The Escapement of Blackledge: a novella (9 page)

If he used a mechanical linkage such as the one he had been attempting in the stork’s neck, then Helena should be able to have sufficient range of motion to pick up the keys. The question now was one of visibility. Weatherby stood with his hand pressed over his mouth, and his head cocked to the side, staring at the rough mock-up he had cobbled together. It was all very well to be able to grasp the keys, but how would she see where they were?

Bartlett’s distinctive double rap sounded at his study door. Weatherby backed away from his work bench, still staring at the mechanical arm. Perhaps a series of lenses… He shook his head and turned toward the door. He would talk to Helena about it this afternoon when they visited her father. Meanwhile, it would not do to keep Bartlett waiting, since he had probably brought up a tray.

Weatherby opened the door and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Behind Bartlett, who did indeed have a tray, George lounged in the hall.

“Pardon, old boy, for popping round so early, but I had the most curious thing happen.”

Weatherby accepted the tray from Bartlett and stepped back to allow George to enter. “I am surprised you are up this early, given your late night.”

“Haven’t been to sleep yet, have I—” George stopped inside the door, his mouth hanging open. He inhaled, with nostrils flaring. “I say…”

“You say what?”

George shut the door behind him, leaving Bartlett in the hall. “You dog. You sly dog. Who is she?”

“I— What?” Weatherby nearly dropped the tray in his haste to turn. Had he left an undergarment? Had Helena? The only thing that seemed out of place was the blanket on the floor. Surely that was not enough to alert George— Weatherby glanced down. No. His fly was done up. He cleared his throat and carried the tray over to the table.

The table, where he had two glasses for port. George followed him and picked up a glass. “You’ve lost me a bet.”

Weatherby’s mouth dropped open. “You were betting on—”

“The probable end date of your virginity.” George passed the glass under his nose and grinned.

The room became intolerably hot, which meant that his cheeks must be bright red. Weatherby squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through his nose. “This should not surprise me.”

“So who is she?”

Weatherby brought his hands up to rub his face before opening his eyes. “I do not think it would be seemly to share her name.”

“Oh come… you must tell me something.” George reached out to punch Weatherby lightly on the shoulder. “I am delighted for you, truly. Not even a bit put out about losing the bet — though you might have given me some warning.”

“It was unexpected.”

“Is that why you lit out so quickly tonight?”

“I— Yes.” Weatherby picked up the teapot to pour. “But you came on an errand, what brings you?”

“Well that’s the curious thing… I thought it was related to our mysterious burglar, but I am now thinking it has something more to do with your assignation.”

Tea splashed onto Weatherby’s hand. “Damn it.” He shook the hot liquid off and set the teapot down with a thump.

“Are you all right?”

“Just embarrassed.” He picked up a serviette and wiped the tea off the tray. “Could we please talk of something other than my… activities last night?”

“Just tell me if she is blonde. And an acrobat. And named Helena Troyes.”

George could not possibly know any of those things. Weatherby swallowed, even though his shock must have been clear enough. “Why would you think that?”

“Because when I met Miss Troyes at the ball, I knew she looked familiar but couldn’t think of where we had met.” George folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the table. “But when a man of Indian descent called at the kitchen door — while I was wheedling a bite from Cook — I recalled where I had seen her. Both of them really. At Astley’s Circus.”

“What did… what did this man want?” Weatherby could barely breathe. He had known she was a performer, but not where. The fact that George knew — George had seen her perform — only drove home how very little Weatherby actually knew about her.

“Begging, he said.” He shrugged. “But given that I had seen him at the circus, and the tricks they could do, I thought it rather more likely that he was examining my home in preparation for a burglary.”

“He was— he was probably looking for Miss Troyes.” Weatherby ran his hand through his hair and bowed his head. “You had invited her to the card party, if you recall.”

“To which she did not come.” George prodded Weatherby with his finger. “Oh… and what she must be capable of, given her profession. To which I return to my original assessment: You dog. You sly dog.”

Weatherby’s skin heated. It would be so much easier to deny George’s assertions if he did not have the memory of Helena kneeling with him inside her, and then arching backwards to run her tongue up the inside of his thighs and— He walked to his workbench, aware of the sudden snugness of his breeches. “Could we not?”

“But I am happy for you.”

“Nothing happened.”

Behind him George laughed, clapping his hands together. “You mean ‘nothing’ happened several times.”

“This is a string of conjecture that—”

“Think about to whom you are speaking. You reek of sex, and it is an aroma with which I am well familiar.”

Weatherby leaned his hands on his workbench, his breath coming too quickly. Amid the streaks of grease and scuffs on the wood, a pale stain lay in testament to his earlier activities. A throbbing in his groin insisted on recalling the perfect height of the workbench.

He slid a piece of brass out of the cupboard to cover the stain. “I have work to do.”

“Work? My dear fellow, I’m wounded. You have finally joined the rest of us in sampling the delights of—”

Weatherby slammed his fist on the brass and spun. “Damn it, George.”

His friend stared, mouth open. With an inhalation, he shut his mouth and gave a little shrug. “Well.” He pushed away from the table and straightened his cuffs. “Well. I’ll leave you to it then.”

“George— Wait.” He was an ass. Weatherby rested his hands on his hips and studied the seams in the marble floor. George had stood by him and shielded him from public scrutiny on every conceivable occasion. He was being no more intrusive than their history should have allowed. “Thank you for being happy for me. I am surprised by my own reaction and am treating you poorly, but the truth is that I am not yet ready to talk about it.”

“No— The fault is mine.” George took a step closer to Weatherby. “I know how private you are and I should not have pushed. I only… you looked happy. It is good to see you look happy.”

