Hot and Steamy

by Jean Rabe

  Sydney rolled back in the large desk chair. “You just promised full cooperation and then refuse the second thing I request.”

  “Look, Syd, I did a wrong thing for a right reason.” The door to the office opened and Tom entered. “I won’t say what went on because I—I just won’t.” He looked away from her piercing gaze. “I’ll tell my guests I was injured performing a preliminary investigation of the Bell Witch. I’ll be charming, sober, and restrained—the perfect host reentering society. I’ll write Cheeky offering best wishes on his healing from his riding accident, but I’ll warn him not to forget that horses will buck under ungracious masters.” Johnny turned and looked at his beautiful best friend. “I will not extend an invitation to that rude, barbaric churl of a man. I’m yours to mold except in apologizing to Cheeky. That’s the only limitation, really.”

  Tom’s head turned in several jerky movements while his brass eyebrows raised then settled into his normal expression. “I too am here to serve and make this fete as enjoyable as possible for all.”

  Sydney sighed and shoved the pen back into the well. “Then injury from misadventure it is. You shall pen a letter to Cheeky letting him know discreetly and extending my regret that he’s unable to attend because of his unfortunate encounter with an ass.” She looked curtly at Johnny.

  “Very well put. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Johnny smiled roguishly.

  “You will not drink beyond what is socially expected during this week. You will turn into your room at an early but polite hour. You will not call Mr. Pickney Pinky. He detests that! You will reenter society repentant and gracious. I require it because doing so will facilitate connections to improve our investigations. Once those who hold esoteric objects trust you to not pawn them or lose them in a bet then they will share them with us to study.” She strode to the door with purpose. “I will show myself to my room. Tom, see that Johnny is presentable and on the loggia at three for tea.”

  “Yes m’am!” both replied as she made her exit.

  That evening Johnny tugged at his waistcoat and longed for a good Irish whiskey as Mrs. Pompenroy prattled on about how wonderful it was he’d finally grown up. The side of his mouth was becoming raw from biting it to keep from offering what was truly on his mind at the asinine comments he’d endured since tea on the loggia.

  The only respite from the tedium had been when it was time to change clothes. The selections had been left to Tom. He now stood in a cutaway jacket made of the same black gabardine as his trousers. The shawl lapels and the detail down the trouser leg were black matte satin. The V faced waist coat and all too snug small bow tie were an ivory blend of silk and linen. He flexed his toes against the point of new black oxfords and pondered what pointy-toed fool designed the damn things. To top off his total discomfort, his hair was pomaded heavily to keep it from falling forward as it was prone to do. He pulled at his diamond cufflinks to keep them from poking his wrists. When he’d voice a complaint about any of this Tom would play the recording of Sydney’s voice saying, “Tom, see that Johnny is presentable.”

  He watched Sydney descend the main stairs on Dr. Chickering’s arm. The crowd followed her as she glided with the dashing doctor onto the temporary dance floor that had been installed in the winter garden. He selected a cup of punch from the tray of a passing footman. The music started as the lights dimmed, allowing the full moon’s light to stream in the octagonal dome over the dance floor. Johnny pursed his lips noting that Chickering’s hand was too low on Sydney’s waist. Her midnight blue gown glimmered in the light—tones of blue with twinkles of sliver thread. She expertly managed her train to make it appear she was effortlessly floating in the man’s arms.

  “They do make a handsome couple.” Anson Wet-more had sauntered over to Johnny’s left. “Everyone on the dance floor will imagine themselves looking so fine.”

  “Eh, she can make any bloke look good.” Johnny sipped his punch and made a face at the sticky sweetness of it.

  “That’s true,” Anson said. The Jamaican shipping magnet looked dapper in his white tie with the dark red embroidered waist coat. “Speaking of looking good, you look like a miscreant lapdog groomed within an inch of his life.”

  “That’s how I feel.” Johnny motioned over a footman and returned the punch cup. “My head is pounding and my stomach is unsettled from all the polite crap I’ve been choking down.”

