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Alas, there weren’t any straightforward rules of decorum for how to comfort a lady after she was nearly murdered by her possessed employer.
“Oh no,” she whispered. Ogden tensed. “What? What’s wrong?” Slowly, she dropped her hands from her face and lifted her eyes. “If I marry him . . .” Ogden leaned closer. “My name will be Elsie Kelsey,” she finished, mortified.
Mrs. Abrams shot her a sharp look for being interrupted. “It matters a great deal. I would not want to wear the same color as the bride, for instance.” Bacchus set his saucer down. “Then it is fortunate that you will not be invited.” The room seemed to freeze.
She shrugged and managed a strangled laugh. “Well, that’s life for you, isn’t it? It would make a very good novel, I think.”
“Do you think it bothered her, swearing allegiance to Britain? I would never have thought her Russian. She speaks so elegantly, wears all the English fashions—” “Elsie,” he said, nodding as another servant opened the gates for them. “When you are an outsider, you do what you have to do to fit in, or people will ostracize you. Sometimes without even realizing it. If Master Merton wanted to succeed in spiritual magic here in London, she would have had to assimilate so thoroughly that others would forget she was ever different. It is a necessity, for people like us.”
“But it is easy to miss the pain of being different when you fit in so well with the standard.”
“Yes,” said Rose, “tell me, is he Turkish?” Elsie resisted the urge to tell these women that they had no right to any of her personal information, especially since they couldn’t care less about her well-being when she wasn’t at the center of gossip. “He’s from Barbados.” “Barbados!” Rose repeated, and her sister said, “Where is that?” “Near Turkey,” Elsie lied.
She’d rather be spoon-fed the dry leaves than waste tea on those two ninnies.
“You are not a burden, Elsie Camden. You merely have an unfortunate number of complete imbeciles in your life.”
“Is that how all Bajan men kiss?” He smirked, the insolent man. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never kissed any of them.”
To the last, he said, “You probably get this a lot, but where are you from?” “Barbados,” Bacchus answered patiently. Reggie whistled. “That’s far. I would have guessed Turkey.”
If there’s one pattern history teaches us, it’s that the rich start the wars and force the poor to soldier them.”
Elsie squeezed her friend’s hands. “There’s still time for him to change his mind.” It would wreck her if he did. She’d become a recluse. Never leave the house. Perhaps adopt a cat.
No one could ever forget their deepest hurts, only learn to better shoulder them.
