The Lady in the Coppergate Tower (Proper Romance)

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Terrified, she lifted a shaking hand to the Tesla sconce nearest her and turned the knob. A familiar hum filled the room as the light came to life, though she kept it dim to avoid blinding herself. She looked around the room quickly, but whatever she’d expected to see wasn’t there. The room was empty, and the only sounds were the hum of the lamp and her own uneven breaths.

  The next morning, as Sam made his way to the Main Room for breakfast, he reflected on how well he had slept the night before. When he had first set foot on the submarine, the idea of sleep had seemed impossible, but Hazel’s gift of hanging lights in his room had been the perfect remedy.

  He’d been overwhelmed with gratitude for Hazel’s thoughtfulness. Which he’d expressed to her repeatedly, like a fool.

  He still couldn’t say what had happened to him. One moment he had been profoundly touched and charmed, and the next he had kissed her hand and looked at her—truly looked at her—and saw a woman becoming herself, not a young woman whose eyes were a constant reservoir of uncertainty and vulnerability. Somehow, in the last few months, she’d ceased looking so young.

  And she had never been more beautiful.

  She had quite taken his breath away, and he’d fallen all over himself trying to escape her cabin before he did something foolish, like kiss her. He’d felt the sensation before—that night at her home when Petrescu had stormed into her life; had it been only two days ago?—but he’d dismissed the urge as a strange phenomenon brought about by a desire to protect a friend and the proximity in which he found that friend’s pretty lips.

  He entered the Main Room to find Hazel and the count already present. He felt his heart lift at seeing Hazel, but then paused. She was subdued, and bore faint traces of telltale smudges beneath her eyes, a true sign of a sleepless night.

  “Hazel, dear,” Petrescu said, “you seem distant. Are you feeling well?” The count was the very picture of paternal concern, and Sam wished he knew why it rang so patently false.

  Hazel cleared her throat and managed a smile. “I slept rather fitfully, but I suspect it is a result of recent excitement. I feel fine, otherwise.”

  Hazel said little at breakfast, despite Petrescu’s innocuous questions and attempts to engage her in conversation.

  The count tried another tack, instead asking Sam questions about Eugene’s programming and features. Sam explained Eugene’s system of tins that controlled his activity and “thinking,” all the while wondering if Petrescu truly cared about the latest in ’ton technology. The man’s eyes occasionally flicked to Hazel, assessing, and Sam knew Petrescu was as curious about Hazel’s subdued demeanor as he was.

  “Fascinating,” Petrescu said to Sam. “I fear our ’tons at Castle Petrescu are rather basic, and we have a proud tradition of hiring local villagers. Some families have been with us for generations.”

  Sam refrained from smirking. Hearing Petrescu refer to his home as “Castle Petrescu” made him want to laugh at the absurd arrogance of it. “I find that commendable,” he said instead. “Employing people is a preferable choice, of course. Most Londoners who require servants utilize a combination of both.”

  As the ’tons cleared away the last of the dishes, Petrescu smiled and clapped his hands together once. “Now, how do you both plan to spend your time today? Dr. MacInnes, surely you must have business to attend to, but Hazel, perhaps you will allow me to give you a tour of my ship? I would love to show you the best part of the Magellan—the Control Room. You saw it from outside at the docks, but to witness it in deep dive is a thing to behold.”

  She smiled. “I would love to see it. It certainly was an impressive sight from the outside.”

  “Excellent.” He rose and extended his arm as she stood.

  She glanced at Sam and then put her hand in the crook of her uncle’s elbow.

  “My work can wait,” Sam said, though the idea of standing in a glass room so far beneath the surface made his heart pound. He had done incredibly difficult things in his life, from surgery in the middle of a battlefield to saving the life of a friend with a heartclock device he’d created himself. He could look out of a large window into the ocean. He couldn’t allow his phobia to prevent him from protecting Hazel.

