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luthier_balloonistOriginally posted here
there.” The match flared in the dark sitting room, and soon Jenny had the lamps lit.
Barir considered, hanging up his coat and hat. It had not been a long walk but his hands felt frozen; he rubbed them together briskly. “I hope so. I don't know if I can emphasise enough how… how inappropriate, how wrong, all of this is for Miss Kha— for Mrs Dwivedi. She absolutely must make this work, in some way, because she cannot return to her family. But she is clearly determined.”
Jenny sighed, crossing the sitting room to begin building the fire up in the grate. “I thought I was rather brave, leaving Derbyshire by myself! But at least if I had run into trouble my father would have allowed me to slink home with my tail between my legs. And I didn't need to learn another language. Still, I will send out some messages tomorrow and see what I can do. I did have a thought, for Mrs Dwivedi… do you think she might agree to theatre work?”
“Theatres?” Barir asked, startled.
“Yes. She mentioned sewing skills, that she had tailored some clothing for her brother, and I happen to know that Miss Graham – you remember her, the masher? – is in need of a new dresser. The girl who helped her before has gone off to get married. It would be better than taking in sewing, earning pennies mending clothing by candlelight.”
Barir dropped into an armchair and groped for words. “Jenny,” he said eventually, “I think Mrs Dwivedi has become significantly less sheltered since she fled home, but I have seen the backstage of a music hall. A pious, well-bred Muslim girl would be horrified by almost everything about it.”
“A pious, well-bred Muslim girl who fled home with her illicit lover?” Jenny countered.
“There is being a romantic, and then there is rubbing shoulders with female impersonators and barely-dressed dancers in a hall full of drink and every other impropriety.” Barir imagined Aleena’s face, should she ever see the stage acts of a British music-hall, never mind the backstage goings-on.
“I suppose so.” Jenny stood and brushed off the knees of her skirt, frowning. A new fire crackled in the grate, and a very welcome warmth flooded over Barir. He held his hands out towards the fire. “And the work would be unsociable hours; if Mr Dwivedi gains a groom posting, they would scarcely see one another. Very well; I shall only suggest it if I really turn up nothing else.”
“The fact that she is willing to work at all is miraculous,” said Barir. “She will not have grown up ever expecting to do so. If there's anything slightly respectable, that would help.”
Barir felt much better in the warmth and comfort of Jenny’s sitting room. He filled his pipe as she banged about, complaining about her husband not being home yet, shoving aside piles of books and papers that had taken over the dining table. His reaction to Marcus seemed faintly ridiculous, now; the man had not even seen him, and if he had there was very little that he could have done. At worst Barir would have been left a little embarrassed and shaken, if Marcus had deigned to speak to him at all; his attention had seemed entirely taken with his new companion.
“Are you alright?” Jenny asked, finally coming and sitting down. “You haven’t been entirely yourself tonight, though I know you’ll deny it.”
Barir hesitated, buying time by drawing on his pipe. Jenny would understand how unsettled he was, if he explained, but he did not much want to talk about Marcus. “It was just strange, seeing Mrs Dwivedi here. I wasn’t sure how they would react to my presence, and I confess that I was a little nervous.”
“Hm. Of course you couldn’t have married her, but I do think she might have been good for you.” Jenny seemed very taken with Mrs Dwivedi.
“Entirely likely,” agreed Barir, “though I doubt I would have made her especially happy. But there’s no need to worry about me, Jenny, I’m quite alright these days.”
“Are you now?” Jenny gave him a gimlet eye.
It occurred to Barir that he could, in fact, confide in Jenny about this as well. The desire rose strongly in him; he hated to keep secrets from her, and it felt wrong to have this new happiness in his life that he could not share with her. He had not yet told Kay that Jenny knew about his proclivities, and to tell Jenny about Kay would be to betray Kay’s secret. Betray it, indeed, to his dearest friend’s wife, and Barir doubted very much that Kay would ever tell Amador; he would not wish to do anything that would risk that friendship.
“I am indeed.” He gave Jenny his best reassuring smile. “I can’t tell you any more right now, my dear, but please believe that I’m very happy.”
Jenny considered him for a moment and then nodded. She could be like a dog with a bone, but she knew when not to pry, knew how delicate this secret could be.
At that moment Amador came banging in, calling out a fond greeting to his wife that made Jenny flush. “Mr Rizvi is here!” she shouted back, “so watch your tongue!”
“Don’t mind me at all,” said Barir, grinning, and Jenny kicked him in the shin.
It was as pleasant as ever, dining with Jenny and Amador, even if the fare itself remained adequate at best. They pulled Barir into an ongoing argument about the direction of Amador’s new play – he felt quite alarmed at being asked his opinion, and even moreso at siding with Amador against Jenny, though she took it with fairly good grace – before moving on to other matters. At one point Amador admitted that he was worried about Kay, who he had found in a very strange mood, pulling up the floorboards of his shop in search of some missing box.
