I happened to notice the other day that it has been nearly an entire year since I started work on A Stroll on Sunday. Time flies! I couldn't let something like that pass by unmarked, now could I? I have two pieces written: this one is an idea I've been fiddling around with for some weeks. It's a bit different for me, and I'm not wholly satisfied (am I ever?), but this is a special occasion!

1895

"Oh, where have you brought your Erik?"

Nora tried to use her pretty, embroidered parasol to ward off the torrents of rain, but gave up quickly. "I told you to wear the linen suit. I told you that you'd be miserable in all that black wool."

"This is hell," Erik grumbled, "Hot, wet hell. And as for wearing linen for comfort—I can see straight through to your petticoats."

Nora grinned, water running off her hat and into her face. She flung her arms out wide. "Welcome to Singapore!"

Erik looked out past the port—rainforest greenery and bright Victorian painted ladies. "You are the devil, Nora. You are Mephistopheles, tempting my poor old Faustian self with a vision of a beautiful woman. But the price… the price…"

Nora allowed him his minute of melodrama, directing the porters where to deliver their luggage and sending for a carriage. "I don't feel sorry for you, you know—" Erik's shoulders slumped, and more than anything else he looked like a large, drowned black cat with sad gold eyes—"I don't feel very sorry for you. You could have said no at anytime, but you did not."

Erik glanced back at the steamer they had arrived on. "I'm saying no now."

Nora stared at Erik from under arched eyebrows. "There are days, Erik, when I could just—" push you into the water, cut off your access to rice pudding, simply despair—"kiss you."

He straightened and brightened at that, if a faceless man all in black could brighten. He gave Nora his arm and escorted her to their carriage with aplomb.

The last time Erik had seen Daniel Tremblay's family, he had been married to Nora for six days, trapped in alternating states of barely-cogent bliss and all-too piercing terror. He did not remember many specifics about the time. He had a vague memory of Daniel's daughters. At the time, they had comprised a hyper-energetic quartet of little blondes, ranging from six years to fourteen.

Nora had treated them with a sort of benevolent horror, and Erik had followed her lead. It had not been… atrocious.

He knew that today would be different—the eldest girl was recently married, and her immediate junior was back in Canada—but he could not help but brace himself for wide-eyed stares and high-pitched voices. As it turned out, his preparedness was warranted.

"Goodness, isn't the rain awful!" It was Daniel's wife—Mrs. Tremblay—Lady Tremblay—Anne— who greeted them. "I do so dislike the rain here."

"But the question is, do you miss the snow in Ontario?" Nora asked. She was standing in a puddle, and Erik would have worried over her, if the puddle had not been steaming.

Anne blinked at her. "Well. Christmas without snow is always a bit disappointing. Oh dear, Nora. You didn't bring a ladies' maid, did you? Oh, dear... " She blinked again, this time at Erik. "Hello, Mr. Siamo. Would you like Mei to show you to your rooms?"

As Erik picked through his trunk, looking for something to wear, he desperately wished himself back in France. Even his imperturbable Nora seemed to be melting. She was sprawled on a chaise in her undergarments, fanning herself with Erik's abandoned mask.

"I used to love the heat," she commented, "Egypt, Morocco, Greece, Tuscany in high July…"

"The Caspian Sea and the Gulf of Tonkin are not exactly known for mild summers." Erik wondered if he could get away with foregoing a waistcoat at supper. It was just a little family affair, after all…

"Do you want to go sightseeing tomorrow?" Nora finally gave into the hour and started dressing. "I'm sure Daniel will be busy, and I'd rather not make calls with Anne all day."

Erik tried to knot his tie so it did not strangle him. He might as well have tried for a bowtie with his lasso.

(It was one of those funny little memories of Married Life that he so cherished—when Nora had found a length of catgut in Erik's pocket and innocently inquired what it was for. Erik had told her honestly. She had put it back at once, brows arched high, and gave Erik's hand a little pat.)

"And here I thought you just wanted to spent time with your husband. I thought you loved him."

"I just spent three weeks in a tiny stateroom with my husband. If that doesn't prove my love, what does?" She came up and set Erik's mask in place. "Have I said thank you yet?"

