“We need to know more about it,” Victoria agreed. “I’ve acquired a piece of it that I attempted to dissolve in a solution of acid. It was only a small piece, and unfortunately, the acid did not work. It’s clear we can’t learn anything from it. We may need to try something more drastic.”
Oscar goggled at her in astonishment. “Graham mentioned you were experimenting!”
Graham couldn’t help chuckling at Oscar’s enthusiasm.
“If you know where to find it, we could go to it,” she went on. “We could get a closer look, extract a few more pieces so we can craft a better plan to kill it.”
“Exactly!” Oscar said, pointing upward at the discovery.
“From his outburst,” she said, “it’s clear my uncle doesn’t have all his wits about him at the moment. Are the two of you available tonight?”
“I suppose so,” Oscar said.
Like I have anything else to do, Graham thought, glancing toward Jarvis’s office. He made a point to confront Jarvis later. Maybe he would be more open to talking if Oscar wasn’t there.
He hadn’t slept since he’d arrived here. At least it would help him pass the long hours until the Aviatory opened. He wondered what Victoria had in mind, and the clarity in her expression snagged his attention to her. “Why?” he asked.
“We need to find some rope,” she said. “And I’ll need your help.”
Twenty-four
Of all evenings, Victoria couldn’t believe she had to meet with Cordelia and Jane on this one. The two charlatans felt the need to socialize? Of course they couldn’t have known about the plans she made with Graham and Oscar to rig the hovercraft. But she had to keep up appearances. If she disappeared too soon, Uncle Jarvis would know she was up to something.
It was the same reason she hadn’t gone with Oscar and Graham into Jarvis’s office. She couldn’t alert his suspicions that she was going against his wishes.
She couldn’t lose her plane.
Mama had cleared Victoria’s responsibilities with her uncle for that evening, so arguing about the need to patrol hadn’t worked.
“They haven’t yet met our Mr. Birkley,” Mama chided when Victoria had confronted her about the evening. “And with a handsome young man like that around . . .”
“Mama, you cannot marry him off; he isn’t even from here!” Her mother waved her away with a vacant hand. Victoria took a moment to check herself. “And besides, he isn’t our Mr. Birkley at all.” The thought made her warm under her jacket.
“He’s staying at our home, isn’t he?” Mama fiddled with the floral arrangement on the entryway table.
That doesn’t make him ours, she thought, growing hotter still. “And is he aware of this grand meeting you’ve planned tonight?”
“I’ve simply invited our new cousins over for dinner, and Mr. Birkley happens to be here. That is all, it is nothing more, Victoria.”
“So there shall be three ladies to only one gentleman.”
Her mother gave her a patient look and pressed her lips together. “What makes you think he shall be the only gentleman here?”
Oh no, Victoria thought. She should have known Mama’s innocent act was a farce. In all likelihood, one of the other gentlemen would be Lord Charles Merek.
Victoria opened her mouth to tell her mother about their broken engagement, but her mother went on. “Now go upstairs and dress for dinner.”
She sulked all the way up to her bedchamber, made for the desk near the window, and bent to scribe a note to Oscar so he would know not to come until a later time than they’d previously arranged. With Linny’s help, Victoria changed her gown at least three times, each time reminding herself that the indecision had nothing to do with her very pretty cousins meeting Graham for the first time tonight.
Victoria paced around the sitting room, trying her hardest not to bite her lip. It had always been a nervous habit of hers, something that, thanks to her mother’s nagging, had taken a heavy toll to break herself of.
In a flicker of thought she was waiting somewhere else, chewing her lip in much the same manner. It was in a small room with a round, white basin that seemed to sink into the floor. Her pulse ratcheted, making her small movements back and forth in the enclosed space seem jarred. But she’d been expecting some kind of answer, and the impatience flooded like a flame through her veins . . .
Victoria blinked, shaking off the moment’s familiarity and yet attempting to pluck it back to her at once. What were these moments, these experiences that seemed to be hers and yet somehow weren’t?
She stretched her neck from one shoulder to the other, letting the remaining tension fade and returning her focus to where it should have been. How tedious this was, to remain here and pretend to be patient and pleased to see the two nuisances, all the while losing sunlight.
She, Oscar, and Graham needed to arm the Naut hovercraft with a rope on levers that could be manipulated from each plane’s cockpit, and to apprise the other Nauts that the new additions had been made to their planes, all the while keeping her uncle from finding out.
“This just won’t do,” Victoria said once her hair had been arranged in an elegant style that left curls dripping down the side of her neck. She could never be this fancy with the work they needed to do. She stormed toward the door. “I’ll simply tell Mama I cannot—why, Mr. Birkley!”
She nearly collided with Graham on her way out into the main hall. His hand caught her elbow.
“Didn’t we go over this?” Graham said, still holding her arm. “It’s Graham.”
He looked dashing in a finely tailored suit, blue waistcoat, and black cravat, and she couldn’t help but notice the way the material accentuated his long legs and broad shoulders. His hair had been swept to the side and controlled, no longer straying this way and that. Freed from grease, and the scent of exhaust traded for rose water, he cut quite the gallant suitor. Her throat tightened.
