Page 18 of Infamous

‘God,’ said Nash, wincing as something seemed to occur to him. ‘Nearly Michaelmas. I’ve been in town for too long. I don’t know if I can survive another week in London, let alone another month.’

‘Oh, but you must stay!’ Eddie said, once again letting the words burst forth before she’d had time to consider how stupid they might make her seem.

‘Must I, indeed?’ said Nash, still looking grave. He considered her, and she felt her posture stiffen under his attention, trying to keep her head up and her back straight – to look as if she deserved to be here, sitting on his dusty trunk. Drinking his wine. ‘I suppose it would be a shame for us to part, when I’ve gone so long without meeting anybody truly interesting. You are .?.?.trulyinteresting, Edie.’

‘Am I?’ said Eddie, in barely a whisper, not daring to believe it.

The stillness of the moment that followed was shattered by the sound of something falling to the ground in the hallway outside, preceding the scramble of paws on wood and some exasperated shouting. They both listened as many footsteps came rapidly up the stairs, and then the door was flung open by Liza, who had Nash’s enormous dog by the collar.

‘She ate about half of Kitty’s coat,’ Liza said, looking out of breath and extremely unamused. ‘Fur-trimmed, Nicks. Sent from Switzerland.’

‘She probably thought it was a very large squirrel,’ said Nash, making eye contact with the dog rather than his wife and raising his eyebrows playfully. ‘Or a very flat bear. Didn’t you, Juno?’

‘It’s notfunny, Nash! Yousaidyou’d attempt to train her, after what happened to my cousin’s walking stick.’ She seemed to notice Eddie for the first time and looked startled before recovering herself. ‘What are youdoingup here, anyhow? You’re being unforgivably rude to your guests – whoyouinvited, need I remind you.’

‘You need not,’ said Nash, in a sing-song tone. Eddie thought he might be mocking her, but then he got abruptly to his feet. ‘All right, I’m here. I’m there. I’m coming. Go forth, and we’ll .?.?. you know. Be there forthwith.’

Liza left, Nash following her; the dog had broken free, and as Eddie approached the doorway, it pushed its nose into the back of her leg to politely herd her from the room.

Chapter Eight

‘For the love of God, Lucy-Anne, I’ll give you ten shillings to stop playing the harp.’

‘Go and sit somewhere else,’ Lucy-Anne said, with a snide smile that made Eddie want to shove her head through the aforementioned instrument. ‘This is where my harp is, and I must practise.’

‘Ican’tsit somewhere else,’ Eddie said through clenched teeth. ‘Father is in the study, Mother is in my bedroom fussing with my clothes, and all of the others are in the dining room playing Carriage Crash.’

‘No, they’re not,’ said Lucy-Anne, playing the harp even louder. ‘Trix is in her treehouse.’

‘It’smytreehouse.’

‘Youare two-and-twenty! Are you not embarrassed to still have atreehouse? I would be. But then, if I were you, the list of embarrassments would start and never stop .?.?.’

Eddie’s head was pounding; she had stayed too late at Nash’s party, feeling emboldened by his singling her out and at ease among his friends after some more wine, and she was experiencing the sort of hangover that makes one long to be put into a comfortable drawer somewhere and then shut away in the dresser for at least twenty-four hours. Instead of crawling into any of the furniture, she had brought out her story – it was thirty-three pages on second count, a number which when announced aloud always prompted Simon to say ‘That’s the age Christ died’ in a sad little voice – and she was now endeavouring to pick up the threads of it and see how she might carry on. Spending the evening with somebody who had been published many times over, surrounded by all his similarly accomplished friends, had kindled the spark that had always burned in her chest into something far more incendiary.

This could be herchance. After so many years of proclaiming her future as a published writer, that mad dream might finally be within her grasp. She wasn’t going to let it slip through her fingers.

Unfortunately, the only good light for writing that wasn’t inhabited by family members was in the drawing room, and she had not been there twenty minutes before Lucy-Anne had flounced in and taken a pointed seat at the harp stool.

‘Lucy-Anne, I asked you politely the first time – just give me the last half an hour of daylight and then you can play enough of your silly harp to save the Argonauts for all I care.’

‘I want to practise now,’ said Lucy-Anne, punctuating her words with a twang of high C. ‘You don’townthe drawing room. I know you’re feeling very high and mighty because that horrible poet invited you for dinner, but I’m afraid that doesn’t particularly impress me.’

‘Youfollowedme in here and took up the harp because you could see I was busy!’ said Eddie, clenching her fist and then swearing softly when she realised she’d crumpled the page in her hand. ‘All I want is amomentof peace in this house, something Irarelyask for—’

Lucy-Anne finally stopped playing. ‘Peace! You’re the one always inviting Rose over, so there are evenmorepeople around the dinner table, and at least you’reoutandget to go to parties and dinners whenever it takes your fancy – I’m stuck here in this house! When doIget any peace? I wish you’d just hurry up and get married and leave, so I never have to see your hideous face again—’

‘Eddie,’ said Simon, who had just appeared in the doorway, looking rumpled. ‘Is Trix under your table?’

Eddie sighed, but then pushed her chair back and ducked her head under to have a look. She hadn’t seen Beatrice for hours, but it was always worth checking.

‘No.’

‘Damn,’ said Simon. ‘I mean .?.?. oh, dear.’

‘Isn’t she in her treehouse?’ said Lucy-Anne, with too much emphasis onherfor Eddie’s liking.

‘No,’ said Simon thoughtfully. ‘In fact, she doesn’t seem to be anywhere at all.’