And Only to Deceive

23

Ivy left me alone the following afternoon while she called on friends. We had agreed to tell none of our acquaintances of Philip's letter, not wanting to make the news public until we were more certain of its truth. While she was gone, I took stock of my wardrobe and, unsatisfied with it, dashed off a note to Mr. Worth, ordering two more gowns in fabrics decidedly unsuitable for mourning. I say "dashed off," but after signing it, I glanced at the clock and realized that I had spent nearly an hour writing precise descriptions and drawing sketches of what I wanted. I turned my attentions to Philip's dressing room, lamented at having so recently purged his clothing, and wondered if I should order some clothes from his tailor. This led me to wonder if it would be possible to rehire his valet, who had taken another position some months after Philip's death. Not death, disappearance, I corrected myself.

The only bookshelf in our master bedroom was rather small, and I quickly set myself to the task of filling it with the same titles Philip had in his room in the country. Happily, both of his libraries contained copies of Troilus and Cressida, and I added my own catalog from the British Museum as well as the copy of Lady Audley's Secret I'd read on our honeymoon. I had lent A Study in Scarlet to Ivy but had Davis send one of the footmen out for Conan Doyle's new Sherlock Holmes book, The Sign of Four, which I thought would be a pleasant surprise for my husband should he, in fact, return home. The only volumes I did not search for were those on hunting; I rather hoped that his latest experience in Africa would have soured Philip on the subject.

I sat on the edge of our bed and smiled to myself. Perhaps I would not be forced to sleep alone for much longer. Never had I imagined that I would so look forward to the intimacies shared by husband and wife, but here I was, craving Philip's gentle touch, his warm breath on my cheek, and the feel of his strong body on top of mine. I sighed and collapsed into a supine position on the bed, quickly realizing that the pins Meg used to such stunning effect to hold my hair in place dug into my head and made lying on my back wholly uncomfortable. My tightly laced corset made returning upright difficult, and eventually I rolled onto my side and off the bed. These logistical problems quickly broke the spell of my thoughts of Philip, and I became aware of the sound of Ivy's voice calling to me from the hall. The stairway carpet muffled the tap of her heels, but I could tell that she was racing up the stairs, all the time shouting my name. I pulled myself to my feet and met her at the top of the steps.

"Good heavens, Ivy! What is the matter? You look as if you had run through all of London."

"Emily, I have just had the most extraordinary afternoon." She sat on the top step. "Have you met Cyril Elliott?"

"No, the name is not familiar," I answered, my curiosity piqued.

"I saw Arabella and Mr. Palmer at Lady Fielding's. Arthur was rather severe with me for having left you alone. Clearly he has no concept of the strength of your character." Ivy laughed. "But it is kind of him to be concerned, I suppose."

"Yes, Ivy, but that can hardly be the extraordinary part of your afternoon?" I asked.

"No, of course not, merely an interesting aside," my friend said with a wicked smile. "Later, when I was at Victoria Lindley's-" Ivy stopped and interrupted herself. "Have you been to her house since her marriage?"

"No, I haven't," I answered, wishing Ivy would regain her focus.

"Horrid place," she said. "At any rate, while there, I was introduced to Mr. Cyril Elliott. And before you ask, no, he is not related to the dreaded Lady Elliott."

"Good," I said.

"Mr. Elliott, it seems, has only just returned from Africa, where he and a small party of friends were hunting. In the course of recounting his adventures to myself, Victoria, and Jane Barring, who, I must tell you, looks terrible-"

"Ivy! The story. What did Mr. Elliott say?"

"Right. He told us that everywhere they went, they heard rumors about an Englishman wandering through the bush."

"Could it be Philip?" I asked, hoping that this would be the proof I needed to erase the seeds of doubt I harbored.

"He said the story grew more and more fantastic each time they heard it. First they were told that the man was very ill, then that he was mad, then that he had renounced civilization and planned to live like a native. Mr. Elliott gave little credence to the latter two versions but said that it does appear that someone, separated from his party, grew sick and was left to his own devices to find help."

