“We don’t think so,” Wu answered her cautiously. “There must be another, someone higher up. But he would have to be from this time, Fancy. Or else he wouldn’t have access to the nobility.”
She shook her head matter-of-factly. The only time Odette had ever seen her disagree with Wu. “No, Wu. He has to be from the future or else he wouldn’t know about the time machine. Maybe he’s even someone Mister Odell knows.”
Wu looked skeptical. “He could be someone Drake recruited once he got here.”
She shook her head again. “No, that don’t feel right cuz I was shot before Drake arrived. Before he even got here, Odette was a threat to someone.” She looked decisively at Odette. “It seems to me the number of people who could mess with the timeline, or even think about it, is pretty small. This mastermind person is someone who knows your brother.”
Wu looked at her with respect. “True. Drake kept Odell imprisoned so he wouldn’t have seen anyone else.”
“I don’t care how smart you are,” Cara had disagreed. “People will think you’re crazy if you talk about time travel and changing history. Drake’s partner or puppet master or whatever he is has to be from this time. And he must be very powerful. There is no other way the aristocracy would listen to Drake.”
And so they went back and forth, unable to arrive at a decisive conclusion. Yet Odette felt the truth of Fancy’s theory. This person must have known Odell was working with time travel. That could only mean a select group of people. But Odell himself had believed Drake to be the ringleader.
Odette rubbed her eyes and stood up. Impulsively she reached over and embraced the girl saying, “I am so grateful you haven’t run screaming from this loony bin out into the street.”
Fancy stepped back, her cheeks warmly flushed. “I’d rather live in crazyland with you than out there where I was.”
Odette hugged her again then released her and headed back into the house. She nodded a greeting to one of the guards Lady Caroline had insisted on hiring for their protection. She knew it was necessary, but it felt like an intrusion. This small, shabby cottage with its hidden gem of a garden was her refuge. More importantly, the people in it were her family.
Wu and Fancy, each mature beyond their years, were nonetheless children. Their evenings together in the tiny sitting room were filled with laughter as they regaled Odette and Cara with stories of their often aimless rambles. Each of them tried to outdo the other in witticisms and absurd observations. They were fortunate in that the follies of the ton provided fertile ground for absurdities. But on many other occasions she knew the risks they took were unacceptable. She felt weighed down with the need to keep them safe, knowing all along that it wasn’t in her power.
Odette poked her head into the dining room to find Cara hard at work on yet another costume. The broken hutch had been removed and a smaller cabinet put in its place. The little room was once again organized and tidy. The wood shards and broken crockery swept away.
“Benjamin Franklin is in London,” she announced.
Cara looked up and mumbled through the pins in her mouth, “Yes. The children told me.”
“Let’s hope he likes the ballet,” Odette replied listlessly.
Cara straightened up from the table and removed the pins from her mouth. “Everybody who’s anybody will be there. If this Mister Franklin is the man they say he is, he will at least be curious.”
Odette nodded and walked slowly back toward the staircase. Her legs and arms felt heavy. She almost couldn’t care less whether he was there or not. This harebrained scheme was putting everyone she loved in jeopardy.
Even Cara. Cara, her best friend, more of a mother than her own had ever been. Her involvement was an accident, an unfortunate happenstance and yet she was steadfast in her resolve to see this through. The friendly competition with Wu was just a cover for her anxiety. Odette had seen it before to a lesser degree when Cara dealt with her noble clients. Always fearful that her Irish roots would be discovered, she veiled her insecurity in bravado and haughty self-assurance. Odette had always believed that Cara’s meticulous grooming was a form of armor as much as it was a disguise to fool her clients. The beautiful face, the beautiful gowns, inspired admiration and kept people from looking too closely—from getting too close. From her vantage point, Cara watched and listened. She had seen Ethan Graham for what he was and had reeled him in, nabbing for them an important ally. Cara was her rock but a fragile one. She could be hurt. Just thinking about it made Odette’s throat constrict.
Then there was Gabriel. Disheveled and worried, he had arrived at Lady Caroline’s house on the evening of their first night under her roof. Odette’s landlady, Mrs. Cheever, had told him of the attack.
With his friend Cyril in tow, they had rushed to Grosvenor Square. When they entered the parlor, the tension in his face shook Odette to her core. But no more than his crushing embrace and gruffly mumbled words of relief. A lighthearted admonition from Lady Caroline and laughter from the assembled group recalled him to his senses. Odette’s heart skipped a beat remembering his flushed cheeks and sheepish grin.
All discussion of time rifts and villainous masterminds was suspended while he and Cyril were present. But their news was grim enough. Drake was recruiting and finding the upper reaches of London society fruitful hunting ground.
They had laughed as Gabriel, with amusing asides from Cyril, recounted his covert infiltration of White’s. For Odette, it was a moment of blinding clarity. He had done it for her. He had put himself in harm’s way for her.
She turned up the staircase. Her head hurt and tears built behind her eyes. She took the steps laboriously. Gabriel’s overheard conversation between the two footmen was confirmation that so much more was at stake than just one man. No matter how extraordinary.
