Brass and Bone (7 page)

I was, of course, aghast. “Of course I shan’t let you go without me! We’re a team, partners, together through thick and thin. But I simply wanted to point out—”

Something dinged, or possibly donged, and she turned away to flip a lever up two notches. Ahead through the glass—it had been replaced with Sir Eli’s money and was quite crystal clear in comparison to the cloudy, cracked old wreck it had been—I could see spread out below me the bustling port of Calais, looking quite impossibly French.

Then Abigail started doing other things, and bells rang and whistles whistled and I could see we were changing direction. So I turned to leave.

It was useless, I could see. Whatever feelings Abigail had for Sir Eli were still there. A pity.

“Simon,” Abigail said just before I left the bridge. “The distance from Calais to Paris is just shy of a hundred fifty miles. We’re traveling at nearly—,” she looked at a gauge and whistled in delight, “—at
over
twenty-five miles an hour. Really, I must send a congratulatory telegram to Herr Tesla once we arrive. Tell our passengers we shall be in Paris for a late lunch.”

***

Ah, Paris! The city of light, the center of the world—at least, if one is a Frenchman.

As for me, give me dear old London. It may be foggy and rather soiled; there may be dangers at every turn; I may get lost upon occasion in its cluttered streets, or attacked by cutpurses or solicited by ladies of the evening or…

Well, perhaps I should give Paris a chance.

I spent the forenoon hours settling into my minuscule cabin, and if the thought of living there for some time to come as we traveled was less than inviting, well, who can blame me?

Perhaps this might be a good time to describe the
Invincible
, so you may visualize it when I discuss such aeronautical locations as the bridge, engine room, galley, hold and so forth. It had begun its life some fifty years before, when the first airships were built. It consists of a long gondola suspended beneath the airbags, which are nothing more than a series of five large round sacks filled with hot air produced by the engines below. The gondola, shaped much like a stocky sailing galleon, has three levels: the upper deck, which is little more than an open walkway upon either side of the glass-enclosed bridge wherein Abigail spends most of her time, with her small cabin behind it; the second or passenger deck, with three tiny cabins on each side of a central corridor and a small galley aft with a cubbyhole where Rupert holds sway; and below, the third deck is one long open hold, used in the past for the contraband so dear to the late Lord Agamemnon Moran, Abigail’s grandpapa and a most impressive old pirate and smuggler. The hold is also wherein resides the airship engine, lately modified by Herr Tesla. The gondola is made of wood and metal and hangs beneath the gasbags, which are sewn of heavy waxed canvas and bound to the gondola with stout ropes.

There you have it in a nutshell, a word most apt when referring to the cabins. I am fairly tall. I bump my head constantly. Abigail is nearly as tall as I; she does not. I suspect it is because she is more used to moving about the thing than I.

“Simon, stop woolgathering!” Abigail’s voice rang in my ears.

I turned away from the tiny porthole in my cabin and looked at around enquiringly. I expected to see her standing in the doorway, dressed in her usual piloting attire: goggles, leather jacket, white shirt, short full skirt in a heavy dun-colored cloth which looked distressingly like airbag material (and probably was) and stout leather boots. No woman in the world could look alluring in such an outfit—except for Abigail.

I was alone. Then I recalled the speaking tubes installed by Sir Eli’s engineers.

I lifted the apparatus and spoke into it, somewhat hesitantly. “What may I do for you, my dear?”

“We’re setting down shortly.” Her voice, far from some tinny echo, sounded as if she were indeed standing beside me. “At a small aerodrome near Saint Cloud. But we shall fly over Paris on the way, and I thought you and our guests might wish to see the tower affair Monsieur Eiffel is building near the Seine. Do fetch the mademoiselle and Monsieur d’Estes and tell them, won’t you? And Simon?”

“Yes?”

“Send Rupert up with a cup of tea, please?”

“I shall,” I said, then hung the bell-shaped contraption on its hook.

Outside, the narrow corridor led to a door at one end and Rupert’s lair at the other. I walked quite a dozen steps to inform him of Abigail’s wishes then knocked on Mademoiselle Cynara’s cabin door.

“
Oui
?” came her reply.

“We’re passing over Paris,” I said, rather loudly so she could make me out. “Abigail thought you might like to see.”

The door opened, and our guest appeared. She was in the most delightful blue gown. I was about to offer her my arm when the Frenchie appeared behind her.

