Fifty Words for Rain(90)

London is changing. We have all kinds here now. I quite enjoy it. I have always been mystified by how one person can judge another based solely on the color of their skin.

There are so many better things to judge others on. Really.

After lunch I buy the girls spiced peanuts and take them to the park to play.

I hope that they will stay close as they grow up. I never loved my sisters and they never loved me. I found my true sister on the other side of the world.

I wait until dark to take the children home. They are both exhausted, and I pass them off to their nanny and sink into an armchair to rest.

“Bess,” I say, “bring me some tea, will you please?”

My maid appears from the other room and her face is flushed.

“Your cousin is here, my lady.”

I push myself up and stare at her blankly. “What?”

“Your cousin Lord Stafford is here.”

“You mean William?”

“Yes, my lady.”

I am so angry I could spit. Who does he think he is to come calling on me at this hour? The years have done nothing to erase the tension between us. I cannot forgive him for the way he lorded his authority over me when I was at my lowest point. We see each other only when required.

“Send him away,” I say pompously, and I feel a twinge of pleasure.

Will pushes past her and barges into the room. “Bit late for that.”

I jump to my feet. “You’ve got some nerve.”

He smirks. He is handsome as ever, with all of his arrogance and devilish charm.

“I am sorry, dear cousin, but I have news that can’t wait.”

I feel my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. “What?”

“I think I saw her.”

The world beneath my feet rocks. I sink back into my chair, speechless.

Every other year or so he will torment me with a sighting. But it’s never her and I am always left feeling as if someone has burned a hole in me.

“Don’t start,” I say wearily.

“I swear I saw her in Paris,” he protests. “I am sure this time, I’ve sent someone to look into it.”

“Enough already,” I mumble. “Just enough.”

Will has been consumed with finding her ever since word of Akira’s death reached us. It was, to this day, the only time I have ever seen him cry.

I can’t bear even to try. I know her better than he does, though he would never accept it. I know if she wanted to be found, we would have found her.

I have never told him about the letter.

“But I am certain—” he starts up.

“You were certain in Rome,” I snap. “And in Vienna, where you were sure she’d go chasing a ghost. You have been certain in every city your music has taken you to, and she is never there. Because she is gone, and I am so sick of your ridiculous quest to soothe your ego, to rescue her and make her fall in love with you at long last. Let it go.”

He turns a mottled shade of purple. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about. This has never been about her, and it’s certainly not about me. It’s about you being unable to accept that you’ve lost.”

He rips off his suit jacket. “Oh, shut up, Alice.”

I gesture towards the door. “Good night, William. I look forward to your next delusion.”

Actually, I don’t. These conversations take away chunks of me. He storms out grumbling, and when I hear the front door shut, I put a hand to my mouth.

“Bess,” I whisper.

She is at my side in an instant. “Madam?”

“Take me upstairs. I need to rest. I’m tired. I’m very, very tired.”



* * *



—

I sleep for hours. In the morning, I take a long hot bath and try to release the weariness in my bones.

I hate April. It truly is the cruelest month.

I wrap myself up in a towel and sit on the side of the tub for an hour before I have the strength to dress.

The girls are playing outside with Bess, and George is—somewhere. Lunch club, maybe. I can never keep track.

I peer out from one of the many windows. The clouds are dark and thick, threatening rain. How original.

I walk down the stairs and only make it halfway down before I curl up on the landing.

I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next five months.

The doorbell rings.

I sigh and wait for one of the servants to get it. It’s probably my sister Jane come to raid my closet, as if I have anything that will fit her.

Nobody comes. I look around irritably, wondering what I pay these people for.

The doorbell rings again.

I haul myself up and go slowly down each step.

The doorbell rings for a third time.

I make my way to the door, and a strange feeling comes over me. I am here, but I am not here. I am in the past, in the future, in a place I cannot even name.

Somehow, I know.

I open the door and there she is.

She is exactly the same. Her face is still round, with a deep dimple in each cheek. Her hair is black as a raven’s wing and as curly as ever. She has cut it short so that it falls just below her chin.

She doesn’t look twenty-three—she appears both too young and too old. She doesn’t look noble, for she is dressed in nothing but a simple blue dress.