  “Surely she understands you were defending her honor. The man was disgusting. Anyone who knows Sydney knows she’s a fine lady.” Anson turned to face his friend, “She treats everyone with the best of manners, except those zombies she got with that Phoenix feather flame thrower you made.” He smiled, his white teeth sparkling, “Whew, I’ll never forget her covered in mud wearing my brother’s old riding suit while torching those poor buffers.”

  “Even in men’s clothes and covered in swamp muck she can cut a striking figure. You should have seen her using the stake gun in Transylvania catching vampires on the wing. That woman is one hell of a shot.”

  Tom approached with the distinctive mechanical purring sounds. “Harry has insisted I inform you immediately that the Cassandra plant will be blooming at three AM.”

  “Tell him Lady Sydney and I will come to view the blooming.”

  As Tom departed, Anson turned toward Johnny. “I thought the Harry multi was the cook.”

  “That was the intention, but multis have personalities. Harry was much better at gardening. Richard has a knack for French pastries. Blew the whole mass production theory. For best results each multi has to be matched to the right task, then trained.” Johnny bit his lip, “Now to get a moment with Sydney to tell her about the blooming.”

  “Think you’ll see the future?” Anson’s eyes were wide with interest.

  “Dunno, ol’ chap. Even if we do, who’d believe us? That was part of Cassie’s curse, wasn’t it?” Johnny patted his friend’s arm and moved forward in the crowd in a more chipper mood.

  Try as he might that night, Johnny could not get a moment with Sydney. She was always out of reach, laughing at some fop’s joke while tossing her head back so that the sapphires and diamonds in her hair sparkled gaily.

  That evening, Johnny paced in his bedroom. The heavy baroque furniture only added to his dark mood. Staring at the roaring fire in the black marble fireplace, he reviewed the frustrating night of Sydney deftly avoiding him. He’d been unable to tell her the about the Cassandra plant they had both almost died at the hands of a Yeti to bring back. His brooding was interrupted by a metallic knock on the door. “Come in.”

  Harry approached looking cleaner than usual. “Sir, I did all the rechecking you requested.” He was nervous—if a multi could be nervous. “It’s definitely going to bloom at three. We’re you naught able to inform m’lady?”

  Johnny sighed. “Blast it Harry. No, I wasn’t able to inform her. It appears I’m reduced to sending notes in my own house to my business partner.” He strode over to the table and kicked one of the large twisted legs before sitting down to toss off a note. “Leave the damn flower alone. If I can’t get Lady Sydney down there I want no one, not even you, there to see it bloom. We will be the first to experience its effects. I won’t be robbed of that!”

  “Yes sir.” As Harry backed toward the door his joints squealed in protest. “I’ll inform the garden and conservatory crew to be elsewhere tonight.”

  “Thank you Harry.” Johnny attempted several notes, wadding up each before throwing them under the desk. “This is ridiculous! I’m going up to her room and tell her. If she doesn’t want to come with me, fine—but I’m not going to miss this.”

  He kicked off his plush carpet slippers, pulled on his brogans, and marched up the back staircase. Arriving at the door to the south tower room, Johnny knocked. Tilly opened the door. “Good evening, Mr. Johnny.”

  “Show him in, Tilly,” Sydney called. “Then finish brushing out my hair. These rats are driving me insane.” She pulled one of the padded hair forms from
her hair and cast it upon her dressing table. “I dare say you feel the same way about starched collars, don’t you, Johnny?”

  “Very much so.”

  He looked about the room. The soft cream furnishings only served to make the deep blue of Sydney’s gown more vibrant. All was tidy in the soft floral oval, except around the dressing table. There, Sydney’s jewels rested on a velvet pad where she’d dropped them, and her delicate dancing slippers were kicked off to the side. Sydney’s eyes were closed in enjoyment of the brushing.

  “Harry has informed me that the Cassandra plant will bloom at three.”

  Sydney’s eyes snapped open as she spun on the damask covered bench.

  “Yes, I am going down to the conservatory to watch the process and came to inquire if you’d like to accompany me.”