Well. I am quite open-minded, I can assure you. But I had seen some tension between our two guests, and to find them in the same cabin rather surprised me.

Cynara took my arm and gave me a charming smile.

“Lady Abigail is quite correct,” she said. “I should love to see my Paris from such a height. Will you show me where to go? I confess, I am still somewhat lost on this ship.”

D’Estes glared at me, quite obviously angry, so naturally I took the lady’s arm and led her to the door. I opened it, and we stepped up the ladder and out onto the promenade deck, the Frenchie right behind us. As I turned to close the door, I caught a quick glimpse of Rupert. Instead of heading up the ladder to the navigation cabin, cup of tea in hand, he was lingering outside Monsieur d’Estes’ cabin.

Ah. I saw Abigail was not thirsty at all.

I turned back quickly and led the two passengers to the rail that protects one from falling off the gondola. Below the silver ribbon of the River Seine snaked through the city of Paris. As the ship came lower, we could make out Notre Dame with its charming gargoyles, and soon, the spidery structure of the tower being built.

“Whatever is its purpose?” I wondered idly.

“It will be nothing more than a beacon for lightning,” d’Estes said gruffly. “Once it is done, I do not expect it to last the month. Monsieur Eiffel is mad.”

“I think it charming,” said the mademoiselle. “So tall, so erect, so powerful. A fitting image for our lovely city.”

“Hmph,” I said. “Perhaps.” I suspected Abigail wanted me to keep our friends occupied while Rupert did whatever he was doing, so I pointed and asked questions and pointed and asked questions for some time as the ship flew over Paris toward the small aerodrome in Saint Cloud. We all watched, gripping the rail tightly, as Abigail took us in for mooring.

Finally Rupert came out of the navigation cabin—I decided he must have nipped up the secret passageway. I cannot, of course, tell you where it is, else it would no longer be a secret.

“Lady Abigail will be right out,” he said. “I’m to stay here onboard while you all go out for luncheon.” He disappeared into the corridor leading to the cabins.

“Delightful!” I said heartily.

“But how, Monsieur Thorne,” asked the mademoiselle, looking down at the ground so far below, “do we get off the ship? We are still so high and it is so far…eek!”

I grabbed her arm; d’Estes grabbed the rail. The ship began to settle down as Abigail let the air out of a couple of the bags above. The hiss as it escaped kept me from answering as Abigail tumbled down the short ladder from her bridge, rubbing her hands in ill-concealed joy.

“We have made the most marvelous time!” she said, bracing herself unconsciously as the gondola settled toward the ground. “I believe we deserve a bite of lunch. Mademoiselle des Jardin, do you know of a pleasant café near here?”

“But of course! I know a charming
brasserie
on the Rue Delombre run by old friends. It is not too far from Saint Cloud by steam cab.”

Mademoiselle still had hold of my arm. Abigail did not seem to notice, but d’Estes, I was happy to see, could not take his eyes away.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice as cold as his eyes, “but I have some errands to run first. I will meet you there, if I may, shall we say in,” he consulted his pocket watch, “two hours?”

I expected Abigail to disagree. She has the oddest ideas about her passengers being on time and on the spot when she, and only she, is ready to depart.

To my surprise, she smiled and nodded. “Of course. We will await you there. Simon, I believe we may hire a steam cab at the offices of the aerodrome.”

The
Invincible
, by that time, had settled into the cradle that supported it, and a bevy of French mechanics hovered about. Rupert had descended a ladder and was discussing things with them in his own version of their language. Most of the men looked confused, if not downright irritated.

“Uh, Abigail,” I asked. “Are you wearing that?” I waved my hand to take in her attire, which was indeed her usual traveling kit.

“Do not be concerned, Monsieur Simon,” said the mademoiselle. “Many airship captains dine at my friends’
brasserie
. The Lady Abigail will not feel out of place.”

As if Abigail would ever feel out of place! But I offered an arm to each lady and we headed to the offices of the aerodrome.

Lunch was somewhat rushed, sadly, as I wished I could spend more time in Paris. But Abigail was in a tearing hurry. She barely allowed us to choke down a meal, and when d’Estes returned, she wouldn’t even let him finish his wine.

“No time, I fear,” she said as she hurried us back to the aerodrome. “I’d like to be at our next stop in two days, and it’s over four hundred miles. At approximately twenty-five miles an hour, calculating headwinds and…”

I confess, I always stopped listening when Abigail starts calculating headwinds and tailwinds. I mean, what gentleman wouldn’t?

