The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

                Pip watched from a first-floor window as carriages stopped along the road, let out their passengers with their umbrellas up, and rode off.

This ball was open to any of the Westcott's friends, despite Mr. Colton's argument that they ought to have only allowed the wealthiest patrons in Europe, as the Lady Westcott had tended to do.

"Don't be ridiculous," Miss Bradley had said. "This ball is supposed to be fun, and I think our friends ought to come instead of those haughty strangers. Right, Isolde?"

To which Miss Westcott had not responded, looking nervously between Mr. Colton and Miss Bradley. Pip had pressed his lips tightly together, all too grateful when Lord Westcott decided to return to his chambers.

He knew why Miss Westcott was staying silent, but he couldn't help but be frustrated with her. If she didn't want to marry Mr. Colton, then why would she? Couldn't she see that she wasn't only hurting herself, but the rest of the household as well? No one wanted that man to stay here, least of all her, so why wouldn't she do something about it?

Perhaps there was still time to warn Oliver. Perhaps he could have someone else fetch him so that Mr. Colton wouldn't grow suspicious.

Pip was woken from his thoughts as he heard nervous muttering behind him. He looked to find Emily.

"Emily, good, there you are," he said. "I need your help with something."

"O-Oh," she blushed. "Sorry, Pip, can it wait? I—I have to go give Miss Westcott her dinner, you see. She's hardly eaten anything all day."

Pip sighed. "That doesn't surprise me. D'you know where Charles is, then?"

Her frown deepened, and she looked to her right and left before leaning in. She whispered. "Mr. Colton has him in the ballroom with Sebastian and Rosie and Garrett. Everyone is to be working the ball tonight."

Emily seemed to realize she was standing far too close to Pip, and leapt back with a squeak, straightening her dress and patting down her hair, her eyes on the carpet and her face red. "A-At any rate, Mr. Colton seems to be in awfully good spirits, doesn't he? That bodes well, at least."

And she scurried off.

"Yes," muttered Pip, looking back to the many carriages as they arrived. It should've excited him to see all of his friends from town, from Messrs Everly to the Lindsey family, to the End women . . . but all he felt was dread.

Jane had been looking for him all morning, according to Mrs. Mary, and Mr. Colton was glaring daggers at him and cornering him in corridors, warning him to keep quiet—"Or else it will be Oliver who suffers for it"—as though Pip hadn't already known that. And Oliver. . . . Pip's body sagged at the thought of his Oliver, drunk and angry and glaring at him.

Pip remembered their conversation just that morning, the way his frown had turned a little less furious and a little more lost and afraid when Lord Westcott had left the room. The way he'd leaned into Pip's touch as Pip came up to him with his arms outstretched. He'd reeked of rum, and his words had been slurred, and still, he asked Pip why.

Why was Pip ignoring him? Why did Pip seem eager to get away? And try as he might, Pip could not convince him that it wasn't true, that he never wanted to leave Oliver's side at all.

And Oliver's voice had cracked and his grip had tightened and he'd pressed his face to Pip's shoulder. A sob escaped Pip's lips, and he quickly wiped his eyes with his forearm before any more tears could fall.

He pressed his forehead to the window and closed his eyes, letting the chill of the cold glass pass through his body. As though he weren't uncomfortable enough.