“Do you think he would?” She looked skeptical. “Particularly where Clem is involved?”
“I don’t know…” he trailed off, hesitant.
They sat in communal indecision until Abigail stood and placed her teacup on the stool. Pacing up and down the small space, she declared, “As much as I’d like to believe there is another more democratic world wavering on some alternate plane, I can’t say I’m actually looking forward to its displacing this one.”
“My dear, what can you mean?” Matthew sat up sharply, sloshing some of his tea onto the upholstery. “You see the suffering around us, the deprivation of so many. And it’s only going to get worse. It has already!”
She shook her head and came to kneel down beside him, taking his free hand in her own. “It’s not that.”
Matthew stood up and pulled her to her feet looking down at his beloved wife of many decades. To his eyes, the wrinkles had not diminished the fineness of her skin nor had the gray shot through her dark hair lessened its shine. He saw with some concern the unshed tears in her eyes. “What is it, then?”
“What will happen to us, Matthew, in this new world, this real timeline? Where do we fit in? Will we have our life together? Do we even exist in the same era, at the same time? Will we pass each other on some crowded street and never look in the others’ direction?” She was crying now, and Matthew wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close.
She swallowed and shook her head, stepping back to look up at him. “And Clem… I know she hasn’t thought of it. She and Reginald…”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “What is the alternative, Abby? Do we buy our own happiness at the expense of so much suffering?”
She breathed deeply and wiped the tears from her eyes. “No. But this… this operation we’re involved in, it could all go so very badly so very quickly.”
As if to prove the presentiment of her words, the radio popped and crackled. A soft and menacing voice said, “What have we here?”
The radio screeched, and a sound like the peeling of glue off plastic emanated from the receiver. Matthew could imagine him standing in his study, cold light streaming in from the skylight. In his hands he held the fragile, delicate craft.
It must have been an unlucky happenstance. He had probably found it resting on a piece of furniture. Only a few turns of the rubber band, and he would send it soaring upwards again. But this time his fingers must have brushed a little too roughly the underside of a wing, dislodging the tiny cells. He would look at the fragile vessel with new eyes, eyes that were bereft of light and emotion, and see it for what it really was.
“How very clever of you, Matthew,” the voice purred with a deathless breath of humor. And for once, the sound of his voice came through loud and clear.
Thirty-One
CLEM BLUSHED AND brought a hand up to smooth her hair into place. It was a gesture she rarely used and often found annoying in others. She also found it ineffective. While it concealed her face until the blush subsided, it was really to no purpose. Once one blush disappeared, another flushed across her face. Fortunately, the other three people waiting at the hackney stand were too occupied to notice a young woman fidgeting with her hair.
Their preparations for the next night’s mission had not taken long, and Clem had used the extra time to visit Reginald in his rooms at the university. He stayed there most nights, although he could also sometimes be found at his parents’ house. Clem had crossed her fingers in hopes he would be there. She knew the floor and number having once dropped off a book for him from Uncle Matthew on her way to the hospital. That day, she had only entered by the lobby and left it at the reception desk since young ladies weren’t allowed past the first floor. She had barely noticed the restriction at the time, having early on concluded that Reginald was just a pompous buttinski whom she worked hard to ignore. But this evening, she had needed to speak with him before her courage deserted her.
A hackney pulled up to the curb, and the next person on line, a respectable middle-age lady, turned to her and asked, “Would you happen to be heading to the Upper West Side? I’ve an appointment on Ninety-Sixth Street in the Bloomingdales District, and I’m ashamed to say I’ve left the house without enough for a cab. Do you fancy sharing?”
Clem looked at the woman as the cabby called out impatiently, “Come on now, I ain’t got all night.”
She was dressed neatly, yet simply in a gray woolen dress that skimmed just above the ankles of her everyday boots. An equally simple shawl was thrown over her shoulders. In contrast to this sober outfit, a deep maroon porkpie hat sat at a rakish angle on her head. Her expression was one of polite inquiry, but Clem could see the pinch of desperation at the corners of her eyes.
“Certainly,” Clem assured her, “I just need to be put down a few streets before.”
The woman smiled with relief, and they both entered the cab, each taking a seat opposite the other. Neither spoke, and Clem stared out the window as her thoughts drifted back to her encounter with Reginald.
Clem had crossed her fingers and boldly entered the university apartments via the servants’ entrance. She encountered no objection to her presence and assumed her hospital uniform was the reason. They must believe I am here in some official capacity, she had thought, careful to keep her face from reflecting the glee of successfully subverting custom and male authority. Her crossed fingers must have done the trick; because Reginald’s astonished face appeared as he opened the door to her knock.
“What…?” he stammered with adorable confusion as she pushed him back into his room. How strange that everything he did was now adorable, instead of insufferable. She barely suppressed a laugh, putting a finger to her lips and closing the door.
“Oh my!” Clem had giggled breathlessly. “That was sooo easy!” She removed her hat and threw it onto a chair.
