The stairs let out on a hallway Bess believed ran the length of the club, which was not terribly long. Unlike the ground floor, the hall was poorly lit, and shadows cast by the lamps made it appear haunted by the ghosts of former members, possibly still waiting for lectures to begin. That whimsical thought made it impossible for Bess to feel frightened, especially as the ceiling was so high.
Mr. Siddowes gestured to Bess to join him at a double door some distance down the hall. He pushed it open, revealing a high-ceilinged room with windows filling the far wall. Sunlight poured through those windows, enough to bring pained tears to Bess’s eyes despite her smoked-glass spectacles. She closed her hand more tightly on Edmund’s sleeve.
“If you’d like to take a seat at the front,” Mr. Siddowes said, “just anywhere is fine. We’ll start in five minutes.”
Bess nodded and blinked away tears. The room was little more than a bright blur, but she could see a row of wooden chairs near where she stood, facing those bright windows, and guessed there were more of them, filling the room. Taller shapes that moved when she entered might be men and women here for the lecture. Bess swallowed. She had never addressed a gathering before, and had assumed, from Mr. Pakenham’s words, that there would be only the members of the club in attendance. But guests, visitors…her mental assumption about the size of the audience altered dramatically. Well, it is not as if I can see them to be intimidated by them, she thought.
Edmund guided her toward the windows and found her a seat. “There is a lectern where I imagine speakers stand,” he murmured. “Can you find it on your own?”
“I believe so.” Bess fitted her spectacles more closely to her eyes and averted her gaze from the windows. The lectern swam into view as a short, thick pedestal that might be chest-high to her. Perhaps she should have made notes. Would they expect some literary, eloquent presentation? She was articulate enough—Extraordinary Speakers with the War Office learned early on to be concise and well-spoken, to convey meaning without confusing a listener who might already be overwhelmed at being Spoken to—but she was no elocutionist. Possibly she should simply let them ask questions…no, that was a cowardly way out of her predicament. She would give her prepared remarks, and then ask for questions.
Behind her, sounds of quiet footfalls on carpet and the rustling of fabric told her more people had arrived. She tried not to let it disturb her calm. It was unfortunate she could not Speak with Mr. Quinn, to share her laughable fears and listen to whatever humorous remark he might make about addressing a crowd of blurs. The realization made her chest ache.
She wished she had their last conversation to do over, to find a way to convince him their friendship need not end…but he had been correct in saying their friendship had been formed under straitened circumstances. How much easier it would be if he were actually Mr. Pakenham! Bess resolved in that instant to pursue the connection with that gentleman, and hope it might encourage Mr. Quinn to change his mind about revealing himself.
She closed her eyes and let the faint sparks of stray, unspoken thought flash in and out of her awareness. She had yet to perceive anything so concrete as Achik’s thoughts had been, but from what Clarissa had said about the theories behind the development of a mind-reading talent, she suspected she would have more difficulty perceiving images from someone who shared her language. This made her wonder about the possibility of more easily perceiving speech. The idea of being an unwilling eavesdropper made Bess uncomfortable, and she resolved to learn how to block unwanted thoughts as soon as possible.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Siddowes said, startling Bess out of her reverie. “I am Mr. Siddowes, secretary of the Euthymenes Club. Welcome to our weekly lecture. First, I would like to remind members of our society that guests are permitted on the premises only between the hours of one o’clock and five o’clock, Mondays and Wednesdays through Fridays. Thank you. Now it is my honor to present today’s speaker, Miss Elizabeth Hanley, whose recent experiences in Peru have been the stuff of much excited discussion. Miss Hanley?”
