Pantomime (22 page)

  "Of course, Father," I said, but my stomach sank in dread.

  Father already had the carriage ready. I put on my bonnet, my gloves, and my cloak and climbed into the carriage. Father sat across from me, hands folded across his bulbous stomach. He cleared his throat a couple of times as if he were about to speak, but in the end remained silent. I stared out of the window, swaying with the motion of the carriage.

  We walked into the ice cream parlor. A few young suitors were there, the nobles with a guardian pretending not to notice the way the lovers' fingers intertwined under the table. Three children were happily eating sundaes in the corner with either their mother or a nanny, though more of the ice cream had managed to splatter their faces than reach their stomachs.

  The young waitress came over and father ordered two dishes of ice cream with caramel and chocolate sauce, sprinkled with walnuts and dried cherries. I was touched that he remembered what we used to order five years ago, but I no longer liked walnuts.

  I ate a couple of spoonfuls of my ice cream when it came and I ate the walnuts anyway, though their bitterness ruined the dish. Father ate most of his before setting down the spoon.

  "We have not been able to talk much as of late, you and I," he said, his moustache twitching. "All of a sudden you have grown so much. You are almost an adult, now."

  "Not quite yet," I said. The knot was returning to my stomach, and I wish I had not had the ice cream. The cloying sweetness lingered on the roof of my mouth.

  "You are almost of an age to be betrothed," my father said.

  "We both know that may be a little difficult to achieve," I said, forcing my voice to stay even.

  "It may not be so difficult as that," he said. "You have had an offer or two already."

  Yes. Oswin Hawthorne. I could not believe their family had already made an offer. Had Oswin asked them to? The night at the debutante ball with him had been enjoyable, but not particularly romantic. Not yet. But the Hawthornes were of a higher social standing than ours…

  I looked closely at my father. Just how much money had Father received for taking me into his home? And how had they done so without the entire nobility finding out? There had been rumors of my mother disappearing from society for several months and returning with me. People had been surprised; she had not looked pregnant when she left.

  "Who has made an offer?" I asked.

  "Now, now, they have not been acted upon quite yet, as we thought it too early," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "But next year, I think, will be soon enough," he continued. "In the meantime, you must fill your dowry chest. Your mother tells me you have fallen behind in your embroidery."

  "I have been practicing music and sketching more, Father." I managed to say. My fingers gripped the edges of the table until my nails blanched.

  "Well and good, my dear. Well and good."

  I toyed with my spoon. My hands were shaking. I used to yearn for a close relationship with my father, but I had given up on the dream long ago. We were different creatures.

  "Your mother and I will both take you to your appointment tomorrow," Father said, taking another bite of ice cream.

  Dread rose within me. "Why?"

  "To support you. I feel I have not been involved enough with… those proceedings." He was very good at dancing around a subject without saying what it was directly. I supposed that was why he won many cases despite seeming out of touch with reality most of the time.

  "What will my appointment entail?" I asked, determined to be more direct.

  "It's just another appointment. A consultation, if you will," he said, smiling and shrugging, the spoon in one hand.

  He was lying. I looked into his face, his seemingly candid eyes. He was a good liar, but I could tell.

  "Can I visit Anna Yew after the appointment tomorrow?" I asked.

  "You may be a little tired after the appointment. It would be best if you came straight home with us," he said, benign.

  I felt so sick to my stomach that, had I been standing, I would have doubled over.

  They were going to operate on me tomorrow, and they were not planning on telling me.

 

"Cyril!" I said, shaking him awake.

  "Hnngh," he groaned, and turned over.

  "Cyril! Wake up!" I said, my voice girlishly high.

  "What is it?"

  "You… you have to help me run away." Tears were streaming down my face and dripping onto the covers. I had managed to keep myself together during the day – in the carriage returning from the ice cream parlor, during tea time, as Lia undressed me for the night – but my control had collapsed.

  "What?" he sat up and rubbed at his face, and when he saw me, he started. "Gene? What happened? What's the matter?"

  "I… I… I have to get away. Tonight. Now. Right now!" I sat on the bed and wrapped my arms around my legs, desperate to hold in the tears, but failing.

  "Gene," he said, gripping my shoulders. "Gene, look at me." I did, and the concern in his eyes undid me over again and I began to sob. He shook me. "Tell me what happened so I can help."

  I took a deep breath, focused, and tried to bring the tattered edges of myself together. "Last night, I woke up, and I was hungry, so I went downstairs to have something to eat. On the way back, I heard Mother and Father arguing. It was about me. Cyril, they're not my parents. Some doctor called Pozzi gave me to them when I was a baby. He gave them a lot of money. I'm not your sister, or your brother, or any sort of sibling." My voice cracked.

  "Oh, Gene," he said, stroking my head. "I'm so sorry." I did not think he knew, but he might have suspected.

  Looking at him, I wondered why I had never questioned my heritage before. Cyril has both fair hair and skin, and light blue eyes. He was bulky and strong. I had auburn hair and hazel eyes. I turned golden with the slightest bit of sun, and I was whippet-thin. Cyril's features echoed Father's, whereas I looked little like either parent.

  "You're still my sibling," he said, and folded me into his arms. I buried my head into his shoulder. "That's no reason to run away," he told me.

  "It gets worse," I whispered into his neck. "They were arguing about the doctor I went to see the other day. Evidently Doctor Ambrose thinks he knows how to… fix me."

  "Fix you?" Cyril echoed.

  "They're going to turn me into a girl. A
complete
girl."

  "But how can they do that?"

  "They want to… cut the male part off."

  Cyril winced and hugged me closer. He breathed a shaky sigh. "You don't have to do it, though. They wouldn't force you."