Weatherby raised his head, frowning. “What— Is it that unusual?”

“Since your father died? Yes.” George spread his hands and gestured around the workshop. “Getting you out…”

“I go to the club.”

“When I come to collect you, yes. When was the last time you left on your own?”

Weatherby tugged his banyan robe tighter around himself. He had not become so reclusive as all that, surely. “The Sanderson ball. I went to that on my own.”

The corner of George’s mouth twisted up into a half smile, but all the lines of his body expressed fatigue. “I invited you.”

“But I asked you to.”

“Because I got you intrigued in a mystery.”

Weatherby opened his mouth to retort that the mystery had interested him because it gave him a chance to see Helena, and then shut his mouth. He could not say that without admitting that she was the thief. Better to let George think that she was nothing more than a circus performer. “Then I owe you thanks.”

“I’m not— I’m not keeping score, Weatherby. I worry about you.” George tapped his toe on the marble, with one hand on his hip. “Here’s the last thing I’ll say on the subject of Miss Troyes. She makes you happy. Good. But you are inexperienced with women and I want to be certain that you remain happy. Please… please talk to me when you are ready. I will not make mock.”

Weatherby laughed. “That, that I don’t believe.”

“I will not mock
you
.” George winked. “Much.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Awkward and Unsociable

When the door to their apartment opened, Helena lowered the wash rag and spun from the partially cleaned window. Mama Agnes came through the door, eyed the bucket and snorted. “She’s cleaning.”

“So you terrified her.” Papa Fred came through the door, pulling his hat from his head. “That seems fair.”

“I am so sorry.” She twisted the damp rag and dropped it into the bucket at her feet. In an effort to seem more responsible, Helena had changed out of her burgling outfit into a simple blue round gown with a linen apron over it. “I can explain.”

“Oh yes. Yes, you can try to explain. I look forward to that attempt.” Mama Agnes pulled her bonnet off and hung it on the peg by the door. “You can start with where the hell you went last night.”

“I went to Mr. Corke’s house.”

Papa Fred narrowed his gaze at her. “Do you take me for a bleeding idiot?”

“N-no.” Helena wiped her palms on her apron. “But I did go there.”

“Now, see ‘ere’s the funny thing.” Papa Fred crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Because I saw Mr. Corke, quite by accident, and ‘e recognized me from the circus like. Knew who you were, too. Apparently, you danced with the Duke of Blackledge at the Sanderson ball. ‘E says the Duke’s besotted with you. That he’d hoped you would have come to the party
since you were invited
. So what I want to know is what else you lied to us about.”

Helena’s throat constricted more with each of Papa Fred’s statements. “I didn’t— I haven’t—” But she had. She’d told them that she hadn’t been able to get into the room at Rothfuss house because the window was locked. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, see, now I
am
worried.” Of her foster parents, he had always been the gentle one. She had never seen his face tight with anger before. Papa Fred pointed to the hard chair by the table. “Sit.”

She swallowed and sat down, clenching her hands in her lap. What could she tell them that would reassure them and not make them angrier. “He— The Duke of Blackledge. He’s offered to help.”

“Help. Just like that.” Papa Fred leaned toward her. “And how is it that he had the opportunity and reason to make that offer?”

“At the ball. I didn’t rob the place because he was there and he recognized me.” She twisted the corner of her apron and tried not to think about what happened in the shrubbery. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would worry.”

“You’re damn right I’m worried. What do you think you’re about gallivanting around after that? We should have left town.”

“See! This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” Helena looked at the ceiling. “Nothing bad happened. And he’s going to build an arm for me.
That’s
where I was last night. After Mr. Corke’s we both went to his workshop.”

Mama Agnes narrowed her eyes and held her hand up to stop them both from speaking. “Fred. Step out a minute.”

He turned his head, but he must have seen the set of her jaw as clearly as Helena did, because his shoulders drooped and he turned toward the door. Mama Agnes waited until he was out of the room.

She stared at the floor between her and Helena and shook her head. “I’m going to ask this once, and so help me, if you tell me anything other than the truth I’ll turn you over my knee and never mind that you’re a grown woman.” She looked up. “Were you safe when you slept with him?”

Helena’s cheeks warmed and the fact that she was blushing made her think of Weatherby and the room heated. “Why do you think I—?” Mama Agnes leaned forward in her chair with her eyes narrowed, so Helena wet her lips and braced herself for a tongue-lashing. “Yes.”

With a sigh, Mama Agnes leaned forward and rested her forehead on her hands. “And that’s why he’s going to help.”

“N-no. That was before, I— we… He’s very kind.”

“Child…” Mama Agnes lifted her head and her eyes were wet. “Don’t. He’s not going to marry you. This isn’t a fairy tale. If you have to lead him by the balls to convince him, fine. Your body is a tool and use it as you need to, but for God’s sake— Don’t believe that a nobleman will love you.”

“But I’m—” Helena stopped and bit her lips. She was a noblewoman. Or rather, she had been born to nobility and for all that her name should be Lady Helena, she was a circus performer now. Somehow in the last day she had lost sight of the goal, which was to restore her father. And the simple fact was that, even after their fortunes were restored, Weatherby’s position would require him to marry a young woman of good reputation. Helena had abandoned all hope of maintaining that years ago. “Of course. I know that. But I still need that arm, so I’ll have to see him again.”

Mama Agnes drew in a heavy breath and shook her head. “Oh child…”

“I thought you said I was a grown woman.”

With a shrug, Mama Agnes waved her to the door. “Let Fred back inside. We have some planning to do.”