Stealing Utopia

by Tilda Booth

His embarrassment forgotten, George stood. “Certainly no more trouble than you’ve made by kidnapping me.”

  “Probably not, but I’m much more afraid of getting on Mary’s bad side than I am of getting on yours.” Her mocking smile put his back up even more.

  “Let me go, and I’ll promise never to trouble you or your maid again.”

  “Oh, you’re really not that much trouble. Mary will complain so, but there’s very little that she cannot manage.” She opened the door wide and gestured to it. “I know it’s early, but won’t you have dinner with me while Mary straightens up your room?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Certainly. You may have dinner with me in the sitting room, or you can stay here and listen to Mary as she cleans up after you, and then have a tray of cold tea brought up after she feels that you’ve groveled sufficiently.” At his hesitation, she sighed. “Please, Mr. Wells. I promise that no matter how you feel about me, I am the less onerous option.”

  “Very well.” He followed her out of the room, with the Cockney Jack bringing up the rear. She led him back to the plain sitting room where he’d been held captive the evening before, and took a seat in one of the overstuffed armchairs, leaving him to sit at the settee in front of a table already laid out with china and silverware.

  Reaching for the teapot, she filled his cup. “I hope you are finding your stay with us, if not pleasant, at least tolerable?”

  George clenched his fists. “I should say not.”

  Jane opened her eyes wide. “Complaints? If there is something you desire, within reason, you only need to ask Jack or Mary.”

  An imp inside him made him ask, “Or yourself?”

  He could have sworn that she blushed. “Well, of course. Is something not to your satisfaction?”

  “Something besides being held prisoner?”

  “Yes, something besides that.”

  He hesitated, but he dreaded the return of his earlier ennui enough to say, “Something to read?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m not used to being so inactive, and I thought perhaps I might have some books, or some paper and pen, to occupy myself.”

  Jane tilted her head in consideration. “Some books, certainly. The paper and pen…I think not. I don’t think we would want a written record of your stay here, nor give you the opportunity to fashion written cries for help. And I shudder to think to what use an inventive man like you might put a fountain pen.”

  There was a knock at the door and another veiled maidservant brought in a tureen, steaming and fragrant. Jane looked up. “Ah, Mary, thank you. I shall do the serving.”

  The maid set the tureen in the middle of the table and bobbed a curtsy before leaving.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, George scoffed. “Mary? Surely that’s not the same Mary who attempted to flense me earlier?”

  Jane shrugged. “Mary is as good a name as any, I should think.”

  “As is Jack? Tell me, Jane, why the charade? Why the masks and the false names?”

  “Really, Mr. Wells, I shouldn’t need to explain it to you. It is for their protection, when you are eventually released in response to our demands.”

  “Then why no such precautions for you?”

  There was a conspiratorial gleam in her eye as she leaned close and lowered her voice. “I shall tell you a secret. You are my very last mission. By the time you leave here, I shall be long gone, away from this house, away from London, away where no one shall ever find me. I shall stay until the negotiations for your release have been completed, not a minute more, and then I shall disappear.”

  “The life of crime too much for you?”

  “No need to be sarcastic, Mr. Wells. I believe in our cause, but yes, if you must know, I’m tired.” She ladled creamy soup into his bowl and then her own. “It’s time for me to find some other way, some other place, to help the cause. Revolution, even on a modest scale, asks too much of me. I find I have other priorities now.” Sadness weighted her words, and he thought her eyes were distinctly shadowed, but then she blinked and smiled directly at him as she lifted her spoon. “Try the soup. It’s delicious.”

  It was indeed delicious and he was ravenous, but her sadness interested him even more than the food.

  “Tell me what can make a woman like you give up this life of…adventure.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up in delight. “So I’m an adventuress, am I?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Not in the sense you mean, but I admit that I like the excitement of living by my wits. Tell me that you don’t, Mr. Wells, and I’m afraid I would have to accuse you of prevarication.”

  “I make a living with my brain, yes, but it’s not the same thing at all.”

  “It’s not? Are you sure?”

  “How can you compare scientific research with kidnapping and extortion?”

  “You’re right. It does sound much less exciting.”

  “Oh, you’re impossible.” George couldn’t decide if he wanted to throttle her or do something else to her at that moment, and his mind shied away from the other, non-throttling possibilities.

  “Yes, I’ve been told that.” This time, her grin was as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

  “More wine, Mr. Wells?” Without waiting for an answer, Jane motioned to Jack, and the masked manservant came forward and refilled both empty glasses. In the three evenings that they had enjoyed each other’s company over dinner, she’d learned that Wells was usually good for at least a second glass of wine, though never a third. She didn’t want to admit to herself how charming he was when he let down his guard, or how much she had come to look forward to their evenings together. Tonight, the sound of the rain outside pelting roof and windows created an exceptionally cozy atmosphere in the study.

  Wells narrowed his eyes. “You won’t win the argument by getting me intoxicated.”

  She took a sip of her wine. “I have no illusions that I will be able to win. I’m merely skeptical that such a thing as time travel is even theoretically possible.”

