MR. BUMBLE COMES TO CALL FOR PIPPA AT ELEVEN o’clock sharp. He’s well turned out in his handsome black coat, crisp shirt, and cravat, clean white spats protecting his shoes, and a brushed bowler in his hand. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect that he was a doting father come to call on his young daughter, not his future wife.
Mrs. Nightwing has readied a small sitting room. She’s got her knitting so that she can sit in a corner as the silent chaperone. But we’ve thought of this, too. Felicity is having a sudden, all-consuming attack of stomach pains. She’s upstairs writhing in agony on her bed. Appendicitis is feared, and Mrs. Nightwing has no choice but to rush to her bedside at once. Which leaves me to act as chaperone in the interim. And so I find myself sitting quietly with a book as a rose-colored teacup trembles in Pippa’s hands.
Mr. Bumble watches her as if he’s appraising a piece of land he might buy. “I take it your ring is most satisfactory?” It’s not a question but a chance to be complimented on his taste.
“Oh yes,” Pippa says, distracted.
“And your family? They’re well?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I cough, flash Pippa an urging look. Go ahead—get on with it. Upon hearing my cough, Mr. Bumble gives me a weak smile. I cough again and dive into my book.
“And I trust you are well?” he presses.
“Oh, yes,” Pippa says. “Well, no.”
Here we go.
His teacup stops mid-sip. “Oh? Nothing serious, I trust, my dear.”
Pippa brings her handkerchief to her mouth as if overcome. I could swear she’s worked up real tears. She’s very good and I must say that I am quite impressed.
“What is it, my dear? You must unburden yourself to me, your fiancé.”
“How can I when I’ve worked to deceive you!”
He draws back a bit, his voice suddenly cool. “Go on. How is it that you have deceived me?”
“It’s my affliction, you see. I have terrible seizures that could come on at any time.”
Mr. Bumble stiffens. “How—how long have you had this . . . affliction?” His well-bred lips can scarcely say it.
“All my life, I’m afraid. My poor mother and father have suffered so. But as you are such an honorable man, I find that my heart will not permit me to continue this deceit.”
Bravo. The British stage is missing a fine actress in Pippa. She gives me a sideways glance. I smile in approval.
Mr. Bumble looks exactly like a man who has bought a fine piece of china, only to bring it home and discover the crack. “I am an honorable man. One who honors his commitments. I shall speak to your parents at once.”
Pippa grabs hold of his hand. “Oh, no. Please! They would never forgive me for telling you the truth. Please understand that I’m only looking out for your welfare.”
She’s giving him her large, pleading eyes. Her charms have the desired effect.
“You do understand that if I were to break this engagement, your reputation—your very virtue—would be called into question.”
Ah, yes. Wouldn’t want us if the old virtue were questionable. Heaven forbid.
“Yes,” Pippa says, eyes downcast. “That is why I think it would be best for me to refuse you.” She slides the ring from her finger and drops it into his palm. I wait to see if he will beg her to reconsider, if he will pledge his love in spite of her ailment. But he seems relieved, his tone imperious.
“What shall I say to your parents, then?”
“Say that I am too young and foolish to take as a wife and that you have been noble enough to allow me to end things and save my reputation. They will not press you.”
Pippa has never been lovelier than she is at this moment, with her head held high, her eyes shining in triumph. For once, she’s not flowing with the current but swimming against it.
“Very well, then.”
Mrs. Nightwing enters. “Oh, Mr. Bumble, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. One of our girls had a bit of the hysterics, but she seems to be fine now.”
“It’s no matter, Mrs. Nightwing. I was just leaving.”
“Already?” Mrs. Nightwing is quite flummoxed.
“Yes. I’m afraid I have a pressing matter that needs my attention. Ladies, good day to you.”
Confused but duty-bound, Mrs. Nightwing sees him out.
“How was I?” Pippa asks, sinking into the chair like lead.
“Brilliant. Miss Lily Trimble herself couldn’t have done better.”
Pippa surveys her bare finger. “Pity about the ring, though.”
“You could have waited till he asked to have it back!”
“He wouldn’t have, though.”
“Exactly my point!”
We’re laughing when Mrs. Nightwing enters, suspicious and predatory. “Pippa, is all as it was between you and Mr. Bumble?”
Pippa swallows hard. “Yes, Mrs. Nightwing.”
“Then where, pray tell, has your ring gone to?”
We hadn’t gotten this far in our planning—how to explain the loss of the ring to everyone. Now we’re stuck, I fear. But Pippa lifts her chin, the faintest hint of a smile beginning to show.
“Oh, that. He noticed a flaw.”
We sit, sheltered by the colorful scarves of Felicity’s private salon. Pippa and I are giving an account of the morning’s adventure with Mr. Bumble in rapid, sometimes overlapping detail.
“And then Pippa said . . .”
“. . . he found a flaw!”
We laugh till no sound comes out of our mouths, till our sides ache from it.
“Oh, that’s sublime,” Felicity says, wiping a tear from her eye. “Let us hope that is the last we shall see of the unfortunate Mr. Bumble.”
“Mrs. Bartleby Bumble.” Pip spits out the hard Bs. “Can you imagine the horror of that?”
We laugh again and our laughter drifts down into sighs.
“Gemma, I want to go again,” Felicity says when it’s quiet.
Ann nods. “Me too.”
“It might be pressing our luck to do it again so soon,” I say.
“Do be a sport,” Ann pleads.
Felicity nods. “Yes, after all, nothing terrible happened. And think of how marvelous it’s been having all that power at our fingertips. Perhaps your mother was simply doing what mothers do best—worrying needlessly.”
“Perhaps,” I say. I must admit that I’m in love with the feeling the magic of the runes provides. One more visit to them can’t hurt. And then I promise I’ll stop and do as my mother says. “All right, then,” I say. “The caves it is.”
“Oh, honestly, I’m too tired to run off to the woods tonight,” Pippa groans.
“We could do it right now. Right here,” Felicity says.
Pippa’s eyes widen. “Are you mad? With Mrs. Nightwing and all the others around us?”
Felicity lifts a section of scarf with her finger. Crowded around the warm fire in clumps of threes and fours, the others are oblivious to us. “They’ll never know we were gone.”
We take that ride on the mountaintop, falling into ourselves without trying to stop. I have only one rough moment. I’m a mermaid, rising from the sparkling sea, but when I look down, the water is my mother’s face, tight and fearful. I’m suddenly afraid and wish I could stop. But in the next moment we’re swept away to Felicity’s tent. Our eyes are shining, our skin is rosy, our all-knowing smiles are back. Our bodies feel like luxurious sighs as we stand in the great hall, completely invisible.
Oh, God, the great and terrible beauty of it. Around us, the motion of the room has slowed to the lethargic tempo of a music box coming unwound. Their voices are deep and every word seems to take a lifetime to say. Mrs. Nightwing sits in her chair, reading David Copperfield aloud to the younger girls. The temptation is too much for me. I touch her arm, ever so slightly. She doesn’t stop reading, but slowly, slowly, her free hand lifts and comes to rest on the spot I’ve touched. She scratches at the place where my hand has been, an irritation like an insect bite she’s reacted to and forgotten again. It’s extraordinary.