Philip drew back from her, and Bess made an impatient sound. “That is more than enough,” Philip said. “The next time I kiss you, you will be my wife.”
Bess arched an eyebrow at him. “Unacceptable,” she said, and pressed her lips to his once more.
Chapter 38
In which Bess contrives her own happy ending
Rain drummed on the windows of the drawing room of the Hanleys’ home in Lamberton, letting in watery light that was no match for the many lamps lit throughout the room. Bess twined her fingers together in her lap and regarded Edmund closely. The room was cold, and she had to concentrate on not shivering, in case he believed she was uncertain about this subject, which she decidedly was not. “So we are agreed,” she said, “I am sensible, and make good choices, and as an Extraordinary I can enter into contracts as I choose, including a marriage contract.”
“You fill me with dread,” Edmund said. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I wish for your support when I tell Father and Mama. I want them to love my husband quite as much—well, no, that would be embarrassing if they loved him as much as I do, or even in the same way. But I fear they will disapprove, and that would be uncomfortable, because I will not give him up.”
“Bess, tell me who this paragon is before I explode.”
You can come in now, Bess Spoke to Philip. “Just remember, you promised to listen,” Bess said as the door opened. She was sitting with her back to it, facing her brother, so she was treated to the full effect of his astonishment as his eyes and mouth widened, and he shot to his feet.
“Ravenscroft,” he said. “Bess, you cannot mean—Ravenscroft.”
“I do mean,” Bess said. “Philip, will you sit with me?”
Philip took a seat beside her and took her hand in his. “I know it’s not what you might have wanted, Hanley,” he said, “but I assure you I will treat your sister with the highest respect, and I intend to make her happy.”
Edmund’s gaze shot from Philip to Bess. “Bess—”
“He is not at all what you gave me to believe,” Bess said, “and he has improved and will go on improving. And you know that, or you would if you were honest with yourself.”
Edmund’s expression turned reflective. “I suppose,” he said. “You’re never at the club anymore, Ravenscroft, and you haven’t had a flirt—that is,” he went on, correcting himself mid-sentence, “I do not see you paying attention to any ladies in particular.”
“My love for Bess has made me a changed man,” Philip said without a trace of irony. “I would like you to act as a character reference for me with your parents. Bess is, as she says, of an age where she may marry without permission, but we would like their blessing nonetheless.”
“Very well,” Edmund said, once more eyeing Bess speculatively. “I thought Addison—”
“Mr. Addison is of course a good friend,” Bess said, “but there has never been anyone but Philip.” This was not entirely true. Had there been no Mr. Quinn, Bess believed she might have been happy with Mr. Addison. Telling him of her attachment to Lord Ravenscroft had been surprisingly difficult, but she could not in good conscience have simply broken off their friendship. But the look in Mr. Addison’s eyes, the faint tension around his lips, his stiffness of manner when he wished her happy—it had wounded her more deeply than she had expected, knowing that she had injured him.
Bess’s temples tingled. “Please excuse me, I am being addressed,” she said, this time remembering to tilt her head back. Philip’s secret manner of handling Speech appealed to her more every day. Yes?
Miss Hanley, it is Randolph Moorcock with the War Office. Are you free?
I am, Mr. Moorcock. How may I help you?
The Treasury has asked me to invite you to meet with one of its officers this afternoon in London. A Bounder will arrive in Exeter for you shortly after three o’clock. Is that satisfactory?
Of course. May I ask what this is about?
I’m not privy to that information. Mr. Moorcock gave her the direction to where she would meet the Bounder, and said, We are all grateful for your safe return.
Thank you, Mr. Moorcock.
She lowered her head. “I am to meet with a Treasury official this afternoon. I am quite confused as to why.”
“Failure to pay taxes,” Edmund said promptly.
“Extraordinaries in the War Office are exempt from paying taxes, and I do not have a large fortune in any case,” Bess said, swatting Edmund with her free hand.
“Then I believe I will speak to your father now,” Philip said as he stood, “in case the Treasury official is smitten with you, and wishes to make you an offer.”
“You are both very funny,” Bess said with a scowl.
At three-thirty-two precisely, Bess stood at the rather plain wooden door to which she had been directed and knocked. It opened immediately, and Bess entered. The room was smaller than her bedchamber at home, but it smelled of lilacs, so refreshing this early in the year, and the furnishings were comfortable and elegant, if a little large for their surroundings. A balding man whose head gave the appearance of a whale rising from the deeps stood from his seat behind the desk when she entered and accepted the hand she extended to him. “Sir Maxwell Price, at your service,” he said, indicating a chair opposite him. “I am one of the ministers of the Treasury. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“You made me curious,” Bess said. She sat and folded her hands in her lap.
“I must say, it is not often I meet a woman of your notoriety,” Sir Maxwell said. He reddened. “Notoriety is the wrong word—”
“I take your meaning, sir,” Bess said. “I am not yet accustomed to my fame. It feels as if it belongs to someone else.”
“You had a companion, yes? An Extraordinary Shaper?”
