“Please…let me die. It hurts so much—let me die!”
Her wish was granted soon after. As Richard took her skeletal hand in his, a long, rattling breath had rasped from her thin lips and the scrawny chest had at last stopped rising with each tortured breath.
She was gone—gone right before him and there was nothing he could have done to save her. Well, unless he had some of the healing medicine from his ancestors which was forbidden to him. But he had none and no way to get it. He had felt a helpless sort of rage as he sat by the poor, wasted body and knew that there was nothing he could do.
A cursory search of the room revealed a tray of what must have been her final meal. There was nothing but a half cup of weak tea and one stale cracker. Looking at the malnourished state of her corpse, Richard had wondered if this was all she’d been given for some time and if so, how long she had subsisted on such poor fare.
He also wondered what—if anything—the tea had been laced with. It had the smell of almonds—which might point to cyanide poisoning. Then again, it might simply be almond tea—there was no way to tell. Not with the tools he had to work with.
In any other household he would have tried to find a likely-looking servant to speak to—perhaps even to bribe—to learn the truth of Lady Harkens’ daily existence. But the portly Viscount had no actual human servants anymore—none that worked indoors, anyway. He had only the steam and clock-work powered Tick-Tocks—the mechanical servants which were all the rage among the upper gentry at the moment.
With their burnished bronze casings and glowing yellow eyes, the Tick-Tocks were grimly efficient and they spoke not a word unless addressed specifically by their master. Richard could well imagine the hapless Lady Harkens begging one of them for more to eat or even to help her escape from what must have been a scene of misery. Such pleas, which might have moved a human servant, would have fallen on deaf ears to one of the mechanical drones.
No…Richard sighed. As angry as he was, he still could not allow Caroline to wind up as a second bride to that monster. He could not bear the thought of her lush golden-red curls falling out and her teeth crumbling as poor Lady Harkens’ teeth had. Not to mention the thought of her locked in a room, at the tender mercies of the heartless Viscount made Richard’s fangs grow long and sharp and dangerous and his hands curl into fists.
“She might leave me,” he muttered to himself. “But she shall not go to him.”
Thus determined, he went back downstairs to attend the close of the ball. For the moment, there was nothing else he could do but keep an eye on his wife from afar—even if she was destined not to be his wife for very much longer.
Chapter Twelve
“I must say, Caroline, you played and sang and danced remarkably ill tonight. You have never appeared less accomplished, I do not think.”
The other mother was in a temper—that much was clear. She’d been extremely angry with Caroline for leaving the ball and “exposing herself to rumor” even though the person she’d left with had been her husband!
Of course, he’s not really your husband, pointed out a little voice in her head.
I don’t care—for all she knows he’s my husband. She ought to respect that relationship instead of trying to break it up and ruin it! Caroline thought resentfully. And I don’t care how much money Lord Harkens has—he’s a disgusting man. I’m glad I put on such a terrible performance and “exposed myself to rumor” tonight. At least that means he’ll never want to see me again!
“The only mercy is, that your strange behavior has not appeared to dampen Lord Harkens’ regard for you at all,” the other mother said, breaking into Caroline’s resentful thoughts.
“What?” Caroline looked up at her, certain she must have misunderstood. “What did you say?” she demanded.
“I said, that for some reason—and clearly through no action of your own—Lord Harkens is still interested in courting you.” The other mother shook her head, her elaborate hairstyle bobbing. “Though for the life of me, I cannot see why. Still, we must be grateful for what favors are granted us. We are to call on his mother for tea tomorrow.”
“But…but…” Caroline could scarcely wrap her head around it. “You mean after the way I could barely play and hardly sing and my dancing was so atrocious I almost ruined the whole dance, he still wants to see me?”
The other mother looked at her sharply.
“Caroline, I begin to believe your performance tonight was on purpose. Please don’t tell me you’re willing to sabotage your chance to be a Viscountess just to stay with that wretched Kindred.”
“He’s not wretched—he’s honorable,” Caroline said, lifting her chin. “And handsome and kind and—”
“Stop!” The other mother put up a hand angrily, as though she couldn’t bear to hear such things about Richard. “I told you when he forced you to Join with him that it was only a temporary arrangement. You were not blessed with such full curves and such big, brown eyes and such lovely hair—though it looks perfectly frightful at the moment—only to be the wife of a lowly physician—and a Kindred physician at that!”
“Who cares if he’s a doctor—that’s an honorable profession!” Caroline exclaimed. “And he’s a lot better looking than Lord Harkens, too. That man must be pushing fifty—he’s way too old for me!”
The other mother gave her an odd look.
“My dear, the age of the man who marries you signifies nothing—you know that. What matters is the social standing he can bring you. Don’t you want to be a Viscountess and have an estate in the country and a town home in the city and be accepted in all the best and highest circles?”
“No, not really,” Caroline snapped. “What I want is to be left alone to get along with my husband—the one I’m married to right now, mother! And further more,” she went on recklessly. “I admire Richard for being in trade. Being a doctor is considered very prestigious where I come from! A lot better than sitting around on your ass all day feeling superior to everyone around you just because you inherited a title.”
