by Gwynn White
Beside me, Sal stiffened and took a step away from Byron and me.
Reaching into his pocket, Byron pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from my face. I caught his intoxicating orange blossom and patchouli scent in the soft material. “What have they done to you?” he asked and pulled me close to him. Part of me wanted to fall into the crush of his chest, but then I opened my eyes and saw Sal. I pulled back.
“Can you cut me loose?” I asked.
He let me go. I turned my back to Byron so he could snip the ropes. I looked at Sal who looked straight ahead and not at me.
“Who are they?” Byron asked.
“The Dilettanti. They have been tracking Lily since she left London. They were after the kaleidoscope,” Sal answered.
“Colonna, isn’t it?” Byron asked.
“Yes, my Lord.”
Byron laughed. “No need for formality. I am a fan of your inventions, tinker” he said, clapping Sal on the shoulder. “But your face is a mess.”
“That is their handiwork,” I said, motioning toward the henchmen who stood silently on the other side of the ship. I rubbed my wrists where the rope had burned them.
“Who do you work for?” Byron asked them. His voice was dark and serious.
They all looked at the ground.
I saw a sparkle in Byron’s eyes, the glimmer of madness which I had seen before on only a few occasions. I knew it to be dangerous.
“Let me ask you again,” he said, and I noticed his cheeks had begun to flush red as he crossed the deck toward the men. As if the look in his eyes was not telling enough, Byron’s limp became pronounced. Always self-conscious about his condition, Byron usually took great care to hide the birth defect. When he was distracted, however, that was another matter. “No one wants to talk?” he asked them.
None of the men spoke.
“You work for Knight, don’t you?” I said.
One of the men looked up.
“Richard Payne Knight?” Byron asked me.
I nodded. “He paid me a little visit in Venice. He was looking for the kaleidoscope.”
Byron turned back to the men. “The lady asked you a question,” he told them.
No one spoke.
“Well, this is boring,” he said then turned to his crew and gave orders.
In a heartbeat, the soldiers turned and shot three of the henchmen. They then unmoored the Hephaestus and tossed lit lanterns onto its deck. Oil spilled across the gondola. With a great boom, the ship caught fire. As the vessel floated from us back into the clouds, it became engulfed in flame, and soon the burning wreck fell toward the sea.
The remaining Dilettanti henchman watched the ship burn. “She’s right. We work for Knight,” the man said.
“Thank you for confirming,” Byron replied and motioned for his crew to throw the man overboard. The henchmen fell screaming from the Bacchus.
Lady Caroline Lamb was the one who had called Byron “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” And in that moment, I suspected this was the side of him to which she was referring. But this was the Byron who had saved us.
Byron looked around the ship. Spotting Celeste, he knelt down and helped her up.
“Celeste? Whatever are you doing here?” he asked.
I felt my eyebrows furrow but tried to hide my reaction. Apparently the instinct I’d had in Venice was right.
“Lord Byron,” she whispered.
“Looks like you’ve had quite the adventure, Lily,” he said with a smile. His blue eyes twinkled.
“That is an understatement. But we do have an injured man here,” I said, motioning to the balloonman who was nursing his shoulder. “Is Dr. Thomas traveling with you?” I asked.
“He is. Let’s get you and your crew aboard the Hercules. I’ll tow your ship to Athens.”
I half expected Celeste to protest against leaving the Aphrodite aboard the Bacchus, but she made her way onto the Hercules without complaint. Perhaps she was feeling just as I did: safe.
Roni’s crewmen went with Byron’s physician while Byron led Sal, Celeste, and me to his Captain’s quarters. The space was small but voluptuously decorated. Windows looked out onto the deck on three sides, and the wood paneling gleamed. He had a small meeting space outfitted with expensive chairs that had blue velvet upholstery. Behind them was a large captain’s desk upon which he’d spread several maps. In the back of the quarters was a curtained space where, no doubt, one could find his sleeping area.
