Pride and Premeditation

by Steffanie Holmes

  By Isis, he’s talking about the Reichenbach Falls.

  “Morrie…” I didn’t want to press him and spook him off, but I had to know. “Are you saying that you were in love with Sherlock Holmes?”

  “How could I not be? He was the only one who ever vexed me, whoever made my life interesting.” Morrie looked up then. “Until you.”

  My heart thundered in my ears. Morrie’s eyes locked with mine. The icicles inside them shattered to pieces. Here he was, my amoral criminal, stripped bare of all his bravado, and I understood his pain. Morrie’s emotions were a tidal wave, pulling him under. He needed to hold on to that tiny shred of control he had left, or he was going to drown. Admitting he cared meant admitting that he’d been wrong before, that he’d loved someone who he knew from a book committed the ultimate betrayal.

  Arthur Conan Doyle only relayed what happened on the Reichenbach Falls through Sherlock’s short account to Watson. We never knew what had really been said or done on that ledge. Morrie didn’t know, either, because he’d been pulled from his story into our world before it happened. All he knew was that the man he loved pushed him over a cliff.

  I wanted to tell him that I’d never do that, but I knew, and he knew, that reassuring someone you weren’t going to hurt them wasn’t the answer.

  “Caring about someone doesn’t make you weak,” I whispered. “It makes you human.”

  “Humans are weak,” Morrie said, in that cold voice. “I cared once before, and it cost me my life. This time my caring nearly cost you yours, Mina. When I look at you, all I see is my weakness. I’ll be driven mad by it if I don’t—”

  His gaze slid to the side, following something across the courtyard below.

  “What?” I turned my head too, but I couldn’t make out anything in the dark. Frustration welled up inside me that I couldn’t share in the interesting thing he’d seen.

  “It’s Christina Hathaway.” Morrie lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. He dropped low behind the balcony so only the top of his head was visible over the railing. I dropped down beside him, caught up in the excitement of the moment. Give Morrie a puzzle to solve, and he’s happy.

  I crouched down beside him, my heart hammering. “What’s she doing?”

  “She’s with that journalist. They’re walking under the trees at the far end of the courtyard, talking in low voices.”

  That’s not exactly exciting. “Don’t change the subject. They probably just went outside for some air. Or a cigarette. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Miss Perfect Regency lady was a secret chain smoker?”

  “She has a secret all right, but it’s not a nicotine addiction.” Morrie grinned. “They’re kissing.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What?”

  “Yeah.” Morrie leaned over the balcony and peered out to the end of the courtyard, where I could just make out two shapes huddled under one of the trees. “It’s a pity you can’t see. There’s some serious snogging going on. We could get tips.”

  “Morrie!” I grabbed his hand and dragged him back into the house. “We shouldn’t be spying on them. They deserve a bit of privacy.”

  “Relax, gorgeous. They have no idea we’re up here, otherwise they wouldn’t have been so desperate to eat each other’s faces.”

  “Do you think Christina’s father knows?” I found it hard to believe a man like Hathaway with his adherence to Regency values would approve of his daughter’s apparent sexuality.

  “I doubt it, otherwise they wouldn’t feel the need to venture out into minus four-degree weather in order to lock lips.”

  “Interesting. I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the story Alice is working on. She’s definitely trying to bring down Hathaway—” I shook my head. “No, I’m not doing this. It’s none of our business what people get up to behind closed doors.”

  “Or under trees.”

