Imperial Clock

CHAPTER Sixteen

Confluence



From the handsome ribbons streaming from the open windows of slow-moving automobiles, and the passengers’ impeccable and colourful attire, Meredith knew she was overtaking a convoy of party guests. She raced along the ring-road, her speedometer needle never lower than thirty-five miles per hour. She’d bought her Mulcaster Mk. III second-hand from Jessop’s garage the other side of Vincey Park, for under two hundred pounds, a good price for a racer, and even better in that Jessop was letting her pay in monthly instalments.

The journey from London had been a belter, her best drive yet—she’d taken the long way round via Dover and Brighton, hogging the coast at full throttle, cornering the Mulcaster like crazy as its huge rubber tyres tossed up dust and loose gravel behind her. Being exposed to the elements hadn’t helped, though, and her clothes were in a sorry state, mucked up beyond recognition; a good thing she’d stopped off at her old home to freshen up and change into her party gown.

Ha! No wonder the guests looked twice as she passed. Her petticoats and the skirt of her gown had to be doing their butterfly thing, owing to her forward-crouch driving posture, while her leg-of-mutton sleeves flapped in the wind on either side. At the turn for the Auric Estate, she jammed the brake pedal with her right foot and spun the elliptical steering wheel, skidding perfectly onto the shale driveway. Some fool honked his horn behind her, so she opened the pressure release valve, letting off a blast of steam from the tail exhausts.

That’ll teach ‘em.

The enormous manor house stood deceptively higher than the surrounding grounds, on top of a natural mound. Besides the beauty of its architecture, which was striking, almost palatial, like something from Versailles, the house was situated in a hug of maples, beeches and hornbeams. An ostentatious baroque fountain decorated with cherubs and griffons and other hideous things dominated the front of the grounds. To its left, an enormous tent had been erected for the protection of vehicles from the heavy rainfall forecast that night. A considerate touch. Meredith followed the directions given by the uniformed attendants, but quickly held up proceedings due to her exceedingly poor reversing skills. In her defence, she had bought the thing for racing, not for playing vehicular chess.

“Merry!”

Such a welcome voice. But who was this waving at her? Where Meredith’s new apparel had drawn attention in London for being avant-garde, even risqué, the sight of poor dear Sonja dolled-up like a mannequin princess and squeezed into an exquisite, traditional-to-the-last-stitch ball gown was far more shocking. Every trace of the awkward tomboy was gone. Either her fairy godmother had called in a few magic debts to pull this off or else Sonja, in the few weeks they’d been apart, really had become a society woman.

The idea stiffened Meredith, while Sonja’s walk was uncharacteristically graceful at the top of the steps. Her kid sister greeted guests as though she’d glad-handed all her life.

“Merry, it’s so good to see you.” Sonja gave her a hug, then whispered, “Thank God you came to rescue me. These people are positively horrid.”

“I know. I’ve had a belly-full in London.”

“Should we speed away before they smother us? Your car looks perfect for the task. It’s—Oh, hello, Mrs. Abernathy, nice of you to come—Thank you for saying so—Yes, Derek mentioned your husband just this morning—and it’s lovely to meet you in person too.” She beat a hasty retreat from the latest throng approaching from the vehicle tent, pulling Meredith with her inside the house. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. All this politeness—they want me in a diabetic coma, I just know it. Oh no! Quick, on your guard. Here they are.”

The ornamental middle-aged couple sorting guests in the foyer needed no introduction. King and Queen Auric were seasoned pros, polite to a fault. He was more suave and congenial than Meredith had expected, while Mrs. Auric was a sunny hostess of the summeriest order.

“Sebastian, Wilhelmina, I’d like to introduce my older sister, Meredith. She’s currently residing with Lady Catarina Fairchild in London.”

Extra points for the reference.

“Pleased to meet you, my dear,” said Mrs. Auric.

“Likewise, ma’am. And sir, how do you do?”

A curt, dutiful bow from the man who hated her surname. “Very well, thank you. Your journey from London was a pleasant one?”

“A thrilling one. I sped—I mean spent the whole journey looking at the scenery.” One of the dumber things to have escaped her mouth, but it was better than the truth, for them at least. Sonja rolled her eyes, nudged Meredith for an elaboration. Nothing sprang to mind.

