That Night in Lagos (10 page)

“Lady Williams invited us to her salon,”
Mrs. Steward gushed one fine morning. “Imagine that, Lilly! And even you, Bee, have been summoned. What marvelous grace the Lady demonstrates toward us.”

“I distinctly remember you referring to Lady Williams as a nosy, annoying, social parasite,”
I mused.

Mrs. Steward clucked at me. “Nonsense,”
she retorted. “Lady Williams is nothing but magnanimous, for there is sure to be a delightful array of young men at her soiree that we can keep in mind for future consideration.”
And she beamed at Lilly who was beside herself with the possibilities latent in that statement.

“And what matters it to us if that be true?”
I questioned with an innocent gaze, but my aunt knew me too well.

“Beatrice, you do take such delight in vexing me,”
she huffed. “Come or don’t, it’s all the same to me.”

Reluctant as I was to attend anything apart from Koki’s funeral, I couldn’t deny my young cousin’s entreaties that I join them. And so one evening we set out for the Williams’
winter residence. I trailed behind my aunt and cousin as we ascended the stairs to the entrance of Lady Williams’
abode. Even there, with the bustle of well-groomed humanity all about me, I continued to glance about, searching for a triangular head amongst the crowd.

“Beatrice, do stop your dawdling,”
Mrs. Steward chastised me.

I continued to linger at the entrance, as much to distance myself from Mrs. Steward’s incessant chattering as to more adequately scan the room. Not surprisingly, there were no dark faces amongst the swirling and gaily attired guests. I breathed deeply, my nose tingling at the mix of perfumes, food and sweat, which was a great improvement over blood and gore.

“Lady Williams,”
Mrs. Steward shrilled in exaggerated delight.

I remained in the background, loathe to involve myself in the inane conversation I was sure would follow. I was not disappointed, for Lady Williams immediately introduced a uniformed man to the Steward women —
a Lieutenant Colonel of the Cavalry
—
while almost simultaneously launching into gossip regarding one of her own guests. I could see Mrs. Steward eyeing the uniform and I closed my eyes, although I couldn’t block my ears quite as effectively.

“Poor Mrs. Cricket,”
the Lady enthused and she clucked her tongue with false sympathy. “The woman has a degenerative muscular disease. Nothing contagious, mind you. But nothing she can recover from. Indeed, I heard that she married the doctor for that reason, hoping he would find a cure. Alas, to no avail.”

Lilly tugged at my sleeve, forcing me to step to Mrs. Steward’s side. My aunt glanced with annoyance at me and demanded, “What took you so long?”

I was now facing the Lieutenant Colonel who glanced disinterestedly at me before starting slightly. His alarmed gaze rose up to my eyes, his own widening. I repressed a sigh, for I was familiar with that reaction: my hazel eyes were so light in color as to appear nearly golden.

The young man’s alarm faded into a radiant and delighted smile. I found myself quite taken by his countenance which was more than pleasing, as was his posture, dress and overall composure. I was certain other women had the same sentiments, for I sensed their unhappy gazes upon me, but what did that matter? The Lieutenant stepped forward, bowing deeply.

“May I be so bold as to request a name?”
he inquired in a positively refined and melodious voice.

My heart fluttering in a distracting manner, I curtsied to him. “Beatrice Anderson, at your service.”

“Indeed,”
he murmured and provided his own name.

And in that moment, as our eyes met and held each other’s gaze, the fear that had coiled around my inmost being evaporated as did the tremors it had induced. My mind, freed at least temporarily of all memories, opened up to a new possibility for the future, one that included a very distinguished and fortunately very available Lieutenant Colonel Gideon Knight.

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