It was Percy’s turn to nod. “Then you approve a love match?”
Formerly Floote cocked his noncorporeal head. “I recommend it. It saved his grandfather, did you know? Love. Not for very long, of course. But long enough for him to know happiness. And what else is there to life than that?”
Percy would like to say that facts were also good, but it was so rare for the ghost to really talk and he didn’t want to disturb such an unexpected confidence. Facts, Percy had come to realise, generally disturbed people. Besides, Percy had something he’d always wanted to ask the ghost and enough cognac already inside him to be forward about it.
“Did you know Rue’s grandfather had a son as well as a daughter?”
“Of course.”
“Did he know?”
“If he did, he never shared it with me. I found out after he died.”
“Is that why you played both sides? To keep them both safe?” Percy had heard the stories from Rue’s mother about Floote’s betrayal. Floote had been so loyal for so long, yet apparently was always plotting behind the scenes with a preternatural agenda and devious schemes, one of which ended in murder.
Formerly Floote looked sad. “I had to keep the Templars happy, you see? They had Alessandro’s son.”
“And then his grandson.”
The ghost inclined his head.
Percy twirled his glass. “And then you were stuck once again with the guardianship of two children raised in opposite cultures with conflicting agendas.”
They looked at Rue and Rodrigo. The cousins were laughing together about something, - tipsy with liquor or giddy with happiness. Rue was gesticulating wildly, regaling Rodrigo with some story at length. Quesnel was leaning against her side, grin wide and dimpled. Rodrigo had his arm about Anitra’s waist, and her veiled head was rested on his broad shoulder.
Formerly Floote said, “You see what I have wrought?”
Percy nodded. “I do see. Is this what Alessandro Tarabotti asked of you, all those years ago?”
“He only had it for such a short time, you see. And he never knew he needed it until then,” the ghost tried to explain.
“Love?”
“Yes.”
Percy nodded, thinking of his sister. “He wanted his daughter to have it longer than he did. And you took that to mean his son as well. And then his granddaughter. And then his grandson. He charged you with a very grave burden, Mr Floote. Very grave.” Matchmaking the generations. Even I know you can neither guide nor govern the emotions of others.
The ghost gave a sad little smile. “And I took it to my grave.”
Percy winced at the pun and then looked once again at the last of the Tarabotti line. “Don’t you think it’s done now?” he asked. “They both look very happy. And they are together, almost like family.”
“Not… quite…” said the ghost mysteriously, before slipping away, down through the deck and back to his tank.
The sun was near to rising. Percy downed the last of his drink and pondered the nature of love and manipulation and ghosts and souls, confident in his own superiority in needing none of these things to be content with his life.
Although he would never admit it, when his sister tracked him down to chastise him gently and drag him back to the fray, there was a strange pleasure in being wanted too.
All in all, Primrose felt, it was a most excellent wedding. Everything went swimmingly, bagpipes notwithstanding. Willard did so love to play, and Rue always claimed it was in her heritage so let him trot them out in defiance of all taste and logic. After all, Prim thought, pipes have nothing to do with Drifter or Italian culture. They might have been left out, just this once.
She and Tasherit made themselves scarce upon the appearance of the dreaded bladder shrieker (as Tash called bagpipes). Dawn was only a little ways off, and Prim was in accordance with Tasherit on the subject of bagpipes.
Tash muttered something about cats in heat and bygone days in tones that suggested these were bad memories, then she grabbed Primrose by the hand and insisted a private pouncing was not only imminent but, with Prim flaunting such a very flattering gown, mandatory.
She also came up with an extremely pleasant way to block out the sound above decks. It transpired that when blood rushes through one’s ears and mind at the height of the most decadent of pleasure, even bagpipes may be ignored.
Tasherit’s tongue was likely the most talented thing Primrose had ever encountered. As she told Tasherit, it was a genuine pity it was a skill that could not be shared with others. Or a pity for others - good for Primrose.
Tasherit was pleased with this possessive compliment and made her feelings clear with a similarly decided statement of ownership. “I know we cannot marry, not by your people’s laws, but you are mine and I am yours and that is that.”
Primrose had agreed. It was all she could do at the time. Tasherit’s tongue was involved in this statement, and Primrose was learning she could not resist that tongue.
Just prior to sunrise the werecat curled against her back, leaving little licks and nibbles to the nape of Prim’s neck, and despite a near soporific relaxation (the result of exquisite application of the same only moments before) Primrose was beginning to feel restless for more. Again. She wondered if she might pretend to hear the bagpipes again. And she wondered if they had time before sunrise.
Tasherit paused her ministrations to say, “It was well done, your ceremony for Anitra and her soulless man.”
Primrose nodded, stroking Tasherit’s arm where it draped over her waist. “Yes, yes it was. Oddly perfect in its way.”
Tasherit nuzzled in. “Yet you are sad, I think, little one.”
“Like us, they will have no children.”
“Ah, we return to this?”
Primrose nodded. “It may take me some time to reconcile. I had always imagined a big family.”
A sharp nip kept her from becoming maudlin.
“You want children? I will catch some for you. Can’t be too difficult.”
