by Lily Silver
“Let us hope he doesn’t lose his head over the woman. She’s too young for him, and she’s accustomed to playing upon men’s desires to get what she wants.” He nodded toward the pair as Dan lifted the woman up onto the donkey’s back. “See there, he paid for her donkey ride.”
“Gisele is older than she looks. She confessed she’s thirty-nine, she just tells everyone she’s twenty six so she can keep working. Dan is nearing fifty … Hello …”
Tara’s words were interrupted as the donkey Miss Tisante was riding came directly to her and nuzzled her hand. Dan and the dancer were laughing. Tara joined them when the little bugger started trying to eat her new scarf.
A brown man with tan knee breeches, a loose white shirt and a red turban on his head came to her rescue as he led his animal away from them.
“Want a donkey ride, do you?” Adrian teased, leaning close from behind to whisper in her ear. “I’ll give you one tonight, my sweet, free of charge. You can ride me until we both scream.”
Chapter Eleven
“Shame on you, Lord Dillon!” Tara gasped in mock affront.
She secretly delighted in his sexy talk, but she had to pretend otherwise to make it more interesting between them. If she succumbed too easily, it would be no fun. Make him work for it, she thought with a conspiratorial grin. His lordship was too accustomed to having everything handed to him on a silver platter. “My lord, let’s not make a scene in public,” she teased in a sweet, high voice.
“Why not? Paris appears to celebrate debauchery in every form.”
Tara reached up and patted his cheek with her gloved hand. “Spoken like a true Victorian.”
A huff of warm air caressed her neck. “That is the second time I’ve been referred to thus. I do not fathom the meaning, but the way it is thrust out by you and your giant friend, I gather it is not a compliment.” Adrian’s hand dropped from her shoulder as he came to stand beside her.
“In our time, it’s another way of saying someone is repressed …” she glanced around quickly to see if they were overheard. “Sexually repressed. The Victorian age, at least in England,” Tara explained, putting her hand on his arm to soothe his rancor, “was named after their queen, who was a very prudish, stiff laced woman. So, to be called an English Victorian would be construed as being puritanical. But as you’ve noted, the French in this age have a very different sense of morality than the English.”
“I am not English,” Adrian spoke in a low whisper, saying the last in a hiss. “I see this century, at least this city, as very different than my own time. There is an openness, a joie la vive that was lacking in my country. It bewilders me. Everything I knew before is changed.”
Tara knew that feeling. She placed her arm around his waist, and garnered the profound displeasure of an English woman dressed from neck to toes in stark black who was passing by. “Well, my love, just remember we are visitors here, tourists, and so we can’t understand all the subtle nuances of social mores in this time and customs as one who has lived here all their life.”
Dan and Gisele returned to them from the donkey ride. Gisele was giggling breathlessly, and Dan glowed from within. “Shall we move on. I’d like to show you the Galerie des Machines, Dillon. You’ll be truly bewildered by what you see. It’s in that huge building at the end of the line. Acres of new mechanical wonders.”
Gisele and Tara exchanged a look. Gisele’s nose wrinkled. Clearly the idea of spending time in a machine shed, no matter how prettily it was built for the occasion, did not appeal to her. “You hommes, go to the Galerie. Tara and I shall visit the dress and jewelry displays at the Palace of Diverse Industries. Shall we meet again in two hours time?”
Tara wouldn’t have minded going with the men to view the inventions of the age. She read the English print brochure Adrian had taken at their admittance, and knew that Mr. Edison had over four hundred exhibits, including his new phonograph device. She would like to see the gas powered engine miniature that Gottlieb Daimler brought from Germany, and other wonders of the late nineteenth century. But, likely as not, her husband would not be satisfied with one viewing and she could return with him another time. The expo was scheduled to continue from May thru the end of October.
“I would like to view the fashions,” she agreed, smiling at the men. “Papa, give me your pocket watch.” She held out her hand expectantly to Dan, continuing the ruse of being his adopted daughter. “We can meet you in two hours.”