“Tumoe’s been rather odd lately,” Amador said. “Even more than usual, I mean. I have scarcely seen him, and when I do he’s distracted and not himself.”
Barir felt himself flush, and hoped that his own concern seemed no more than was suitable. He knew, of course, what was distracting Kay, and why he had not sought Amador’s company as much as usual, but he had no idea what this box situation was about. He would send a message in the morning, he decided.
“I meant to ask, Rizvi,” Amador said after dinner, packing tobacco into his own pipe, “do you have plans for Christmas? Jenny tells me that you don’t celebrate, but if you had a mind for a friendly dinner you would be very welcome.”
Even though it was now December, Barir had given little and no thought to the upcoming festivities. He had usually used the day as leisurely as possible, sometimes spending it with Malik and Sharma at the India Association, but this year he had no plans. Did Kay observe Christmas? He must, in some capacity; he did not attend church, as far as Barir had seen, but his sister did, and would likely expect her brother to join her. If she did not, however, it could be a perfect opportunity to spend the day shut up in Kay’s rooms once again.
He took his leave when Jenny began to yawn, though he was loathe to leave the warmth of the company and the fire. He shook Amador’s hand, kissed Jenny’s cheek, and reluctantly went out into the darkness. It was bitterly cold, and as he walked back through Clerkenwell the back of his neck began to prickle. It was simple paranoia, he was sure, but he could not help himself; every figure he saw in the darkness made his heart pound.
“Stop being ridiculous,” Barir told himself. “There’s no need for this.” But it did little to assuage his nerves. He felt a little better when he reached a well-lit road, still thronged with people despite the late hour. His heart lifted further when an omnibus pulled up at the side of the road, and a familiar tall figure clambered awkwardly out, violin case in hand.
“Tumoe!” he called, speeding up. “I say – Tumoe!”
Kay turned. Very little of his expression was visible beneath hat and scarf, but there was a smile in his voice when he said, “Good lord, Rizvi. What are you doing out at this time?”
“Dining with the Amadors,” he said, shaking Kay’s hand and holding on a little too long. Kay’s thumb brushed over the back of his gloved hand. “Mrs Amador enlisted my help in some of her do-gooding.”
“An ever-present threat,” said Kay seriously. He glanced about quickly and then said, in a tone that was far less casual than he clearly intended, “Would you like to come up for a quick drink?”
there.” The match flared in the dark sitting room, and soon Jenny had the lamps lit.
Barir considered, hanging up his coat and hat. It had not been a long walk but his hands felt frozen; he rubbed them together briskly. “I hope so. I don't know if I can emphasise enough how… how inappropriate, how wrong, all of this is for Miss Kha— for Mrs Dwivedi. She absolutely must make this work, in some way, because she cannot return to her family. But she is clearly determined.”
Jenny sighed, crossing the sitting room to begin building the fire up in the grate. “I thought I was rather brave, leaving Derbyshire by myself! But at least if I had run into trouble my father would have allowed me to slink home with my tail between my legs. And I didn't need to learn another language. Still, I will send out some messages tomorrow and see what I can do. I did have a thought, for Mrs Dwivedi… do you think she might agree to theatre work?”
“Theatres?” Barir asked, startled.
“Yes. She mentioned sewing skills, that she had tailored some clothing for her brother, and I happen to know that Miss Graham – you remember her, the masher? – is in need of a new dresser. The girl who helped her before has gone off to get married. It would be better than taking in sewing, earning pennies mending clothing by candlelight.”
Barir dropped into an armchair and groped for words. “Jenny,” he said eventually, “I think Mrs Dwivedi has become significantly less sheltered since she fled home, but I have seen the backstage of a music hall. A pious, well-bred Muslim girl would be horrified by almost everything about it.”
“A pious, well-bred Muslim girl who fled home with her illicit lover?” Jenny countered.
“There is being a romantic, and then there is rubbing shoulders with female impersonators and barely-dressed dancers in a hall full of drink and every other impropriety.” Barir imagined Aleena’s face, should she ever see the stage acts of a British music-hall, never mind the backstage goings-on.
“I suppose so.” Jenny stood and brushed off the knees of her skirt, frowning. A new fire crackled in the grate, and a very welcome warmth flooded over Barir. He held his hands out towards the fire. “And the work would be unsociable hours; if Mr Dwivedi gains a groom posting, they would scarcely see one another. Very well; I shall only suggest it if I really turn up nothing else.”
“The fact that she is willing to work at all is miraculous,” said Barir. “She will not have grown up ever expecting to do so. If there's anything slightly respectable, that would help.”
