“But… it’s only the first time I’ve been in trouble!” As soon as it was out of her mouth, Evie realized how ridiculous an argument it was—almost a promise of more trouble to come—and she wished she could take it back. “Please, Unc. I’m very sorry. I won’t ever disobey you again.”
Will sagged against a lamppost. He was softening, she could tell, so she kept up her attack. “I’ll do anything. Sweep the floors. Dust the knickknacks. Make sandwiches every night. But please, please, please don’t send me back.”
“I do not intend to have this discussion on White Street with someone who smells like a distillery. I will take you back to the Bennington and you may have a nap, and—I might suggest—a bath.”
Evie gave her coat a sniff and grimaced.
“I will expect you at the museum at three o’clock. I’ll deliver my verdict then. Don’t be late.”
A long, hot bath washed the stench of the Tombs away, but despite her exhaustion, Evie was too nervous to sleep. Instead, she went to Mabel’s flat and used her special knock.
“Hey, old girl. I’m in trouble. Unc’s threatening to send me back to Ohio because of last night, and I’ve got to find a way to win him over. I think he was softening up a little, but maybe if you tell him that it was your idea he’ll go easier on me, and yes, I know that’s not entirely true, Pie Face, but this is absolument an emergency of the first order and… gee, Mabesie, aren’t you going to invite me in?”
With a furtive glance into the apartment behind her, Mabel slipped into the hallway and shut the door.
“Uh-oh. I know that face. What aren’t you telling me? Did somebody die?”
“Mother blames you for my arrest. She’s banned you from the house,” Mabel said.
Evie’s mouth opened in outrage. “Your mother’s been arrested more times than I have!”
“For the cause. She thinks getting arrested for drinking in a nightclub is amoral and a sign of capitalist greed,” Mabel whispered. “She says you’re a bad influence.”
“Golly, I hope so. Tell your mother that if it weren’t for me you’d still be wearing black stockings and reading dire Russian novels about doomed aristocrats.”
Mabel lifted her chin. “What’s wrong with Anna Karenina?”
“Everything from A to enina. Oh, look, Pie Face, just let me in, and I’ll charm her.”
“Evie, don’t—”
“Five minutes of a sob story about how I’m a product of middle-class bourgeois values lost in the machinery of a corrupt world and she’ll be organizing a rally on my behalf—”
“Don’t you ever know when to stop?” Mabel snapped. “You’re so selfish sometimes, Evie! It’s all a game to you—and you want to rig it in your favor all the time, and damn what anybody else wants.”
“That’s not true, Mabel!”
“It isn’t? I wanted to leave last night….”
“But then you would’ve missed out on all the fun. And once you got home, you’d grumble that you should’ve stayed. You’d regret it. I know you, Mabesie—”
“Do you?” Mabel shot back.
Evie felt slapped. She’d just wanted Mabel to get out from under her mother’s control and kick up her heels. To live it up like a real swell. Hadn’t she?
“I’ve had enough, Evie. I’m tired, and I’m going back to bed.”
Evie took in a shaky breath. “Mabesie, I… I didn’t think….”
“You never do. That’s the trouble.”
On the other side of the door, Mrs. Rose’s voice rang out. “Mabel, darling? Where are you?”
“Coming,” Mabel called. She went back inside and shut the door.
Evie stared at the door for a moment longer. She used her secret knock again, but Mabel still didn’t answer, so she left to meet with Will. On the walk to the museum, Evie tried to shrug off her fight with Mabel, but doing so proved impossible. She and Mabel had never had a fight. And Mabel’s words stung. That was what other people, the dim-witted Normas of the world, said about her. But not Mabel. Not her best friend.
In the museum, Evie heard voices. Jericho was showing a rare couple of visitors the collection in his quiet, scholarly way, a twin of Will. The couple looked bored. “Can these doodads haunt you if you touch them?” the woman asked.