Emmy looked from Mrs. Crofton to Mr. Graham and to his lovely but obviously shy wife. Which of them could she appeal to?
“Emmeline?” Mrs. Crofton said.
Emmy closed her eyes as the truth, the only thing she could think to say, bubbled out of her. “I don’t have them with me today.”
“Did you not tell her to bring them?” Emmy could hear the disapproval in Graham Dabney’s voice as he addressed his cousin.
“Of course I did,” was Mrs. Crofton’s quick reply. “Emmeline?”
Emmy opened her eyes to look at her.
“Why didn’t you bring them?”
Please God, let the truth be enough, she prayed to the Almighty.
“I had them in this satchel, inside the box I carry them in. My sister—she’s only seven—was worried that she might not see me again if I went to this meeting, and then became your apprentice. She substituted her fairy tale book for the box.” She lifted the book out of the bag and placed it on her lap. “I just now discovered this, as I heard your voices outside the door. I am so very sorry. She—she’s only a child. I promise I can get the sketches back. If you would allow me a couple days to retrieve them.”
“A couple days?” Mrs. Crofton echoed. The other two adults stared at Emmy, apparently still trying to absorb what she had said.
“My sister made the switch when we were still in Gloucestershire. I need to travel back to the house where we’ve been living and get them.”
Mr. Dabney still seemed to be processing Emmy’s excuse. “But we are closing up this house and leaving on Tuesday.”
“Please,” Emmy pleaded. “Just give me tomorrow to return to Gloucestershire and get them. I can be here on Monday to show them to you.”
“With your mother?” Mr. Dabney replied. “There is no point in returning on Monday without your mother. I do not wish to be arrested for kidnapping.”
“Graham, dear.” Mrs. Dabney touched her husband’s arm, but her eyes were on Emmy. The woman could obviously see the turmoil that was raging inside her.
“Madeleine, we cannot take a fifteen-year-old girl to Scotland without her mother’s permission.”
“Of course we can’t.” Mrs. Dabney offered Emmy as compassionate a look as someone could. “Do go retrieve your sketches, Miss Downtree. And come back Monday at this same hour with your mum.” She turned to her husband. “That will work, won’t it, Graham?”
“We’ve a lot of arrangements to make, but I suppose it can, yes. But you must remember, Miss Downtree, I cannot take you with us unless I see the rest of your sketches. The work will be too daunting for you if you’ve no natural flair for it. I must be convinced you have it. It would not be good for either one of us if you don’t.”
“Yes. Yes, thank you,” Emmy said, not much louder than a whisper. She felt on the edge of bursting into tears and she did not want even one tiny drop to find its way out of either eye. Emmy stood so that she could take her leave. She had an enormous task ahead of her.
The others stood, too. Emmy shoved the fairy tale book inside the satchel. “I’m so sorry to have wasted your time today, Mr. Dabney.”
Mrs. Crofton reached out a hand to touch Emmy’s arm. “It’s not entirely your fault, Emmeline. You didn’t know your sister switched out the box with her book at the last minute.”
Emmy was certain Mrs. Crofton said this for her cousin’s sake. It was becoming clear to Emmy that Graham Dabney was not one to overlook shortcomings. He demanded excellence, which was exactly what Emmy needed and wanted in a mentor. She could not risk disappointing him again.
“I wouldn’t say it was a complete waste of time, Miss Downtree, but we leave on Tuesday. It’s already been arranged.”
“I will be here, with my mother, on Monday at four o’clock. I promise.”
Emmy had not wanted to involve Mum at all but now everything had changed. She desperately needed her.
Not only did she need Mum to come with her to the next meeting with the Dabneys; Emmy needed Mum to accompany her to Thistle House on Sunday so that they could take Julia back and retrieve the brides box. And it was imperative that she return with Mum so that she could keep her word and be at Cadogen Square at four o’clock on Monday. Only Mum could make that happen.
Surely Emmy could convince Mum—a woman whose own dreams had been cruelly warped by circumstances she hadn’t orchestrated—to let her go with the Dabneys to Scotland.
Surely Mum would be able to see Emmy had the opportunity to become more than the illegitimate child who had stolen Mum’s life away from her. Emmy could become a creator of beautiful things. She could be someone Mum was proud of, instead of what Emmy currently was: a constant reminder that whatever plans she’d had for her life had ended when Emmy was born.
Emmy really did want Mum to be proud of her.
She had to find a way to persuade Mum to help her.
“I’ll show you to the door, Emmeline,” Mrs. Crofton said.
After retrieving her jacket, they walked to the front door without saying a word. When Mrs. Crofton opened it, she reached for Emmy’s arm. “Make sure you have your sketches when you return, Emmeline,” she said softly. “I can’t stress it enough. Graham is very good at what he does, but he is also very demanding. And your mother must give her permission. Whatever differences you and your mother have, you must lay them aside. She has to come with you.”
“I understand,” Emmy whispered back. “Thank you. Thank you for making this happen.”
Mrs. Crofton squeezed Emmy’s arm. “I don’t have any other family besides Graham. I want you to go as far as you can, Emmeline. I really do. You will always have a place at Primrose.”
Emmy hugged her, grateful beyond words.
When she pulled away, Mrs. Crofton’s eyes were shimmering. “See you Monday.”
The door closed behind her and Emmy took off down the street.