"Where on earth is this man?" I asked. "It must be Philip. I hoped he might be alive after reading the letter, yet I must admit that it alone did not offer indisputable proof. But this story seems to confirm everything."

"It appears so, Emily," Ivy said, taking my hands. "If nothing else, it is without a doubt reasonable to think there is a very good chance that this man may be Philip. Surely it is too much to think that coincidentally there would be two Englishmen in a year who have fallen ill and been abandoned by their friends."

At that moment Davis appeared, announcing Margaret, who had come to study with me. She joined us at the top of the stairs, and I immediately told her all we knew; she reprimanded me for not having shared with her Philip's letter when I first learned of its existence.

"Why didn't you tell me, Emily!"

"I do apologize, Margaret, but please understand that I wanted to tell no one until I had better evidence. You, of all people, would require considerable substantiation of such a claim. I know your standards of proof. I suppose I was afraid you would point out the implausibility of the whole situation when I had no desire to abandon my hopes."

"You have me all wrong, Emily. I've heard of stories like this before-men surviving against unthinkable odds. It's happened more times than I can count in the American West. And think of Dr. Livingstone."

"Dr. Livingstone?" Ivy asked.

"Oh, yes!" I cried. "Of course, Dr. Livingstone."

"He was presumed dead in Africa for at least three years before Stanley went to look for him. And it must have been another two before he succeeded," Margaret said. "Philip's been gone fewer than two years. That he might be alive doesn't shock me in the least."

"Mr. Bennett," Ivy said, grabbing my arm. "Do you remember him from Paris?"

"Of course," I replied, confused.

"He's the one who sent Mr. Stanley to look for Dr. Livingstone because he wanted the story for his New York paper," Ivy said. "I talked to him about it at some length. It was rather difficult to get him to move on to another subject."

"You're clever to remember that, Ivy. I had forgotten," Margaret replied. "And you know everyone believed that Livingstone had been killed."

"He was in poor health when Stanley found him, I recall."

"Actually, more weary than ill," Margaret said.

"All the same, his experience must have been dreadful!" Ivy exclaimed. "How he must have suffered."

"I must go to Philip. I must try to find him," I said, hardly hearing what either of them said, as I suddenly felt almost panicked. "I am going to Africa. I cannot bear the thought of him languishing alone in an isolated village. I want to see him the moment he is discovered."

"Of course you must go. If he is still ill, your very presence will undoubtedly lift his spirits and aid in his recovery. Your reunion must not be delayed," Margaret said, growing more and more excited.

"Perhaps Mr. Bennett would be willing to organize an expedition to find Philip," Ivy suggested.

"Mr. Bennett might be an excellent resource, but I don't think he would agree to let Emily go. Can we think of anyone else to arrange things?" Margaret asked.

"You are right. Furthermore, if Mr. Bennett were to hear of this, he would undoubtedly want the story for his paper. I do not want to attract publicity." I thought for a moment. "I shall enlist the help of Mr. Palmer. It is he, after all, whom Philip chose to contact. He should be able to orchestrate a search party."

"We should remember that Dr. Livingstone was a missionary, Emily. He had chosen to live in Africa and was well established there. Granted, his living conditions were undoubtedly wretched, but they were satisfactory enough that he stayed on even after Stanley found him. Philip was not in such happy circumstances. While we can hope that he may be found alive, I do not think that we can be sure," Ivy said.

"I will believe it until it is proven otherwise," I said with a flourish, utterly captivated by the idea that I would soon find myself in Philip's arms.

"Do you really think you should go to Africa?" Ivy asked. "It sounds awfully dangerous."

"She must go!" Margaret cried. "I wish I could. I cannot believe that my sister's wedding is so soon. There's no way I can avoid going back to New York for it."

"I will need your help, Ivy," I said. "My mother cannot know that I am going. She would do everything in her power to stop me. I would like to tell her that I am with you in the country. Will you corroborate my story?"

