clap of the knocker against the front door.

‘I suppose we should answer that,’ Phineas said, swinging Hazel onto his hip as he made for the entry. The first shape to greet him was Spencer, who shot over the threshold in a blur of grey fur. He shook himself furiously, and little flecks of ice and snow scattered over the walls.

‘It’s colder than last year. How is that even possible? Hold these!’ Hamish shoved a basket covered with a chequered cloth at Phineas, who grasped the handle with his free hand. The viscount turned to help his wife with her coat before shrugging off his own.

‘We heard reports of the terrible weather, and that the trains were delayed,’ Iris said as she smoothed her hair. ‘We didn’t want you to spend Christmas alone. We are so grateful for your help with the company. Papa is with Odette. She’s invited Jonah and a few of their friends from the early days to play piano. She thought a small group might be nice for him to spend time with. So we thought we’d come to you.’

‘How is he?’ Phineas asked.

‘This morning he remembered all of us,’ Iris said with a tender smile. ‘Today was a good day.’

On his hip, baby Hazel grasped the chequered cloth over the basket to reveal a jumble of shortbread and sugar biscuits. Her little hands clenched and released before she made a grab for a treat.

‘These are mine!’ Hamish said with mock outrage and snatched the basket away, then presented it again. ‘Go on, have one.’

Phineas sighed as the baby crushed crumbs against his waistcoat. He turned to the door, but another gust blew in a flurry of snowflakes, bringing Petunia and Elise Hartright along with them.

‘It is far too cold to sing in the park.’ Petunia stomped snow off her boots and shook out her scarf. ‘Besides, we heard you were alone. Which way is your new piano, Mr Babbage?’

‘Upstairs, in the parlour. But there really is no need. I am far from alone now, and I was quite happy before—’

Elise clapped her hands in front of Hazel and held them out, ready to catch. Hazel, familiar with the game, pushed herself forwards and fell into Elise’s waiting arms. Chattering fast, the five of them made for the stairs and ascended into the bluster and noise above.

‘A party without me?’ someone hollered from the street. ‘I am outraged.’

Phineas stepped out into the cold. He descended the few stairs to the path and peered into the late afternoon. ‘Benton Hunter? What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Two years abroad, and that’s all you can say? In case you’ve forgotten, I live here. And I’d like a proper greeting if you will, or you won’t get your present.’

Phineas clasped the hand of the man who owned the townhouse at the opposite end of the row, the sole resident of Number 9, Honeysuckle Street. Had the diplomat developed some manners or at least some tact during his time away?

‘I must ask,’ Benton said as he gripped Phineas’s hand, ‘how many veins were visible on Lawrence’s forehead when he found out you’d compromised his daughter in the park?’

Apparently, he had not.

The fast tap of boots, a jubilant laugh, and a lunging blur of red and white was the only notice Phineas received that Benton had not returned home alone. Rosanna launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheeks, his neck, his lips. Roses and sunshine, cold cheeks and warm hands—Phineas clasped her by the waist and pulled her against him in shocked delight.

‘I thought you were delayed. I didn’t expect you for days,’ he said, when he finally caught his breath.

‘We made it as far as Crawley by rail. I had just sent the telegrams when we ran into Mr Hunter, who had landed in Portsmouth and was also making his way north. He managed to negotiate passage for the three of us. It was like a Christmas miracle.’

‘Shh! The last thing Benton needs to hear is that he’s a—’

‘Your Christmas miracle has arrived!’ Benton shouted into the house, already at the top of the stairs. ‘Now the celebrations can begin!’

Johannes followed suit at a steadier pace. He clapped Phineas on the shoulder, then lumbered up the stairs. Shadows danced across the warm light that shone through the first-floor windows, while melody and bubbling voices spilled onto the street. Laughing, Rosanna linked her fingers with his and took a step forwards. Phineas pulled her back.

‘Before we go in, can I steal you for a moment? I think you should open your present from me without anyone around. Just let me sneak my coat.’

Moments later, hat, gloves, scarf, and coat donned, Phineas crept from the house to meet his wife. With a curious smirk, she threaded her hand around his elbow, and they crossed into the park together, strolling along the gravel. Lamps cast glowing yellow circles onto the path, and they walked past the sunken garden, the iced-up fountain, and the frozen pond, which was dotted with skating children and couples. Snow crunched beneath their boots. Rosanna shivered, and Phineas pulled her closer. Before the church, he slowed his step. He reached into his coat pocket to pull out the small, rectangular parcel covered in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon, and Rosanna grasped it, tearing at the wrapping. Phineas caught the paper as she revealed the long, thin box. With shining eyes, she wiggled the lid off.

