I told Briony once, and she nodded sweetly and made as though she understood, but I know she could not, nor would I wish such understanding on her. People think grief diminishes with time or so they say in the aftermath of bereavement, but it is a part of me. It lives inside me like a little demon, waking every so often, tugging at my heart, drawing forth memories. I have grown used to it in a way where losing it would almost mean a part of me was missing.
After the Great War, I saw it in others as well. People I knew from town who used to play with their sons, suddenly walking around like ghosts. Or the young men, the scarred and maimed, as well as those still beautiful and physically healthy, who carried themselves through their days, through life, with the images of suffering, loss, and despair, never to be outrun. Most days there is enough lightness and distraction to stifle the gloom, but only most days. A sign that we are human, at least. A sign that we can remember, even if we would rather forget.
Running my left hand over the smoothness of the bedsheet, I open my eyes. I do not know how long they were closed in my melancholy trance. The room has grown gloomy and even colder. As I stand up, rubbing my arms, I shiver.
I turn to close the window and catch sight of a flash of bright blue. Niobe is in the garden again. Is this a regular occurrance? Wearily and warily I am about to close the window when I hear the accented voice of Yannick. Unlike the last time I heard the two of them, this night they must be closer, for their voices are clear and seem to be coming from below my window. Perhaps in all the excitement, Niobe forgot that I am occupying the guest room?
I lean close, crouching slightly, to remain undetected, should they venture a glance in my direction. I feel only moderate shame for eavesdropping again. A murder investigation is in full swing, and a little spying won’t hurt a soul.
"Do they know?" Niobe’s voice is hard and accusing.
"No, I am certain." Yannick answers, rolling his r’s.
"How can you be? Oh, how could you be so foolish! It will raise suspicion?"
Raise suspicion!
What on earth are they on about? Am I to hear a confession?
"Do not worry." Yannick’s voice is lower now, and I imagine him placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "Nothing happened. It was foolish, but nothing happened, and no one knows. We can forget about it."
There is some hesitation before Niobe replies. "Yannick, I do not want anyone to know the truth. It is enough that the English woman, Miss Carlisle does. I think she will keep quiet, but I don’t want it going around."
"It won’t, everything will be all right. I promise."
Oh men, promises, promises.
It would appear they are only speaking of the pregancy. I wonder how much longer they can keep it a secret? If they do not marry soon, no one will believe the child was conceived in wedlock.
I crane my neck once more, trying to hear something else. There is only silence, and when I peak my head over the windowsill, the grove below is empty, save for a black cat, slinking away into the shadows.
I quickly undress, tossing my cotton sleeping shift over my head and depositing the blue silk dress I wore for dinner on the chair beside the dresser. Washing too fast to be very effective, I slip into bed, finding comfort in the soft, cool cocoon of freshly laundered sheets.
CHAPTER 29
The day of the festival of Saint George begins with the familiar screech of a crow, tearing me from a dream I cannot remember, though I know I was happy in it.
What a pity!
Oh well. I sit up straight at the sound, my head spinning for a moment from the abrupt motion. I wonder if the beast is the same one as before, and it has made it its mission to keep me from dawdling away the morning in bed? I climb out and walk to the window. Indeed, the creature is sitting on the highest branch of the tree, as yesterday, giving me an altogether critical look with those beady black eyes.
"I’m up, I’m up. You can stop this racket. You have won." I raise my hands, palms out. The bird is not familiar with diplomacy and continues croaking dismally.
The festival will begin in the evening, allowing people who work during the day to take part, since it falls on a weekday. I have plenty of time to find the most suitable attire. For now, I select a simple lilac skirt and white blouse with a lace collar. I would like to go into town later to mail the postcards. A weight is pressing on me for having been shamefully negligent in this area, and the sooner I have done my duty of communication, the sooner I will be lighter again and able to enjoy the festival.
At breakfast, I learn Jeffrey has already left for Heraklion. From Briony’s tone of voice as she tells me this, I gather the tension between them has not eased. I keep reminding myself that Jeffrey is under significant pressure, and what happened at the excavation site is certainly disturbing. Still, my sentiments towards him are less than warm at the moment.
Briony, Daniel and I decide to walk into Miklos, instead of taking the bicycles. While the way down is enjoyable, the return trip is a trial, and we want to preserve our energy for the dancing this evening. Or at least I do. Briony tells me where the post office is located in the village, and within the hour we have put on our hats, rouged our cheeks (Briony and I, that is, Daniel, I believe, abstained), and begin our little trek down the dirt road.
The sun shines warm, but not burning, stroking my bare shoulders with its rays. I enjoy the walk, the hard, dry earth beneath my feet, the smells of wildflowers, which grow in abundant clusters by the roadside. Even the calls of seagulls, swerving, white and gray in the blue background above our heads, add to the atmosphere of exotic welcome I sought when I first arrived.
We chat about this and that, mostly what to expect from the festivities, rather than Jeffrey or Caspar or Darius. We are not so hardened that we no not need times of frivolity and distraction, even amid the turbulence we have faced these past days.
One positive outcome of this tragedy is the bond between us. Daniel and I, as well as he and Briony knew one other hardly at all. By now, we have reached a level of closeness and comraderie, which may never have been achieved had we not been thrown into this maelstrom together.
The village is abuzz with activity today. People all around are preparing for the party. Men on ladders are busy hanging colorful paper lanterns, women are tying bunches of blue and yellow flowers to the trees. The air is filled with cheerful chatter and a vibrant energy fueled by anticipation and happiness, which I hope is entirely infectuous.