"Whatever for?"

"For being the best husband I could hope for, of course."

It could be so difficult, even after all these years, to know just when Nora was having fun at his expense. His best measure was in kindness—Nora's humor could be bleak and wry, but it was never cruel. And it would have been cruel to joke about Erik's merits as a husband, so she was probably quite serious in this case. Silly, sentimental girl.

"No," Erik replied, "but I can forgive you. After all, you're the only wife I have, and it would be foolish to estrange myself from you."

She smiled at him and tapped his mask. "Yes, it would be."

"I can't believe it's been ten years since I've seen you," Daniel was shaking Erik's hand enthusiastically, as if they were old friends. Which, Erik realized with some astonishment, they very nearly were.

"I write," Erik said in his defense.

"You send telegrams every three or four months," Daniel said, "You're worse than Nora, and I had not thought such a thing was possible."

"There's nothing to be insulted over," Nora chimed in. "Last summer, we had Erik's oldest and dearest friend—" Erik snorted— "Monsieur le Daroga stay with us at Beaune. During the four weeks he was there, I saw him and Erik play dominos twice. Twice." She tapped Erik with her fan. "Don't deny it."

"I don't," Erik said, "The Daroga is tedious."

Anne Tremblay was watching them with something like panic. "Daniel, I believe that supper…"

"Of course, dear," Daniel said soothingly, offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

The table was set for five—the Girl, who so much fuss was soon to be made over, was to join them. She was a wan little creature, with round green eyes that dominated her face. She still wore her skirt a few inches above her ankles, did not speak unless spoken to, and seemed to be in awe of this seldom-seen side of the family.

Nora, who knew how to work a crowd as well as any diva, kept the conversation running well enough. For his part, Erik found the evening wearisome. He was not opposed to Daniel on principle, but the man's preoccupation with politics was as boring as it was expected. And his wife—delicate and blonde and vaguely vapid and nothing like Nora.

As for Nora, she was always a delight, but Erik preferred to have a monopoly on her attention. He supposed that he had enjoyed her nearly undivided attention for nearly a month; surely he could share her for a few days.

Surely.

Maybe.

The meal came to a close, and Daniel's wife stood and made some pretty, lighthearted comment on men and their tobacco, and left the room with her daughter in tow.

Nora swept out after Anne and the Girl, with a wink at Erik. Daniel did nothing to stop them—indeed, he seemed to be looking forward to having the table and liquor left to the men. He was already reveling in the fine apple brandy that Nora had brought along, with scarce a glance thrown back at the retreating women.

Well, if Erik was married to Anne, he supposed he might understand the inclination. But as it was, he was already missing Nora's presence at his side.

"I can't even tell you how much I appreciate this," Daniel said. "Truly, you are too kind."

Erik paused. "I suppose it's a decent vintage…"

"No, no—you and Nora playing escort for Eloise. We should have sent her to school a year ago, but we couldn't find a suitable chaperone to take the journey with her."

"Ah. That," Erik nursed his own brandy carefully. "We were already in San Francisco. This wasn't terribly out of our way."

Daniel laughed. "I hear something of Nora in that. Only she would say that Singapore wasn't out of the way. Has she turned to into a… voyage enthusiast?"

"Certainly not." If it Erik had been forced to admit to it, the travel was not horrible. It helped to have a mostly-legal passport and money to throw at first-class accommodations. "Bur I think I've managed to keep her satisfied on that score. I've had five international engagements in as many years—and Nora once finagled me into a fortnight in Bavaria." And an excellent sort of a honeymoon that had been, Wagner be damned.

"And where to next, then? Other than ferrying my daughter to England, that is."

"Home," Erik said, "I hope."

There had been a time when Eloise Tremblay had called Mrs. Siamo 'Aunt Nora.' It had not been the most accurate title, but it was simple and there was a spiritual truth to it.

Somehow, it no longer seemed appropriate—not with 'Mr. Siamo' sitting there, and Eloise feeling entirely too uncomfortable to call him 'Uncle.' He simply did not fit in. He looked terribly odd, sitting in Mother's little-slice-of-Canada parlor, with his cold white mask and loose evening coat and strongly accented English. Only Aunt Nora—Mrs. Siamo— appeared wholly at ease with him, though Eloise supposed that she ought to be.

