A Lady of Integrity

by Shelley Adina

  Of course they would. They had been scouting since their parents’ airship had gone into the Thames when they were only five—an attempt by Lizzie’s father to cover up the murder of her mother. Anything less than complete faith in their abilities did them a disservice.

  What was wrong with her lately? Claire paid for their disguises and the entire party walked out into the narrow paved lane, their boxes and bags brushing against the walls on either side and now containing the more workaday skirts and blouses they had worn from the airfield on the mainland. She was not prone to fretting and worrying about things she could not control. Andrew was right. It must be because she now knew how much it was possible to lose.

  It was true that she had lost everything before. But through her own resources and the efforts of those around her, she had built a life and an estate, for lack of a better word, that anyone might be proud of. And she was determined that the girls might have their share of opportunity and happiness, as well.

  They strolled along the Zattere, past the Street of the Incurables where the unfortunates of the city must be, and past the enormous Church of St. Christopher, patron saint of sailors with its enormous rosary made of fishing floats draped across the doors. Claire felt a sense of gratitude flood in, scouring away the fear.

  They were a flock. And anyone who threatened the flock would have to deal with all of them. Claire released the last bit of anger at the girls for having disobeyed her, and rejoiced in a sense of thankfulness that they were beside her now. And from that sprang a renewed determination to make their little homemade family whole again with the rescue of Jake.

  “We must catch a water taxi here,” Andrew said, dapper in a linen suit and boater hat that was so very unlike his usual habiliments that it took Claire a moment to realize who was speaking. He consulted his guidebook and compared it with the name painted over the dock. “Yes, this is the right one.”

  In moments, a boat steamed up, its stack belching steam and its conductor holding out a hand so that Claire might board.

  The art exhibition covered several acres of an area that Claire understood had once been a convent. But now it was a lovely public park, divided by colonnades and shaded by olive trees, with the Grand Canal visible at one end.

  The water taxi let them off on the paved embankment, which Claire was learning was called a fondamente. Then, twirling their parasols and as carefree as a flock of frilly birds, she and Alice and the Mopsies accompanied Andrew, Ian, and Tigg into the exhibition grounds.

  “I wonder if I will spot Claude first?” Lizzie said, her keen gaze scanning the crowd for her half-brother.

  “He won’t spot you, that’s certain,” Tigg said. “I hardly recognize you outside of school uniform or raiding rig.”

  “I clean up rather nicely, I’ll have you know,” she told him, her nose in the air. “At least, so I’ve been told by other gentlemen.”

  “Lewis doesn’t count, Liz.” Maggie spiked her balloon, earning her a push from her cousin and a rude noise.

  “Girls,” Claire said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I hope you are merely playing parts; otherwise, Claude will not want to recognize you.”

  “His note said he would meet us here,” Lizzie told her, “next to the bell tower. I’m so glad he and his party are still in Venice. I feel as though I want to pinch him to be sure he is all right, after the undersea dirigibles made off with him and we had to spirit him out of France.”

  Maggie shivered, as if the cold waters of the English Channel could still engulf her, no matter how warm the climate and sunny the day in their present location.

  “And there he is!” In a froth of lace and a flash of kidskin boots, Lizzie took off at a run for the bell tower.

  From a distance, Claire smiled as Claude Seacombe turned at her call and engulfed her in a hug, whirling her around so that her feet swung out and her skirts belled in the breeze. When they caught up, Lizzie was laughing.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you!” With a smacking kiss, she released Claude and took Tigg’s hand, pulling him beside her. “Claude, you remember Lieutenant Thomas Terwilliger, who serves aboard Lady Lucy? He and Captain Hollys have been granted leave to join us for the exhibition.”

  Tigg inclined his head in a nod and extended his hand. “Mr. Seacombe, a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Likewise.” Claude’s mobile face was still alight with happiness at seeing his half-sister as he turned to acknowledge the other members of their party.