“I did.” Amaya was still at Oxford, though Vincent’s letters told very little of what she was doing there aside from turning the dons’ understanding of South American civilizations on its head. “But I still do not know what came of the Incas’ clash with the Spanish.”
“Nor do we. Spain is still preoccupied with its late revolution and the unrest in its colonies, and this was a rather small conflict, as such things go. We may never know the truth.” Sir Maxwell cleared his throat. “But it is the results of your action that bring you here today.”
“That sounds dire.”
“Not at all. In fact, I hope you will be pleased.” Sir Maxwell cleared his throat again, making Bess wish she had a glass of water to offer him. “You may not know that Lady Caroline returned to the treasure room after retrieving you and your companion. In fact, she was able to make three trips before the lack of air made the room inaccessible. She retrieved most of the contents of the room in so doing.”
Bess felt as breathless as if she were back in that sealed chamber. “The treasure?” she said faintly.
“The treasure,” Sir Maxwell confirmed. “Hundreds of items of fine craftsmanship, all of pure gold or silver. The true value has yet to be established, but we estimate it to be worth no less than four hundred thousand pounds.”
Now Bess felt as if the air had been sucked out of this room as well. “My goodness,” she said. “That is an incredible treasure.”
“Given that the Spaniards melted down almost all the precious metals they looted from the Incas during the Conquest, it is in some respects a priceless treasure.”
“But—you will not melt it down, surely?”
Sir Maxwell shook his head. “The influx of that amount of gold into the market would cause untold damage. We will control it more carefully, revealing its existence as we see fit. The better quality items will go on display in the British Museum, of course.”
A smile spread across Bess’s face. “I am so glad,” she said. “Their art—I have always regretted that it had to be lost.”
“Well, it’s not lost any longer.” Sir Maxwell cleared his throat yet again. “But that’s not why you are here. The government
recognizes that without your efforts, this treasure would have remained lost to history. Therefore, they intend to reward you and your companion with ten percent of the final value of the hoard.”
Bess blinked at him. “Forty thousand pounds?”
“At minimum.” Sir Maxwell smiled. “Even half of that’s quite the dowry, eh?”
“It is,” Bess said faintly. “Are you quite certain?”
“I am always certain where money is concerned,” Sir Maxwell said. “Are you quite well? You look rather pale.”
“I am just surprised. And honored. Thank you. But may I ask…?”
“Yes, Miss Hanley?”
“If possible, I would like to have one or two of the items as part of my share.”
“I believe that can be arranged.”
Lord Ormerod would be so pleased. She stood and extended her hand to Sir Maxwell again. “Then…thank you very much.”
“We will be in contact with you for the final distribution of funds,” Sir Maxwell said. “Thank you, and congratulations.”
Bess found herself on the street with no memory of how she got there. Ten percent. That was not just generous; that was obscene. Something else was going on, and she wished she knew what. Of course, the obvious answer was that the government had a history of rewarding Extraordinaries beyond their deserts, but this was almost as if they intended to buy her and Amaya’s silence. Since no one had actually told her not to speak of anything in particular beyond the Incas’ planned conquest of Peru, she was not certain what, if anything, they had bought. She shrugged and walked back to the corner where she had left the Bounder. If it was something dire, she would learn about it before long.
Someone fell into step beside her, very close, and she was about to move to one side when the man gripped her arm and steered her into a narrow alley. Startled, she tried to jerk away from him, but his grip was ferociously strong, and he shoved her against the rough stone wall and pinned her there with a Mover’s talent. She gathered herself to blast him, then realized to her astonishment he was no stranger. “Señor Mendoza,” she said. “How did you find me?”
“A Seer who was paid very well,” Mendoza said. “Though it is not as if you tried to hide. The more fool you.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You betrayed me.” He was as impeccably dressed as ever, but his left eye was swollen nearly shut, and a deep cut ran from the bridge of his beaky nose across his cheek beneath that same eye. “I will see you dead for that.”
“You kidnapped me, and lied to me, and you would have made me complicit in the deaths of innocents,” Bess shot back. “I was never anything but your captive, and you know it.”
Mendoza drew a pistol from within his greatcoat. “It would not have been a slaughter but for you.”
Bess refused to look at the pistol, feeling that looking away from his mad gaze would be fatal. “If your men could not defend themselves, that is their own lookout and nothing to do with me. I am sorry for it, because I am not happy about death however it comes, but it is your fault, not mine.”
Mendoza smiled, a cruel expression. “They killed the Incas to the last man. It was not without heavy casualties, but I can sleep soundly at night knowing those savages will destroy no more Spanish villages.”
Bess doubted the veracity of his statement, since the Incas had begun evacuating the city before the Spanish arrived, but arguing with him would be pointless, especially since she had not been there. “I am glad of that—that they will not kill again, not that you destroyed them. But now it is over, and would have been over even had I not guided you to the Incas. Go home, señor, and give up trying to take revenge for whatever slight you think I have done you.”
Mendoza shook his head. “My failure has cost me my position, and that is to your account as well. With my last coin I came here to see you dead, and restore my honor.”
“You have a very strange sense of honor,” Bess said. Her heart was racing, and she was painfully aware of the pistol hovering just inches from her chest. “Do you know why Señor Orellana drugged me?”