Dan relinquished the watch to her palm. It felt cool beneath her light cotton glove.
She opened the face to view the time. “Oh, it’s already past 4 o’clock. In two hours it will be time for dinner.” Tara looked to Adrian, wondering if he would mind staying here past dark. He was usually very protective of her, a trait she both loathed and loved. It meant he cared about her, even if his idea about that protection was old fashioned.
“We must stay until dusk.” Gisele insisted. “The fountains are lit with magical lights—C’est tres magnifique. “
“Wait for us outside the clothing exhibit at the Diverse Industries building, ladies,” Adrian said. “We will come for you and escort you through the crowd after dark.”
Gisele giggled again, that silly, school-girl giggle that Tara found annoying but the male of the species seemed to find enthralling. “M’sieur Dillon, you are quite the gallant.”
Adrian did a quick bob to her and smiled at Tara, giving her the impression by his somber eyes that he found the woman’s flirty behavior tedious. “Wait for me at the pavilion, my love.” He stepped forward to take Tara’s gloved hand in his own and lift it to his lips and then withdrew.
At the determined, hungry look in his eyes, and the suggestiveness therein, Tara giggled with delight. Married ninety-one year’s according to the present date, just four months in real time, and the man still made her skin sizzle with desire with just a touch or a soft, sensual phrase.
The men moved off in the direction of the gigantic pavilion housing the mechanical displays, leaving them to pick their way across the fairway to the exhibit Gisele preferred.
“You are so fortunate, Madame Dillon. To have a man to care for you enough to make you his wife, to care for you and shelter you as he does, it is a rare thing in this world.” Gisele’s voice was weighted down with sorrow.
“How did your appointment go last night?” Tara felt sad for the woman who wanted a man to take care of her and take her away from her uncertain life as a cabaret dancer. It made her see her own annoyance with Adrian’s protectiveness in a new light. She had what this woman desperately desired.
Gisele stopped walking. She glanced about them to see who was nearby before whispering, “M’sieur Dupres was much more vigorous than I had hoped.”
“Oh.” Tara blushed at the news. “I suppose such things don’t matter if he’s attractive, or you are attracted to him?”
The pain in her friend’s face before she looked away was heartbreaking. “He is … very wrinkled.” Gisele swallowed hard, and continued. “Everywhere, I … I do not think I—”
Tara thrust up her hand. “No need for details, please.”
The Palace of Diverse Industries was constructed to resemble a real palace. All of the architecture of this entire exposition was breathtaking. It was like walking through a museum, no detail overlooked in the construction of the buildings that housed the exhibits. They walked through the main corridor, past a line of exhibits that beckoned visitors. Gisele seemed to know where she was headed.
Tara stopped outside the entrance to the clothing exhibit to just absorb the grandeur. The wide door was arched and adorned with small carvings of cherubs and flowers amid garland vines. She was feeling overwhelmed by the pure luxury of every building they had encountered at this extravagant festival.
Gisele had stepped inside and was gazing with longing at the exquisite gowns behind glass cases.
Again, Tara compared her surroundings to the county fairs she’d attended as a child. The smell of animals
—goats, horses, pigs and cows—had been the overwhelming impression of those farming celebrations. The patchwork quilt displays were always housed in a simple aluminum barn, along with the sewing and other domestic arts entries. This was almost too much, too over the top. But this was the Victorian Era, a time when ostentation was the norm.
Gisele called to her, and she entered the large open room filled with rows of glass cases displaying gowns from every country in Europe and the Americas. A few exotic costumes from the Indonesian countries were presented alongside the European and American offerings. A table was set up in the back of the exhibit area. Colorful, artistic Victorian postcards were stacked there with contact info of design houses for women to take home. The table also offered pretty little pink and white petite four cakes and small glasses of lemonade for the visitors.
