“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Violet’s shrill demand felt like it came seconds later, but the clock on the mantle told a different story - two hours had past, and he had slept. He sat up and swung his legs from the bed. “Warming it for you, dear.”
The slap on his shoulder stung, but it was light compared to some.
“Like I’d want even your warmth.”
It was just as well, she’d frozen away any warmth he ever felt for her. Instead, he dragged the spare blanket to the chaise and lay down.
“We have a very accommodating host, perhaps we should ask him to assign you a second room.”
Doubtless she wanted that so she could accommodate their host in this bed. He said nothing. He had suggested the very same thing when they’d been shown to a joint bedroom. She’d had a fit then, said he would be shaming her before all the world.
“This is a house party after all, there’s always bed swapping at house parties.”
That was true, but usually for younger assemblies. He shook the blanket over him.
“Perhaps you should try it.”
This was typical Violet: she wasn’t getting a reaction, so she’d push him. Of course, if he reacted, she’d claim he was the instigator and she was the victim, she the innocent, he the monster. And her father always believed her. It was part of the shackle around his life. He felt no particular ill will to Violet’s family, but their utter blindness towards their daughter was really rather incredible. Perhaps if they knew the truth. Perhaps he should have told them all those years ago. No, such cruelty hadn’t been in him then and he wished to avoid it now. Instead, he took everything she dished out and remembered the delicacy of her nerves. She had threatened to kill herself if he left and having narrowly avoided the reality of that threat twice now, he dare not risk the third time.
Violet was, as ever, oblivious and carried on regardless. “You might be able to rise to the occasion for your precious little Miss Forester.”
Sinking down on the chaise, he already knew he could, while the idea of Violet left him limp and cold.
“Have to fight Monty off first,” he acknowledged.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He sighed.
A pillow hit his head.
“Well, what did you mean? I demand to know what you mean.”
There was no point in avoiding it now. He sat up; if he was going to tell her, he was going to have to be ready for her rage.
“Monty.”
“And?” Violet sat up, glowering at him from the bed.
“Forester.”
“What about them?”
“Proposal possible.”
If only the next thing to hit him had been a pillow.
Chapter 16
Following the various admonitions of Great-Aunt Flora over dinner last night, Jenson wasn’t the least bit surprised that Amethyst demurred from joining him this morning. Even Lady Davenport’s offer to go with them hadn’t lifted the veto. So, he’d gone down for an early breakfast, fully expecting to eat alone, but it wasn’t long before Amethyst stepped in and joined him, her surprised greeting suggesting she hadn’t expected company this early either.
He put down the paper so as not to be rude. “You look very bright this morning.”
She smiled as she sat beside him. “As far as I’m concerned, this is still a lie-in. I used to be up at five in the morning to help Father, and I still tend to wake up then. Not sure I’ll ever get used to a life of luxury.”
He smiled. He’d been in a similar position in his twenties, but the years had had some effect on that. “Wait a few years, then you’ll find four hours of sleep a night isn’t enough.”
Her laugh lightened his soul.
“Anything of interest in the paper?”
She tipped her head to read the advert he’d left upmost. “The Redland Academy?”
“You know of it?”
“Heard of. May I?” She nodded to the paper and he passed it over. “‘Are you made of the right stuff?’” she read aloud. “‘Could you be one of the select few to be accepted into this esteemed institution? If you can innovate and are looking for adventure, we are looking for you.’” She put the paper back down at his side. “Hmm… I suppose I can see why she told me to apply. Aside from the obvious.”
It was not a new feeling to have no idea what someone was talking about, but it was his habit and job to ask. “Who told you to apply, and what’s the obvious?”
“Lady Violet and getting rid of me. Bobbie indicated that once someone joins the Redland Academy, no one sees them again.”
“That seems to be true.”
Amethyst looked pensive as she ate. “Do you think that might be where some of the people on your list have gone?”
Given that he’d never given her any indication of that being likely, he was a little surprised, and pleased that she’d made the link. “It is a possibility I can’t discount.”
For a few moments they ate in silence, then he found himself being scrutinised. For the first time in a very long time, he felt that he was the suspect to be questioned.
“Where does your interest in decorating come from?”
He frowned. He didn’t have much of an interest in decorating. “Sorry?”
“Last night, you asked a couple of times about the decorating in this house. Why?”
Now he smiled. She really was a clever girl. “I was just checking the workroom hadn’t been refinished since Stephen Russell’s disappearance.”
“Because if it had, that would have destroyed evidence?”
“Exactly.”
Amethyst headed to Stephen’s workroom directly after breakfast, there were so many notebooks. Aside from anything else, it saved her from another morning in Violet’s trying company. Though in truth, it was unavoidable to see how different Violet seemed here. She hadn’t sniped half so much, nor found so many ways to be snide. Perhaps she was just happy to spend time with old friends. Amethyst didn’t begin to claim she understood what made the woman tick, she’d just dearly like her to tick off.
