Part 4 (2/2)
H ALF A MONTH had gone by since the unexpected visitors appeared at the door of the house on Whitward Street. Though each twilight Ivy looked out the window, she never saw a pair of tall men in dark capes walking up the street, and no one called at their front gate.
A few times she considered asking her mother about the men. Then she remembered the fearful look she had seen in Mrs. Lockwell's eyes that night and held her tongue. Nor could she ask Mr. Lockwell. He never answered her questions, and the one time she did mention that some men had come to the door, he grew agitated, s.n.a.t.c.hing books from the shelves in the attic and tearing out their pages, and it took her over an hour to calm him.
Just after the turn of the month, there came a series of particularly long nights interspersed by brief days. The weather grew chilly with so little sun to warm the world, and a mist rolled out of the west. By the fourth such night-an umbral of twenty-two hours-it grew so cold that the rain turned to snow, and when dawn finally came it found all of Invarel glazed with white.
They kept to the parlor on the second floor as much as possible so they would not have to heat the upper stories, save for Mr. Lockwell's room. Since it was too cold to be out of doors, they found what activities they could within. There were linens to mend, and Lily's charity basket had languished in a corner for so long that Miss Mew had taken it for a bed. Ivy urged Lily to remove the cat and pull out the basket of half-finished s.h.i.+rts so she might complete some of her work.
”Mighty Loerus!” Lily exclaimed as she p.r.i.c.ked her finger for the third time that day. She had copied the bad habit of swearing by extinct Tharosian G.o.ds from a romance she had read in which the hero did the same. ”It's so dark in here I can't see what I'm doing. Did you misread the almanac, Ivy? I thought you said nightfall was hours off.”
”It's the fog that makes it so dim,” Ivy said, peering at her own sewing in the wan light. ”But tonight is to be a long umbral and tomorrow short again, so we'd best sew as much as we can while we have any sun at all.”
”We could light candles,” Lily said.
”Candles are for night, not day.”
”Well, it's nearly dark as night, so I think we should light some.”
”Not when they cost as much as they do. Move closer to the window, and you'll be able to see better.”
”It's too cold by the window.”
”You can share my lap blanket. Now, come here and sit down.”
With much dragging of feet, Lily did so, plopping her basket down beside her. ”I don't know who would want to wear these ugly s.h.i.+rts anyway.”
”There are many who will be grateful to have new garments, however simple,” Ivy said. ”Not everyone in the city is so fortunate as we are. Besides, Rose's s.h.i.+rts aren't ugly at all. They're quite handsome.”
Rose looked up from her work and smiled at Ivy. No matter how dark the room, her needle always set neat, even st.i.tches in the cloth. ”I always have light when you're near, Ivy,” she said.
Ivy smiled back at her, then bent her head over her sewing. Before long Lily let out a sigh, crumpled her s.h.i.+rt back into the charity basket, and went to the pianoforte, where she commenced practicing all her most dolorous chords.
Mrs. Lockwell entered a short while later, huffing for breath after coming up the stairs. ”Oh, it's so dark in here!” she exclaimed. ”I can hardly see my hand if I wave it before my face. Light a candle, Lily. Or two or three. And put more wood on the fire, Ivy. We shall freeze to death!”
Lily gave Ivy a smug look, then flounced about the parlor, lighting candles. Ivy said nothing and did as her mother asked.
After that, their work proceeded more easily, with more laughter and fewer needle p.r.i.c.ks, and Ivy tried not to think of the extra cost of the wood and candles. She decided a little tea would be a welcome reward for their work-Lily had finally been coerced into finis.h.i.+ng a s.h.i.+rt-and went down to the kitchen to prepare a pot.
As she started up the stairs, she heard the bell at the front gate ring; the post had come. Ivy wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, braving the bitter air to retrieve the post from the box, then hurried up to the warmth of the parlor.
”Here's the tea,” she said, setting the tray on the table. ”And the post as well.”
Lily leaped up from the bench at the pianoforte. ”Is there anything addressed to me?”
She always seemed to think there would be a letter for her, though from whom it might come, Ivy couldn't imagine. The cold had been so shocking, Ivy hadn't taken time to look at the post. She picked it up from the tray. There were two letters, neither of them for Lily.
”There's one here for Father,” she said in surprise.
