Chapter Thirty-Eight
Talk all over the summer was punctuated with the hope there would actually be a summer this year, since there had been none at all to speak of the year before.
So, as August advanced and the temperature rose, the general consensus was that summer had, indeed, arrived. And as peace reigned in Europe, all was right with the world. Laura smiled politely while ladies erected their parasols and complained about the heat.
This wasn’t summer. Summer was the dry desert winds that rose up from the south and a heat that sat on one’s shoulders like a weight bearing down so hard all one could do was to hide indoors to escape the worst of it and emerge when the sun had gone down.
This was more like spring in a land where the sun did shine. Everywhere, beyond the odor of the horse, all leather, sweat and dust, was the wondrous scent of flowers and blossoms. It had the feeling of expectation, the likes of which Laura hadn’t felt in years.
Her meeting with Élisabeth Vigée-Le Brun provided the key to unlock the part of her mind that held the monsters of her past. They were fierce and malevolent. The longer they were behind the door, the larger they seemed to grow.
Now, Laura had opened the door. She identified them by name and confronted the demons through her paintings.
She used thick daubs of red, and yellow ochres, and bone black. At first, she let her mind and the brush wander before the image started taking shape. The face from her nightmares. A face that sometimes loomed just inches away from hers. The face that drove her body to panic.
The visage of Selim Omar stared at her from the canvas. She stared back at it, the clever turn of his mouth, the arrogance in the eyes that had initially attracted her, and then firmly repulsed her.
Here, she could look him in the eyes without the threat of beating or worse. And the longer she stared into his eyes, the smaller he became – a dragon, a snake, a man, and – thanks to Yasmeen – now dust in the ground.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. For dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return.
Dust.
A dragon of chaos vanquished.
“All aboard!”
Laura returned to the present. She smiled at Victoria who was waiting for her. She swept away the dust that clung to the skirts of her traveling dress and boarded the coach for the last twenty mile leg to Brighton.
At last, she had been able to properly farewell Yasmeen, who, early in her days in the harem, had been her only friend. To Malik, she prayed forgiveness for taking so long to recognize the soul behind the imposing harem guard.
Initially, Laura had created just two paintings, one of Yasmeen in dance and the other recreating the painting she had once done of Malik in his full uniform – the red pantaloons and a sleeveless embroidered mintan – looking obliquely at the beautiful concubine from Somalia, a woman he was close enough to see but never to touch.
But this work differed to the one she had created in Selim Omar’s harem. In that one, the door that led to the outer courts was barred. In this one, the door was ajar and, through it, one might imagine the lovers making their escape.
Victoria lightly dozed while Samuel sat beside her, sketching out some new contraption or another. Perhaps it was the can making machine for Vincenzo Florio. Samuel always did prefer mechanical things to people.
At least he was looking better. He appeared to be drinking a lot less since her return. His face had lost some of its softness. Clothing that had been made for a slimmer man, now fit him as it ought. Now, with a haircut and a fresh shave, he was the handsome young buck she remembered from before her abduction. While he celebrated his sister’s return, she, too, celebrated her brother emerging from his own hell.
The carriage wended its way through the hills around Tunbridge Wells, past Lewes, and to the gardens of the North Steine.
The Indo-Saracene domes and minarets of the Prince Regent’s Pavilion seemed incongruous alongside the newly-constructed neoclassical buildings about them. To Laura’s surprise, seeing the stylized Pavilion brought back few horrors. The deeper memories came from the tang of salt air from the sea that reminded her of Palermo.
Her thoughts turned to Benjamin and Elias. How was her son? He would be nearly nine months old. Was he crawling? Did he have any more teeth? Laura withdrew the miniature case and looked at the sweet, cherubic face.
And Elias? When she closed her eyes, she could see his face, the streaks of gold in his brown hair that curled over the collar of his shirt, his light brown eyes that one could look into with confidence. The man inspired trust. Did he realize it? Was he aware the young men who worked for him at the villa ended up emulating his even, steadfast manner?
If she could speak to him again, she would tell him she was sorry for her actions that night and that she wanted nothing more than to have him hold her in high regard once more. If nothing else, that would be enough.
Why didn’t he write? She would have to ask Sophia. Surely Elias would have kept up correspondence Kit at least.
As they traveled through the Steine, she heard the rumpf-pumpf of trombones and the steady beat of a kettle drum drifting from the musicians in the bandstand while holidaymakers enjoyed the promenade. Through the window in the carriage, she watched a young couple standing close. The man bent down to pick something up. A moment later, a boy not older than two was raised high in his father’s arms. Laura heard the boy’s giggles as their carriage drove past.
“I say, Laura, did you hear what I said?”
Laura closed the miniature and hurriedly placed it into her bag.
“I’m sorry, I got distracted. What did you say?”
“Walter Pearson will be here with his family.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
Samuel set down his sketch pad.
“I thought you’d be more enthusiastic than that.”
“Why?” she asked, looking at her brother properly for the first time.
“You like him, don’t you?”
There was something in the innocently phrased question that immediately made her wary. And now Victoria was awake and looking at her like she was an exhibit.
