“Oh. Lieutenant Price said that he knew a fellow who could go to thirty. Mind you, I do not know how. It feels as if it is drawing your breath out with the glamour. I have never been winded so quickly. And the heat! Were it not for the breeze, the heat would have undone me. Here, I will show you.” Vincent extended his hand into the ether.
Jane let her vision shift to the second sight to watch what he did there. He spun his hand so the palm was up. With his thumb and forefinger, he reached forward, as though to pinch a speck of salt, then spread them wide almost like a set of scissors opening. It was not an uncommon motion, but rather than catching a strand of glamour and drawing it forth, he held the gap in the ether open and used his remaining three fingers to guide the glamour that streamed out of the opening. Without that little bit of direction, it would not have retained enough distinctness to be visible. Even so, bits and pieces shattered around his hand in a phosphorescent mist. The stream of rainbow that emerged from his hand spread and diffused almost immediately as it streamed back down the length of the boat.
“I think I have it.” Jane tilted her head and considered whether there were any changes she might make to alter the position of the hands. Attempting a contrariwise Bellinger’s grip might improve it, but only if she could catch hold of the glamour in the first place.
Letting the glamour dissolve, Vincent wiped his brow. “Thank heavens. I had to watch three or four times before I could spot what they were doing.”
“You always say the kindest things.” Though she teased, Jane was secretly pleased that her ability to trace and understand patterns was superior to his. Dipping her hand into the ether, she parted the curtain and let glamour flow out. The effect was as if she were managing a massive fold and spinning it out at enormous speed. Her breath quickened till she was quite panting, but she held on, perversely intent on reaching at least a count of twelve. At a count of six, Jane felt her stomach churn. Perhaps this was not so clever a plan after all. She released the glamour.
“What did you think?”
Jane swallowed back her uneasiness, though it was significantly milder than it had been that morning. “It seemed to require as much exertion as working a large fold at speed. Do you suppose … do you suppose that the glamour itself contains an energy? Might that be what causes the corporeal effects rather than exertion?”
“I had the same thought. Certainly light does, though glamour is composed of only waves, while light consists of both waves and particles.” Vincent leaned against the rail, looking back at the white wake the ship left behind them. “Perhaps it is the friction of the waves? That might account for the unhealthy effects of some of the glamours outside the visible spectrum. Too rough for safety, or some such.”
Jane considered the art involved in managing glamour. It seemed likely that if one were able to do more than produce an oily rainbow, then Napoleon would have found a way to control that power for use during the blockade. The fact that he had not certainly added weight to the old belief that glamour was not possible while at sea. It was simply too difficult to control the relationship of the glamour both to the ether and to one’s own self given the constant motion of a ship. However … if one did not have to maintain the relationship with one’s own body … “I should like to see what happens when we use one of the Verres Obscurcis.”
At the mention of their experiment in glass, Vincent pushed himself away from the rail. “By Jove—yes.”
“Should we make the attempt, so exposed like this?”
Vincent returned to the rail, looking around them. “If it works, then we shall be invisible, and if it does not, then we simply have a ball of glass.”
“And if it works imperfectly?” Jane gestured to the men working around them. There was not a place on board the vessel where they could go and be unobserved, save their own cabin. That was not an option, since the Verre Obscurci required full sunlight to work. “The dining room is unoccupied and, with the skylight, should have enough direct sun to make the experiment.”
“I acknowledge the superiority of your plan.”
“As you should.”
Laughing, he offered her his arm and led her across the deck to their cabin.
As they reached the back—aft—of the ship, Ibrahim smiled and nodded towards the horizon. Jane nodded back, to let him know that the remedy seemed to be helping. She hoped that going below deck would not cause her nausea to return, but Vincent was moving with more life to his step than she had seen since they received the news of his father’s death. A little seasickness was worth that.
