Starlight (24 page)

“But, if she was so frail . . . ?”

The question was obvious, even if she didn’t finish. “She wanted a baby. It was the only time when she truly put her foot down and insisted.”

“How long were you married?”

“Just over six years, but we’d been friends since I was fourteen. Our families summered by the sea, with vacation homes a quarter mile apart along a Cape Cod beach. Those seaside visits had been as close as our families ever managed to be.”

That is, until the wedding forced old-money
American blue bloods to share a Manhattan banquet hall with the hodgepodge of Sir William’s progeny. Gareth and Gwyneth had been thirteen, spoiled rotten, and delightfully beguiling. Viv, still unmarried, hadn’t yet emerged from her shell. The token outsider among the siblings, she had been more likely to talk business with their father.

When Alex learned Josiah Todd had threatened Mamie on the morning of their wedding, demanding that she call it off . . . The man deserved what he got. He had attended the ceremony with a busted lip and a hideous black eye. Alex had emerged without a scratch, satisfied that he’d finally said his piece. Without words.

“You must have loved her very much to commit to her at such a young age.”

“I did. Our marriage was quiet. Worthwhile.”

“Worthwhile?”

Alex couldn’t help but hear her confusion. For a woman as vibrant as Polly, his relationship with Mamie would likely seem too reserved, but at the time, he hadn’t given it a second thought.

“I walked side by side with her in protests against unjust laws. We organized petitions and lectures and the like. In a way, it was the heart of our relationship. She was adamant that women be able to make choices for themselves. We shared many things in common—hobbies, tastes, our educations—”

He broke off. Polly stiffened at his side, as if she, too, understood the implications of his words. He had practically declared her less than his equal. Alex wanted to kick himself.

Whatever her thoughts, she only breathed out through her nose. “I’ll stop asking questions,” she said softly. “I’m so used to knowing everything about everyone. They like to share details with me, because often I can help.”

“I saw that at the meeting hall, and at the church banquet. You considered every entreaty with the whole of your attention. And for so many people. Your interest in their circumstances is admirable.”

“I don’t do it to be admirable. I
like
it. Not only can I help, it gives me a sense that I’m not the only one who’s made sacrifices. So many have it far worse.”

Worse?
Alex had seen the state of the tenement she called home. On occasion he had seen corrugated tin shacks that exuded a greater sense of solidity. In that way, if no other, Polly reminded him of Mamie. Both were essentially selfless creatures, who thought beyond their own suffering. Perhaps aiding others helped ease their personal pains. That went a long way toward explaining his protective instincts toward both women, even if other feelings were diametrically different.

They fell into silence as the streetlamps became more sparse. Alex gave instruction to stop the carriage, and they emerged into the night. “Wait for us here,” he told Griggs. “Inside the cab if you’re too chilly.”

Alexandra Park had been founded by the city to improve conditions among the working poor, but it was located far north of the worst neighborhoods. This open-air preserve was far preferable
to the one just west of town, owned by one of the University of Glasgow’s largest donors, where Alex had been invited by the dean during his first week in town. That estate sported every hallmark of new money: Greek-inspired columns, ostentatious topiary, gilt accents in every conceivable location. His father would’ve judged such creations the “reward for a life well-lived.” Alex had thought it tacky and embarrassing.

He and his father had indulged in no small number of such squabbles. Now it just seemed petty. Mamie’s death, Edmund’s poor heath, Mr. Todd’s threats all held sway over Alex, as did Polly, who walked beside him into the darkened park. Very little else mattered. Perhaps that narrowing of priorities changed him so drastically. No lofty distractions. Just the fundamentals.

Such a humbling realization, and yet he felt more powerful and decisive for it.

“You’re very trusting,” he said, forcing lightness into his words. “Do you truly have any idea what I’ve planned?”

“I assume it can’t be any more perilous than what we’ve already chanced.”

“I hadn’t meant to . . . ah, damn. Never mind.”

“Breathe, Alex. Don’t worry about the rest.”

They climbed a steep slope that angled up from Cumbernauld Road. The trees gave way to an open copse at the top of the rise. The land here was far too irregular for buildings, which made it the perfect scrap of wilderness to donate to a grateful city. Not that Alex harbored any cynicism about the seller’s
motives—just an honesty about how such decisions were made.

“Here we are,” he said.

He unfurled a blanket over a large, flat rock. The grass would’ve been softer, but the evening dew had already soaked his trouser cuffs. Polly thanked him and perched on the rock, hugging her knees.

Only then did her eyes widen, catching sight of the fat, quiet duck pond far below. “Oh my. That is some view.”

“I thought so, yes.”

“How did you find out about this place?”

“I visited the university and inquired after its head of astronomy, Professor Netherfield. He recommended all manner of places around the city for making unobstructed observations. This spot is my favorite so far. Business has meant far fewer excursions than I’d hoped.”

“The Green suits well enough for me.”

“I would’ve enjoyed a place like the Green when I was a child. Familiar and natural. Manhattan was always such a bustle.”

The springy curls she’d unbound caught a light breeze and snagged across her face. She smiled, tucking the strands back behind her ears. “You’d only believe that from the outside looking in. I’m convinced of it.”

“Then how do you see it?”

“Sometimes it’s all I ever want. And sometimes it’s a cage. More of the latter, of late. But I don’t like to think on it.”

“No?”

“I should be grateful.”

He lay beside her on the blanket, resting on his elbows. “‘Should’ is a difficult word.”

“Yes,” she said with a lilting laugh. “That’s right, exactly.”

“You know what you
should
do?”