  Claire extended her hand and, instead of allowing him to bow over it, drew him in for an embrace and a kiss upon the cheek. “The warm sun of the south suits you, Claude,” she said. “You are looking very well.”

  “Bless old Blighty for providing such a contrast.” He mimed looking over his shoulder for eavesdroppers. “The grands aren’t with you, are they?”

  “Our grandparents? In Venice?” Lizzie snorted. “The closest they will get to sunshine like this is to open a south-facing window.”

  “Now, you two, enough of disparaging your grandparents,” Andrew said firmly. “Tempting as it is, they are still the ones who have amassed the fortune you will inherit one day.”

  Claude groaned. “And here I’d almost managed to forget it.”

  “Forget what?” asked a very pretty girl swanning up just in time to hear. Oh, what was her name? Claire tried to remember, but it was blurred by the events since. Something frivolous, though.

  Lizzie and Maggie both stiffened as they were joined by Claude’s friends from Paris, all of whom Claire had met, taken the measure of, and likewise forgotten the moment they were out of sight.

  If she were forced to admit the truth, she would rather their now large party separated into at least two smaller ones, so she proposed that they meet for tea at four o’clock. Lizzie and Maggie were swept away by the chattering crowd, Tigg pacing with them in his linen suit and straw hat, his spine straight and his alert gaze completely giving him away as an aeronaut of Her Majesty’s Corps.

  With a feeling of relief, she took Andrew’s arm. After a moment, Captain Hollys offered his to Alice.

  Her startled glance at Claire said, What shall I do?

  Claire’s discreet nod replied, Take it, of course. He is a gentleman and you are a lady. In most circles, this is considered to be normal.

  While Andrew’s ring and Ian’s commitment to finding a different wife posthaste would have made the offer of his arm to her quite safe, Claire was far more satisfied with the situation as it was, thank you. Alice would have to play the part until she was comfortable enough with it to fool those who might be watching.

  Under the wide, flattering brim of her hat, heaped with tulle and a lovely cockade of burgundy ribbon to match her skirt, Claire gazed about her with delight. Pavilions held examples of the greatest contemporary art in Europe—and even some very old ones by Venetian masters of the Renaissance.

  All the fashionable seemed to be here. There were English ladies who refused to adapt to the heat, sweating in the velvet and wool more appropriate to the northern climate in October. There was a crowd of French ladies, Claire was quite sure, if the dashing cut of their walking suits was any indication. And there, just going into the pavilion of the French Impressionists, was a young lady who must be from the Fifteen Colonies. She was clad in cotton, but what lovely stuff it was, draping so fashionably from box pleats behind that the back of her skirt almost looked like a train. Such an ensemble would have been very expensive. In fact—

  Claire’s eyes narrowed. “Andrew,” she said. “Look at that young lady.”

  “Which one?” he asked with some humor. “There are hundreds. It is like admiring the flowers at the botanical gardens.”

  “That one there, in the royal blue skirt and jacket, at the entrance to the Impressionsts’ pavilion. Can that possibly be Gloria Meriwether-Astor?”

  By now all four members of their party had come to a halt, ostensibly to watch an entertainer on stilts juggle bato
ns.

  “I believe it is indeed she,” Andrew said thoughtfully as the girl in the lovely suit closed her parasol and strolled into the pavilion for a closer look at its paintings. “Are you going to speak to her?”

  “Is that wise?” Alice asked. “I mean, I realize she helped prevent my pa from being hanged in the Canadas, but …”

  “But since her father was behind the plot, it is difficult to know if one ought to take up the acquaintance again,” Captain Hollys finished.

  “One can hardly blame the daughter for the sins of the father,” Claire said with some asperity. “If that were so, none of you would be speaking to Lizzie … or to me, for that matter.”

  Viscount St. Ives’ foolish backing of the combustion engine some years ago had resulted in what the papers had called the Arabian Bubble … the bursting of which had impoverished its investors and rendered Claire herself homeless and reviled.