The American Upraising, the Enlightenment. Benjamin Franklin was only one part of their plan. And she didn’t even know how or when he was killed. She only knew he had died in London in 1757—a footnote to history.
She reached the landing and entered her bedroom. Odette lay down and pulled the covers over her, burrowing into them. She felt weak and helpless. Somehow she would have to find her courage but not just yet. Now, she just wanted to sleep.
Chapter 26
“She can’t perform!” David Garrick practically screeched, his beautiful baritone distorted with indignation. He stood amidst construction of a forest backdrop for the third and final act of Espiruti, their new ballet. All work had stopped as the artisans and dancers on stage looked nervously at their outraged leader.
“Yes, I’m sorry,” Cara answered calmly. “She is terribly ill. The fever and muscle aches have left her too weak. It is very unlikely that she will be able to debut in just a few days time.”
She watched as he struggled to control another outburst. He eventually took her by the arm and steered her down the hallway to his office. He closed the door behind them and said through gritted teeth, “How am I to stage this ballet without my star attraction? And for that matter,” he added furiously, “who is to take her place? Much of the choreography is her own improvisation.”
“Jean knows the steps, and Mariah is an excellent understudy,” she replied firmly. Then added placatingly, “David, you know Odette would drag herself here sweating with fever if she could. But that would jeopardize the entire company.”
He threw his hands in the air with exasperation and turned to the window. “We can’t delay the premiere,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.
“She wouldn’t want you to,” Cara assured him. “The doctor says another few days and then some to gain back her strength.”
“A week? Two?” he asked.
“A week, perhaps ten days.” She nodded.
“She will recover?” His face was creased with concern.
“Oh yes!” Cara exclaimed. “Apparently a summer fever or something like. Doctor Tannen has seen many cases these past weeks, particularly among the young.”
He nodded and sighe
d again. “I guess there’s some advantage to growing older.”
Just then the office door burst open to admit a dramatically gesturing Eva Garrick. “David! The news! I just heard! How can this be?”
Cara beat a hasty retreat and emerged from the theater into the late morning sunshine. Ignatius had wanted to wait and drive her back to Exeter Street, but Cara dismissed him with a warm smile, saying, “Thank you, Mister Harris, but it’s a beautiful morning and I would like to walk.”
In fact, she was exhausted. It was evident from the strained compression of her lips and the tiny crow’s feet that she would normally have never allowed to crease the outlines of her fine green eyes. Nursing Odette had left her feeling hollow and burnt-out. Days and nights she had sat on the window seat barely breathing, listening to Odette’s feverish mutterings. Now she needed to move and stretch her muscles. Walking at a leisurely pace, she turned down Bridges Street.
Cara had let no one else tend Odette. As much as she appreciated Wu’s nursing abilities and Fancy’s devotion, Cara’s fear was too great to leave Odette—even for a moment.
While much remained the same between eighteenth-century London and Cara’s own time, medical science, at least, had progressed somewhat in the intervening two hundred plus years. Sterile technique and anesthesia were only a couple of the important advances that had saved so many lives. But at this point in history they had yet to be discovered, or at least, widely used. Cara knew there was very little anyone could do for Odette but relieve her symptoms and wait.
After two days, Fancy finally convinced her to call Doctor Tannen. Odette’s fever and terrible headache had abated, but she was still listless and disoriented. Doctor Tannen’s skill had saved Fancy’s life, but Cara was suspicious of the dangerous and superstitious beliefs that permeated the medical profession.
So she was relieved and grateful when Doctor Tannen proved equally competent with Odette’s illness as he had with Fancy’s injury. He didn’t spout nonsense concerning bad humors or suggest bloodletting but merely nodded and said, “Well, you really don’t need me now. The worst is over. This type of fever is short lived but can be very debilitating. She will need several days of rest and good food.”
Cara practically cried with relief and asked, “She will recover?”
Doctor Tannen, seeing the stress and worry on her face, patted her hand comfortingly. “Of course, of course. These illnesses are not so unusual in the young. She is strong and should recover fully.”
Cara realized now that she had panicked. Just the thought of losing Odette was crushing. But the loss would have been compounded by the isolation of living outside her own time. Not to mention the magnitude of the mission before them.
She shook her head and firmly squared her shoulders. Unequal to the task she may be, but she wasn’t going to wilt like a cut rose. There were many years between her and the teenager who had packed her belongings and fled an impoverished island to seek her fortune. But Cara still remembered the girl she once was. She smiled to herself at the risks she had taken, the bold decisions that had led her to a life of comfort and caution. Well, she had landed on her feet then. She could do it again.
“Miss Mills,” the clipped, precise speech of Hershel Gordon interrupted her reverie. “May I join you?”
She turned to see him beside her, his sharp features as impassive as ever. He was only a couple of inches taller than she and slightly built.
“It’s a weasely man he is, to be sure,” Cara had fumed after they were comfortably ensconced in a large suite of rooms at Lady Caroline’s mansion. The attack had left them all shaken, but for Cara it was Hershel Gordon’s questions and obvious suspicions that were unforgivable.
“I like him,” Odette had declared perversely. She smiled sidelong at Cara and added, “And I think you’re just a little peeved he hasn’t succumbed to your charms and fallen at your feet.”
