“No—no—no—” Lord Teddie backed away, using the portrait as a shield. “I mean—well, yes, I am, but—well, look, I have permission!”
Still holding up the portrait, he fished in his suitcoat and brought out a folded note. Bramble snatched it from his hand and read it. Her thin red eyebrows arched above her forehead.
“No,” she said. “He wouldn’t—”
Azalea took the crumpled note from her and read the King’s stiff, formal penmanship. It was addressed to Mr. Pudding. Short, concise. It dictated that the gentleman would be taking Mother’s portrait.
That was all.
It occurred to Azalea, through the mist of shock and disappointment, that she should have expected this. With everything else of Mother’s out of sight, it was only a matter of time before the portrait was gone, too. Perhaps they were even lucky, in that someone rich was willing to buy it.
“You’re really going to take it!” Bramble’s eyes blazed. She clenched her fists and bore in on the gentleman. “Everything else of Mother’s is locked away; we don’t have anything left! How could you come in here—and—and do such a thing? You have no soul!”
Lord Teddie cowered.
“Toodle pip,” he said, and bounded off.
Bramble charged after him in a flurry of black skirts and crinolines. The girls followed at a bound, hoping to catch up. Lord Teddie’s long legs sent him flying out the entrance hall door before they even reached the mezzanine. He barreled into the waiting cab’s door, losing his hat, and the carriage was off in a spatter of gravel.
His head peeked above the back window in time to see Bramble throw his silk hat to the ground, and grind it into the gravel with the heel of her boot.
That night at the pavilion the girls didn’t dance. Instead they sat in a circle and spoke in low voices. It didn’t hurt so much, somehow, when they whispered. Above them, the invisible orchestra played soft, soothing gavottes.
“I know it didn’t look like her,” said Bramble, in a hollow voice. Her venom had dwindled to weariness. “I can’t believe he would just take it. I can’t believe the King would let anyone take it.”
“I can,” said Delphinium, tucking a torn ribbon into her patched slipper. “Honestly, nothing the King does surprises me anymore.”
“What will happen?” said Eve. “With the King?”
There was a pause, so quiet the mist could almost be heard outside.
“Nothing,” said Azalea. “He’ll go back to the library. Things will be the same.”
“Like when Mother was here?” Flora and Goldenrod looked at Azalea with bright eyes.
“No,” said Azalea, feeling a tight, hot sensation rising in her throat. “Look, we promised not to talk about the King.”
“We can’t…just pretend—like—like he’s dead,” said Clover.
“Why not?” said Bramble. “I mean, things would have been different, wouldn’t they? If it was him instead of Mother who—”
She abruptly stopped, her face flaming.
“I didn’t mean that,” she said. “I didn’t.”
“It’s true, though,” said Delphinium. “Don’t you remember, how much it hurt, when he never came to dinner? How much it hurt, when he said—”
“Stop!” said Azalea, on her feet. “Stop, stop, stop! We don’t talk about this!”
Azalea paced, her fists clenched so tightly they shook. Her nails bit into her hands, in spite of the gloves she wore, and she clenched them harder, wishing it would sting harder. When her hands stung, the inside of her didn’t so much.
The girls kept their lips pinched, their eyes wide on Azalea. Normally Azalea kept her temper hidden, but now it burned to her eyes, and her skirts swished hard about her.
“He’s going to find out about this, you know,” said Delphinium, from the floor. “The pavilion. Us dancing.”
“No, he’s not,” Azalea spat. “He won’t. He has no part of this. It’s the only thing we have now, and I won’t let him take it away!”
The words seared, whipping the mood into a smoldering head.
“Hollyhock will blather it about,” said Delphinium quietly. “You know she will.”
“I will not!”
“We could promise to keep it a secret,” said Flora timidly, huddling close to Goldenrod as Azalea paced in front of her. “Goldy and I shake hands when we have a secret.”
“It has to be more than that,” said Azalea. “It has to be something we’d never break, something we would never give away!”
She turned sharply, and stopped at Jessamine’s frightened bright blue eyes, and Ivy’s pudgy hand clasping Clover’s. The pavilion felt muffled, silent, but Azalea was suddenly aware of how her words rang. She swallowed, trying to calm herself down.
“Sorry,” said Azalea. “I just—”
Realizing her face was wet, she pulled the handkerchief from her pocket. It flashed and glimmered in the pavilion light. Always taken aback by the slight tingling sensation when she saw it, a new idea occurred to Azalea. She folded the handkerchief in her hands, considering.
Would it work?