City of Darkness

Chapter FOURTEEN

7:10 PM





Leanna was ready for her theater engagement with John, but once again the entire household had been upended by the effort. Geraldine had offered the use of the Bainbridge family topazes, which Leanna had seized upon eagerly, but the necklace and earrings had looked as dull as brown glass against the blue satin gown she had planned to wear. Gerry had suggested her own russet silk would be perfect, but of course it was too large for Leanna and Emma had protested when Gerry had offered to baste the gown underneath to adapt it to Leanna’s slender form.

“Those stitches will tear that silk, Geraldine, no matter how carefully you take them,” Emma declared, “And actually I think black is the best choice with topaz jewelry.”

“Black?” Leanna said skeptically, standing before Gerry’s oval mirror in her chemise. “I look a fright in black.”

“No you don’t,” Emma said. “Black is striking. Mature.”

“Hmmm…” said Leanna, biting her lip as she always did when unsure. It would certainly be wonderful to appear striking and mature before John, whom she suspected sometimes viewed her as a giddy schoolgirl.

“Perhaps she’s right,” Gerry said. “Fetch that mourning gown you came in.”

“But it’s ghastly,” Leanna wailed. “That dress was homemade in Leeds and the fit makes me all, how should I say, flat across here and flat in the back…”

“Just because a gown wasn’t bought in London doesn’t mean it can’t be fashionable,” Emma said stubbornly.

“But to go to the theatre in such a simple dress…” Leanna said, just as stubbornly.

“Simple is better with jewelry as elaborate as those topazes. At least try it on. If you don’t like it, nothing is lost.”

“Nothing except time,” Leanna fretted, but she pulled on the gown, just the same. It looked precisely at it did the day she had worn it to the reading of the will - shapeless and drab - and she stood gazing grimly into the mirror until Emma slipped up behind her and began to snip away at the black netting which covered the bodice and throat.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s a proper dress underneath all this somewhere,” Emma said, carefully loosening each tiny thread. “You’ll see. When we get this covering off, there will be a lovely, striking, plain black gown which will set off that necklace like a star against the night.”

“Just as you say,” Leanna mumbled, too keyed-up to protest further. The light supper of fruit and cheese Gage had sent up lay untouched on her dressing table and she felt slightly faint. To make her first London theater appearance in a homemade mourning gown? But a few seconds later, when she glanced up just in time to see the netting fall, she knew immediately that Emma had been right. Together they did up her hair in a simple, high bun and Geraldine, watching from the doorway, had to blink back tears.

“You look like my mother, in the portrait at Rosemoral,” she said simply.

“No, no one will ever equal Great-grandmother Bainbridge,” Leanna said, for legends of her beautiful ancestor had been handed down to her ever since she had been a gangly child. Just at that moment the door knocker sounded and Leanna jumped. “He’s here. He’s early.”

“Gage will get the door,” Emma said, still fumbling with the triple-clasp of the heavy necklace strand. “You don’t have to run down the stairs.” The women all fell silent, waiting for the sound of John’s voice in the entryway, but instead they heard unfamiliar high tones and then Gage’s heavy tread up the staircase.

“Miss Leanna,” he said, his throat creaky from rare use, “there are flowers for you.”

“Wonderful,” squealed Leanna, rushing past Gerry to take up the huge spray of red roses Gage proffered. “Good heavens, but they’re heavy. This must be two dozen.”

“Read the card,” Emma called down after her.

Leanna fumbled for the attached card and, after one quick glance, sat down on the top stair with a thump, the roses scattering beside her.

“Whatever’s wrong?” Gerry asked as Emma joined her in the hall.

“He isn’t coming,” Leanna answered flatly. “He’s been called to a case and he’s…” She picked up the note again. ”Devastated.”

“Darling I’m sorry,” Gerry said. “But I’m sure he truly is devastated. You understand as well as anyone that a physician’s hours are never his own.”

“I know,” Leanna said tonelessly, making no effort to halt the slow descent of the roses as they escaped her grasp and began to slide down the staircase. “I do know,” she said, again, looking at the brilliant red puddle at her feet and this time speaking with more conviction. “Gage, get me some water and a vase, will you please? A big vase.”

“That’s the spirit, Leanna. The play will be running for months,” Gerry said, putting an arm around Leanna’s waist as they descended the stairs together.

“It isn’t missing the theater that’s so tragic,” Emma thought, stooping to pick up the remaining black threads from the rug in Leanna’s now-silent room. “She’ll never look any lovelier than she does tonight.”





