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When he felt a presence nearby, his eyes sprang open, and he saw it was Azriel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, it’s perfectly fine.” Galen reached for his wrist to draw him nearer, so brightened he was to see him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, fine.” He knelt near his bed. “I heard Mr. Blackburn made an appearance.”
Galen smiled. “He did.”
“Is he all right, then?”
Galen nodded. “You guessed correctly. He did lose a great love. His name was Arthur, and they were together for many years.”
Azriel gasped. “What else did he tell you?”
“That we remind him…of being young again.” He did not tell him what Mr. Blackburn said about being enamored or the magenta color. He could not bear it if he was mistaken about Azriel’s growing affections.
“I suppose that makes sense.”
“He had me pretend you were in attendance.”
“Whatever do you—” He groaned when he caught on to Galen’s meaning. “You rascal. How will I ever fall asleep?”
They grinned at each other just as Oscar came bustling into the room, looking perfectly debauched by Mr. Walters. Their smiles only widened.
“Sit with me for a spell?” Galen asked. “Share a good memory from your childhood?”
“Only if you draw me something unusual from your travels.”
He reached for his pad under his bed. “I know just the thing.”
Azriel recalled an outdoor game they would play, where the children would hide in too obvious places and the adults would try to find them—his mother pretending not to see him in plain sight. He would fall over in a fit of giggles until she made a big show of discovering him, and Galen could just picture Azriel with his dark locks and stunning eyes, his stomach aching from laughing so much.
Galen smiled at Azriel’s story as he drew a uniquely carved boat from memory. He’d come across it in a fishing village, and he recounted the sort of people he’d noticed there, some with leathery skin from days in the sun.
As he was adding the finishing touches on the netting, Azriel was already asleep against his shoulder.
Chapter 22
A couple more weeks passed before they saw Mr. Blackburn again, but there was plenty to keep them busy. Miss Celestine had introduced Galen to her beloved and asked that he sit for a portrait all his own. He was a handsome gentleman by the name of Harris, with a kind disposition, and he had a fascinating moustache that curled up at the corners and was interesting to draw.
His stories were just as curious. He worked at the haberdashery in town and was recounting to Miss Celestine how the constable had fined the establishment for allowing their building permit to lax.
“It was barely expired for a day,” he scoffed, “but he wouldn’t extend us any grace.”
“Someone was apparently in a cross mood,” Miss Celestine replied.
“When isn’t he?” Harris said with exasperation.
She looked tense with worry, much like the rest of them did when discussing the constable.
The story matched Oscar’s account later that day, during their free time in the sitting room. On an errand, he’d observed the constable arguing with a driver about how his carriage was parked as he waited for his mistress to finish her business in one of the shops. When Azriel’s eyes met Galen’s across the way, he was sure they were both thinking the same thing: the latest love potion did not yield the results the constable had expected.
Why he was taking it out on everyone in town except Madam Langley was perplexing, and Edward said as much.
“Where will he go that’s safe if he gets the urge?” Bellamy replied in a bitter tone. He dealt them the cards for a new game he’d taught them involving two pence. Madam Langley would surely frown upon any sort of gambling, but Galen was surprisingly good at it. Regardless, it was all in good fun.
“Does that mean Moon Flower might be safe?” Wren asked.
“For now.” Bellamy shrugged. “The problem is, that man is unpredictable and ruled by his moods. One minute he threatens to shut us down or turn us in, the next he wonders why we aren’t available for his every whim.”
Madam Langley seemed on edge as well, but Galen wasn’t sure if it concerned the constable or the rumors of the sickness spreading. Both were distressing. One of the gentlemen had caused quite a stir before the flower ceremony the previous night, recounting a correspondence he’d received from a family member in a nearby village. Apparently, the illness had been named violet fever because the rash one developed gave the skin a blue cast. “That’s how it can be spread—by touch. That, and if someone coughs on you,” the gentleman had informed them.
So there was indeed an illness spreading, many had succumbed to its ill effects, and some of the men agonized over whether Lunar’s Reach would be spared. Madam Langley tried to reassure them that she would help in any way she could from the apothecary, and that seemed to lessen their concerns, allowing the evening’s events to proceed. But he still noted the strain behind her eyes.