Byron’s servants cleaned us up. My nose throbbed. And it never felt good to lose a tooth. I eyed Sal over. He had a black eye and a bruised cheek. He flinched as he settled into his seat.
“Is your rib broken?” I asked him.
Sal’s eyes met mine. There was a strange expression on his face. Was he angry? Had I done something wrong? “I’ll be all right,” he said and sat back.
Byron also looked a little rougher than I was used to seeing him. His hair did not curl as primly as usual, and his clothing looked less than freshly pressed.
“You were lucky. I just broke the ship in. We are returning from a campaign,” Bryon explained as he poured us all a drink.
I polished mine off and held the glass out for a refill. Byron smiled at me and filled the glass to the rim.
“There are no words to express our gratitude,” Celeste said.
“Well, words were never your strong suit, my dear,” he told her then turned to me. “Now…someone tell me…what exactly is going on? Lily?”
I looked from Sal, who would not meet my gaze, to Celeste, who begged me with her eyes to keep quiet. Again, Byron’s reputation had preceded him. In that moment, I realized that I was the only one in the room who really understood Byron. And that realization struck me with a terrible sense of confusion. I was in love with Sal. Of that there was no longer any doubt. And Sal was in love with me. But somewhere along the way, I had forgotten to really process what I had with Byron. We were lovers, that much was true, but Byron trusted me the way he trusted few others, and I would not betray his faith for the world. After all, I trusted Byron the way I trusted few others. In that moment, I realized I would never break his faith, but I might have to break his heart. Then, I worried that they might be the same thing.
I looked at Sal again. His long hair hung all around his face. He had closed his eyes and pressed his glass against his forehead. I understood what plagued his mind: me.
“The kaleidoscope led to the lost sculpture Aphrodite of Knidos. We recovered the sculpture, and it is stowed in the galley of the Bacchus. Celeste needs to take the sculpture to Lesvos where it can be safely hidden by the secret sect of Aphrodite to which she belongs.”
Celeste’s mouth hung open.
Sal opened his eyes and looked at me.
Byron lifted his drink to his lips, took a long sip, and smiled at me with his eyes.
“All right, Lily. Let’s get the ships back to Athens, and I’ll have a private vessel, someone I trust, take Celeste and the statue to Lesvos. Where are you and Mr. Colonna headed?”
“Back to Venice,” I answered for both of us. I looked at Sal. He seemed perplexed.
Byron sighed and slumped down into his chair. He tossed back his drink and set the glass down on the table. He smiled at me. “Care for an aperitif?” he asked, motioning toward his opium pipe sitting on the table beside him. I had noticed it as soon as I’d entered the room. The sweet scent of opium still perfumed the air. Apparently he’d just used it himself.
“I’ll pass tonight. I’ve had enough stimulation for one day.”
Byron laughed. “Is there such a thing? I’ve never known you to find its limits before.”
I turned and looked at Sal. It was clear from his expression that this entire situation was making him uncomfortable.
“Things change,” I said with a smile.
“Too much change is unhealthy. You know, I was thinking it was rather lucky that the four of us are together,” Byron said slyly. “Mr. Colonna, I have to tell you how
much I admired the bodice you made for Lily. That was your work, wasn’t it? Your hands are rather genius. I can only imagine what they must be able to do. It was a rather tedious campaign. I’d like to suggest we all have another drink and move our conversation to my sleeping quarters.”
“All of us?” Celeste asked. I could tell from the expression on her face that she had not really meant to say it aloud.
Byron shrugged and poured himself another drink. “I didn’t think it was outside your repertoire.”
I wanted to bury my face in my hands.
“I’m afraid that is not my style, Lord Byron. But I do appreciate the compliment,” Sal said and then rose, again nursing his broken rib. “If you will excuse me, I’ll be on deck.”
I feared then how Byron would respond. To my great relief, Byron laughed out loud. “How disappointing! But, it’s no wonder Lily likes you. As you wish,” Byron said then tipped his glass at Sal.
Sal nodded to him, gave me a long look, then left the Captain’s quarters. My fingers itched to follow him, to nurse his wounds, to whisper in his ear and do away with any worries that plagued his mind. He knew how much I loved him, didn’t he?