  “Ah well.” He chuckled. “Truthfully so am I. There’s been some speculation that time is a fourth dimension, that with more knowledge we would be able to master the ability to move within that dimension as well, but…”

  “Wasn’t that the premise of your novel?”

  “You’ve read my novel?”

  She couldn’t help but grin at the surprised note in his voice. “If I confess that I’m a fan, will you promise not to count it as a personality flaw?”

  “Good taste in literature is never a personality flaw.” He gave her a sly glance, and she answered with merry laughter.

  “I did enjoy The Time Machine a great deal, but…” she patted her lips delicately with her napkin, “…it was The Island of Dr. Moreau that truly captured my imagination. I’m surprised that the man who wrote it isn’t more sensitive to the dangers of manipulating the nature of man.”

  Wells pushed back his chair and scowled. “And I’m surprised that you could read my book and think that I would be oblivious to the kind of evil that men can do when they have the interests of nothing and no one but their bank accounts.” He shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know how to convince you that the work the council is doing is for the benefit of society.”

  The spirit of battle flickered in her. “And what of those members of society who are not fit for this Utopia?” A picture of Lizzie, ungainly but happy and laughing with her doll, flashed through Jane’s head. “Those poor unfortunates, will they be put down like the misfit creations of Dr. Moreau? The displaced, the uneducable, the unemployable—how will the PM deal with them? With a happiness pill created by his brain tinkerers?”

  “I refuse to have this argument with you again, Jane. We’ve gone round and round this subject for three evenings now, and we never get anywhere.” He stood and placed his napkin by his plate. “Perhaps it would be best if Jack here took me back to my cell now.”

 
“No, please.” Deliberately ignoring propriety, Jane reached over and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, you’re right. There is no point in treading the same ground over and over again, when it’s obvious that we’ll simply have to agree to disagree. But don’t go yet. I wouldn’t have you alone in your…room, bored out of your skull and denying yourself dessert because I’ve been rude.”

  He remained standing stiffly. “I’m sure it is I who have been rude. You must forgive me. It is no doubt the strain of my captivity. Is there any word yet on when I might be released?”

  Dropping her hand, she looked away. “The Prime Minister has not responded to our demands. He has neither halted construction of the Academy pavilion nor has he released the details of the individual research grants that have been awarded to Nissl and Alzheimer and the other members of the scientific advisory council.”

  Wells snorted. “Did you expect him to?”

  “I think you underestimate your importance.”

  “You underestimate how fierce is the international competition. The French president, Faure, has already implemented Verne’s designs for airships to cross the channel under the direction of the French scientific council, and our results are being watched closely by the Kaiser in Germany and Tsar Nicholas. The Tsar, in particular, would be pleased to cement his new reign with a series of triumphs stolen from British laboratories.”

  “The Russians could never match our ingenuity.”

  “They can if radical females kidnap our best minds and hold them hostage.”

  There was a moment of pained silence while Jane bowed her head and clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

  “Oh, see here, I may have been a little harsh,” said Wells, and then at the choked sound that emanated from her he sat next to her on the settee. “I didn’t mean…”

  Jane looked up, her eyes bright, her bottom lip caught mercilessly between her teeth. “Which part did you not mean? The part about the radical female, or being one of Britain’s best minds?”

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “Only a little.” She ruined her qualification by bursting into a fit of giggles. “Oh, now I’m sorry.” It was not the most convincing of apologies, given in the midst of her laughter.

  At first Wells looked offended, but after a second the corners of his mouth twitched, and he shared in her laughter until her sides hurt and she had to catch her breath.

  Wells shook his head. “I suppose now you will feel justified in calling me arrogant.”

  “Ah, something else for which I should apologize. I lost my temper that first night, not, as you’ve discovered, an unusual occurrence. But…” She looked back down at her lap, at her folded hands. “I admit that you’ve not been what I expected at all, and arrogant was a calumny you do not deserve.”

  “Thank you for that.” His voice was soft, almost husky, and Jane became uncomfortably aware of the warmth of his body, seated so close to her, and the scent of his shaving soap. He seemed to be unaware of the impropriety of their proximity, although she supposed it was a minor consideration in light of the scandal of having dinner with him every night, with only Jack as chaperone.

  Eager to change the subject, she forced herself to look directly at him so that he would not know how flustered she was. “Shall we have dessert then?”

  “Dessert sounds excellent. And you are right, the idea of dessert is much more appealing than spending the rest of the evening in my room.”

  Chapter Four

  Closing the door quietly behind her, she tried to ignore the reproachful look on George Wells’ face as she left him once again alone in his prison. Jack was already standing in position, and she gave him a smile as she passed by, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “It’s time he went home, isn’t it?”

  Jane shook her head sadly. “It’s not up to us, is it?”

  “Trouble’s bound to come if he stays much longer.”

  “Hopefully he shan’t. Good night, Jack. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Miss.”

  Jane headed towards her own room, but as she passed the main staircase, an impulse seized her and she headed downstairs to Robert Easton’s study. She knocked briefly and waited.

  “Come.”

  She pushed open the door, only to step back at once with a discreet cough. “Pardon me.”