“Find us in the ballroom shortly, Meredith—” Mrs. Auric peered at the line of guest queued at the doorway, “—and we’ll talk some more. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yes, ma’am. Me too.”

Sonja hustled her away across the crowded foyer, where partygoers seemed to be migrating to a room through double doors, behind the great staircase. “Well, that’s over, at least. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you to the mercy of these vampires for long. Soon as I’ve finished my turnstile duty I’ll come back for you—but in the meantime, I think you’d better start the evening with someone you know. Now where is the little—ah, there you go, two points to starboard, just past the four hags over there. Do you see him?”

“No. Who?” The height and length of the ballroom exceeded what she’d imagined, as did its opulence. A series of extraordinary floor-to-ceiling murals depicted various famous British achievements, mostly military involving sailing ships, airships and diving bells, but several featured the Leviacrum towers at sunset, in twilight, at different stages of its construction. In other words, the place was an Imperial shrine.

“Parnell. He was first to arrive, poor lad. At least he brought Ethel with him—I’m glad about that. This would’ve been torture for him otherwise.”

“Parnell! Good old Parnell.” She still hadn’t spotted him, perhaps because he was dressed to the nines and little resembled the bookworm she knew. “Who else did you get to invite?”

“That’s about it, I’m afraid. I thought about sending to a few of the girls from school but then I remembered they all hate me. Let’s see, there was Ginny McGann from tennis; she had a prior engagement. The Astles from the newsagents wanted to come but when I mentioned Auric Manor they crawled into their shells—much too hoity-toity for them, they said. But I did get a card and a nice present. Um, that’s all. Everyone I know is either unreachable or uninvitable—the Van Persies would have been on the list if it was my house—and, well, yes, it’s you and Parnell flying the flag for me. Oh, and some chap telephoned this morning from London, said he’s a friend of yours and asked if it was all right if he came. I said yes. But for the life of me I can’t remember his name. Too many distractions.”

“Not Donnelly? He told me he couldn’t make it.”

“No, not him. Blast, if only I’d written it down. Ah well, we’ll soon find out, won’t we. Meantime, take it easy on Parnell, will you? I shan’t be long.”

“You might want to up your mainsail there before you go,” advised Meredith, motioning to Sonja’s off the shoulder gown which had slipped rather too low for propriety on one side.

“Yikes!” Blushing, she quickly hoisted it and set sail for harbour duty at the front door.

Meredith ventured out to find Parnell. She wondered who the scallywag caller from London might be? Whoever it was, why hadn’t he asked her permission to attend? All very mysterious.

“Hello, Meredith.” Ethel Steenwyck flagged Meredith over with a peach napkin. She made up with spirit and good humour for what her drab gown lacked in sparkle. “Come and join us.”

“How do you do, Ethel? Well, well, look who’s all spruced up.” Meredith couldn’t resist straightening Parnell’s bowtie. She and Ethel both tittered when he grunted and spun away to hide the fact that he’d become red as a beetroot. “Sorry, I’ll be good from now on, I promise,” Meredith said.

Ethel had always been a good sport. She worked in her family’s shoe shop over on Victoria Road, and though she was a few years older than Meredith, they’d spent a fair bit of time together at the Southsea Fair over successive summers several years ago, becoming easy, if not exactly close, friends. “It’s all a bit...overwhelming,” she said, surveying the ballroom. “How the other half lives.”

“Agreed,” replied Meredith.

“But you’ve been to these sorts of functions a lot, haven’t you?”

Meredith ladled a generous serving of punch into a glass for herself. Drank it in one swig. “Quite a few, yes, but I’ve never cared for them. It’s too much pontificating. People hardly ever say what they mean unless it’s to impress. And the small talk?” She motioned to stick a finger down her throat. “I’m glad you two are here, though. You’ve probably saved my bacon.”

“Likewise.” Parnell poured a glass each for the three of them. “Say, did you ever get to the bottom of that pocket watch business?”

