These Ruthless Deeds

by Tarun Shanker

  “Thank you, Lady Atherton.” It was an absolutely beautiful gown, a pearly cream that glowed whenever light hit it.

  “Such a talented modiste, Mrs. Valant. She hides your figure remarkably well,” she added, making me wish to smack her with my overly beaded reticule.

  “Very good choice in Mrs. Valant, Mother,” Lord Atherton put in, adding nothing whatsoever.

  “Indeed, as my dear husband used to say, ‘the apparel oft proclaims the man,’” Lady Atherton said.

  Ah yes, wise words from the late Earl of Atherton, William Shakespeare.

  I smiled stiffly and looked out the window. Under the curtain, I pressed my gloved fingertips to the frosted glass and wrote a two-word plea to the outside world: Help Me.

  Gaslights passed slowly as we crawled along to Piccadilly. The Winter Exhibition at the Royal Academy may not have been as widely attended as the later summer one, but Lady Atherton had made it clear to my mother that it was not to be missed.

  After ten long minutes where Lord Atherton discussed the weather in every possible variation, the shouts, bubbling laughter, and halloos suggested our arrival at the front of Burlington House, and the sight of the grand courtyard and columned facade confirmed it. A rush of three footmen quickly opened the carriage door, handing Lady Atherton down, then me. I watched closely to see if Lord Atherton’s knees would even bend as he stepped out of the carriage. They did, barely.

  We advanced toward the main building, crossing the open courtyard with cobblestones as smooth and orderly as anywhere in London. Even the horse’s offerings seemed artfully composed. Still, the shouts, the smoky light pouring from the hall, and my own preoccupations all converged to give me a tightness across the forehead. I tried to focus on the night, on Mr. Kent, on a happy future.

  Without Lord Atherton, of course.

  As we entered the brilliant foyer Lady Atherton took time to pose in front of the marble steps, letting the splendidly arranged lights show off our dresses as we slowly made our way to the ladies’ retiring room. It was the usual crush as we gladly handed off our fur-trimmed mantles, already warm from the press of bodies. As we worked our way farther into the grand and crowded central hall, I checked furtively around for Catherine or Mr. Kent’s familiar faces, but I couldn’t see them. Lord Atherton led me and his mother through the crowds, the two of them introducing and reintroducing me to earls and duchesses and barons and marchionesses I had seen during last year’s Season but never been quite worthy of their attentions.

  Attentions I had now, as Lady and Lord Atherton’s guest. I struggled to keep track of the Lord Overstones and the Lady Glasswoods, resorting to creating rhyming songs in my head to tell them apart.

  After an interminable flurry of names and repeated small talk, Lady Atherton finally allowed her son to escort me into the galleries. I took his arm and we joined the thick crowd flowing under the archways and circulating each room, Lord Atherton constantly craning his neck to make sure his mother was always in sight for propriety’s sake.

  In a moment of weakness, as I longed for Catherine’s opinions, I made the grave mistake of soliciting Lord Atherton’s. “Are you fond of art?” I asked politely.

  “I suppose.”

  “Do you prefer certain artists? Or styles?”

  “Generally the ones that most accurately portray their subjects.”

  Dry as sticks.

  “Do you have a favorite?”

  “Well, there is a portrait of my mother that hangs in our dining room that really captures—”

  I stopped walking. Partly because I didn’t want to hear the rest of that, but mostly because a particular favorite of mine happened to catch my eye.

  It was a striking painting by Mr. Turner, depicting a small boat of fishermen, caught in the middle of a storm. You could feel the wildness of it, the dark desper—

  “Bad weather there, it seems,” Lord Atherton observed with perfect seriousness. “Not at all the right time for fishing.”

  That was it. Time to lie down and quietly die right here. No one who knew what I was enduring would fault me.

  I must have actually looked a bit ill because Lord Atherton held out his arm for support.

  “Miss Wyndham, are you feeling well?” he asked.

  “I … I find I am feeling faint, my lord. But I fear I can’t make it to the refreshment room,” I said, barely caring to disguise my hint.