“I like him well enough, why?”
Samuel may be many things, but sneak he was not. His eyes lit like candles.
“Walter has asked for your hand.”
“Shouldn’t he be asking me?”
“He gave me every reason to think you returned his affection.”
The kiss. Ah yes, she kept forgetting she was supposed to play the ingénue to fool some poor unsuspecting knave to propose to her.
Enough. The subterfuge had gone on long enough. How could a man possibly love her enough to marry without understanding the whole of her? There had only been one man who did. Elias. And she had pushed him away as firmly as he pushed her.
She was aware of her brother’s close scrutiny, but his face told her he knew he was on the losing side of a battle he had no idea had been fought.
“Would you at least consider the offer?”
“On one condition.” She tossed him a lifeline and watched Samuel grasp on to it eagerly. She continued, “That I tell Walter the whole truth about what happened to me abroad – and about Benjamin.”
Her brother’s face went from confusion to disappointment.
“You gave the bastard a name? How could you?” he demanded, his voice rising in anger.
“He’s my son, Samuel. I carried him and gave birth to him. Do you expect me to forget that? I gave him life—”
“But he’s half—”
“He’s half-mine! Half of me!”
“You made him a Cappleman?” The incredulous tone in his voice made the coach claustrophobic.
“No. Benjamin carries the name Nash.”
The stunned silence that followed was as oppressive as the shouting.
“The sailor?” said Samuel at last. “The bachelor under whose roof you stayed? Why on earth?”
“Because he loves me and he loves Benjamin, too,” Laura spat back.
Samuel banged the roof of the carriage with his clenched fist. “Driver, stop!”
Even before the coach had come to a complete stop, Samuel stumbled out. “Take the ladies to the hotel, I’m going to walk.”
The coach lurched back into motion. Victoria leaned forward and took Laura’s hands. “This Elias Nash, you love him, too, don’t you?”
Laura squeezed her eyes tight, gaining precious seconds to school her emotions.
“Yes, I do, very much, but… sometimes it’s not enough.” She opened her eyes and fixed Victoria’s gaze with her own. “Love is not love when it is cruel and selfish. I hurt him deeply and I needed to find out if there was a life for me in England.”
Victoria looked at her firmly. “What if Walter, having learned it all, still wanted to marry you? Would you agree? You hinted as much to Samuel.”
Laura’s hesitation in responding did not go unnoticed.
“You are stronger than you know, Laura,” Victoria continued. “There are some things you cannot run away from. You might wonder what I might know, being a woman sheltered from the hardships of life, but I am not naive. My father saw the state in which Samuel returned to England after Sophia was taken. He tried to break off our engagement but I wouldn’t let him. I know Samuel, I know his faults better than anyone, but I also know the good he is capable of – he is a good provider, he is a fair man with the servants and the men at his engineering works. He loves his sister. And he loves me. Love does not expect perfection, Laura. Love is finding the best qualities in the person you love and trusting they will find the best in you.”
Laura looked away at the passing street outside the window. “It’s too late. I burned that bridge on one selfish night. In all this time, Elias has not written.”
Victoria shook her head. “Samuel will not favor me saying this, but you should fight for your son and the man you love. Aren’t Sophia and your friends from the Calliope spending the end of summer in Brighton with you? Perhaps they have heard from him.”
The Calliope sat at anchor just out from the Ship Street Cliffs, a black silhouette against a sky of inky blue as the last of the twilight faded. Laura closed the balcony doors and turned to the brightly lit drawing room of the rented apartments on the Royal Crescent.
The Pearson family had invited them to a party, extending the invitation to Sophia and to Laura’s “foreign guests”. Samuel and Victoria had decided go on ahead.
Laura watched the wordless interplay between Kit and Jonathan before the captain gave a curious look to Sophia. A glance at Morwena had given Laura her answer, but she needed to hear the words.
“It was a simple enough question,” Laura persisted. “Has there been any letter from Elias or not?”
“No, there hasn’t,” Jonathan answered at last.
“And how long have you been concerned?”
Jonathan was silent a moment. “Morwena’s brother mentioned that an order for nails Elias placed before we left still hasn’t been picked up.”
“And none of you thought this might be of interest to me?”
Kit, seated on one of the settees, put down his snifter of brandy on the low table before crossing his feet at the ankles. To someone who did not know him, the action looked nonchalant. “All of a sudden you care?”
“I’ve always cared! And if you think something is amiss with Elias and my son, then I deserve to be told.”
Sophia touched Kit on the arm, which seemed to calm him. “There could be any number of reasons why we haven’t heard from him. Mail is not reliable over these distances.”
But despite Sophia’s valiant attempt at a reasonable explanation, no one seemed inclined to believe it.
“Well,” Kit announced, standing and tugging down the sleeves of his evening jacket. “The rest of the crew is on leave for one more week. We’ll be going out on the first tide of the full moon.”
Jonathan rose also, helping Morwena into her wrapper.
Kit turned to Laura. “You have until then to decide whether you return with us. Let’s hope Elias can manage to stay out of trouble until then.”