Page 74 of Once an Angel
"I'm sorry, Tansy. I'm glad you're happy, but I simply can't."
They faced each other, awkward again, strangers on a busy street. The passing shoppers stared curiously. Emily caught a glimpse of her reflection in a darkened shop window—a small figure in a shabby black dress, torn stockings, and ragged shawl. Her bare fingers poked out the ends of her gloves. How dare she accost a fine lady on the street?
Her worst fears were founded as Tansy thrust a hand in her purse and pulled out a shilling. "I 'aven't
any pound notes with me. Won't ya let me buy ya a nice meat pie?"
Emily stared at the gleaming coin. The warm, yeasty aroma of a nearby bakery wafted to her nostrils.
She couldn't live on charity again. Not even Tansy's.
She put her hands behind her back to ease the temptation. "Oh, no. I'm quite full, thank you. I just ate
at a friend's house, you see, and had a splendid helping of roast pheasant. And gravy. A whole tureen
of gravy." She started to walk backward. "Tarts, too. Those charming ones you douse in brandy and set aflame. I ate half a tray of those, then polished them off with a pitcher of cream. You know how I love cream." She clasped her hands over her stomach. "Why, my little belly is so stuffed, I feel like a Christmas turkey!"
The jostling crowd was beginning to come between them. She caught a glimpse of Tansy perched like a bewildered canary among her scattered packages.
"Em, wait! Don't go!" she cried.
Emily lifted her hand in a cheery wave. "I'm glad you're happy in your new situation. Perhaps we can meet for tea soon."
A cloaked man tipped his hat to Tansy, offering his assistance in retrieving her packages. Emily took advantage of her divided attention to slip into a merry throng of carolers and be swept away on a tide
of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."
As she dodged around a corner, the carolers went on, their laughter ringing on the crisp air. An emptiness worse than hunger seized her heart. She had learned all she needed to know of Christmas as Justin read
to a circle of rapt Maori in his resonant voice.
Grymwilde Mansion in Portland Square.
The lamplighters had come out to coax the gas lamps to flickering life above her head. Her feet moved of their own accord, although even exertion wasn't enough to stave off the deepening chill. The bells of St. Paul's began to chime. She wondered if Penfeld was curled up somewhere before a cozy fire, savoring their sweet refrain and sipping a cup of hot tea.
Grymwilde Mansion in Portland Square.
The cacophony of the city streets faded to a muted hush. She stood in the falling darkness at the neck
of a broad street lined by wrought-iron fences and towering oaks. Their naked branches brushed stark fingers against the sky. Even the snow was clean here, laid in a milky blanket over rolling lawns and terra-cotta fountains. Emily felt like an intruder from another land.
Grymwilde Mansion in Portland Square.
Did she really think she could abide in the same city, walk the same streets without even trying to steal
a glimpse of him? Did he sit sad and alone in a deserted house with only his regrets for company? Did
he wander a cold, snowy garden, dreaming of her?
There was only one way to find out.
The sky began to spit snow. Sighing, Emily pulled her shawl up over her hair and hastened through the deepening dusk.
Chapter 17
Only the promise of a brighter tomorrow
for the both of us could have dragged me away
