Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II (37 page)

“Yours Respectfully,

“Jonas Bell”

The silence that followed was of the shocked and sickened variety.

“My God,” Cara whispered, standing with her teacup poised at her lips and looking blankly out the window onto the alleyway below. She took a sip of the fortifying liquid and repeated, “My God.”

“Sick bastard!” Odell hissed through clenched teeth, standing and taking a quick, agitated turn about the room. He could barely contain himself. His thoughts churned over in a jumble of loathing and helpless fury. Another sister! Lillian! An innocent girl left to the mercy of the sick ministrations of the certifiably insane Arthur Bradley. He shook his head in anger and frustration. It seemed that of his sisters, only Ettie had escaped his abuse. Fortunately, Odette had not been violated, at least not in the same manner as Lillian and certainly not for as long. Years of—he felt physically ill and stopped next to Cara to stare out the window and try to regain his composure.

“What are we thinking?” Fancy asked in a perplexed voice. “Do we believe this girl to be somehow involved?”

“She wouldn’t be so young now,” Cara answered, turning back to the room, “Perhaps mid to late thirties.”

“Knightly Davis,” Odell declared, still staring hard out the window, “he is definitely involved. And she knows him. He was there.”

“But why?” Cara asked the only truly important question. “Could her father have somehow tasked her with another plan should his fail?”

“And why would she follow his orders after his death?” Fancy followed-up. “A man she must have come to loath and hate?”

“Not hate,” Ava spoke for the first time, her voice low and even. “No, she didn’t hate him. Didn’t you hear what Jonas wrote? She adored him.”

“Bloody hell!” Odell practically spat, balling his hands into fists. “How?”

“Because that’s how she knew love.”

Odell turned slowly to look at Ava. Their eyes locked, and he drew in a deep breath as he stepped toward her.

She stood and held up her hands, shaking her head. “No, Odell, her story is not mine. But it could have been, if not for your mother.”

They all looked at her.

“You don’t really notice…,” she began uncomfortably, “…being groomed, that is. Someone you trust and look up to, in my case, a beloved ballet instructor. You bask in their attention, in their praise. But they are good—very, very good at spotting the vulnerable, the easy target.

“Ivy saw it. She was a visiting instructor during one of our summer programs. She saw it, but more importantly, she did something about it. It was somewhat of a mini-scandal within the ballet community—quickly hushed up, of course. That is how I found myself, Odell, at your mother’s studio with a full scholarship. I think it damaged Ivy’s relationship with several old friends.”

Ava smiled sadly. “This Lillian, though, had no one, not even a caring and observant stranger to help her. And her father, the one who should have protected her…” She shook her head, as if to dislodge the overwhelming sense of sorrow that had descended upon her. “She loved him because that is what he told her it was, and there was no one to tell her any differently.”

They stood silent, letting the truth of her words sink in.

“And when he died…,” Odell began.

“…her whole world fell apart,” Ava finished for him.

“Do you really think Lillian Brandon, a woman who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen when her father died, could mastermind this whole conspiracy?” Fancy asked, still disbelieving.

“With the help of someone like Knightly Davis,” Odell replied, “I think it very likely.” He stepped back to the window and nodded decisively. “We can’t know exactly what she is up to, but look at who has been killed: my mother, Billy, people we love. People connected to those of us responsible for her father’s death.”

“She’s looking to inflict the same pain she once felt, maybe still feels,” Ava agreed.

“It’s just so farfetched,” Fancy replied, still doubtful.

Odell laughed with genuine amusement. “Fancy… really?”

They all laughed.

She smiled at him. “Okay, I get it. This was all set in motion once before by a madman.”

“And his madness,” Odell replied, grim lines returning to his face, “didn’t die with him.”

Twenty-Seven

SHE WAS LYING to Faith, and it was killing her. But this was nothing new; she had been lying to her all along.

Adelaide sat in a fine silk negligee on the window seat in the little library of Faith’s “penthouse cubbyhole,” as she jokingly referred to her luxurious quarters. It really wasn’t a cubbyhole or penthouse, although it sat atop a tower of expensive apartments. It contained several well-appointed rooms, but was considered mere servants’ quarters compared to the lodgings of the man Faith served.

