“Oh, brilliant.” Monty claps his hands like a man about to feast. “Shall we go by elephant, or hire noblemen to carry us in sedan chairs all the way? Of course we’ll pay whatever they ask.”
“I thought maybe,” I say, “we go overland.”
“It would be better if we could keep to one method of transport.” Felicity says. “Particularly one that doesn’t have to go over bumpy roads. You,” she looks to Monty, “are still not as mobile as you seem to think.”
“Elephants ride very smoothly, darling,” Monty says.
Felicity ignores him. “And if I remember, Spanish roads are so poorly paved that you may be the first man ever to rebreak a bone simply by riding in a carriage.”
“What if we go by river?” I ask. “It wouldn’t be a direct route, or take us all the way there, but if we can get to the Rhine . . .”
Felicity rubs her temples. “God, that will require so much planning.”
“I’ll plan it.”
“Can we not go by sea?” she asks. She sounds exasperated already. I’m surprised she doesn’t suggest we forget the whole thing and make our way back to England instead. “Surely there are ships to Amsterdam—”
“No!” I almost shout it. Monty startles, and one of the cards slips from his hand and flutters to the floor. The queen of hearts. I stare into her black eyes, unable to look at either of them for fear of seeing my strangeness reflected in their concern. “No, sorry, I’d really please prefer if we don’t. Sorry, I’m—”
“That’s fine,” Monty interrupts me.
I wipe my palms on the knees of my trousers. “It is?”
Felicity doesn’t look convinced, but Monty leans backward, arms crossed in satisfaction. “Whatever spends as much of your father’s money as possible. I’m still in favor of the elephants.”
The Eleftheria leaves us in Porto, and my father’s checkbook gets us to Madrid, then across the Pyrenees, their peaks capped with both snow and wildflowers, to Toulouse. Spring is bursting into summer, and I think of Persephone, the goddess dancing through the seasons with flowers at her feet. The solstice is approaching. One year since my mother died.
From Toulouse, we go to Lyon, then Basel, where we take a passenger liner down the Rhine River. As it’s our father footing the bill, whether he likes or knows it, I purchase three first-class cabins, one for each of us on the finest ship available, populated exclusively with tourists traveling the Continent and in possession of enough money to throw at luxury accommodations.
Once we’ve set sail, I keep to myself in my cabin, desperate to talk to both my siblings but concerned that they’ll feel pressured to accept any invitation I offer and not actually want to be with me, which I will then spend the entire time fretting about, and also how much is there really to do on a boat? Whatever limited activities are available, I suspect they’re doing them without me. I am also not as steady-stomached as I had hoped I would be. River travel is less choppy than ocean, but the passenger liner is smaller and more prone to being knocked by waves, and I’m so worried about becoming sick that it’s hard to eat anything for fear of being ill. The spots from the leeches still dot my arm. I’m not sure the scars will ever fade.
So I spend several days in lonely solitude, not wanting to initiate conversation but also desperate for it, but also certain that once I have it, the only thing I’ll want is to be back in my cabin, alone.
My self-imposed exile is broken when Felicity arrives at my door and says, by way of greeting, “Monty’s looking for you.”
“Is he?” I ask, resisting the urge to check my hair in the glass over the washbasin to be sure it’s lying flat. It’s only Felicity, and I know she doesn’t give a fig what I look like, but I’m still terribly aware of how little regard I’ve paid my appearance since we boarded. “What for?”
“I don’t know. Nothing bad,” she adds. I hadn’t considered it might be until she warned me it wasn’t and now that’s all I can think of. They are going to sit me down and have a chat about how they’re getting off at the next port and I’ll be on my own, or they’ll take turns listing everything they don’t like about me, or they’re angry at me for something I don’t know that I’ve done. Or they’re going to tell me they’ve decided to adopt George as a younger brother in my place and there’s only room for one youngest Montague so I’ll have to go, and God, what is wrong with me? This goddamn stagnation and loneliness has given me far too much time to think. I’m much better in a crisis, when brooding contemplation isn’t an option.
I put on my coat and follow Felicity to the promenade deck, where passengers are allowed to walk or sit and take tea. The weather is warm so the deck is crowded, passengers with binoculars and paper maps marking out the sights along the way. There must have been some message passed around that the countryside we are coming up on is particularly beautiful, for it feels like the entire manifest is squeezed onto the narrow promenade. I nearly turn back to my cabin at the sight of so many people.
But the view is maddeningly gorgeous. Terraced vineyards cling to the lush hillsides, their neat rows interrupted by slate cliffsides crowned with storybook castles. Some are crumbling ruins, but others still fly flags from their highest turret, and the villages that crowd the shore below them are dotted with fishing boats and feather trails of smoke billowing from the rooftops. Steeples rise from between the trees, and in the fields, tiny white sheep dot the grass like snowflakes. The day is warm, and the sun gives the water the bright opacity of blown glass.
We find Monty sitting alone, eyes closed, face turned to the sky. His cheeks have more color than I’ve seen in them since the storm, though whether that’s due to his health or too long in the sun, I’m not sure. The freckles on his forehead have darkened. Felicity touches his shoulder lightly, and he sits up. “Other side,” he directs me, tapping his deaf ear, and I change course, pulling one of the deck chairs around so Felicity and I are both facing him.
“Why were you looking for me?” I ask with no prelude.
Monty squints. “What?”
“Felicity said you wanted me for something.”
“Did I?” He looks to Felicity, scratching the back of his neck. “What was it again? Mostly I think we wanted to make sure you weren’t dead. We haven’t seen you in days.”
“Oh.” I pick at a patch of dry skin along my nail beds. “I’ve been . . . unwell.”
“What sort of unwell?” Felicity asks, and I know she’s a doctor, and a sister, and she’s trying to be kind, but being asked with that undertone that both of us know means How insane are you today? makes me want to curl up in shame.
“Seasick,” I say, then amend, “River-sick.”
“Would you take something to help?” She pulls on a chain around her neck until a locket appears. The movement pushes back the collar of her dress, and I notice a scar on her shoulder, a small starburst like a bullet hole. “Do you take snuff?”
“Not”—I eye the locket—“medicinally.”
Monty laughs when he sees the locket. “Only the finest for our Adrian.” He reaches over and pushes my head good-naturedly. “Darling, you’re going to be so high.”