The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 2

by Beth Brower

“Young Hawkes. Have you been out long?” I asked. “All night. I am just now headed back to my rooms.” Having no set societal answer of what one ought to say when the vicar is out all night, I settled on, “I hope you cleared all the tables.” He began to nod, then stopped himself, mouth twisting, eyebrows knitting together. “I was at a deathbed, Miss Lion, not a gaming club.”

“Have no fear, Miss Lion”––and Hawkes quirked an eyebrow upward––“you’ve become one of my favourite members of the parish. Your sins are simply marvellous. Well, a good morning to you.”

“I blame your lovely Irish father for your behaviour,” she replied. “I blame him for a great many things,” I sighed. “Dying being one of them.”

“I do not think your mother would be pleased with the addition to the party. I’m not very good company.” “My mother is dead these seven years, so I do not believe she will mind. The dead aren’t too particular about the company they keep, in any measure.”

When I came home from church today, I found Roland had left his card. Agnes also had a message from him. “When I told him you were at church, he said to tell you that you may go to heaven, but it will be boring without him.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a crypt somewhere, for your sins?” Islington asked in a ducal tone. “They evicted me,” I snapped. “Who?” “The dead.”