I interrupted her rather smartly, “So, after a choked-down luncheon, all we have to look forward to is two days of tinned beans and tea produced by Rupert in his tiny galley? Really, Abigail, must we subject our guests to that?”

Abigail laughed. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you in San Remo. Italy, after all, has some rather good food. And thanks to Sir Eli we won’t have to spend our time there in a hovel.”

I assisted Mademoiselle des Jardin up the ladder. “Well, I suppose it can’t be too bad.”

“Not a bit of it,” Abigail said. “And remember, Rupert does quite a nice bacon sandwich, so it won’t be all tinned beans.”

***

We reached San Remo two days later, quite early in the morning. Regardless of her promise, I was a bit surprised when Abigail sent me off to check us into the most expensive hotel in town, but we were, after all, on Sir Eli’s shilling. I would have taken the queen’s suite, but it was Mardi Gras and my choices were limited. Still, after waving pound notes about, I succeeded in acquiring rooms for us all.

Wonder upon wonder, Abigail even suggested we do a bit of shopping and,
mirabile dictu
, acquire a few things for an upcoming ball.

The hotel in San Remo was delightful. I must confess, it was such a relief to be off the tiny airship and be able to move about. The suite assigned me was most commodious, with an attached bath that was nearly as elegant as the one in the Comte’s chateau. The first thing I did was take a long, luxurious bath, and then sit in front of my dressing table to brush out my hair as it dried.

Henri entered without knocking or even announcing himself as a civilized person would do. I jumped when I noticed his reflection in the mirror behind mine. My mind had been elsewhere, which excused me from hearing his approach. I gasped in surprise and whirled around, leaning against the small dressing table as I willed my heart to calm down. It was only Henri. Dark, moody, dangerous. But still Henri. I frowned in an attempt to hide my shock and grabbed the silver fan, which matched my dress to perfection.

“How may I help you?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, and I didn’t care for the gleam in his eye as he examined my appearance. I’d been present at the highest galas and social functions Paris had to offer for the past three years. So I knew what I was doing when it came to preparing for the little Mardi Gras ball here in San Remo. Henri was simply admiring the effect. At least, this is what I tried to tell myself. I sighed at his silence and began to move past him to the door when he grabbed me by the waist. Henri pulled me to him, breathing in my perfume as if I were still his lover and not his prisoner.

However, I had not forgotten that fact. I stiffened beneath his touch, snapping the fan against my side as I tried to pull away. “Release me, Henri.”

He ignored me, pulling me even closer to him until I was pressed against his chest. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the memories of our torrid past together brought on by his familiar scent of tobacco and cologne. Henri was my enemy. The man who had been too much of a coward to dispose of me himself, leaving his Witchfinders to do his dirty work for him.

Yet my body ignored these thoughts. My dark desires betrayed me. I relaxed with a sigh.

When he finally spoke, it was to whisper a vow against my exposed neck. “Your life is mine to take, Cynara. And you will die the moment I decide upon how to do it.”

His words were too much like the cold waters I’d been forced to endure in the laboratory at Claremont Manor. I lifted my head, meeting his eyes, as I replied with a tone that matched the sudden chill in the air.

“And your life is mine. Though I can promise you only this, Henri. You will die long before I ever will.”

***

The ballroom was filled when I arrived on Henri’s arm. I at once set about charming the strangers who surrounded us. After all, one never knew when such meetings could be useful in the future. But I was still angry with Henri. Or perhaps livid would be a better description. I could not forget the harsh promises binding us together, one to the other. I cursed him for being a distraction on this evening, which held such promise. After my captivity at Claremont, and being forced into this horrid mission for the Witchfinder, I felt nothing but envy for the well-dressed men and women intent on passing the night in the haze only good spirits could offer.

“Monsieur d’Estes, Mademoiselle des Jardin, over here.” Our captain pushed her way through the crowd with Simon close behind. Lady Abigail had outdone herself tonight, pulling her thick auburn hair to the top of her head to expose her slender shoulders. Her rich amber gown was simple, yet it added to her allure. I could understand Simon’s attraction to this amazing woman. She was a beauty.

However, I did not miss the gleam in Simon’s eye as he caught sight of me, and I’ll admit I wasted no time to relieve myself of Henri’s arm.

