I blinked, speechless. For the life of me, I had never met anyone so intent upon my private circumstances. “What of you?” I suddenly realized I didn’t know Gustave’s last name, and it would hardly be proper to address her husband by first name. “Did you have any misgivings before you wed?” I asked.
She laughed, but it wasn’t a joyous sound. There was something hollow and uncomfortable about it. “He was in need of a wife, and now here I am, Madame Eiffel.” She patted me on my hand. “Do not fret. I’m sure you shall come to your senses soon. Your protector will not wish to keep you as a ward forever, and what will you do when he turns you out on your own? I will ask my husband if we can have an outing. We can go shopping for a new dress for you in the morning, and a bonnet. I’m sure his friend will not mind. Then when you return to London, perhaps you will be in better spirits.”
A chill ran down my back. Marie Marguerite’s words felt so foreign to me, and not because they were spoken in French.
“That would be lovely,” I said, feeling very deeply uncomfortable in the presence of the young woman. She was the same age as I, and yet Gustave was older than Oliver. However, that was hardly uncommon. Most families wished to marry off their daughters to men who had already established themselves enough to care for their wives, especially if the girl had little dowry.
I had no dowry, but that didn’t matter. I had something more. I thought about the toy shop and all I had accomplished in the Academy. To be kept as a wife felt so confining to me. I had none of these thoughts when Will and I were careening through dilapidated tunnels, or exploring the mansion of a senile old man. And yet, this world of Marie Marguerite was the world I lived in. This was the expectation on my shoulders.
It was as if I were staring into a curved mirror. I could not recognize the girl in the reflection.
Only two years ago, married like Marie Marguerite was all I had ever aspired to be. I had been preparing for my debut into society, where the mirage of choice would have been put before me in the form of fancy parties and dances, but in the end the man who wanted me would have chosen me. The wedding would have been arranged, and I would have settled into a life alongside Marie Marguerite, where my world would never have been any larger than the confines of my place.
“Perhaps I have a dress you may borrow for our supper so you can make yourself presentable. I’ll return shortly,” Marie Marguerite said. She touched her middle lightly as she rose, and I wondered if she carried a child already. How many more would she carry in her life? Would she do anything else of note? Did she secretly wish to? Or would she become nothing more than a note in the story of her husband’s accomplishments?
Marie Marguerite left the room to retrieve her dress, while I turned to the mirror. I straightened my hair until it was neatly confined in its braids and a knot at the back of my neck once more.
A slight bruise from the flying pieces of brick had appeared on my cheek near my ear. I touched it. It was tender but did not hurt. I placed my hand over the bandage on my arm and the scars I knew I would always bear there.
They made me feel alive.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SUPPER HAD TO BE ONE of the most surreal experiences of my life. Marie Marguerite’s dress fit me well enough, though it bound me beneath the arms, and the weight of the fabric was enormous. The sleeves billowed out, and I had to take extra care to eat with my very best graces, so as not to place a sleeve into the sauce on my plate.
Gustave took to discussing the finer points of metallurgy with Will in English, which was well enough for our ruse. Marie Marguerite assumed Will and I didn’t know one another at all, and instead she occupied me with small talk about the weather in France, and her predictions for the weather come spring. Occasionally she added some variation to the conversation by discussing the quality of the cheese that had been served, or complaining about the lack of proper linens in the house.
I had to bite my tongue to keep from joining into conversation with the men, but I had to play my part. Instead I tried to draw out some of Marie Marguerite’s interests or even opinions, but whenever I broached any topic of conversation other than the weather or the quality of the linens, she brushed it off and turned our conversation back toward the mundane.
I was ready to scream.
When my hostess retired for the evening, I breathed a sigh of relief. Will retired as well, so as not to appear unseemly.
It frustrated me that I couldn’t even bid him good night.
When we were finally alone, Gustave addressed me directly.
“Marie Marguerite asked me to talk some sense into you,” he said, taking his glass of wine in hand. “It seems she’s under the impression you’re running away from a forced marriage.” He chuckled. “Poor thing.”
I sipped my cup of coffee. Oliver had helped me discover a taste for it, and this particular cup was very fine indeed. I placed it on its saucer.
There was something I wished to discuss with him, but it was a risk. Gustave was new to the Order, and so the traditions of the Amusementists didn’t seem so tightly imprinted on him. I hoped to discuss Haddock with him but wasn’t sure if he would reprimand me for mentioning the forbidden name.
I decided to be direct.
“What do you know of Haddock?” I asked.
Gustave choked on his wine. He coughed, pounding his chest as he looked at me through squinted eyes. “That name is forbidden.” He grimaced, as if he too were at war with himself over whether or not to have this conversation.
“I know, which is my difficulty, because I believe Haddock is the one holding my grandfather hostage.” I turned my cup on its saucer, then slowly turned it back again. “Punish me if you must, but I can’t get to the truth of the matter if I cannot speak freely. If Haddock is dead, his punishment is complete. He won’t care one way or the other if we have this conversation.”
