“How lovely,” Archie said a few minutes later as they climbed out of the carriage in front of a hotel called the Old Ship, which to Effie’s dismay did not look like a ship whatsoever. It seemed a lost opportunity. “Shall we walk down to the beach?”
“What a beautiful day,” Simon said. “One forgets, in London, how very much sky there is in the sky.”
“How very much sky there is in the sky?” Effie echoed. “I take it back, Simon: You are not poetic whatsoever.”
It was so lovely to be bantering with his friends. Effie could feel something inside himself, some taut inner part of him, opening.
“I never claimed to be a poet,” Simon retorted. “There’s only so much room for poetry in this group, and you have already contributed more than is indicated.”
Effie snorted and hurried to catch up with Archie, noting the delightful crunching beneath his feet as he stepped onto the pebbled beach. The birds were so loud here; their caws unfurling over the sound of the wind were simultaneously jarring and satisfying. Perhaps he should not have left Leander in the coach. Then again, it would be rather cruel, would it not, to show a caged bird what life might have been like had he been born a common gull rather than an exotic, expensive macaw?
“We ought to try sea-bathing while we’re here,” Archie said.
“Have you never been in the sea?” Simon asked.
“Not since I was a child. We used to travel to Lydd-on-Sea with . . .”
Their conversation faded as Effie stared at the horizon. He wasn’t looking at the sea anymore, though. There was a woman alone at the edge of the water with her back to them. She stood a hundred yards out, and she was wearing a pale-gray coat and a straw bonnet adorned with a ribbon of the same faded gray. She was right in the middle of his prospect, almost as if she were centered in a painting. He could put a frame around the whole thing and hang it on the wall and it would make for a very compelling image.
He watched as she took off her bonnet. Her hair was very dark and pinned up. There was something about her posture, the way she carried herself, that seemed . . . familiar. He shook his head, certain he did not know a lady who would wear such a lackluster dress, much less on the beach in Brighton.
If he had thought for a moment that he knew her, it had only been wishful thinking.
He tilted his head up as she had done hers. Besides, the sky was the wrong color.
* * *
“I have something to tell you both!” Effie shouted as soon as they were back in the carriage. “I must do it immediately upon our arrival in Hove!”
“Tell!” Leander screeched.
“Not now,” Effie said to the bird. “Honestly, did you hear what Ijustsaid? I can’t tell anything now; it must wait until we’re in Hove.” He said to the boys, “Forget speaking in complete sentences. I would be happy if the creature would onlylisten.”
Neither Simon nor Archie spoke. He had shocked them with his earlier outburst. And/or his one-sided conversation with a bird.
Effie had resolved to tell the boys about Julianna on this trip, but he’d intended to wait a few days, to let the rhythms of the holiday settle first. But after their brief seaside stop, that curious feeling of opening had continued to the point where he felt a terrible urgency to confess, as if the secret were alive inside him and had begun clawing its way out. Perhaps that’s what that feeling of hardness, of calcification, he had experienced at home in the foyer with Father had been: the bars of a cage. Bars that were now dissolving thanks to the salt air and the gentle barbs of his friends.
How had he kept this from them for so long? And more to the point,why? These two were his closest friends, his “found family,” to use a perfectly lovely phrase Simon had coined.
Effie was going near out of his head thanks to this business with Julianna. His longing for her, of course—always, his longing for her—but also the tragic impossibility of the situation. His lies—to the boys, and to her. How miserable he was.
How happy he was.
How completely befuddled he was.
The boys would help.
After recovering from their startlement at his outburst, Archie’s countenance became open, inviting; Simon appeared serious, bordering on skeptical, but that was his way.
“By all means,” Archie said. “If you have something to tell, we are keen to hear it.”
“You must give me a drink upon our arrival. Several drinks. Then I shall tell you everything.”
Archie did as instructed, as well as he could, anyway. The Hove house, unlike Quintrell Castle of last year’s holiday, was well staffed. A housekeeper, a footman, a groom, a cook, a kitchen maid, and a housemaid awaited them, and it took some time to fend them off. They wanted to know what the lords wished to eat for their evening meal. They wanted to know when the lords might next require horses. They wanted to know if the lords would like to inspect the bedchambers that had been made up for them and deem them suitable or no. They wanted to know if the lords would enjoy a tour of the garden, or perhaps a guide to show them the way to the beach. They wanted to know if Leander required any special care, or diet.
“Thank you kindly,” Archie said after they’d endured a tour. “I am sure whatever arrangements you have made for dining and sleeping will be more than suitable. You will not find us demanding guests. And while we look forward to exploring, we are fatigued from our journey and for now would prefer to repose in a private room. Perhaps with some”—he looked at Effie—“Scotch?”
Effie made a choking noise. He would drink Scotch if nothing else was on offer, and indeed he had done just that on last year’s Earls Trip, but in truth he hated the stuff. One might as well drink a bog.