The room was richly furnished and tastefully decorated as befitted the heir to a dukedom. The heavy wooden dresser and wardrobe were pushed up against one wall and another was host to a large fireplace. A lovely roll-top desk facing the window was strewn with papers, and it looked as if Reginald had just vacated the chair, as it was pushed out from the desk.
“You can’t be here,” he declared, the heightened expression in his eyes and his hands resting firmly on her shoulders seemed to say otherwise. “If you’re caught, we’ll both face sanctions.”
“What are they going to do to me, Reginald? Forbid me from studying at the university?” she replied laughingly, knowing full well that this was already prohibited to most of her gender.
She looked up at him, and her heart gave a little skipping lurch. It was clear he’d been running his hands through his hair as it was quite nicely tousled. He had discarded his school tie, and his crisp, white shirt was opened at the neck where she could see his pulse beating with hypnotic rapidity.
Their surroundings blurred around her, and his face came into sharp focus. She didn’t quite know what it was that surged through her, but the urge to act upon it was irresistible.
The first tentative kiss quickly morphed into something more urgent and much more exciting. Clem’s hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they shakily undid his remaining buttons, and Reginald made astonishingly quick work of the many hooks down the back of her dress.
She stood in her chemise, and his lips brushed her neck making her knees almost buckle. He picked her up and carried her to the large and suitably plush and richly appointed bed. Clem laughed in sudden self-awareness at the absurdly romantic picture they presented.
They rolled onto the bed, but she held him off momentarily diverted by her bare feet. “Reginald, when did I remove my boots?” she asked propped up on one elbow.
“Um?” His attention was fixed on the slender strap of her chemise which had slipped off one shoulder to reveal a breathtaking expanse of breast. “What?”
“My boots? When did I remove them?”
He struggled up on his elbows and looked down at their feet a
nd blinked. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I can’t even remember if I was wearing shoes when you came in,” he replied with a self-conscious laugh.
She smiled at him softly and made a little circular hand gesture that seemed to encompass them both. “This is all pretty crazy.”
He sat back on his knees and looked at her seriously. “Do you want to stop? I would understa—”
Clem pulled him down on top of her and kissed him so hard and deeply that thought and speech were forgotten in a flurry of touch and feel.
She murmured something and pushed him away from her again.
“Yes?” he said through his ragged breathing, “What?”
“The implant, do you have one?” she asked, equally out of breath, “For birth control.”
“Of course, don’t you?”
“No.” She looked away from him and drew a little into herself. “When I first arrived in the city, I went through the health exam like any other debutante. But Uncle Matthew wouldn’t allow the implant. He was afraid because of… well, because of my heritage that they would put something in that might permanently damage me.”
He looked down at her, confused. “You mean to keep you from… from ever having children?”
“Yes,” she answered him bluntly.
Reginald was speechless at the infamy of such an act, but then another, almost equally disturbing, thought struck him. “So you haven’t…?” He shook his head slowly and looked at her questioningly.
“No, I haven’t.”
He drew in a shaky breath at the responsibility that now fell heavily upon his shoulders—a woman’s first time. He had heard this situation recounted to him with varying degrees of terror by his friends. His own lack of practiced expertise was a distinct drawback.
“Okay—” he began, only to have her wiggle out from under him and sit up.
Clem boldly drew the chemise over her head and cast it aside. Any thoughts of his own inadequacies were swept away in the crashing desire that washed over them both, and Reginald had spent the next two hours demonstrating quite effectively how easy it was going to be for them to make babies.
That is why Clem had been late. And why she now sat in a darkened coach hoping her blushes were no longer visible to the casual observer.
“I’m sorry, you were saying?” Clem looked over at the woman, belatedly conscious that she had been speaking to her.
“Where do you want to be let down, my dear?” the woman replied.
“Oh, Sixty-Ninth Street is fine.” She nodded politely to the woman. “I’ll walk the rest of the way. It’s not far.”
Clem absently looked away, but then a warning triggered in her subconscious, and she looked back at the woman. Something had changed. Her expression which had seemed mild and benign only moments before had shifted. It was subtle, but Clem detected a cruel lift at the corners of her mouth and a mocking glint in her eyes. The rakishly tilted maroon hat, which had appeared so out of place with the rest of her modest garb, Clem now saw as a true reflection of the woman’s nature.
“Look, we’re almost there,” the woman declared, the cab slowing at her knock on the roof.
Clem scooted closer to the door in anticipation of it opening. As the coach screeched to a stop, the woman whipped her hand out and, quick as a snakebite, grabbed Clem just above the knee. She yelped and tried to bat the woman’s hand away, but her hold was too tight.
Squeezing her knee in a painful grip, the woman leaned in close, her face only inches away from Clem’s. She hissed, “Be careful, missy, or you’ll be next.”
The door opened just as Clem’s next blow knocked the woman’s hand from her knee. The cabbie let down the stairs and handed her out.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice and hand shaking as she handed him her share of the fare.
She looked back over her shoulder as the coach pulled with a jerk out into the street. The woman sat back, her face now in shadow, but Clem could still see the dull shine of her hat through the window.