  Petrescu glanced at him with a brow raised in surprise. “Oh, you’ll join us, then? Excellent. I am glad.”

  Sam pursed his lips at the count’s dry tone, more determined than ever to not leave Hazel alone with the man.

  “Shall we?” Petrescu said, gesturing toward the doors.

  Sam’s head spun as he followed Petrescu through the massive submersible. Hazel walked with him, her expressive eyes large. The engine rooms required a small army to run. A conservatory boasted comfortable seating, as well as a pianoforte, cello, viola, violin, flute, and harp. There were ’tons at the ready to play, identical in uniform and features befitting their station in that room. Upon Petrescu’s request, they performed a delightful musical number.

  The ship’s library boasted floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound volumes, some extremely old, and ladders were interspersed for easier access to the books. ’Tons unique again in appearance and uniform shelved volumes and wiped nonexistent dust from tabletops and chair backs.

  The “small” infirmary Petrescu had mentioned was complete with surgical stretchers and medical equipment every bit as advanced as Sam’s own clinic at home. Three ’tons were present and wore attire common to medical assistants. Petrescu assured him their programming had been updated while in London with the latest in medical advances and studies.

  Sam was handling his anxiety better with each passing hour, and was able to focus his attention not only on Petrescu, but the craft itself. If not for the fact that there were no windows showing the outside world—the terra firma outside world—they might have been in a grand hotel or museum.

  One element working in his favor was that the submersible was more massive than anything he’d ever traveled in. If he could remind himself that traditional claustrophobia wasn’t a problem, he found he could remain upright and not require the use of the infirmary’s gurney.

  They rode the convenient lift situated next to the Grand Staircase, which was large enough to carry the three of them comfortably, but tight enough that Sam was grateful when the ride was done, and Petrescu led them to a door which he unlocked.

  Indicating within, he said, “This is my personal study, where I conduct business affairs. I’m certain the library will suffice should you have need of work space for business affairs.” Sam’s quick glance inside before they moved on showed a room decorated in dark mahogany, richly adorned with more eclectic pieces that seemed to be scattered throughout the rest of the ship.

  “Tell me about your home, Uncle,” Hazel said, and Sam followed them from the room. “You’ve said it has been in the family for generations?”

  Petrescu smiled. “Ah, my dear, you will quite adore it, I believe. It is informally called ‘Coppergate,’ due to the copious amounts of the material our ancestors used in its construction. Some has been replaced and thus has yet to take on the green hue that copper assumes after years of exposure to the elements. I find it a delightful combination of old and new.

  “I have fitted it with treasures from my many travels. It is large, of course, with the elements you find on this ship multiplied tenfold. The library there, I believe, will be of particular interest to you. We have the distinct honor of housing the most exclusive privately held collection of first-edition classic literature in all of Europe. It is a hobby of mine, one in which I take immense pride. I continue to search far and wide for rare items—published works and private writings—from the finest minds and cultures.”

  Hazel nodded, appearing serene as ever, but Sam noted her left fist was clenched at her side as they returned to the lift. “And your pieces here on the ship itself—I note statuary and artwork from widely varied cultures. Some of the sty
les are familiar to me, and others I’m certain I’ve never seen. You must have traveled the world over.” Her voice sounded light, engaging, and had Sam not seen the evidence of her discomfort, he would have believed her performance.

  “Yes, yes,” Petrescu said and opened the lift gate. “Please, ask me about anything that catches your eye. I am happy to share my adventures.” He smiled. With his white teeth, compelling eyes and features, and thick head of hair, he should have been handsome, but the underlying currents of something cold surrounded the nobleman like a cloak. “And now, shall we tour the Control Room?”

  Hazel glanced at Sam, concern in her eyes, but he took a deep breath and nodded.

  Petrescu followed Hazel’s gaze and spoke to her, though clearly his words were meant for Sam. “Some people find the clear evidence of our position in the depths of the sea to be overwhelming. The windows hide nothing from view, and the ship’s lights illuminate a world entirely different than the one we enjoy on the surface.”

