The Dangerous Ladies Affair

25 Sabina

On Friday evening John escorted her to a performance of Verdi’s Aida at the Opera House, followed by a late supper of oysters a la poulette at the Poodle Dog.

It was a splendid evening. He was quite handsome in his evening clothes and top hat, his thick beard more neatly trimmed than usual. (She’d overhead a woman whisper to her companion at the opera house that Sabina’s electric-blue-and-black ruffled gown was stunning and that she and John made a very attractive couple.) And he’d been a perfect gentleman, managing to remain alert during the entire performance and to not once mention business matters or money during dinner. Even the weather cooperated. The fog and drizzle of the previous few days had given way to clear skies and a significant rise in temperature. Spring had finally arrived in the city.

Most satisfying of all, though, was simply having John back safe and sound. She’d missed his company, even missed his idiosyncrasies and minor irritants. Missed him more than she cared to admit. Well, no, that wasn’t true. Why not admit it? Indeed, why not? After all, hadn’t she conceded to herself not so long ago that her time with him had wrought a profound change in her feelings toward him, that inside his crusty shell he was as kind, as considerate, as doting, as Stephen had been during their courtship and all-too-brief marriage...?

“...coffee, Sabina?”

She blinked and looked up. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you’d like more coffee?”

“Oh. No, I’ve had plenty.”

“You seem a bit... distracted. Not enjoying yourself?”

“On the contrary. I was just doing a bit of woolgathering.”

“About what?”

“Oh, this and that.” She smiled. “Let’s be on our way now, shall we?”

Outside John took her arm and led her to a waiting hansom. When they were seated inside, he leaned forward to speak to the driver, but she placed a restraining hand on his arm.

“It occurs to me,” she said in lowered tones, “that I have never been to your flat.”

He said blankly, “My flat?”

“You’ve never described it and I’m curious. I should like to see it.”

“...You would? When?”

“Now. Tonight.”

In the light from the cab’s interior lamp, John’s jaw hung agape like a puppet’s; for once he was utterly speechless. It was Sabina who had to give his Leavenworth Street address to the driver.