— Mr. Wilson is here to fetch you, — said Norris.
— So soon? —
— We should go down to meet him. — He came back to the bed. — I don't know when I'll have another chance to say this. So let me say it now. — He knelt down on the floor beside her and took her hand in his. — I love you, Rose Connolly, and I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you. If you'll have me. —
She stared at him through tears. — I will, Norrie. Oh, I will. —
He pressed her palm to his and smiled at Aurnia's trinket of a ring, which never left her finger. — And I promise that the next ring you wear, — he said, — won't be a sad bit of tin and glass. —
— I don't care about a ring. I only want you. —
Laughing, he pulled her into his arms. — You'll be an easy wife to support! —
A loud knock made them both stiffen. The old woman's voice called through the door: — Mr. Wilson has arrived. He needs to return at once, to Boston, so the young lady had best come downstairs. — The old woman's footsteps thumped back down the stairs.
Norris looked at Rose. — I promise you, this is the last time we'll ever part, — he said. — But now, love, it's time. —
Thirty-two
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES sat in Edward Kingston's parlor, listening to Kitty Welliver on his left and to her sister, Gwendolyn, on his right, and decided that being imprisoned in Hell would be far more tolerable. Had he known that the Welliver sisters were visiting Edward today, he would have stayed away at least ten days' ride away. But once one has set foot in the house of one's host, it is the height of rudeness to immediately flee from it, screaming. At any rate, by the time he considered that option, it was too late, for Kitty and Gwen had leaped up from the chairs where they had been so prettily perched, and each had snagged an arm by which they pulled Wendell into the parlor, like hungry spiders hauling in their next meal. Now I'm truly done for, he thought, as he balanced a cup of tea on his lap, his third this visit. He was trapped here for the rest of the afternoon, and it was a matter of waiting to see whose bladder reached its bursting point first, forcing its owner to end the visit.
The young ladies, alas, appeared to have bladders of iron, and they cheerfully sipped cup after cup of tea as they gossiped with Edward and his mother. Not wishing to encourage them, Wendell remained mostly silent, which bothered the girls hardly at all, since they scarcely paused long enough for him to get in a word anyway. If one sister did pause, say, to draw breath, the other cut right in with some fresh gossip or catty observation, a truly marathon stream of words limited only by the need to inhale.
— She said it was a truly horrid crossing and she almost died of it. But then I spoke to Mr. Carter, and he said it was nothing, just a small Atlantic storm. So you see, she's exaggerating again —
— as usual. She always exaggerates. Like the time she insisted that Mr. Mason was a world-famous architect. Then we found out he'd built one little opera house in Virginia, quite an unimpressive work, I'm told, and certainly not on the level of Mr. Bulfinch —
Wendell suppressed a yawn and stared out the window as the sisters rambled on about people he could not have cared less about. There's a poem in this somewhere, he thought. A poem about useless girls in pretty dresses. Dresses sewn by other girls. Invisible girls.
— and he assured me that bounty hunters will catch up with him eventually, — said Kitty. — Oh, I knew there was something unsavory about him. I could sense the evil. —
— So could I! — said Gwen with a shudder. — That morning in church, sitting beside him why, it gave me the chills. —
Wendell's attention snapped back to the sisters. — Are you talking about Mr. Marshall? —
— Of course we are. It's all anyone's been talking about. But you've been in Cambridge the last few days, Mr. Holmes, so you've missed all the gossip. —
— I heard quite enough of it in Cambridge, thank you. —
— Is it not shocking? — said Kitty. — To think we dined and danced with a murderer? And such a murderer? To slice off someone's face! Cut out someone's tongue! —
I know two women's tongues I'd like to cut out.
— I've heard, — said Gwen, her eyes bright with excitement, — that he has an accomplice. An Irish girl. — She lowered her voice to say the scandalous word: — An adventuress. —
— You have heard nonsense! — snapped Wendell.
Gwen stared at him, shocked by his blunt rebuttal.
— You silly girls have no idea what you're talking about. Either of you. —
— Oh, dear, — Edward's mother quickly interjected, — I do believe the teapot's empty. I think I should call for more. — She picked up a bell and vigorously rang it.
— But we do know what we're talking about, Mr. Holmes, — Kitty said. Her pride was now at stake, and that superseded any pretense at courtesy. — We have sources close to the Night Watch. Intimately associated with it. —
— Someone's gossipy wife, I assume. —
— Why, that is a most ungentlemanly phrase. —
Mrs. Kingston again rang the servant's bell, this time desperately. — Where is that girl? We need fresh tea! —
— Wendell, — said Edward, trying to smooth things over. — There's no need to take offense. It's only idle talk. —
— Only? They are talking about Norris. You know as well as I do that he's incapable of committing such atrocities. —
— Then why has he run away? — said Gwen. — Why did he leap from that bridge? Surely, that's the action of a guilty man. —
— Or a frightened one. —
— If he's innocent, he should stay and defend himself. —
Wendell laughed. — Against the likes of you? —
— Really, Wendell, — said Edward. — I think it's best if we just change the subject. —
— Where is that girl? — said Mrs. Kingston, sweeping to her feet. She crossed to the door and called out: — Nellie, are you deaf? Nellie! We will have more tea at once! — She swung the door shut with a bang and thumped back to her chair. — I tell you, it's impossible to find decent help these days. —
The Welliver sisters sat in resentful silence, neither one caring to look in Wendell's direction. He had crossed the boundary of gentlemanly behavior, and this was his punishment: to be ignored and unspoken to.
As if it matters to me, he thought, whether I am addressed by idiots. He set down his cup and saucer. — I do thank you for the tea, Mrs. Kingston, — he said. — But I fear I must be going. — He stood; so did Edward.
— Oh, but a fresh pot is coming! — She glanced toward the door. — If that scatterbrained girl will just do her job. —
— You're quite right, — Kitty said, purposefully ignoring Wendell's existence. — There is no decent help these days. Why, our mother had a dreadful time this past May, after our chambermaid left. She was only three months with us when she ran off and got married, with no advance notice. Simply abandoned us, leaving us high and dry. —
— How irresponsible. —
Wendell said, — Good afternoon, Mrs. Kingston. Miss Welliver, Miss Welliver. —
His hostess nodded a farewell, but the two girls did not acknowledge him. They continued to chatter on as he and Edward started toward the door.