He seemed like some sort of wizard, Eloise thought, forcibly pulled from his own magic realm and into the mundane. Perhaps that would explain why he always seemed half a beat off from everyone and everything else, why he always seemed to be watching the world rather than participating in it. It was the sort of thing Mother would be horrified to hear her say, but the idea helped Eloise. Mr. Siamo was not so off-putting when framed in fantasy.

Mrs. Siamo seemed more or less the same as when she was simply Aunt Nora Farley. She still made Father laugh and gave Mother headaches. Eloise wanted to like her—she always sent the best Christmas presents and had the most interesting stories to tell. But there was always something there, something sparking in her eyes that seemed to be—as Mother would say—just a step on the wrong side of Propriety. (And what was a Lady without Propriety?) Eloise had just been a child the last time she had seen Aunt Nora—Mrs. Siamo—and she had not noticed it then. Her two older sisters had known her better in those past years, and had both adored her and thought her the very model of a New Woman. Perhaps that was all it was. Perhaps that uncomfortable gleam that seemed to know too much and say too little, was everything Eloise was supposed to emulate. Or perhaps it came from keeping company with a magician. A magician and a madwoman. A musician and a matron?

The idea that they would be taking her all the way to England was a terrifying as it was exciting. Mother had been lecturing—quietly and indirectly, but lectures all the same—on all of the ways Eloise could disgrace the Family between Singapore and London, most of them in imitation of Nora Siamo. She had less to say about Mr. Siamo, except to be constantly asking Father if the man was quite all right.

"Well," he had said, "he's a genius. And he seems to make Nora very happy."

Mother had not liked that answer, but all the same Eloise found her bags packed and her ticket purchased and her place at the Merriworth Academy for Young Ladies secured.

"I think we will get on just fine," Mrs. Siamo said, after that awkward supper Eloise had been allowed to stay up for. After a beat, she had actually looked at Eloise with something like panic. "You don't get seasick, do you?"

Eloise did not think she did, but it seemed very likely that she did get parlor sick.

Erik felt like the world was closing in on him, caught in a trap of humidity and mosquito netting, and all he wanted to do was get out. It was simple enough to do. Erik was not so old, so decrepit that he could not steal away discreetly. A dark mask, a quietly unlocked window...

He had put a sleeping draught in Nora's nightcap, knowing that she would be displeased to awaken and find him gone. It must have worked, for she was now sprawled across the bed, face buried in the pillows, lost to the world.

So much the better. He put on his coat and walked across to the balcony doors.

"Trying to disappear into the night, hm?" Nora had rolled over and propped her head up on her hand. She sounded distinctly… awake.

"Ah… Did I wake you? Dear?"

"Quite all right, dear," she got up slowly, and Erik was quite confident that he would be stuck in this tomb of a room for the rest of the evening, "Shall we?"

"Shall we what?"

"Go sightseeing, of course. That is what all this stealth is about, yes?" Was it his imagination, or was she getting dressed? The madwoman. How was he to have known that he had married a madwoman?

…Oh, yes. She had married him.

"Don't you think you should get a bit of sleep?" He said.

"What? And leave you to have all the fun? Not that you would have had any fun without me—you would have just skulked around the city for a bit and then managed to lock yourself out." She stood before him, a shadow in the shadows, with a glimmer of a smile catching the light.

"I'm not taking you out to walk the streets of Singapore at midnight!" Erik said.

"You're not? Shall we part ways on the boulevard, then?" She unlocked the French doors. The smile Erik had suspected was actually a full grin. Erik's moment of indecision gave way quickly enough and he walked over and took her hand.

"We'll walk down to the hotel and back, and there's an end," he said primly.

She nodded. "Fair enough. I won't try to escape you; you will desist from escaping me."

"Quite right."

They walked hand in hand into the sodden night.

Even after so many years, there was something terribly comforting about walking with Nora. It was such a normal, workaday thing to do with one's wife—even under foreign stars—but it never failed to warm Erik's heart and delight his soul.