“Celeste?” Byron asked, turning to her.
“I, too, must pass, Lord Byron. I hit my head rather hard and need rest.”
“As you like it. I’m beginning to think I’m losing my charm, Lily,” Byron said and rose. He went to the door of the Captain’s quarters and called to a crewman. He motioned to Celeste. “He will take you to a private room,” Byron told her. After she left, he came and sat very close to me. He took my hand. “Are you all right?”
I nodded.
“It seems like your adventure was rather…revealing,” he said carefully.
“Revealing?”
“How many years have we been together?” he asked me, stroking the nape of my neck.
“More than four,” I said thoughtfully.
Byron nodded. “More than four years. Do you know what I’ve always liked about you?”
I smiled slyly at him. “I think there are many things.”
He laughed. “That is true…no one understands me as you do. But what I love most about you is that you are honest, in your words and in your heart. I know you love me. And, in truth, I love you. But I can never love you the way that man who just left loves you.”
I looked at Byron. “What should I do?”
“It depends. What do you want? You can come to my bed, or you can go after him. The choice is yours.”
I looked at Byron. “I want you to see the Aphrodite.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Now?”
I nodded.
He took another drink and considered. “Lead the way.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was already dark when Byron and I made our way back onto the Bacchus. I gazed up at the stars. Ophiuchus was visible in the night sky. We held our lanterns aloft as we crossed the deck of the ship. I stepped carefully around the puddles of blood. Roni was not going to be happy.
“It’s in a crate in the galley,” I told Byron.
“How did you get it in there?”
“Sal reconfigured the gears to be used as a pulley.”
“Genius. I like your tinker, Lily.”
I laughed. “So I noticed.”
“You’ll need to loosen him up.”
“I like him as he is.”
“Be careful. He may domesticate you.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“For you? Yes.”
When we got below, I hung up the lantern and crawled over the gears to the crate. “Hand me the prise bar.”
Byron passed it to me. I loosened the nails, pried open the lid, and slid it off. Part of me half expected, well, something, but this was not my moment. The Aphrodite lay where we had left her amongst the golden straw. Wind blew in from the opening in the prow and ruffled the padding around her. It gave the effect that she was moving. I smiled at her. In the light of the lantern, she glimmered magnificently.
“Let me crawl out so you can see her. There isn’t room for both of us,” I said and slid back toward the galley opening where Byron waited.
We exchanged places. Byron slipped between the gears and worked his way toward the crate. I handed his lantern to him then crawled out of the galley to the deck of the ship.
Once on deck, I dug into my satchel and pulled out the tin of Cutter’s tobacco and a pipe. I lit up. I gazed up at the stars. The tobacco didn’t make my headache go away, but it comforted me. I blew smoke rings into the air and watched them twist away in the wind. Below deck, Byron was silent.
I finished the first pipe then smoked a second. Venus was no longer visible in the evening sky. On the deck of the Bacchus behind me, I heard something rolling. I looked back to see the kaleidoscope lying forgotten on the deck. It glimmered in the moonlight. I got up and retrieved it. I lifted it toward the night’s sky. I was startled and saddened to find that the glass within was cracked.
I tried to center the kaleidoscope on Ophiuchus. Not only did the image of Knidos fail to appear, but for a brief moment, I thought I saw Mr. Fletcher’s face. I sat back down, leaned my head against the rail, and looked up at the stars.
The first two years after Mr. Oleander and Nicolette had died, my relationship with Mr. Fletcher was made up of a strange mixture of awkwardness and affection. The lie we shared seemed to cement us together. With Mr. Oleander out of our home, something changed between my foster father and me. We grew very close and were very sweet with one another. I began to feel certain that my foster father really loved me.
