by A. G. Howard
He couldn’t stop picturing the pair of shoes breaking free from their box and clomping away on their own—enabled by the same unseen entity that had danced in his jacket earlier this morn. Ridiculous, but it seemed the most obvious explanation, considering the lack of evidence that would point to a break in.
If Willow were here, he could discuss it with her. She would thrill to engage in such speculation. But she wasn’t. When he’d finally made it to steerage he found that the hair had belonged to a little immigrant girl. All along he’d imagined Willow’s scent on the wig, imagined her taking Abrams’ place as the carriage driver on the way to the dock.
He rubbed his whiskered chin. Pity the little bald children.
Though laughter bubbled all around in response to the animated thespians on stage, Julian’s frown deepened. To think that all of these upper-class passengers had earlier indulged in a hearty meal of fish and oyster pie, baked artichokes, and brandied strawberries for dessert. He doubted those poor immigrant children ever got dessert. That in mind, he decided to purchase a few boxes of chocolates from the confection shop and take it to steerage tomorrow for the little ones. Although it would seem a much more solemn sojourn than earlier, without any chance of running into Willow.
This disappointment that she wasn’t on board befuddled him. No doubt by tomorrow he’d get a response to his telegraph confirming she was settled in at school. Such news should make him happy considering Willow had made a spit pact—a double pact—promising to do just that. Yet he missed her; and he couldn’t think of any excuse as to why, other than the fact that he cared deeper than he wished to admit.
“An excuse.” The actress playing the male role barked the line as if reading Julian’s thoughts. Resituating the domino mask over the top half of his face, he focused again on the stage.
“A necessary thing…” The femininely attired ingénue took her cue.
“Good for nothing but to cover shame, pay debts, and own children for his wife.” The cross-dressed actress tipped her hat in a masculine manner and wriggled her fake moustache, prompting the audience to laugh.
The other actress smoothed the décolleté of her dress and opened her fan wide, fluttering a breeze over her face as she simpered demurely. “In short, a husband is a husband, and there’s an end of him. But a lover is—”
“Not to be expressed but in action.” Taking her hand, the mustachioed actress led the other toward the curtain behind the stage. “I’ll show you what a lover is with a vengeance, madam. Come along.”
They slipped through the slit in the curtains and the audience rose to offer a standing ovation.
As everyone clapped, the chandeliers hanging from the ornate domed ceiling blinked on to brighten the entire music hall. An exquisite crystal fountain with sculpted glassy birds glistened and gurgled in the room’s midst. The figurines reminded Julian of Willow’s hummingbird tattoo … the most exquisite and mysterious part of her, least of what he’d seen thus far. So many nights he’d imagined tracing that colorful outline of feathers with his fingertips, following the wings that nestled along the curve of her lower back at the brink of two lovely dimples. Heartbeat spiking at the thought, he pushed himself from the wall and wove through the chairs toward the spray of water, his bare feet skimming across the cool, polished parquet floor.
Crew members sprung to life around him—some scooting the seats against the room’s walls to open up the area for dancing and others carrying in trays of long-stemmed goblets filled with sangria wine.
An orchestra came out from the stage curtains to set up their instruments.
“So, what did you think?”
Distracted from his study of the glass birds, Julian turned at the familiar voice, his toga hem brushing just beneath his kneecaps. He had hoped he might see Judge Victor Arlington tonight.
Julian smiled, struggling to drag his thoughts away from envisioning Willow’s nude body. “I think it was a ripping good show. And you?”
“A spectacular presentation.” The judge’s jiggly, bared arm waved a server over, taking two glasses of wine from the tray. He handed one to Julian and held out his own, merry eyes twinkling beneath his half mask. “So, do we drink to your new friend’s success? I’d say Mr. Sala has proven false those misconceptions of his girls beyond a doubt’s shadow. No one can refute that they are thespians now.”