Thick motes of dust hung resentfully around when Amethyst moved the dust cover from the desk. Clearly, Jenson had moved it yesterday and the worst dust had shifted then, but these were the hardiest, meanest motes, they scratched her eyes and tried to choke her. The desk was big, broad and deep. One corner was scarred and still held the remains of what must have been the exploding experiment. A few twisted pieces of brass, one of which had once been a cog, had embedded into the thick mahogany desktop, but there was still plenty of space, and the stack of notebooks.
She sat down on the leather and wooden desk chair, and it seemed to cuddle her in as she looked through the book. She flicked through another and put it aside, it was five years old and not that interesting. Like a lot of scientifically-minded individuals, Stephen had dated his books, so she was looking through them in order, first to last, perhaps it would be better to start from the latest ones.
Moving the pile over, she did so.
Code. Code. More code.
She started flicking back to find when the change came. The codes started about four years ago, and filled the whole of the book within a year. Amethyst started to read the mixed code and English book.
“Meow.”
She looked down at the black cat staring balefully up at her. She reached down, picked up the ball of fluff and put it on the desk. With sinuous stretches and imploring purrs, Gladstone rubbed against Amethyst and the books.
“Settle down or I’ll put you out.”
One last mewling and the cat curled up on the corner of the desk to wash as Amethyst returned to her reading.
The theory was new and had merit. She wasn’t sure how it might work, but she couldn’t think of any convincing argument for why it wouldn’t. She started to put together Stephen’s mathematics. Most of it made sense, but aetheric notation wasn’t entirely established across the whole o
f the aetheric community and Stephen Russell was not using all the same symbology as Professor Richards had, there were several symbols that meant nothing to her. It made the whole experience much more difficult.
Finding Maker wasn’t as easy as it should have been. A tall man sitting behind a taller hedge wasn’t quickly spotted. In fact, if one of the under-gardeners hadn’t pointed her in the direction of the maze, she might never have found him. She was still wondering why the young man was grumbling about not being paid as she came across the lonely looking lord.
“Maker?”
He looked up, those emerald eyes unreadable in a face as carved and unmoving as the statue behind him. His silence was so usual, not waiting for a response had become second nature to her. He was definitely aware of her presence, that was enough.
“Can I borrow Blanchard for the night?”
Those smoothly arched eyebrows arched more than usual.
Heat flooded her cheeks at the implications he wasn’t voicing. “Let me re-phrase that. I need to send Dickens back to Belgravia Square to collect some things for me, but I’m worried about sending her alone. Aside from anything else, she’ll be coming back with a cumbersome package. A couple, actually. I thought Blanchard would be the ideal candidate to assist.”
For all he didn’t change expression, Amethyst felt Maker was relieved by the explanation.
“So, can I borrow him?”
Maker took a shuddering breath. “Yes”
“Thank you!” She bounced as she turned back to the house. Then she turned again and moved closer, sitting on the stone bench beside him. With no idea what was wrong or how to properly ask, Amethyst did the only thing she knew how to do. She put her hand on top of his. She felt his tension, and then his hand moved under hers. Raising her hand, he took it to his mouth. Placed a hot lingering kiss on the back of it. Emotions she couldn’t define broiled in her belly. She wanted him to kiss her again.
“Wish I’d met you seventeen years ago.”
She laughed at the idea. “Don’t think I would have impressed you much when I was three years old.”
His lips were still on her skin, his grip was tighter than it should be. Like a drowning man clinging to a life raft. What was it with the rich that they needed such? When he started to push her away, she wouldn’t let him.
“Ben?”
Now his eyes were closed, he turned away.
“I’m here, if you need me.”
“Need you.”
She needed him too, in ways she wasn’t able to define. One hand on his cheek, she turned him to face her. His features pinched as his head turned.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Couldn’t.”
It was a sigh as he moved closer. His breath tickled her cheek, his warmth heated her skin, leaden lids weighed her down, pushed her forward. His lips were a gossamer touch.
“Amethyst!”
There was a gulf between them. Maker flushed, dropping her hand as if it burned.
Her name was called again. Great-Aunt Flora. Whatever else she or Maker might need, Maker didn’t need Great-Aunt Flora berating him right now. Amethyst stood, whispered an apology and rushed away.
“Coming, Great-Aunt Flora!”
Chapter 17
Maker was just about the last person Jenson expected to find knocking at his bedroom door that evening, but there he was, and he wasn’t alone. He’d been into the nearest village, had plenty of information to work with, but not the kind of tailor who had been able to rectify his sartorial inelegance.
“Maker? Lady Davenport?”
“Oh, do call me Bobbie, Inspector Jenson – did we not have this conversation already?” She swept in and he had little choice but to let her. He had no idea how he should react, given that he was shirtless in his indecision as to what to wear.
Still holding the door, all Jenson could do was allow Maker in, and then had to stop closing it as one of the young footmen stepped inside, carrying a bundle.
“This is Arthur,” Bobbie said. “He’s going to act as your valet for the duration of your stay here.”
Looking at the young boy, he wondered where this was coming from. “Have you any experience of being a valet?”
