evermore. I felt as if my head might explode from the rumbling clang of the iron-hooped wheels, and the stamping of the horses’ hooves, all of the shouting and shrieking laughter that issued from those still out and about who worked or played in the hours of dark, with our own drowsy Kingsland left behind as still and quiet and dark as a grave – whereas London hadlamps to gild your way, to sputter and hiss like serpents’ tongues. And then, how peculiar it was to stand in a street where every tall brick building resembled the model that Freddie once gave to me, that still stood beside my bed at home – with its grand double frontage, square windows each side and a canopied porch above wide stone steps.
In London, in the world of reality, two maids, very neat in black and white, were already waiting at the door ready to carry our bags upstairs while Elijah followed Freddie in. But me – I lingered outside a while, waiting for Papa, who seemed to have fallen into a trance while gazing out across the street. He was staring at another house – exactly like Freddie’s in every way except it was seeped in darkness, and there on the door was a large brass plaque, the dull metal faintly glimmering in a street lamp’s sputtering glow of gas.
‘What are you looking at, Papa?’ I shivered while threading my fingers through his.
His voice sounded flat and exhausted. ‘The offices of Hall & Co. I thought . . . for a moment he might be there. I thought I saw Gabriel looking out. But of course,’ he tried to force a smile, ‘that is completely ridiculous. No more than an old man’s fancy.’
‘Oh!’ I could barely conceal my surprise. Papa told us that Freddie had moved, no longer living in the house from which his publishing business was run, but I had no idea it might be so close – the place where my parents once lived and worked, and—
And that made me feel terribly guilty, for in all the excitement of coming to London I had not once stopped to consider them, or the fact that Papa would think of his son; the father I had never known and who, however heartless it sounds, I found it very hard to mourn. I really felt no bond at all. I always thought more of my mother. But Papa still grieved, of course he did, and I saw the sorrow in his eyes when he turned to me and squeezed my hand, and I laid my head on his shoulder a while, until he eventually turned his back on that unlit memorial tolead me up the pristine steps and into a hall that blazed with light – and so vibrantly coloured those flocked walls that Ellen Page would no doubt fear the destruction of our optic nerves, not to mention the risk of a fainting fit, with the flaring flames in those hissing jets sure to suck all the oxygen out of the air.
I found myself yawning and desperate for sleep when Freddie suggested we go and eat – a cold collation in the dining room – and it looked like a banquet fit for a king.
Who could eat at such a time, almost one o’clock in the morning? The answer was Elijah, who still looked as fresh as a daisy, announcing himself to be ravenous. (In those days he could eat from dawn ’til dusk and still find room for something else.) But I had no appetite at all, already filled with a sense of discomfort, an odd sort of loss as I held Papa’s hand – and how weary he looked to be just then, such a ragged, throaty edge to his voice when he said, ‘Freddie . . . it is rather late. I should prefer to find my bed.’
Freddie did not argue, leading the way up two flights of stairs until we all stood on a landing where a door was opened and then closed up, with Papa disappeared behind.
I didn’t know what to do. Papa had not even said goodnight. Should I knock to ensure that he was well, or—
Freddie interrupted my thoughts, now having opened another door, the one standing opposite Papa’s, announcing that this room contained my bed. His moustache tickled stiff against my cheek when he stooped forward to plant his kiss,
In London, in the world of reality, two maids, very neat in black and white, were already waiting at the door ready to carry our bags upstairs while Elijah followed Freddie in. But me – I lingered outside a while, waiting for Papa, who seemed to have fallen into a trance while gazing out across the street. He was staring at another house – exactly like Freddie’s in every way except it was seeped in darkness, and there on the door was a large brass plaque, the dull metal faintly glimmering in a street lamp’s sputtering glow of gas.
‘What are you looking at, Papa?’ I shivered while threading my fingers through his.
His voice sounded flat and exhausted. ‘The offices of Hall & Co. I thought . . . for a moment he might be there. I thought I saw Gabriel looking out. But of course,’ he tried to force a smile, ‘that is completely ridiculous. No more than an old man’s fancy.’
‘Oh!’ I could barely conceal my surprise. Papa told us that Freddie had moved, no longer living in the house from which his publishing business was run, but I had no idea it might be so close – the place where my parents once lived and worked, and—
And that made me feel terribly guilty, for in all the excitement of coming to London I had not once stopped to consider them, or the fact that Papa would think of his son; the father I had never known and who, however heartless it sounds, I found it very hard to mourn. I really felt no bond at all. I always thought more of my mother. But Papa still grieved, of course he did, and I saw the sorrow in his eyes when he turned to me and squeezed my hand, and I laid my head on his shoulder a while, until he eventually turned his back on that unlit memorial tolead me up the pristine steps and into a hall that blazed with light – and so vibrantly coloured those flocked walls that Ellen Page would no doubt fear the destruction of our optic nerves, not to mention the risk of a fainting fit, with the flaring flames in those hissing jets sure to suck all the oxygen out of the air.
I found myself yawning and desperate for sleep when Freddie suggested we go and eat – a cold collation in the dining room – and it looked like a banquet fit for a king.
Who could eat at such a time, almost one o’clock in the morning? The answer was Elijah, who still looked as fresh as a daisy, announcing himself to be ravenous. (In those days he could eat from dawn ’til dusk and still find room for something else.) But I had no appetite at all, already filled with a sense of discomfort, an odd sort of loss as I held Papa’s hand – and how weary he looked to be just then, such a ragged, throaty edge to his voice when he said, ‘Freddie . . . it is rather late. I should prefer to find my bed.’
Freddie did not argue, leading the way up two flights of stairs until we all stood on a landing where a door was opened and then closed up, with Papa disappeared behind.
I didn’t know what to do. Papa had not even said goodnight. Should I knock to ensure that he was well, or—
Freddie interrupted my thoughts, now having opened another door, the one standing opposite Papa’s, announcing that this room contained my bed. His moustache tickled stiff against my cheek when he stooped forward to plant his kiss,
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