“I believe you are trying to ease my conscience, but I accept your insistence,” Mr. Thorpe said with a smile.
“But you’ll tell us about the Incas, won’t you, Bess?” her brother Vincent said. His freckled face made him look younger than his eighteen years, as did his air of excitement. “They were supposed to be all destroyed by the conquistadores, and to learn they still live…Bess, that’s an amazing discovery!”
Bess wished she had been more circumspect in what she had told people. Telling the War Office had been obvious; keeping secrets from her family and her reticulum was unthinkable; and Mr. Quinn…but that was behind her now. Clarissa had Spoken to her that morning, telling her that a government official would call on her to question her about her experience, which made Bess feel she should wait to see what he had to say before spreading the news further.
“I know so little of their culture, it would be wrong of me to elaborate on that,” she said.
“You don’t have to elaborate to tell the truth,” Vincent insisted. “I think you should talk to someone at university. I can promise you there are any number of old gentlemen who would give their right arms to have been in your place. Even if you didn’t see any treasure.”
That had been a secret she had successfully kept. She had mentioned it solely to Clarissa, Maria, and Mr. Quinn, and she felt certain the War Office would not spread the news. The serpent ring now lay in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box, where it would not be disturbed. “That would make my story very different,” she agreed.
Mama rose from her end of the table, prompting the gentlemen to rise as well. “Bess, Mary, if you would join me?” she said.
Bess gratefully stood and followed her mother across the hall, seating herself on the sofa and removing her spectacles. “Bess, does your head ache?” her mother asked.
“Not enough to signify.” Her spare spectacles rubbed her temples uncomfortably. Perhaps she should have another pair made.
The sitting room went silent. Mary almost never spoke unless spoken to, but Mama’s silence was uncharacteristic. Bess eyed her where she sat nearby, her hands folded placidly in her lap. “What, no commentary on eligible young men new to the neighborhood?” she teased.
Mama startled. “Oh, Bess, I did not—naturally you will want time to—oh, you are teasing me, you impudent child.” She smiled. “My thoughts are not entirely given over to finding you a suitable husband, but you are five-and-twenty, you know—”
“Yes, Mama, I am aware of my age.”
“More impudence. You are fortunate I enjoy your company and do not mind sharing a home with a spinster.”
Mary gasped. “Mother Hanley, for shame! It is hardly Bess’s fault—”
“Mary, Mama is simply teasing me. She does not believe I am a spinster.” Bess settled her spectacles more firmly on her nose. “Besides, with the demands of the War Office on Extraordinaries, it is not at all uncommon for women of five- or six-and-twenty to be unmarried regardless of their eligibility. Twenty years ago it would have been unthinkable.”
“All teasing aside, Bess, you really ought to look to your future,” Mama said. “You must feel a desire to be mistress of your own household.”
“I suppose,” Bess said, though in truth she had not considered it. “I assume you have plans in that direction?”
“You assume correctly. I intend to take you to London when you feel you are ready. The Season is well begun, and you are no debutante, so we are free to attend whatever we desire without feeling the pressure of being watched.” Mama smiled and reached out to press her hand. “And you will gain an anonymity you cannot hope for in our small community.”
To her surprise, the idea cheered Bess. She enjoyed dancing, liked visiting with friends and making new acquaintances, and London was large enough for even an Extraordinary Speaker to lose herself in. “That is an excellent idea,” she said.
“What is an excellent idea?” Edmund said as the men filed into the sitting room. “Bess, pour me some tea, will you?”
“You should not be so demanding,” Bess said, but she poured a cup for her brother. “The excellent idea is for Mama and me to go to London for a few months.”
“Oh, but that’s a terrible idea!” Vincent exclaimed. “All those dreadful balls, and nowhere to ride but the Park—Bess, say you’re not considering it.”
“Some of us enjoy dancing, Vincent,” Bess said.
“But you can’t possibly. Not without John,” Vincent blurted out.
Bess felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her breathless and stunned. She had not thought of John in days, and the realization made her feel equal parts guilt and relief.
Mama said, “Vincent! For shame!”
“No, it is—” Bess began.
“John was my friend!” Vincent exclaimed. “I know Bess misses him, and I don’t understand how she can bear to dance without him.”
Bess’s guilt grew until it weighed her down like an iron blanket. More accurate to say Vincent had worshipped John, had firmly believed Bess would marry him, and was clearly under the impression that Bess’s attachment had been as serious as his own. “Vincent,” Bess said, fighting the urge to flee the room, “John is dead. He would not have wanted me to die, too.”
“But—”
“I cannot bring him back by immuring myself in the country. You need to accept that. I will never forget John, and neither should you, but I have to live.” Bess kept her eyes fixed on Vincent’s face, which was screwed up in pain and sorrow. The freckles make interesting constellations, she thought, and hated herself for her levity.
Vincent let out a deep breath. “I apologize,” he said. “I…need to leave.” He was out the door before anyone could stop him.
Father said, “Bess.”