Ivy held up the letter. The address was written in a formal-if rather cramped-hand and was sealed with a circle of red wax. Before Ivy could turn the letter over and read the sender's name, Mrs. Lockwell plucked it from her grasp.
”I'll take that,” she said, and without looking at it tucked the letter into the pocket of her ap.r.o.n. ”Now, pour the tea, Lily, before it turns to ice.”
”Who is the other letter from?” Rose asked.
Ivy tried not to think of the letter her mother had whisked away and picked up the other. ”It's from our cousin, Mr. Wyble,” she said.
”A letter from Mr. Wyble?” Mrs. Lockwell said in a tone that might have frosted the windowpanes if they hadn't been already. ”What an unexpected pleasure. Usually he chooses to inflict himself upon us in person.”
Lily giggled but clapped a hand to her mouth at a sharp look from Ivy. ”Would you like to read it, Mother?” Ivy said, holding out the letter, but Mrs. Lockwell shook her head.
”You read it to us, Ivoleyn. My eyes are too poor for this light. And perhaps his words will be improved coming from your lips.”
Ivy doubted that would be the case, but she did her best to inject a note of enthusiasm into her voice as she held the letter close to a candle and read aloud. It was written in an overlarge and effusive hand, which, though a strain on the eye, meant the letter was thankfully not very long despite its several pages.
”To my beloved Aunt Lockwell and my cherished cousins,” Ivy read, ”submitted with most felicitous greetings and a fervent wish for your continued happiness and well-being.”
”I hardly think he wishes for my continued well-being,” Mrs. Lockwell exclaimed. ”For the longer I continue to be well, the longer this house will continue to not be his.”
Ivy chose to ignore this comment and kept reading.
”I regret that I was unable to pay you a visit this month past, as is my usual custom. My occupation, as you know, requires my fullest attention. I must always be at my law books, for it is my duty to know of every regulation and statute there is. Indeed, there is no rule too minor, obscure, or dull that I will not spend hours and hours reading all that there is about it.”
”And then spend hours and hours telling us about it,” Lily said with a groan.
Ivy cast her a sharp look, though she had to admit, Mr. Wyble did have a tendency to expound at length upon legal philosophy when he visited.
”While my schedule would have permitted me to pay you a visit around the middle of the month, another opportunity was presented to me, which, I am sure once the particulars are heard, you must judge was the wisest investment of my time. Recently I had the good fortune to be of service to Lady Marsdel, a most n.o.ble personage of the highest degree. In her extreme-dare I say, almost overpowering-generosity, she invited me to an affair at her house in the New Quarter. There I was happy to make the acquaintance of many remarkable and important persons.”
”More important persons than us, it seems,” Mrs. Lockwell said with a frown as she poured a cup of tea.
Despite his profession of affection for his aunt and cousins, it was clear that going to a party had been more important to Mr. Wyble than visiting family. Not that Ivy felt they should complain, and certainly Lily would speak the praises of anything that kept Mr. Wyble away. She glanced over the next few pages and saw that there was a great deal about the affair at Lady Marsdel's. Ivy decided it judicious to offer a brief summary and get to the end of the letter.
”It seems the party at Lady Marsdel's offered much amus.e.m.e.nt,” she said, turning to the last page. ”And in close, it is my intention to visit you this month-if other obligations allow-and when I come I hope to bring with me a delightful new friend whose acquaintance I made at Lady Marsdel's and whose introduction I am certain you would enjoy as much as I have. Until then, I am yours in every regard. Mr. Balfineus Wyble.”
Ivy set down the letter and saw that Lily wore a horrified expression.
”An acquaintance of Mr. Wyble's!” she exclaimed in a fair imitation of one of their mother's outbursts. ”How awful! Can you imagine what a friend of Mr. Wyble's must be like?”
Ivy smiled. ”I confess, I am more confounded by the fact that Mr. Wyble can have a friend at all.”
At last, their mirth subsided to a point where they could resume their sewing, while Mrs. Lockwell went downstairs to see what Mrs. Murch was doing now that might put the edibility of their supper at peril.
”It was kind of our cousin to write,” Ivy said, extinguis.h.i.+ng several of the candles as soon as their mother left the room. She meant what she said; a kind deed must always be appreciated, no matter what one thought of the doer. ”I am glad he has made some acquaintances he admires.”
Lily clipped a thread with her teeth. ”And I hope he admires them so much that he spends all his time with them and never comes to call on us again!”
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