“Agreed. Salud.” Julian clinked their goblets and took a sip of the warm liquid. Its oaked flavor evaporated on his tongue, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. “Though I did learn they aren’t his daughters. He’s escorting them to the World’s Fair so they might take part in that talent competition on opening night. They certainly have a chance at winning. The ladies are indeed accomplished in their art.”
“That they are. I read about the opening night festivities in your Threshold. You left it behind in the barber’s shop today, by the way. It’s in my cabin. I’ll return it to you tomorrow.” The Judge licked his wine-stained lips. “Say, did you find the owner of the hair?”
Julian swallowed another sip of wine, grateful once more for the judge’s support earlier in the barber shop. “Yes. A sad story that. Some German children had to sell their hair so their family could eat. They were as bald as baby sparrows.”
“Pity. It’s a harsh life for the newcomers. But America has much to offer them, if they’re diligent enough to work hard. There’s jobs aplenty.”
“This particular family is headed to Chicago, from what the children said.”
The judge stepped aside as a couple passed arm in arm. “They must be going to the Hull House. It’s a settlement home. They’ll give aid to the immigrants until they can gain footing. Wise choice, since they have children to care for. I hope they find happiness in the States.”
Julian grinned, pleased by his companion’s compassionate nature. “I’m glad to see you attended, Victor. Who are you then … Zeus, perchance?” He regarded the man’s rotund form filling the full length robe. A peach and green shoulder drape hemmed with gold cording completed the outfit.
“Me and about twenty other rascals that were taken in by that enterprising tailor. Have you seen how many men are running around in this very costume? Down to the laurel leaf head piece.” He tapped the copper circle on his head. “How did you manage to find an Adonis?”
Julian, having taken another swallow of wine, nearly strangled. “Adonis! That’s a generous misconception. Since I was late arriving for my fitting, I was fortunate enough to get one made from scratch. From a sheet no less.” Julian held out his bare arms and laughed, feeling ridiculous in the rather short costume. He was unused to having his calves and shins on full display. “By the time he finished, it looked like a circus tent. I’m grateful he tacked on the gold rope belt at no extra cost.”
“Maybe you should have worn your haunted shoes, to complete the outfit.” Grinning, the judge sipped his wine, leaving his moustache fringed with burgundy droplets.
“Huh. Grand idea … had they not gone missing from my room.”
“Ah, no! When?”
“A scullery maid saw two immigrant boys wandering the upper decks this morn. One a child, the other an adolescent. I’ve no doubt they’re behind it.” Julian chose not to mention his suspicions that the shoes might have meandered off on their own.
The judge resituated his mask, as his glass had knocked against the lower edge, slanting it. “Any ideas how you’re to find two immigrant boys among the multitude?”
“I’ve enacted a plan in hopes to bring the shoes to me. We’ll have to see if it comes to fruition. Needless to say, I’m avoiding the barber tonight. I ruined the wig … and now I’ve no eighteenth century latchets to cinch my side of the bargain.”
The musicians started to warm their instruments, forcing the judge to raise his voice. “Well, with a mind such as yours, you’ll figure something out.” His free hand clapped Julian’s shoulder. “And I’m glad to offer any assistance in haggling with the barber. We had a fine chat earlier durin
g my shave. He’s a fairly equitable fellow, once you get past his stinginess.”
Joining his companion in another sip of wine, Julian ran a gambit of the room, peering over his glass’s rim. “Well look there. It appears Medusa has arrived. Over by the doorway, watching us. Could it be she’s interested in the king of the gods?”
The judge glanced across his shoulder through the milling crowd of costumes. “Ahem. No. Surely you’ve heard tales of my wife, Hera. She’s known for her formidable jealous temper. Besides, I believe our Medusa has vested interest in the god of vegetation. That would be you, Adonis.” He glanced back at Julian. “Unfathomable. Wearing only a bed sheet, yet you still manage to outshine the rest of us. Ah, to reclaim the muscles and carriage of youth. She can’t tear her eyes away.”