Briony and Daniel also have letters to post, and the three of us are good business for the postmaster, who patiently stamps and marks every postcard or letter and adds the odd comment or question in his charming broken English about whether we like Crete, whether we like Miklos, and have we tried the figs this year? It is a small community, nothing like the London set I ran with, rather cozier and far more quaint. Life here could be so easy, couldn’t it? If only it weren’t for the cursed murder, blackmail, and domestic distress.
If only, if only.
If only it rained oranges, if only we could breath under water.
Alas, reality is upon us, and we run into Laria, colliding with our little group when we turn the corner. She is alone, no Kaia tugging at her hand. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, a few curls tugged free by the wind frame her face.
"Oh, hello!" Briony greets her. Laria manages to plaster a half-convincing smile across her mouth.
"How are you?"
"Quite well, and you?"
"It is so busy here today. I am running some errands. It’s taking longer than I thought. Everyone had the same idea."
"Will we be seeing you at the festivities tonight?" I notice the dark circles under her eyes.
"The festivities?" She looks puzzled for a moment, as if avoiding the preparations all around us were even a possibility. Quickly, she recovers and nods, smiling. "Oh yes, yes of course. We will all be there. You know Miklos is famous for the Saint George’s day parties. You are in for a treat."
"It certainly looks promising." I return the smile and gesture at the bustle around us.
Laria nods again and glances down at her wristwatch. "Please do not think me rude, I have left Kaia with a neighbor, and I promised to be back in an hour."
"Of course," Briony exclaims. "We will see you all tonight."
With a quick goodbye, the doctor’s wife is on her way. Briony pulls us in the direction of a small shop, a tinkling bell above the door. Daniel begs off, telling us he will wait at Hector’s Café.
The inside of the shop is dimly lit, the only light filtering in from one open window. It smells faintly musty and dusty and all around us are bales and swatches of fabric.
"Look," Briony points to a roll of finely woven silk the color of ripe peaches.
"Lovely." I run a hand over the smooth material.
"Isn’t it? I was here a while ago, and I thought it was the loveliest color, but it wouldn’t suit me," she shakes her head, curls bouncing, before continuing, "not with my coloring. Someone with darker skin, however …" She hesitates, wearing a mischivious expression I know only too well.
"Yes?"
"Someone like Areta?" She turns the word into a question, assessing my reaction.
"Areta." I repeat the name quietly, thoughtfully. If Briony begins dressing the child, it is only a matter of time before she brings her home.
Would that be so very bad?
No, I decide, it wouldn’t.
Briony lowers her gaze, brushing non-existant lint from the silk. "She has such a lovely complextion, don’t you think? And maybe matching ribbons."
I can imagine of the little girl all dressed up, dancing around in her head. "Yes," I say carefully, "I am sure it would, but Briony—"
Her face tilts upwards in a show of defiance when she meets my eyes. Even in the gloom of the shop the determination that fills hers is unmistakble. "Don’t talk me out of this, Evie. What hurt will it cause?"
"None, if you understand that giving Areta a dress is far removed from adopting her. Whatever step you take in that direction must be taken together with Jeffrey. I am on your side, but you cannot give a child a good home, if her would-be father is opposed to the plan."
"It is only a dress." Briony’s voice is small with disappointment as she turns away, clutching the fabric to her breast.
The silk is bought, along with ribbons and a thin roll of white lace. What a child running around chasing cats should want with lace trimmings is beyond me. I make an order for a simple straw hat with a blue satin bow for Iona, who ought not be left out on account of her age.
Once in the sun again, we walk down a few of the wider alleys toward the cafe and Daniel. Briony speaks very little, and I am angry with myself for having allowed tension to creep up between us. Nevertheless, I can ease my mind knowing, what’s done is done and will soon be overcome, at least in our case.
Daniel is sitting outside at what I secretly consider "our" table, sipping a pale golden nektar. I am immediately reminded of the dryness in my own throat and am pleased that Daion as soon as we are seated, rushes over with full glasses to quench our thirst. Excellent man.
"I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for you." Daniel explains.
"Oh, I thought Daion was a mindreader," I smile and take a sip of the sweet juice. "It’s delicious."
"Ambrosia of the gods." Daniel replies with a straight face.
"If that is so," I swirl the liquid in my glass, "ambrosia of the gods tastes suspiciously of orange juice."
Daniel shrugs and swallows the last of his drink, whatever it may be. "Did you find what you wanted? That shop was so small, I didn’t think I would fit."
Briony and I glance at one another. She should know better than to think I would tell. I turn to Daniel with a smile on my face, masking the concern brewing inside me when I think of our trip to the draper.
"Oh, you were simply looking for an excuse to avoid shopping with us ladies, weren’t you."
"Ah," Daniel lays a hand on hs heart in a dramatic gesture of defeat. "You have found me out. Still, I did not think my presence was required for your pleasure."
"As ever, your presence is most welcome and most pleasant." Briony says, the tightness of her face at odds with the humor in her voice. "We brought the owner good business." I gesture at the well-wrapped brown paper bundles beside our chairs.
"I expected as much. I was only worried I may have to comission one of the donkey carts to convey us homeward, should your excursion have proven too successful."
I roll my eyes at him.
"I am entirely serious, I assure you," he says, the sunlight making his eyes sparkle and his hair shine with a healthful luster.
"I am so looking forward to tonight." I glance around to where a man on a ladder is hoisting a flag of Saint George’s cross up a makeshift pole. "It is all very exciting. I have been to many festivals before, but this different and new to me."
"They love festivities here," Briony explains indifferently. "It’s always one Saint or another."