She was chatty tonight, and Erik was content to let her voice wash away the strain of travel and socialization. She commented on the late-night food vendors, on the symphony back in San Francisco, on what they needed to do and who they needed to see back in Paris. She mercifully did not require much in the way of response.

They ended up in the lounge of the Raffles Hotel. It was mostly the government officers wallowing at this late hour, but no one looked askance at Erik and Nora.

"Earlier, my husband tried to give me a glass of truly awful brandy," Nora told the waiter, "and I do mean awful. I think the bottle was off—wasn't it, Erik? I couldn't stand more than a sip. So be a dear and bring me a gin sling. That's what you're known for here, I think?" She turned to Erik after the man had walked away, eyes shaded by still-long lashes. "You're laughing at me."

"Certainly not." Erik was, in fact, putting a great deal of effort into not laughing at Nora, and would have appreciated a little credit given on that score. They were silent for some time, and Erik could see sleep playing in Nora's eyes. "You should have stayed abed, Madame."

"Hm," she sipped at her drink, "maybe. Rather not, though. Did you realize that the ship home goes through the Suez Canal?"

"I arranged for the berth, so, yes."

"It's been years since I've been to Egypt," she said, "decades. Do you think Eloise will like it?"

"I couldn't possibly comment," Erik said. It was the truth. "Surely you have a better idea on how to keep a young girl amused." For three weeks at sea, by God. How had they been coerced into doing this? Oh, yes. Nora had received a telegram from Daniel, Nora had then said Erik, why don't we, and Erik foolishly replied with whatever you wish, my darling. He really ought to learn how to say no to her. It was just damnably hard, particularly when she asked things offhandedly while stirring her coffee.

"It's funny, the small ways youth escapes you," she shrugged. "I simply don't remember what I thought or felt when I was a girl, at least not in any practical purpose. I find myself looking at Daniel's girls, and instead of remembering how I related to things at that age, I can only try to imitate the adults I had known. My God, the first thing I asked the girl was if she had been to confession recently."

"I thought it was a joke."

"It wasn't!" She took a larger swallow of her drink and fell into a bout of introspection. It was an expression Erik had grown intimately familiar with. Nora blamed it on having kept her own company for so many years—Erik could never be quite sure that it wasn't his fault. "Do you realize that the only thing you've ever told me about your mother is that she was 'entirely ivory?'"

And so she was—ivory fingers on ivory piano keys and ivory rosary beads. "I think that you will be able to handle a few weeks with your niece," he said slowly, "On the other hand, I may well lock myself in an armoire until we return to France."

He was relieved when Nora laughed. "I suppose I'm simply thinking about the worst that could happen."

"The ship sinks, or is boarded by militant Arab pirates, or the crew stages a mutiny, or there are 'musical' guests aboard?"

She smiled at him, all wry irony. "Or I could be soul-crushingly, heart-wrenchingly domineering. Do you think we should invite her to spend Christmas with us?"

Mother had sniffed into her handkerchief and kissed Eloise twice before handing her off to Mrs. Siamo. Father was already at work, but he had made his farewells the night before. He had told her that she was a good girl, that she would do well, and that he was very fond of her.

Eloise thought she had handled it all rather admirably, and without resorting to any sort of childish displays.

All of that seemed rather effortless in retrospect, now that she was trapped in a carriage with Mr. and Mrs. Siamo. They sat together on the seat opposite of Eloise, holding hands and speaking in French. Or rather, Mrs. Siamo was speaking and Mr. Siamo was nodding occasionally.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Siamo said, "Didn't anyone teach any French?"

It took Eloise a moment to realize that she was being spoken to. She stammered out a reply that she read French well enough, but that was all.

"That Daniel," Mrs. Siamo grumbled, "he likes to pretend he's an Englishman through. Doesn't he know we've been confederated for twenty-odd years?"

Mr. Siamo made some comment that sounded like something Mother would disapprove of. Mrs. Siamo laughed, confirming Eloise's suspicion.

"Well, I wouldn't worry," Mrs. Siamo said, and Eloise honestly couldn't guess who was being addressed. "We'll sort you out soon enough."