Julian studied the delicate framed woman. Standing alone, she wore a form-hugging dress of billowy, sheer green fabric. Her snake headpiece—made of shimmering wired ribbons and leaves—covered all of her hair, leaving her slender neck exposed. So elegant.
Returning Julian’s appraising gaze, she held a feathered mask up by its handle so it covered the top half of her face, exposing pretty, rouged lips. Her pink tongue eased out to break the seam of her mouth. A rush of heat simmered in Julian’s gut at the sensual affectation.
“Maybe you should take the initiative and ask her to dance?” The judge said.
Julian’s throat tightened. “Um … no. No, I don’t believe I will.”
“Aw, come now. Adonis wouldn’t leave a beauty like that to the wilds. The wolves will no doubt be sniffing at her naked heels by the time the first song ends.”
Julian grinned, admiring Medusa’s slim ankles. It was a rare sight indeed, to be privy to the exposed feet of a lady in such a public venue. Willow would’ve loved such a privilege. Like several of the men at the masquerade, some women wore no shoes. It seemed being on board this floating palace insulated them from some of the strictures of outside society. “Wolves, aye? Surely she can fend for herself. One would think venomous hair could trump a simple canine.”
The judge chortled. “Oh-ho. Spoken like a man who has a lady at home.”
“I’ve a lady in mind.” Julian gnawed his tongue.
“You’re just a young pup, still. Are you sure you want to waste a once in a lifetime opportunity?”
Julian shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “An opportunity to dance with a lady doesn’t seem so extraordinary. I’ve had such occasions before, and I’m sure I will again.”
The judge grinned. “You’ve obviously spent too much of your life with your head in books, lad. As they say in the States: you have to sow a few wild oats before you can feed that prized mare. This,” he gestured toward Medusa, “is fortuity incarnate. I’ve heard being at sea can act as an aphrodisiac to some women. It’s the sensation of being in a bubble … impenetrable by the outside world. They drop their inhibitions. Go on. At least talk to her.”
Julian’s tongue started to swell and his hands felt clammy. “I-I wouldn’t know the first thing to say.”
“Bah!” The judge snatched away Julian’s empty goblet and handed it off to a passing server. “Just ask her to dance. And you’d better hurry; you might have competition from one of my doppelgangers.”
Julian had noticed the other Zeus as well. He kept looking from Julian to Medusa from behind his full face mask. Upon catching Julian watching him, the small man stepped into a corner, his cobalt hair so dark it blended into the shadows around him.
“He can have her,” Julian at last answered the judge. “I’m not putting myself in the game.” He motioned to the chairs against the wall, waiting to accommodate those who didn’t wish to dance. “Let’s you and I sit. I have some business I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Business? I’m intrigued.” The judge shifted his goblet to the other hand. He walked with Julian but glanced again at Medusa as she gave a piece of paper to a crew member and turned to leave the music hall. “Aww. She’s leaving. You’d rather speak of business than pursue a golden opportunity towards carnal education?”
“This is more important. It’s the very reason I boarded this ship. The reason I’m going to St. Louis.” Julian settled his foot on a chair, lifting his costume’s hem to expose a small leather pouch cinched just above his left knee. From within, he drew out some of his past ride designs. “I am an engineer. I design amusements … in the form of mechanical rides. And I’ve a proposition for you.”
He’d snagged the judge’s attention. His companion lifted his mask off his face and settled it atop his head, taking a seat. He ran his palm down his moustache, smoothing the white hairs as he looked over the papers Julian handed him. “These are incredible. And you’ve had success with them?”
Before Julian could respond, a crew member approached him.
“The lady in green wished me to give you this, Sir.” He handed off the missive to Julian, tipped his uniform cap, and left.
At a loss for words, Julian gawked down at the judge.
“Well open it, boy.” The man’s contagious grin sparked Julian to unfold the parchment. Everyone around them had fallen into dancing alongside the instruments.
Fingers crinkling the paper, Julian read the script silently: Adonis—I offer you a dance in the moonlight and then a kiss at midnight. Meet me on the promenade deck where our only audience will be the stars. I anxiously await our rendezvous, Lady Medusa.