“Why, Mr. Thorne!” I gave him my hand and smiled as he bowed over it. “You do look—oh, what is the word you British use? Smacking?”

He laughed at my attempt. “Smashing, Mademoiselle. Smashing.”

“That is the very word.” I looked him over, barely hearing his own compliments toward myself. Simon was tall. Extremely handsome, with his golden eyes and bright red hair. His suit fit his lean frame to perfection. I was just getting ready to respond when I heard Lady Abigail call to Henri over the crowd.

“Why, thank you, monsieur. Simon was able to secure us a table. Let us get out of this dreadful sea of lace and satin, shall we?”

Henri agreed and took her arm.

Simon offered me his. He leaned in, speaking louder than normal so that I could make him out over the orchestra set up across the ballroom. “Are you well, mademoiselle? Is your suite to your liking?”

“I am quite well.” I tilted my head and smiled at him. “And of course! Though I will admit it is strange to have such a large amount of space again. I am not quite sure what to do with it all.”

Simon released me as we stopped at the table he had secured for us. It was close enough to the floor that I could feel the air from dancers circling in time to the waltz. I soon grew bored with the clamor of conversation at our table as more people joined us, friends and acquaintances of Lady Abigail or Simon, but I never once let it show. Instead, I joined in on their chatter as if I had known these
étrangers
for years instead of mere minutes. We kept the conversation light while I caught up on the scandals I missed during my weeks of imprisonment.

Indeed, I was sharing a particularly amusing story concerning a gala thrown last spring by the
nouveau riche
crowd in Paris when Henri asked to be excused. The others were laughing, distracting Abigail, so he slipped away without any trouble. But as I finished my tale involving a rogue servant and the daughter of a Parisian official, I kept glancing at him. He approached a woman dressed in vivid red—a color no respectable person would wear—and the two of them disappeared into the shadows.

“Mademoiselle, would you allow me the pleasure?” Simon bowed and extended his hand. It took only a second for me to accept his invitation, swallowing the last bit of my wine as I stood. He led me out onto the dance floor in the middle of the waltz, so I laughed as he swept me up into the motions and we began to swirl in time with the others. I tilted my head back, examining the mirth with a smile.

“I will admit, I am surprised, my dear Simon. I was not expecting to dance tonight.”

“I’m surprised you accepted the invitation from me, mademoiselle. Every man who has stopped by our table would love to be in my current position. Yet, you’ve ignored them all.”

“And be guilty of incivility? Never! Besides,” I laughed, shifting my speed as the music increased. “I have become quite fond of you, and in such a short time. I doubt I would refuse you anything.”

Simon tightened his hold around my waist, and my heart pounded as I was suddenly aware of how close we were. How strong he seemed. The light friendship I’d taken comfort in these past few days shifted within mere seconds to an electrical charge, and it startled me. My dancing partner noticed the change around us as well, for he loosened the pressure of his hand. But he kept me close to him, far closer than was required by the simple Five-Step Waltz.

These celebrations were supposed to filled with gaiety, so when Simon broke our silence by making jokes about our fellow dancers, I fell in step with him. It was lovely, having this time with him. Though I couldn’t help but notice Henri had returned after his disappearance with the trollop. And he was watching every move we made.

So I threw myself into the evening, enjoying the wines as they poured and the dances with Simon when he asked. It had been quite some time since I’d been privy to such an occasion, and I’d be damned if I allowed Henri to spoil it for me.

***

The sun was blinding, striking against the snowy-white expanse of table cloth between Henri and me. Lady Abigail had landed us in San Remo the day before, and she was busy making the necessary contacts to ensure we continued on our way to our next stop, the city of Alexandria in Egypt.

I suppose I should have been pleased. After our last episode together, Henri had returned to his former self, save for the cold undercurrent beneath his words whenever he spoke to me in private. He was reading the morning papers out loud, an article detailing the events scheduled for the Mardi Gras celebration beginning that very evening. From the look in his dark eyes, I could tell he wanted to attend. Nothing like easy liquor and easier women to make Henri happy

I ignored the waiter bringing food to the table, focusing instead on sipping juice to aid in relieving my headache from the night before. As I was prone to do, I had partaken too much of the excellent wine, as well as the dancing, which had reminded me of better, happier days. And despite my healing abilities, I was paying for my indulgence this morning.

I shifted my attention to Henri as he snapped the newspaper closed and examined me critically.