Bess rose to the sound of loud but demure applause and found her way to the lectern without tripping. Behind its comforting protection, she wiped suddenly damp palms on her skirt and drew in a deep breath. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is an honor to address you today,” she said. The room was much larger than she had believed when the windows’ light blinded her, and even to her impaired vision it appeared to be entirely full of people intent on her every word. She swallowed to moisten her dry mouth and began, “Four months ago, I undertook a sea voyage as an Extraordinary Speaker for an old friend of my family, Mr. Thorpe…”
She could not tell them everything. Telling them the Incas had wanted her to negotiate a treaty with England’s government would mean explaining about the golden treasure they had used as an incentive; the government had forbidden her to tell anyone about the Incas’ acquisition of European weapons, saying that was a matter of international diplomacy and not knowledge they wanted spread around; and she could certainly not explain that she had communicated with the Incas in part through a frightening new development in Speaker talent. But the rest was more than enough: the Incas’ city, their food and dress, their host of Shaper warriors, and Sapa Inca himself, last of a line of emperors thought dead. She spoke until her mouth felt dry again, welcomed Mr. Siddowes’ offer of a glass of water, and spoke more until she felt in danger of repeating herself. “If you have questions, I would be happy to answer them,” she finished.
There was motion somewhere toward the back of the room, and Bess felt a moment’s panic that she would be unable to see anyone who had a question. But Mr. Siddowes said, “Yes, Mr. Ffoulkes?”
Someone stood. “Miss Hanley, what did you observe about the Incas’ division of labor? Is it as the Spanish recorded in the 16th century, during the Conquest?”
“Ah…I did not see enough to draw conclusions,” Bess said, “but the cooking and serving of food did seem to be done entirely by women. However, the jaguar warriors, their elite Shaper force, were both male and female, and I did not observe any difference in how they were treated or in how they treated each other.”
“So the Incas are as pragmatic as the English in their use of talents,” Mr. Ffoulkes continued.
“At least as far as Shapers are concerned,” Bess said. “I observed very few talented individuals aside from those Shapers. A Seer, possibly two—” Bess had wondered if Taruka were Achik’s apprentice, based on how they had spoken to one another. “And a number of Scorchers, and at least one Bounder, by my experience.”
“Yes, miss?” Mr. Siddowes said, calling on another moving blur.
“Mrs. Belden,” a woman with a sharp, penetrating voice said. “Miss Hanley, you seem rather sympathetic toward these natives. Are they not at a disadvantage because they lack the benefits of civilization? That is, should you not lend yourself to locating their city and permitting them to join the modern world?”
“Mrs. Belden, the Incas kidnapped me,” Bess replied, feeling nettled by her tone, “and I have no sympathy for that. However, I was treated with kindness by those who were not responsible for my kidnapping, and I found their culture fascinating. Do I believe they would benefit from many of the blessings of civilization? Of course. In particular, their homes seem inadequate to what I can only imagine are very cold winters, and I personally believe they would appreciate the comforts of modern beds rather than pallets on the floor. But I do not think they would be served well by having our civilization impressed on them as if culture were nothing more than a…a jelly mold. I hope someday we meet them again under circumstances where we might show them what we can do for them, and they can do the same for us.”
Mr. Siddowes called on someone else, overriding Mrs. Belden’s sharp reply. “Miss Hanley,” the man said, “why did they kidnap you? Are the Incas in the habit of stealing European women?”
That verged both on things she could not say and an implication that Bess’s virtue had been at
stake. She suppressed irritation and said, “It was very difficult to communicate with the Incas, as we did not share a language, but some of them spoke enough Spanish—at any rate, my understanding is that I was chosen because some of them wanted to use my Extraordinary Speaker talent, and some of them thought I should be killed before I was a danger to them. And one of them chose to prevent that happening, and rescued me. I am so grateful to her for that.”
“You mentioned her before,” a man said without waiting for Mr. Siddowes to acknowledge him. “Why would an Inca woman go against her own people to save a European woman?”
Bess had not mentioned Amaya’s birth heritage, reasoning that it would only make these people fearful of the Incas if they thought savages were raiding European villages to steal talented children. “She was a jaguar warrior, and from what little I understood, she believed it was dishonorable to kill a defenseless person. I hope she found her way to a safe place, because she certainly could not return to the Incas.”