  Sam held Petrescu’s eye contact and remained silent for a long, protracted moment before finally offering a tight smile. “I am sure I’ll find it awe-inspiring.”

  “I would be disappointed otherwise. It really is a most spectacular sight.” He placed his free hand over Hazel’s fingers. “Fascinating,” he said to her, “is it not? That grown adults sometimes develop fears of things even small children can manage?”

  Hazel didn’t respond but smoothly moved aside for Sam to join them in the lift. She dropped her hand from the count’s arm and inched closer to Sam—just a tiny shift in her stance—and the fabric of her skirt brushed his leg. Her nearness was an odd combination of soothing and pleasant discomfort, and by focusing on her instead of the lift’s confines, the tight band across his chest lessened.

  “Tell me about your assistant, Renton,” Hazel said as the lift jerked and then smoothly descended. “He sounds British. Has he been long in your employ?”

  “I found Renton in a dockside tavern, years ago, looking worse for the wear, but amenable to gainful employment. He has proved loyal and steadfast. I would be quite at sea without him.” Petrescu chuckled at his own pun.

  They descended to the lowest level, and Sam exited the lift behind Hazel and Petrescu. He followed them down a long hallway, focusing on the conversation to keep himself distracted.

  “You’ve also given Renton an opportunity to travel, which I should think would be attractive to someone in a position to enjoy it.” Hazel paused, waiting for Sam to draw up alongside her.

  Petrescu held out his hand toward a wide set of double doors. “This deck contains the engine room, storage room, and maintenance supplies, but I have saved the best for last. My personal favorite.” He opened the doors with a flourish. “I do hope you enjoy the splendid view.”

  Sam stared, openmouthed, at the sight before them.

  Hazel drew in her breath when Dravor opened the doors. The near end of the room was lined with shelves containing charts and sailing instruments. A ship’s wheel and periscope dominated the center of the room on a raised dais, but catching her eye and holding it were the front windows that showed the ocean outside the craft as clearly as if there were no glass at all. A peculiar ping sounded in the background, noticeable but unobtrusive.

  The submersible moved through the water at an incredible rate of speed, discernible only because of the small fish and particulates that zoomed past the window. Dravor gave one of the five ’tons instructions to gradually slow their speed, and Hazel felt the subtle pull of the engines. She looked at Sam, who stared at the sight, rooted to the spot.

  She ventured slowly toward the window seat that spanned the front of the chamber, rested her knee on the cushion, and placed her hand on the glass.

  As the craft continued to slow, individual shapes loomed larger and became clearer. She spied a host of creatures she’d never seen before, never imagined existed, and at another soft command from Dravor, a ’ton illuminated the view with an additional set of powerful exterior lights. The beams cut through the darkness, extending into the depths until even their powerful reach was ineffective.

  Dravor joined her at the window, and she looked at him, wanting to appear sophisticated and unaffected but knowing her eyes were huge with shock and wonder. He chuckled and nodded toward the view before them. “A pod of whales just ahead.” He pointed up and to the right. “Do you see?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. They were huge. She’d only seen drawings in books, never imagined she would one day see the actual creature in its habitat. To the left was a strange animal with a bulbous head and tentacles that undulated slowly near a school of fish. “An octopus!” she breathed. They eventually passed the creatures, and she craned her neck to watch until they were out of sight.

  She felt a presence at her other side and turned to see Sam, who also stared out in wonder. “I believe I am too awestruck to be panicked,” he murmured.

  “It is incredible,” Hazel told Dravor. “I daresay most people have never seen such a thing.”

  Dravor nodded. “We are among the fortunate few. You are both welcome to visit this room whenever you wish.”

  A sound to their right caught her attention, bringing to mind an object being sucked through a tube. Just at the corner of her eye, she spied a fabric sack being jettisoned from the submersible and then floated, suspended in the water, until they passed and it was no longer visible.

