The Tea Rose Part 52

Their wedding day.

Her hands started shaking at the very thought. She was marrying Nick.

She would promise herself to him, and he to her. Forever. The light-headed feeling came back with a vengeance. She closed her eyes and dug her nails into her palms, concentrating on the pain. Don't, don't, don't, she told herself. Don't think about this. Don't think about anything. Just get it over with.

When Eames had finished with Nick's certificate, he verified the information on Fiona's, had them fill out their marriage license. Fiona gave Teddy her parents' things to hold. The courtroom was empty now except for her, Nick, Teddy, Stephen, and Eames. She was grateful for that. The morning had been a circus and all the clowns were still waiting for them outside on the courthouse steps. At least they wouldn't have to say their vows in front of a throng.

With little ado, Eames began. There were no pleasantries, no romantic sentiments, simply the ceremony, the exchange of rings, and the vows. And then the thing was done. And they were standing there facing each other with thin yellow bands on their fingers. Nicholas and Fiona Soames ... or was it Elgin? Husband and wife. Till death do them part.

Eames had them sign their marriage certificate, then had their lawyers sign it. Then he bid them good day, telling Nick he was free to go and advising him, with a tight little smile, to steer clear of The Slide and all such establishments on any future peregrinations.

The four of them stood there awkwardly, not knowing quite what to do, until Stephen broke the silence by clapping his hands together and announcing that there was a gauntlet of press outside, and if they wanted to pull this off and make people believe Nick's arrest was a mistake, if they wanted to prevent a scandal, they'd better look the part of the happy newlyweds. They gathered their things and followed him out.

On the steps of the courthouse, Stephen Ambrose informed those present that Cameron Eames had an outrageous sense of justice and owed his clients an apology. Mr. Soames's arrest had been an egregious mistake. He had suffered terribly at the hands of the police and the court system, and then he'd been intimidated into marrying his fiancee, the former Miss Fiona Finnegan, much sooner than either of them intended. "This is 1889," he bellowed, slapping his fist into his palm for effect, "not the Dark Ages! No man should be forced to marry in a courthouse among criminals just to clear his good name!" He added that although all charges against his client had been dropped, Mr.

Soames was considering suing the city for unlawful imprisonment and the violation of his civil rights.

Pictures were taken, including one of Nicholas kissing his new bride's cheek, and one of Fiona holding a bouquet of roses a reporter had bought from a flower seller. Questions were asked and answered, names spelled and spelled again, best wishes and congratulations were heaped upon the couple, and then, finally, the crowd dispersed. Teddy and Stephen said their farewells ~ both men commented that the day had easily been the most interesting one of their careers-and then they left.

And Fiona and Nick were alone.

Fiona was the first to speak. "Nick ... I ... I think I'm going to faint."

"No, don't! There's a bench over there, under that tree. Come on."

He took her elbow and led her away from the courthouse. She sat down and rested her head on her knees. Her skin was clammy. Her heart was racing. She felt as if she was going to be sick.

"What have we done?" she moaned. "What will I tell Will?"

Nick rubbed her back gently. ''I'm sorry, Fiona," he said. ''I'm so, so sorry." And then he burst into tears. He cried so had she could barely understand him. " ... ruined your life ... Will ... you ...

loved him ... " Fiona thought about what he was saying. She looked at the buildings around them, the trees, the sun high in the noon sky. Then she turned back to him. "No, I didn't. Not really," she said in a voice that was oddly calm.

"What?" he said, sniffling.

"You were right. Remember that night at your flat? When we argued? You said I didn't really love Will. Not the way I loved Joe. I loved many things about Will. His good heart. His intelligence.

I loved the glamour of his life, and I loved being wanted by someone again, being held and cared for.

But I don't love him. Not like I should. I'm only sorry, deeply sorry, that I'm about to cause him so much pain. Joe was my true love, Nick. Like Henri was for you. You only get one of those in a lifetime. Hard as it is, I think it's time I accepted it."

"Do you love me?"

She smiled at him. "You know I do."

"I love you, too. And I'll take good care of you, Fee. And Seamie, too. I promise I will. I'll be the best husband ever. I know it won't be the most conventional marriage ... I : .. I can't give you children ... but I'll give you everything else. A good home. Clothing. Nice suppers out. Whatever you like. I haven't as much money as Will, but I have quite a bit. About ten thousand pounds a year. And the gallery's almost open. My prospects are really quite excellent, you know."

Fiona gave him a sidelong look. "Nicholas Soames ... are you proposing to me?"

"I guess I am. A bit after the fact."

"I accept."

"Do you?"

"Absolutely." She leaned her head on his shoulder. ''I'd marry you again in a second, Nick. I'd have done anything to keep you here. You're the most important person in the world to me. You and Seamie."

She heard him sniffle again. After a few seconds, he said, "Are you certain it's what you want? It's just that, if you wanted to I suppose we could get a divorce."