“Of course. I’m sorry, Graham. I didn’t see you.”
“In a hurry?” he asked, backing away and evaluating her dress. His eyes strayed down to the hem and then lingered at her bodice for a moment before returning to her face. “You look amazing. Every day here is like prom. Girls back home would go nuts.”
She glanced down at her scarlet gown, with the corset beneath her clothing this time. The bodice hung just off her shoulders, hugged tightly at her waist, and then billowed out in a generous assembly of skirts. She smoothed her gloved hands over the satin, unsure of what prom was, but deciding not to press the issue, or to express the fact that she’d much rather be in trousers.
“Thank you. And yes, I was just about to tell Mama that we cannot do this tonight.”
“Family reunions aren’t your scene either?” He fiddled with the cravat around his neck. It lay flat. The more he mussed it, the worse it looked.
“Here,” Victoria said, taking the fabric. She undid the damage he had created and concentrated on the correct order of the knot, the way she remembered her father doing.
Graham’s breath stroked her hand, and she paused, the heat of his body evidencing exactly how close she was standing to him. Graham did not seem to mind. In fact, a flicker of delight danced behind his eyes as he watched her. Her fingers fumbled and brushed against his neck, which did not help in the slightest.
“You—” She cleared her throat. “You look rather dashing yourself, if you must know.”
His eyebrow quirked. “Dashing?”
“See for yourself.” She gestured to the mirror behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and at the same moment, Victoria captured a glimpse of the two of them standing together. There was a seductive glimmer in both of their expressions, as though they’d been ensnared and neither had any desire to be freed.
Graham’s hand crept to her elbow. His gaze returned to her, closer and more captivating than it’d been a moment before, catching
her breath. Stardust lingered in that gaze, entrancing and befuddling. Her lips parted, and she tilted closer, mesmerized. He didn’t move away.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. His eyes flicked across her face. “I have seriously never dressed this fancy in my whole life,” he said softly.
“Wherever this Chicago of yours is, they certainly don’t stand on occasion, do they?” Her words were frail. What was happening to her?
She edged in closer, feeling the heat of him. His hand scaled up her arm and to her back, welcoming her nearer . . . nearer . . .
Graham’s eyelids half closed. “Tell me about these cousins of yours,” he said, securing his arm around her.
Her cousins. Victoria withheld a groan. The mention of them alone was dreadful.
“Actually, I hardly know them myself. We only just met.”
She realized Graham had withdrawn his hand from her. And she wanted it back. That heady pull recharged the longer she stood with him, a desire to be close, to feel him touching her.
Graham moved closer and opened his mouth as if to speak when the bell gonged.
Victoria let reality continue its crash landing, shattering the intoxication brewing between them. She grabbed his elbow and guided him toward the open foyer where Myer was opening the door and welcoming Cordelia and Jane Baldwin into Gingham Range.
The two ladies glided forward, smiling. Victoria plastered a smile onto her face, but Graham sniffed a loud inhale through his nose. His whole body tightened. His eyes bulged wide in consternation. Victoria gave him a pointed look and lifted her hand to proceed with the introductions when one more addition to their party strolled in through the door.
Lord Charles Merek wore a refined suit with yellow waistcoat and scarlet cravat, and he gave her a simpering smile.
“Good evening,” she said, unable to help her clipped tone. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon after their last conversation. And certainly not after the heated encounter with Graham in the hall just now.
The ladies turned to Lord Merek, who winked at them. Jane covered her mouth with her hand.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your guest?” Charles said, doffing his hat and handing it to Myer. As though he had any right to ask to be introduced.
She thought she’d made things clear during their last conversation. She wanted nothing more to do with him, especially after he admitted his interest in her was only at her uncle’s request. She worked to keep her voice steady.
“Mr. Birkley, these are my cousins. Miss Cordelia Baldwin, and Miss Jane Baldwin.”
Instead of bowing to each lady or offering a kind word of acknowledgement, Graham’s stare only hardened in their direction before shifting to Lord Merek. “And you?”
Charles pompously bolstered his chest and stepped forward. “I am—”
“Not staying,” Victoria interrupted. She hastened to give a smile to their shocked looks and attempted to recover her manners. “Surely you have more interesting places to be this evening, Lord Merek. You wouldn’t want to dine with the likes of us.” She added another too-bright smile, cursing herself inwardly for acting so awkwardly. Why hadn’t she kept her mouth closed?
The ladies stared in puzzlement.
Charles’s brows hardened. “Victoria—”
“Darlings!” Mama entered from the left of the main hall in a decadent gown of gold brocade. Its long, full skirt swept the floor with each step she took. Matching gloves climbed to her elbows. “Shall we all go into the sitting room?”
“Don’t you mean Cordelia and Jane, Mama?” Victoria said, keeping a tight rein on her frustration. Her arms hung at her sides, though her fists clamped the red fabric of her full skirt.
Enid Digby’s mouth parted in a playful manner. “Now really, Victoria, Lord Merek will think you care nothing for him. Come along, come along.”
