“Förlät. I thought I had moved them,” he replied from his study next door.
“Apology accepted, but you do need to look where you leave your clothes.”
And books, papers, cups etc.
Two years of living in the English capital and Erika was still getting used to the idea of having to do much of the work herself and run a household with only a small retinue of servants. Even staff cost a great deal more than what they did in Sweden.
Early on in their stay, she had developed a simple system for managing the household budget. Take whatever price she would expect to pay for something, double it and add a bit more. Only then would she be within range of what it would actually cost.
She had just picked up Magnus’s dressing gown and moved to hang it in the closet, when her father’s head suddenly appeared around the door.
“It is Thursday, is it not?” he asked.
Well, yesterday she had visited the fish monger at Covent Garden market, and she always went on Wednesday. Wednesday’s fish was the freshest of the week. “Yes, today is Thursday. Why do you ask?”
He raised an eyebrow. “The Northern Lion is due in port this morning. And you know what that means.”
Erika chuckled. Her father was a messy, at times muddleheaded man, but he loved getting parcels from home.
Every month when the ship from Sweden arrived at London docks, there would be a slew of diplomatic papers and letters for Count Jansson. Along with them would be a box of treats—baked pies, pickled herrings in jars, and several bottles of potato vodka were usually included. There would also be a bunch of semi-dried flowers tied with a pretty ribbon.
The flowers, often wild Swedish twinflowers or arctic starflowers almost always made Erika cry. She would place them in a vase by her bedroom window, only taking them down when the next box arrived.
Someone in Stockholm had started sending them these wonderful gifts not long after they had arrived in England and had kept doing it ever since. The odd thing was that they always arrived without a card, a note, or anything that would give an indication as to the identity of the sender. It was touching to think somebody made the effort to send such a personalized gift every month, especially the flowers.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same thing for the letter which Prince Gustav regularly sent. Her name would be in large, bold letters on the front, his personal stamp marked in the wax seal on the back.
“I shall head down to the dockside today and greet the boat as it comes in. I can meet you at Baron von Rehausen’s home and give him the diplomatic bag. After that we can come back here, and you can open the box and enjoy a glass ofBrännvinwith your supper,” she said.
“That sounds like an excellent idea, Erika my dear. Let me go and get my papers and then we can leave.”
Erika turned back into the hallway and headed to her room. She had sensibly not made mention of Prince Gustav’s monthly letter of instruction. If her father was ever to discover that after receiving the first few of them, she had stopped opening the dry, boring tomes, he would have a fit.
Stepping into her bedroom, Erika smiled at the sight of the vase of Swedish wildflowers which sat on a table in front of the window. She quickly crossed the floor and picked it up. The beautiful bluish-purple harebells with their delicate cups spoke of long summer days walking the paths around the palace gardens, and of nights spent laughing with friends. Friends she hadn’t seen for several years.
She missed home. Whoever had sent this precious gift knew exactly how to touch her heart. The day when the Northern Lion arrived into London dock was always a day of celebration in the Jansson household.
I wonder what flowers our mysterious benefactor will send me this time.
London docks
Christian could smell London long before he caught sight of the docks. When he turned his face up at the stench, one of the other passengers laughed. “Welcome to England and the biggest, dirtiest city in Europe. Prepare to have more than just your delicate nose assailed.”
The thick grey blanket of tainted air which hung over the city was like nothing Christian had ever seen before. The pale morning sun was mostly hidden behind clouds and haze. When he was a young boy, he had seen the forests burning around the iron mines of northern Sweden, but even the smoke from those fires hadn’t blocked out the sun.
His first view of London was not favorable; rather it left him with the opinion that the English capital was an unholy, disgusting city. He dreaded to think what it would be like when he actually set foot ashore.
He gave an unsure smile to his fellow traveler. “I can see it is going to be an interesting place.”
At least his English was improving. On the journey from Sweden via Denmark, he had spent days studying and practicing, but he was still uncertain as to how well he would be able to converse with the locals. As soon as he got settled, he would engage the services of a language tutor and set to work on making sure his English was up to the mark.
The only consolation to the long sea voyage and disappointing initial thoughts of England was the prospect of seeing Erika again. Two and a half years had felt like an eternity. He had only glimpsed a snippet of a rare letter from Erika to his mother in all that time. While she had politely mentioned Gustav and his letters in that correspondence, Erika hadn’t spoken of him at all. Her thoughts and best wishes had been sent to the whole Lind family.
He couldn’t blame her for not mentioning him. He hadn’t kept his promise to write. The gift boxes which had gone to London each month had been sent anonymously.
Apart from their long friendship and memories of her smile, the hope that he would see her again someday had been the only thing Christian had been able to use to keep his heart warm through that time.
I cannot wait to see Erika. Being able to talk to her will be wonderful.
