Now was the moment.
“Got something on your mind?” she said through the door.
A pigeon rose from the wall above, a nervy wingbeat, breaking the stillness. She sensed, rather than heard, his tiny intake of breath. “Dinah?”
“Open the door,” she said.
Another pause. She put her hands behind her back, looked up at the house. When she was a maid, less encumbered by her own dignity, she used to open the attic window at first light. She’d creep out onto the balustrade and walk slowly, coolly, along the whole length of it. Training herself to walk faster, then run, without fear. Will had once spotted her from a window ledge in the men’s quarters. He’d raised an eyebrow, tipped a finger, a gesture that said, Nice work. He was new then, and the same age she was: twenty-one, with his whole life ahead of him.
From the other side of the door, she heard him mutter below his breath. “For God’s sake.” And then she heard the scraping of the bolt.
She passed out of the world and into the garden.
“Hullo, you,” she said with a smile, and she kicked the door closed behind her.
The air changed as she crossed the threshold. Thickened. She saw the rush of paving stones, their jagged lines, the ferns.
William stood there, tall and dark, watching her. Flies made low, lazy loops around his head, and he dashed them away with his hand. “What are you doing here?” he said.
“Just visiting.”
He was incredulous. “Visiting?”
“Thought I’d say hello to you.”
She saw the flicker of something in his eyes. Hurt, hurt, hurt, she thought, and not even nearly ready to forgive. She put a hand out, touched him on the arm. He was burning underneath his jacket. She could feel it even through that thick navy cotton. Hot flesh and sinew, tightly wound.
His arm jerked. “You should clear off,” he said. “You don’t want to be seen down here.”
“No harm if I am.”
“I don’t want to be seen with you. I’ve enough work already just trying to get my reputation back.”
He looked weary. He wasn’t much of a sleeper. That’s how things began, between them. He’d said one evening, “Fancy a stroll?” It had been a damp and cloudy night. “Yes,” she’d said, and they’d scaled the wall as if it were a normal thing to do. They’d walked for miles. Deserted roads, church spires white and ghostly in the mist. A city entirely their own. And when they’d come back, Park Lane seemed even smaller than before.
“Look,” said Mrs. King, “I’ve come to make amends.” She perched on the low stone bench, beside the pool. The trellis managed to obscure her from the house, but only just.
“Amends?” He stared at her. “What were you doing, Dinah?”
She kept her face expressionless. “I told you. I just needed to look for something in the men’s quarters. I didn’t know anybody would be keeping watch for me.”
“Look for what?”
She didn’t do what she’d have done with Winnie, or Mrs. Bone, or the others. She didn’t wag her finger, give him a teasing smile. She said, serious, “I can’t tell you. So don’t ask.”
He let out an angry breath. “I don’t believe this.”
“It’s a fine life on the other side, Will. You should think about getting out. Reassess your prospects. It might be time to try something new.”
“Oh, really?” he said, in a withering tone.
“Really. You could learn to drive a motor. Become a chauffeur. It pays well. Easy hours. You could get a room in a hayloft for your trouble.” She grinned. “Just think what you could get up to in a hayloft.”
He was quiet for a moment, as if trying to read her. Then he said, “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
He tilted his head. “What’s your plan? Become a seamstress? Open a greengrocer’s? Set up a knocking shop?”
“In this neighborhood?” Mrs. King leaned back, letting the house loom dizzy and white overhead. “Why not? I’d make a roaring trade.”
William squeezed his cigarette. “Well, I’m fine as I am, thanks.”
She noticed something inside her chest: a little flare of disappointment. She studied William. The neat, clean ridge to his forehead. The wide-set slope to his eyes. She knew his shoulders, his chest, the cords of muscle around his rib cage. She knew what his shins looked like underneath his long socks, hairy and nicked and bruised.
She took a risk, against her better judgment.
“I’ve made plans, you know,” she said, in a low voice. “You can get in on them.”
William laughed, a husky sound. “Plans?” He shook his head. “You don’t have any plans. You’re done for. There’s no luck to be had around you. Not anymore.”
Mrs. King knew better than to react. “Steady on.”
His jaw tightened. “Why not? It’s the truth. They gave you the sack.”
“And now I’m free.”
“They gave you the sack, Dinah. They nearly gave it to me. I only got out of it because Shepherd decided to tell everybody you were bloody sleepwalking.” He took a breath, eyes fierce. “Nobody knew about us. Now they do. And you’ve made it look…” He was testing the word in his mind.
She could guess what it was. Tawdry. Cheap. Meaningless.
“Never mind,” he said, heavy. “You don’t understand.”
It was infuriating sometimes, managing people. Accounting for their feelings. When you were on the same page then life was easy—it was like breathing. But the second she broke things off with William she had felt the change. Break wasn’t even the right word. A break was a clean thing. And this was different. She felt him twisting away from her.
“I just need a little time,” she said. “To put some affairs in order. It’s not that much to ask.”
He shook his head, disbelieving. “You broke things off between us, Dinah.”
“For heaven’s sake.” Mrs. King governed herself. “I said we should wait. That’s all.”
“We aren’t people who wait. You don’t wait.” His voice was low. “I bought you a ring.”
“Oh, enough,” she said, rising to her feet.
Mrs. King felt her anger burst through, breaking its bonds. She’d proposed a pause, a temporary suspension of things between them, just until this business was concluded. She needed to concentrate. And to him this represented a schism, a betrayal, an irrevocable parting. It was so completely foolish of him.
Her rage passed as quickly as it came, and left the usual shame behind. He was right to judge her. She hadn’t been straight with him; she hadn’t shared one iota of the truth. She would have been furious at him if he’d done the same to her. “Look,” she said. “I’ve got plans. Come with me—if you like.”
A long moment passed. William was silent. Then, slowly, he said, “Miss de Vries’s new girl. Alice.”
Mrs. King felt her skin tightening. “Who?” she said.
Those eyes shimmered. “Don’t ‘who’ me. What’s the connection?”
Mrs. King was caught off guard.