“Indeed,” Cara said disdainfully, “The man isn’t worth—”
Odette pokered-up her face and held up a hand in an imperious gesture for silence. “Please, Miss Mills, your beauty does not distract me—”
A pillow landing squarely in her face had effectively changed the subject.
Confronted now with the man, Cara admitted to herself that his high-handed dismissal of her during their last meeting had pricked her vanity. She was unused to such indifferent treatment by a man. Maybe he’s some kind of idiot savant she thought and then smiled at her inflated self-image.
“Have I said something to amuse you,” he asked, seeing her smile.
She raised her eyebrows. “How could you, Mister Gordon? You have hardly said anything to me at all.”
He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid the confines of my profession require me to maintain an objective distance.” He paused and then added, “Wherever my partialities may lie.”
They had been walking down the street together, but this made Cara stop abruptly and face him. “Am I to interpret your meaning as a partiality to me?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes.” He sighed. “I was sure you had noticed.”
She was flabbergasted. “Why… why… no, Mister Gordon. I had no idea.”
He nodded resignedly. “I have tried to hide it.”
“And done a masterful job, I assure you,” she replied with feeling.
They resumed their walk. His demeanor changed very little, but the difference was noticeable to Cara. The impassivity of his features relaxed ever so slightly to reveal weathered creases around his eyes and a rather winsome smile. His typically ramrod-straight back and shoulders loosened to move more naturally with his purposeful stride. Cara imagined him like this around family and friends, people he loved and trusted. But her? She could hardly credit it.
“My father was a vicar,” he explained, breaking the silence. “He always bemoaned my ability to lie convincingly.”
“And what lies have you told me?” she asked.
“You?” He looked stunned. “Why none. I grew out of lying but learned to…” He was momentarily thoughtful. “…to dissemble. In my line of work, it is important not to let on what you may know or suspect.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because this…” He waved his hand around to indicate everything. “…is all wrong. I told your Miss Swanpoole as much from the beginning. People who should be interested in what has happened to you, are not. People I know and respect. Also,” he added firmly, “you are not telling me the truth.”
She started to speak, but he cut her off. “Please, I am not here to force your confidence or whatever story you feel obliged to tell me. But to warn you. There is a storm gathering. And you and your friends are at its very center.”
*
“Of course, he has no idea why we would be at the center of a vast conspiracy. And I told him nothing. But Hershel believes that all this may involve even the King.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cara spoke to the room at large. Odette was propped up on pillows and while she looked drawn and tried, a smile played about her mouth.
“Does Hershel think so indeed?” she replied teasingly.
“Yes, indeed he does,” Cara answered, choosing to ignore her tone. “Either the King or someone very close to him.”
Odette nodded seriously, but it was Wu who responded. He sat on the window seat with Fancy, both of them elegantly dressed for an evening out.
“We know someone other than Drake is the mastermind, someone powerful, someone desirous of maintaining aristocratic rule. Therefore, Mister Gordon’s reasoning is not without merit,” he said.
“Why the King?” Odette asked. “He is the King, after all. The American Uprising hasn’t even begun. Why would he feel threatened enough to try and preserve the aristocracy for centuries to come? He must believe the monarchy secure. Why even listen to what must sound like madness?”
During her convalescence, Odette had thought long and hard about who was truly behind the plot. She had come to agree with
Fancy. It had to be someone from the future, or rather the prime timeline. But why?
Drake’s motivations she understood. The impoverished descendant of a once powerful family, his sense of entitlement made him the perfect tool for a more ruthless intellect. But the man in the shadows? Was he also the product of a noble family fallen on hard times? This didn’t ring true. It was too simple for someone clearly smart enough to recoup lost wealth and status without changing the course of history.
To Odette this was all beginning to feel oddly personal. Someone had a grudge, and it chilled her to the bone to imagine the sick mind that would punish the whole world for it.
Hardly able to form a coherent theory of her own, she didn’t voice her particular concerns to the others. Instead she smiled and said, “I wish I had a camera. You all look so fine.”
Fancy stood and shook out the skirts of her deep blue dress. She wore a modest powdered wig to cover her short hair. The pearl pendant necklace Odette had given her that first day on the street was clasped about her neck. Wu had retrieved it from the old pawnbroker who had given her less than half its worth. He waved aside her thanks and demands to pay him back. After several days, she gave up trying and wore it as a token of good luck, even under her boy’s clothes.
“What’s a camera?” she asked, looking up from a critical inspection of her high-heeled slippers.
“It is a mechanical device that takes pictures,” Odette explained, “A kind of instant painting. Except it shows exactly what we see. If you took a picture of Wu with a camera, it would show exactly what you see before you.”
Fancy shook her head in disbelief. But her quick mind caught on to at least one of a camera’s many uses. “Wouldn’t that be just the thing for spyin’!”
Odette smiled again and sat up straighter on the bed. The premiere of Espiruti was tonight, and she had insisted they all go without her.
“It’s important you’re there to support the company,” she maintained earlier when Cara questioned the wisdom of leaving her alone. “Caroline’s guards are still here. So I won’t be unprotected.”
Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 Page 24