He can’t be that stupid.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The Atlas case, you know, with the number engraved on the back, and the Latin inscription and...we couldn’t...get it open...if...you—” He stopped, mid blush, when she scowled inches from his face. “Teeth.”

“That’s right. And you know what they’re going to bite off if you say any more on that subject, don’t you, Parnell?”

“Sorry. I was just...sorry.”

“What’s all that?” Ethel eased herself between them, backed Parnell away. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing.” He tried to hide his embarrassment with a charming laugh, with the emphasis on trying. The only charm Parnell possessed hung behind the counter at his bookstore, and was East African.

Before she’d finished playfully strangling the truth out of him, Ethel turned her attention across the ballroom. “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with these men.” She hurriedly primmed her hair, then stood meek as a lamb at Parnell’s side. “They’re heading this way like angry scrum-halves.”

“To us?” Instinct told Meredith to keep her back to them until she knew more, and in case she had to run for it—the element of surprise might give her an extra second’s start.

“Yes.”

“Describe them. Quickly.”

“Youngish men, no more than their early twenties. Extremely well-dressed. Five, no, six of them. One or two really good-looking.”

Six? No more than their early twenties? It couldn’t be—

“Do we need to call for help or something?” Ethel asked.

Meredith wasn’t sure how to answer that, even when she clocked who they were by deduction: the mysterious telephone caller from London, saying he was a friend of Meredith’s; their number, six; their age, appearance, attractiveness, their brashness.

“Will it be scissors, paper, or stone?” one of them called out. She spun round.

Unbelievably, insensibly, the Gambling Six from Pocock’s Party had followed her from London and were here to make her evening. Or were they? Thurston Kingsley, who led them across the ballroom, grinning like a maniac, had been there that night in the Atlas tunnel when she’d violated its sanctity with such murderous results.

But did he know? Could he know? No witnesses had been left alive...that she knew of. They had her blood from the trail she’d left, but so what? She—Meredith McEwan—was one of a million anonymous citizens they had no reason to suspect. It didn’t stop a thousand imagined mistakes from pouring through the cracks in her resolve all at once.

“Gentlemen. Where did you come from? Frank?” Her pet name for Kingsley she’d completely forgotten until now.

“From limbo, of course—where you’ve left us all this time, Miss McEwan.” Alan Nickson, the Eurasian member of the group, had lost none of his spirit. Nor had his other mates, Fraser, Donzelot, Saunders and Mears, lost a whit of adoration for Meredith. They jostled into a tight semicircle around her, so tight that poor Ethel and Parnell snuck off to find a quieter niche.

The boys watched her every move with wide-eyed fascination. They shushed one another to catch her every word. If they had tails they’d be wagging. A pungent smell of lager had followed them in, and now enwrapped her.

“So you tried to find out where I lived, but couldn’t?”

Saunders, the bear-like one whose black eye had fully healed, beat the others to the punch. “Well, Thurs had to stay on in London for a spell, so you could say it was him that tried. Tried and bloody well failed.” Hearty laughter ensued, and much rearranging of Kingsley’s attire.

“There was nothing I could do,” he claimed, to a chorus of jeers. “I had no address, and no one knew how to get in touch with Lady Catarina.”

“No, she’s...indisposed at present. So how did you find me?” She finished her second glass, poured herself another.

“It was in all the papers,” Kingsley replied. “Your sister’s engagement, I mean. Old man Auric knows all those moguls personally, so you could say he knew how to splash the news around London. Never backward at coming forward, these media types. Anyhow, it was Nickson who spotted it first in the paper. He wired me last night, all put-out, thought it was you getting married.” The obligatory turning up of Nickson’s collar failed to amuse him this time.

“I told him Sonja was your sister,” Kingsley added, “and we both decided it was our best chance to find you. So I telephoned ahead this morning and asked your sister’s permission to attend. Luckily she said yes. But if I’m being honest, we’d probably have crashed anyway. And the second these other reprobates found out where we were going, they became human limpets, wouldn’t let us alone—look, you can see the resemblance.”

“You gentlemen came all this way just to see me?”

“Well, I don’t see any gentlemen who made the trip, but the six of us wouldn’t have missed it,” said Nickson, at which they all bowed to Meredith.

