Part 2 · Chapter 11In Mrs. Vyse’s Well‐appointed Flat

In Mrs. Vyse’s Stylish Flat. The Muse, though pretty good at handling her own stuff, didn’t mind a little help from Mr. Vyse.

His idea about bringing the Emersons to Windy Corner seemed like a seriously good move, and she made the arrangements without a single hiccup.

Sir Harry Otway signed on, met Mr. Emerson, who was immediately unimpressed. The Miss Alans were super offended and wrote Lucy a really formal letter, blaming her for the whole thing.

Mr. Beebe planned some fun activities for the new folks, and told Mrs. Honeychurch that Freddy needed to stop by and say hi as soon as they got settled. Seriously, the Muse was so on top of things that she let Mr.

Harris, who wasnn't exactly a tough guy, just fade away and basically die.

Lucy - going from a bright, happy place to the real world, where there’s always some shade because there are hills - was initially devastated, but then realized it honestly didn’t matter all that much.

Now that she was engaged, the Emersons wouldn't really try to embarrass her, and they were welcome in the neighborhood. And Cecil could bring whoever he wanted around. So, yeah, Cecil could bring the Emersons around.

But, like, it took her a bit to process, and - you know how girls are - the whole situation felt way bigger and more intense than it needed to be. She was glad a visit to Mrs.

Vyse was coming up; the tenants moved into Cissie Villa while she was safe in the London flat.

"Cecil - Cecil darling," she whispered when she arrived that evening, and snuggled into his arms.

Cecil was getting more affectionate too. He could see Lucy was starting to crave attention, which is what a woman should do, and looking up to him because he was a guy.

"So, you really love me, little thing?" he murmured.

"Oh, Cecil, I do, I do! I don’t know what I’d do without you."

A few days went by. Then she got a letter from Miss Bartlett. Things had been a bit frosty between the two cousins, and they hadn’t talked since they parted ways in August.

The awkwardness started with what Charlotte would call "the trip to Rome," and it just got worse there.

A companion who’s just annoying in the old days becomes totally exasperating in a more modern setting.

Charlotte, being selfless in the Forum, would have handled things with a sweeter attitude, and once, in the Baths of Caracalla, they almost called off the whole tour.

Lucy had suggested she'd join the Vyses - Mrs. Vyse was an acquaintance of her mother, so it wasn’t weird, and Miss Bartlett replied that she was used to being ditched unexpectedly.

"Eventually, nothing happened; but the awkwardness lingered, and for Lucy, it even got worse when she opened the letter and read: "TUNBRIDGE WELLS, "September. "DEAREST LUCIA,

"I finally have news about you! Miss Lavish was cycling around your area, but wasn’t sure if a visit would be welcome."

When she got a flat tire near Summer Street and while it was being fixed, she was feeling pretty bummed sitting in that cute churchyard, she was shocked to see a door open and the younger Emerson guy come out.

He said his dad just rented the house. He said he didn’t know you lived nearby (?).

He never even mentioned grabbing Eleanor a cup of tea. Dear Lucy, I’m really worried, and I think you should tell your mom, Freddy, and Mr. Vyse about his past behavior - they’ll forbid him from coming around, etc.

That was a huge mistake, and I guess you’ve probably already told them.

Mr. Vyse is so sensitive. I remember how I used to get on his nerves in Rome. I’m so sorry about it all, and I wouldn’t feel right unless I warned you.

"Believe me, "Your anxious and loving cousin, "CHARLOTTE."

Lucy was super annoyed and replied: "BEAUCHAMP MANSIONS, S.W. "DEAR

"Seriously, thanks for the heads-up. When Mr. Emerson totally spaced out on the mountain, you made me promise not to tell Mom, because you said she’s blame you for not always being with me.

I’ve kept that promise, and I absolutely can’t tell her now."

I’ve told her and Cecil that I met the Emersons in Florence, and they’re good people - which I really think - and the reason he didn’t offer Miss Lavish tea was probably because he didn’t have any himself. She should have tried the Rectory.

I’m not starting a drama right now.

You have to see that it would be so awkward. If the Emersons heard I was complaining about them, they’d think they’re a big deal, which they totally aren’t. I like the old guy, and I’m looking forward to seeing him again.

As for his son, I feel bad for him when we meet, more than for myself.

