The Heartless City (14 page)

She nodded, released his hand, and then hurried back to the kitchen. Just as she opened the door, however, he stopped her one more time.

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s so embarrassing about penguins?”

A burst of laughter escaped her as she stepped over the threshold. “Perhaps,” she said, grinning back at him. “We’ll just have to see how I feel.”

am’s rooms were the second finest of Buckingham Palace’s living quarters; they’d belonged to King Edward back when he was a young man and Prince of Wales. The Lord Mayor lived in the former apartments of the late Queen, and Elliot and his father resided in separate rooms below them on the first floor of the north wing. Eager to tell Cam that Iris had liked the gift and wanted to see him again, Elliot rushed to the second floor as soon as he arrived, but Cam was out, so he trudged to his own room and tried to pass the time by reading
David Copperfield.
Thoughts of Iris were much more appealing, however, so he tossed it aside and spent the afternoon gazing up at his ceiling instead.

Around six o’clock, he figured Cam must be back and changing for dinner, so he climbed the stairs again and approached his private chambers. The sitting room was unlocked, so he stepped inside and navigated his way through the evening darkness, following the lamplight streaming from Cam’s open bedroom door. He started to call out to him, but his voice died in his throat, because another voice rang out from the bedroom.

The Lord Mayor’s.

“Explain this to me, Cambrian. And don’t waste your breath with a lie.”

Elliot froze and gripped the arm of the sofa just beside him. He couldn’t see the figures of Cam or his father from where he stood, but he could feel Cam’s fear and hear the ice in the Lord Mayor’s voice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cam replied, but his voice was unsteady.

“I told you not to lie!”

A clatter followed the outburst, and Cam stumbled into Elliot’s view, staggering backward against the bedroom wall and raising his hands. Slowly, the Lord Mayor approached him, clutching an object in his palm, and Elliot’s chest tightened.

It was the salve Cam had given to Jennie.

“All right, I’m sorry,” Cam said, his fear growing sharper and more metallic. “I gave that to one of the parlor maids. She told me her hands got chapped in the winter, and I felt sorry for her. I was only being kind. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“That’s precisely the problem, you little shit,” the Lord Mayor cried, hurling the salve against the wall and shattering the jar. Cam jumped and Elliot winced, his stomach lurching with fear and loathing so potent he thought he would vomit. He knew he should leave, that Cam would never want him to witness this, but he felt as if his feet were glued to the Persian rug beneath him.

“Kindness isn’t what you give to parlor maids,” the Lord Mayor spat. “Bits of skirt like that exist for one reason: blowing off steam. You should be having it off with half the sluts on the staff, Cambrian, but instead, you’re chatting with them about skin conditions and buying them hand crèmes.”

Cam attempted to rise from the wall, but the Lord Mayor shoved him back.

“What were you planning to do with her next? Gossip and share embroidery patterns? Help her dust the drawing rooms and empty the chamber pots?”

“Father, I’m sorry―”

A
crack
split the air as the Lord Mayor snapped the back of his hand across his face.

“I don’t need you to be sorry!” he roared. “I need you to be a man!”

Cam blinked and tried to right himself, but the Lord Mayor seized his throat and slammed the back of his head against the wall, pinning him there.

“The son of the Lord Mayor of London will not be a goddamned nancy-boy.”

His grip tightened, and Elliot bit his cheek until he tasted blood. He wanted to run inside and tackle the Lord Mayor to the ground, but the flood of terror, rage, disgust, and shame was paralyzing.

“I need to see some changes,” he growled in Cam’s face. “And I need to see them now.”

With a violent jerk, he released his throat and turned to leave the room, and Elliot’s sudden panic finally gave him the strength to move. He scrambled behind the sofa just before the Lord Mayor walked by, but when he passed, Elliot wrinkled his forehead in confusion. He’d assume the fear he’d felt from the bedroom belonged to Cam alone, but besides being sickened and full of rage, the Lord Mayor was also strangely, bone-chillingly afraid.

The bewilderment didn’t last long, however; as soon as the Lord Mayor left the chamber, Cam began to cry. The sound of his sobbing was bad enough, but the shame that bloomed inside him nearly bought Elliot to his knees. It was worse than the shame he’d felt earlier, worse than anything Elliot had felt in his whole life. His soul writhed as if it were disgusted with itself, churning with hatred that clogged his veins, choked his heart, and blackened his vision. Elliot couldn’t breath beneath the weight of it, let alone cry. The only thing he wanted was to crawl out of his skin.