Barir felt much better in the warmth and comfort of Jenny’s sitting room. He filled his pipe as she banged about, complaining about her husband not being home yet, shoving aside piles of books and papers that had taken over the dining table. His reaction to Marcus seemed faintly ridiculous, now; the man had not even seen him, and if he had there was very little that he could have done. At worst Barir would have been left a little embarrassed and shaken, if Marcus had deigned to speak to him at all; his attention had seemed entirely taken with his new companion.
“Are you alright?” Jenny asked, finally coming and sitting down. “You haven’t been entirely yourself tonight, though I know you’ll deny it.”
Barir hesitated, buying time by drawing on his pipe. Jenny would understand how unsettled he was, if he explained, but he did not much want to talk about Marcus. “It was just strange, seeing Mrs Dwivedi here. I wasn’t sure how they would react to my presence, and I confess that I was a little nervous.”
“Hm. Of course you couldn’t have married her, but I do think she might have been good for you.” Jenny seemed very taken with Mrs Dwivedi.
“Entirely likely,” agreed Barir, “though I doubt I would have made her especially happy. But there’s no need to worry about me, Jenny, I’m quite alright these days.”
“Are you now?” Jenny gave him a gimlet eye.
It occurred to Barir that he could, in fact, confide in Jenny about this as well. The desire rose strongly in him; he hated to keep secrets from her, and it felt wrong to have this new happiness in his life that he could not share with her. He had not yet told Kay that Jenny knew about his proclivities, and to tell Jenny about Kay would be to betray Kay’s secret. Betray it, indeed, to his dearest friend’s wife, and Barir doubted very much that Kay would ever tell Amador; he would not wish to do anything that would risk that friendship.
“I am indeed.” He gave Jenny his best reassuring smile. “I can’t tell you any more right now, my dear, but please believe that I’m very happy.”
Jenny considered him for a moment and then nodded. She could be like a dog with a bone, but she knew when not to pry, knew how delicate this secret could be.
At that moment Amador came banging in, calling out a fond greeting to his wife that made Jenny flush. “Mr Rizvi is here!” she shouted back, “so watch your tongue!”
“Don’t mind me at all,” said Barir, grinning, and Jenny kicked him in the shin.
It was as pleasant as ever, dining with Jenny and Amador, even if the fare itself remained adequate at best. They pulled Barir into an ongoing argument about the direction of Amador’s new play – he felt quite alarmed at being asked his opinion, and even moreso at siding with Amador against Jenny, though she took it with fairly good grace – before moving on to other matters. At one point Amador admitted that he was worried about Kay, who he had found in a very strange mood, pulling up the floorboards of his shop in search of some missing box.
“Tumoe’s been rather odd lately,” Amador said. “Even more than usual, I mean. I have scarcely seen him, and when I do he’s distracted and not himself.”
Barir felt himself flush, and hoped that his own concern seemed no more than was suitable. He knew, of course, what was distracting Kay, and why he had not sought Amador’s company as much as usual, but he had no idea what this box situation was about. He would send a message in the morning, he decided.
“I meant to ask, Rizvi,” Amador said after dinner, packing tobacco into his own pipe, “do you have plans for Christmas? Jenny tells me that you don’t celebrate, but if you had a mind for a friendly dinner you would be very welcome.”
Even though it was now December, Barir had given little and no thought to the upcoming festivities. He had usually used the day as leisurely as possible, sometimes spending it with Malik and Sharma at the India Association, but this year he had no plans. Did Kay observe Christmas? He must, in some capacity; he did not attend church, as far as Barir had seen, but his sister did, and would likely expect her brother to join her. If she did not, however, it could be a perfect opportunity to spend the day shut up in Kay’s rooms once again.
He took his leave when Jenny began to yawn, though he was loathe to leave the warmth of the company and the fire. He shook Amador’s hand, kissed Jenny’s cheek, and reluctantly went out into the darkness. It was bitterly cold, and as he walked back through Clerkenwell the back of his neck began to prickle. It was simple paranoia, he was sure, but he could not help himself; every figure he saw in the darkness made his heart pound.
“Stop being ridiculous,” Barir told himself. “There’s no need for this.” But it did little to assuage his nerves. He felt a little better when he reached a well-lit road, still thronged with people despite the late hour. His heart lifted further when an omnibus pulled up at the side of the road, and a familiar tall figure clambered awkwardly out, violin case in hand.
“Tumoe!” he called, speeding up. “I say – Tumoe!”
Kay turned. Very little of his expression was visible beneath hat and scarf, but there was a smile in his voice when he said, “Good lord, Rizvi. What are you doing out at this time?”
“Dining with the Amadors,” he said, shaking Kay’s hand and holding on a little too long. Kay’s thumb brushed over the back of his gloved hand. “Mrs Amador enlisted my help in some of her do-gooding.”
“An ever-present threat,” said Kay seriously. He glanced about quickly and then said, in a tone that was far less casual than he clearly intended, “Would you like to come up for a quick drink?”