Two hours later, as Leanna, still in the black dress and topazes, sat with Emma and Geraldine playing a dispirited three-handed game of bridge, the door knocker sounded again. “Perhaps it’s John after all,” Geraldine said hopefully. “Perhaps it was an easy delivery and he’s stopped by to apologize in person.”

But it was Tom Bainbridge who stepped into the parlor, shaking raindrops from his hair like a playful puppy.

“Tom,” Leanna said, leaping up. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone. Come in, we’ll have tea, we can make up your room. How long will you be here?”

“Slow down,” Tom laughed, as he reached out to hug his sister. “Good heavens, is this what you customarily wear for a family evening of cards?”

Leanna’s hands flew to the strands of amber which encircled her throat. “I was supposed to go to the theatre, but my escort…he’s a doctor, Tom, I’ve met the most wonderful doctor.”

“Let me guess,” Tom said. “He was called away by a patient, thus disappointing you and undoubtedly breaking his own heart in the process.”

“I certainly hope so,” Leanna said dryly.

“Oh, but I’m sure he is beyond consolation,” Tom laughed. “You look wonderful and it’s clear the city agrees with you. Hello, Emma.”

“Hello,” Emma said.

“Tom, Leanna is right, we must make up a room for you and not let you escape for weeks,” Geraldine said.

“Thank you, Aunt Gerry, but this is a two-night visit. I’ll be back in class the day after tomorrow and I just wanted to come by and see how Leanna is doing.”

“So the business at home is completed?” Leanna asked.

Tom nodded.

“Oh please tell me what has happened,” Leanna said nervously. “We have no secrets from Aunt Gerry or Emma or Gage.”

“Nonsense, you need your privacy,” Geraldine said. “Tom, help yourself to the sherry and we’ll see about getting you some dinner.” Geraldine paraded out with Emma and Gage in tow, leaving Tom and Leanna to sit a moment in silence.

“Well, it’s good news,” Tom finally said, rising and heading toward the liquor table. “Galloway was a rock, an absolute rock, and the will wasn’t broken.”

“But they tried, didn’t they?” Leanna said. “Your letters were so maddeningly incomplete.”

“Not on purpose, Leanna, we just couldn’t say from day to day how things were developing. Cecil got an attorney recommended by Edmund Solmes…”

“Who? Oh yes….”

“One of Cecil’s friends, or more accurately, one of his debtors,” Tom said, ruefully thinking of how close Leanna had come to being made all-too-aware of Edmund Solmes. “Either way, they imported a barrister from London who made quite a squawk, but Galloway held firm. Turns out the problem wasn’t William, not really. The problem was Cecil, and the amount of control he had over William. At least that’s what Galloway claims, that Grandfather knew Cecil would manage to gamble away everything and William wouldn’t have lifted a finger to stop him.”

“Grandfather had watched Papa almost drag us all down and he wasn’t going to let that happen again,” Leanna said. “He said as much to me a dozen times although I never really grasped the implications.”

Tom nodded. “We’re younger, but he evidently saw us as stronger. With you as heir and me as executor, Rosemoral has a prayer of going forward.”

“Natural selection,” Leanna said thoughtfully. “Remember all those times he lectured us about Darwin? Remember that beagle that he called The Beagle even though hardly anyone understood his joke, or that box of finch bills he kept on his desk? I loved to play with them. Grandfather would line them up, smallest to largest, so that he and I could discuss which sort of bill would be most effective at cracking open seeds and getting to the meat inside. ‘It’s not the strongest or the swiftest who survive, Leanna,’ he used to say. ‘But the most adaptable. What do you think happens to those baby birds whose mothers have the wrong sort of bills?’ Looking back, it seems a rather gruesome lesson for a child.”

“I don’t remember the box of bills,” Tom said, “but I remember his moth wings under the microscope. He’d explain how the black-winged moths could hide better on a smoky wall so you saw more of them in the city, but the brown-winged ones blended in better on a tree trunk so they could thrive in the country. And we’d talk about how often survival came down to a simple ability to blend in with one’s background.” The memory of his grandfather’s patient, gentle voice pained Tom, but he didn’t want to indulge the melancholy, so instead he picked at the cloth of his sister’s dress. “By the looks of it, I’d say you found your black city wings soon enough.”

“Tom, you know I love Rosemoral and I would never turn my back on Grandfather’s wishes…”

“Uh oh. What’s coming?”