Gustave shifted uneasily. Eventually his eyes met mine, and there was a gravity in his expression that hadn’t been there before. “Haddock is well and truly dead. He’s buried in Père Lachaise. He cannot be the one holding your grandfather.”
“Logically I know that, but that scandal seems to be the only thing in my grandfather’s past fraught with enough hostility to lead to murder.” I scooted back in my chair. Someone had to know something so I could put the Haddock name to rest once and for all.
“I know little. Only rumor. The incident was before my time. During my apprenticeship, he was whispered about among my peers. A cautionary tale.” Gustave took another sip of wine.
“Do you believe he could still be alive?” I asked. “That he could somehow resurrect himself through mechanical means?”
He shook his head, as if I had just asked him if it were possible for an elephant to sprout wings and fly. “That is impossible. He is dead and buried. If you know what is best, you’d leave that name be, before you offend someone with more reason to reprimand you than I. You must take care, Apprentice.” Gustave cleared his throat. “A man cannot reach beyond the grave. He had no heir. His name is as dead as he is.”
“The man who attacked me wears a clockwork mask embedded in his flesh,” I said.
Gustave’s eyebrows rose. “How can that be?”
“Are you certain there is no way to mechanically resurrect someone? My kidnapper used a bomb bearing Haddock’s mark to attack me.” I took another sip of coffee even though my hands felt unsteady.
Gustave tapped his wineglass in a thoughtful manner. “He created terrible things. Perhaps the one who wishes you harm merely knew where some of the dead man’s old abominations were kept and wishes to claim them.”
Lord knows I had discovered enough old Amusements on my own. “That is possible.” I had considered that the man in the clockwork mask may have simply uncovered an old workshop and used the bomb for his own devices. There was only one problem with that line of reasoning. “But if that is the case, then the man in the clockwork mask must still be connected to Haddock in some way, or he wouldn’
t have known how to set one of Haddock’s bombs. It’s not as if these things are left around unprotected, not bombs anyway.”
Gustave’s expression tightened. “Please, do not say his name again. We understand one another. It’s not necessary.”
I realized the Black Mark was supposed to be a punishment. It would be dreadful to have your entire existence erased among a group of people who valued their contributions and their reputations so dearly.
Gustave placed his wineglass down and scratched his beard on his right cheek in a slow and thoughtful manner. “Where would you like to begin your search tomorrow?”
“I have no possible link to the Frenchwoman who may have owned the necklace we found. The best clue I have at the moment is the one who bears the Mark. I’d like to visit his grave,” I said.
Gustave leaned back and cocked his head slightly to the side, much in the same way that a horse does when it balks at a jump. “There are many connected to the Order in the city as we speak, preparing to travel to London for the oath. If they catch you, the consequences within the Order are not to be taken lightly.”
“Thank you, Gustave. I understand the risk.” I stood, ready to retire for the evening. “I deeply appreciate all that you’ve done for me.”
“Do not thank me if you are caught. I want nothing to do with that cursed name.” He rose as well and gave me a bow. “I regret I can do no more to help.”
“I understand.” The closer I came to Haddock, the less help I would find.
• • •
That night I had trouble falling asleep. I was warm, I was comfortable, I was clean, and yet I could find no peace. The heavy feather mattress surrounded me, and with every breath, I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into it as I stared at the ceiling. Too many things plagued my mind for me to find rest.
Every sound in the house sounded amplified in my ears. I tried to force myself to sleep. I needed to keep my mind sharp in order to find Haddock’s grave.
I turned to my side. The wall held my interest as much as the ceiling. I closed my eyes and refused to open them.
Visions danced through my head, drawings, designs, and mathematical formulae. I often used the time just before sleep to try to piece together my grandest ideas. I pictured the clues I had thus far. In my mind I could see a puzzle, but the center was missing. It was an enormous dark hole that no amount of knowledge could fill.
The vision shifted and swirled until I lost hold on the control over my mind and fell into dreams.
I saw Will walking some distance ahead of me in the shadowy dark. It was as if we were back in the tunnel once more. I didn’t know how I knew it to be Will, something about his walk and the way he held his shoulders. There was no mistake; I simply knew it was him.
“Will!” I called, but my voice caught in my throat and wouldn’t come out. I tried to run, but my feet felt stuck in mud. All the while he kept walking, drawing farther and farther away from me.
“Wait,” I shouted, though the sound died in the darkness. I pushed forward, trying to drag myself toward him, but the invisible murk that had captured my legs stole up through my body and would not release me. I couldn’t move.
Then I saw a light—warm and flickering at the end of the tunnel. My throat constricted as I tried to scream Will’s name, but no sound would come out. The light was fire.
The flames reached up, growing and stretching until they became a massive wall of flame. Will continued to walk as if he didn’t see it.
“No!” I screamed. I fought at my bonds. “No. Will, stop! Turn back!”
I fell forward onto my knees as Will reached the flames. I fought and fought, throwing myself on the ground and clawing forward, but it was no use.
He stepped into the inferno.
“Will!” I screamed. I watched the blaze consume him. The wall of fire circled around him, and he writhed in the center of a maelstrom of flame. He twisted and reached back to me, but his hand and arm had turned to ash. His entire body became gray, breaking apart and crumbling before my eyes.