  “Indeed … I’ve heard art can be exhausting for ladies,” he said, leading me over to an empty seat in the center of the gallery. “I will fetch you a drink.”

  He gave the world’s stiffest bow and quickly departed, disappearing into the crowd, which gave me the perfect chance to do the same. As soon as he was out of sight, I hastened out of the room and scurried from gallery to gallery, hoping to find my friends. I squeezed through two more packed rooms of British and Dutch oil paintings before turning into a gallery of Mr. Rossetti’s, where I was suddenly very thankful Catherine had such a clear, distinctive laugh.

  There she was in the corner, most daringly without bustle, and I suspected without corset as well. She was rather enamored with the Aesthetic Dress Style that had been scandalizing London over the past few years. She spoke animatedly at Mr. Kent, who was admirably fitted in his tails, wielding his ever-present cane. His sly, tight-lipped smile seemed sincere as he watched my friend speak with her hands all akimbo.

  I could swear that I felt … something while I watched him.

  Or at the very least, I wanted to.

  As they moved to another painting, I realized Mr. Braddock was greeting them, his arm looped around Mae’s, and then I was very sure I felt something.

  This was the first time I had seen Mae out in an evening dress. Her own cream bodice was tightly fitted, gliding elegantly over her corseted figure. A subtle, stylish bustle and an ordered row of tight skirts made her appear deeply impressive. Of course, her easy smile and bright eyes ruined any sense of intimidation, giving an overall picture of a stylish, lively girl as she made the acquaintances of Mr. Kent and Catherine. She and Mr. Braddock looked content together, without the worry of his power or her illness to weigh down on them. They could finally be a normal, happy husband and wife.

  I paused, feeling suddenly tall and obtrusive. Of course that had to be when Mr. Braddock’s eyes found mine. His arm was no longer entwined with Mae’s and he took a quick step toward me, hands fisting in his elegant white gloves. I don’t believe he even realized he had moved until a frustrated look overcame his dark features. He brought more attention to himself by stepping back even faster and coughing loudly as he stared in another direction entirely. A slight crease appeared between Mae’s brows—her polite, subdued response to Mr. Braddock’s erratic behavior.

  But Catherine stared at him with her mouth open. “Mr. Braddock? Are you unwell?”

  He coughed again, and grimaced. “Very well, thank you, Miss Harding, I was just—”

  “Good evening.” I saved him from any further fumbling. Three pairs of eyes landed on me and I was rather gratified to see that they all looked pleased. I refused to give the fourth pair another glance.

  “Oh, thank goodness, you’re here,” Catherine said. “Mr. Kent was threatening to write notes to you on some of the paintings, so you’d be able to find us.”

  “I was going to do it tastefully,” Mr. Kent argued. “They would have looked like fluffy, informative clouds.”

  Mae looked confused and chose to turn us back to less abstract ground. “How are you, Evelyn?” she asked quietly, reaching out for my hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze. I made the attempt at an answering smile.

  “Oh, very well. And you? Have you kept Mr. Braddock busy?” I looked at the space just to the left of his ear and smiled brightly.

  “I would say so.” Mae gave Mr. Braddock a quiet smile and softly touched his wrist. “My parents were very happy to see him. We had some lovely dinners, a night at the theater, and I was even well enough to go ice skating on the Serpentine!”


  Ice skating.

  Mr. Braddock was sure to be a graceful skater. Holding Mae’s hand, spinning together, cheeks pink and smiles wide—Stop it! Stop thinking about it. You don’t even care.

  My stomach roiled and I laughed loudly to cover. “Ah yes. That—uh, that sounds delightful. Ice skating is always delightful, unless you’re falling, then it’s not so, uh—”

  “Delightful, I believe, is the word you’re looking for,” Mr. Kent supplied.

  “Indeed. Thank you.”

  Mae was staring at me as though I might have fallen and hit my head. “Yes, well, fortunately it seems I remembered the motions well enough. It was perfect.”

  “I can imagine,” I said, still unable to get their charming evening out of my head. “Mr. Kent, we must go someday.”

  Mr. Kent gave me a wry look. “Of course. I’d been meaning to ask you that question for months, but I thought it would be horribly rude.”