“I’m...I’m flattered, truly.” And so relieved it had nothing to do with her Atlas infiltration that she dropped her glass of punch on its way to her lips. Saunders caught it but spilled the contents onto his trousers—fortunately not much.

“Good catch,” a few of them said in unison.

“I’ll hazard a guess you’re the wicket keeper, Saunders,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. Nothing gets by me.”

“Except the world and its cousin.” Mears held up the big man’s wallet that had fallen from his pocket when he’d crouched to catch the glass.

“Gimme that.”

“What’s it worth?”

“Well, I don’t know what to say, gentlemen. You may have just transformed the most stressful function of the calendar year into one I’ll cherish forever.” Overdone and coquettish, perhaps, but on some level even that sentiment undersold the gratitude she felt toward them. She’d secretly dreaded everything about today: meeting the Aurics, watching Sonja take one more step to a new life away from Meredith, meeting the Aurics, seeing the palace they lived in, having to pretend she was happy about the whole thing, meeting the Aurics. And now this—learning that Kingsley, and therefore (likely) the Atlas institution itself really knew nothing about her role in the murders the other week. She could kiss all six of them and do a whole lot more.

Kisses would have to suffice, one for each of them, and nothing less than on the lips. It happened before she had chance to consider who might be watching. From first to last, she lavished each with several prolonged moments of thrilling passion, holding nothing back. None said a word. Each participated wholeheartedly, taking his turn as though he was auditioning for the romantic role of a lifetime. When it was over, she looked back across their stunned faces and quirked an eyebrow in satisfaction. “Who’ll have a drink with me?”

So taken aback were the university men that they simply gawped at her as she refilled her glass. One shared look between them did the trick, sparking a free-for-all at the punch bowl, the ladle becoming as prized an item as the bow of Odysseus. To Meredith’s amusement, at least three of them dipped their glasses straight into the punch.

With all six men arrayed in front of her, glasses at the ready, she gave a toast, “To my little sister, Sonja—may she find an appropriate nautical phrase to describe this happy occasion, and may she be unconscionably happy from here on.”

“Hear! Hear!”

“But what does unconscionably mean?” asked Donzelot, the half-French member of the group, at which Meredith laughed along with the others. “What is so funny?”

“You are, Garlic-Breath,” replied Saunders.

“It means greatly exceeding the bounds of reason, and not necessarily in a good way,” Nickson explained.

“Ah, in that case...” Donzelot held up his glass and, seeing Meredith down her drink in one go, promptly followed suit. His fellows did the same.

Over the next hour or so, Meredith played merry host to the Gambling Six in their own private retreat in the corner. She listened to all their university anecdotes, their tales of adolescent adventures in foreign lands, most of them either embellished beyond all recognition or plain hogwash. The more absurd, the more she chuckled, like she hadn’t with anyone except Sonja. They may have been yarn-spinning for her sake, or it could be the drink responsible, but she couldn’t get enough of it.

Meanwhile, Sonja and Derek were given the first official dance. The orchestra played waltz after waltz, all seemingly by Strauss.

When the boys ran out of jokes, and Meredith refused their pleas for a dance, Donzelot, Mears, Nickson and Fraser went off in search of willing partners. They all succeeded, while Meredith watched on, blissfully tipsy, linking arms with Kingsley and Saunders.

“Do you boys know I’ve not met me a blessed one of these Aurics since I got here? They promised me’d find they, friend me, at least talk to me, for Christ’s sake. But nooooo. Not a peep from the peeps at Auricville. I think,” and she slung her arm over Kingsley’s shoulder, “they think they’re too good for me. What do you think?”

“I think you’re the belch of this ball. Um, hang on...”

“What?”

“I mean you’re a peach, the belle of this ball.”

“Aww, you’re sweet, Thursday...I mean Thurston. Hey, why did your parents call you Thursday?”

“Because I was conceived on Weddingday. You smoke it?”

“Um, not entirely. I’m immune to puns, you know, ever since your pal Slocombe belched one to many into my face at Pocock’s, the oaf.”

“Slo—hey, how did you know I knew Slowcoach?”

An alarm bell rang through the fog in her brain. She gathered herself. “I saw you leave together.”