  “Yes. Or under trees. Speaking of which,” I punched him in the arm. “You can’t keep running away every time you get emotional. I can’t deal with this on top of everything else – you’re either in this, or you’re out.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means…” I closed my eyes. Was this really what I wanted? If I pushed Morrie too much, I might end up pushing him away. But on the other hand, Morrie wasn’t the only one who was getting emotionally entangled against his better judgment. A certain master criminal had already got under my skin, and the more time I spent with him, the harder I fell – not for the cocky guy on the surface, but the broken man underneath. I needed Morrie to trust me enough to show me more of that guy. “It means that I want all of you or none of you. You have to give in to what you’re feeling for me, or you’re out. No more sex. No more… what happened tonight—”

  “It’s called an orgy,” Morrie said. “Or a foursome. A harem in reverse. Some people prefer gangb—”

  “Don’t be crass.” My face flushed. “You were the one who started this, Morrie. And you’re right. I don’t want to choose. I want you, and Heathcliff, and Quoth. I want you not just because you’re clever, but because I care deeply about you. I maybe even possibly love you.” My tongue slipped on the word, a word I’d been dancing around, not yet ready to say to any of them, even though it was probably true. I’d loved very few people in my life, and apart from my mum, they either abandoned me or stabbed me in the back. “And you’re not the only one throwing your heart on the line here, or the one with a monopoly on pain. I get your heart, or you walk away. That’s my final offer.”

  I spun around and stalked from the room, leaving a stunned and silent James Moriarty on the balcony, his icicle eyes boring into my back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Get up, get up!” A pillow hit me across the face.

  “Croak, croak, croak!” A raven hopped across the bed, flapping its wings frantically.

  “Er, um, what?” I reached up to rub my eye. Black and white feathers sailed through the air around me.

  “How dare you sleep in here with my escort, and on the day of the ball, too!” Lydia smashed me in the head with the pillow again.

  “What’s going on?” Morrie muttered, opening his eyes. “How did she get in here? We locked the door.”

  “Morrie taught me how to pick a lock!” Lydia screeched, hitting Morrie over the head for good measure.

  “Ow! That was because you were annoying and I wanted you to shut up for twenty minutes,” Morrie cowered under the blankets. “You weren’t supposed to use it against me.”

  “Well, she did, and now she’s trying to murder us with goose down.” I pulled a feather from between my lips. “Lydia, hold on for a sec. Lydia!”

  She whomped me over the head again, muffling my words with 400-count Egyptian linen. I tore the pillow from her grasp and hugged it to my naked chest. Lydia glared at me from the end of the bed.

  “Sit down.” I jabbed my finger at the lounge suite arranged under the window. Lydia flopped onto the sofa and glared at me defiantly. “Let me find some jeans, then I can explain.”

  “You are not even wearing bloomers?” Lydia screeched.

  “Turn down the volume,” Heathcliff muttered. “Some of us are trying to get our beauty sleep.”

  “I’d give up now, because not even a decade of sleep is going to help you any,” Morrie said.

  “Croak!” Quoth hopped in circles around the bedsheets.

  “Right. I’m sorting it.” I grabbed Lydia by the hair and dragged her into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

  “Ow. Unhand me, you harlot!” Lydia raked at my face with her hands. I slapped them away. “I’m going to tell everyone about your scandalous behavior—”

  “No,” I said, dropping her on the bed. I went over to the mini-bar under the desk and pulled out a small bottle of whisky. I tossed one to her, and broke the cap on the other. “You’re not. Drink that.”

  Lydia stared at the bottle in her hand, and then at the fridge. “Is that some kind of… futuristic icebox?”
<
br />   “That’s exactly what it is.” I held up my bottle. “And it is one of the many joys of the modern world. Bottoms up.”

  “Why are we drinking? You’re supposed to be explaining why I found you in a compromising state with my escort. You have your own escort – the grumpy one. Why did you have to take mine, too?”

  “I’m getting to that. I just need a little liquid courage first. And you might want a little too, for what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Very well.” Lydia held up her bottle to me, and knocked the whole thing back, slamming the glass down on the table. I tossed mine back too, the cheap whisky burning all the way down. I tossed the bottle on the desk and leaned forward.

  “Here’s the thing, Lydia. A lot of stuff has changed since Jane Austen wrote your story. For one thing, we have refrigerators now, and we can keep our shitty whisky cold for occasions like this.” I coughed as the alcohol burned through my chest. “We also have feminism, which means you don’t have to find a husband in order to lead a rich and secure life.”