  I suppressed a smile. “How kind of yo—oh bloody hell.”

  The words slipped from my lips the moment Lord Atherton and his mother entered the gallery, both looking around through narrowed eyes. Mae blushed and Mr. Braddock cleared his throat, while Mr. Kent just smirked and Catherine rolled her eyes.

  “No—I—hm. Catherine, can you please lead us in another direction? I wish to avoid my mother’s newest choice for son-in-law.”

  Despite my strict No Noticing Mr. Braddock policy, I could not miss him whipping his head around to see who I was referring to.

  Catherine grinned at the theatrics and gestured to a small gallery a few paces ahead. “Now, these pieces may not be so finely showcased, but I think you will find that the favoritism at the Royal Academy means that some of the true talents are relegated to the back rooms or hung practically near the ceiling, where you’d need a ladder to properly view them.…”

  Catherine’s monologue rapidly turned into a rant as she led Mae and Mr. Braddock toward the underappreciated paintings. I tried to follow but my blasted bustle held me back a moment when the tight crowd converged.

  Mr. Kent slowed and took my arm. “Miss Wyndham, you need only say the word and we’ll escape.”

  “What word is that?”

  “Balloon. I know a fellow who will sell a spacious one for a fair price.”

  “You have … a balloon fellow.”

  “Yes, hot-air balloons can be very handy,” he said, as if this were a perfectly normal gentleman’s accessory.

  “And we will simply sail away?”

  “Fly off, never to return.” He smiled and I focused on his brown eyes—his lovely, inviting—and most importantly, not ridiculously green—brown eyes. Sailing off with him certainly held a strong appeal. Leaving responsibilities and worries behind—

  Leaving Lord Atherton behind, who had found us, somehow. “Miss Wyndham, there you are.”

  “Balloon,” I muttered to Mr. Kent.

  “Well, I need a little more warning than that,” he whispered back.

  Lord Atherton stood stiffly, raising his head as if to show off the length of his neck. “I daresay that running off without a chaperone is not something my mother would approve of.”

  “Oh I’m sorry, my lord, I thought I saw your mother in here,” I said with all the sincerity I could muster. “But then I found my dear friend instead. May I introduce you to Mr. Nicholas Kent?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Kent,” Lord Atherton said with a bow, unable to act impolitely. His hair was particularly springy tonight and I resisted the urge to see how much shorter he would be if I pressed it down.

  A slow smile crossed Mr. Kent’s face. “Lord Atherton. A pleasure to meet you. I have so many questions I’ve wanted to ask you—”

  But Lord Atherton was saved as Mr. Kent’s question was interrupted by a loud cough. At the end of the hall, Mae was doubled over, wheezing, as Mr. Braddock backed away, eyes wide and face white. All of a sudden the room seemed to slow and I felt sure that we were back at the night I first met him, at the ball at Bramhurst, when an eager girl tried to grab him. How much things had changed since then.

  But Mae’s distress and his distraught face were the same.

  Without worrying about what Lord Atherton would say, I rushed over to Mae as fast as I could, taking horrible, mincing steps in the blasted slippers Lady Atherton had insisted upon. Finally, though, I was able to pull Mae into my arms, trying to touch as much skin as was possible while simply seeming a concerned friend. I grasped under the lace at her wrists until I had her hands fully in mine. Mr. Braddock had backed away against a wall, as far from the others as possible. Catherine and Mr. Kent were close on my heels. They hovered slightly, my usually well-humored friends’ faces uncommonly serious as Mae recovered. Her breath came back and her pulse steadied under my fingers.

  “Catherine, dear, can you help me bring Mae to the ladies’ room?” I asked.

  She nodded, and we helped Mae up and led her slowly back through the room.

  “Miss Wyndham!” Lord Atherton looked shocked as I ignored him at the entry to the gallery, continuing to focus only on Mae. Finally he sneered and stalked off.

  There was nothing special about the retiring rooms, really. It was more of an excuse to keep contact with her, to wash away Mr. Braddock’s effects. What had gone wrong? It had only been two and a half days. He was supposed to have until tomorrow morning. I would need to see if the odd sensation when Mr. Braddock and I touched had returned.