“Have you any experience of having a valet?” Bobbie asked Jenson. No one seemed surprised by his lack of answer. “Well then, he knows more about this situation than you do.”
Jenson looked to Maker, in the hope that the lord would have some guidance for him.
“Acquiesce.”
Not entirely what he needed, but not entirely surprising either.
Bobbie laughed. “Don’t mind him. Look we know as well as anybody that negotiating the many hurdles of polite, and indeed impolite society is not easy. We’ve had the benefit of upbringing to learn all the rules, you’ve had two days.”
As she spoke, Arthur moved to the bed. Laying out the garments, he shook out a collarless shirt.
Maker took a breath. “And with more guests arriving soon, we thought it best to give you at least some armour against appearing an outsider. Your good manners should do the rest.”
Bobbie and Jenson looked at Maker, then each other.
“Two sentences and a compliment,” Bobbie said. “That’s impressive.”
“I had best agree then, in case he never does that again.”
It was such a rare and precious moment that even as Maker rolled his eyes, Jenson was able to share an amused smile with Bobbie. These were not his usual kinds of people, yet he felt friendship in ways he hadn’t experienced for a while. The life of a police officer could set a man apart from his peers. And these people were peers of the aristocratic kind willing to help him, and for no benefit to themselves.
Arthur was holding out a shirt for him. While Jenson wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of being helped to dress, he understood the importance of doing things the right way, especially in high society. He acquiesced.
“Shame.” Bobbie sighed as Arthur moved around to fasten the shirt, looking over the fit.
“What?” Jenson thought the fit was quite good.
Bobbie was grinning, and he wasn’t sure he should be comfortable with the way she was looking at him. “It’s always a shame to see good sculpted flesh get covered.”
There was no denying that his cheeks wanted to burn, but he wasn’t going to give a woman in a suit that much power over him. “And here I thought I wasn’t your type.”
“Oh, you’re not. But even I can appreciate male beauty when I see it.”
That wasn’t a way that he’d ever thought of himself. Maker tutted. “Don’t encourage her. She delights in trying to get under the skin.”
Bobbie’s laugh was pure enjoyment. “Well, I got under your skin, didn’t I?” She moved towards Maker and started him towards the door. “We’ll let you two get sorted.”
As the quality left, Arthur turned to find a jacket. He held one out towards Jenson and frowned, constantly checking between the two.
“Forgive me, sir, I’m not sure if this will fit.”
Jenson slid his arms in and waited passively as Arthur pulled it up. It stuck around his biceps.
“Hmm.” Arthur pulled the coat away, tugging the cuffs first to protect the material. Then he took up another coat, put that aside and took up the last. Shaking that out, he offered it to Jenson. It slid on easily and buttoned with room to spare. “I’ll sort that out for tomorrow, but tonight we’ll have to make do.”
“Where did you get all these?”
“The first you tried was Lord Fotheringham’s.”
Jenson had to think to make the connection that ‘Lord Fotheringham’ was Maker. While Maker kept himself in shape, fit and healthy, it was no surprise that Jenson was the bulkier - formative years of manual labour and the need to run after and occasionally bring down villains had made him more muscular.
“And this was Mr Russell’s.”
Another thought Jenson wasn’t entirely sure he was comf
ortable with. “Has Mrs Russell given her permission for this to be used?”
“She has, sir. Is that acceptable?”
It had to be.
When Jenson reached the drawing room, it was to find that the men were ready, Bobbie and Edwina had arrived but the other ladies had yet to assemble. Montgomery was in animated conversation with Lovesey on one side, Maker stood alone on the other side of the hearth. Everything about him was that usual aloof statue, as if nothing could ever touch him. Jenson suspected that that meant something had touched him greatly and he was trying to hide it. Offering a general greeting to all, Jenson wondered what new torture Violet had dreamt up.
“Well, don’t you look dashing.” Bobbie’s smile was a mile wide. He didn’t feel it in the not-quite-fitting suit, but at least it was a compliment, and one that the woman meant. Now he could understand why she had attracted a husband, a topic he was curious to know more about. Of course, it wasn’t his place to actually ask – more’s the pity.
“Thank you.” He offered her and Edwina a small bow as he paused by them, then switched his attention from Bobbie to Edwina. “And thank you.”
Edwina smiled, but shrugged the thanks away. “I’m only too glad to help.” She sighed. “It’s been too long since those clothes had an outing.”
The way she looked him up and down, he knew she was looking at the clothes, not him. Remembering yesterday rather than considering today. She missed her husband a great deal. Now that was something he fully understood. He offered the ladies another small bow and moved to join Maker. The fire in the hearth was keeping a chill from the room, August was bright outside still, but these northern heights were colder than London and fires were a necessity.
The two men nodded in mute greeting and stood side by side.
“Doesn’t look like a happy discussion.” Jenson indicated Monty and Lovesey.
“Unfinalised business.”
Jenson had to think for a moment. “The marriage?”
Maker nodded. “Your investigation.”
Echoes of Aether Page 8