Prim didn’t even know where to start with that statement.
The werecat continued. “There are plenty of unwanted children. What kind would you like?”
As if there were a buffet of babies on offer. But Primrose supposed the werecat was right. There were many workhouses and orphanages. She might have her children if she dared.
“You won’t mind? You are, after all, immortal. The affairs of a small family might seem petty.”
Tasherit chuckled against her neck. “I have always loved cubs. I never had any of my own, before the bite, but I have spent time in the nurseries of ancient queens. You would make a better mother than they.”
Primrose, pleased by such an accolade, rolled so she might kiss her werecat in gratitude.
Tasherit hugged her close. “I would give you the world, little one, if you asked it of me.”
“Yes, but would you give up that fez?”
“No. It is a most excellent hat, such a nice long tassel.”
So Primrose Tunstell made one last compromise on her moral choices in life, and her concern for appearances, and allowed the Turkish cap to stay.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Homeward Bound
Primrose presided over supper the next evening with only a modicum of residual melancholy. On any other first day of the year her thoughts would be filled with all the expectations she had not fulfilled - marriage, family, children, household. But in 1896, with the new century bearing down upon her, Primrose made the resolution to refrain from expectations, for herself and others.
I shall be a new woman, she thought. And I shall have goals and wishes and hopes that are of my own making rather than my mother’s. Or society’s.
Tasherit, sitting next to her at table, bestowed one of her cat-got-the-cream grins on her across the serving tray. I could learn to love those smiles very much.
Percy had managed, by dint of some very diligent research and a great ma
ny local bribes, to acquire aetherographic charts in Lima.
He was prodding Rue about where they should head next. “Shall I plot us a course northwards? To follow the pishtacos to California? It is never very easy to move latitudes, but I think it can be done with a large number of hops. Then we could cross the United States towards Boston and…”
His enthusiasm was a bit much all at once. The officers were all a little worse for the previous night’s celebrations, with the exception of Percy, who seemed startlingly capable of holding his liquor.
Primrose understood her brother’s urgency - they did need some kind of plan. They couldn’t float over the Pacific Ocean near Lima indefinitely. But she wished Percy could have waited until after supper.
Rue forestalled his waffling. “Much as I should like to see our new pishtaco friends safely settled, I’m afraid we must return to London.”
Primrose released an involuntary gasp. She felt part delighted and part terrified at this. Happy to be headed home after so many months away, but scared to know her new relationship might be exposed to her mother. Would be. Would likely have to be exposed.
She looked across the table at Percy. He gave her, of all things, a sympathetic smile. He had said that he would back her in this. I will not lose all my family. I will still have my impossible brother. Primrose wondered if Percy always had this awkward kindness under all his pomp and arrogance. He’d said last night, in a funny voice after too much cognac, that he liked how comfortable she was with herself now. Or, more precisely, what he’d said was: Funny how it took a shape-shifter to show my sister how to fit her own skin.
“So soon?” That was Rodrigo. He’d settled into attending dinners and officers’ meetings alongside his wife in a way that no one found as disconcerting as they ought.
Primrose supposed, in the end, they must either choose to trust him utterly or keep him locked away forever. Which reminded her they still had an aether-pocket pirate imprisoned.
“Are we taking our friend the ladle pirate with us?” she asked.
Rue winced. “Oh, I forgot about him.”
“And have you forgotten that I am wanted for treason in your country? Or I think I am, aren’t I?” Rodrigo was justifiably cautious of his safety.
Rue shrugged. “Possibly. Difficult to know. We’ve been gone long enough for changes to occur. Next possible postal station, I’ll send a message to my parents, both locations, and let them know our next few ports of call. Hopefully they can respond back and we’ll get the lay of the political landscape before leaving this continent. Then if we have to, we’ll leave you two behind.”
Anitra and Rodrigo grimaced a little at that. Such a plan meant being left in the United States, most likely. And no one wanted that.
Rue looked at her cousin and his new wife. “I know it is not ideal, but I’ve another wedding I must attend, I’m afraid. It’s vitally important that I not miss this one.” Rue’s face twisted in disgust. She wasn’t one for highfalutin society gatherings. A wedding in London would be a great deal more elaborate and precedent riddled than the one they’d just enjoyed aboard the Spotted Custard.
Primrose tried to think whose wedding might be so important that they must return to London for it. She and Rue shared most of their acquaintances. It was odd for Rue to know of a wedding before Prim did. Especially as they had been out of communication with England for a month or so. It was even odder for Rue to be invited to attend festivities when Primrose was not.
Primrose decided to make a joke of it rather than take offence. “Rue dear, you know that Tasherit and I cannot publicly marry. If you’re planning on launching us into society with a grand gesture…”
“No. Although now that you mention it…”
Quesnel looked up from where he’d been uncharacteristically silent over the cold sliced meat and biscuits.
Primrose noticed then that his face was quite red. He was even sweating slightly. It wasn’t a hot evening by anyone’s estimation.
Uh-oh, thought Prim.
“Cherie, spit it out,” said the Frenchman to Rue, plucking at the tablecloth self-consciously.
