What Is Visible: A Novel by Kimberly Elkins Read Free Book Online Page B

could not bear to look at it. She grabbed Jeannette’s arm and thrust her into the corridor.
    “I am exhausted by the tour of this beast,” Jeannette said, “and you are pale as your wedding lilies. Should we touch a tumbler in the ladies’ saloon? It looks quite fashionable.”
    What a thing to suggest! Julia shook her head. “Just get me to Chev. Maybe he can have the room changed.” She turned to take one last look at Laura, and she could swear the girl was staring at her, right through the green shade, though she knew, of course, that this wasn’t possible. She realized she didn’t know the color of her eyes—did it even matter?—but in this moment she pictured them glowing like fiery black coals, hot enough to burn holes clean through the cloth. She thought she heard Miss Swift whisper, “Bon voyage,” as they whisked down the hall.

Chapter 5
Letters, 1844
    May 1844, Laura to Dr. Howe
    I know from your letter to Jeannette that you are landed and safe. I have had many nightmares about the sea swallowing you up. How is the weather in England?
    I learned every inch of your ship. Did you walk all its 889 steps as I did? Did you go the top speed the Captain told us—9.5 knots? Your stateroom was like heaven, it was so beautiful.
    Please remember me to Mr. Dickens and tell him that I have memorized the entire chapter about me from his wonderful book. Has he been asking for me? Jeannette said that Mr. Dickens got so sick on the same ship when he visited us that he had to go back on a sailing boat.
    When you get this letter on the shore, you will probably get the three others I have already sent you.
    May 1844, Julia to her sister Louisa
    We are grounded at last: Liverpool—hideous dankness—and now London, an admittedly marvelous metropolis for which I am still trying to gain the proper rapturous appreciation. Sixteen days on the Britannia , and I spent almost half of them abed, until Chev brought down a thumping tumbler of whiskey and insisted I exercise my will over what he termed my “fancy.” Stumbled on deck, half-fizzed, and my husband, as if we didn’t know already, proved to be a genius. Again.
    Married life so far attempted between different beds in different cities, but he is my constant, and will remain so. Little one, I urge you heartily to try this state when we have found a fellow worthy. And we won’t allow me to even think about anything that might upset my applecart six months down the road on my return! I know you have the gravest compassion for the unfortunate—we all do—but one’s own living room need not be the asylum frolic.
    The London season―we are already in the vortex—last evening at the Duchess of Sutherland’s at Stafford House, we were served cake sent from HRM Victoria herself in honor of her new babe’s christening. Invitations lined up: Thomas Carlyle; the childrens’ writer, Maria Edgeworth; and of course, Dickens, who is apparently eager to show my husband every workhouse, prison, and nuthatch on the island. But of course, Chevie lives to be surrounded by the most grotesquely enfeebled, and it has occurred to me that my own wit, for whatever it’s worth in our circles, is perhaps his least favorite of my charms.
    Anywise, he is finding other charms aplenty, my darling. You will grow up and see!
    May 1844, Dr. Howe to Charles Sumner
    I have never missed your sweet society more than I do now to share in my deepest happiness. You complain, mercilessly, half ironically, of your cold lot, and yet you, with your boundless wells of humor and natural affection, would benefit most from leaping the bachelor fence.
    I am so very happy that I am genuinely frightened: What does it mean? Is it some cruel illusion? Even if I deserve it, and you, dearest, would know whether I do—I never saw anything like it before. For all the happiness they tell you about in saturnine novels, it is humbug compared to this.
    June 1844, Laura to Dr. Howe
    Miss Swift has suggested that I visit