Adelaide gritted her teeth, and a sneer marred her fine lips. How she despised Knightly Davis!

Sir Knightly, the shadowy powerbroker, the man who kept a tight grip on any technology and how it was used, a man who had no hesitation employing violence against those who opposed him. The same man who had expelled Kevin Smyth and countless other scientists for daring to question his rule over the Academy of Science and History. That her brilliant and beautiful Faith was in the employ, the very confidential employ, of such a despicable man never failed to upset and confuse her. It hadn’t always been so.

For quite awhile now, Faith had been her unknowing informant. Adelaide was tasked by Smyth with the assignment of finding out what she could of Davis’s household and how it ran. This had been several months earlier, the beginning of their initiative to infiltrate the secretive circle of high-powered courtiers that populated the noble court here and at the King’s court in England. Sir Knightly had been a prime target, and Adelaide’s mission considered one of the most sensitive and important.

She had approached it like she did everything, with supreme confidence. She quickly made contacts within the servants’ organizations and gained access to the ledgers that held the names of all servants in the city and for whom they worked. As an assistant, Faith was considered an upper servant, somewhere on par with a governess or secretary.

She wasn’t Adelaide’s first choice of informant. That particular honor had belonged to Elliot Wakefield, Sir Knightly’s valet. Wakefield was a liar and a cheat. He was stealing from his employer and selling tidbits of Sir Knightly’s rather unsavory personal life to some of the underground tabloids.

He would have been easy to turn. Adelaide had plenty of resources, including money, at her disposal. But he had suddenly disappeared, and there was a clampdown on Davis’s household. Several of the lesser staff were let go, to be replaced by some tough looking off-the-books hires that Adelaide had difficulty tracking down. She never could identify from where they came or what servants’ organization claimed them as members, if any. She had begun to feel the unfamiliar tweak of frustration and failure when Faith quite literally fell into her lap.

Like the molly houses, the Sapphic clubs were something of an open secret in New York City. Queer relationships were not subjected to the level of persecution once practiced in England and its American colonies, but nor were they accepted by the community at large. Adelaide had always been very careful to keep her personal life under wraps, and sometimes made a show of flaunting her encounters with men. But her heart was never in it.

She rubbed her tired eyes and leaned back against the wall next to the windowpane. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested her chin on them and looked out the window. It was five a.m., and the city was bathed in a dark-bluish light. She had left Faith sleeping peacefully in the bedroom and wandered into the library. The disquiet in her mind had made her body incapable of rest.

A little smile played about her lips as she remembered that night at the club when Faith had fallen into her arms. It had been a masked affair. Adelaide loved the anonymity of such gatherings, and the thrill of pursuing the unknown.

The masks ranged from simple black dominos to elaborate and fantastical creations. For regular patrons, the masked party was just another in the schedule of events that the club sponsored. But for the initiate, the woman just beginning to explore her “difference” or for those whose positions in society were such that exposure could mean ruin, they allowed the wearer a measure of security to engage in a flirtation, or something more intimate, on her own terms and without the danger of exposure.

Adelaide never wore one. It was a conceit. She knew her allure to be strong and was excited by the reaction her overtures elicited. She chose her potential partners using a variety of different criteria, but had a particular weakness for the back of the neck. She watched for the woman with hair swooped up and pinned atop her head, with little tendrils of curls escaping to lie against smooth, exposed skin.

The room was dimly lit with candles, and the crowd was such that the air had become hot and sticky with Eros. Adelaide’s attention had been focused on a woman with a crown of dark, thick curls, her long neck a sinuous curve, her brown, sun-kissed skin accentuated by a delicate sheen of perspiration. The woman had cast Adelaide several tentative glances from beneath her mask, and her accompanying shy smile sent a shot of electricity up her spine.

She had set her drink down and stood in anticipation of her next move when Faith blundered into her. It wasn’t a charming little trip or graceful recovery, it was a panicked fall, arms flailing and mask askew. She had collided heavily against Adelaide who grabbed her, automatically breaking her fall. Momentarily nose-to-nose, Adelaide could see starkly the utter fright and anguish on the other woman’s face.