  Mae continued to take shaky breaths and as we walked, she tried to talk between them. “The first—the first time I return to society and I—I fall ill again. How do I keep letting this happen?”

  “Mae, you felt ill for a moment; there is nothing to be alarmed about. It happens to all of us. I nearly fell unconscious ten minutes ago listening to Lord Atherton talk about the weather.”

  “And just when he comes back, too,” she said, letting a strain of misery color her usual cheer.

  “You need a good rest. I promise you, you will feel perfectly normal in the morning.”

  She didn’t say anything until we set her down on a plush settee in the retiring room, but I knew she was still blaming herself.

  “I’ll be right back,” I reassured Mae. “I am going to have your carriage called and get you something cool to drink. Catherine, will you wait here with her?”

  Catherine looked at me oddly, wondering why I wasn’t the one staying, but didn’t argue. “Of course.”

  I made my way back to the gallery where I’d left Mr. Braddock and Mr. Kent, standing quite apart.

  “Is she all right?” Mr. Braddock asked, hurrying forward. His hair was in disarray and lines of distress feathered out from his eyes.

  “She’s perfectly fine,” I said. “She’s more worried that her illness came back than anything else. But I held her hands and walked her slowly. It should have staved anything off.”

  Mr. Braddock ran his hand through his hair, a gesture he had clearly done many times since we left minutes before. “Thank you.”

  “It was nothing. Now, take off your glove,” I said. “We need to see if your power has come back.”

  He nodded miserably and removed his glove in jerky motions. I reached for his hand, stumbling slightly at the impropriety. If anyone were to notice.… But Mr. Kent stepped in front of us to block us from the crowd. After all, this was no tender touch. I was simply trying to solve this mystery.

  And my suspicion was correct. I gasped as I felt the answering thrum in my blood. Faint, but there. I looked up to meet his eyes, the dark green swirling with pain and anger. He roughly slid his hand away and I felt unconscionably bereft.

  “Captain Goode said three days, didn’t he?” I asked them.

  Mr. Braddock nodded heavily, ruined at the notion of hurting Mae. “Yes. I was going to report to him tomorrow morning, but I should never have trusted this to last.”

  “Perhaps they didn’t realize quite how potent your power is,” Mr. Kent said, eyes harder than I would have liked
.

  “Or he lied,” I said, a twisting in my stomach. Were they so desperate to recruit me that they’d say anything?

  Mr. Kent looked uneasy. “I’m sure he just miscalculated. Mr. Braddock can just see him every day to be sure.”

  “Until he lies again to get us to do something else for him,” I said. To what end, I could not be sure. But my suspicions began to form like a sculpture taking shape.

  “Mr. Kent is right,” Mr. Braddock said.

  Both Mr. Kent and I spoke at the same time. “Really?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Braddock muttered, clearly compelled by Mr. Kent.

  He shook his head and sighed. “I have no other option. Perhaps they were just wrong about the time frame. I won’t risk it again, but I do want to believe they have good intentions.” He gave me a slight smile. “I even found our old friends Arthur and William—they are working for the Society, too, collecting information at the Park Club. And they’ve seen no reason to distrust them.”

  “That is good. We will just have to ask Captain Goode,” I announced.

  The gentlemen nodded, too. It was possible that Captain Goode simply did not understand how fast Mr. Braddock’s power would return.

  “Excuse me.” Lady Atherton’s high voice cut through the tension between us. “Miss Wyndham, it is time to take our leave.”

  I had no chance to say good-bye before she started escorting me away, a barely concealed vexation in her movements.

  “This simply will not do. You cannot be running away from your chaperone in public.” Her voice was an affronted hiss.

  “A friend had a fainting spell,” I said. “I was trying to help her.”

  “And somehow found yourself speaking intimately with two unmarried men.”

  “They are … friends,” I said weakly.

  “I simply hope you understand the situation: The most important members of London society are here and we introduced you to them.” She continued, “Think of my son—your behavior is embarrassing him.”

  Frankly, I was surprised he felt any emotions at all. “My lady, I am grateful for the introductions, but I don’t need—”