  “If I met her, I don’t remember,” Alice said. “I had more urgent things on my mind at the time. But I would like to thank her, if I could and she’s of a mind to accept it.”

  “I think that is most noble of you, Alice,” Claire said promptly. “And did you notice one other thing?”

  “Other than the fact that she seems to be unescorted?” Ian inquired.

  “Her party may simply be in another pavilion. No. Did you not see? She is not wearing mourning. Royal blue is certainly not among the traditional colors. It is far too eye-catching.”

  It took a moment for this fact to sink in. Andrew was the first to apprehend its significance. “Then Gerald Meriwether-Astor did not die in the sinking of Neptune’s Fury last month?” His voice was hushed with horror. “I confess I had hoped we had seen the last of him.”

  “She would not be here if he had, and even if by some error of etiquette she came anyway, she would certainly be in full mourning,” Claire said. “Not in fashionable sapphire polished cotton.”

  “Is it too much to hope that funerary customs are different in the Americas?” Ian said. “Blue is not so far off from black.” He could have no fond memories of Gerald Meriwether-Astor, either, having had his ship and crew seized by the man. They had all been at the point of death before Tigg had engineered their escape.

  “They’re not,” Alice said. “I’ll do it. I’ll speak to her, thank her, and find out where her father is. While I do that, the three of you ought to keep a low profile.”

  “We are tourists,” Claire said. “We have nothing to hide and everything to gain by the acquaintance. You know what they say, Alice.”

  She met her friend’s gaze and Alice finished the thought. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

  9

  Alice had consented to wear a hat only because she could stuff her hair up under it without a fuss. Now she settled it more firmly, took a deep breath, and arranged her features into an approximation of pleasant interest.

  She was quite sure she looked a complete fool.

  Who was she to approach one of the richest heiresses in the Americas and claim acquaintance? With her luck, the girl would look down her perfect nose, then turn it up and deal her the most humiliating set-down in the history of set-downs.

  But she had the best of reasons for speaking up—and she’d waited for five years to do it. That alone gave her the courage to stop beside Gloria and look up at the canvas upon which the girl was gazing so raptly.

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” she said, doing her best to look as though the arrangement of dots and splotches on the canvas was something a person might actually buy if they had the coin.

  “I love the Impressionists,” Gloria sighed. “I cannot for the life of me figure out how it is done, but the overall effect is wonderful.” She turned to Alice. “Do you like—”

  She stopped. Hesitated. Then subjected Alice to such a stare that the latter felt as though every secret she’d ever tried to conceal was pinned upon her blouse for all to read. She braced herself for the set-down.

  “We have met,” Gloria said. “I do not remember where, but I will in a moment. You hail from the Texican Territories, don’t you?”

  “I do. And you’re quite right. I saw you go in and approached you hoping you might remember. It was in—”

  “The Canadas,” Gloria said, clearly pleased that her memory was in good working order. “The Firstwater Mine. You are the daughter of that man who was accused of sabotage.”

  “Frederick Chalmers. And for the record, he was innocent.”

  “Yes, of course, or I would not have helped him escape.” She examined Alice a little anxiously. “He did escape, did he not? He must have. I remember the to-do very clearly, um …”

  “Alice. Alice Chalmers. And you are Gloria, if memory serves.”

  “I am, and I’m so pleased to meet you properly. The last time, I was fussed about a ball, and then there was an explosion, and I don’t remember a single other thing until Claire ran past me and everything changed.” The girl beamed, and they shook hands cordially.

  “I came over to speak with you for a reason besides simply renewing our acquaintance.” The society phrases felt awkward on a tongue more used to plain speaking. “I wanted to thank you. Personally. For helping to save my pa’s life.”

  Surprise mixed with pleasure in Gloria’s expression. “I hardly did anything more than have the poor man locked in a closet, along with his friends. It was Claire who saved his life and somehow managed to spirit him to safety. If she succeeded, I am very glad. It makes the month of unpleasantness I suffered afterward quite worthwhile.”

