“I wouldn’t be here right now.”
I wanted to tell her she didn’t have to thank me, but the words tangled on my tongue.
“Can I—can I have a second?” I asked hoarsely. “I can’t stand these clothes anymore.”
She braced herself against the tub and quickly stood. “Of course. Do you want me to stay outside? If you need me?”
If I needed her. If I needed her to help me bathe. We barely knew each other, but without her help, who knows how long I would’ve been out?
“I think I’m all right. But thank you. Really.” I heard the door close behind her.
I stared blankly at the beadboard wall, huddled in the bathtub. The water had started to cool. I pulled the plug with my toe and drained it, stripped off my clothes and took a real bath. Without help.
When I was done, I looked up at myself in the mirror shakily, wondering who would be staring back. But it was just me. My eyes looked wide and round in my pale face, and my collarbones were sharper than I’d remembered them. The heat and steam brought some color to my cheeks and lips, and I looked better than I had at Horizons, but still. I didn’t really look like myself. I didn’t really feel like myself. It hit me then that this was the first time I’d really been alone since Horizons.
Wrapped in a white towel, I stepped out of the tiled bathroom and into my room, the old wooden floorboards creaking under my feet. Noah’s bag, still open, sat on the lace-covered four-poster bed. My sketchbook was next to it. Closed.
I approached his bag cautiously, staring at it like it might lash out and bite. I sat down on the bed and ran my fingers over the black nylon fabric. I needed to look inside. There might be something that could help us figure out where Noah was, why he wasn’t with us, whether he was really—
I closed my eyes and bit my lip to stop myself from thinking it. I didn’t open my eyes; I just let my hands wander over his things, feeling his clothes, his laptop . . .
He would’ve taken that with him if he could have, wouldn’t he? Which meant he couldn’t have, which meant maybe he—
Stop it. Stop it. I let go of the laptop, but my fingers caught on something else as I withdrew them. It was his T-shirt, the white one with the holes in it. I filled my hands with the fabric and brought it up to my face.
I caught the barest, faintest scent of him, soap and sandalwood and smoke, and in that moment I felt not loss but need. Noah had been there for me when I’d had no one else. He’d believed me when no one else had. He could not be gone, I thought, but my throat began to hurt and my chest began to tighten, and I curled up in bed, knees to chest, head to knees, waiting for tears that never came, and sleep that did.
20
BEFORE
London, England
MR. GRIMSBY WAS FORCED TO HIRE a tattered, worn carriage driven by two old mules and an old man to match, after teams of horses refused to bear us. He huffed as he climbed in and extended his hand to help me up. When I took it, he shivered.
Neither of us spoke as the carriage wound through the streets. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling, and the smell of rot invaded my nostrils until we were far from the docks, when it was replaced by the sting of smoke. I coughed several times.
“It’s the coal fires,” Mr. Grimsby said. “Takes a bit of getting used to.”
I peered out the window and watched my new world unfold before me, the slow pace of the mules allowing me to take everything in. Every person we passed was white, their skin the color of fish bellies. The men dressed in tight coats and pants, while the women were swallowed by voluminous fabrics in every color. That must have been how they kept warm. I held my arms across my chest.
Soon the stink and crowds gave way to gardens dotted with trees, and rows of grand buildings that towered above our heads, made of stones and bricks. The shoddy carriage stopped before one of the grandest.
Mr. Grimsby got out and exchanged coins with the driver, who gaped and stared after us as we walked up to the gate. A uniformed man nodded at Mr. Grimsby and opened the gate for us without looking at me, and Mr. Grimsby led me up to the house.
The house was the color of stone, the front of which seemed to be held up by white columns. It towered several stories into the air. Mr. Grimsby gracefully ascended the front stairs and stopped before a gleaming wooden door. It opened immediately, as had the gate.
Mr. Grimsby held out his hand. “After you, young Miss.”
I stepped in. The lamps were lit, though it was only midday. Mr. Grimsby led me down a short dark hall, then showed me into a large room.
Dark gray light filtered in through the windows, which were skirted by heavy drapes the color of cream. A magnificent fixture hung from the center of the ceiling, dripping with crystals and lit candles. Flourishes curled in the plaster around it, and a white stone fireplace so tall I could step into it anchored the center of the room.
A woman holding a candle appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She was dressed in brown, her gray hair tied loosely at her neck. A strip of black cloth encircled the upper sleeve of one arm.
“Ah, Mrs. Dover.” Mr. Grimsby nodded at her.
“Mr. Grimsby,” she said. “You’ve returned with the ship’s cargo, I see.”
He cleared his throat. “Is the lady in?”
“She is not yet returned from church,” Mrs. Dover said, examining me. “Let me get a good look at her. Step forward, girl.”
I looked at Mr. Grimsby. He nodded. I took a step toward Mrs. Dover.
“Pretty,” Mrs. Dover said approvingly. “Though in dire need of new clothes and a good washing up.”
“Please prepare the young miss for the lady’s arrival.”
“Yes, Mr. Grimsby,” she said, and beckoned to me. “What’s your name, girl?”
I hesitated.
“She’s a bit shy,” Mr. Grimsby said.
“Of course,” Mrs. Dover said. “I’ll have one of the maids set your things in your room. Come then. Let’s get you washed up.”
My shoes thunked on the wide-planked wooden floors. She walked me to the back of the house, where a hound of some sort stood at the foot of the stairs, baring its teeth at me.
“Dash,” Mrs. Dover scolded. “Shoo.” She waved her hand at the dog. The dog did not move.
Mrs. Dover looked at me queerly, then called out, “Miss Smith!” A harried-looking young girl with soot on her cheeks appeared, brushing her palms on her skirt.