Gulping against his prickly throat, Julian crumpled the paper inside a fist. “She wishes to meet in private.”
The judge stared at him in wide-eyed reverence. “I told you. Lucky bastard.”
Julian dropped the wadded missive on a passing steward’s tray.
Judge Arlington folded the ride designs. “I’m retiring to my stateroom. I will take your designs with me. We’ll talk business tomorrow. But tonight, you can’t let opportunity pass you by.” His tone was resolved, if not a tad envious.
Julian struggled with the decision. “I wonder if she might be one of Mr. Sala’s ingénues that I met at lunch today.”
“Go to her and find out. Were I twenty years younger and unmarried…” Patting his bulging stomach, the judge sighed. “Oh who am I kidding? I would never have had a chance with such a woman. Go on. Let me live vicariously through you.”
Trying to hold his pulse in check, Julian took a deep breath. Perhaps this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. When else could he pretend to be another man entirely? There was much bravery to be forged from behind a domino mask. Guilt tapped at his conscience, but he pushed it aside. He had no intention of practicing anything more than kissing. As the man, it was his duty to know how to give a competent kiss.
“Perhaps I might have a few wild oats yet to be sown.”
“I’ll say.” The judge whistled.
“But I’m only sowing one of them tonight…” Julian made a point to assure his companion. Or was it he that needed assurance?
“Of course.” The judge smiled, holding up his goblet in a toasting gesture. “I’ve found that famous last words go down easier with a swallow of wine.” Twirling the glass in a taunting manner, he gulped down the last of his drink then stood and nudged Julian toward the door. “Now, be on your way, before our goddess changes her mind.”
She stood at the bow—looking every inch the goddess. The gossamer fabric of her gown appeared even more transparent in the dim light, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Every nuance of shadow where her body curved, every dainty line of her bone structure, everything that marked her a woman, was on full display. Julian strode toward her slowly, letting the cool night air whip the fallen strands of his hair around his temples, letting it chill his bared arms, wishing it could distract him from the animal lust starting to brew beneath his skin.
Scanning the deck, it appeared that he and the lady had the promenade to themselves. Whether that was a good thing or not, he couldn’t decide.
He still wore his half-mask, and she’d tied hers in place using a rib
bon from her head piece to free her hands. They were strangers, for all intents and purposes. Soon to be intimate strangers, if the insinuations in her missive held any sway.
His hand trailed the cold metal railing as his footsteps ate up the short distance between them. The inky sea hugged the ship on all sides—as possessive and ominous as a nest of storm clouds—indiscernible from the night sky but for the stars. Julian resisted looking at the foamy rivulets being parted by the ship’s intrusive bow, hyper-aware of the sensual innuendos all around him tonight … of things he’d never taken the time to notice before.
He tipped his head as he approached his companion. She returned the half nod. Then he propped his elbows on the railing, studying her while a fine sweat beaded his brow.
The moonlight on her flesh was a scintillating spectacle, as if tiny prisms of light twinkled from her every pore, and the breeze carried over her scent—a dark floral temptation. Swiping the moisture from his forehead, Julian quashed another stab of guilt. Only a kiss, and then he’d call it a night.
“Do you hear the music?” Medusa murmured over the quiet lapping of the ocean, her voice so soft he couldn’t place if she was one of Mr. Sala’s girls.
His mind rattled … searching for an appropriate response. Music. What the hell was she talking about? The first class music hall was too well insulated for any of the instruments to reach them up here.
His teeth clenched. He should answer as Nick would. Say something imaginative … charming.
“I hear it,” he untangled his thick tongue to extract the words.
She looked out at the water—offered him nothing but a profile, indistinct with the mask veiling the true form of her face.
“I hear the breath of the sea,” he continued. “The sighs of the stars. The music of the night. Is that to what you refer?”
At this she turned to him, her dress rustling against her flesh. “Yes. Oh, yes.” One side of her mouth lifted, pleased by his response.