“We must leave now. If we wait any longer the Waterloo Bridge will be opened without us, and I do so want to see the Prince Regent,” Grace said, urging them from the table and the meal she hoped would hold them through the afternoon. “George, would you like the last bit of wine?”
“Grace, this will guarantee that I sleep through the entire event.” He leaned as if to speak confidentially, but did not lower his voice. “And I snore.”
They were a merry group. George seemed to be in better humor than he had been for months. His mother was so pleased by her son’s good spirits that she did not need wine to feel light-headed. Grace had plans of her own. Plans she had shared with no one but Kitty, who was given the day and night off to celebrate as she wished.
“I tell you what, George, you sit near Lindsay and he will nudge you if you nod off.” She glanced over at the major to see if he would agree, and shook her head.
Lindsay was slumped down in his chair pretending he was already asleep, then an indelicate snore made the other two laugh. Rousing from his supposed stupor, he looked around. “What did I miss?”
They all crowded into the carriage, still laughing, and settled for the ride to the river and the Waterloo Bridge, the newest and most graceful addition to the river scene.
It was a day filled with extremes. Tears and laughter, cheers and solemn attention. The bridge was named for the battle so “that posterity would remember the great and glorious achievement.” The tolls were excused for this first day and the span was crowded as people made the trip from the end of the Strand to Lambeth and back. It was slow progress, whether on foot or by carriage, but no one complained.
Grace declared that they would join the parade. Aunt Louise insisted that George put his leg up, and it was a testament to the overall good humor, or perhaps the wine, that he allowed her to fuss over him.
George rested his leg on the opposite seat. It meant that Grace and the major had to sit very close together. Grace loved the feel of Lindsay beside her, the way his broad chest made her feel safe and cared for. He put his arm along the cushions behind them in an effort to give her an inch more space, and the feeling of safety changed to a thrill of awareness.
The open carriage made the two men in uniform available to the crowd, and everyone from their friends to the lowliest flower seller paid their respects to the two soldiers who, as one man said, had “made England safe for the next hundred years.” He included George in the praise despite his lack of a Waterloo medal. Today, any man in uniform was a hero.
There was a fair set up to the southeast of the bridge, and Grace was delighted when her suggestion that they stop a while was well received.
She and Lindsay made their way through the fair, his medal drawing so much attention that finally he took it off and stuffed it in his pocket. The crowd was a mix of every class and calling; it was one of those rare days when all of London gathered, remembering the celebration of the war’s end a year earlier and determined to reprise the good feelings of peace and a secure future.
There was the occasional scuffle. When fists were flying very near where they stood, Lindsay leaned down to her. “Do you want to leave? It is a bit close here.”
“No.” She laughed as a missed punch resulted in a very comic tumble. “It gives me an excuse to hold on tight to you.”
There were jugglers, trained animals and an illusionist who held their attention for so long that he asked them if they were interested in an apprenticeship.
When they shook their heads, the illusionist asked if Grace would like to assist him. She really did want to go, but her aunt hissed in her ear, “That is unacceptable, Grace.” And the major held fast to her arm when it appeared she might have stepped forward anyway.
As they watched the young girl who took her place, Grace turned to Lindsay. “Do you believe in magic?”
He watched the lowering sun as it lit her from behind, creating an aura of light around her. Gradually the crowed faded away, until it was just the two of them. He must have watched her for a long time, because finally she whispered, “Are you not sure or have you forgotten the question?”
“Do I believe in magic?” If she meant the absurd wish that had brought them together, he could not deny it. But she had never heard of Poppy, much less Poppy’s coin. “Do I believe in magic? See, I did hear your question. And my answer is no. What we saw are tricks that fool the eye.”
“No, not what he does, for you are right, that is only illusion. I mean the kind of magic that changes your life.”
He could feel Poppy’s coin heavy in his pocket. “Well, I do believe in miracles.”
“You do?” With unspoken agreement, they moved away from the exhibition and toward the spot where the carriage awaited them.
“You cannot see the amazing ways people survive in war and not believe in miracles.”
“But not magic?” She did not wait for him to answer. “Well, I believe in magic, Major.” She said it as though she was ready for a great debate. She turned to him, “Could it be that that magic is a miracle without God’s blessing?”
“That sounds slightly pagan, my dear.”
She looked at him in some surprise. What had he said? Surely she realized he did not really believe her a pagan?
“You may be right, my lady. Without God’s intervention I suppose magic could be used for both good and ill.” For he and God knew that the magic of Poppy’s coin had been both a blessing and a bane.
Mrs. Cardovan ran into some friends who invited her to join them for the fireworks. Initially, she refused, insisting that she needed to escort her son home, but she was easily convinced when Lindsay insisted that he could give George all the help he needed. Neither man was particularly interested in the display, having seen too many of the bombardments they imitated, enough to last a lifetime.
They were as silent on the ride home as they had been talkative earlier. George made to speak at least once but both men could see that Grace was lost in thought, her face so clearly determined that they knew it must involve something serious. Whatever George had to say, he thought better of it, leaving Lindsay to wonder exactly what Grace was thinking.