"Oh, Emily, I just don't know if this is a good idea. I want Philip to be alive as much as you do, but it is not a certain thing. And the idea of traveling to Africa-it just isn't safe."

"You needn't worry, dearest. You know the Palmers will see to it that no harm comes to me."

"I don't think now is the time to abandon your friend, Ivy," Margaret said.

"Emily knows I only want what is best for her." I could see from Ivy's expression that she thought I was going too far.

"But now you are implying that you know better than she does what that is," Margaret said, rather forcefully.

"Please, Ivy, will you help me?"

"Of course," she said, sounding more resigned than convinced. "If you feel this is something you must do, I will not stand in your way."

"If Mother writes, could you answer the letters for me?"

"Yes, but surely she would recognize your handwriting?"

"True. If she writes, you shall have to send any reply by cable. Say that I'm so very rich that I don't like to wait for letters to arrive by post. She'll be horrified and won't write again," I said. "And, Ivy, you must not tell Robert."

"Oh, Emily, I don't know that I could lie to him."

"Your husband has no right to know her plans," Margaret said.

"Please, Ivy. If he were to find out, he might try to stop me."

"Yes, I imagine that he would." She furrowed her pretty brow. "But maybe not, if you agreed to go only as far as Cairo. You could let the others travel the rest of the way without you and still see Philip more quickly than if you waited in London. No one would object to your going to Cairo, not even your mother. You could stay at Shepherd's-this is the perfect time of the year for it."

"I am not going to Cairo, Ivy-I am going to Philip, if I must travel all the way to Lake Victoria to find him."

"Good heavens! Is that where he was hunting?" Ivy asked.

"To tell you the truth, I have no idea," I admitted. "But Arthur certainly knows."

"Perhaps he should speak with Mr. Elliott to get a more complete picture of these rumors," Margaret suggested.

"Excellent idea." I leaned against the rail at the top of the stairs. "I never liked Arthur much when I first met him, and I still don't particularly enjoy his company. Yet if he agrees to do this for me, I shall be utterly indebted to him."

Within a few hours, I had dispatched a hurried note to Arthur and received a reply. He, along with Andrew, was booking passage to Cairo and arranging for guides to take them south.

"I am most impressed that Arthur rose so quickly to the occasion," Ivy said, reading over my shoulder.

"And Andrew, dear Andrew." I sighed. "I hardly know what to say about him. He is going all this distance to rescue my husband so soon after I callously turned down his own proposal. I do not think many men would do such a thing."

"I think that he loved you more than we realized," Ivy replied. "He certainly must have a deep admiration for you to go to such lengths to ensure your happiness."

"Romantic though that idea is, we should not forget that both he and Arthur were friends of Philip's. Lovely and charming though you are, Emily, they may be doing this for their friend more than for you," Margaret said.

"You are right, of course. Still, I rather like the idea of the rejected suitor moving heaven and earth to bring his love her heart's desire," I said, less than half seriously. "It is awfully good that I turned down Andrew, isn't it? Only imagine if Philip were to return home and find me engaged."

"Thankfully, that never would have happened." Ivy stood up. "I'm surprised that Arthur did not mention in his note any thoughts on your decision to accompany the party. I felt certain he would protest."

"I haven't told him yet," I admitted. "I didn't want him to refuse to go and thought it would be easier for him to adjust to the idea once his own plans were set in motion."

"You are terrible, Emily. Well, if you are to depart for the Dark Continent in less than a week, I think you had better begin packing," Margaret said. "And you will have to break the news to the Palmers. I would love to see their unguarded reactions when they learn of the addition to their search party."

1 DECEMBER 1887

ASHTON HALL, DERBYSHIRE

Have spent much of the day reorganizing my collection and labelling objects-activities necessitated by what might be considered excessive purchases made during my recent travels. Forakis has not been able to locate any more of the objects from my list-suggests I will have to return to Paris if I am set on finding them.

Will visit K briefly in Kent next week so that we might see each other before I leave for Africa. How quickly both our lives will change when I return.