  “Not this feminism lark again.” Lydia’s lip curled back. “It sounds horrible.”

  “I can assure you it’s actually quite fun. Feminism means that you don’t have to make decisions based on how amicable and eligible you will be to men. For example, you don’t know this yet, but when you ran away with Wickham, your family had to tear up and down the countryside to find you because they were worried about your reputation. Now, you can do whatever you want, and your reputation is fine. You could go to bed with Wickham and talk about it with your girlfriends the next day, and it would make you no less desirable as a wife. You can go to bed with anyone you choose and you don’t have to marry them.”

  Lydia’s lip curled back. “Is this true?”

  “Yes. Well, sort of. People love to gossip. They might say mean things about you behind your back, and call you a slut, because we haven’t quite smashed the patriarchy yet. That’s a whole other conversation.” Sensing Lydia glazing over, I gestured to the door that separated our rooms. “”The point is, Morrie may be your escort, but he’s already taken. By me.” At least, I hope he is. I thought of the ultimatum I’d given him last night. “And so is Heathcliff. And Quoth. I’m not married to any of them, but that doesn’t mean we can’t date and sleep together. We could even live together if we wanted.”

  Lydia’s eyes were so large and round she should have had orbiting moons. “I never believed such a thing would be possible.”

  “Why not? Lots of old stories have men with harems of women. Why shouldn’t it be the other way around? That’s feminism – equal rights for all. Now, the thing is, this having multiple partners thing is still not entirely socially acceptable. It’s the kind of thing we all know happens but we don’t talk about it.”

  Lydia’s face perked up. “Oh, yes. Like how Father caught my sister Mary kissing Maria Lucas behind the stables.”

  Okay, wow. I stifled a laugh. “Yes, exactly like that. It’s very important that you don’t tell anyone about me and the guys. This town is small, like Meryton, and some people won’t approve. Their disapproval could hurt all of us, including you.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I know what I just said.” I rubbed my temple, where a headache had started to blossom. “By Isis, it’s too early in the morning for this. It’s that patriarchy thing I told you about. I’ll give you a book to read when we get back to the shop. For now, let’s just say you can do whatever you want, as long as you aren’t flaunting it. Think of it this way – knowing Morrie is off the table only frees you up to enjoy any other man you might desire. Or a woman,” I added, thinking of what Morrie and I had unwittingly witnessed last night, and of what Lydia had just told me about her sister. “You could even have a woman, if you so chose.”

  “Women freely cavort with other women?” Lydia gasped. “My mother is at this moment rolling in her grave, and I love it.”

  I grinned. “Lydia, I think you’re going to really enjoy being a teenager in these times. There’s a reason ‘It’s complicated’ is the most popular relationship status on Facebook. Now, will you stop holding on so tight to Morrie – there’s a ball tonight, and a whole house filled with weird costumed freaks who would love to bed an actual Regency lady.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Lydia threw open her suitcase and started throwing dresses over her head. “Help me into this outfit. I need to look sensational today if I’m to fill up the rest of my dance card for tonight. And we must hurry, for I don’t want to miss an opportunity to speak with David over breakfast.”

  Lydia dressed in the muslin gown she’d arrived in, pinned her hair and adorned it with silk flowers she’d purchased from the market in Netherfield. As soon as she was satisfied that she was ready to receive an onslaught of gushing admirers, the three of us rose to make our way to the day’s activities. I kissed Quoth goodbye, running my hands through his black hair. “I’ll think of you all day long,” he said between kisses.

  “You do that,” I kissed him. “We have the ball tonight, so—”

  Quoth pointed to the bedroom window behind his head. “I’ve left that open wide enough so I can come in. But I think I’ll probably sit outside the ballroom and watch the ball. It’ll be fun to see the costumes and hear the band and watch you batter Heathcliff’s shins.”

  I placed my hands on my hips and glared at him. “I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic dancer, thank you.”

  “That’s a lie,” Heathcliff called from the hallway.