“Oh.”

“Say, who’s that haranguing Nickson?” Despite his finger’s wonky aim, Saunders managed to point out two men reprimanding his Eurasian friend on the opposite side of the floor. One of them grabbed Nickson’s shoulder. Nickson threw it off. Now Saunders jerked up and stood hunched, bear-like, ready for action. “If they touch him again, I’ll deck ‘em both.”

As sobering a sentence as Meredith had heard all evening. It flooded in—the importance of this party for Sonja’s future. Her new family. Her social standing. Somehow, Meredith’s own selfish issues had exiled her to this tipsy sideshow with her new best friends. But it was now up to her, inasmuch as she could think straight, let alone talk straight, to prevent her boisterous friends from causing irreparable damage to Sonja’s big day. “Stand back, Saunders. There’s a good boy. Everything’s fine. See, Nickson’s on his way over here to tell us everything’s fine.”

“Bloody well better be,” Saunders muttered.

“Well?” Kingsley asked Nickson as the Eurasian man approached, on none too steady a heading, it had to be said.

“That was Brunnie Auric and his toady. They’ve asked the six of us to leave. The cheek, eh?”

“What did you reply?” asked Kingsley.

“That we’ll leave when Miss McEwan leaves and not a micro-second before. He said he didn’t want to call the police, and that if we leave now, quietly, our shameless behaviour will be overlooked along with Miss McEwan’s.”

“Shameless, am I?” Meredith said.

“I’ll kill him. Where is he?” It took the three of them to hold Saunders back. For the first time since The Gambling Six had arrived, Meredith cringed at her own behaviour. The other guests were all watching her, judging her. And that would reflect on poor Sonja.

Maybe it is time to leave.

It wasn’t long until Fraser, Donzelot and Mears joined them, having been given similar ultimatums by Brunnie and his cronies.

“Have any of you done anything to cause offence?” Meredith had to know.

“Not a thing,” came the unanimous response.

“Then my conscience is settled. Come, let’s away from this mausoleum,” she said. “I’ll bid my sister goodbye and then we’ll find somewhere less...”

“Dead,” finished Nickson rather too loudly. “I sincerely hope Auric summons more life on his wedding night.”

“No, you...” Meredith’s attempt to shush him was in vain. He’d overstepped the mark, and everyone knew it—several nearby couples stopped dancing and walked away. This couldn’t end well. After Meredith had punched his arm in punishment, Kingsley and Mears did likewise. Nickson took his licks without reply, head bowed contritely in full awareness of his gaffe.

Then the thing she’d feared more than anything, both here and throughout the day, happened. The entire Auric clan gathered in force across the room, glaring at her, bristling and ready for war. A sight ripped from a bad dream. Sonja weaved through the crowd, as though she was an envoy sent to procure a peaceful capitulation lest things turn ugly.

But she was also Sonja, a McEwan to the bone. Surrender was not in her vocabulary. Nor, she must also know, was it in Meredith’s.



***



A few minutes earlier...



All magic carried a price. Sonja had read that once, but she’d never really considered it applicable to the real world...until now. The uneasiness in the room, a palpable raw dislike of the six boisterous strangers and their paramour in the far corner, had been evident from the start, and was festering among the guests. Already Dame Elsie and her nieces had quit for the evening, and others closer to the Aurics were whispering mutiny. It was as though the temperature of gaiety in a ballroom was pre-set to a cordial, happy, moderate level; anything exceeding or falling short of that would spread intolerance like a fever, until a cure was administered—namely removing anyone who displayed excessive high spirits or frostiness.

For some reason Meredith had given to cavorting with these six men, carving her own tropical niche in this otherwise temperate climate, and people gave her a wide berth. Daft really—she hadn’t offended anyone and they’d hardly danced. They were simply minding their own business away from everyone else. But they were loud, and they were drunk: a combination tantamount to a cyclone in a place like this.

