The man frowned. “Evgeni Marin? No, I don’t believe so. But here is the ambassador now—he would know. Mr. Nabokov, do you have a moment?”
Nadya wasn’t sure if it was good luck or bad when the diplomat detoured to them. But she gave him the same smile she’d given the secretary and added an introduction. Given that no one knew who she was, she didn’t see the point in using a false name. When she stated her question again, Nabokov blinked in surprise.
“Evgeni Marin? No. It is my understanding, I am sorry to say, that he perished in France. But we know his brother.”
“Zivon?” She hoped her tone sounded right—a bit relieved at someone familiar, yet taken off guard by the news of death.
In truth, she was taken off guard. Even when she knew it was wrong, hearing that he’d died made her chest go tight.
Zivon must have thought he’d been killed in the train accident. He must have told them as much.
Regardless, using his name so informally seemed to have the desired effect. Nabokov gave her a sympathetic look and even patted her arm. “I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You knew the Marins well? Neighbors, perhaps?”
She blinked furiously, as if fighting back tears. “More than that. I . . . I was to marry Evgeni. This is why I traveled here, to meet him. I don’t even know if he’d told his brother, but—forgive me.” She drew her handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.
The men exchanged a glance. “We can put you in touch with Zivon Marin if you’d like.”
“Yes.” She sniffed. “Thank you. Do you have his address? I have a bag of Evgeni’s belongings he may want.”
“Ah.” Nabokov frowned. “We don’t, actually. He has always just stopped in to ask for updates. But my cousin said he was at Mass. I’m certain we can get it for you. If you could stop by again later?”
Though she wanted to seethe at yet another setback, Nadya gritted her teeth and nodded, hiding her frustration behind her handkerchief. “Yes, of course. I cannot thank you enough.”
Before they had time to notice that her eyes were in fact quite dry, Nadya scurried back out. They’d assume she was just distressed and craving privacy, which suited her fine. Once back on the sidewalk and well out of sight, she balled up the handkerchief, squeezed a bit of her frustration into the wad of cotton, and swore under her breath. Another delay.
No, nothing was going right at all.
20
THURSDAY, 20 JUNE 1918
You know, dearest sister, one of these days it may behoove you to actually remember your own umbrella.” Lily sent Ivy a narrow-eyed glare around the shaft of the brolly they were both huddled under. Of course, she was also fighting a grin, so it wasn’t likely to terrify her sister into responsibility.
Ivy laughed. “Why bother, when you can just supply my need? Besides, it’s cozy.”
“Until you have to walk home in the rain without it later.”
Her sister sent her a mischievous smirk. “Clarke is walking me home this evening. So if it happens to still be raining and I happen to not have my own umbrella and must share his . . .”
“Ah. So this was planned irresponsibility. I see.” Lily gave up and chuckled as they neared Ivy’s school. “Are the girls getting antsy yet, ready for their summer holiday? I remember this last term taking forever to finish.”
“They’re little monsters.” Though still Ivy smiled as she said it. “This last month is always impossible. And Diana Oglesby has been especially disruptive this week because her brother is coming home to recover—trench fever, she tells me. And everyone else in the class. Repeatedly.”
“Luckily, their teacher is in the best of moods, thanks to a certain someone.”
Ivy grinned, though it only lasted a second. She sent Lily a woebegone look and said, “I miss having you and Mr. Marin out with us. It’s been a month—do you think Daddy will relent soon? I mean, I know he’s allowed him to come to dinner, but it just isn’t the same as the four of us out for a promenade in the park.”
Lily sighed. “I’ve been prodding him. But I’m afraid to push too hard, lest he rescind what he’s granted.”
She’d been plotting exactly how far she could make that “dinners are acceptable” dictate stretch, though. This Saturday marked the day Zivon should have been celebrating his wedding to Alyona, and Lily meant to support him through it. Distract him from it. And, yes, see if any emotion peeked out about it. Mama and Daddy would be dining elsewhere that evening, so she couldn’t just beg for him to be invited to their table. There had to be something she could do, though.
Ivy sighed too and adjusted her hat. “I think it may be time for some well-placed rebellion.”
“Ivy.”
“What?” Her sister shot her a look that was somehow both all innocence and all mischief. “You’re a grown woman. And Daddy’s letting fear govern him. Wouldn’t we be honoring him more if we checked him in that than if we let it govern us too?”
Before Lily could do more than open her mouth to reply, Ivy jumped out into the rain and ran through the school’s gates, up the steps, and into the shelter of the door.
Lily could only shake her head and keep walking toward the hospital. She couldn’t imagine actually bucking her father’s orders, regularly and with planning. She still lived in his house. She would obey his rules.
But then again, she also couldn’t imagine going on like this much longer.
A few minutes later, she shook the water off her brolly and pulled open the door to the hospital. She stepped inside, immediately enveloped by the quiet that reminded her of how loud the rain had been.
“Oh good, you’re here.”
Lily looked up and frowned at the white-faced specter moving toward her. Arabelle, obviously, as no other nurse here was so tall. But . . . “Why are you wearing a mask?”
Ara held out another one toward Lily. “You know how I said we had a train full of troops coming in last night, a few of whom had three-day fever? Well, it seems to be rather contagious. The three on the train has turned into seven. We’re shorthanded as it is, so let’s be cautious, shall we? I’ve quarantined them as best I can. We don’t need the whole ward vomiting and delirious.”
Lily’s brows pulled down as she took the mask from her friend’s outstretched fingers. “Is it as bad as all that?”
Ara shrugged. “It could well be that the other four had already contracted it before they were in close quarters on the train. Or that the train itself acted as an incubator—we’ve certainly seen that before. But regardless, no one else wants it. So wear the mask, and do take care to wash your hands regularly, especially after contact with any of the newcomers.”
“Yes, nurse.” She smiled and then covered it with the cloth.
Arabelle glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “I think you’re the last of the morning VADs. But if you notice anyone else come in, direct them to me for a mask. Otherwise, the breakfast trays are ready.”
Lily nodded and followed her friend up to the fourth-floor ward. She was soon delivering porridge and tea to the men, handing it off to those who could manage it on their own and settling on a chair to assist one in need of help. It was odd to smile at him from behind a mask, but aside from a few jests, none of them seemed to mind. No doubt because Arabelle was right that no one else wanted to catch three-day fever. They had problems enough.