“I know, Father,” Bess said, though in truth she did not know what he intended to say. She only wanted to forestall more awkward conversation. “Vincent is young. Everything is more intense when one is young. But…I think he will be happier if he does not accompany us to London.”
“He has his education to think of,” Mama said. “Such a relief.”
“I, on the other hand, believe I will join your merry crew,” Edmund said. “I have business to attend to, and you will need someone to beat the importunate suitors off with a stick.”
“That would be counterproductive, as I am certain Mama wishes me to go to London to find a husband,” Bess said lightly. “Mary? Will you join us?”
Mary blushed again. “I think not,” she said. “My condition…I do not feel equal to going out in society.”
Bess, who had made the offer out of a sense of obligation, had never been so grateful for her sister-in-law’s upcoming confinement. “Then that is Mama, myself, the incorrigible Edmund…Father, can your duties spare you?”
“I will visit occasionally, but I believe I am needed here in Lamberton,” Father said. “Take care not to spend me out of house and home.”
“Why, Father!” Bess exclaimed, pretending to be wounded. “I am most frugal.”
“I meant Edmund,” her father said. “I’ve never seen such a macaroni in all my days.”
Chapter 22
In which Bess is asked to conceal the truth
A rare snow was falling the following morning when Bess entered the drawing room. A fire was already lit and burning steadily, but Bess felt chilled nonetheless. She stood before it, warming her hands and considering whether she ought not change her clothes, though her long-sleeved wool gown was as heavy as anything she owned.
The door opened behind her. “Bess,” Edmund said, “are you certain you don’t wish me to stay?”
Bess shook her head. “I believe this meeting is intended to be confidential, at least in its contents. But I hope they will give me permission to share some of my experiences with my friends.” It was too late for strict confidentiality, as several members of her reticulum knew the details of her captivity and flight, but Bess appreciated the gove
rnment’s desire to control as much of that knowledge as possible.
“Very well,” Edmund said, pulling on his riding gloves. “I will return in a few hours, and I will hold you to that promise.”
When he was gone, Bess turned to looking out the window at the powdering of snow that clung to the lawn and the trees. That made her feel even colder. She rubbed her arms and took a seat as near to the fire as possible. It amused her that she missed the warmth of Peru when she missed little else about it.
The door opened again. One of the footmen bowed and said, “Miss Hanley, Mr. West from London.”
Mr. West entered and stood looking about him as if memorizing the contents of the room for future description. He was a man of average height and weight, with nondescript brown hair under his hat and features neither attractive nor ugly. His gaze fell upon Bess, and Bess suppressed another shiver, for his eyes were a cold, light blue that, unlike the rest of him, Bess could not imagine ever forgetting.
“Miss Hanley,” he said. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
In the face of that penetrating gaze, Bess refrained from saying I did not believe it an invitation I could refuse. “Of course, Mr. West. Won’t you have a seat?”
She resumed her seat near the fire and watched Mr. West survey the room once more before taking the sofa nearest her. “I will not trouble you for long,” he said, though his eyes suggested he did not care whether or not she was troubled. “The government wishes only to know what you experienced among the Incas. So I will ask you to relate your story, and then I may have some questions for you, if that is agreeable.”
Bess nodded. She swallowed to moisten a suddenly dry throat. “You know I was shipwrecked off the coast of Peru, which is what began my experience,” she said.
Mr. West’s blue-eyed gaze never left her face, and Bess barely managed not to stammer her way through her story. She told him everything except the details of her conversations with her reticulum, mentioning only that she had told them of her experience and that Clarissa had been her contact with the War Office, and did not bring Mr. Quinn into it at all.
She also did not mention her mind-reading ability. She did not perceive any of the flashes of thought she was growing accustomed to hearing, and rather than comforting her, their absence made her even more nervous, as if Mr. West were aware of her ability and concealing his thoughts deliberately.
When she reached the point at which she had escaped from Mendoza, she folded her hands in her lap to still their trembling and concluded, “I believe that is everything, sir.”
Mr. West regarded her in silence for a few moments. Finally, he said, “You were not exactly circumspect, Miss Hanley.”
“I did not realize I should be. I am accustomed to telling my reticulum my troubles. I did limit my conversations to only a few people who I knew would be discreet. I did not want my adventure to be public knowledge, in case my reputation suffered at the hands of the low-minded.”
“And it did not occur to you that there might be political ramifications?”
Bess blinked. “No. What ramifications?”
Mr. West closed his hands loosely into fists that he rested on his knees. “The fact that the Incas have armed themselves with European weapons—that they intend to turn those weapons on the Spanish to drive them out of Peru—these are not small or insignificant facts.”
“But England is not involved in the South American Spanish colonies. I do not understand how those things could matter to us.”
“Of course not,” Mr. West said dismissively. “You can hardly be expected to grasp the political realities.”
Anger burned away her residual discomfort. “I am not a fool, Mr. West,” she said, “and simply because I am not in the government’s confidence does not mean I cannot understand when I have the facts. I did my best while I was a captive in an alien land, and both you and the Spanish ought to be grateful that I learned of the Incas’ plan.”
