Their home was one in a row of identical red brick terraces. The yard was long and narrow, mimicking the tall and slender house. They kept a modest household, with only two staff to help with the daily chores. Her father’s bookkeeping business paid the bills, but it left little for indulgences. Dawn had no need for hats or parasols, and much preferred the occasional rare plant or bundle of seeds.
The two women walked through the open double doors that led to the parlour. Her mother closed the doors behind them and pulled the lace curtains across. Dark wooden panelling covered the bottom half of the walls, the top half given to a flocked wallpaper on which flaming birds roosted in red and orange trees. Dawn had always wondered why they didn’t catch the tree on fire. Her father sat in his armchair by the hearth, his attention fixed on the bundle of letters on the side table. A silver letter opener lay next to the correspondence. One by one, he slit them open and examined the contents.
Dawn kissed his cheek before sitting on the chaise opposite.
Mr Uxbridge glanced up at his daughter and frowned over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses. “You look pale, Dawn. Have you been standing for too long?”
She loved her parents dearly, but they would treat her like the most fragile plant. While everyone expected her condition to claim her early, she longed to experience life first. Did the rare orchid sitting on a shelf in the glasshouse dream of a riotous forest?
“I am told a pale complexion is much desired, Papa. And I have not been standing, as I sit on a stool when I am out in the garden.” She unwrapped her parcel while her mother poured tea. Within the small cardboard box, nestled in tissue paper as though they were delicate crystal, were several aquilegia seed heads. They looked like tiny hands with the fingers pinched shut. Each funnel contained black seeds the size of an ant. Dawn would grow the seeds in her glasshouse while she considered the perfect spot for the new plants.
Sipping quietly at her tea, Dawn turned her thoughts to the tea plant. What a shame the climate didn’t allow her to grow one. An ornamental garden was a delight to look upon, but more and more she thought of growing useful things, like tea or vegetables. Their glasshouse was too small to accommodate much more than one lonely orchid and her seed trays. Dawn would give up all her worldly possessions (but none of her plants!) for more land.
Her father grunted and frowned at the letter in his hand.
“What is it, dearest?” Mrs Uxbridge asked.
He folded the letter back into a rectangle and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. His reading glasses came off, and he folded the arms shut. “I have been summoned to town on business that cannot wait. I would greatly value your assistance is this matter.”
Mrs Uxbridge placed a biscuit on a saucer before handing it to her husband. “Of course. I am ever at your disposal to taste the veracity of men’s words.”
Dawn sat up taller. A rare trip into town would relieve the ennui of talking only to her plants. “Oh, Mother, may I go also? I could manage a walk along the main street to look in the windows while Father attends to business.”
Her parents shared a glance before her mother answered with a shake of her head. “Dawn, there will be far too many people. The crowd and the walking might be too much for your heart. I fear you have overtaxed yourself today already with your work outside.”
Disappointment washed over Dawn, but she kept a bland smile on her face. “Of course.”
Being content on her own didn’t mean that she was devoid of all human emotions. She longed to see something of the shops, the riotous displays and diverse merchandise. To move among people and be a part of life, not a neglected aspidistra, forgotten in a corner of the parlour, gathering dust on her leaves.
“Perhaps tomorrow you and I could visit the bookseller and see if the book on herbs you ordered has arrived?” her mother offered in consolation.
“That would be lovely. After tea, I shall start on my drawings for the area I want to redesign.” Looking down on pedestrians while she sketched at the desk by her bedroom window was the closest she would come to the bustle of everyday life.
With tea and biscuits consumed, Dawn helped her mother fasten her bonnet and kissed her parents on the cheek as they descended the front steps to the waiting carriage. She waved and watched until the horses trotted around a corner, then she closed the door and walked up the stairs.
Her father owned an accounting firm that maintained debtor and creditor ledgers for several larger local companies. Dawn tried to console herself by saying she would have been bored sitting in his offices with the large ledgers laid open on the desks. His clerks laboured by faint light inscribing numbers in neat columns, the only sounds the scratch of nibs or rustle of paper.
Yes. That would have been terribly boring; far better to stay at home in her room. She drew planting plans, erased ones that didn’t fit, and then tried something new. Throughout the process, she consulted her books for details on foliage and size and tried to imagine the overall effect she strove to achieve. She barely noticed when the sun dipped low in the sky and the maid came in to light the gas lanterns.
“Have my parents returned yet?” Dawn laid down her pencil. Her mind had wandered from the original task, and instead she drew a fantasy plan with large open spaces and exotic specimens.
Sarah, the young maid, turned the knob on the wall lantern, then held up a match to light the gas that rushed through the pipe. “No, miss. Do you still want dinner served at the usual time?”
“Yes, please. I’m sure Father is simply delayed and they’ll not be far away.” Business often dragged as Father reviewed the ledgers and double-checked the calculations performed by his clerks. He kept a large abacus on his desk that clattered as he slid the beads back and forth, and Dawn imagined him frowning at the rows over the top of his glasses.
Odd though, that he requested Mother’s assistance at his meeting. That implied he thought someone was being dishonest.
As she gathered her loose papers, Dawn picked up the polished obsidian egg she used as a paperweight. Bigger and weightier than a hen’s egg, her mother had given it to her some years before along with an outlandish story. Her mother said it was a precious artefact and that a brave man had died to retrieve it. His dying wish had been to entrust her with it. She said she vowed to protect the object and in return, it would protect them.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Dawn muttered to the egg. “But just in case, you are safe from the seekers here. I promise my room is weasel free.” Dawn placed the paperweight in the middle of her papers to ensure no breeze disturbed her work during the night.
Downstairs, she waited in the dining room, expecting her parents to appear at any moment. A modest dinner was laid out on the table, but she didn’t want to start alone. As the grandfather clock ticked off the seconds and minutes, the soup grew cold and the gravy congealed around the beef.
Sarah appeared in the doorway, a worried frown drawing her brows together.
“You may as well clear the table, please, Sarah. I’m sure Mother and Father decided to dine in town and forgot to send on word,” Dawn said to the maid.
Although she said the words, cold dread settled in her stomach. Where were her parents? Her mother knew Dawn would worry, and would never jeopardise her delicate health by failing to return home when expected without sending a note to explain their absence. Had there been some accounting disaster at the office, like a ledger gone wild with tallies out of alignment, or beads strewn over the floor from a broken abacus? Or a gentleman accused of lying who demanded satisfaction for the insult? She struggled to think what could have detained them.