The World Before Us by Aislinn Hunter

Author:Aislinn Hunter [Hunter, Aislinn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-553-41853-8
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2015-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

By the time the windows were opened a little while later to let in some air, Leeson was waltzing with a commissioner’s wife and Hale had put away his trombone to stand at the punch bowl next to the red-haired girl from the laundry who had stolen into the chapel with him once for a lusty half hour. Herschel had excused himself to one of the chairs along the wall and was seething at a perceived slight—a glare—received at quite some distance from the Matron. N was fiddling with the ribbons she’d braided into her hair, feeling common compared to the wives of the local businessmen, the robust sisters of the wealthier patients, the pink-cheeked daughters of lawyers and doctors and bankers. She’d been asked to dance numerous times, and had laughed through a catastrophic quadrille with Herschel, only to be told by the Superintendent as they partnered for the schottische that she danced quite commendably. For that she tripped purposefully and stepped on his toe. When they were finished he escorted her off the floor, only to find Farrington waiting for him.

“Superintendent Thorpe.” Farrington bowed at the girl and just as quickly dismissed her. “I beg your pardon, there’s a matter that I believe might merit your attention.”

“Of course.”

Farrington bowed again at the girl, this time regarding her more fully, her face uncomplicated in its youth, pleasing and open. He gestured toward the back of the hall and said to the Superintendent, “Please, this way.”

Farrington led Dr. Thorpe along the wall. With the slightest nod of his head the Superintendent soon brought Bream and Ockley into step behind him; he would need their assistance if anything unsuitable was occurring. He had his list of suspects already, and as he strode through the ballroom he mentally noted those of the troublemakers he could and couldn’t see present: Hopper was by the grated fire, Hale by the punch bowl, Leeson sniffing around a woman in a blue-ribboned dress, albeit at an acceptable distance, Greevy sprawled miserably in a chair. He couldn’t see Herschel anywhere.

“Through here.” Farrington opened the panelled door to the patients’ library and together he and the Superintendent entered the room, along with Bream, Ockley and, because she’d tacked on behind them, N. The library was dark save for the corner, which was lit by a short candelabrum gripped firmly in Herschel’s hand. The poet stood behind Herschel, his eyes closed as if in a trance, in mid-recitation: “… and enter the ground/to find ourselves/dwelling in the city beneath it,/our bodies bald, backs clean/wings grown within us …”

Gathered in the room were seven or eight individuals, including Commissioner Mullan and his wife. The Countess was standing behind Mrs. Mullan in the shadows.

“And feign again/the kiss of sun,/and wander farther from it …”

In the candlelight the poet appeared as little more than a soft-lit face with half-moons under his eyes and a waxy sheen on his forehead, but his voice and the words were magnetic, some thoughts solidly said and others whispered as if secreted from his mouth to the ears of those closest.

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