As with all things, Wu was an excellent nurse. He was unfailingly kind and patient. After she got used to his “strange face,” Fancy was more inclined to cooperate with him than either Odette or Cara. He spoke to her about China, and once Odette found him teaching her the parts of the face most vulnerable to an open-palm attack. Fancy slept much of the time with Odette and Cara taking turns staying up with her at night.
It was a tight fit, and someone was always underfoot. Growing up with a distant mother and introverted genius for a brother, Odette rarely had occasion to experience family life in the traditional sense. It was tiring, inconvenient, and intrusive, and Odette was inexplicably happy.
“What does she remember?” Cara kept her voice low. She and Odette sat on chairs next to the window that opened out onto the balcony. The candles burned low, and the evening was well advanced.
Fancy slept. She woke occasionally in the night, irritable and thirsty. For these times, a pitcher of lemon-ginger water was kept at the bedside. Wu informed them that it strengthened the blood. True or not, it was refreshing and satisfied her thirst so she could sleep.
“Nothing after the gunshot,” Odette answered. She looked over at the sleeping girl. “Like most everyone, she seems satisfied with the explanation that we were set upon by thieves.”
In the days following the attack, they were visited by an investigator sent from the magistrate at Bow Street. He was a small, wiry man of about forty. His name was Hershel Gordon, and his sharp black eyes missed nothing. He took in the shabby furnishings of the parlor and the women’s understated yet clearly expensive gowns. His first question was surprisingly personal.
“Why do you live here when you can obviously afford a more fashionable location?”
“I can’t imagine what that has to do with the attack on our coach?” Cara huffed indignantly.
The man barely blinked. His pointed features were a mask of polite inquiry. “It’s an incongruity. When something doesn’t fit, I ask about it. You can never tell what will prove important in an investigation.” He looked expectantly at Odette.
She cleared her throat. “Certainly, Mister Gordon. You may have noticed the lovely garden. My schedule is so busy and full, I find the garden and these rooms, small and threadbare though they are, to be private and peaceful. Also careers such as mine are typically short; therefore I am frugal.” He was silent, so she added, “I hope that makes the situation more congruent for you.”
“Indeed, Miss Swanpoole.”
The interview proceeded in similar fashion. Mister Gordon asked what they recalled of the attack, and both women told their exact experiences omitting only Wu from the story. He stayed less than an hour. When he departed, Odette accompanied him out the door and stood with him in the garden.
“Well, thank you, miss, and thank Miss Mills as well.” He looked down at his feet and up again, for the first time seeming uncomfortable.
“Is there anything else, Mister Gordon?” she prompted.
He blew out a breath and squinted off into the distance. “I don’t like things that don’t fit.”
“Are there other incongruities that you would like me to explain?”
“Not you.” They were of a height. So when he turned to face her, they were eye to eye. “This incident occurred on a busy street before the late evening hours. These ‘thieves’ attacked a well-accompanied coach with three women who, I hope you don’t take offense, miss, are not of the class of people to warrant such a risky operation… if you take my meaning.”
She smiled a little stiffly and nodded.
“But nobody really wants answers. Not real answers. And by ‘nobody,’ I mean my superiors. The strangeness of this attack should be evident to anyone familiar with the criminal element of this city. Yet I’ve been told it’s a simple robbery gone wrong, to go through the motions and move on to more pressing matters.”
“Why are you telling me this, Mister Gordon?”
He put his tricorn hat on and slung the leather strap of his satchel over his shoulder. He shook his head. “No reason. Just thought you might want to know.”
The oddness of that conversation rose again in her mind as she sat with Cara in Fancy’s room. She mentioned it to her friend, who waved away her concern. “I can’t imagine why you give such credence to that silly little man? We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.”
“He isn’t silly, Cara. And I can’t shake the feeling he was trying to warn me.”
“Warn you of what?”
Odette frowned. “I don’t think he even knew.”
A light knock on the bedroom door heralded the arrival of Wu. He stuck his head in hesitatingly until he saw Cara’s inviting smile. He smiled back and looked mildly besotted as he walked—no, thought Odette, he padded like a cat—over to the window and sat cross-legged on the floor next to them. He now wore clothes similar to the ones Odette used when dressed as a boy. It was thought best to hide his ethnicity as much as possible. No matter his uncanny skill at remaining unseen, Odette didn’t believe in taking chances.
“I hope you’re being careful, Wu,” Cara cautioned him fondly. “Nighttime London is dangerous, even for someone with your abilities.”
“It is easier to be safe, when one is where one is least expected.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean by that,” she admonished him. “You must learn to be a little less enigmatic.”
He gave her his blankest stare until they both covered their mouths and tried not to laugh, mindful of the sleeping girl. Odette smiled indulgently. Cara and Wu had become close confederates, not least because they were both tracking, in their own ways, the movements of Ethan Graham.
The day after the attack, Ethan had returned to their Exeter Street lodgings with the stated purpose of “determining whether you ladies have recovered from last night’s shock.” Since Odette and Wu were sleeping off their exertions of the previous night, it was left to Cara to face him with as much composure as she could muster.
