The Lost Girl of Astor Street(9)

Her smile has a sleepy tinge to it and her eyelids are heavy. “Not at all. I’m just so tired for some reason today.”

Lydia scratches the back of her neck as she stares at a display of cuff links. She looks so healthy, so utterly normal, it’s impossible to believe the state I found her in yesterday afternoon. Her mouth turns up in a smile, and her cheeks grow pinker with every passing second.

“Are those cufflinks amusing you, Lydia LeVine?”

Lydia startles and then gives a wistful sigh. “Oh, Piper. How can I lecture you about giving Walter a present when I’m standing here dreaming about giving a gift of my own?”

“What possible purpose does Matthew have for gold cufflinks?”

“Would you keep your voice down?” Lydia glances over her shoulder at the other woman, who looks away. I cannot imagine why we’re of such interest to her. “I wish you didn’t disapprove so strongly of me and Matthew. It gives me very little hope of Mother and Father giving us their blessing.”

I take in my beautiful friend. “You could have anyone, Lydia. Heaven knows you already have beaux lining up—”

Lydia arches doubtful eyebrows. “I don’t see Jeremiah Crane hanging around school to talk to me.”

“He’s not there to talk to me either. He’s there to pick up Emma.”

Lydia shakes her head. “You’re normally so intuitive, Piper.”

“Just please don’t rush this thing with Matthew, okay?”

Lydia’s jaw tightens. Even if the sales clerk hadn’t picked that moment to return, I don’t think she would have given the promise I sought.

The clerk looks down his long nose at us. “Shall I wrap this and the hat in the same box, Miss?”

“Please.”

Lydia is quiet while we wait, and I occupy myself with wrapping the tie of my uniform around my finger and then unwrapping it. On the drive here from school, I had used a considerable amount of energy restraining myself from yelling at Matthew for not being with Lydia when she had her seizure.

When I had called the LeVine residence last night, Tabitha had—in words so hushed I could barely hear them—told me that Matthew had gone to the market to pick up the grocery order, having expected Lydia to remain at the Barrows’ residence for at least an hour. Tabitha, perhaps sensing my ire, assured me that he’d been distraught to learn Lydia had not only walked home but had one of her spells and been hurt.

One of her “spells.” Ha.

“Is something unsatisfactory, Miss Sail?”

I blink and realize that I just snorted at the package the clerk offered me. “No, nothing at all. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Thank you for your business.”

As we exit the clothing store, Matthew smiles and sweeps open the back door of the Duesenberg for us. He touches the brim of his flat cap as I pass by him. “It looks as though the stop was a success.”

“It was. Thank you.” The brusqueness in my voice seems to go unnoticed by him.

It’s unfair to be so angry with Matthew when he was only trying to be efficient with his work time, but I can’t seem to silence the accusations in my head. That if Matthew had been there, if Lydia hadn’t been left alone yesterday afternoon, somehow the seizure never would have happened.

I look back to the door, where Lydia stands beaming up at Matthew. She speaks in too private a voice for me to overhear, but whatever it is, Matthew smiles too. With a pang, I think of Lydia’s blush as she gazed at the cufflinks inside the store. Where is my sensible and proper friend?

I dread the moment I become sweet on someone. It seems to turn your brain to mush.

“Oh, Matthew.” Lydia’s voice is breathy with laughter as she ducks inside the car.

The door closes behind her, and I tuck my parcel between us. Lydia arranges her red curls over her shoulder as she watches Matthew slide around the front of the car. Under the wide brim of her hat, and with the way she styled her hair today, I can’t even see the scrape from yesterday. But something—frustration? Exhaustion? Stupidity?—makes me ask anyway.

“How did you hurt yourself, Lydia?”

Her chuckle holds embarrassment as her fingertips graze her temple. “Oh dear, can you see it? It looks worse than it is, I assure you.” She presses her fingers to her mouth to cover a yawn. “Just one of my fainting spells. You’re the first to ask about it today. I thought I had concealed it nicely.”

I keep my gaze on the straps of my black shoes. They turn to blurs.

Matthew climbs in the car, and Lydia leans forward. “My, that wind today!”

As he pulls out into traffic, she continues to chat with him in the animated, artful way we’ve learned in etiquette classes.

Watching her flirt somehow makes the truth feel like a smack in the face—Lydia has no idea about the seizures. And neither does Matthew, it seems. If Dr. and Mrs. LeVine can be trusted, it’s only me, Walter, and Tabitha who know details. Being the only one in the car who’s aware that Lydia could transform at any second, could become that girl I saw on the sidewalk yesterday, leaves me incapable of capturing a full breath. As if the truth is like a hand clasped over my mouth.

Lydia should know. Matthew, who drives Lydia and her sisters so often, should know.

But I made my promise to Mrs. LeVine. While I have no scruples about borrowing Ms. Underhill’s cardigan to snatch a pastry, or sliding down the school banister in my swimming costume, breaking a promise is a line I won’t cross. What does a girl have, really, if her word cannot be trusted?