  "They would."

  "Can you think about this for a bit, first? They won't do this tomorrow."

  "No, they will."

  "What?"

  "Father took me to the ice cream parlor today."

  "He hasn't done that in ages!" His eyes widened.

  "I know. They've had an offer from… a family." I could not tell him that it was for his best friend. "Father said both he and Mother would bring me to the appointment with Doctor Ambrose tomorrow. He said it was a consultation. I think he was lying. No, I am sure that he was lying. The operation is tomorrow, and they do not plan on telling me before I go."

  Gently, he pushed me away and left the bed and began to rummage through the drawers of his desk. Mother had recently bought him a large, manly one of laurel wood.

  "What are you doing?"

  Cyril took out a small bag that clinked. "Pocket money from the past six months. I was saving up to get Elizabeth Rowan a locket as a courting gift. Here."

  "Cyril, you don't have to… I have a little money."

  "Gene, you have no concept of money in the outside world. Our pocket money combined will only last you a month or two at most, and we're lucky we have that."

  Dread grew within me. "Cyril, what am I going to do? Where am I going to go?" My voice wavered.

  His shoulders slumped. "I have no idea. Please, Gene. Are you sure you should go?"

  I shuddered. "I'd rather go and make my own way than have it decided for me."

  "It would be easier to stay." He did not want to let me go.

  "It would not be easier to go through my entire life as a girl. I do not feel like a girl. Or a boy."

  He gave me another hug. "I know. I like you how you are." Cyril rummaged in his wardrobe and brought out a box of old clothes. "These fit me last year. They should fit you well enough now." I pulled my nightgown over my head and pulled on a plain tunic, trousers, and a long woolen coat. As I changed, Cyril saw me naked. I did not turn away from him. He did not say a word and I did not know what he was thinking.

  We would soon be of a similar height, but the clothes were still too big in the shoulders and the waist. Cyril found me a belt.

  I dashed into my own room across the hall and put on my own stockings and leather boots. I started throwing things into a leather satchel – a plain dress in case I needed to be female, my own small bag of coins, some jewelry that might be worth something, my diary, and a small knife. Next, I went to the bathing room and gathered soap, a hairbrush, and a toothbrush.

  Cyril was gone when I returned to his room to pack a spare set of male clothing. He entered a moment later, his arms full of hastily-wrapped parcels of food. And, somehow, he managed to stuff them into my already-brimming satchel. I slipped his coin purse into my pocket, spied scissors on his desk and picked them up. I held them out to him.

  "My hair," I said. "No boy has hair to his waist. But leave it as long as you can. Just in case." I turned around.

  Hair fell around me, slithering in waves down my arms and hands.

  Once he was done, I looked into his small shaving mirror as Cyril tidied up the mass of hair on the floor. Cyril had made a horrific mess. My hair hung, lank and jagged. I took the scissors and evened it some, and then I pulled it into a tail at the nape of my neck. I put on a cap.

  I turned out to be a better boy than I thought I would. I looked like a very young sixteen year-old. I slid the satchel onto my shoulders and gave the clothing a last brush of stray hairs. Cyril turned me around and looked at me, his hands still resting on my shoulders.

  "Be careful, Gene."

  "Don't worry about me, Cyril. I'll find my way." I smiled and hoped that I looked brave. "I'll write as Elizabeth Rowan's cousin, Euan. He'd never actually write and they will think it's him passing on courting news. I'll disguise my handwriting."

  His eyes softened. "I'll be fine. This is better. Thank you, brother." I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tight, wondering when I would see him again.

  "I love you, Gene. Don't you ever forget that. If you need me to come for you, if you need help, or money, or anything – write to me."

  I nodded. "I will."

  Cyril ran his fingers through his hair. Both of our eyes were misty. "Won't the servants hear the front door?" he said, trying to smile. It fell a little short.

  "Remember the construction at the Elm residence below?"

  Cyril squinted and frowned. "The scaffolding?"

  I gave him an impish smile in return.

  "Gene!" Cyril said, his frown turning to a smile and he laughed in spite of himself.

  I went to the window and opened it. I turned and said, "Goodbye for now, Cyril. You will see me again. I promise."

  I climbed out the window and started down the scaffolding and into the cool morning mist. Cyril put his head out after me, gave me a little wave, and watched, but remained silent. When I was at the bottom, I looked up, but Cyril was lost in the fog. I waved back, unsure if he could see me, and I set off on my own.

 
 

from THE MEMOIRS OF THE SPARROW, 

Aerialist Diane Albright

 

We found Arik packing his bags when we returned to the cart.

  Aenea's face fell. She had been hoping that Arik would change his mind. My stomach sank as well. The trapeze act was easily the most impressive part of the circus, and while I could now do basic tricks and balancing, it would take years before I was anywhere near as talented as Arik, even with age slowing him down.

  "Have you told him, then?" Aenea asked.

  "Yes, I told him."

  He moved stiffly and I noticed a bandage around his knee. "You're hurt!"

  He smiled. "No more so than usual."

  Aenea and I exchanged glances.

  "I ended up being too afraid to tell Bil to stick his tyrannical ways right up his ever-expanding behind."

  We giggled. "So why the bandage?" I asked.

  "I've pled that I suffered an injury last night that has tragically cut short my dwindling career." He placed the back of his hand against his forehead in mock distress.

  "And Bil believed you?"

  Arik laughed, showing his yellowing teeth. "I enlisted some outside help. Dr Hollybranch agreed to affirm my condition for only a small parting of coin." Dr Hollybranch was the resident physician for the circus when we were in Sicion. He was the illegitimate half-brother of the current Lord Holly, but he did well enough for himself, though the family had probably paid for his medical training.