CamillasConsequences

by Helena Harker

  “I can ruin you by forcing myself into you, by taking what you hold dear, for in your virginity lies your reputation.” He presses harder, until I wince. “Or I can ruin you the same way you ruined others, by taking Panoptographs of you bound and nude on the bed.”

  “No!” Shame flushes my cheeks. I had not considered these possibilities, infinitely worse than any corporal punishment Hephaestus can mete out.

  “‘No’ to robbing you of your virginity or ‘no’ to Panoptographs of you plastered on every lamp post in London? Devlin would gladly help me scatter them everywhere!”

  “No…please…no.” Never have I begged a man for anything. “Strike me as hard as you like. Use the prod pole. Use the whip. But…do not take what I hold dearest.”

  “Is that not what you do, Camilla, steal what men care for most?”

  “I cannot argue with the truth. I beg of you, Hephaestus, do not publicly shame me. No Panoptographs.”

  “What would you do if I did? Where would you go?”

  Undoubtedly, I would have to live in exile, perhaps in the Canadas or on the isle of Cuba, where no one has ever heard of Camilla Covington. “Please, Hephaestus. No Panoptographs. Anything else, but not that.”

  “So that is your choice? I will thrust myself inside you, use you, for you are mine. Make your choice.”

  The decision tears at my soul. I want neither, but there is no way out. The drug is wearing off, but I am still greatly incapacitated. “My virginity.” A lump wells in my throat.

  His hand rests over my throat. “What if I give you a different choice? Decide between public scandal or losing all the assets you have accumulated over the years. Which do you choose?”

  Will he spare my virginity? “Poverty. Take all I have taken from others, but leave me intact.”

  “I knew you would do anything to prevent public scandal, like Aldridge, like my father.” He strokes my hair away from my face, tracing his fingers along my cheek, down my neck. “I have made my decision.”

  He will leave me penniless? What of my maidenhood? I cannot think clearly. His jaw is firmly set, and I await his verdict. He ponders my fate most intently. Lines form between his brows. His lips tighten into a thin line and then relax. Hephaestus seems…tormented.

  “For years, all I have thought of is finding the woman who ruined my family and ruining her in return. Now that I have you…” He pauses and licks his lips. “I cannot.”

  His admission stuns me.

  “I cannot, because to ruin you would be to become exactly like you, cold and hard and alone. I see myself in you, and it frightens me. Revenge must stop controlling my life.”

  I do not know what to say. Relief surges through my body, and I take several shuddering breaths. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Do not thank me. I am doing this for myself, not for you!” He pushes himself off me, pulls up his trousers and sits at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Without his skin against mine, I am suddenly chilled. I manage to pull my arms to my chest, and I try to reach out to him, but the restraints make it difficult. My fingertips brush his back, and he slaps my hands away.

  He pushes himself off the bed and walks to the Panoptograph of the attacking lion. “I had no inheritance. I had nothing. So I reinvented myself. Because of you, I had no choice. I became Hephaestus Alighieri, a metallurgist of Italian descent. I apprenticed with a metallurgist here in Upper London for a short time, and then began my own enterprise, Flames of Paradise. At first I made pieces that were useful, such as lanterns, lamp posts and clocks. In time, I created more beautiful pieces that allowed my imagination to take flight.”

  I roll over onto my side. Hephaestus moves to the next picture, featuring a leopard in a tree guarding a bloodied kill.

  “I had feelings for you, truly I did. You are fiery and mysterious and strong. Other women are not like you. I suspected who you were from the beginning, but I still fell headlong in love. However, I cannot pursue a relationship with a woman who takes pleasure in destroying the lives of others. More importantly, I cannot take pleasure in destroying yours.” He turns toward me, and his face is expressionless. “Now tell me your version of events. Of which crime did you wrongfully convict my father? He was a widower, entitled to engage in sexual relations with a consenting woman if he so wished. You cannot fault him for appeasing his urges. Above all else, tell me where I can find Lexadora.”

  “The cellulose reel will speak for me. Since I was new at the art of sexual blackmail, and he was a very powerful man, I recorded the entire proceedings by dissimulating a Panoptoscope in my handbag.” I point at my cabinet. “In the bottom drawer are several reels. Find the one labeled with your father’s name.”

  The drug is finally wearing off, and I am able to prop myself on one elbow. After Hephaestus locates the reel, he places it by the Panoptoscope display machine and comes to my side. He heaves me onto his shoulder and carries me to my viewing chair, where he drops me. I am half-slumped in the seat, still unable to walk, but able to stop myself from falling to the floor.

  “Take the cellulose reel and place it in the display machine.” I explain how to position the reel, which knobs to press, and then tell him to draw the curtains.

  When darkness shrouds the room, Hephaestus presses the final knob, squeezes beside me on the chair and scoops me into his lap. The equipment whirs and images appear on the screen. For this particular encounter, I placed the handbag, which was designed with an opening sufficiently large for the lens of my ’Scope, on a work bench. Baron Laurence McDermott and I sit opposite each other in the laboratory he constructed inside his immense mansion.

  I must say it is odd to look at oneself in this manner. In terms of clothing, I had not yet opted for dark attire. Instead, I wore the apparel in vogue in ’91, which consisted of the overcorset, an unyielding copper-plated bustier worn over a blouse. My hat, an imitation of a man’s top hat, sat askew upon my head, fastened under my chin with a lacy bow, and a short veil covered half my face.

