Nora longed to do something noble.
“Very well,” she said at last. “Let’s go at once.”
Chapter Three
The evening wasn’t much better than the morning. Ivy wasn’t expecting to be called down to spend time with the guests—she had hoped that they would leave her alone in her room.
Instead, she and Alice were ushered into a parlor full to the brim with people, most of whom Ivy didn’t know and almost all of whom she didn’t care for. The two she did love—Mummy and Uncle Charlie—were both distracted, so Ivy huddled behind Alice.
The lights were bright—bright enough to hurt her eyes, bright enough to cause her to press her face into Alice’s back. Alice pushed her gently away, not wanting to be cruel, Ivy was sure, but wanting space.
Alice often wanted space nowadays. Ivy thought her twin might be growing up. She wasn’t sure exactly why, but she was glad Alice could grasp at adulthood.
Even if Ivy might never manage it.
“Oh, there are the young ladies!” Mr. Parker held out a hand. “Alice, come over here. I want you to tell Mr. James what you told me yesterday.”
Alice was already laughing as she ran across the room, settled onto the sofa, and began speaking with an adult just as if she were one. Ivy shuddered and stepped back toward the door, almost bumping into a footman.
She didn’t know him, really, but at least he gave her a kind smile and nodded forward. He thought she should walk farther into the room. Ivy glanced frantically about for someone who she might walk to, but no one was looking her way.
She didn’t like to walk up to people uninvited. She didn’t like to impose her company. She would rather stand back here, quietly, and try not to feel too nauseated at the lights, the smells, the sounds of a crowded room.
“Ivy?” It was her mother. Grateful, Ivy dashed forward into her arms.
Mummy held her back, a flush touching her cheeks. Blushing? Had Ivy embarrassed her?
She supposed Alice would never dive into Mummy’s arms. Alice was too big for that. Alice sat primly on the edge of a chair, already possessing the perfect posture one associated with a lady. She spoke to Mr. Parker and that Mr. James person politely—laughing, smiling, nodding her head.
Alice knew how to behave. Ivy did not.
“Mummy, I … I’m sorry,” Ivy whispered.
“Shush, dearest. This is Mrs. Angel—she has asked to meet you.” Mummy tilted Ivy’s chin up, then turned her to face a woman standing opposite her in too-bright clothing with a too-cheerful smile and too-perfect hair.
“Hello, Ivy. I’ve been hearing a great deal about you from your grandmother. How are you?”
Mummy’s fingers were digging deep into Ivy’s arms, and she knew she must answer. “I-I’m all right, I suppose.”
“Oh, good. How old are you?”
Ivy eased from side to side, but Mummy held her still. “I’m eleven—I’ll be twelve in a few weeks.”
“Oh, how lovely. You’re just the same age as my Dory—she and her brother are in Cornwall with their grandparents for Christmas. She’s a dear girl.” Mrs. Angel cocked her head, her blue eyes searching Ivy’s face. Her eyes weren’t like Mummy’s—to Ivy, they seemed a great deal darker, less clear, more frightening. “You’re Alice’s twin, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Ivy could answer questions if they were that simple.
Mrs. Angel nodded thoughtfully. “Then you’re about three months older than my daughter. Though, I must say, you don’t look much like your twin. You resemble your mother closely, while Alice takes after Mr. Knight.”
Ivy smiled. That was the highest of compliments. “Mummy’s beautiful.” Ivy wasn’t sure if she herself was—wasn’t sure she really cared either way—but she was glad to look like Mummy.
Mrs. Angel chuckled. “You have a sweet daughter, Mrs. Knight, to compliment you so openly! You’ll seldom hear my children say such things in my presence.”
This time Mummy’s hand on her arm was a gentle squeeze, a reassuring squeeze. “She is my greatest blessing.”
“How sweet.”
Silence threatened, so Mrs. Angel attempted a conversation on an entirely different subject.
“What do you enjoy doing? Your mother has proved herself a musician, you know. She can sing and play the piano to perfection. Have you studied music?”
Ivy shook her head and glanced back at Mummy, but she wasn’t able to read a direction in her face. She would just have to wait until Mrs. Angel was done with her.
“You should. Such talents are often hereditary.”
“I can’t,” Ivy whispered. Yes, she did love music, from a distance. However, playing was another matter. She wouldn’t be good enough, and it seemed a shame to disrespect the beauty of a song with her poor efforts. Besides, she didn’t know that she wanted to share the depths of her soul that intimately with the outside world.
“Nonsense. You’re too modest, as is your mother—far too modest!”
“Perhaps music is something Ivy might be interested in in the future,” Mummy said. “We just don’t know yet. It’s certainly something to think about, though.”
Ivy glanced toward the door. All she could think of was getting away from this lady. Mrs. Angel might be nice, but she was also unknown. Ivy hated the unknown. She bit her lip and tried not to wiggle.
“Ivy, what do you like to do?” Poor Mrs. Angel must keep trying, for whatever reason, but Ivy had no answer.
The lights started spinning again, and bile rose in her throat. Ivy, staring at the carpet, shook her head.
“Nothing at all? Really?”
Ivy’s throat tightened, forcing the bile down and tears into her eyes. “No … no … no!” she exclaimed.
Mummy’s hands tightened with vise-like strength, but Ivy couldn’t stop the tears, and she turned to her mother and wrapped her arms around her, wanting comfort. It was too much—didn’t they know tonight was too much? How could they just keep on chatting and talking and not realize that tonight was too much?
“Ivy, shush.” Mummy was definitely embarrassed by her. The way she held herself, her voice, even the way she patted Ivy’s back told the story clearly.
But Ivy couldn’t help herself. They’d pushed too far.
“Why don’t you sit down—yes, here’s a chair.”
Ivy, shuddering, lowered herself onto the chair her mother suggested, and raised her eyes slowly to Mummy’s face. Mrs. Angel hovered in the background, obviously concerned.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, dear.” Mrs. Angel broke in before Mummy could speak. “I suppose I was being rather nosy. Sometimes I’m like that. Why don’t you just take a few minutes?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.” Mummy leaned back and glanced over her shoulder. “Stay there, Ivy. I need to speak with your father about dinner arrangements before I forget … You’ll be all right for a moment?”
Ivy nodded. For a moment, at least. As long as her mother didn’t take too long. Much more than a moment would begin the torture again. Already the lights and sounds and smells were pressing.