“That suggests the Incas are as noble as I have said,” said another man. “Truly, they have much to teach our degenerate times.”
“I don’t—” Bess began.
“Rousseau was right all along,” the first man said. “Miss Hanley, are you quite certain you do not know the location of the Inca city? Just imagine—an undefiled race of primitives, living in amity with nature and each other as God intended.”
“Never mind Rousseau,” said a third voice, this one female. “Sevinson clearly draws a connection between the natives of Borneo and the Philippine tribes, and this makes a third point—”
“Sevinson is a fool,” the second man said. “Talent does not arise spontaneously without a plague vector to trigger it in the population.”
“Gentlemen, Miss Linder,” Mr. Siddowes said, “if we might—”
“Miss Hanley observed talent among the Incas,” the woman, presumably Miss Linder, said. “And the Incas have been isolated since their supposed conquest in 1572. They could not have been exposed to the plague vector, and yet—”
“I do not believe they were entirely isolated,” Bess said, pitching her voice to cut across the argument. “Some of them spoke a little Spanish, which tells me they have some contact with the Spanish population.”
“As raiders?” Mr. Siddowes said, clearly forgetting his role as moderator.
“Or as traders,” Bess replied. “If they were nothing but raiders, they would be enough of a nuisance to prompt the Spanish into locating them and possibly eradicating them. I believe they live in harmony with many of the smaller villages that are well away from places like Lima.”
“Supposition,” Miss Linder said dismissively.
“Based on observation,” Bess shot back.
“Clearly this calls for more examination,” the first man said. “I propose the Euthymenes Club take up a subscription to support—”
“Mr. Dumfoy, you are out of order,” Mr. Siddowes said. “Please save your proposal for our weekly meeting next Tuesday.”
“That’s a week away!” Mr. Dumfoy complained.
“Giving you time to canvass for support,” Mr. Siddowes said, unmoved. “Does anyone have any other questions for Miss Hanley? Yes, madam?”
Someone stood at the very back of the room and asked a question in a low voice Bess could not make out. “I beg your pardon?” Bess said.
“The lady asks if the Sapa Inca tried to make you one of his wives,” Mr. Siddowes said.
Bess controlled a smile. “He did not,” she said, “though he did show me great respect, including asking his own mother to wait upon me. He was, however, quite handsome.” A low murmur of laughter went around the room.
“What about the gold?” someone on the front row shouted.
“Mr. Thaddeus, you are out of order,” Mr. Siddowes said.
The man who had shouted stood, raising his hand. “Then recognize me so I can ask what we’ve all been wondering about.”
Mr. Siddowes sighed and nodded at Mr. Thaddeus. “Well,” Mr. Thaddeus said, “tell us about the Inca gold.”
“I fear I must disappoint you,” Bess lied, “for I saw no great treasures of gold or silver. Some of the Incas, including the emperor, wore gold jewelry and large gold plugs in their earlobes, but no more than one might expect to see at a gala at Carlton House, for example. I fear the rumors of lost Incan treasure are nothing but myth.”
“But Pizarro himself claimed at least one caravan of treasure went missing after the execution of Atahualpa,” Mr. Thaddeus persisted. “It must have gone somewhere.”
“I would not like to speculate on that,” Bess said.
“Thank you, Mr. Thaddeus, you may be seated,” Mr. Siddowes said. “Miss Linder?”
“Miss Hanley,” Miss Linder said, “is it true you are nearly blind?”
It was a question so at odds with the others Bess at first felt there was something shameful in being nearly blind. “I—yes, that is true.”
“How blind? That is, how well do you see this room?”
Miss Linder’s seat was several feet from where Bess stood, not quite at the back of the room, but out of her immediate visual range. “To me, at your distance, you are an indistinct blur,” Bess said. “With my spectacles, I can see things approximately five feet away. Without them, anything farther than an arm’s length away is nothing but a moving smear of color.”
“But you did not have your spectacles whilst in Peru, yes?”