The other mother’s eyes widened and she stared at Caroline as though she’d started spouting blasphemy and nonsense in the same breath.
“Caroline,” she exclaimed. “Will you listen to yourself? The language you used! And saying things are different where you come from as though you were from some other land?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that lightening strike has quite disarranged your wits—you sound quite hysterical! Quite mad to own the truth!”
An icy fist of fear clenched in Caroline’s gut as visions of being committed to a nineteenth-century insane asylum leapt to mind again.
“I’m not mad, mother,” she said, trying to keep her voice low and even and non-hysterical. “I just don’t want to marry Lord Harkens. I’d rather stay with Richard.”
“Well, I’m afraid what you want does not enter into it,” the other mother snapped. “You will accompany me to tea at Thrashings Hall tomorrow where we will meet his Lordship’s mother and you will make a good impression. Your only other option is a trip to Dr. Gropenor for a thorough examination of your womb.”
“Examination of my womb?” Caroline could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Are you serious?”
“Of course.” The other mother sniffed. “If you will not behave, we must try and diagnose the source of your hysteria and treat it before you move against your own best interests.”
Caroline felt sick. Examination of the womb to try and cure hysteria? Was that an actual thing here, in this universe?
Not for the first time since she’d been sucked through the window the PORTAL had created, she wished desperately that she’d read up on the Victorian era instead of just binging BBC period dramas where none of the hard or practical facts of nineteenth century life were actually covered. She felt so unprepared for life here and every time it seemed she’d found her footing, this new universe threw her a curveball.
“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll go. I guess tea with Lord Ha
rkens’ mother won’t hurt. He won’t be there himself, will he?”
The other mother looked scandalized.
“A gentleman dropping in on a ladies’ social call? I think not, Caroline!”
“Good,” Caroline muttered and crossed her arms over the stiff corset, which still felt too tight, even though it had been loosened considerably.
She’d had a horrible time getting it back together before she could get dressed. In the end, Richard had been forced to completely untie it so that she could fasten the row of hooks and eyes in the front and it had been awful trying to get back into the dress with the corset at a looser setting. Even now she was afraid if she breathed too deeply she would pop all the tiny little buttons off the front of the emerald green taffeta.
Which of course contributed to her horrible mood. That and the fact that not only did Richard hate her now, but she was going to be forced to have tea at the house of a man she found loathsome in the extreme.
“Very well, we shall take tea with Lady Harkens tomorrow. Lord Harkens had promised to send his very own carriage for us—one of the several he owns.” The other mother nodded regally. “And I hope, in time my pet, that you will see all I do is done for your benefit.”
Yeah, right, Caroline thought, but didn’t say. For your own benefit, you mean! You’re a social climber of the first order—you just want a title in the family and you don’t care what you have to do to get it.
The worst thing was, every once in a while she could see tiny sparks of her own beloved mom in the other mother. Her mom had been ruthlessly ambitious too—but for academic achievement, not social status. If she had lived in the nineteenth century where women weren’t allowed to work or attend universities, would she have turned out like the other mother?
Caroline didn’t want to think so. Her mom had been kind and thoughtful and intelligent and funny. It was like a bad cosmic joke that the other mother looked just like her—same brown eyes and silver-gray hair—while being her exact opposite in temperament.
Of course, if Richard was right, the temperament she really had to watch out for was Lord Harkens’. She remembered his description of the death of the Viscount’s first wife and shivered inwardly. Could he really have poisoned her? Or maybe she had poisoned herself. Too much lead powder and a few too many arsenic tablets—either one might have been the end of her.
Well, it’s not going to be the end of me, Caroline told herself. I’ll go to tea at Lord Harkens’ house but that’s it. No way am I leaving Richard to go with him!
Aren’t you forgetting something? an anxious little voice whispered in her head. Aren’t you forgetting the fact that he’s not really your husband and you don’t really belong here? What about trying to get back to the park to see if the PORTAL has opened a window again? What about going home?
Caroline bit her lip. She had to remember that this world wasn’t really her place—had to remember that she needed to get home at the earliest opportunity. She couldn’t be sure, but she had a feeling that the longer she stayed in this parallel universe, the harder it would be to get out of it. She had to make getting home her first priority—she had to.
All right, she told herself. I’ll make an excuse to go for a walk in the park tomorrow and see what I can see. Who knows—maybe Commander Sylvan has found a way to open the window again. He did say that he’d been reading my work and he seemed to understand the math behind it when we talked.
Which was more than she could say for most people. Yes, if Commander Sylvan took a hand, she really might have a chance to get back. But it wouldn’t do her any good for him to open a window for her if she wasn’t there to go through it.
I will get back to the park tomorrow, she promised herself. One way or another, I’ll go!
Feeling determined, she leaned back in the wind-up carriage and let the ticking sound of its key turning and the never-ending stream of chatter from the other mother wash over her. None of this mattered—none of it was real. She just had to get home.
But despite her determination, she couldn’t stop herself from seeing Richard as he held her and touched her that night. Couldn’t help feeling sad at the thought of leaving the only man who had ever made her body come alive—the man she missed desperately, even now.