  “It’s all right, Jane. Come in.”

  Robert was in dressing gown and slippers, sprawled in the large armchair by the bookcase, a decanter of brandy on the carved mahogany table next to him. He stared out the window at the rain running down the panes of glass.

  “Have a drink?” He waved a whiskey tumbler in the air, but his eyes failed to meet hers.

  “No, thank you.”

  The disapproval must have leaked into her voice, because he harrumphed. “Don’t be a prude. It’s not like you haven’t seen this sort of thing before.”

  Jane considered arguing the point. Robert Easton had no firsthand reason to believe that she would be comfortable sitting down with an undressed, drunken man in his study. But from the moment she’d joined the fight, it was to her advantage for people to believe her more jaded and worldly than she really was, so she let his assumption stand.

  “Robert, I want to talk to you about Mr. Wells. It’s been the better part of a week now since he arrived, and we’ve heard nary a whisper from the government. They’ve not even acknowledged that he’s missing. What are you going to do? You can’t keep him here indefinitely.”

  “Wells. A pox on Wells. He’s a boil, a canker in my house. I wish to hell we’d never snatched him.” Robert downed what remained in his glass and poured himself another.

  “Yes, well, what do you propose? Are you just going to let him go?”

  He stared, owl-eyed, into the amber liquid. “Those are not my orders.”

  “Orders? What orders? What are you talking about?”

  Robert spread the fingers of his free hand wide, palm lifted upward. “Orders from on high. I serve at the whim of the gods.”

  “Are you too drunk to realize you’re blaspheming?”

  “Ah.” Easton put a finger to the side of his nose. “But I didn’t say God. No, I am at the beck and call of one of those lesser gods, maybe Loki or Hephaestus. One of those minor heavenly players who likes to meddle in the affairs of men, who takes joy in the tragedy of humanity.” He reached out and grabbed Jane’s arm. “And you, m’dear, you are obviously an angel sent by them to further torment me.”

  Irritated, Jane shook herself free. “Oh really, Easton, pull yourself together. You can’t afford to fall apart like this. What happened to make you take to the brandy this way?”

  “Remember Flewellyn?”

  Abruptly serious, Jane sat down in the opposite chair. “Has he been found then?” Flewellyn was one of the two men who had jumped into the river to escape pursuit. Carson, the other man, had made it back to the rendezvous point the next morning, but even though a man had been dispatched to the location each morning since, no sign had been seen of Flewellyn.

  Easton nodded.

  “Drowned?” Jane steeled herself for the answer.

  Easton’s bark of laughter surprised her. “If only it were that simple. No, captured by the police. Sent to Scotland Yard for interrogation once they realized he wasn’t some drunken sailor too deep in his cups to notice the Thames.”

  “We must do something. Move our base of operations, at the very least.”

  Easton aimed a drunken wink at her. “You forget, Flewellyn didn’t know the location of this house. He was kept apprised only of the rendezvous point.”

  “Even so, he’s bound to tell them everything he knows under interrogation. Surely that could jeopardize the whole organization?”

  “Flewellyn won’t be talking to anyone ever again.”

  The breath left Jane in a whoosh. “What do you mean?”

  “Do I really have to explain it to you, Jane?” As if trying to postpone the moment wh
en he would have to say the words, Easton took a few more deep swallows. “Flewellyn is dead. Killed by one of our own agents at the Yard.”

  Bile rose in Jane’s throat. “With agents in place, why didn’t you try to effect a rescue?”

  “This way was more…cost effective.” Easton’s voice was bitter on the last two words.

  “Is that what you’ll say to his wife?”

  “You all knew the dangers going in. You all knew that you might be killed doing this.” He shook his finger roughly in her direction, although his eyes weren’t able to track her movements quickly enough.

  “Killed by the police, yes. But this? As if there were no other options?”

  “We are all combatants, all dis-dispensable. Disposable. As is Mr. Wells.”

  “What do you mean?” She kept her voice even, but her chest tightened.

  “Mr. Wells has become a complication. The PM has not responded as expected, and he needs to be sent a message that we are serious.” Easton poured himself yet another drink, this time sloshing brandy across the table. Picking up the glass, he gave Jane a mock toast. “I’m afraid your little dinner engagements are coming to an end.”

  “I see. You mean to kill him then?”

  “Not at first. But I don’t think he’ll be inclined to sup with you when he’s missing a hand, do you?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

  Truthfully she was somewhat lightheaded, but she stayed upright, gripping the arms of the chair to steady herself. “No, of course not.”

  “No pleas to spare him?”

  She swallowed hard. “I believe in the cause, Robert. Whatever furthers the cause is what must be done.”

  Easton leaned back and closed his eyes, rubbing them as if the light hurt them. “Ever the revolutionary, eh? I admire your clarity of purpose, among other things.” He tried to leer at her but his head lolled to one side, and after a moment a small snore emanated from him.

  Jane sat for another few minutes, partly to make sure that Easton was out for good, and partly to gather her thoughts. She’d always been one to make a plan but improvise when necessary, and getting George Wells out of the house alive would require both.