But when she looked up, she was scowling.

‘A portable pen? If this is a joke, it’s a terrible one.’

‘The vicar came to see me the other day,’ Phineas explained. ‘He was quite distressed. He said that when we married, in all the confusion—’

‘And arguing,’ Rosanna interjected.

‘Yes, arguing, we did not sign the register. I promised to bring you over as soon as you returned.’

They stepped to one side to make way for a few departing parishioners, including Mrs Crofts. Then Phineas directed Rosanna up the stairs and over the antechamber, and they walked side by side down the aisle. Phineas waved at the vicar, who busied himself with the large register, muttering as he flipped through the pages. Finally, he gestured at the entry of their names made back in June.

‘Are you telling me that all this time we haven’t been fully married?’ Rosanna whispered. ‘And if we are to be properly wed, I need to sign my name?’

‘Provided you want to sign your name against mine. This is your last chance, Hempel. There really will be no escaping me. Till death do us part . I know I am not much, but you have made me so—’

‘No need to be melodramatic,’ Rosanna said as she swept the nib across the page, notarising herself as Rosanna Hempel for possibly the last time. She underlined her commitment with a flourish, then passed the pen to him.

‘I had a whole speech prepared.’ He scrawled out his own. Phineas Babbage . ‘I was going to say so many lovely things about you.’

Rosanna plucked the pen from his hands and screwed on the lid. ‘We could do the kissing bit again. I don’t remember that being very exciting last time.’

The vicar coughed.

‘Apologies, vicar,’ Phineas tucked his wife into his side. ‘We’ll leave you to your evening. Thank you, and Merry Christmas.’

In the short time that they’d spent in the church, the light snowfall had turned to heavier flurries. White carpeted the grass, and he breathed in air rich with pine, woodsmoke, and snow. Between two lampposts, poised at the edges of both circumferences of light, Phineas drew her close. ‘I think we can sneak that kiss now,’ he said. ‘Before we are missed.’

‘Don’t you want your gift from me?’

Phineas burrowed into the small gap between her coat and her felt bonnet. ‘Ever so much, but I cannot unwrap you out here. And it may not be appropriate to whisk you away from all the visitors— HOY! ’

A flat thunk against the back of his head jerked him to attention. A thread of ice snaked down his back, beneath his coat. His gaze swept the park, and Amadeus jumped from behind a bush, lobbed a snowball that scuttled at Phineas’s feet, then dove back behind the foliage. ‘Take that, Babbage!’ he shouted. Elliot emerged from the same bush and threw another snowball with much better aim. ‘And that!’ Another snowball came from the left, then the right. And then the left.

‘There are so many of them,’ Phineas said, as he crouched down and scooped up a ball of snow. ‘Hempels vs Babbages hardly seems a fair fight.’

Rosanna knelt beside him, working fast to fashion a missile of her own. She stood and hurled it in the direction of her brothers. ‘We need more allies. Would one more Babbage help? Although it may be some time before they can join the fray.’

‘Where will we find another…’ Phineas mouthed their surname, his voice contracting into shock. ‘Another? A little? Rosanna, are you—’

‘Having a baby. Yes. We are.’ Little plumes of mist from her smiling lips made each word physical, almost tangible, and Phineas followed their path as they floated away, then vanished. His chest constricted, and the world blurred as fear and elation and shock and wonder collided. He would be a terrible father. She would be a wonderful mother. The house would be so noisy. The house would be so happy. He would try to do everything right, but there would always be so many things beyond his control, and so many things he would do wrong.

Everything would change.

‘Phineas? I know life will be uncertain, but we’ll manage it. Together.’ Rosanna pressed her palm to his cheek. Her touch brought him into himself again. Into the cold, the grey light, and the certainty he always found in her eyes. All the words he had composed before to recite in the church… They would forever go unspoken because what he’d felt before was wholly inadequate compared to now.

Forget the neighbours, forget the onlookers, forget everyone. The only thing in the world that mattered was his wife and the terrifying, beautiful future before them. Phineas spun her into his arms and tipped her back.

‘Bring the chaos, my darling. Bring the storm. For nothing could be worse than you.’ And before she could argue, he silenced her with a kiss.

THE END