All magic carried a price. Dancing with Derek, who possessed enough grace and timing for the both of them—a good thing, too, as Sonja possessed none of either—should have provided her magic for the day. It had in fits and starts. The women appeared to watch her with envy, which had never happened to her before. That had given her confidence, more than she’d ever thought possible in such company. But whenever the waltz took them close to Meredith and her gang, that uneasiness, that sense of disappointment clawed through the magic. And she’d been so glad to see her sister! After weeks apart, during which so much had happened, having Meredith here to celebrate her big day had completed it somehow, had somehow made it all right to enjoy the experience.

Her big sister clearly didn’t feel the same way about their reunion.

“Who are those cretins?” Mr. Auric demanded to know as he met with Brunnie, Uncle Rufus, Derek and eight or nine of Brunnie’s friends near the ballroom entrance. “They weren’t invited, were they?”

“Actually, Sonja and I invited two of them on Meredith’s behalf: Mr. Kingsley and Mr. Nickson,” Derek replied. “But we don’t know the others.”

“They seem to be having a good time,” said Sonja. “Maybe we should just leave them be.”

“I’ll not have any gatecrashers in my house.”

“But what should we do, Father?” asked Brunnie. “I’ve already asked them to leave.”

“And they refused?”

“Quite rudely.”

“In that case, I think the police—”

“No. There’s no call for that,” Sonja insisted as gently as she could. “Let me talk to Meredith. She’ll listen to me.”

“And if you can’t convince her to get rid of them?”

“She’s my sister.” So don’t be a boorish prig, would have been her natural reply. She went to see Meredith on her own, with an unusual solution she prayed would work.

“You want us to leave?” Meredith was flush and bleary-eyed. But even though her six strapping protectors surrounded her, she didn’t sound as though she was spoiling for a fight.

“On the contrary—that’s what they want.” Sonja motioned to the posse across the room. “I merely came over to ask this gentleman for a dance. Mr....?”

“Saunders, ma’am. I’d—” The big man paused as if waiting for permission from his friends, and from Meredith, “—I’d be delighted.”

“I’m glad. Shall we?”

It was an especially difficult Viennese waltz, but to her great delight Mr. Saunders proved more nimble than his appearance suggested, if not quite enough to escape her frequent chronic missteps. And even at those he smiled, once or twice laughing aloud along with her. Not once did she make eye contact with anyone but him.

Her gamble paid off. It counteracted the toxic tension in the room, so that tongues now began to wag openly and couples took to the dance floor as though by royal permission. The princess had favoured one of the enemy, which automatically made him a friend? Shallow though the idea was, it seemed to work. For if the climate in a ballroom was so susceptible to capricious weather, why not throw a ray of sunshine into the mix and get people seeing blue sky.

“I’m sorry they were so rude to you, Mr. Saunders.”

“I’m not, ma’am. It was worth it for this dance.”

When the waltz ended she picked another partner from Meredith’s retinue, a Mr. Kingsley, in truth the best-looking of the six. He danced blindingly well. Seeing how much fun the two of them were having seemed to spark a rash of unexpected partnerships on the dance floor. Derek’s mother and Parnell enjoyed a few turns. Ethel was soon whisked into the middle by Brunnie Auric. Derek managed to pry Meredith away from her suitors for two sublime, spirited dances that Sonja couldn’t help but weep tears of joy at. Before long there was not a seat filled around the perimeter; everyone was either twirling away or on their feet enjoying the spectacle.

The evening she’d almost lost to disaster had refound its magic.

It all ended with a single spill.

“What did you say, you insolent pup?” A screeching, old-fashioned insult flung by the man with prodigious mutton chops, Uncle Rufus.

“I said kiss my full moon, you old coffin-dodger.” Mr. Nickson, not a politician in the making.

At once Derek’s father jumped between them, pulling them apart. “Stop this immediately. What’s it about?”

“This arrogant Jap told me to mind what I say. The nerve! He’s lucky he’s not ballast on some leaking rice boat...coming here, telling me what I can say in my brother’s house.”

“That was after he impugned Miss McEwan’s reputation, and mine.” Nickson threw the referee’s hand off his shirt collar, which tore the silk. “And you’ll bloody pay for that.”

By this time the battle lines had been drawn. Meredith and her men stood with Nickson, while the Auric brigade backed up their elder statesman. Meanwhile, Derek hooked a strong, reassuring arm around Sonja as they stood in the middle.