"No, we couldn't. It would cause as much of a scandal as the one we just barely avoided, and I've had enough excitement for a while."

"What about your lovely dress, Fee? And the jewels Will gave you?" "Someone else can wear the dress. As for this ... " She pulled the enormous diamond off her finger and put it in her purse. "It never did look right on me."

"And your trip. You were looking forward to it and now you can't get on that boat and sail off to France next week."

"No," she said, smiling up at him joyously as she realized what she could do instead. "But I can go to my beautiful Tea Rose, Nick! I can put my ap.r.o.n on and get to work." She laughed. "I won't have to give it up! How could I have ever even imagined it? You know something? I can't wait! I can't wait to be back there, to see my roses and open the place and be up to my neck in tea and scones."

Nick took her hand. "I'll take you on a honeymoon, Fee."

"Will you? Where?"

"Coney Island."

Fiona laughed. "With Seamie and Michael and the Munros tagging, along. Now that would be romantic!"

Fiona and Nick sat on the bench holding hands and talking until the clock struck one, and Fiona realized how late it was, and realized, too, how anxious everyone at home would be. She had run out of the house last night as fast as she could, only taking a few seconds to tell Alec that something had happened to Nick.

"We'd better go home, don't you think?" she said. "They'll be beside themselves with worry.

We've got to tell Michael what happened."

Nick groaned. "I think I'd rather be deported."

They stood to go and Fiona noticed that the cut on his cheek was bleeding again. She dabbed at it with Teddy's handkerchief, which was still balled up in her hand. "By the way," she said, "that was a daft stunt you tried to pull. Pa.s.sing yourself off as a viscount - have you no shame?"

He caught her hand. "Fiona, that was no stunt," he said quietly.

She looked at him, a.s.sessing his expression. "You ... you're not joking, are you?"

He shook his head. Then he took her hand, kissed it, and, with a rueful smile, said, "Let me be the first to congratulate you on your nuptials, Viscountess."

Chapter 56.

Joe, freshly washed from a morning bath, the one bath he was allowed o per week by his landlady, pulled a clean s.h.i.+rt over his head and tucked it into his trousers. He looked at his face in the small square of a mirror hanging over the one bureau in his room, then ran a comb through his hair.

Today he would start hunting in Chelsea. He'd been in the city for three weeks already and had found no sign of Fiona. It was getting harder and harder to maintain his optimism.

Michael Charles Finnegan had turned out to be another dead end. He had a niece, all right-her name was Frances and she was ten years old. Eddie's luck had been no better. He'd found the address on Eighth Avenue-it was a grocery shop-and knocked on the door. An old man had answered and said that a Michael Finnegan did indeed live there, but that he was out for the evening. He told Eddie to come back in the morning. Eddie tried to ask whether Michael had a niece, but the man cut him off, saying there had been enough commotion for one night and that he wasn't going to answer any more questions from street urchins. Then he slammed the door on him.

That had been the day before yesterday. Eddie had gotten work handing out flyers yesterday and couldn't return to Eighth Avenue, but he'd given Joe the address. He would go there himself this morning. He needed to find Fiona. Soon. He was being extremely careful with his money, but it was dwindling nonetheless. "Where are you, la.s.s?" he sighed aloud to the empty bedroom. "Where the devil are you?" A crus.h.i.+ng feeling of despair overtook him. He sat down on his bed for a few minutes, his elbows on his knees, convinced that he would never find her, that all his hopes, all his efforts, would be for nothing.

He shook the feeling off determined to keep hunting. He couldn't allow himself to give up now. She was here. He felt it; he knew it. All he had to do was find the right Finnegan. As he reached for his boots, there was a sudden pounding on his door that was so loud it made him jump.

"Mister!" a small voice piped through the door, "open up! I found her! This time I really found her!"

Joe was across the room in two quick strides. He yanked open the door.

Eddie was standing on the threshold with a newspaper in his hands. "Look! It's her, ain't it?

Fiona Finnegan! She's the one, ain't she?"

He took the paper. And there, on the second page, was a picture of Fiona, but not the Fiona he'd known. This Fiona was smiling. She wore a stylish suit and a pretty hat. She looked beautiful.

Absolutely radiant. A man was kissing her cheek. The headline said, "New York's Most Glamorous Couple Wed in Courthouse Ceremony." The article, written by a Mr, Peter Hylton, read: No column in this edition, dear readers. There's only one story worth reporting today and that's the dramatic courtroom wedding of the handsome young art dealer, Nicholas Soames, to Fiona Finnegan, the lovely proprietress of TasTea and the soon to be opened Tea Rose salon. Hearts are breaking all town, Mr Soames rival for Miss Finnegan's hand has retreated to the country. All's fair in love and war darlings, but I digress! Back to Tuesday night and the wrongful arrest that led to a wedding...

