Page 37 of Blueprints, Battlelines and Ballrooms
‘Sketch?’
‘How else will people understand what they are seeing?They have to draw it.’He scanned the map and dredged his memory.‘Where are the train lines?’
Phineas flipped through the pages of an almanac, folded it open, then pushed it towards him.Johannes ran his fingers over the place names and the ellipses that connected them to the distances between locations.
‘If you went in a circle—Rome to Rome—you could go along the coast to Grosetto.It’s very mediaeval.Take a side trip to Volterra for the layout of the streets before visiting Pisa.Because everyone must see Pisa.The galleria in Milan is almost completed.Your travellers may want to see the glass dome.Venice is a must, and from there to Florence to see the cathedral before we come back to Rome.’
Florence…
‘Sounds like we have our leader,’ Iris said.‘If it’s not impertinent of me to assume?’
‘Leader?’
‘How’s your Italian?’
‘Passable.To read, anyway.Many architectural books are in Italian, so I’ve learnt some that way.’
‘Johannes should travel the loop first,’ Elise said.‘Test the connections and improve his language.We have experienced travellers for the other itineraries.Without it, this tour is too much of a risk to advertise.’
The board chatted around him, throwing together ideas about departure times and steamer companies.Johannes pulled the map closer to make some small notes against each place.
What a journey it was.That small boy who’d lived in a little cottage, who had never had a room to himself—he would never have imagined leaving London, let alone travelling abroad.The small boy who’d sneaked into the duke’s garden could not have imagined it.He’d dared not dream beyond the city.In time, his knowledge had grown a little bigger with the trip to Brighton, but outside of that?All those places that had inspired Soane, Ruskin, and Morris, they were abstract, almost fantasies.Yet, he’d just drawn a pathway through them all.Rome.Milan.Venice.Florence.
Florence.
‘I can’t.’He pushed himself up from the table.‘Not now.Florence needs me.I can’t leave.Elise—sell me Number 6.I’m going to design a house, all on one level.’He crossed to the window and flicked the curtain back.‘The block is on a rise, but I think I can make it work with some levelling.I’m going to marry her and look after her.I’m going to build us a home, right here.We’ll work together.’He pointed at the vacant block, and the vision appeared before him again, the single-level construction that would keep her safe.‘I’ve got it all planned out.’
Chapter Nineteen
Laudanumeasedthepain.In payment, it stole time.It dulled the edges of everything.Day and night became one and the same, light could have been candle or sun, and broth could have been breakfast or supper.Grabbing hold of the world and shaking off the groggy haze had always been a challenge, because the temptation to ask for one more draught was as alluring as a lover and as dangerous as a siren.
No.No more laudanum.With the heels of her palms flat on the mattress, Florence wriggled herself into a seated position.A thin line of light ran over the bottom of her bed.That usually meant it was about ten o’clock.Morning.Now to discern what day it was.
‘Thank heavens.You’re awake.’
Florence blinked rapidly, and for a disoriented second, she was back in her marriage bed, waking to discover her mother wringing her hands in the doorway.That morning was still etched in her mind—Mama bringing the news of her husband’s death as she emerged from a pained slumber.George had been dead three days before she’d been lucid enough to be told.One winter morning, he’d been walking too fast, slipped on a frosty plank, tumbled into a trench dug for footings, and hit his head.He’d been coherent enough to wave everyone away for a few minutes.Then he’d collapsed.Buried while she was sleeping.Her life altered mid-dream.
‘Mama?What has happened?’
‘It’s your father.’
No.No, no, no.
‘He’s fighting with the assistant.They’ve been grumbling at each other all morning, but now it’s a proper shouting match.What if they come to blows?If your father hits Johannes, it will only hurt his pride, but if it goes the other way…’
Florence hung her head as relief replaced terror.‘Johannes won’t hit him.Of that I am certain.Will you help me dress?’
Muscles stretched and woke while joints moved with little cricks and clicks but eventually settled and became limber.Mama worried her bottom lip as she knotted bows and straightened cuffs.
‘Are they getting louder?’Florence asked.
‘I think so.’
‘What in the heavens are they arguing about?’
Mama pulled the tie at her waist.‘You.’
‘Me?’Florence shuffled slowly towards the landing.Mama followed, and at the top of the stairs, took a hold of her arm.Her father’s frustrations boomed into the hallway, mingling with Johannes’s exclamations at intervals, the pair of them cutting each other off.With one hand tight on the handrail and the other on Mama’s elbow, she descended, listening, trying to make out the shape of their argument.