The dining room was still thankfully unoccupied. The sun was overhead and a little behind the ship, casting brilliant rays across the table and into the front of the chamber. Vincent ducked into their cabin as Jane sat on one of the long benches affixed to the table. The lamps that hung over it swayed with the motion of the ship and did her nausea no good. She looked up at the sails visible through the skylight as she waited for Vincent.
He took only a few moments to reappear from their cabin. Under one arm, he carried the small chest that held two of the glass spheres they had made in Murano the previous summer. They had decided to pack the rest and ship them back to Long Parkmead, Jane’s family home in England, rather than bring them all to the West Indies.
Vincent set the chest on the table by Jane. “I am glad you thought to bring these, Muse. It would not have occurred to me until we were on the ship, and then I would have cursed their absence.”
“You were distracted, with good cause.”
He grimaced. “Yes, well.” Fishing the key out of his pocket, Vincent undid the lock on the little chest and opened it. Inside, wrapped in a length of black velvet, lay two of the smaller spheres they had made. So long as they were in shadow, the effect would not take hold.
Jane said, “If you stand back some feet from me, you will be out of the influence of the Verre. If it works, you will be able to ascertain that quickly.”
“Hm. And why do you get to be the one using the Verre?”
“Because I am already sitting.” Besides which, her stomach was still uneasy. “And I like to watch your face when the sphere works.”
“Oh?”
“You have the most charming smile.”
Chuckling, he ducked his head and gave a little bow. “As you wish.”
When he stood some feet back, Jane loosened the wrapping around the glass sphere. She threw the cloth back. Sunlight caught in the faint inclusions that twisted around the otherwise unblemished crystal. From within, she could tell no difference at all. A properly woven Sphère Obscurcie would bend the light around the glamourist at its centre, while leaving their view of the world clear. A Verre was their own invention for capturing glamour in glass, and it worked the same way. The thing in question was if removing the human element would allow glamour to work upon a moving ship. A quick look into the ether showed that the sunlight at least seemed to be acting upon the glass in the same manner as it had upon the land.
Jane lifted her gaze from the Verre to where Vincent stood with his hands upon his hips. He really did have the most charming smile. Throwing his head back, he laughed.
“May I take it that we have success?”
Vincent fairly skipped forward in response, slipping into the Verre’s influence. “Oh, Muse, it is as steady as if we were on land.”
“Therefore, the only thing that prevents glamour from working at sea is human error.” She studied the sphere, paying particular attention to where the glamour departed the glass. It did billow a little, although clearly not enough to spoil the image. She shifted her vision back from the ether to address Vincent. “Do you think—what?”
He took a step closer, careful, so that his shadow did not cross the Sphere. His smile was still present, but had become smaller and more intimate. “I think … I think that I am a very fortunate man.”
“And why is that?” Jane’s heart sped in a way that had nothing to do with glamour.
“Because no one
can see us now.”
Her breath was taken quite away.
* * *
Jane and Vincent discovered that two determined individuals could fit in one of the narrow bunks. After their experiments with sleeping arrangements the night prior, Vincent had retired to the upper bunk for slumber.
On their third morning at sea, his long legs hung over the side before he hopped down. For a moment, his nightshirt caught on the raised edge of the bunk and offered an appealing view of the backs of his knees. Not even that was enough to quiet Jane’s heaving stomach.
Remembering the sailor’s suggestion that a view of the horizon would help, Jane rolled upright. She would dress quickly and go out on the deck for fresh air. Surely that would—
She did not manage to do more than stand before her plans were overturned. Jane barely made it to the washbasin in time.
“Muse!” Vincent had his hand upon her back to steady her.
“Oh … oh, I am so sorry. I have made a mess.” She clung miserably to the side of the small table.
“Do not concern yourself about that.” He felt her brow. “I should have insisted that you stay in bed yesterday.”
“I think it is the bed that is making me ill. Something about the motion when I am lying down. Truly. When I am outside in the fresh air, I am better.” She paused to establish that she was not yet better. Groaning, Jane hung her head over the foulness. She had not been this ill since she was with child …
Her thoughts slowed and tripped upon themselves.
