Page 87 of As Many Souls as Stars
Utterly astonished, Miriam took a step back, staring at the blank space on the wall. The corridor was silent, except for the soft, mocking tinkle of the chandelier above her head. It had been so sudden, so abrupt, that for a moment, Miriam couldn’t believe it had happened. Then she snarled and kicked the wainscoting so hard that it cracked.
Rosamund must have called the shadows to her, made herself ephemeral, and stepped back into the wall. It was an easy-enough trick—Miriam had taught it to Esther herself—but it was the sheergallof it that was so infuriating. What happened toI missed you? What happened toWe might as well enjoy each other?
The chandelier tinkled again. Miriam reached up and pulled it down, sending it crashing to the floor in a thousand shards of glass.
Rosamund had lost her temper; she’d be the first to admit that. And it was likely her husband who would pay the price.
She spent the rest of the morning uneasy, alert to every unexpected noise and shift at the corner of her eye, expecting Miriam to find her again. By the afternoon she was very irritable. Walter, trying to cheer her up, suggested they walk the promenade. There wasn’t much else to do, so she agreed.
It looked different in the day, so much more mundane without the dark blurring the edges of the railings, or the ephemeral glow of the hull lights splashing the floor with colour. It was chilly, so Rosamund clutched her mink stole around her as they walked.
Walter said, ‘I got an apology from the chef. Because of breakfast. They think it must have been a problem with the cut.’
‘How about that.’
‘You could have stayed,’ he continued, a wounded edge to his tone. ‘You just upped and walked away.’
‘What else could I have done?’
‘I don’t know, consoled me about my ruined suit? It’s just—it’s not like this is a traditional marriage, but it’d be nice if I felt like my wife could support me, sometimes.’
Rosamund scowled. ‘Women always have to besoftandsupportiveandsweet. Why is that?’
‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with sweet, is there?’
‘Sweet things get eaten, Walt,’ Rosamund replied. ‘Better to be bitter, so they spit you out.’
Defeated, Walter sighed. ‘It’s your birthday tomorrow. Would it kill you to take things a little less seriously?’
‘Probably.’
He rolled his eyes, and they continued to promenade without conversation. They stopped only when they spotted someone they recognised: the man Walt had slept with last night was leaning against a starboard railing, smoking a cigar.
‘Jean!’ Walt called, and he went over to speak to him. They quickly fell into conversation, laughing together, and Rosamund leaned against the wall to watch them. She hadn’t actuallymetJean—she’d fallen asleep in the bath, and when she’d woken up, he’d already been gone—but Walter had chattered on about him all morning. Clearly, their night together had been a success.
A breeze passed over her, and something flew into her hair. She pulled it away. It was a scarlet petal.
Rosamund whipped around, searching the crowd. At the far end of the promenade, she could see a crow on the railing, watching her intently.
Is this supposed to be a threat?Rosamund said to her. Miriam didn’t reply. She just kept staring, blinking two dark eyes, one after the other.
The sound of Walt’s laughter rippled across the deck. Rosamund swallowed, imagining that laughter ended—a knife in his throat, a spade to the windpipe—and her stomach lurched.
Now was not the time for pride. This was the last day before her birthday, after all. If she wanted to keep her husband alive—if she wanted everything to go according to plan—she needed Miriam to give her this day without violence, without revenge.
I’m sorry, she said to Miriam.I didn’t mean it.
The crow cocked its head, considering. Then it flew away.
Walter returned, Jean in tow. ‘Rosie,’ he said, ‘this is Jean. He’s on his way to Haiti. He’s got a second-class cabin, but I told him I could take him this evening to the first-class bar, for tiki night.’
‘Yes, lovely to meet you,’ Rosamund said.
In a soft, francophone accent, Jean replied, ‘And you, madame.’
Walter frowned at her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied, through gritted teeth. ‘It’s nothing.’