The article detailed Nicholas Soames's arrest, his lawyer's defense, Hylton's own heroic testimony on Mr. Soames's behalf and Miss Finnegan's tearful plea to the judge. In addition to the article, there were sidebars on Nicholas Soames's gallery and on Fiona's burgeoning tea business.

Joe was stunned. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. He kept reading. Fiona lived in Chelsea, the article said. Above her uncle's-Michael Finnegan's grocery shop. The very place Eddie had visited. If only he'd gone there, to Eighth Avenue, instead of to Duane Street. Oh, G.o.d, if only he had ...

"Mister? Are you all right? You don't look so good," Eddie said. "You want a cup of coffee?

Some whiskey? Maybe you should sit down."

''I'm fine," Joe said woodenly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the first thing he touched, and handed it to Eddie.

"A whole dollar? Gee, thanks!"

Joe ushered him out. He picked up the paper again and stared at the picture, hoping that somehow it wasn't Fiona. But it was. Her face, her smile, they were unmistakable. He felt empty.

Hollowed out. There was nothing inside him anymore. No heart, no hope, no life. They were gone.

Ripped out in an instant.

As he looked at her, a bitter laugh escaped him. What a fool he was. She was hardly the poor, bereft figure he imagined she would be. She wasn't in trouble, she wasn't lost or frightened, either.

How presumptuous he'd been to a.s.sume she was miserable and alone without him. She was a beautiful, successful woman, no longer the girl whose heart he'd shattered on the Old Stairs. She'd moved on and made an entirely new life for herself. A good life. She looked as happy as a new bride should with her das.h.i.+ng groom-a man who, from all appearances, was a bit of a step up from a Whitechapel costermonger.

Joe looked at him-roughed up, but still handsome-kissing her cheek, and felt sick with jealousy at the thought of her in his arms. What did you expect? he asked himself angrily. You left her and she found someone new. Just as she should've done.

For a split second, he considered going to see her. Just to lay eyes on her one last time. But he knew it would be selfish and unfair and would only upset her. This was all his fault, not hers. It was a fitting turn of events, really. A just punishment for what he'd done to her. He heard his grandmum's voice again, "We're not punished for our sins, but by them."

He would not go to see her. He would let her get on with her life. As he would get on with his. Without her. She was not coming back to him. She was not coming back to London. He felt a pain rise up in him, a deep crus.h.i.+ng feeling of loss that terrified him. He needed to stay ahead of it; he couldn't let it catch up to him. If he did, it would break him into pieces.

He pulled his duffel bag out from under his bed. He would leave today.

He had his return ticket. He'd go find Brendan on his work site, say goodbye, then head over to the piers to see if there was a Whitestar boat leaving tonight and if it had any berths left. He opened the top drawer of the bureau, grabbed his things and shoved them into his bag. His map of New York was in there, too. It lay folded open to the West Side of the city. To Chelsea. Where she lived. Where he'd planned to go today. He'd missed her by a day. One b.l.o.o.d.y day.

Without warning, the pain slammed into him. It pulled him down into its fathomless depths, engulfing him, drowning him. Filling him with its suffocating grief, its sorrow, its madness. And he knew that this was how it would be for him. Now and forever more.

Part Three

Chapter 57.

"Ere, Stan, use more kerosene," Bowler Sheehan ordered. "f.u.c.ker's got to burn, not fizzle."

"All right, all right," Stan Christie grumbled. "Give us a mo', would you? Christ, you've got your knickers in a twist."

Bowler would've gobsmacked Stan for that if only he could see him. But it was so b.l.o.o.d.y dark in William Burton's old tea-packing factory, he could barely see his hand in front of his face.

The only light came from a pale crescent moon. Its weak rays struggled in through high, paneless windows, illuminating rotted tea chests and snaking gas lines. Everything else-doork.n.o.bs, hinges, gas lamps, and sconces-was long gone. Carried off by scavengers.

There was a thud. "Oh, me s.h.i.+n! f.u.c.k this! I can't see a f.u.c.king thing!" Reg Smith yelled.

There was a snort of laughter. "Light a match," Stan said.

"You're a real f.u.c.king comedian, Stan, you are."

"Oi! Shut it. Want someone to 'ear us?" Bowler growled.

"I 'ate this, guv," Reg complained. ''I've splashed kerosene all over me shoes. It'll stink for days. Why are we doing this dogs body job anyway?"

"Burton wants to collect on 'is insurance policy," Bowler replied. " 'E's 'ad this place on the market for years. Can't find any takers. If it burns down, the blokes at the insurance company 'ave to pay 'im. Long as it looks like an accident."

"What's 'e need with insurance money? 'E's richer than Midas," Stan said. "Not anymore.

Burton's fortunes have taken a turn, lads," Bowler said.

"Got 'is a.r.s.e 'anded to 'im when 'e tried to break into the American tea market a few years back. And 'is estate in India went bust just last year. Bloke' e 'ired to manage it ran off with the money. 'E's got big debts to pay and needs a bit of cash to pay them."