  “I’m exhausted, and it would be tonight.” She held out her bare feet and wiggled them. “Yes, yes of course I want to see it. After all we went through to get the damn thing I’m not waiting for its next blooming.”

  Johnny couldn’t help but smile at the dainty feet wiggling. “Very well, I’ll have the cart at the library’s entrance in an hour. We’ll ride down to save your feet.”

  “Perfect. See you then.”

  An hour later the ponies trotted perkily as they pulled the cart across the pea gravel paths. The pair sat quietly as they entered the walled formal garden. The large conservatory’s glass roof shone in the full moon light.

  “You know, Johnny, I’m always amazed by this place.” Sydney was now dressed more practically in a blouse and traveling skirt with her hair in a loose ponytail. “It’s amazingly beautiful; the ramble, formal gardens, then there hidden from the view of the house this huge conservatory where plants from all over the world thrive.”

  “Mom loved being surrounded by fresh plants. Dad had this built so that she’d never run out of blooms no matter the season.”

  “He must have loved her dearly.” Sydney looked up the façade of the building as if seeing it for the first time.

  “She was the dreamer, the colorful one. He was the one that made those dreams fly. That’s what they used to say. She designed the custom gondolas and Dad made the dirigibles.”

  “What a perfect match. You were lucky to have such wonderful parents.”

  The grinding of wheels on the gravel gave way to the clip-clop of the ponies’ hooves as they pulled onto the brick patio. They stopped at the main door opposite the kitchen garden. Johnny didn’t regret his impulsive order for all garden staff to keep away. After an evening of being shunned by Sydney he now had her all to himself.

  “I’ve sent the staff away since we don’t know the range or effects of the bloom.”

  As they entered into the balmy palm court, the heady scent of tropical blooms engulfed them. The centerpiece was a group of grand palms rising stories high in the center point of the pitched glass ceiling. Around these giants were wrought iron tables filled with tropical plants of all sizes and descriptions packed as tightly as their health would allow and ornately arranged.

  Sydney walked along the plants, caressing leaves and leaning in to sniff the exotic blooms.

  As he watched her, the sprinklers and misters turned on. In seconds they were soaked to the skin as they dashed through the nearest door. They stopped in the small glass vestibule between the palm court and the desert house. Here were implements of care for various plants and a small bench.

  “I should have thought that would require a lot of moisture to keep the plants so lush.” Sydney pulled her hair to one side and began squeezing water from it.

  Shaking his head to shed water like a dog, Johnny agreed. He looked more like himself as his locks fell forward to frame his face. “We can cut through the desert wing to the tundra wing where the plant is.”

  “Lead the way.” Sydney untucked her white shirt. It was now transparent, showing that she still wore her evening corset with the detailed decoration. Johnny tried hard not to look, but failed and consoled himself that at least he didn’t stare. He opened the door to the next room and a welcome blast of dry heat wafted over them as they entered.

  Just as she let go of the door, Johnny turned with a warning, “Don’t let that door slam.” It did anyway, shaking the whole white-washed wrought iron frame of the desert wing. “It’s most unpleasant and hard on the glass seals.”

  He sat on one of the rock walls that held the sand for the various forms of cacti. “I’ve never really gotten why Mum wanted this prickly collection. They are interesting, but weren’t ever used in the house. Great place to get needles to stick your brother with during dinner time.”

  Sydney let her hair loose and attempted to flap her shirt dry. “I can see collecting the plants. They are interesting. I’m sure your mother sketched their unique shapes.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve not gone through her portfolios. I haven’t the heart.” Johnny shrugged against the itch of cloth drying on his skin.

  Sydney busied herself tending her hair. “Shall we be off?”

  Johnny led the way to the opposite end and grasped the door handle to exit the desert wing, but the door didn’t open. “It’s locked. The staff must have locked all the back doors when I ordered them away for the night.” Turning, he looked through the panes to the palm court. “The water has stopped in there now so we’ll just go that way.”