Was it possible? Her cycle had always been irregular, but she had not had her flower for … four months—no, nearly five now. Usually it was not more than three months that she skipped, and then only when working heavily with glamour. They had worked so little in Vienna because their attention was elsewhere, what with Melody’s confinement. Her clothing had also been getting snug, but Jane had thought it was simply due to the rich food in Vienna. The illness now put everything into a different light.
Good lord in heaven. She might be with child.
Four
Lines of Heritage
Jane did not tell Vincent of her supposition immediately. At first her reason was that Vincent was already taxed with enough cares and she only might be with child. Given that they were in the middle of the Atlantic, there was little that could be done, and since she had once miscarried, he would fret if he knew. If there were no reason, if she were merely seasick and plump, then why concern him?
With a groan, she rolled over and pushed herself out of the narrow bunk. Her stomach was uneasy. After the past days, this was no longer a surprise. She stood with one hand against the top bunk, hoping that if she took deep breaths and stared out the window, that she might get past the worst of the nausea.
Alas, that remedy proved unequal to the task. Jane had enough practise now that she had no trouble making it to the small pail that Ibrahim had provided for her troubles. She rather thought he found her retching amusing. As she hunched over the bucket, the door to their cabin opened.
“Jane?” It took Vincent only a single stride to reach her. “Poor thing … I thought it had passed.”
“Usually, I—” She lost the ability to speak for a moment.
Vincent slid an arm around Jane to offer support as her stomach heaved in time with the ship. He paused, with his hand upon her stomach. For a moment, she heard a small, high whine, as if his breath were imperfectly held around a thought that was slowly leaking out. He must notice the change. Surely, he could remember what her health had been like the last time and note the likeness. He had, perhaps, suspected for some time, but the standards of polite society indicated that one did not discuss such delicate matters in mixed company, even with one’s wife, unless pressed. And Jane had said nothing, because doing so would make the child real. If she miscarried without ever acknowledging that she was increasing, then she would not need to mourn again.
But Vincent had trusted her with his fears about this voyage and more. Jane could trust him with hers.
She straightened and took the glass of water he offered her. She rinsed her mouth and cleaned her face with the damp cloth he handed her. Folding the cloth, Jane said, “I think I might be increasing.”
He exhaled forcibly, almost a laugh, almost a cry, as if the thought he had been holding escaped all at once. For a moment, the mask of deep reserve that was his habitual expression snapped into place, his face appearing calm, but with a suspicious lustre to his eyes. Then he shoved aside the years of training with a shake of his head, and all his wonder became visible. “Truly?”
She nodded, averting her gaze from the joy in his. “I did not want to tell you in case…” In case she miscarried again. “In case I was wrong.”
“But we might have turned the ship.”
Jane drew back a little to stare at him. “To what purpose?”
“Well—well, you should not be travelling in this condition.” Vincent raked his hand through his hair. “I wonder if the ship’s surgeon has any experience with childbirth.”
“We shall not be on board long enough for that to be a concern. And, truly, aside from the illness, I am little troubled. I would be just as unhappy on land.”
“But you should have had access to a proper doctor. The best medical—”
“The best medical opinions did nothing to save Princess Charlotte.”
Vincent drew up short, eyes widening. Jane instantly regretted her words. As a man, he had never been privy to a circle of women discussing the horrors of childbirth. It seemed every married woman had at least one friend who had not survived her lying in, and they all felt compelled to relate those stories. Her mother seemed to collect the tales. It had been all Jane could do to keep Mrs. Ellsworth from telling a new one every day to Melody.
She slid her arms around him and leaned into an embrace. “I am sorry. I ought not have said that.”
“No. No, you are right to remind me of the burden you face.”
“Burden?” Jane snorted and squeezed his ribs where he was most sensitive. Vincent gave an involuntary laugh and twisted away. Jane pursued, tickling her impossible husband until she chased him into a corner. “You are the only burden I carry. Do not even contemplate coddling me, or treating me like delicate china, or shutting me up in this cabin.”