  “What on earth was that?” she asked Dravor.

  “Trash, waste products—things of that sort. I do not care to keep refuse aboard the ship, so we offload as necessary. I also have a small submersible for use in making quick trips ashore when I do not wish to dock the entire Magellan. The torpedo tube comes in handy for many purposes.”

  Hazel frowned. “But to dump all that waste into the ocean—might it harm the wildlife?”

  Dravor chuckled. “Sailors have been dumping trash overboard since the dawn of time. The wildlife appears wholly unaffected, as you can see. The ocean is a very big place.” He smiled at Hazel and then Sam. “I must conduct some business in my office. Are the two of you comfortable enough to freely wander the ship?”

  “We are,” Sam answered. “I believe I shall follow your earlier suggestion and work in the library. Will you join me, Hazel?”

  Hazel nodded and looked up at him. “I do have correspondence to write, and I was hoping to peruse those beautiful shelves in more detail.”

  “Excellent.” Dravor beamed. “I shall leave you to enjoy the view here and continue your activities at your leisure.” He gave a short, courtly bow, instructed his pilot ’ton to resume former speed, and took his leave.

  Hazel looked out at the ocean beyond, her feelings a conflicted tangle. “Perhaps his intentions are not entirely nefarious,” she murmured.

  “I am reserving judgment,” Sam said. “He is all things affable for the moment.”

  “Perhaps he really is nothing more nor less than he has presented.”

  “That would be a delightful turn of events.” Sam’s eyes met hers in the reflected window, and his mouth was a grim line. “I would love nothing more than to be convinced his intentions are simple and for your best good.”

  “Do you truly wish to spend time in the library today?”

  “I do.” He leaned close. “Perhaps we could discuss this privately.”

  Hazel nodded. The room was staffed with ’tons, any one of which might be programmed to make a recording of conversations around it. The pull of the craft as it resumed its former speed through the dark increased, and Hazel widened her stance to maintain balance. The ocean’s residents again became a blur, the steady ping continued, and Hazel considered for one horrifying moment that all that separated them from the frightening abyss beyond were a few inches of metal and glass.

  She clasped Sam’s arm. If her mind was taking fanciful tangents, how long would it be before
his did? His expression was controlled, but his pallor was worrisome. She tugged him from the window, out of the Control Room, and to the lift.

  They rode upward in silence, and Hazel noticed that Sam’s breathing seemed more steady now that they were away from the view of the ocean.

  “Now,” she said as they stepped out of the lift, “what are you hoping to find in the library?”

  “Evidence of your family’s ancestry.” He paused. “You have been withdrawn this morning. Has something happened?”

  Hazel took a deep breath. “I thought someone was in my room last night while I was asleep. It wasn’t Sally; I asked her this morning.”

  They began climbing the Grand Staircase, and Sam stopped in his tracks. “Why did you not telescribe me? Hazel, who do you suppose it was? Is anything missing?”

  “No,” she said and nudged him to resume the ascent. “I do not know who it was, and nothing is missing. I was horrifically tired, so perhaps it was my imagination. Regardless, I felt uneasy, and I hardly slept afterward. I am weary today, hence my reserve.”

  “I want your word that you will sleep with your scriber close at hand.”

  “I promise,” she said with a smile.

  They reached the top deck and made the short walk to the library doors. The room lifted Hazel’s heart. Even having seen it before, she doubted she would ever tire of the sight. Three ’tons were in the room, one shelving an armful of books and the other two dusting.

  The ’ton holding the books smiled and said, “We are happy to help you find anything you need.”

  “Thank you, that is much appreciated.” Hazel wondered if they ever tired of repeating the same tasks. It wasn’t as though the library was regularly used by a large population. But of course ’tons didn’t tire; they weren’t human. They could dust the same shelves eternally, stopping only when a charge was necessary.