“You’re pale, my darling.” He spoke French, and I felt my heart swell at the sound of my native tongue, quite the loveliest in all the world, and the endearment he had used for me so often. “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

“Indeed, I did.” I raised the glass, took another sip as aching stars shimmered behind my eyes. “Though it is quite bright this morning.”

“I suppose it is, at that.” He rustled the paper, and I could clearly see his irritation. “I trust Monsieur Thorne enjoyed himself as well?”

His voice was ice, and I was curious at the sudden change. It was true that we had attended the festivities the night before, and Simon and I had certainly danced together a number of times. But this was indeed only because both Henri and Lady Abigail had begged to be excused; they had spent their time with their heads together, discussing I knew not what.

I could think of no ready response to Henri’s question. “He seemed to.” I shrugged.

I jumped when he slammed the newspaper against the table, hard enough to rattle the plates and silver. Henri glowered in his fit of temper, so frequent these days; he seized my wrist and jerked me toward him. “You belong to me, Cynara. As does the fortune you insist on hiding from me. If I so much as see you speak with your Monsieur Thorne again, I will have him killed.”

“Henri! You would not dare such a thing!”

“I mean every word. Don’t think for a second I am going to let someone else come in and take what is mine by birth and by right.”

I felt the heat of my anger rising up to my face as I jerked my arm free from his grasp. “You have become the most unreasonable—”

Henri sat back suddenly, the easy expression returning to his face so quickly that for a moment, I was sure I had imagined the whole event.

I rubbed my wrist then pushed back my chair and stood. “I have no master, monsieur, and no claim has been placed upon me or mine. I will thank you to remember that.” I left him then, but turned in doorway and said, “As for Sim—as for Monsieur Thorne, if I were you, I would choose my threats with care. His mistress may take offense at them, and I think she may well be a dangerous woman.”

I swept from the room, nodding to the Lady Abigail who had appeared in the hall. At first she did not even seem to see me, then she raised an eyebrow and nodded before continuing toward the sun room.

When I reached my chambers I shut the curtains to the gleaming ocean below, welcoming the dimness. I needed time to think. To decide what I should do. France was so close; I could see her lovely flag beckoning me home. I could dispose of Henri this very day and escape to Paris this very evening.

Yet despite the harm he had done me, despite my desire to see him dead, I could not ignore the sharp pain that filled my heart at the thought of not seeing him again. His dark moods aside, I couldn’t release myself from him. Not yet. Not until my heart promised not to shatter if he were no more.

I hated myself for this weakness. Yet it was there nonetheless, and I could not ignore it. I knew he didn’t truly love me. The fact that he had sent the Witchfinders after me was proof of that. My own foolish nature had insisted on believing the charm in his former words and the softness in his past caresses. So much so that it had become much too easy to discard the violence he was intent on committing.

But I knew I would have to let him go. Henri had once charmed himself into my heart and my bed. I was clinging to that past, to the faint memory of love in my loveless life. I kept hoping for him to shift back—even if briefly—from the monster he’d become to the man I had once known. But I knew he would not. Henri was my opium. My addiction. One I wasn’t sure I would be able to cure myself of.

I threw myself across the bed, gritting my teeth against the pounding in my head as I willed myself to sleep. The rest eluded me as my mind refused to release the memories of my time with Henri in Paris. Memories of him holding me, dance after dance, and refusing to let another man take his place by my side. I sat up suddenly. I had an idea, and my laughter filled the air at the images.

If Henri was indeed insistent on being jealous, perhaps I could show him my words regarding his ridiculous claims were truth. I would come and I would go, I would dance and I would love, as I saw fit.

I would be sure to keep my promises to the Witchfinder, if only so I could live my life in peace. But I would enjoy my time in San Remo, and I would enlist the help of the one person Henri had tried to ban me from seeing.

Simon.

***

I had arranged for us to meet after midnight, long after Henri and Lady Abigail retired for the evening. I checked the mirror in my room one last time, gave a few quick adjustments to the green-and-white dress I had ordered the previous day and placed the silvery-feathered mask on my face. Moments later I slipped from my room. Others, as elegantly dressed and masked, passed me in the hallway, all no doubt heading out into the streets for celebration. I stopped when I came upon the corner of the lobby where I had requested Simon meet me. At no time during our day had he given any inclination he was going to join me that evening. Yet I knew if I had gotten this far with my plans, he hadn’t shared them with anyone else.

“Mademoiselle, you look enchanting!”