Page 23 of Red Masquerade

Not two days after the house party, I found myself at Flora’s, lying on the settee in her tearoom, the curtains open and billowing. I watched as they fluttered in the currents of air; the window shutter pushed open, letting in the bustle of the street below. A car honked its horn. I could vaguely hear a harsh city accent as a man walked by the house, speaking to whomever he walked with. A child selling newspapers, even this late in the afternoon.

I could not go home.

It began to feel stuffy, the rooms becoming too small. My mother was oblivious to my unease. Either that, or she ignored it.

She definitely ignored it. Better to think her daughter was complacent than miserable.

I had made my way to Flora’s house sometime after lunch. I hadn’t told anyone but the maid, whose eyes had sparkled like we were co-conspirators.

Flora’s home wasn’t too far of a walk away, anyway.

“Lucas is coming home,” I said, watching the curtains brush against my fingers, feeling the gossamer fabric flutter.

Flora paused, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her hand still. She capped the lip gloss she was using. “What?”

I didn’t repeat myself, because I knew she heard what I said.

It felt surreal, perhaps. Once the words were out of my mouth, they did not feel like the truth. It felt like a lie, souring my tongue.

How could he be coming? He was busy. He had a wife—avery pregnantwife, who was due anytime now—and I knew from Mother that he was occupied with the business, the family business he had taken over after Father’s death, with stocks and labor and profits and whatnot.

It seemed odd for him to interrupt his lifenow.

It feltwrong.

There was an inkling in the back of my mind, a part of me warning me of what was to come, but I tried my best to ignore it. Wrote it off as superstition.

“When?” Flora asked.

I shrugged, and suddenly my mouth felt like it was made of sandpaper. “A few days, I think.”

Flora stood, aghast. “For how long?”

I shrugged again.

I wanted some gin.

The curtains fell, gravity pulling them back toward the windows, the breeze ceasing eerily. The air turned still, as if it too were surprised at the circumstances.

I did not know how long he would stay. In the past, he was home for maybe a week or two. Perhaps knowing his child was on the way, he’d be eager to return to his wife? But I knew better. His concern for Lucy and their child was not his motivator. It was something else.

“Why didn’t you say anything the other night?”

Because I hadn’t wanted to think about it.

“Mother says it is time for me to marry.”

Flora scoffed. “Yes, she always says that.”

I turned my head to look at her, the cushion of the settee soft against my cheek. “I think she’s serious.”

“Helena, how many times has she brought this up before?” But her eyes said something else. A doubt, a worry, shining through.

“Lucasis coming home.”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry.” Rising, she made her way to me and clasped my hand, sitting next to me on the cushion. “My parents are always saying the same thing, and here we are.” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

“Here we are,” I said.