Rue seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. Theirs was a very odd relationship. “Fine. Well. Not to mince words but this wedding, well, it is mine. My wedding. In London.”
Primrose did her best impression of a dead fish. She had hoped, of course, but had rather resigned herself to her best friend living as an inamorata for the foreseeable future.
“To Quesnel, of course.” Rue was now floundering a bit in the awkwardness of the utter silence around the table that had met her announcement.
“I should bally well hope so.” Primrose found her tongue at last. “You’ve ruined his chances for anyone else.” As if Quesnel were a maiden deflowered.
That broke the shock with chuckles.
Primrose was curious. “Why now? Why all of a sudden head us back to London for that?”
“Dama would never forgive us if we did it anywhere else.”
“Nor would my mother,” added Quesnel.
“And the timing is, well, necessary,” added Rue, as if that alone explained her sudden decision.
Primrose felt suddenly adrift and alone.
“Oh,” she said weakly, “is it? But you’ve been living happily in sin for so long. Not that I’m defending it, of course. Except that’s now my fate, so I rather hoped we could continue to float along sinning differently but together.”
“I did too.” Rue reached over to grab Prim’s hand. Her squeeze was reassuring in its familiarity. Just that gesture said so many things, held so many memories. Come with me, Prim, it said. I promise we won’t get into trouble. I’ll be with you. It’s only a little favour, Prim. Oh, but you’re so good at acting, pretend with me, I’ll take the blame. But Prim, it’ll be fun. We’ll do it together. Together. Together…
“Then why?” Percy asked. “I mean why leg-shackle if you don’t have to?” He looked at Quesnel, no doubt genuinely curious. He spent most of his time at any given ball avoiding all the unmarried ladies with a will.
Rue shrugged as if the answer were of no matter or particular importance. “I’m pregnant.”
Primrose didn’t like the wave of envy and sadness that hit her. She should be happy for her friend. Except that Rue looked rather more resigned than pleased.
“Quesnel and I were rather hoping we could persuade you and Tasherit to be godparents. It’s not like either of us intend to give up the Spotted Custard and stop adventuring.”
“You’ll keep it aboard ship?” Prim felt her face tingling.
“Of course.”
At which juncture Primrose burst into tears.
Tasherit was immediately upset with everyone and ran around attempting to solve the problem with more tea, a piece of cheese, and then some hair petting. Which, as Prim had her hair up, only messed with the arrangement and caused her to cry harder.
Rue pushed her chair back and crouched down in a way that Prim worried was rather more active than was healthy for a lady in her delicate condition.
“Please, Prim.” Rue’s face was a study in distressed hope.
Then Quesnel was standing behind her, a hand to Rue’s shoulder, his normally cheerful face grave, watching Primrose intently.
And Tasherit was back on her other side, petting again, and Prim didn’t mind so much that her hair had fallen down. Percy was standing up, leaning across the table, and grumbling at her not to be a ninny, but also wondering if a nice biscuit would cheer her up and setting it down gently in front of her. Further down the table Anitra watched her in sympathetic distress while Rodrigo went for water and a cold compress, in case Primrose was developing a case of histrionics.
Primrose realised they thought she was sad and overwrought with jealousy.
Rue said “Please, Prim” again, and then, “I can’t do this without you. You know that. I won’t be any good at it without you. We won’t.” She gestured to herself an
d Quesnel, and then all the others in the room.
It sounded like all those times before. Every time Rue had dragged Primrose into an adventure. Together. Primrose realised then that she had never regretted a single time. Certainly Rue got her into trouble, but it had always been fun, it had always been an adventure.
Primrose forced herself to speak, on a little gasp of hope. “We’re going to have a baby?” She was certain her smile was as wide and as bright and as damp as the Pacific Ocean under a midday sun.
“We are.” Rue’s own smile answered hers.
“There, you see,” said Tasherit, “I told you I would get you one.”
“I rather think Rue and Quesnel deserve the credit,” said Percy, sitting back down in his chair and sipping his tea. Now that he knew Prim’s tears were not distress but joy, he returned to his old disinterested pompous self.
Rue let out a sigh, her tawny eyes intent on Prim’s face. “You’re happy about this?”
Primrose nodded. “Very.”
Quesnel handed her a handkerchief, only slightly soot smudged. She dabbed her eyes.
Rue stood and smiled down at her. “Good, because you’ll do most of the work once it’s here. I depend upon you to take care of all the details. Nursery, nappies, nudibranch, whatever it is babies need. You’ll organise everything?”
“Don’t I always?” Primrose was already thinking about what needed to be done. Already considering the changes she would make to her household, for her family - what must be accomplished, and how she would do it, and how wonderful it would all be.
“Good,” said Rue. Primrose could feel, in that one word, all her old friend’s unshakeable trust and love.
“That’s settled, then. Percy, take us home.”
Author’s Note
Thank you so much for reading this story. If you enjoyed it, or if you would like to read more about any of my characters, please say so in a review. I’m grateful for the time you take to do so.
I have a silly gossipy newsletter called the Monthly Chirrup. I promise: no spam, no fowl. (Well, maybe a little fowl and the occasional giveaway.)
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