Chapters (35)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Chapter 1: London, 1913
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20: 1917
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23: 1919
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Paula Brackston
- About the Author
When I am alone again I take Iago in my arms and the two of us step out of the wide glass doors onto the balcony to enjoy the view of the Thames at night. This outlook, directly opposite the Houses of Parliament and with vistas both up- and downriver, was the reason that I chose this penthouse apartment. After the house at Fitzroy Square was destroyed I knew I did not want anything so grand, or so big. Mama is, against all expectations, happily settled in Radnor Hall and has no wish to return to living in London. Times have changed. It is no longer practicable or desirable to employ a large retinue of servants. And besides, there is only me. It is surely a foolish indulgence in this modern age to keep a dozen maids and footmen and suchlike all dancing attendance upon one person. And when Louis and I are married, well, Clifton Villas will be our town residence. I cannot say I relish the prospect. It is a gloomy house, with little charm, and a great many rooms without sense or purpose. Perhaps, given time, I can persuade Louis that my lovely apartment would suit our needs better. It certainly suits mine.
By the end of the war this poor city was badly battle-scarred. The bombing raids had not been many, but they had left their mark. Added to which, the sheer lack of everything, including manpower, meant that buildings went untended for years; parks were either allowed to run wild or were plowed up to grow food; monuments and landmarks stood neglected; lead was stripped from roofs, and railings from the front of houses to further the war effort. The process of regeneration has been a slow and painful one. This building, completed only months ago, and erected to stand with its toes almost in the Thames, presents its broad, fiercely modern frontage toward the Victorian gothic of Parliament across the water. I like this juxtaposition. As a Lazarus witch, I am at once a part of something ancient almost beyond memory, but I am also of the generation that must, perhaps more than any before us, look forward and construct a new, bold future, putting the pain of the recent past behind us.