She drew in a deep drought of chill night air and started her walk home, all thoughts of her romantic tryst gone in a bout of fear and confusion. Who was that woman, and what did she mean?
Clem was suddenly glad that she had once again failed to tell Reginald about what was really going on. She was grateful that their ardor had swept all thought from her mind, thankful that it had gotten too late for her to try and explain.
Clearly there was much that she did not know. She would have to call Ettie and warn her of this new and confusing development. Aside from the hospital incident, which had been harrowing, to be sure, Clem had felt the dangers of this venture as somewhat removed from her. Until now, she had never been a direct target. Whatever the woman had meant, it was certainly an audacious move. A mixup she might be, but she was still the daughter of a nobleman and under the protection of another.
She rounded the corner onto her block and walked through the wrought iron gate that led up to the house. No lanterns lit the doorway, and Clem fumbled in her bag for the key. She pulled it out and looked up searching for the lock. Her heart lurched hard against her chest. The door was slightly ajar.
A prickle of warning went up her spine as she pushed it open. Clem walked into the dark foyer with its hall leading down to the dining room and the staircase curving up to the second floor.
“Uncle? Aunt?” she called out tentatively.
No answer came and no servant responded with lights and reassurances. Clem stood there in the dark, her arms hanging limp as the strength drained out of them. The woman’s words echoed back to her with heartbreaking clarity.
“Be careful, missy, or you’ll be next.”
*
Ettie swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the silk sheets slipping off her naked back. She looked over her shoulder. Charlie slept, his breathing deep and even. She stood up, careful not to wake him and reached for her clothes. She stepped into her trousers and walked to the mirror. Her blurred image stared back at her as she pulled the soft cotton undershirt over her head. She could see the reflection of the bed and Charlie’s nondescript form under the covers.
It had taken a long time for them to get back to this point in their relationship. And still, she didn’t entirely trust him. The place where they had met, back in another dimension, seemed impossibly far removed from this present reality. She had felt no shifts, not even the disorientation of overlapping dimensions, in the last several days. It was becoming more difficult for her to focus on that time before, to pull it up from the depths of her imagination.
Charlie murmured and moved in his sleep. Ettie turned to face the bed waiting to see if he would wake. He didn’t, but still she stood looking at him. Tonight was the first time they had been together since she had read Odette’s journal.
She wanted to believe it was just one of those “tomorrow we might be dead” things, but knew that wasn’t the truth. Since early on in their relationship, she had needed him like she had needed no other man. That was why his betrayal had cut so deep, why it had left her with the lingering taste of doubt and suspicion, even though he had proved his loyalty many times over.
Ettie walked into the darkened living room with its magnificent view of Central Park. She looked out over the vast expanse of trees remembering Odell’s reaction to her news of a new boyfriend—Charlie, the club owner. She smiled to herself as she recalled Odell’s struggle to contain any comment. He had little use for the glittering social life of a certain set of New Yorkers and felt club owners and promoters to be particularly useless. Ettie shook her head in amusement, missing her brother.
She felt a chill and grabbed a chenille throw from the sofa, wrapping it around her. Tomorrow would bring with it danger, and she felt her throat and chest constrict with panic. Was she leading everyone to their deaths?
She drew in several deep breaths and calmed herself. There was nothing else to be done. Their investigations had not revealed the unknown villainess, or her purpose behind the attacks on
Ettie’s family. What they had discovered was a people, trapped and tortured, who needed their help. If, through helping them, they could wreck the mechanism that was distorting her world, even better.
Reuniting with her brother seemed a dream that was fading further and further from her waking consciousness. She had to focus her mind and efforts on what was now, what she could realistically achieve. Ettie had no real hope that what they were planning would right the world, but it was all she could think of to do.
Ettie heard a rhythmic clicking sound on the polished hardwood floor just outside the door. This apartment was one of several that Charlie had scattered throughout the city. It had a well-guarded entrance; nobody could get through who wasn’t known. But Ettie knew that sound: the clicking of dog claws on a bare floor.
She dropped the throw to the ground and threw open the door before the terrified girl’s knock could fall. Beatrix burst into the room throwing herself on Ettie with doggy abandon. Clem’s abandon was less doggy, but just as enthusiastic. With them came an appalling smell.
When Ettie had disentangled herself from both girl and dog, she was able to stammer, “What… my God, Clem! What has happened?”
Clem stood in all black: black slacks, black jacket, black boots, and a black hat pulled down over her ears. Even Beatrix was dressed like a ninja. Sporting a black knit sweater, her face and other exposed parts had been rubbed with charcoal.
“That dog is getting coal dust all over my rug,” a voice mumbled sleepily from the bedroom doorway. He wrinkled his nose. “Good God! What is that smell?”
Beatrix immediately sat and looked at Charlie with the intense expression of someone trying to solve a puzzle. It was the same look, Ettie noted, with which Bea had always regarded Odell. Bea had a tendency to greet people, known or unknown to her, with aggressive affection, except her brother and Charlie. Ettie always before assumed it was a show of respect, recognition that her antics would not be welcomed. Now, she believed that Bea just couldn’t figure them out.
Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II Page 34