She invited him to sit with her in the garden. “I hope you don’t mind conversing out here. Odette spent last night at the doctor’s surgery and is sleeping. I don’t want to disturb her.”
They sat on a stone bench under a large Judas tree. “How is your friend?” he asked.
“From what I understand, her situation last night was precarious. But the doctor is sure the worst is passed. We are hoping to bring her here to convalesce.”
“And Miss Swanpoole returned to the surgery last night? Alone?”
To hide her irritation, Cara looked away from him to the flower arbor that arched over the courtyard entryway. She pursed her lips and refocused her thoughts. She must stop giving away information. She must get it.
Cara turned back to him with what Odette had long ago dubbed her “lovely woman smile.” It was designed to be modest and soft, with a hint of sex and mystery. “Odette is very intrepid and the surgery is not far. But I wonder, Mister Graham, with all the commotion of last night, were you able to get what you wanted at the bookseller’s?”
“The bookseller?” He was momentarily confused. “Ah, no… no, I was at the tobacconist.”
“Is it one you frequent?”
“Why yes.”
“What is the name?” With a charming gesture she touched his hand lightly. “I was hoping to give you a small token of our appreciation for your assistance of last night. Perhaps some of your favorite tobacco?”
He cleared his throat. “That is entirely unnecessary.”
“Oh no, but I insist.”
He stood and was inclined to look indignant. “Really, Miss Mills, I did only as would any gentleman.”
She suppressed a smile at what was most assuredly playacting on his part. Although he was very good, she had to admit. The feigned outrage was an excellent cover for not knowing the name of the tobacconist on Bridges Street, if indeed there was one. Having confirmed in her own mind that his presence at the attack was no coincidence, she relented. “I am
sorry to offend you, Mister Graham.” She cast her eyes down. “I only wish to show my gratitude.”
“Not at all.” He sat down again beside her. A fierce crease between his eyes caused his winged brows to come together in a wide V. Cara thought he looked positively mythic, like an angry underworld god.
After that, Ethan stayed only a few minutes more before politely excusing himself. Her later conversation with Odette and Wu regarding this visit resulted in Wu’s determination to follow him as closely as possible.
“Did you make any new discoveries?” Cara asked Wu.
He shook his head. “None. He is very careful.”
Odette was disappointed. Her own nighttime rambles had been curtailed by Fancy’s injury. She was frustrated at not being part of Wu’s surveillance and even more so that their quarry was proving particularly elusive.
Ethan Graham was their only connection, tenuous though it was, to whoever had attacked their carriage. Since he had been under Wu’s eye from before the assault, it was uncertain whether he was involved or was yet another player in the game. From Wu’s reports, Ethan divided his time between his high society friends and the intellectuals at the various coffeehouses around town. He was known to frequent many of the fashionable salons and was allowed entrance everywhere. He rarely visited the seedier parts of town and was never seen to solicit the services of the ever-present prostitutes. A fact Cara noted with satisfaction.
Fancy murmured and turned over on her uninjured side. When she had quieted, Wu said in a low tone, “It has been many days. Perhaps I should report Master Yuan’s disappearance to the government.”
“Is there no one from your country who can help?” Cara had asked this question many times before.
His answer never changed, “I know of only sailors. And most of them are employed by the East India Company.”
The three sat in unspoken agreement that seeking assistance from the East India Company was a bad idea. Indeed it had been that company’s involvement in smuggling opium into China that had sent Master Yuan and Wu to England in the first place. Although Master Yuan had other priorities, his meetings with British officials had revolved around stopping the illegal trade.
“It’s strange that they haven’t already noticed his absence,” Odette commented.
“It is curious,” Wu agreed. “He had several regular appointments. But I have noted in my search no special concern or efforts to find him.”
They all knew, however, that someone had been looking for Master Yuan. The day after the attack, Wu returned to the lodging house where he and his master shared a set of rooms. Ever cautious, he had waited until night to enter through the back balcony of another apartment. He had found their rooms a shambles. The wardrobes and dressers searched and their belongings strewn on the floor. Curiously their valuables had not been taken, and Wu was able to retrieve some important items.
Odette sighed and voiced a central conundrum, “We can’t even know if your master’s disappearance and the attack on our coach are related. He could very well have been abducted by officials of the East India Company. They cannot be too happy with his presence here in London.”
Wu shook his head. “No. The two are connected,” he said with certainty. “The company has nothing to fear from us. They have no reason to harm my master. It was clear he was making no progress with the government.”
Odette looked at Wu. Since that first night, they had spoken little of the time rift or her role in the whole implausible affair. He accepted their allegiance to each other as if it were a puzzle piece fitted neatly into his awareness of the world. When she spoke of Odell or her mission, he listened quietly but rarely commented. Whatever mysteries surrounded who and what he was, he was a staunch ally and she respected his skills and abilities.
“Okay then, what’s our next step?”
Cara stood and fluffed her skirts. “Well, I think it will be up to me. Don’t you?”