Finally, he forced himself up and dashed out of the room, running until he reached the clear, free air of the northern stairway. His heart thrashed against his ribs as the feeling began to fade, but part of him still wanted to run back inside and comfort Cam. He knew that if he did, however, he’d only be as vulnerable and useless as before, and Cam would feel even worse if he knew his shame had been exposed.

Iris had been wrong about his empathy being a gift. It didn’t give him power or allow him to help anyone. All it did was show him things he wished he’d never seen.

The State Dining Room was one of the loveliest places in the palace. The gold and rose-colored southern wall was covered with oil paintings of the Hanoverian sovereigns, and the northern wall was made up of a panel of tall French windows, leading to a spacious balcony overlooking the garden. The windows were open when Elliot arrived at eight o’clock, and the scents of flowers and freshly mown grass were drifting in on the breeze, but he couldn’t see or smell a thing. All he could think of was Cam.

Even though the hall was only the second largest dining space―the first being the Ball Supper Room, which wouldn’t be needed until the season began and the nobles who didn’t live at the palace attended as well―it was grand enough to hold the eighty or so courtiers who were strolling about the room and greeting each other with drinks in their hands. After surviving the crowd at
La Maison Des Fleurs
without a drink, Elliot had thought he could do the same at the Lord Mayor’s dinner, but as soon as he entered, he seized a glass of champagne from a footman’s tray―not out of dread of the crowd, but out of fear and concern for Cam. Once he had the glass in his hand, he moved to the back of the room, scanning the crowd for him and taking long, nervous drinks.

“Started the party without me once again,” a voice behind him sighed.

Elliot jumped and covered his mouth, nearly spitting out the champagne. He turned around to see Cam standing only inches behind him, his hair sleek, his suit immaculate, and his smile gleaming. If he hadn’t been able to feel the pain and anxiety in his chest, Elliot would have thought the afternoon had been a dream.

“You’re a bit jumpy,” Cam observed. “Here, have another drink. It’s truly the only way to get through these arduous formal dinners.”

Elliot looked down and saw that Cam was holding two fresh glasses, and also that the one in his own hand was now nearly empty. He drained the rest of the first and accepted the second from Cam.

“Thanks,” he said, handing his empty flute to a passing footman. “So… was Andrew able to find that part and fix the Victor?”

He’d hoped that mentioning something exciting to Cam would lift his mood, but instead, his anxiety thickened at the mention of Andrew’s name.

“He did find the part,” he said, glancing down at the red velvet carpet. “But he hasn’t been able to bring it back to the palace and work on the Victor. He won’t be coming tonight, either. His mother… well, it’s not one of her better days.”

Elliot stared at the floor as well, guilt churning inside his stomach along with the champagne. Then, suddenly, Cam slapped his shoulder and filled him with jarring glee.

“I’m a prat!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t ask you about Iris! What happened this afternoon? Did you go to
La Maison Des Fleurs?”

Elliot let out a breath and smiled. “Yes. I gave her this book I thought she’d like from Mansion House. She accepted it and even agreed to meet me again tonight.”

Cam beamed, his happiness genuine and rejuvenating. “Best of luck to you, mate,” he said. Then he gestured toward his hair. “You’d better comb that mop of yours before you go and meet her.”

Elliot had combed his hair―twice―it just didn’t make any difference, a fact that Cam knew well. “I’ll still be a better sight than you.”

He smiled and Elliot’s chest relaxed as he took another drink, but then he nearly spit it out again as a young girl approached them.

Her name was Philomena Blackwell, the daughter of the only living Earl who remained in London, and one of the few courtiers whose feelings hadn’t been a surprise to Elliot once he was able to feel them, because they were exactly the same as the ones she displayed on her face. While Elliot often felt inept at hiding his emotions, Philomena was perfectly capable of it―she just didn’t want to.

Elliot liked her, even more so after his affliction. While he admired how Cam and Iris could mask and control their feelings, there was something exciting and brave about someone who didn’t try. Her energy was frenetic and her spirit was nearly wild, and she carried some of the fiercest longings he’d ever come across. To most people, such qualities were out of place in any girl, not to mention the most refined and highborn in all of London, but the thing that made her explosive spirit more striking was its container.

Philomena had turned fifteen a little over a month ago―a week or so after Cam enjoyed his eighteenth “St. Cambrian’s Day”―but if anyone were to look at her, they’d guess she was twelve years old. She was only barely five feet tall, and her frame was slight and elfin, though there was nothing small about the way she carried herself, and her smooth, dimpled face was fresh and as sweet as a china doll’s. She had bright hazel eyes and shining hair the color of caramel, but Elliot found it hard to think of someone who looked so much like a little girl as
beautiful
.