“What’s that?”

“Just look up.”

Polly shot him a wry grin, as if she didn’t believe something so simple would make a whit of difference. He knew better. Because when she looked toward the clear, open sky, she gasped.

Smiling to himself, Alex settled back on the blanket and pillowed his hands behind his head. From that vantage, not a single speck of outside light played tricks with his eyes. Only the heavens remained, made brilliant by streamers of iridescent color.

Another amazed sound from Polly. “What in the world is that?”

“You’ve not seen the northern lights?”

“No.”

“I just assumed . . . that is, the latitude means it’s not uncommon to see them during periods of high solar activity.”

Rather than take offense, as he feared she might, Polly only chuckled. “Lord, Alex, you’ve seen my home. It’s like living in a brightly lit well.”

“Well said.”

Greens and an eerie purple danced high in the atmosphere, far off toward the Arctic pole. He’d seen the aurora borealis from Nova Scotia and once from Greenland. Those vantages had been better, but he’d
never liked to leave Mamie alone for long. Now, this moment with Polly wove into each of his veins and promised to remain just as bright. She made it so. A ribbon the color of an unripe pear faded upward into space, where it transformed to orange and deeper red. His eyes would only just focus on a strip of color before it moved and shifted once more.

She squeezed his hand. “But what
is
it?”

“No one really knows. Some theorize it has to do with Earth’s magnetic pull, or wind storms in space. All we know is that they occur around the equinoxes—spring and autumn—and they’re more prominent in the northern half of the world.”

“So what we’re witnessing is mysterious and special?”

“Absolutely.”

“Never would’ve imagined such a thing in Glasgow.”

Alex turned. He needed to see her face. So many emotions were difficult for him to interpret—those little clues others read, but which served only to muddle his thinking. Seeing her face helped erase that confusion.

“How do you do it, Polly?”

The green and gold in the sky chased washes of color across her pale skin. “Do what?”

“Keep your spirits up. For example, at the meeting hall. Had anyone else given the speech you did, I would’ve thought them terribly naïve or even manipulative. But you meant every word, and everyone there knew it. You want the people in your union to fare well.”

“Naturally. Others might have different motives, but I’m not so complicated.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that.” He touched her cheek, where loose curls tickled and teased. Her skin was cold. He edged closer on the blanket, and their bodies traded heat.

“I love my people,” she said at last. “I’m very proud of them. This isn’t an easy life. Maybe that’s why I have such pride and ambition for them, often more than they do for themselves.”

“But how have
you
managed to survive here? It’s dirty and poor and violent. Yet, you keep smiling. How?”

She grew quiet, making Alex wonder if he’d stepped past some invisible boundary. But she was still Polly, and that meant taking him by surprise. “You want to know the secret?”

“Is there one?”

“Of course. Otherwise I’d have gone mad a long time ago.” She rested their twined hands on her stomach, looking up. “You make shields. A half dozen or so. You stake them all around, all overlapped to keep out the pain and disappointment. But you leave a tiny crack, right in the front. That’s for letting the happiness in.”

Alex forgot to breathe. He looked to the sky once again. Being able to name each star held nothing to the way he saw the aurora anew. Through her eyes. He had wanted to show her a natural marvel, to give them both something beautiful to sustain them through what promised to become an ugly few weeks.

Instead, she had given him a gift. He saw color
like a field of flowers and movement like a dancing angel. Science fell away to reveal only beauty. When he could breathe again, he unconsciously mimicked her soft exhale.

She was the most singular woman he had ever known. The scent of her was as clean and vital as the sweet spring grass that surrounded them. He didn’t yet understand her motives. She could be the most practiced temptress in history. She could know the identity of every perpetrator and agitator.

At that moment, he hardly cared.

“Polly, will you let me take you home? Stay with me tonight.”

Green eyes reflected myriad colors. She traced a finger along one of his suspenders. “Should I fear for my virtue, Mr. Christie?”

This time he managed a wry smile when faced with her teasing. “Yes, Miss Gowan. Very much.”

Nervousness invaded Alex’s carriage. Polly couldn’t remember a time when her body vibrated with such heady anticipation. He had shown her treasures. And with his words, with the closeness of his big, solid body, he promised pleasure. The rest of their troubles would be sorted out later. Just . . . later. She felt a strong premonition that this would be their last time together. Surely whatever he hid about the mill masters’ meeting boded ill for the union.

And if he found out she was helping to hide Tommy . . .

So much would eventually wreck their fragile peace. The aftertaste of their brief moments together would be sour. She knew that. But the goodness—she
would keep that close for the rest of her life. Tonight was for letting the happiness in. One last time.

“Smoke,” he said harshly. “Do you smell smoke?”

Cold iced her skin. Pure fear. “Yes. Oh, God. We’re so close to Calton.”

The sound of sirens cut through an otherwise clear, quiet night. She slid the carriage open and poked her head outside. Smoke was gathering on the southern horizon.

“The factory district,” she gasped.

“Griggs!” Alex’s shout carried well. “Make haste!”

The carriage barreled down the tight cobblestone streets. Polly bit her teeth to keep them from knocking together, and clutched the leather bench, digging her nails into the resilient softness.

Not again. Please, be an accident. Please.

Griggs took the corner at a dangerous pace. Alex grabbed her around the shoulder, steadying them both. His mouth was tight, his jaw solid and clenched.

The carriage braked, stopped, shuddered with sudden lack of momentum. Polly was the first out the door to see that Christie Textiles remained unscathed. For now. Instead the fire brigade had converged across the street, surrounding Winchester Fabrics.