Page 29 of Blueprints, Battlelines and Ballrooms (Tales from Honeysuckle Street #4)

Chapter Eighteen

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

No stairs.

Absolutely no stairs.

Spencer brushed against his leg. Johannes crouched and scratched the tom beneath his chin. ‘What do you think, old rogue? Do you think she’ll be happy here?’

The cat mewed. He pawed at a dandelion that had gone to seed. Little white tufts dislodged from the stem, some dropping to the ground and others taking flight.

‘What’s your wish, Spencer?’

The cat followed the line of white fluff, then licked his paws.

‘Good move. Might not come true if you tell.’

And his wish? That was easy.

He never, ever wanted to hear Florence scream like that again.

The short trio of sounds played over and again in his mind. They teased his memory and plucked it raw. The grunt. The thump. The screaming.

She’d been so broken. So hurt, agonised and helpless. Because of him. Because he’d been too rough, been too selfish. As he’d carried Florence upstairs, Mrs Holt had scattered her thanks around him like rose petals. He’d deserved none of it, but what could he say?

She shouldn’t have to face an uncertain future from the surgeon. She deserved a clear plan.

That’s what he’d give her—a predictable future, free from dangers.

No stairs for her to trip up, a place of her own, and a husband who adored her and allowed her to work by his side.

Proper work, not just colouring his drawings.

He would fix everything. The more he wandered around the vacant block, the clearer it became in his mind.

His imagination built the walls, filled in windows, laid pipes, and added cornices and frames.

Arches around the windows, a mantle he’d carve himself, handmade tiles.

Different shades of bricks with pin-tucked edges.

She could pick the colour for the door, although his heart already knew what it would be. Blue. Beautiful cyan blue.

They’d be so happy here. He’d make everything right.

‘Have you forgotten something, Johannes?’

Johannes scanned the street in front of the block, searching for his sister. He’d recognise her voice taunting him from underwater. ‘Rosie?’

‘Over here.’ His sister waved at him from an open window on the lower level of Number 4. ‘You said you’d come to the meeting to help us with our next season.’

‘ You said I’d come,’ he called back.

‘What’s the difference? It won’t take long. The bricks and rubbish will still be there in twenty minutes.’

‘We have biscuits,’ Lord Dalton called from the next window along. ‘But only if you’re fast.’

There was no point arguing. Johannes pushed himself up.

The cat accompanied him like a guard keeping him on course, across the block and back to the street.

He marched up the stairs to Number 4, where Phineas held open the door, and after Johannes had hung his hat, the two of them went into the dining room that had been converted into the office for Spencer and Co.

Travel. The travel company’s namesake leapt onto the table.

Elise scooped him up and settled him on her lap.

He’d never had much to do with any of this.

His parents, especially his father, had been keen investors, and Rosie and Elise spent hours talking through opportunities and itineraries.

Johannes had always been more caught up in a tangible future—buildings, walls, and roofs.

Catering to dreams, moments, and memories… it all seemed so vague in comparison.

Large maps lay piled over one another on the tabletop.

Around it, the board members sat huddled, marking lines in pencil and deep in conversation.

Phineas took a seat between Rosie and Miss Delaney.

At the head of the table, Iris gestured to the vacant seat between Elise and Father.

Hamish, seated to her left, licked his finger to swipe a stray crumb from an empty plate.

‘Too slow, my friend,’ he said with a laugh.

A snore and a snuffle came from the corner. Iris’s father, the once indomitable Albert Abberton, snorted in his sleep, his mouth half open. He sat reclined in a wheeled chair, with blankets tucked in around the cane sides and laid thick over his lap.

Tall shelves lined every wall. Folders, booklets, receipts, and invoices were stacked on the sideboard, and piles of books stuffed with loose notes and papers dotted the floor like leatherbound shrubs.

He’d known things were chaotic with the growth of the business and Albert’s declining health weighing on Iris and Elise, but this made the Hempels’ playroom look as well-ordered as an army barracks.

‘We are settled on five new offerings. We have the people’s Paris—from Arley—chocolate making in Bruges, music in Vienna, and sunshine in Spain.’

‘How do you see sunshine?’ Johannes asked.

‘It’s for people who love gardens,’ Elise said with her usual brightness. That one must have been hers. ‘Our final idea is architecture in Italy,’ she continued. ‘I think it will be very popular, if we can get it right.’

Johannes bent over the maps. Each one had been annotated in ink and pencil. Small slips of paper with scrawled notes had been pinned to some, memos about trains and steamers.

‘Where would you go?’ Rosie asked.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you .’ Rosie leant forwards as much as her stomach would allow.

She spun a map so that it was the right way up and pushed the boot of Italy towards him.

‘It’s for young people who have not had a grand tour and are unlikely to even contemplate such a thing, but who wish to travel for study and to learn.

People who can manage a few weeks away, but not years.

Imagine you were a young man with no commitments and a driving passion for the built form.

’ A hint of sarcasm laced her words. ‘Where would you go?’

‘You went to Italy on your honeymoon. Didn’t you see interesting places?’

Hamish snorted into his tea, then coughed so hard he had to stand by the window and clear his throat. Even Iris smothered a smile with the back of her hand.

‘We didn’t really focus on architecture,’ Phineas said, his tone a deadpan drawl.

‘Right. Honeymoon . Err… let me think.’ Johannes hunched into his embarrassment until the sly smiles disappeared.

‘I might start in Rome. Although, that is predictable. No, I would start in Rome, because if it was me taking this trip, I would be excited about seeing the most famous places, and if I saw them first, I think I’d relax and enjoy the rest a little more afterwards.

Less anticipation. More surprises.’ He took up a pen that had been left on the table and drew a little oval around Rome.

‘But don’t just go to the colosseum, the forum and the Sistine Chapel.

Include places like Palazzo Farnese. Someone gave a talk about it one night at the Architectural Association, and it sounds astonishing.

I would go there. And make sure there’s time to sketch. ’

‘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.’