  Sydney led this time, but was stopped by that door. “It appears when I let the door slam one of the implements fell blocking it. I can’t open it.”

  “Bloody hell. Can anything else go wrong viewing a damn flower?”

  “Not just any flower, but one whose pollen cause you to see the future.” Sydney pushed with her weight against the door.

  “I’ll just punch out a glass pane and reach through.” Johnny took her arm to move her aside.

  “Oh, just what we need! Then we’ll explain how we were caught alone in the conservatory late at night with me in a see-through blouse.” Sydney pushed him back. “That wouldn’t cause a bit of gossip.”

  “Fine.” He looked around the room for something to break the glass. “Nothing.” Taking a deep breath, Johnny sat on the rock wall and held his aching face in his hands. “Guess we just have to wait.”

  Sydney sat next to him. “Head hurt?”

  “Yes.”

  She gently massaged his neck. “I know why you got into the fight, Anson told me. It was really very sweet of you to defend my honor.”

  “I should have just thrown him out,” Johnny mumbled through is hands.

  “Ahh, well if you’d told me why, I’d not been so gracious to Cheeky.” Her hand traced his arm before moving away. “Now he probably thinks I’m after his paunch and his wallet.”

  Johnny snorted. “He’s a catch if you like the bellicose sort.”

  They sat in silence. Johnny had run out of things to say, something that had never occurred with Sydney before. Suddenly, his head whirled from the realization he loved Sydney in a way he’d not admitted. He’d always enjoyed the free and easy exchange with her. They had always gotten on so well; neither held back. Looking up at her profile he spoke in almost a whisper.

  “Syd, will there ever be an us?”

  She cocked her head. “I thought there was an us . . . as in here we are now. We’re a team.”

  He smiled wanly, “I know that but I meant as a proper couple, an us?”

  Sydney looked directly in his face. “I don’t want to be one in a string of women.”

  Johnny turned to face her. “I do love you. There have been no others since we started working together. Surely after all these years you know I’ve reformed from my charlatan days in that manner.”

  “In all manners. A gentleman plays cards and defends his lady’s honor. It’s a far cry from what you tell me you used to do.”

  “His lady?”

  “Yes, if you’d want to settle for just me instead of keeping your options open for someone better.”

  “I honestly can’t think of what b
etter would be.” Johnny leaned in toward her.

  She leaned forward ever so slightly to accept the kiss. During the embrace that followed as the clock stuck three a bright opal light burst forth in the neighboring wing.

  “We’re missing the blooming.” Sydney now wrapped in Johnny’s arms whispered watching the radiance over his shoulder.

  He glanced at the light, then gently with his index finger directed her face to his. “I don’t need a flower to show me our future is bright. I’ve got all I need right here.

  DASHED HOPES

  Donald J. Bingle

  Donald J. Bingle is the author of the novel Green-sword , a darkly comedic eco-thriller about global warming. He has written short stories about killer bunnies, Civil War soldiers, detectives, Renaissance Faire orcs, giant battling robots, demons, cats, time travelers, ghosts, time-traveling ghosts, a husband accused of murdering his wife, dogs, horses, gamers, soldiers, Neanderthals, commuters, little kids, kender, and serial killers. He is the author of the near future military sci-fi novel, Forced Conversion. He is a corporate and securities attorney. He has a fascinating website at www.donaldjbingle.com. He rarely gets steamed, but his work colleagues find him rather punky.

  “Coals to Newcastle,” harrumphed Ogden Suttington, as he flung an invoice down on the huge rolltop desk dominating his office space at Suttington Coal Works and Mining. “Coals to bloody Newcastle!”

  Genevieve Suttington gave him a hard stare. “Really, Father. Mind your ulcer. Mother, God rest her soul, would never approve of you getting so upset about business—and you know what she used to say about such language.”

  Ogden pushed his spectacles down his nose and looked over them at his daughter. “If your mother were alive, I wouldn’t be the one dealing with these blasted invoices. I could be spending my time seeing to the revision of the mine plans and the expansion of the business into newly discovered seams.”