It was an ominous note, if directed at Eloise. She really should have tried to convince Father to let her stay home. Surely, she could have learned to be a Lady in Singapore just as well as in England? Surely, she could leap from the carriage as soon as it stopped and run all the way home…

There was something about how Mr. Siamo looked at her, a glint of gold coming from his eyes, that convinced Eloise that he knew exactly what she was thinking—and that he would know exactly how to stop her if she tried to act on the thought.

He made another quiet comment to his wife, and Eloise found herself the recipient of another uneasy smile from her not-at-all-a-lady not-quite-aunt.

"So, have you ever wanted to see the world, Eloise?"

Did she? She supposed that she did, in a manner of speaking. But what Mrs. Siamo was chattering on about—spices that overwhelmed the senses, languages that assaulted the ear, people who looked strange and acted stranger. No, Eloise did not think she would like to see that world. But she smiled and answered demurely, and thought Mother would be proud. As for Mrs. Siamo, she smiled at Eloise, the first time she had really done so.

"In that case, I think we shall do very well. Don't you, Erik?"

Mr. Siamo grumbled a reply, and Eloise thought, He knows.

By the time their steamer, the Temasek, arrived at Suez, Nora thought she might die of relief. She walked the deck with Erik, who had finally abandoned his black suits for grey worsted.

Most of the passengers were still abed, but Nora couldn't resist going up for the first sight of land.

"Does it look the same as you remembered?" Erik asked.

Nora supposed it was a valid question, though it struck her as funny. "No. Does anything ever?"

He seemed to consider this. "I suppose not."

Erik was always a strange figure to consider in the sunrise—all light and shadow, her Erik. She could read his mask as well as any wife could read her husband's face. She recognized every quirk of how he held his head and hands, as if she could see the turn of his lips or the crinkle of his eyes. She liked to look at him like this, the stark angles of his mask and the sharp creases of his clothes, all shielding the gentle soul. He would laugh at that—at all of it, from the fact that she liked to watch him to the idea that he was gentle. But he was, she thought. He had been so good to her over the years, and was doing so well with their young interloper. Much better, Nora thought, than she was doing.

Fishermen ignored the massive passenger boat invading their space and scattering their prey. Sea birds screamed, and Erik tapped out a rhythm on the railing.

"I was awfully frightened," Nora commented, "when I first came to Egypt. I never mention that—never speak about it. But I was so awfully terrified."

"Of course you were," Erik shrugged. "I think I was scared when I first left home. I don't really remember, but I think I must have been."

Nora thought he must have been as well—what else drove a man to learn a hundred ways of killing his fellows? Of learning how to coerce and seduce without a touch? What else but absolute fear moved a man to absolute greatness?

"Do you think Eloise is scared?" Nora asked.

Erik nodded.

"Have I been awful with her?"

He shook his head in the negative, and Nora felt an instant wave of relief. Erik—Erik did not lie. Thank God, but he never lied to her.

"Will they let us get off at port?" she asked.

"So the captain said."

"Will you come with me?"

"Of course."

Nora tried for a bit of stage dramatics. "Should we take the Girl with us?"

Under that mask, Erik was obviously wearing an expression of fond exasperation. "Yes, I suppose we should."

They had been two day in Suez. On the first day, Eloise had been towed about with the Siamos.

It had been overwhelming—even more overwhelming than when the Chinese festivals overtook the Singaporean streets. They had wandered markets, and Mrs. Siamo had talked to this person and that person, with her personal wizard at her back.

(And he really was a wizard—a street magician had been playing tricks with smoke and snakes, and Mr. Siamo had topped him with fire and a disembodied hymn that seemed to comes from all corners of the market. Mrs. Siamo had laughed; Eloise had very nearly run back to the safety of the ship.)

The heat was dry here, but still miserable. The sun blinded Eloise and burnt her nose. Mother would be furious. Mrs. Siamo… gave her a calming cream, but otherwise did not seem to care.

On the second day, when Mrs. Siamo came bounding into Eloise's stateroom, bursting with plans for the new day, Eloise had claimed a headache.