Mr. Fletcher had sold the flat on Neal’s Yard and had rented a small loft in the building next to Rheneas’ tavern. The flat only had one room. The space was fine for a father and daughter. I clung desperately to Mr. Fletcher who seemed to enjoy our closeness. I loved being loved. All my life I had wanted someone to really love me, to see me as someone worth keeping, worth loving. Through Mr. Fletcher, my father, I finally found what I was looking for: unconditional love.
In the meantime, we were still flying. Mr. Fletcher had sold the ill-fated Iphigenia to a Dutch crew and had picked up a new vessel, the Irish-built Deirdre. The Deirdre was fast and sleek. On her, I began to learn how to pilot like a champion.
In the year after Mr. Oleander’s death, Mr. Fletcher had hired Angus to apprentice in the galley of the Deirdre. From the start, Angus and I got along very well, but Angus never liked Mr. Fletcher.
“His eyes are too hungry,” Angus would say.
It was the first time I’d ever heard the phrase and wasn’t quite sure what he’d meant. One spring morning, however, I found out.
Mr. Fletcher woke me earlier than usual. “Get up, Lily. We’ve got some business to attend to today,” he said, shaking my shoulder gently.
Since we lacked space, Mr. Fletcher and I had taken to sharing the same bed. He almost never got up before I did.
“But it’s Monday,” I complained. We never ran fares on Mondays. On the weekends we worked around the clock. I was exhausted.
“Not that kind of business. We’ve got legal business to get on with,” he explained. “Get dressed. I laid out some new clothes for you.”
I woke tiredly and stumbled to the table where I discovered that Mr. Fletcher had purchased me not just new clothes, but a dress. I lifted the gown. The style was modern and very similar to the attire I’d seen the female air jockeys wearing. The bodice was constructed with black leather and purple velvet. The skirt, which was very short, had high splits up both legs. I set the clothes back down on the table and burst into tears.
“Lily?”
“How could you!”
“How could I what?” Mr. Fletcher looked confused.
“I can’t. I can’t be like Nicolette!”
“Oh, dear Lily, never! My sweet girl, you are grown now. You should dress like a woman. Today is an important day. You should dress the part!”
“The part?”
&nb
sp; “You’ll see. Put it on, and let me see you,” he said, sitting down to watch me change. I slipped my house clothes off and pulled the dress on.
Between Mr. Fletcher watching my clumsy movements and the dress squeezing me, I felt awkward. “How is it?” I asked.
“Very nice!” Mr. Fletcher said and then rose to stand behind me. “I’ll lace it for you. Push your bosom up a bit, Lily. Here, let me help,” he said, his hand scooping under the fabric, adjusting my breasts. I could not help but notice the caress with which he touched me. It made me uncomfortable.
After I got the bodice on, he tightened the laces and unbraided my hair. He pulled a comb through my long locks.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Mr. Fletcher then spun me in a circle. “Perfect. Lily Fletcher, air jockey!” he said with a laugh. “Now, come,” he said, and we headed out.
Mr. Fletcher had arranged for a carriage to take us across town. We road to a section of London with which I was unfamiliar. From the attire of the men moving busily about, I gathered we were near the Inns of Court. Mr. Fletcher led me into an office building. We entered a small, quiet office where two old men sat laboring over massive piles of paper. We sat waiting for a long time before we were called.
“John and Lily Fletcher?”
Mr. Fletcher took me by the hand, and we went to the back. Mr. Fletcher pulled my chair out, and I sat, struggling to find a way to sit in the short dress without showing the whole word what I was made of.
“Papers?” the clerk said, never looking up.
Mr. Fletcher handed a number of papers to him.
“And Mrs. Fletcher will be sole beneficiary of your estate?”
“That is correct,” Mr. Fletcher said.
Confused, I looked at Mr. Fletcher.
“Sign here,” the clerk said.
Mr. Fletcher signed his name.
The clerk stamped the paper. “Can your wife write?”
“Indeed.”
“Sign here, Mrs. Fletcher,” the man said then slid the papers toward me.
I looked aghast at my father.
“Go ahead, Lily,” Mr. Fletcher said.
I signed my name on the paper and leaned back into my seat. I could feel the blood draining from my face.