It was a late Sunday afternoon, yet clusters of elegant women floated through the exhibit hall like vibrant flowers waving in the breeze. It was the age of elegance in women’s fashion. Tara gazed down at her plain calico cotton gown that seemed so appropriate for a late spring day when she donned it earlier. She could easily be mistaken for Gisele’s maid in her simple attire. She hung back, and slowly began shrinking into a corner as she watched the crowd of bright clouds dresses swirling about the room. Among her own family Tara felt content in her appearance, but once she was thrust into the throng of well-dressed society women gliding through the room she wanted to retreat. It was a juvenile perception, and yet one she was certain every woman would understand, being the plain country mouse amid a room of sophisticated women surrounding her. The room was suddenly too hot and too close.
Gisele came to her side and took Tara by the arm. She led Tara to a chair and began fanning her face. “Poor darling, perhaps this is all too much for you.”
“I’m fine, really.” It was no good. She wasn’t fooling her friend. “Honestly, I just was a little light headed for a moment.” Tara tried to construct a happy smile to convince Gisele that there was nothing wrong.
“Oui, all the walking in the hot sun, it is too much for you, so soon after your tragedy.” Gisele took a seat beside her. “We will sit until you are rested, oui? The men will tarry over the machines, I fear.”
They sat in the sidelines, watching the wealthy women seeking new designers swarm over the newest lines with coos of admiration. Gisele brought Tara some lemonade offered free of charge. Watching the women proved to be just as entertaining as attending a fashion show, and they had front row seats. They whispered comments to each other as haughty women passed by.
The shadows lengthened in the main corridor. Tara pulled out the pocket watch Dan had surrendered to her. It was nearly six o’clock, they would have half an hour before the men were supposed to arrive. If Gisele’s prediction proved true, the men might be later than promised.
“Come, there is a refreshment booth nearby I would like to visit.” Gisele stood and took Tara’s hand in her own, urging her on. “The proprietors are offering free samples of their new drink. People who like this new formula can place orders that will be delivered worldwide in the coming months once they obtain the proper licensing and patents. Come, you must experience it. The drink is invigorating. It may refresh your spirits, cherie.”
She followed Gisele out of the clothing exhibit and past three arched doorways inside the Diverse Industries building. It was laid sort of like a mall from the future. Gisele led her into a brightly lit but small cafe they had passed previously. Tara admired the large frames of artwork lining the walls as they meandered through the crowd. She wanted to get a closer look at the pieces to see if they were any of the famous artists who were just starting out in this period. It was impossible to get close as the room was narrow, crowded, and filled with tables. It was literally standing room only as they nudged through the crowd to the back wall. The noise and chatter around her made Tara’s head ring, as so many voices crammed into one small room was disorientating. They moved up in line.
A lone man in the corner was playing a haunting melody on a violin. Women lingered at the tables. Men in business suits were standing about in clusters, talking, smoking and sipping a shimmering green opalescent drink from shot glasses. How could so many people be crowded together into one small room, and yet be so happy?
The laughter ringing her in was disjointed, jarring, not truly joyful at all.
At last, they made it past the throng to the bar. Dark-haired bartenders dressed in pale green satin vests, black neckties and white shirts with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows poured green liquid into small shot glasses lined up in front of them. They served the samples one by one to waiting visitors.
The painted signs on the wall in English as well as French said ‘A new revolutionary formula for an old classic—try Lune Nuit Absinthe—a curiously strong yet refreshingly light concoction of inspiration and delight, one free glass per customer’.
Gisele moved up to the counter and boldly asked for two samples.
Tara wedged between two men to stand behind her so the attendant would not chide her friend for ordering two glasses when signs everywhere clearly stated one sample per customer. She met the eyes of the waiter and her mind went numb with fear.
The raven-haired man held her startled gaze. His ebony brows arched up, making him appear Satanic. The cold obsidian eyes seemed to bore into her mind like talons.
Panic roiled within as she stepped back, away from the counter and bumped into the man in line behind her. A rapid string of French drifted past her as she bowed her head and slipped further into the crowd, away from the pale yet dark server with those predatory eyes.
