Page 78 of The Sea Siren of Broadwater Bottom
She gave a silent chuckle. “Then why didn’t you ask me earlier?”
“I did. Twice, actually. Do you remember when we were in the gardens of Magdalen College, and you asked me why I was crawling around in the dirt?”
“Yes, that was most peculi—” She gasped, squeezing his forearm. “Wait, were you… down on one knee?”
“I was. You were rather distracted, darling.”
She rubbed her temple. “So it would seem. I’m so sorry, Edward.”
He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “There’s no need to be sorry. There’s no need to be anything other than precisely who you are.”
Murmurs filled the church. Edward realized with a start that Vice-Chancellor Landon had finished reading Elissa’s poem. He heard someone behind him whisperbrilliant, while the man seated next to him choseoutstandingas his descriptor.
On the other side of the aisle, someone spoke. “It’s the translator. The translator ofOn the Sublime. I’d recognize his style anywhere.”
Murmurs of agreement filled the room. “Let’s see, shall we?” Dr. Landon pulled out a second piece of paper, this one folded into a tiny square.
He undid the first fold. “You are correct. It is the anonymous translator.” His eyes gleamed as they swept around the church. “Whose identity we are all about to learn.”
Excited whispers filled the room. Dr. Landon held up a hand for silence, then opened the final fold. His mouth fell open, and his whole body froze for a beat before he said, “Miss Elissa St. Cyr.”
Suddenly the sacred church was as noisy as a tavern. Everyone was talking at once and craning their necks to get a look at the slip of a girl who had bested them all.
Elissa’s publisher, Mr. Martindale, rushed to the foot of the pulpit. He held both hands out placatingly. “Yes, that is correct. I can confirm that Miss St. Cyr is the translator ofOn the Sublime, as well as the winner of today’s contest.”
Edward squeezed Elissa’s hand as he glanced around the church. It had fallen silent once more. Absolutely everyone was staring at her. A few looks were admiring, but others were openly hostile. The largest number seemed wary, as if they were making up their minds. Elissa managed to keep her chin up, but her lower lip was quivering, and he could read her face well enough to know that one cross word would send tears spilling across her cheeks again.
On the far side of the aisle, Robert Slocombe rose to his feet. He turned to face Elissa. And then, ever so slowly…
He began to clap.
At first, each of his claps echoed in the vaulted stone room. But on the sixth clap, someone seated behind them joined him, and then another person joined in, and another. Soon the room was filled with applause, and a whistle came from behind them, the shrill kind that Harrington was particularly good at.
He glanced at Elissa and there were tears in her eyes, but this time they were of a happy sort.
Edward turned and caught Robert Slocombe’s eye. He inclined his head in gratitude, and Slocombe smiled as he returned the gesture.
He’d always been a good sort, Robert Slocombe.
Once the applause died down, a few of the entrants made to stand, but Dr. Landon held up a hand. “Before you go, there is one thing more. Although the judges agreed that Miss St. Cyr’s poem was the winner, there was one more entry of such exceptional quality, we thought you would all wish to hear it.”
He pulled out a second sheet of paper and began to read.
Peer of godshe seemeth to me, the blissful
Man who sits and gazes at thee before him,
Close beside thee sits, and in silence hears thee
Silverly speaking,
Laughing love’s low laughter.
Beside him,Elissa’s spine had gone stiff as a ramrod, because of course she recognized the famous opening lines of Sappho 31. “Edward?” she whispered. “This… this is yours. Is it not?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. His shoulder was spasming nonstop, to the point that he had to place his free and upon it to get himself under control.Oh, God. This could not be happening. He knew he should be honored to have his poem read before such company. But the thought of all of these people, all of thesescholars, listening to his sloppy verse, to think how they would pick his work apart,judgehim… And even worse, what was to come: his original verse, the words he thought no one but the judges would ever read, in which he had all but ripped open his chest and laid his beating heart bare…
He felt the gorge rise in his throat.