Chapter Thirteen
Thrashings Hall was an imposing structure apparently constructed of gray stone and doom. Its squat configuration had a lowering air, like a beast of prey crouching and just about to pounce—Caroline disliked it at once.
But of course, it didn’t matter if she liked it or not. The other mother was in charge here, so on they went, the wind-up carriage Lord Harkens had sent for them crunching over the graveled drive and pulling up to the massive front door of the Hall, which was painted a dark maroon the exact color of dried blood.
“Oh, isn’t it grand?” the other mother gushed as the coachman, dressed in maroon and black livery, came to open the door for them and hand them down from the carriage. “And to think, of all this you might be mistress if you only keep your head, Caroline!”
Caroline refrained from repeating that she had no interest in marrying Lord Harkens and becoming Mistress of Thrashings Hall—it would only fall on deaf ears or worse, put the other mother in a foul mood. Instead she confined herself to making sure the hoop skirts under her dusty-rose muslin afternoon gown didn’t flip up and expose her ankles scandalously to the assisting coachman.
At least the cage and hoops she was wearing today were a little smaller than the vast, wide ones she’d been obliged to wear to the ball. And she’d insisted on wearing a dress that would allow for a looser corset lacing. Mary Ann had complied wordlessly—she hadn’t spoken much to Caroline since helping her undress the night before.
“Mercy, Miss Caroline—what happened to your corset lacings?” she’d asked, after helping Caroline out of the emerald taffeta ball gown. “They’re all in knots!”
“I…I had to unlace them a bit so I could breathe—I nearly fainted at the ball,” Caroline had been forced to say.
“You unlaced them yourself, did you? And then laced them back up again, all askew?” The skepticism in the maid’s voice was palpable. Clearly she didn’t think Caroline was capable of getting into and out of the corset on her own.
“It’s difficult to reach behind oneself,” Caroline had told her defensively, hoping the lady’s maid would believe her story. “I…I did the best I could.”
“I see,” Mary Ann had remarked blandly.
Caroline had been hoping that would be an end to the subject but once the corset came off, there was no hiding the torn chemise underneath.
“Lord above!” Mary Ann had exclaimed, looking at the ripped front of the white linen garment. “However did that happen, Miss Caroline? It must have taken a great deal of strength!”
Caroline groped for an explanation.
“I…I was quite frantic to breathe when I pulled open the corset,” she extemporized. “I must have torn my chemise then. You laced me so tight.”
“I see,” Mark Ann remarked again, flatly. It was clear she didn’t believe a word of what Caroline had said but she had let the matter drop, much to her relief.
Now Caroline wondered uneasily if the lady’s maid had reported the ripped chemise and mis-tied corset strings to the other mother. Her guess was probably not, considering the high spirits the other mother was in today. For all she knew, Richard had simply taken Caroline away to a fainting couch for a time and waved smelling salts under her nose. If she had any inkling that the big Kindred had taken her into a bedroom and helped her out of her dress and corset, there would probably be all hell to pay.
But if Mary Ann had withheld the information, was she planning on trotting it out later? Or maybe she would use it for blackmail purposes? Caroline still had no way of knowing whose side the lady’s maid was on so she was trying to be careful—though she was glad she’d insisted on a looser corset setting today. At least she could breathe—well, sort of.
“H
ere we are. Now, be on your very best behavior, Caroline. Lord Harkens’ mother will certainly have much to do with his decision on whether he will have you or not so you must make a good impression,” the other mother said, breaking into her guilty train of thought.
“Yes, mother,” Caroline muttered and waited at the door as the other mother used the heavy brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head to pound on the wooden panel.
The knocker made a hollow doom, doom, doom sound which chilled Caroline’s blood. She had a bad feeling about Thrashings Hall—a feeling that was only exacerbated when the door swung open revealing the weirdest looking butler she had ever seen.
It looked like some kind of robot, built all of brass. The burnished metal was molded to look like it was wearing a proper butler’s uniform including a bow tie and tails. The illusion continued down to the robot’s feet which were shiny metal shoes. But it was the eyes that really drew Caroline’s gaze—they were like yellow lamps in its frozen bronze face. Lamps that stared straight ahead and were somehow both sightless and all-seeing at once.
“Ugh!” she exclaimed involuntarily. “What is that?”
“Oh—I have heard of these,” the other mother exclaimed. “But only those who move in the most exalted circles can afford them. It’s a Tick-Tock, Caroline—a mechanical servant. How very thrilling!”
The Tick-Tock butler inclined its head, as though to agree with her, and then proffered a silver tray, held in its brass hand.
“Oh—he wants our card!” The other mother fluttered with excitement as she placed her calling card carefully on the silver tray.
The butler nodded again and then, with a stiff, jerky motion, ushered them into the entryway.
They stepped into opulent splendor—the front hallway floor was alternating squares of white and black marble and the walls were covered in thick, dark mahogany panels. The ceiling was high and descending from it was a fabulous gasolier, dripping with crystals which flung rainbows on the forbidding walls and floors.
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