Re: Vauxhall Gardens
"Do you believe in haunted things? The dead, back to walk among us?" She shudders, and it's stronger than it ought to be, as if the words held her faster than they should. She doesn't like the dead, talk of them, and her recent dreaming has made that sentiment no less strong. But she asked, and her interest remains in his telling, even if she cares not for the topic.
She considers traipsing. She cannot imagine what it would truly be like. She has never seen a louse, though she knows the word. Like Africa, which is London painted in merely different colors, the world he lives in is a thing imaged prettier. She is not a reader of the novels, the pulp at the end of fortnights in print, but she still imagines it all as being very romantic. She is young, for all her disillusionment, the girl in the white vestments of false purity.
She touches his arm, and she doesn't comprehend that he is looking for falsehoods in her. She knows Vanessa seeks secrets, things unsaid, but she is trusting here with this man she deems harmless. She smiles. "You are to come whenever you can." The offer is earnest and true. "I will be gladdened of your company." She means it. It is not a falsehood, and his red thoughts disturb her not, unaware of them as she is.
She looks up, and the sun is lowering. "I should return." She inclines at the waist and whispers close to his ear. "We have given our spectators much to gossip over." Another touch, this time to the fabric upon his wrist. "Come Monday. Meet dearest Vanessa, will you? We can chitter about it after."