"Oh," she had said, "poor girl."

She had walked out disappointed, and later sent in a maid with a powder.

Eloise only left the safety of her room when she was convinced that her aunt would have already left. She had—but Mr. Siamo was still onboard.

He caught sight of her almost immediately, and Eloise felt obliged to approach and greet him.

He nodded at her and fidgeted. After a moment, he came and stood in front of Eloise—not to her side, or even off center, but directly in front of her—grim in black again. "You're not enjoying yourself."

It should have been a question, Eloise thought, a sociable, almost-condescending question that she could have fibbed in reply to. But it was not a question, and Eloise thought it might be a bad idea to disagree with Mr. Siamo. She shook her head, slightly and silently.

He grumbled in reply, but did not move.

"Are you?" The question was asked before Eloise could stop herself, before her mother's voice could whisper at her ear children are to be seen, not heard. Well, what of it? She wasn't a child, was she? Thirteen, and very nearly separated from her family.

"No," Mr. Siamo replied. "I would rather be home."

"Oh."

He waved his hand elegantly, and the fairytale wizard was back. She half-expected to be turned into a frog for her presumption. It took a moment to realize that the gesture had more in common with playing a piano scale than the practice of dark arts. "But… you should try to enjoy yourself. Nora always enjoys these sorts of things." He paused then, tilted his head. It was hard to say if he was actually looking at her or not—two shaded holes in his mask obscured his eyes. "The world is a horrible place." He paused again. "Truly terrible. So many bad things. So many unknowable dangers."

Eloise stood stone-still. "It's all so… foreign. Here."

He hummed in reply. "But you really must try. Nora tries—she doesn't even know she tries, but she does. She sees the world, dangers and oddities and all, and thinks it wonderful and pretty. And in thinking that, she makes it so. For everyone who sees it with her, at least. And who is afraid of beauty?"

He turned away then, half-stalked, half-slinked off. Eloise looked back at shoreline. Aunt Nora was somewhere there, she supposed, laughing and finding entertainment and deporting herself quite perfectly.

All Eloise saw was a hot, dusty port filled with strange faces—and a rather pretty blue sky. She focused on that sky, on the stark contrast it created between heaven and Earth.

And it was rather beautiful, wasn't it?

Nora and Eloise walked together, a few paces in front of Erik, easy in a familiarity that had sprung up somewhere between Egypt and Italy. How it had developed, Erik hardly knew. Then again, how did any relationship come about? Proximity and opportunity and something that might be divine intervention.

Well, regardless of how it occurred, he was glad for it. Nora seemed so intent on doing right by her family—penance, she said, for how much I've enjoyed my sins— and the little blonde Eloise was not a bad girl. Fearless, Erik thought, and therefore very like her cousin-aunt, and therefore very much worth the time of day.

And it was nice to have a third person to alter the routine from time to time—even if the third was just a little thing who knew more about fairytales than anything else.

(Erik had discovered that he had rather a talent for spinning stories like that—a few thrown voices and the odd sleight of hand, and he could have both of his ladies enthralled and laughing.)

Not that it much mattered now. They were delivering the girl, and going home.

The two of them made for a neat picture now— Eloise demure in her short blue skirts and ivory boots, Nora as cool and cosmopolitan as any London peeress. Whether they were actually in fashion or not, Erik could not guess, but they looked like the best of Erik's life, strolling on summer's day, with a Bach lute sonata playing just out of hearing.

(He ought to get a lute. May the Girl would like a lute for Christmas?)

The whole affair was over rather quickly once a matron from the school came out to meet them. Eloise was teary and brave-faced, Nora was very earnest, and Erik stood apart and scared the school teacher. At last, the Girl curtsied to him and made her farewells, and there was the end of two-odd month's of Erik's life—from San Francisco to Singapore to Southampton.

Later, when they were in the carriage bound for the Savoy, Nora asked him: "Whatever did Eloise say to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"When we left her with Miss Steele. She went up to you, and when she left, it looked like you could have been knocked over with a feather."

He thought back and then shrugged. "She said very little—'Thank you and goodbye, Uncle Erik.' That was all."