He blew away in a ravaging wind.
I sat upright in my bed, sweat clinging to my chest and soaking the hair at my brow. I panted in fear as my heart raced. My throat felt dry and strained, as if I hadn’t had a drink of water in years.
I threw my cover back and swung my feet to the floor. Without thinking, I padded across the room on my bare feet without a candle and cracked open the door. The wood floor felt like ice, but I still felt hot in spite of it.
Without hesitation I snuck down the narrow hall until I found the door to Will’s room.
I had to see him. I lifted my hand to knock, but stopped myself.
If I were caught in front of his door—or worse, in his bedroom—my reputation would be in shambles and we’d be forced to marry under inauspicious circumstances. I opened my hand and pressed it to the wood. I leaned in close until my forehead touched the door as well.
A tear slipped from my eye as I forced myself to calm the lingering effects of my panic. In the quiet of the night, I could hear Will snoring softly while he slept.
I hated the separation. I hated all the blasted barriers that stood between the two of us. I wanted to pound on the door in frustration, or forget all bounds of respectability. I wanted to crawl into the warmth and safety of Will’s arms and finally find my peace.
On shaking legs I turned away and crept back to my own room.
I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. I felt I had survived ten full years by the time the sun rose again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WE LEFT NOT LONG AFTER dawn for the Père Lachaise Cemetery. Thankfully, there was no snow, but it was still a bitterly cold morning. I could see my breath floating in the air as we climbed into the small open carriage Gustave had borrowed from a friend. He took the reins, and I sat beside him, while Will swung himself up onto a small luggage platform on the back.
I gripped my satchel more tightly. Marie Marguerite had been kind enough to lend me her dress for a second day, as well as a proper bonnet, but the skirts had no pockets. I was reduced to carrying around a satchel with my things instead of having both my hands free. I couldn’t seem to get used to the hindrance.
Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how one looked upon it—Marie Marguerite woke feeling quite unwell, and so she didn’t accompany us. Perhaps she was already carrying her first child. It was an unsettling thought, though I didn’t know why it should be. Besides, there was no room for her in the carriage. We would have had to take a taxi. That would have been quite expensive, considering Gustave’s house was on the west end and we had to cross the whole of the city to reach the eastern side.
In spite of the cold morning, I loved the carriage ride. We followed the Seine east through the city. The river shone, silver in the cold morning light. To my left the entire city seemed to be made of nothing but palaces. There was a fine and elegant air to Paris that made it uniquely romantic. I wished we could have stopped so I could take in all the sights, especially as we passed near the island that was home to Notre Dame. I strained to see the roof of the cathedral, but couldn’t make it out over the rooftops of the city.
Gustave snapped the reins next to me. “The city is beautiful this morning, no?” he asked, clearly pleased with my infatuation.
Will shifted behind me, then crouched on the platform, twisting so he could speak softly between us. “I think we are being followed.”
I immediately turned my head, but Will stopped me with a sharp, “Be still!” It was hardly more than an urgent whisper, but I froze. “If you turn around, they’ll know we’re watching. It’s a covered coach, not far behind us.”
Gustave straightened but didn’t give any other indication that something was wrong. “How long have they been behind us?”
“Since we came along the river,” Will said. He adjusted his position so his arm looped lazily over the back of the seat, not a care in the world.
“They may be touring the city. It�
��s natural to follow the river,” I said. I really hoped that was the case, but even I doubted my words. Will was cautious, but he was hardly ever wrong about these things.
“Let’s hope so,” Will said.
An unsettled feeling consumed my middle as I gripped the edge of the seat. During the summer the man in the clockwork mask had proven himself a patient predator as he’d waited for moments of confusion or distraction to strike.
If he’d discovered our presence in the city, he would have the clear advantage in a game of cat and mouse. He was familiar with Paris and we were not. I pulled a small round mirror out of my satchel and used it to peer behind me. There was a fair amount of traffic on the streets, and the jostling of the carriage made it impossible for me to hold the mirror steady enough to get a good look.
My nemesis had planted a bomb in my toy shop to try to flush me out into the open. There’s no telling what he could do to poor Marie Marguerite if he knew where we were staying. She was alone in the home.
Gustave turned to the left so suddenly, it jolted me into the side of the seat. I braced myself as he snapped the reins and urged the horse into a brisk trot. At a wide boulevard we turned again to the right, and the force of it pushed me into Gustave’s side. I righted myself as he snapped the reins again. Will had managed to hang on and was now on his feet on the platform, crouched behind us again. “They’re still following,” he said.
Gustave didn’t look away from the street before him. His eyes squinted into the sun and he scowled. “When we reach the gates, go inside the cemetery quickly.” Gustave raised his voice so that we could hear him above the clatter of the wheels. “Will, be on guard. I’ll do my best to draw whoever it is away. The grave you are searching for is near the tomb of Héloïse and Abelard. When you enter the promenade, turn to the right. It is not far. The grave you seek is a black stone on the ground. You will know when you see it.”
Shadow of the War Machine (The Secret Order) Page 16