A momentary look of confusion crossed Mendoza’s face. “So you could not Speak to anyone who might rescue you.”
“Perhaps that is what he believed. But it is not why.”
Bess shaped pure Speech into a sharp weapon and blasted Mendoza, making him stagger backward, arms flung wide. The pistol flew out of his grip, hitting the ground and going off with an explosion magnified by the alley’s narrow walls. The invisible hold vanished.
Before he could recover, Bess Spoke into his mind again: I am not a helpless target for your revenge, and I can do worse to you than this, because I can Speak to you at any time I choose, anywhere you are in the world. I can repeat my attack whenever I feel threatened, and you will have no defense. So, Señor Mendoza, I suggest you run as far from me as you can and never let me see you again, or I will make you suffer as no man ever has.
She shoved him with both hands, knocking him to the ground. She picked up the pistol, feeling she should not leave it in his possession though she had no idea what she would do with it. “Farewell, Señor Mendoza,” she said, and walked away, choosing a direction at random.
She saw the Bounder just as she was about to run into him, and made a grab for her spectacles with her free hand. The Bounder, a tall and muscular man, said, “Miss Hanley, where did that pistol come from?”
“It does not matter,” Bess said. “Just—take me home.”
Bess’s wedding day dawned bright and clear after a week of rainy weather. She felt so impatient, having waited nearly a month for that day, she did not care what the weather was like. But with the carriage open and the sun’s rays warming her face, she had to admit it felt like a good omen.
She remembered very little of the ceremony, just Philip’s hand in hers and his face radiant with love for her, and knew she must look the same. Every response he made with his lips was echoed by his Voice, and she replied in like fashion, feeling that it made their vows doubly precious. She had never felt so alive.
Her mother had insisted on a substantial wedding luncheon with, Bess suspected, more than a hundred guests—“We don’t want to insult anyone by leaving them out, Bess!” To Bess, it felt like a gala, people swaying in and out of her range of vision, friends and strangers congratulating her, and music that never seemed to stop. She lost track of Philip early on, as he was swept away by the crowd of his own friends, and only his steady stream of Spoken remarks kept her from feeling bereft.
Amaya, she never lost sight of, and she suspected her friend stayed close to her intentionally, though whether Amaya was insecure in this crowd whose language she barely spoke, or intended to protect Bess against an unknown enemy, she had no idea. Gowned as a proper young Englishwoman would be, Amaya looked little different from the other ladies, though her stride was unusually long and she fidgeted her hands as if she wished she could shed her gloves like a second skin.
Bess noticed how quiet she was, and yet how alert, listening avidly to conversations without joining in. It was Bess’s fault Amaya was no longer with the Incas, and she felt responsible for helping Amaya to feel at home, but she wished Amaya would be more forthcoming about what she wanted. Bess watched Amaya turn down yet another request for a dance and sighed. Someday, perhaps, she would be able to repay Amaya for saving her life.
At one point, she was making her way across the assembly hall her father had hired, in search of a cool drink, when she ran into someone she at first mistook for a wall, he was so large. “I beg your pardon,” she said, looking well up to peer at his face. “I cannot think how I failed to see you.”
The man burst out laughing. Bess ran through her words in memory and wished the floor would open and swallow her up. “I am accustomed to being overlooked, actually,” the man said, “despite my size.” He was powerfully built rather than fat, at least six and a half feet tall, and his dress was undistinguished, almost unfashionable. “Alexander Rutledge. Your ser
vant, Lady Ravenscroft.”
Her new name was so unfamiliar Bess almost looked around for the unseen Lady Ravenscroft. “Mr. Rutledge,” she said. “Your wife is a friend of my husband.” Husband—that was another unfamiliar term, though a pleasant one. My husband. My love.
“She is. Might I have a moment of your time, my lady?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Mr. Rutledge offered Bess his arm and escorted her to the far side of the room. It was sparsely occupied because of a strong draft that sent gooseflesh rising on Bess’s arms. Bess took a seat next to Mr. Rutledge and refrained from rubbing her arms warm.
“I apologize for the chill, but what I have to say must remain confidential.” Mr. Rutledge leaned close to Bess. “You spoke to a Treasury minister last month.”
“I did.”
“It was to do with reclaimed Inca treasure. And they paid you off.”
“You know that?” Bess exclaimed.
Mr. Rutledge hushed her. “Do you know why they paid you so well?”
“No, and it has made me rather curious.”
“It is complicated. The short version is that they believe you in possession of knowledge I do not believe you have. But if I tell you what that knowledge is, and you do not actually know it, I might be endangering you.”
Bess blinked. “I see. That is rather Byzantine, don’t you think?”
“I do. But it is the nature of my job. I am, in fact, Lord Ravenscroft’s employer.”
That explained why Sophia Rutledge could point Philip in his direction. “I thought that was a closely-held secret.”
“It is, but I am not in favor of husbands and wives keeping secrets from one another. I have told him you are permitted to know the general scope of his assignments, though naturally there are still details that will not matter to you. But back to the matter at hand. What did you observe of your friend Amaya’s talent?”
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