Faith struggled to adjust her mask and pushed away. Adelaide released her immediately, but followed her unsteady trail to a secluded corner near the coatroom. Faith flopped down on an old three-legged stool shielded behind a potted fern and cried unreservedly into her hands.

In retrospect, Adelaide would have liked to believe that it was concern for another person that had motivated her to comfort the woman, but she knew this to be untrue. She had recognized Faith almost immediately. Adelaide had investigated Knightly Davis’s staff too closely not to know the distinctive tall, elegant figure and lovely face of Faith Temple, even in a moment of debilitating distress.

The coincidence of meeting her at the club was startling, and Adelaide was cautious in her approach. A few brief moments were enough, however, to convince her that Faith was not setting her up.

“God, I’m a fool!” she said looking up and wiping tears from her face. She stared hard at Adelaide and said hostilely, “Why are you just standing there? Go away, please!” she cried before her face crumpled, and she covered it with her hands again.

“I’ll leave when I’m sure you’re all right.” Adelaide tried for a neutral tone, but could not suppress entirely the natural seductive purr of her voice.

Faith uncovered her face and squared her shoulders, sniffing loudly. “I’m fine, really. Thank you for your concern,” she replied with an endearing attempt at dignity, “but I would like to be alone. So, please, leave.”

Suffice it to say Adelaide didn’t leave. She used her considerable intelligence and appeal to persuade Faith that a reviving cup of tea was just what was needed to regain her composure.

At a corner café across the street from the club, a story as familiar as the changing seasons unfolded. From a poor, yet respectable country family, Faith was a pretty and popular girl with many close girlfriends. Nothing unusual, she had friends among the boys in town as well.

Faith married young to the heir of the local squire. They had grown up together, and the girl naively assumed their married life would be a natural extension of the easy friendship they already shared. The daughter of a curate, Faith was, of course, well-schooled in everything except sex. As an affianced young couple, they had shared hasty, chaste kisses, but nothing had prepared her for the physicality and very urgent desires of the male body.

Her marriage had been a disaster. Excuses were initially made for an inexperienced girl, but her continued coldness and, indeed, revulsion at performing her conjugal duties gave her husband’s family significant grounds for a divorce.

Adelaide rubbed her neck where her muscles were tense and stiff. She could see the slightest tinge of rose as dawn’s slender fingers slipped through cracks in the skyline. The city had taken on a similar hue that morning in the café as they had talked the night away.

“He wasn’t unkind,” Faith had told her. “He was brokenhearted. His family would have left me destitute, but my hus—” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “He wouldn’t allow it. He gave me an allowance until I could find a suitable position.”

“You liked him,” Adelaide prompted.

“I loved him,” Faith had insisted. “Not, of course, as I should have, but…” her voice trailed off and she took a sip of tea. Setting her cup back down, she looked contemplatively out the café window. “I believe he knew me better than I knew myself. He told me when we parted that I would likely find greater comfort among my own sex.” She shook her head, smiling. “I thought he meant with my friends from the village, but… well, obviously, he had an inkling.”

Faith’s journey to self-awareness had been slow. She found it hard to leave behind the teachings of her childhood as well as the church. Indeed, this party had been her first foray out into the arms of Sappho, and the denouement had been cruel.

The woman who had befriended her, with whom she had shared long, energetic conversations, who had seemed to understand her like no one else, had turned out to be a paid courtesan. One of the highly skilled women the clubs hired to search out and bring in those they identified as sharing their proclivities.

Adelaide was well-versed in their tactics. She had been a particularly successful one herself, before she discovered the rooftop university and Professor Smyth. She knew what Faith was feeling that night at the masked party when the courtesan had revealed her true identity. She had seen many expressions of disbelief and betrayal. Most were fleeting, followed by a sense of freedom and belonging, but some were long-lasting, even unforgiving. For Faith, her relationship with the courtesan, unknowing though it had been, was an added indignity heaped upon her new and still very shaky self-acceptance.