Gisele was oblivious to the exchange. She turned from the counter with a ready smile, bearing two glasses of the green drink for them. Gisele nodded toward an empty table. Tara glanced back, beyond Gisele’s wide brimmed hat. The barkeep was watching them still, marking their progress, watching her. Dark eyes narrowed as she met his gaze, as if in warning.
Her stomach clenched. The air was thick with an undercurrent of darkness that made her flesh prickle and her heart sink with dread. The laughter continued around her, raucous, bawdy laughter that grated against the skin and bit into the nerves. She glanced about at the people who seemed caught up in a wild, unnatural wave of euphoria, who seemed oblivious to the malevolence hiding among them.
After they took their seats Tara turned in her chair to get another glimpse of that creepy bartender again. Another had taken his place, a golden blond lad who looked to be all of seventeen. The frightening man had gone to the back of the room and was conversing with another who had the same dark, sinister appearance. They turned at the same moment, as if sensing her gaze upon them.
“Run, Tara … Run!” The voice belonged to the woman from her dream, Artemisia.
Tara looked about her, hoping to find a corporeal entity to match that tinkling, bell-like whisper. Men were standing at the wall behind her. Gisele was the only woman within whispering distance. She placed a hand over her heart to still the erratic thumping between her breasts.
“Do you not want this?” Gisele prodded, pushing the small dram glass toward Tara. “You must taste it. A new recipe. It is like a glass of magic, it will make you feel better.”
“No, I—I—I need fresh air.” Tara wanted nothing more than to get out of this place, away from those men. She rose and stumbled to the arched entrance on heavy feet and out onto the main corridor. She leaned against the cool stone facade wall to capture her breath and recover from this inane bout of panic.
“Tara, there you are.” Adrian pushed his long, lanky frame away from the arched entrance of the dress exhibit and came striding toward her in the gathering gloom.
The corridor lights came on, dispersing the lengthening shadows. She could see he wasn’t limping or leaning on his cane for support. Adrian was marching with a purpose, his cane held aloft like a king’s scepter instead of a crutch. “I was worried, dearest. You weren’t in the exhibit.”
Dan lingere
d outside the clothing exhibit, his tall silhouette merging with the wall as he finished lighting his cigar. He dropped his booted foot from the wall, waved the match and tossed it away, and then slowly ambled after her husband.
Adrian came to her side and pulled her into his arms, despite the perturbed looks from the matrons passing them. “Sweetheart? You’re shaking. Did something frighten you?”
Chapter Twelve
“Where is Gisele?” Dan came clomping down the corridor to stand beside them.
“She’s in there,” Tara pointed to the entrance behind her. The sick feeling in her gut was going away. She leaned into Adrian’s solid frame as Dan went into the shop to find Gisele.
Her husband had removed his jacket and was placing it about her shoulders. “Perhaps this outing has been too much for you, darlin’.” He lifted her chin with his thumb and was peering at her with worried eyes. “We should go home.”
“I would like to watch the lights come on at the tower first. Why don’t we go sit in the open air?” Tara wanted nothing more than to retreat from all the grandiose displays for a little while and recover her senses. There were rows of chairs set up on the walkway below the fountain so visitors could sit and watch the lights come on at dusk.
“I’ll tell Dan where we’re going.” Adrian left her side and entered the cafe.
Tara leaned against the wall for support in his absence. She pressed herself flat against it to hide from the men inside who had been discussing her moments ago. Why did she feel such an overpowering sensation of dread and panic from merely meeting the eyes of a bartender? Was he a serial killer, a French version of Jack the Ripper? The Ripper was loose in London about now. There was no rational explanation for her reaction to him and his associate.
Within moments, her husband returned with the news that Dan wished to remain at the exposition and would bring Miss Tisante home later that evening.
“You’re tired, my love. It might be best if we returned home after the lighting of the tower.” Adrian’s calm, soothing tone brought peace to her fraying nerves. Tara nodded and allowed him to escort her to the fountain so they could view the moment the tower was lit.
