The Toymakers(33)

Before he went into the Wendy House, he peered through the window. And there she was: Cathy Wray, perched on the end of her bed. Her belly looked markedly bigger than it did even three nights ago, but it was not there that Kaspar was looking. He was looking at her eyes.

Cathy startled when the door moved, both hearts inside her leaping in fright. Her heart only half stilled when she saw that it was Kaspar, for wasn’t there every chance Emil might come trotting behind? Kaspar looked more bedraggled than she’d seen him, yet still held himself with a peacock’s pride. Cathy marched past, slammed shut the door and wheeled around. ‘Where on earth were you?’ she demanded.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You used to come every night. And now—’

‘Am I to understand that you miss me, Miss Wray?’

It was a question Cathy was determined not to answer. And yet, ‘I do,’ she replied, angry with herself for admitting anything so foolish. The truth was hard to articulate: Emil was company enough, distraction from these Wendy House walls, but somehow it wasn’t the same; Emil brought his worries – but Kaspar brought his wonders.

‘It wouldn’t have taken ten minutes to come to the shopfloor, just to—’

‘I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish.’

‘I’ll say you have.’

‘Have you been … very bored?’

Yes, she thought, boredom had been a part of it. But there had been Emil and, now that she pictured him, she did not want to be unduly cruel. There was sweetness to Emil and she hardly begrudged his visits, even when he came to her like a little boy does his neglectful mother, to pull on her apron strings and ask have I been good? She even enjoyed his company. He had brought her books: The Compleat Confectioner, being a collection of recipes for children by the ‘Indomitable Mrs Eale’; The Nursemaid’s Oracle – with advice on rearing and disciplining unruly youngsters – by one William Boulle; a sketchbook Papa Jack had made of the workings of the human body (this had more to say about joints and motion than it did the processes of giving birth – for which, Emil declared, there was a copy of Gray’s Anatomy somewhere on a shelf, if only he could conquer his squeamishness enough to open the pages). Now that she thought about it, that was more than Kaspar had ever done. Kaspar was the one to bring her the reams of newspapers the Emporium collected for stuffing and packing, but leafing through them only reminded Cathy how close the walls of her Wendy House were – and what a world there was out there, if only she could reach it. London, which had once seemed so far away, sat denied on her doorstep. The front page of The Times showed the Royal procession moving along the Horse Guard’s Parade – to think, she might have seen Prince George himself; Lizzy would have died! – while, inside, announcements were made for summer theatre in Regent’s Park and an advertisement showed ladies in elegant tea gowns, walking through Kensington with the air of courtiers. There were only so many times she could read the list of debutantes being presented at court this season without screaming: I don’t care about coming out! All I want is to come outside …

‘I’ve been out of my mind.’

‘I’ll make it up to you.’

‘How?’

‘I’ll think of something.’

‘How?’

Kaspar brightened. ‘You’re not denying my ability to think, are you, Miss Wray?’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ she snapped, ‘and do stop calling me Miss Wray. It’s almost the worst thing about it.’

‘The worst thing about what?’

‘About this,’ she said. ‘Kaspar, don’t you think … isn’t it possible I might have been better off if you’d just let me go and find a new home? Because if you’re just going to leave me here …’

At this, Sirius gave a solitary yap.

‘You’re upset,’ said Kaspar.

‘I am.’

‘Perhaps you’d like me to leave?’

Cathy ripped one of the pillows from the bed and hurled it in his direction. He took it to the face and did not flinch, the perfect imitation of a man. ‘I would not,’ she begrudgingly declared.

‘Cathy,’ he said, more sincerely now, ‘has something happened? Something untoward?’

‘More untoward than this?’ she said, as if to include the Wendy House, the patchwork dog, the Emporium itself. ‘No … not a thing.’

She had known, before Kaspar walked through the door, that she would not tell him about Emil. Either Emil would have confessed everything or he would have kept his silence – and she had always kept faith with the latter, because Emil had seemed so proud to have a secret of his own.

‘Well, go on,’ said Cathy, with something approaching a mild rebuke, ‘tell me what you’ve been doing that’s been so vitally important to the future of the Emporium that you couldn’t spare me a single hour?’

Now that he was (mildly) forgiven, Kaspar marched into the heart of the room. ‘It’s my toyboxes. I’ve stretched the space inside one so that it’s the size of a closet. I’m stretching it further, but something breaks inside, something breaks in me, and …’ He started gazing up, into the Wendy House rafters. Then his eyes dropped back to Cathy. ‘I’m still unsure how my papa made all the space inside here, but it’s near, I can feel that it’s near …’ He did not say every time I see you, it’s getting nearer, because how could she understand anything as ephemeral as that? The magic of toys was one thing; falling in love quite another. ‘Imagine,’ he said instead, ‘a toybox the size of a train carriage, with a switchback stair leading to the bottom. And then – another toybox inside that, and another inside that. A boy could own an infinite number of worlds, all locked inside each other, if only I can …’ Kaspar stopped. ‘You’re looking at me in that way again.’