  “I wondered if you might get into trouble.”

  “No more or less than usual.” She glanced over Alice’s shoulder. “Is Lady Claire with you? Have you seen her since that time?”

  “She is, and I have. We are here with a party of friends, in fact, for the Exhibition.” She touched Gloria’s arm, somehow charmed almost against her will by the other girl’s artlessness and honesty. And hearing the accents of the Americas after so long in foreign parts was making her homesick. “Come with me. They’re just outside, watching a juggler.”

  Gloria’s delight at seeing Claire and the others again puzzled Alice a little—after all, Claire had told her once that upon their meeting at the Firstwater Mine, Gloria had claimed not to remember that the two of them had been classmates at some hoity-toity school in London—or that she had been one of Claire’s principal tormentors. But the events at the mine had changed Alice’s life and Claire’s as well. She shouldn’t be surprised that they appeared to have changed Gloria’s too.

  Her life … and maybe her attitude toward it.

  The little group stood talking so long that the sun moved to the other side of the tower and the bells began to ring all over town.

  Claire glanced up. “It is only three. What is all the noise—some special call to worship in all the churches?”

  “Brace yourselves,” Alice said cheerfully. She, apparently, was the only one of their party who had experienced this before. Not, she supposed, that anyone could get used to it who hadn’t grown up with it.

  At the end of the colonnade, the bridge that had connected the dock side of the fondamente with the exhibition grounds parted in the middle. Each half rose to the vertical, the base on either side clearly on some kind of revolving gear assembly that tipped it the necessary number of degrees.

  And suddenly Alice’s stomach felt the way it had the first time she’d set foot in a boat. A canoe, to be exact, in a cove on one of the misty islands off the west coast of the Canadas that Davina Dunsmuir had once called home. Her insides swayed and swooped, and a second later, as her body automatically adjusted for weather as though she stood on an airship’s deck, she saw the moment when her friends realized what was happening.

  “The neighborhoods!” Claire said on a gasp. “They are moving!”

  “My word,” Andrew said a little unsteadily. “How very disconcerting.” He slipped an arm around Claire at once, and she leaned into h
im as though it were the most natural thing in the world to experience this novelty together. Alice felt a pang within as he pointed to the end of the colonnade, where the sea view was slowly changing before their fascinated eyes, and he and Claire murmured softly together.

  When am I going to have someone to share new things with?

  She shook the brief moment of self-pity away. Claire deserved her happiness, and she would not be so small as to begrudge her even a moment.

  Gloria appeared unaffected, simply watching the view as though it were a diorama staged for her entertainment. And Captain Hollys … well, he had done exactly as Alice had. He stood with his feet braced, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed with interest upon the sea.

  Alice’s stomach didn’t take long to settle back to normal and she realized that the island in the distance with the tilted tower was no longer traveling slowly across the end of the colonnade. The bridge’s two halves met once more in the middle and seated themselves, at which point people began crossing the canal once more.

  “Is it over?” Claire asked, and in answer, the bells gave one last peal, as if to sound the all-clear.

  Gloria told her, “Once the bridges go down and the bells sound, the neighborhoods are stationary for another day.”

  “This happens every day?” Claire asked with interest. She and Andrew straightened, though Alice noted that they were still holding hands before she directed her gaze back toward Gloria.

  “At least.” Gloria nodded. “One never knows. Sometimes it is twelve hours, sometimes twenty-four. Sometimes even two or three days. I have no idea what exactly determines the schedule—if anything does. It could be that Leonardo’s clockwork schedules itself by the movement of the moon or the phases of the zodiac … or the whim of the Doge.” She giggled, as if this were somehow amusing. “Claire, I meant to ask you—there is one person here whom I thought to see.”

  “One of the girls—my wards?” Claire asked. “I am afraid they have gone off with family and friends. But we will be meeting for tea at four so you must come with us.”