Mr. West’s eyes narrowed. “You were the answer to a foreign Seer’s Dream,” he said. “What are we to make of that?”
“If you mean to suggest that my being Achik’s intended tool makes me somehow complicit, or that I have sympathy for the Incas, you are very much mistaken,” Bess said. “I do not fully understand how Dream works, but I know it is a prediction of the very immediate future. I was likely the only English Extraordinary Speaker within the Incas’ reach at the time Achik Dreamed.”
“And what of this Extraordinary Shaper who helped you escape?”
“What of her?” It frightened Bess that this man might turn his attention on Amaya, even if she was beyond his reach.
“We wish to question her as well.”
“I do not know how that is possible, given that she is in Peru and likely well-hidden.”
Mr. West harrumphed. “Indeed.” He looked as if he blamed Bess for Amaya’s disappearance. “Very well, Miss Hanley. It is too late to conceal your adventure, but you are to say nothing more about the Incas’ military plans, nor their acquisition of European weaponry. That is a matter of international diplomacy. It is very important that Sapa Inca’s desire for our government to ally with his people not become public knowledge. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” Bess said, feeling nettled again.
Mr. West stood. “The government thanks you for your cooperation,” he said, and showed himself out without waiting for her to rise.
Bess sat staring at the door for some time after he had left. So she had not left behind all her political tangles in Peru, after all. It made sense that Spain would want it kept secret that they were facing a different kind of unrest in their colonies, but why that should matter to England, she did not know. Unless the government’s concern was giving the world the false impression that they meant to side with the Incas. It would be interesting to be present for those discussions in Parliament, assuming they were that public. It would be even more interesting if the Prince Regent or the Prime Minister were considering Sapa Inca’s offer. That treasure must be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds—a compelling incentive for a country at war with Napoleon.
Bess sighed and rose. Thankfully, none of it was her business. Today she would begin packing for their stay in London, and she could leave her experiences behind.
The woman in the dusty green and silver livery of Hartswell’s Bounding Company set Bess down gently in the tiny Bounding chamber. “If you’ll wait outside, miss,” she said with a smile. Bess exited the room quickly, breathing out in relief at being free of the small, enclosed space. There was nothing to fear, after all, in a brightly lit Bounding chamber with an easily accessible door.
Hartswell’s main London office, with its glass-domed roof and sprawling central court, looked more like an exhibit hall than a Bounding company. Dozens of doors leading to Bounding chambers opened off the round room, which was filled with backless sofas spread out enough to enhance the feeling of being in a summer pavilion or a greenhouse. The smell of freesias growing out of season completed the illusion.
Bess sat on a sofa next to their pile of luggage and looked about her, examining the other travelers. Most were men, striding along briskly as if intent on important business, but there were several women traveling in pairs and one or two families. Mama always used Hartswell’s when she came to London because she refused to be Bounded by a man, and Bess had passed through their central hub many times over the years.
The door opened, and Bess’s mother stepped out. She looked windblown, as if Bounding were more like Flying than a simple instantaneous transport between locations. “Have you counted the bags?” she asked Bess. “I am always certain one will fall off in transit.”
Bess knew better than to try to convince Mama that such a thing was impossible. “We will count them together,” she said, “while we wait on Edmund’s arrival.”
Mama was already ticking off bags and parcels, her lips moving as she soundlessly counted. “Everything is here,” she said as the door opened again
and Edmund and the Bounder woman emerged. “I simply do not understand why we always require so much baggage.”
“It is because you prefer to plan for all contingencies,” Edmund said, “despite the fact that everything is for sale in London, and forgetting one’s hairbrush is easily remedied with a trip to Floris or some such shop.”
“Oh, do not be so practical,” Mama scoffed. “Go and hire us a hackney. At least we were able to hire our customary house. I dislike novelty. Suppose we rented a different house, and it had fireplaces that smoked? Whereas our house in Wimpole Street is comfortably familiar.”
“It is so familiar I forget sometimes it does not belong to us outright,” Bess said. She adjusted her bonnet, though the grey light coming in through the glass dome did not trouble her eyes. It had been clear weather in Lamberton for the last three days, but here in London, storm clouds filled the skies. Bess would have taken it for an ill omen if she believed in such things. She enjoyed stormy weather, as the light was soothing and the sound of rain on a window the perfect accompaniment to an afternoon of reading.
“Do you know it is nearly five years since I was last in London?” she told her mother. “I am eager to see how it has changed, and how it has stayed the same.”
“We will fill our days with visiting and shopping,” Mama said, clasping Bess’s hand in eagerness, “and our nights with dancing and revelry.”
“I have so many women to visit. The members of my reticulum have been assiduous in pressing invitations on me. I anticipate our house to be overflowing with cards when we arrive. Eleanora in particular told me this morning of the party she intends to host on my behalf, with my closest friends in the reticulum in attendance.”
Whispering Twilight Page 23