“But what if I decide to live in London?”

Tom swirled his sherry and laughed. “So the city agrees with you, does it? I’m not surprised. If you stay in London, you stay in London, and that’s just grand. It’s an inheritance, Leanna, not a prison sentence. We’ll find an estate manager for Rosemoral. Many families maintain both a country and city home.”

“But Mother and Cecil and William…” Leanna said.

“Have a perfectly adequate roof over their heads and a comfortable allowance. I’m sure right this moment Mother is gossiping and William is babbling about the soil quality in some garden, and Cecil is continuing his improbable pursuit of poor Hannah Wentworth, all as if nothing has changed. Don’t let them make you believe they are destitute, Leanna, for that isn’t the case. Granted they don’t wear heirloom jewelry while lounging about the house…”

“Oh, you’re ridiculous,” Leanna giggled, letting one of the settee cushions fly at his head. “And I owe you everything.”

“Remember that,” he said, rising and calling toward the open door. “Aunt Gerry, you can stop eavesdropping in the hall and come back in now. See, I brought some iodine pills for Gage. I really think we can eradicate that goiter…” Leanna sat back in the chair, reflecting on how nice it was to have him there. Tom would know if John were really devastated about the cancelled evening. Tom would know if she had misread the situation.

Emma called from the hall. “The green room is ready, Mr. Bainbridge.”

“Ye gods, ‘Mr. Bainbridge’ is so stuffy.”

Emma entered, smiling slightly. “Should I have said ‘Dr. Bainbridge’?”

Tom laughed and raised his glass to her. “You never let up on me, do you, Emma? How many times have I asked you to call me by my given name?”

“Quite a few,” Emma admitted. “Perhaps on your birthday I shall do it.”

“But today is my birthday,” Tom said cheerfully.

“Isn’t that what you said the last time you were here? And the time before that?”

Leanna was surprised at this easy banter. Neither Tom nor Emma had ever mentioned each other to her, yet they obviously were on a friendly basis. But why shouldn’t they be? They were both young and single and things were done so differently here in London. Back in Leeds she would never had been allowed to go unchaperoned for a carriage ride with a gentleman caller but his morning Aunt Gerry had packed her off with scarcely a backward glance. Leanna hadn’t seen enough of London to know if such casual conversation between the two sexes was allowed everywhere. Most likely this informality only existed in Geraldine’s household.

But still…this new view of her younger brother was a revelation. The Tom of Winter Garden was dwarfed by Cecil and William, cursed by his birth order, alternately stammering and defiant. But the Tom of London appeared to be a different type of creature altogether – relaxed, laughing, confident. Leanna sat back in her chair, and watched her brother continue to spar with Emma. Freed from the burden of constantly trying to prove he was a man, it appeared Tom might actually become one.





Their conversation might have seemed casual to an observer like Leanna, but Emma was shaken by the exchange, just as she always was whenever Tom appeared. And he appeared so regularly - could it just be filial devotion to Geraldine, or was it something else which drew him to Mayfair on his free afternoons? Her hands were unsteady as she went about laying out the tea and cakes, and as she sloshed a bit over the lip of one of the cups Tom glanced up and winked at her, which promptly caused her to slosh even more over the lip of the next.

He was certainly different form the other men she knew, Emma thought, watching him from the corner of her eye as he leaned over in a near-prone position and resumed his conversation with his sister. Not that she had known so many men, but those dull ones who’d blush and nod at the grocer’s or on the afternoon drives with Geraldine – they all lacked Tom’s easy manner and quick laugh. They’re like me, she thought. Grim and determined and always thinking of what’s to be done next. It’s the working class expression and I’m a fine one to say it isn’t good enough. Nonetheless, an evening spent strolling with a young man who felt constantly weary and whose time was never his own would be quite different from an afternoon with Tom, who could take her to the theatre, for a ride, to the cafes.

“What am I thinking of?” Emma scolded herself, pulling her thoughts back to the reality of the present situation. She was no more likely to be invited out by Tom than she was to receive a summons to the palace. Flirting with the help in the confines of his aunt’s home was one thing; taking a serving girl out on the town was something else again, and Emma knew that deep down Tom was far too prudent a man to risk censure by doing so. “I won’t think of him,” she said to herself. “It isn’t going to be, so I won’t think of him.” Then she pulled off her apron and slipped up the back stairs to the privacy of her room where - just a few steps above the door of Tom’s bedroom - she could have the uninterrupted luxury of plenty of time to think of him.