Page 2 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

‘Deep breaths, Kitten,’ said Phil, placing comforting hands on my shoulders. She lowered her face until it was next to mine. Phil was the sibling I resembled most and was closest to. Not only did we share a bed, clothes and confidences, as well as blue-grey eyes with irises surrounded by a dark ring (like the planet Saturn, said Oscar), she was the only member of my family who knew how I really felt about him. The daydreams I had; prospects I’d never believed could be within my reach.

Only four nights ago, Phil and I had lain in bed talking. I’d once again shared my desire to leave Dublin, to see London, Paris, and so much more.

‘It’s not that I don’t love you, Phil, or the others,’ I said hastily, lest I cause hurt. ‘I love the very bones of you, you know that, don’t you? It’s just that I feel there’s so much more to life than … here.’

Phil had cupped my cheek. ‘You don’t need to explain, Kitten. We’ve always known you’re an exotic flower that’s been planted in the wrong soil. Stay here, and you’ll gradually wither and die. Of course you must go. The question is, with whom? Though I’m pretty certain that’s already been decided.’ She’d given a knowing grin.

‘You look beautiful, Florrie,’ said Maude, bringing me back to the present. ‘That colour really suits you. Brings out your eyes.’

Bored with gazing on a street sans Oscar, Alice drifted over. ‘Aye,’ she drawled and plucked the bottle of perfume from the dresser, spraying a mist of violets and roses. ‘Brings out your eyes like a cat’s in the nightsoil man’s lantern. Ow!’ she squealed as the powder puff I threw landed on her head, leaving a pale splodge of talc. ‘Florrie! How can I face Mr Wilde looking like this?’ She stared in dismay at the mirror.

Ever since Alice was introduced to Oscar, she’d followed him around like our Irish Terrier, Captain Walton. She was only thirteen. I swear if my other sister, Catherine, had been much younger, she’d have done the same. As it was, she just sat quietly in his presence (a miracle in itself) and turned various shades of carmine. Maude wasn’t much better, not really, and she was recently engaged to Michael McCarthy. She’d bury her head in a book (not a page was turned the entire time Oscar was present), so it was left to Mother, Father (when he wasn’t at his club), Phil and me to divert him. Not that Oscar needed it; he was quite capable of amusing us with his endless tales.

‘Get yourself over here,’ said Phil, and began to comb the powder out of Alice’s hair. ‘He won’t be looking at you, not once he sees Florrie. There. You’ll do. Now.’ She held out her hand. ‘Come, my lady. Time to make your entrance.’

I examined myself one last time. The dress was a high-collared creation of velvet and wool, contrasted with black lace. Phil and I had copied the design from an old English ladies’ magazine. It clung to my breasts and cinched my waist before blooming in an elegant bustle, then falling in graceful lines to the toes of my black boots. Anticipation brought extra colour to my cheeks, and my lips, already atremble, were slightly swollen from being chewed. ‘Well,’ I said, smoothing the dress, frowning when I noted an errant thread, ‘it will have to do, won’t it?’

Alice’s eyes slid towards me. ‘You do look lovely, Florrie. Like an angel fallen to earth —’

‘What a sweet thing to —’

‘A wicked one who’s lost its halo,’ she added, and slapped my bottom with the powder puff. Hard. Clouds rose.

‘Why, you scallywag,’ I said, and to Phil and Maude’s ringing laughter, chased her out of the room and down the stairs. ‘Wait till I get hold of you.’

Halfway down, probably because she was looking back at me and poking out her tongue instead of watching where she was going, Alice lost her footing and would have taken a terrible tumble except that Oscar, quick as a flash, mounted the stairs and caught her. I froze, aware that a tragedy had just been averted. The rest of the family stood in a semi-circular tableau, looking aghast and then relieved – Father, Mother, Catherine, James, Billy and Captain Walton, who began to bark excitedly. Oscar heaved Alice into his arms and carried her down the stairs, placing her gently on the floor. Father clapped him on the back; Mother kissed his cheek. Alice stared up at him in adoration.

‘You saved me!’ she declared breathlessly, her eyes shining.

Oscar grinned. ‘One can survive everything, nowadays, except death, my dear.’

There was a beat, then everyone laughed.

‘And live down anything except a good reputation,’ I added, descending slowly, gripping the railing. Phil and Maude were trying surreptitiously to swipe the powder from my rear.

‘Exactly,’ he said, regarding me with those twinkling eyes. ‘A good reputation inevitably means one is popular, which also suggests mediocre.’

I laughed as he brought my hand to his lips. ‘And you, Florence Balcombe, are anything but mediocre.’

In Oscar Wilde’s company, I believed it.

CHAPTER TWO

The cathedral was crowded. I spied some of our neighbours, noting how they nudged each other when they saw who accompanied me.

Instead of joining anyone we knew, Oscar led me to the far end of a pew just below the List of Deans. We bowed our heads for the prayers, sang carols with the choir, and tried to see who else we recognised. A few rows in front of us, James and Billy were stifling yawns and casting resentful looks in my direction until James noticed the pretty lass who lived at Number 11, Cecilia Doyle, was also present. After that, I think James’s thoughts were on anything but God.

James wasn’t the only one distracted. Throughout the sermon, Oscar patted his pockets, wrung his hands and rubbed his chin. I’d not seen him so fidgety before; he was always brimming with confidence. It wasn’t until we rose to receive the final blessing that he regained his usual composure.

He gestured for my brothers to proceed us out of the church. ‘We’ll be right behind you,’ he assured them as they hesitated. I went to follow, but he grabbed my wrist. ‘Florrie, Florence,’ he said softly. ‘Wait a moment.’

‘But …’ I glanced towards the church entrance. ‘The boys …’

‘They’ll be fine. Come,’ he commanded, twining his fingers through mine. ‘Back here where it’s a tad more private.’

‘Why?’ I resisted.

‘Trust me.’