The Violet Hour (26 page)

“After all, one day, I intend Miss Teagarden to be my own. Why in the world would I harm her?”

“She will never submit to that. Give herself to you,” Sarah spits, then quickly covers her mouth.

Silas’s eyebrows rise and eye me menacingly. “You would be surprised what one would do…or sacrifice, on behalf of one’s friends. Or lovers.”

The hairs on my arm rise
. Devil
.

A protective surge rises in my chest—like that of a brother for a sister.

You shall not lay one filthy finger upon Allegra. I vow it.

He continues staring at Sarah till she squirms in place, “I need not her love. I merely wish to possess her. Love is for the weak-minded. But I would not expect either of you to understand that.”

He lunges like a cat, yanking Sarah into a stronghold. A silver knife glints, pointed at her shapely throat. I freeze.

“You see, Jones? Your love for her makes you vulnerable. Makes you weak.” He releases her, shoving her roughly so she stumbles and I catch her in my arms.

Seething, violent hatred pulses through my veins and I vault at him.

“No. No. That is what he wants, Percival.” Sarah clings to my arm and I halt, chest still panting as I attempt to control the blinding rage. Her fingernails dig into my forearm.

“Continue with the masquerade preparations. The gowns, the food, all must be perfect. The Governor is set to attend. And I suspect some other royal guests.”

Plimpton had mysteriously arrived yesterday with an arrangement whose style could only be from Allegra. No Allegra. No Brighton.

“We’ve only had the new symphony a day. You are mad to play it so soon. Many of those musicians are new to Charleston’s Fancy, “I protest.

He twirls the end of his moustache. “I am quite confident between yourself, blustering Plimpton and Miss Teagarden, you will carry the show.”

Sarah sighs in relief at her name. That we shall soon see her.

The whinny and clip-clop of arriving horses on the cobblestones bade us all stare out the window. A large party has arrived on horseback.

I squint, trying to make out the newcomers, but Silas steps in front of me, blocking my view.

He backs out the door, wisely not taking his gaze from mine. After the door is shut, Sarah bursts into tears. I pat her, but stare through the drapes, to see if I recognize the party, but they have all swiftly moved out of sight.

“I have had a letter from Brighton.”

“What? How?”

“The little boy. The one Allegra gave lessons to?”

“Yes?”

“He brought it round not an hour ago. He wishes us to take and hide his sister.”

Sarah’s lips pursed. “I do not understand. We saw her early this morn?”

I place both hands at her elbows. “Silas has abducted Lucy, and they have discovered her location. And…they wish us to keep her with us, till they find safety. To keep her from harm. If they deviate from Silas’s directions, it will reveal their plans. But…he isn’t watching us so closely.”

“Where are they going?” she whimpers. Sarah’s eyes fill and spill over as she blinks.

“He didn’t say. They may not know.”

“Do you really think they are safe?”

“No one is safe while that man walks the earth.”

* * *

Next eve

I sit in my orchestra chair upon the riverboat deck with Déjà vu strong and cloying in the hot air. The new boat cost a small fortune, one Silas was no-doubt, anxious to recoup.

I run my fingers through the curls in my hair. Brighton assisted me in dying it black to further my disguise—we look more like brother and sister than husband and wife.

My scalp tingles remembering the feel of his strong hands in my hair as he massaged in the color. We sat in the warm bath, my back draped against his chest. I flush despite the fact we wore our small clothing.

The ways of husband and wife were not wholly unknown to me. My mother was sure to explain it to me before she disappeared. Though some of the dance remained mysterious. I find myself pondering it despite the danger.

My face blushes hot beneath the masquerade mask. Brighton’s touch makes my normally shy disposition evaporate. I picture my body as a flower, opening and blooming only for him.

I stare down in contempt at the dress Silas insisted I wear. It is magnificent, no doubt, but wholly at odds with who I am.

My black-gloved hands smooth the dress of black and white brocade with patterned ivy, twirling across my breasts. Blood-red roses appear here and there through the swirls, to match the red silk center of the gown.

I shiver. They remind me of drops of blood.

A jewel-encrusted mask with long black feathers fanned about my face, matching the black of my hair.

“To better hide you, my dear,” Silas had taunted.

I thought it was more likely to wield his power, to dress me like a doll that he soon wished to possess.

I shiver as my eyes scan the hillside. He will kill, at least
try
to kill Brighton at the drop of his top hat; I know that for a certainty.

I will not, cannot, allow that. I will die before I permit that.

To give my life in exchange for love…a love that fills my soul to bursting, makes me believe in myself as I never thought possible and has turned my inner despairs to hope.

To die for that kind of love…would be right.

“Above all things, we must have hope,” I whisper.

The chair beside me scrapes the wooden deck and I gasp and summon every bit of self-restraint not to throw my arms about his neck. Jonesy.

He sits quickly, his black eyes narrowing and roving over me as if checking for injury. “My dearest peach.” He sits and squeezes my hand tight leaning in to be heard, “Words do not express how relieved I am to find you here.”

“Jonesy, “I breathe. “Sarah, is she well?”

Jones’s eyebrows rise playfully. “I should not tell you this, but I know you may away at any time. She is…” his eyes drop to my belly.

My heartbeat leaps to triple-time with elation and a twinge of jealousy. “She is
pregnant
. On my word, how wonderful…”

“And terrible. We, too, must escape Charleston’s Fancy.”

“And Lucy?”

“We have her, safely hidden, ready to depart.”