They both looked at her questioningly.
Cara pulled from her pocket an elegant calling card and dramatically waved it around before sitting down again. She leaned in confidingly. “This is an invitation from Mister Graham requesting that I accompany him to the ball. With supper preceding the festivities, of course.”
Odette had heard there would be a ball as the culmination of a two-day public fête in Covent Garden. It was a unique event where the respectable and disreputable rubbed elbows without fear of either being tainted by the other. David Garrick had hinted that she should attend.
Wu looked unimpressed. “You will get nowhere with him. He is suspicious of you.”
Cara threw him a superior look and stood. “What you don’t know, Wu, is a lot,” was her parting shot before leaving the room and shutting the door quietly behind her.
*
The next day brought a surprise visit. “Josephine, Barbara!” Odette stood as they entered the sitting room. Cara followed and winked at Odette saying, “I’m told Gabriel is with Johnson parking the carriage.”
Odette was engulfed in feminine embraces and disjointed exclamations.
“What a dreadful—”
“We would have come sooner, but the inn—”
“Johnson will be so jealous of the garden—”
“This room has lovely proportions—”
While busy settling themselves on the sofa, Odette was able to interject, “I’m so glad you could come.”
“Oh, my dear!” Josephine Wright exclaimed. “We were very distressed to hear of the attack on your coach! To think something like that happening on a busy street. Well!” she huffed, “London is getting far too big.”
“Gabe was in Yorkshire but returned earl—,” Barbara began.
“He is helping Johnson with the coach,” Josephine interrupted, shooting her daughter a warning look. This little piece of mother-daughter theater was not lost on the room’s other occupants, Cara especially gleeful at the significance of Gabriel’s early return from Yorkshire.
“The coach?” Odette asked, trying to avoid Cara’s comically significant glances.
“Oh.” Josephine waved a dismissive hand. “It’s the old inn coach Gabriel had refitted. He felt I needed a private conveyance for my errands. You know how he is about my ‘standing’ in the community and such.” She sighed, a sad yet tender look on her face. “Since Ralph died, Gabriel has become somewhat overprotective.”
Odette nodded her understanding and then looked up as the subject of their conversation walked into the room. He seemed to fill the space. In that unguarded moment, he looked at Odette and his smile was like a silent laugh, open and carefree. The warm look in his eyes left her breathless.
“Ahem.” Cara coughed delicately into her hand.
Odette broke her gaze from Gabriel’s to find that she was standing. In the small room he was only a few feet from her, and she noted he looked uncomfortably flushed. He was also carrying a large bouquet of roses.
She recollected herself. “Mister Wright, thank you so much for the flowers. They will certainly brighten up Fancy’s room.”
It was hard to believe anyone looking more discomfited, but he did. “I wish I’d thought of bringing flowers. However, these were given to me by a Mister Harris. He is kindly helping Johnson with the carriage and asked me to deliver them to you.”
Cara rose to collect the bouquet. “How kind of Ignatius.” She bustled out of the room in search of a vase leaving behind an awkward silence.
As hostess, Odette knew it was her responsibility to keep the conversation flowing. She indicated that Gabriel should be seated and she did the same.
“Mister Har—,” she began.
“Mister Har—,” he began.
They looked at each other in frustration. Finally he nodded for her to go first.
“Mister Harris has brought flowers every day since the attack,” she said a little breathlessly. “He was driving the carriage when Fancy was shot and carried her to the doctor’s surgery.”
“Impossible to
believe that something like that could happen,” Josephine stated again, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Our local magistrate told us he’d never heard of such a thing,” Barbara added.
“In speaking with Mister Harris just now, he mentioned an interview with a runner from Bow Street.” Gabriel looked at Odette questioningly. “This man expressed some skepticism that thieves were responsible for the attack.”
Josephine stiffened. “You don’t believe it could be the man who has your brother?”
Odette looked down at her clasped hands silently cursing Hershel Gordon’s interference. Her efforts to keep the Wrights uninvolved in what was turning out to be a huge misadventure seemed wasted. But withholding information from them might prove dangerous, as it had for Fancy.
She compromised. “No, I don’t think it was the man who has Odell. I haven’t seen him, and I have been very visible and observant these past weeks. I am beginning to believe that whatever involves Odell is much bigger than stolen property.”
“Stolen property?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “The dispute between Odell and this man arose because my brother accused him of stealing his invention.”
“Benjamin Franklin is an inventor.” Gabriel’s sharp mind grasped her meaning quickly.
“Exactly.” She nodded at him approvingly. “Perhaps Odell has some information, knows that this man wants something of Mister Franklin’s as well.” She stood up and took a turn around the room. “I’m just speculating. Odell told me so little.”
“But, Odette, this is folly—”
Cara appeared breathless at the door and hurriedly announced, “Mister Graham has also come for a visit.”
Odette cast her eyes heavenwards and sat down again. Never had she felt the lack of a servant until now when a good butler could have turned away a visitor without offense. She looked at Gabriel and saw the quickly suppressed suspicion on his face.
Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 Page 18