Breathless, he held up his hands in surrender. “No! No. I cry mercy.”
“Do you promise to continue on as if my health were unchanged?”
For a fraction of a second he hesitated. Jane made a move towards his ribs. With a nervous laugh, Vincent caught her hand. “I promise not to treat you like a delicate china cup, but you must allow me room for some solicitude. Please, Muse?”
“Hm.”
“Fetching your tea. Warming your slippers by the fire. That sort of thing.”
“As we shall be in the West Indies, I very much doubt I shall want my slippers warmed.”
“We will not be there when your confinement comes. I shall see you safely back in England long before then.” He raised a hand and traced the line of her cheek. “Are you…? I recall that you were unhappy during the first … before. Will you let me do what I can to make you content this time?”
Jane pulled his head down and kissed his cheek. The rough brush of whiskers told her he had not yet shaved that morning. They tickled her as he pulled her deeper into an embrace. She sighed, settling against him. “Vincent, the last time we had been married but three months, and I had not known you for long. It was my first time away from home and family. I was terrified and uncertain in ways that are well in our past. While I do not relish that my condition requires me to give up glamour for months, it is the best possible timing for such a prohibition. We would have little opportunity to practise our art due to the mourning period for Princess Charlotte. I have better reserves now, and plans for how to occupy my time.”
“You are a wonder, Muse.” His voice rumbled in his chest as he pulled her tighter. “What are these bold plans of yours?”
> “First, I thought I might write a book.”
“A book, eh? A novel such as Melody reads, perhaps? Full of young women pining for arrogant men?”
“Oh, no. While I would argue that I have some experience regarding arrogant men, I thought to indulge in my own interests and write a book about glamour.”
He ran a hand down her spine and settled it at the small of her back. “I approve of this plan.”
“Good, since I do not know that you have much say in the matter.” Jane trifled with one of the buttons on his waistcoat.
He chuckled. “You said ‘first,’ which implies you have other plans.”
“I thought to paint, since the landscape of Antigua will be new to me. And also to work on my music. Perhaps I will finally learn the harp.” Jane worked the button free and felt a certain subtle shift in Vincent’s posture. “And attend to my husband’s needs, of course.”
He cleared his throat. “Is that safe?”
Jane undid another button. “His papers and correspondence? I shall be certain to take care when sharpening his quill.”
He groaned. “Muse, you are at times wicked.”
She tilted her head up to kiss the tender part of his neck below the line of his jaw. “I learned that from you, Rogue.”
“I would argue against your case.”
The remainder of their argument took place without much language, and through their combined efforts Jane and Vincent were able to resolve any marital difficulties that arose.
* * *
The weather became progressively warmer as their route carried them farther south and west. Jane began to regret that she had brought only black gowns. She quite longed for a simple white muslin. Her parasol had been of no use at sea, but the moment they docked in the calm harbour of St. John’s in Antigua, Jane was happy to avail herself of its shade. Even the shelter of her bonnet was not entirely adequate for the tropical glare.
The small town that had arisen around the dockyard was a tidy affair of modern stucco buildings. Green hills surrounded the brilliant blue of the harbour, and palm trees waved overhead. Everywhere around them, people moved with a purpose. More interesting was an alteration that took Jane a few minutes to notice. Aboard the ship, she had been surrounded by Englishmen, with some few men of foreign extraction thrown in among them. Here, Jane saw Black Africans everywhere she looked. For the first time, Jane understood why the term Black African was used, as the skin of the workers unloading their ship was very dark indeed. There were very few faces as pale as her own. She had spent a good deal of time in London associating with the Worshipful Company of Coldmongers, the young men who provided cooling glamour to the great houses of London. As they were largely descended from slaves, she had become used to being around young men of colour. Compared to the dockworkers, those young men had been as fair as she. There were men of colour in the lighter range of brown that she was accustomed to, but they were fewer in number.
Of Noble Family Page 4