Though her mother headed for the sitting room, Victoria stood her ground. “I have ended our engagement, Mama. I do not think it right that he attend this evening.” She knew how foolish it must look to discuss this in front of guests, but if Charles wanted to avoid the scandal, or the embarrassment, he should have declined whatever invitation her mother had given him.
To allow him to stay would only prolong any false hopes he may still have clung to. Of course, from his parting comment the other day he assumed they were still friends. But she was friends with Rosalind, and one didn’t see Rosalind popping in at all hours.
Jane giggled again, and Graham gave the girl another stare so penetrating, Victoria was surprised she didn’t withdraw from the shock of it. What reason could he possibly have to look daggers at a perfect stranger? Her stomach warmed at the thought that it was in defense of her own feelings.
Mama pulled her aside and spoke softly. “He is not here for you. If you aren’t sensible enough to accept him, at least let your cousins have a chance.” She then smiled to the rest of them and raised her voice so they could all hear. “Lord Merek is my guest this evening. Now, if you wish to return to your bedchamber, I daresay I shan’t make any effort to stop you.”
And leave you alone to arrange more marriages? Victoria thought, but didn’t say. Not likely.
Enid Digby swept along into the open sitting room with its gathering of settees and chairs around a glowing fire. A few tables sat at the outskirts should anyone feel a desire to play whist.
Shortly after they entered, Graham walked over and took Jane Baldwin by the arm like she was a child he was about to scold. Being at least a foot shorter than he, Jane stared up at him near the fireplace, worry treading over her features.
“They’re a friendly sort, aren’t they?” Mama asked with a forced smile. She waved a painted fan below her chin and gestured for Charles to take a seat beside her. Victoria couldn’t help the confusion rolling between herself and Graham. Charles attempted to ensnare her in conversation; Cordelia answered the questions he’d meant for her.
The lanky redhead slumped back and fiddled with the tassels on a pillow, droning on about how pleasant their situation was at the home of their mother’s dear friend and how they felt so at home in Chuzzlewit it was a wonder they hadn’t been here before. They both tried several times to include Victoria, but she couldn’t seem to keep her attention from the argument Graham and Jane were tangled in near the fireplace. She longed to know what they were speaking of.
Jane eventually peeled herself from Graham and joined her much taller and fairer sister. Upset and confused, Jane answered Charles’s next question with a grimace.
“Excuse me,” Victoria said, rising to meet Graham in Jane’s place. She could feel the heat rolling from him. His brown eyes poured into her with a fury, fastening her to him.
“What is going on?” she asked under her breath.
He turned away, resting a hand on the mantle and staring at the flames. “I’ll tell you why you haven’t heard of your cousins before,” he said, breathing heavily.
Victoria drew in as close as she dared. “Graham?”
He peered beneath his arm at her. “They aren’t from Wolverton, Tori. At least the short one isn’t.”
The news sent her heart into a tizzy. She knew they were imposters.
Her mother’s mouth pinched into a scowl, and she gestured with her fan toward Charles Merek, obviously wanting Victoria to engage the young man in conversation.
“We’ll be just one moment, Mama,” Victoria said, leading Graham from the room and down the hall toward the darkened sunroom. She hadn’t thought to bring a candle with her, but moonlight poured through the plentiful windows, and she closed the door behind them.
“What do you mean Jane isn’t from Wolverton?”
“I recognize her,” Graham said, pacing and loosening the cravat from his neck. He tossed the fabric onto a large-leafed plant and thwacked the leaf, breaking it from its stem. “Except last I knew, her name was Darby Ren
net, and she’d left town to live with her grandma when her parents died in a car accident.”
“How do you know this?” Victoria asked, scarcely able to believe it. But Graham wouldn’t be this upset if he didn’t believe it himself.
“Because she went to my school.” He stopped pacing and looked directly at her in the darkness. “Victoria, she’s from Chicago.”
Twenty-five
Rosalind stepped down the narrow stairwell and into the confined orchestra pit. The short space was painted black to make it that much more obscure beneath the theater’s vast stage. Across from the empty music stands that stood like shadows, an upright pianoforte sat in the back, left-hand corner. Its tall back created a barrier between the player and the rest of the ensemble. Rosalind meandered over and sat beneath the mouth of keys spitting out on its opposite side.
With a trembling finger, Rosalind pressed down on the centermost key. It gave off a colorless ping. She much preferred the harpsicord, not only for its tinkling, star-like sound, but because her instrument at home was beautiful. The interior of the lid was painted like the sky, and the wood’s tinted decals lined the edges like trim. This pianoforte looked worn and unloved, and the sight was a reflection of herself.
She glanced around the small, black space. The faded carpet and roughly painted walls blackened her heart that much more.
“This is where I’m to live out my life, is it?” she asked herself. The theater’s elegant and vibrant colors and artwork were all lost in this dungeon of a pit. A pit where she would never see what was happening above, she would never see the performers or the smiling spectators in the audience and balconies.
The thoughts continued to drain her from the inside out. She wondered if this was what being buried alive might feel like, when the victim knew it was coming and had no way of stopping it.
The Perilous In-Between Page 16