Droves of costumed patrons spill onto the deck. This masquerade seems decidedly more macabre than the last. A man, his mask a long, sinister, sequined beak swishes past us, followed by a woman seemingly made of gold.

Her mask-top elongates into a many-branched, pointy money-tree, which towers over her head like threatening horns.

I shiver. And feel it. The heat on my chest.

The Elementi’s draw.

Dread thumps through my chest, like an overture to impending pain.

Where is it? The water? What is drawing the element?

The bay has never drawn the element before. If it contained the element, surely so large a body of water would be unable to form a high enough concentration to produce a portal?

“Where is Brighton?” Jonesy prompts.

I nod to the hillside. “Back at the pyrotechnics.”

“What is your plan?” Jonesy requests, removing his violin from its case. Maestro Plimpton has boarded the boat, looking like a rotund water buffalo rather than his intended costume of a Viking.

“For now, to survive this performance. We are still planning. Nothing is decided.”

He nods, indicating the deck. My heart sinks. Sarah, standing tall and beautiful on the deck. Even at this distance, I can see the tears on her cheeks.

She lifts her long-fingered hand in farewell.

I wish to blow her a kiss, but fear others will notice.

“Oh, my dear girl. Please, tell her I love her.”

Jonesy clears his throat. “You tell her yourself. The cruise is but an hour.”

The final patron boards, the deck so crowded I’m worried the mighty boat shall capsize.

Silas climbs to a newly erected stand and raises his hands for silence. The excited voices drop to whispers.

“Welcome to Charleston’s Fancy. While the country bickers over succession, slavery and sin, I give you this one night, a respite from all your worries. I implore you to lose yourself in the
dream
that is our establishment.”

Thunderous applause erupts.

“Here, here!” yells a man nearby, holding up his drink in ascension.

“Without further ado. Please direct your eyes to our amusement park. Our Shoot-the-Chute will be open to the public tomorrow, so I recommend you stay at our very own guest house, to get an early start to assure your seat. And afterward, a ball, to begin at the stroke of midnight.”

A hundred sets of masked eyes stare across the bay. I swallow.

Something, something is afoot. I cock my head to listen.

A whining hum, like I’ve never heard before, is an undercurrent of sound.

“How better to dance your troubles away than…with light!”

He flips his hand, and like magic, the whole of the shore alights. Dotted bits of light shine across Charleston’s Fancy as if he has stolen the stars from the night sky. Stronger than lantern light.

Jonesy leans over once again. “I have never seen so much light at one time. I worry it is not safe.”

My mind wanders a few months back, which seems like a lifetime, to Silas and Brighton arguing on the thoroughfare. A flash of Brighton’s words, ‘
My father traveled to other times, with more science. Our time is not ready for what lies ahead.’

Jonesy’s eyes tighten as he stares at the shore. “It will never work.”

Snippets of their argument return to me, now making sense.

‘I have seen you do it. Seen you use such devices. I want them here. If no one else in all the world has them, we will become a worldly spectacle.’

Brighton had confessed his father, who used the portals without consideration of consequence, had stolen the idea from a man named Tesla.

He intended on introducing the light earlier, to further imbue Morelands with coin. Consequences to space and time be deuced.

I press my lips together, praying the world around us shall not fold from some untold time paradox.

Plimpton raises his baton and taps it for attention.

The crowd hushes. My chest sears and I whimper, but quietly.

Only Jonesy’s eyes flick to mine. Sarah is gone. Tonight, Silas will keep the boat docked, to allow the curious to come and go between the performance and the magical lighting of the Guest House.

I raise my eyes to the sky and wait. A very long moment drags on.

Just as I hear the intake of the crowd’s breaths about to murmur as to the delay, the first white jet shoots across the blackened night sky.

I pull my bow across the strings and the dance begins. My eyes never leave the sky, not needing my sheet music, only needing the synchronicity of Brighton’s beautiful showers of light which ride on the wings of my notes.

The rest of the orchestra hums to life and I hear and feel violin, and horn and shudder with ecstasy. The Elementi’s enhancements; the experience of sound is now sheer jubilation.

Blasts of cornflower blue and deepest purple pop and fan as celestial flowers in bloom above us.

Our music matches; every burst of light a staccato blast of sound, every showering light-rain, a smooth, slow adagio.

It is like the perfectly timed rhythm between man and woman. One who reads your soul as well as your body.

My mind tries to stray.

“Katherine?”

That voice?

No, it cannot be.
A shudder of revulsion alerts every inch of my body to terrored attention.

I shake my head, ignoring the wildfire of gooseflesh erupting on my bow arm
. It cannot not be
. The burning in my chest is a hot coal of pain and I wrench it out to rest upon fabric instead of skin.

“It is
she.
Katherine!”

I keep playing but whisper frantically. “Jonesy. Oh merciful heaven Jones, he is come. My father is come. Save me.”

Jonesy halts, taking the violin from beneath his chin, his eyes wide with fear.

Silas notices. His eyes have never left my face since the song’s beginning.

His mouth twists in fury and he hops from the platform, snaking his way through the crowd toward us. The orchestra and music plow forward without me.

The floodgates of dread break. Hands grip above both my elbows, hard enough to bruise as I am hauled away from Jones, who is swinging, brawling like a wildcat.

Plimpton notices but conveys the rest should keep playing.

My eyes lift slowly to behold my father’s maniacal, dead gaze.

He grasps my one arm, my brother the other, as they drag me toward the back of the boat.

The soldiers brawling with Jones leave him as my father walks away. Following loyally in his wake.