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“Burt Terrance,” he boomed by way of introduction. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Foxboro. I’ve been dying to see what type of woman could stand working with Callum for more than a week without setting him on fire.”
His wife was at his elbow, guiding him away in a gentle fashion, and when he released my hands, she offered hers.
“Burt forgets he isn’t the size of a teddy bear, but he’s got the heart of one, don’t worry. Lottie Terrance, it’s so nice to meet you.” Her handshake was firm, her smile open and honest. I found the Terrances remarkably endearing. “What an exquisite dress. Pink is your color.”
“It really is.” Another of the women present came forward, her hair copper and shining. She’d curled it tightly at the nape of her neck, held in place by a black sequined band and a spray of matching feathers fanning like a peacock’s tail. She was full-figured and rosy, her onyx gown simple to the waist before erupting into a riot of gossamer pleats, secured at the hip by a mother-of-pearl pin, its iridescent pink nacre drawing the eye. Not possibly more or less than a year from my age, she seemed so painfully familiar that my mind cartwheeled through memory to find her face.
“I’m Florence Hannigan,” she said, offering her satin-gloved hand and kissing my cheek. She smelled of powder and oranges. Though she seemed a sunny person, when she stepped away from me her lips were tight, her smile strained.
“Oh!” That explained the sense of familiarity. “Are you—”
“My niece!” The doctor appeared with a plate of olives and eggs, and I smiled at him with all the sunshine in me. “Visiting all the way from Chicago.”
“Terrible weather,” Florence forced, trying to be lighthearted. It didn’t seem as though she was too excited to be here. “Not as bad as here. I don’t know how Callum stands it, or anyone. You’re made of some strong stuff.”
“Your hair!” Dr. Hannigan exclaimed. “How perfect, it suits you exactly. It’s a good sign when a woman is open to change.”
He glanced at Professor Hughes, who was busying himself with a glass of wine, with a bemused expression.
“I hear women change their hair when they’re mad at a lover.” The smoky voice settled over the little crowd and smiles faltered. A tall, slender woman entered the dining room on the arm of no companion, dressed in a silver gown that hugged her waifish figure like a second skin, coin-shaped tokens sewn in rows from top to bottom to form a fringe. Her pale sun-spun hair was bobbed, though longer than mine, and she wore a beaded flapper cap whose lengths of silver beads framed her heart-shaped face. The color of the dress didn’t flatter her sun-kissed skin and clashed with the pinks and golds surrounding us. I didn’t need any introduction, because of the people invited, there was only one couple I hadn’t met.
“Margaret,” Professor Hughes greeted with some impatience, taking a sip of wine to disguise it. “Where have you left Jack?”
“The poor dear’s in a dreadful state,” she said dramatically, pulling off her gloves and tossing them onto the back of one of the dining room chairs. “A cold, I’m sure, but you know how men are. I had him stay home and came to pay my respects to Willowfield.”
She examined my outfit with explicit scrutiny.
“You look a doll, you must be the new girl.”
Her tone nettled me.
“This is Miss Millicent Foxboro,” the professor said, offering her a glass of wine, distracting her eyes from me. “The woman who’s taken the post as my assistant.”
“Oh yes,” Mr. Terrance interrupted, not offering Margaret a chance to speak. “How is your research on all the otherworld nonsense going?”
“All still nonsense,” Professor Hughes replied with humor, “but interesting nonetheless.”
“So, you’re a scholar, Miss Foxboro. You read old Irish?” Florence asked, taking two olives from her uncle’s plate.
“Rudimentarily,” I offered. “Latin and Greek as well, and some old English. Nothing to brag about. It was required studies at my secondary school. Mostly I used it to expand my reading material.”
“Lots of fairy tales, I bet. You seem the type who’d enjoy fairy tales,” Mr. Terrance said jovially, casting a glance at his wife as he reached for a glass of wine. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. Still, he retrieved two glasses and offered one to me. I took it with no intention of drinking.
“Oh, I do. I like stories with an element of thrill, even a bit of horror. Fairy tales have plenty of both usually. It’s easy to enjoy things like that when you can just close the cover anytime and be safe.”
“Not always,” Margaret singsonged.
The professor’s eyes were daggers. I ignored her comment, realizing the trouble she had caused Mrs. Hughes with the ill-fated seance had not been forgiven.
“It’s fascinating to read some of the stories in their original state and compare them with similar ones from different regions. They all have their unique take, but it’s been a trial to figure out Professor Hughes’s…um…filing system,” I said, catching my stride.
There was silence, and I wondered if I’d said something wrong, but then the laughter poured through the room, lighting every shadowy corner.
“She’s trying to save you the embarrassment, Callum. A kind soul, a kind soul.”
“We’re all aware the man is a hopeless mess. Imagine what it’s like for us at the factory.”
“You should’ve seen our dormitory at university. An utter fire hazard.”