“That is true.” Bess was starting to feel uneasy, though it seemed an innocuous if irrelevant line of questioning.
“Then would you say there is likely much you could not observe? In other words, your account is necessarily incomplete.”
“I can only attest to what I saw, yes,” Bess said, “but if you are suggesting I have tried to deceive—”
“Oh, no, not that,” Miss Linder protested, though she did not sound sincere. “I simply think this company should be aware that there is still much we do not know about the Incas, despite your…interesting…story.”
“That would be true of any observer,” Bess pointed out, “as one cannot be in several places at once, yes?”
“Thank you,” Mr. Siddowes said, coming to Bess’s rescue. “If there are—yes, Mr. Pakenham?”
Bess had not seen Mr. Pakenham’s pale hair until that moment, when he stood from his seat somewhere near the middle of the room. “Miss Hanley,” he said, “given what you have experienced, if you were able to advise your earlier self, would you warn her not to take that voyage?”
Bess gave that careful thought. “No, Mr. Pakenham, I would not,” she finally said. “It was frightening, and difficult, and I did not enjoy some of it, but I learned so much I am reluctant to say I would have been better off never having experienced it.”
Mr. Pakenham nodded and sat down. Bess wished she could see his face to know his reaction to her answer.
“Then we would like to thank you, Miss Hanley, and invite everyone to adjourn to the Tea Room for refreshments,” Mr. Siddowes said. Bess stepped away from the lectern to the accompaniment of more decorous applause.
Chapter 26
In which Bess is no closer to discovering Mr. Quinn than before
Edmund extended his arm, and Bess took hold of it gratefully. “Well done,” he whispered in her ear. “Almost you persuaded me to take ship for the New World.”
“You would only do so if you could be assured there would be attractive señoritas waiting at the Lima docks for you,” Bess teased in the same low tone.
All around them, men and women were pressing toward the doors, and Edmund held Bess back when she would have followed them. “It is quite a crush,” he said, “and there is no point us being caught up in it. Besides, there are men waiting to speak with you privately.”
“You fill me with dread.”
“I don’t see why. They likely only want more details, such as what the jaguar warriors are like and just how handsome Sapa Inca is.” Edmund patted her hand. “Nothi
ng you cannot handle. Oh—Pakenham. Good to see you.”
“I wanted to thank Miss Hanley again for accepting our invitation,” Mr. Pakenham said. “It was an enjoyable presentation.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pakenham, I enjoyed it myself,” Bess said.
“You will stay for tea, won’t you? I will endeavor to keep Mr. Dumfoy from you. He has pressed for this club to fund an expedition to Peru for over a year, and it is likely he will want your support in renewing that request.”
“But I am not a member of your club.”
Mr. Pakenham laughed. “Irrelevant, as far as Dumfoy is concerned.”
“We will stay,” Edmund said, “because academic discourse makes me hungry, and I believe Bess feels the same.”
The crowd had thinned somewhat, and Bess and Edward walked wide of the mass of chairs to the doorway. As Bess exited, she bumped into someone standing just outside, and said, “Oh! I do beg your pardon, I fear my eyesight is really quite poor.”
“It is I who should apologize for standing in the doorway,” the man said, but he made no move to step out of her way. He was not tall, and Bess stood eye to eye with him, close enough to observe his rather fleshy features and black eyes sunken into their depths like bright currants. His accent was so faint she could not identify its origin other than that it was not English. Bess felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny, as if he were memorizing her face for later description. She bobbed a shallow curtsey and stepped away from him, almost dragging Edmund along in her desire to get away from the stranger.
The Tea Room was across the hall from the lecture room and smelled deliciously of hot tea and sweet cakes. Bess gratefully accepted the seat Edmund found for her; she did not know how long she had stood there speaking, but it was long enough that she felt relief at finally sitting. It was a pity she no longer had the muscular legs and greater lung capacity Amaya had Shaped for her, though the soles of her feet were still rather rough and thick-skinned.
Whispering Twilight Page 26