They know Cecil, who’s doing great and was talking about you the other day. We’re planning to get married in January.

"Miss Lavish probably didn’t tell you much about me, because I’m not at Windy Corner at all, but here. Please don’t put ‘Private’ on your envelope again. No one opens my mail. "Love, "L. M. HONEYCHURCH."

Secrecy has a downside: it messes with your perspective. You can’t tell if your secret is a huge deal or just a silly thing.

Are Lucy and her cousin hiding something massive that would ruin Cecil’s life if he found out, or is it just a minor thing he’d laugh about?

Miss Bartlett thought it was the former. Maybe she was right. It’s become a big deal now.

If Lucy had been left to her own devices, she would have told her mom and Cecil honestly, and it would have stayed a small thing. " Emerson, not Harris"; it was just a few weeks ago.

She tried to tell Cecil even now when they were laughing about some gorgeous girl who’d totally crushed his heart in school. But her body acted so weird that she stopped.

She and her secret hung around the deserted city for another ten days, checking out places they’d get to know really well later.

It didn’t hurt her, Cecil thought, to learn how society works, while everyone else was off playing golf or hiking in the moors.

The weather was cool, and it didn’t hurt her. Even though it wasn’t the right season, Mrs. Vyse managed to throw a dinner party with only the grandkids of famous people.

The food wasn’t great, but the conversation had this witty, exhausted vibe that impressed her. Everyone seemed tired of everything.

You’d launch into a passion, then gracefully crash and get back up with some sympathetic laughter.

In that atmosphere, the Pension Bertolini and Windy Corner seemed equally basic, and Lucy realized that her London career would distance her a bit from everything she’s loved in the past.

The grandkids asked her to play the piano.

She played Schumann. " Now some Beethoven," Cecil called out, when the beautiful, slightly sad music faded. She shook her head and played Schumann again. The melody rose, magically but incomplete.

It broke; it started up again, broken, not flowing steadily from beginning to end.

The sadness of something unfinished - the sadness that’s often life, but shouldn’t be art - throbbed in the fragmented phrases, and made everyone’s nerves buzz.

She hadn’t played like that on the little piano at the Bertolini, and "Too much Schumann" wasn’t what Mr. Beebe had muttered to himself when she finished.

When the guests were gone, and Lucy had gone to bed, Mrs. Vyse paced around the living room, chatting about her party with her son. Mrs.

Vyse was a nice lady, but her personality, like so many others, had been overwhelmed by London; it takes a strong person to thrive among so many people.

The sheer size of her life had crushed her; she’s seen too many seasons, too many cities, too many men for her to handle, and even with Cecil, she’s robotic, treating him like he’s not just one son, but a whole crowd of them.

"Make Lucy one of us," she said, glancing around thoughtfully after each sentence, kind of pausing before she spoke again. " Lucy is seriously leveling up - it’s amazing."

"Her music always was amazing."

"Yeah, but she’s shedding the Honeychurch vibe, you know? Like, the best Honeychurches, but you get what I mean. She’s not always quoting the staff or asking how the dessert is." "Italy did that."

"Maybe," she murmured, thinking about the museum that was her Italy. " It’s possible. Cecil, you have to marry her next January. She’s practically one of us already."

"But her music!" he exclaimed. " Her style! How she stuck with Schumann when, like, I was being a total idiot and wanted Beethoven. Schumann was perfect for tonight. It was the move.

Do you know, Mom, I’m gonna raise our kids just like Lucy."

"Freshness from honest country life, then Italy for that subtle edge, and then - not till then - London. I’m not into these London educations - " He stopped short, remembering he’d had one himself, and finished, "Not for girls, anyway."

"Make her one of us," repeated Mrs. Vyse, and headed to bed.

As she was drifting off, a cry - like a nightmare - came from Lucy’s room. Lucy could call for the maid if she wanted, but Mrs. Vyse thought it was sweet to go herself. She found the girl sitting up with her hand on her cheek.

"I’m so sorry, Mrs. Vyse - it’s just these dreams." "Bad dreams?" "Just dreams."

The older lady smiled and kissed her, saying very clearly: "You should have heard us talking about you, dear. He thinks you’re even more amazing now. Dream about that."

Lucy returned the kiss, still covering one cheek with her hand. Mrs. Vyse went back to bed. Cecil, who hadn’t even woken up, was snoring. Darkness filled the apartment.