“What did he say about me?” Meredith balled her fists at her sides. “I’m getting sick of this.”

“I...I merely...I mean I meant to...”

“He suggested all six of us had shared your bed,” Nickson finished the idiotic Rufus’s stuttering for him. “Yes, that’s right, all six of us. A buttered bun was the term he used. I for one demand satisfaction.”

Five angry voices concurred.

“Rufus? What on earth were you thinking, man?” Even his brother, the master of the house, couldn’t believe it.

“That’s not the whole story. He provoked me into it. I-I must’ve snapped, that’s all.”

“Then retract it—right now.”

“Why should he?” Brunnie glanced over his shoulders to drum up support from his lackeys. “We all saw her have her way with the six of them. The tramp’s done her best to ruin my brother’s evening. She oughtn’t get away with it scot free. None of them should. Right, lads?”

A few murmurs of agreement backed him up, not quite the cavalry bugle he’d counted on. But something in that attempt to belittle Meredith, the same way Brunnie and his wretched family had tried to belittle Sonja that day in the living room, scalded her deep inside, mounting heat upon heat as though her chest were an over-pressured boiler about to bust its rivets. Without warning she marched into the ring and slapped Brunnie as hard as she possibly could—

To her astonishment, Meredith caught her swing before it hit. She held it here until Derek arrived to pull Sonja away.

No sooner had Brunnie heaved his sigh of relief than Meredith unleashed her own stinging punch, catching him flush on the nose. A sideways spurt of blood splashed Uncle Rufus’s jacket. Enraged, Rufus slapped Meredith, conceding nothing to the fact she was a teenaged girl and half his size.

“You bastard!” Sonja struggled to free herself from Derek’s hold, finally back-heeling his shin to get loose. But Meredith’s men and Brunnie’s men and even little Parnell were first into the fray, colliding at such velocity they might have been two vicious scrums scrapping in the final minutes of a grudge match. Bowled to the floor, Meredith scrambled through a melee of knees and feet. Sonja tried to pull her free but quickly found herself on the floor too, trampled on by two insane pugilists trading blows in a terrible flurry.

She hit her head and blacked out. Awoke seconds later, how many she had no way of knowing. She crawled free into a fog. Made her way to the nearest chair. Dragged it back to the spot where she’d lost Meredith. Picked it up and swung it at anything that moved until a space appeared. There two of Meredith’s chaperons, Saunders and Kingsley, rescued Meredith from the free-for-all, carrying her, bloodied and dazed, to safety.

Through Sonja’s fury now blazed a colder, sickening realisation—things as they absolutely were, without the heat of the moment licking them with anger. It shrank her to a small girl again, lost, helpless to stop the giant tidal wave in Niflheim as it collapsed in front of her, washing away everything in its path.

Parnell lay unconscious on the floor. His sobbing fiancée, Ethel, aided by an elderly gentleman who hadn’t joined the fighting, dragged him free. Brunnie Auric crouched against the blood-spattered wall, nursing his gushing nose with his mother holding him. Old man Auric lay facedown across Nickson; neither of them moved. Uncle Rufus received the last of several thumps to the stomach and doubled-up in severe pain, quickly throwing up into the bargain.

Lastly, the sight of her Derek, her one and only sweet Derek, who’d done nothing more than protect her on the fringe of it all, curled up on the deck, motionless, one arm bent at an odd angle behind his back. Seeing that knocked the wind out of her in one horrid convulsive punch of breath. She saw only the end of their future, their happiness, their life the way she’d dreamed it.

All in ruins.

No one tried to stop her, nor would she have let them. Sonja could think of nothing except getting as far away as she could in the shortest time humanly possible. Not even the ferocious downpour or the savage winds outside or the waterlogged interior of Meredith’s racer—the collapsed tent was festooned across several trees behind—could dampen her desire to flee.

Somewhere along Elm Grove a lightning flash revealed forty miles an hour on the speedometer. She pressed the accelerator to the floor, wiped her eyes, and wondered why the car was starting to race downhill on a very uneven surface. The chassis clattered, then sounded as though it was scything corn. The slope steeped further.

Oh God.

Maybe it wasn’t Elm after all.