  “Mina, let’s go!” Lydia dragged a distraught Moriarty toward the stairs.

  I clung to Quoth, not wanting a whole day to go by where I didn’t see him. He laughed, pressing his lips to my forehead. “Just know that when you clomp around that dance floor tonight, I’ll be watching you.”

  A delicious shiver ran down my spine at the thought. “I like that.”

  Lydia barged through the door and grabbed my arm, dragging me away. “Christ, you’re more of a dawdler than my sister Jane, always with her head in the clouds.”

  I waved goodbye as Lydia dragged me from the room and slammed the door behind me. Heathcliff wrenched me from her grasp and settled my hand on his arm. “Her method leaves much to be desired,” he murmured. “But I can’t argue with her logic. I heard the breakfast is quite something to behold, and my grumbling stomach has a mind to behold it.”

  Breakfast was served in two large rooms off the main house kitchen. The walls had been whitewashed, and the normal furnishings removed and replaced with long banquet tables. My mouth watered when we approached the buffet. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Having a foursome must’ve worked off a hell of a lot of calories.

  The food was arrayed in silver chafing dishes, with labels written in tiny print attached to the tops. I leaned over to read my choices. Scrambled egg? Yes, please. I dumped a spoonful on my plate. Pork and fennel breakfast sausages? Don’t mind if I do. Croissants with ham and cheese? I’ll take three—

  “Excuse me, dear, but you shouldn’t breathe all over the food like that.”

  I jumped in surprise, tipping my plate forward and spilling eggs and sausage down the front of my dress. Color flared in my cheeks as I turned to meet a group of older ladies in their Regency finery. I hadn’t realized how close I’d been leaning over the food in my attempt to read the labels. “Oh, right, sorry.”

  “Leave her alone,” Heathcliff glowered at the dowagers. “She’s blind.”

  I bristled at Heathcliff’s words. “I’m not blind. I’m only partially—”

  “I don’t care if she’s blind, deaf, and dumb, it’s unhygienic.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to Mina like that.” Storms brewed in Heathcliff’s eyes.

  “It’s fine.” I shoved my plate into Heathcliff’s hands. “I have to go clean up, anyway.”

  “Mina—”

  I raced from the room, keeping my eyes glued on the floor, not wanting to see if anyone followed me. In the bathroom, I dabbe
d at the front of my dress with a wad of toilet paper, but that only spread the stains across my chest. As I glared at my reflection in the mirror, a flash of green neon light flashed across my vision.

  “Aaaaarrrrh!” I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. I couldn’t see the labels on the chafing dishes.

  I remembered Lydia’s weird look when I was looking at David’s coins the other day. I hadn’t even noticed how close I was leaning in to look at things. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. I’ve been making a fool of myself in front of everyone, sniffing the coins, breathing on the food…

  This is my father’s legacy.

  A corner of his note stuck out of the top of my bra. I pulled it out and smoothed it on the edge of the sink. A tear rolled down the side of my face as I read over the words. It dropped onto the border of leaping animals, smudging the ink.

  Who are you, Father? Why couldn’t you have been there from the beginning? Maybe if you had been, I wouldn’t have to go through this alone.

  The bathroom door banged behind me. I jumped, my heart pounding. “I’m fine,” I dabbed at my face with the wet tissue. “Just trying to get this bloody eyelash out of my eye.”

  “Mina.”

  At the sound of Heathcliff’s dark, gravelly voice, I dropped the tissue into the sink. My hands trembled harder. Get a hold of yourself, Mina.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here.” I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t move. But in the mirror, I could just make out the edges of his silhouette, his black clothes and dark features camouflaged in the shadow of the door. “This is the ladies bathroom.”

  “I don’t care,” Heathcliff growled. “I had to see you.”

  “I’m fine. I just can’t get this blasted stain out of my dress.”

  Heathcliff stepped forward, standing under the downlight, throwing his body into full view. The shadows on his face etched a story of pain.

  “Don’t do this,” he growled. “If you choose this path, you’ll live to regret it.”