  As I watch Baron Laurence McDermott sitting stiffly in his chair, deep grooves in his brow, holding a Panoptograph as though it is a kerchief someone has recently wiped his nose upon, the memories resurface, and I recall every single detail of our meeting.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Odd assortments of half-assembled mechanical parts, papers covered in hand-drawn designs and scale models of rudimentary aircraft are strewn about the laboratory’s work table. McDermott has a reputation as an obsessive inventor who spent years honing devices that fail with alarming regularity. Only one of his inventions has so far been produced for the enjoyment of the public, an Aeroglider designed for a single pilot, an aerial pleasurecraft, if you will.

  “You are a brash, perverted young woman,” the Baron says. “No wonder your fiancé ran off to the Americas.”

  I do my best to ignore his insult, but it galls me nonetheless. With both elbows set firmly on my chair’s padded leather arms, I steeple my fingers. “Perhaps there is a hint of perversion in what I do, but it is does not compare to the perversion involved in engaging in sexual relations with one’s fifteen-year-old niece.”

  Unable to deny my allegations, he stares at the Panoptograph.

  “You impregnated her.”

  He rises to his feet. His height is impressive, as is the breadth of his shoulders, but days spent tinkering in his laboratory have made him soft, and his belly bulges against his waistcoat. “She was overly familiar with the stableboy and the coachman. I am certain they enjoyed her as well, perhaps both at the same time!”

  “Your vulgarity does not intimidate me. Neither do your lies. Sit down.” I cross my legs and lean nonchalantly against the back of the chair. “You sent Lexadora to the Moonstone School for Girls, and only one type of girl is welcome in that establishment. Lexadora is with child and will give birth within four months, according to the dear woman who houses these unfortunate girls.”

  “It was my familial obligation to raise her after the death of her pa
rents. She was innocent when she first arrived but quickly grew into a temptress, a vixen. How can a man be expected to resist such bounty when it is constantly within his reach?” He begins to shred the Panoptograph of him copulating with his niece, ripping it in long strips that flutter to the floor among discarded bits of copper wire.

  “Have you no self-control?”

  “Against a woman’s beauty, a man has no defenses. It is a woman’s duty to be modest to avoid unwanted attention.”

  “Lexadora was yours to protect!”

  “I cannot keep a promiscuous girl in my home, so I banished her!” Spittle flies from his lips.

  “She is fifteen! How dare you blame her for your misconduct!” Which implement will I use on him? Only yesterday, I received an electric prod pole from America, and I also have a particularly nasty whip. “Do not tarnish her name! You forced yourself on her. Only you. No one else.”

  He grunts, tearing another strip off the Panoptograph, most of which is in shreds at his feet.

  “I take it she will return to your home after she has given birth.”

  McDermott shakes his head. “She is never to return, for she might spark rumors of why she left to begin with. I will pay her fare aboard the next dirigible to the Canadas and give her a small allowance to begin a new life.”

  How abhorrent! “What of the child? Your child?”

  “No one can prove the babe is mine. With any luck, the runt will die during childbirth and so will she.”

  His callousness stuns me. “How can you be so harsh? Do you not have children of your own?”

  “So you spy on me with your Panoptograph, know the location of my niece, but you are ignorant of my son?” He raises his brows and scoffs. “If you must know, I am ashamed to call him my son. He wishes to be an artist. What kind of man wants to be an artist? A gentleman must admire fine art, appreciate it, know when to buy a fine piece at auction. He does not sit in front of a block of marble and chisel it with a hammer like a common laborer.” McDermott pauses and reaches into his jacket for a cigar. He places it between his teeth and pats his pockets, seemingly unable to find his strike lighter. “Two things are paramount in life—status and scientific discovery. My son stands to inherit all my land holdings, but he has no interest in learning how to manage our tenants. And science means little to him.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I sent him to Europe, just as he asked, hoping he would realize the foolishness of his endeavors. When he returns, he and I will have a serious talk about the responsibilities of a land owner.”

  “What will you tell him?”

  “He needs to forget about art and take on more duties or else I will disinherit him.”

  “You would leave your own flesh and blood with nothing?”

  “Of course. My wife is dead. I have only myself to think of.”

  Perhaps I should leave him with nothing as well. Although he appears quite wealthy, I have discovered that he is in debt. His scientific tinkering has been funded by his land holdings, the sheep farms, the cattle, the barley and wheat. He spends far more than he earns.

  “What do you want?” A sheen of sweat appears on his brow. “Jewels? A fine coat made from the fur of an Arctic fox? Pure white, they are. Have you ever seen one?” He bites on the end of the cigar.

  “I will take the pendant hanging on that wall.” Heart-shaped and glittering with rubies, it appears very out of place in the laboratory. “It will look very pretty against my neck, do you not think so? Fetch it for me.”

  Reluctantly, he stands and gets it. “Now get out.”

  “Impudence will not be tolerated. When you address me, you must be polite. I am not a young girl who can be pacified with a mere trinket.” I fasten the chain around my neck. “Sit down, for I have only begun to discipline you.”

  He laughs. “Discipline? You would make a fine headmistress.”

  I suppose I would. “Imagine what the Scotland Yard constables would say if these Panoptographs ever came to light. I have a full cellulose reel of you defiling that poor girl in your summer home near Brighton.” Standing by the window and watching made me feel dirty and depraved, but I needed to collect evidence against him. “Let me quote the law, McDermott. Whosoever shall engage in unlawful coercion of a girl between the ages of eleven and fifteen shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and at the discretion of the court shall be liable to be kept in penal servitude for a period of one to three years, which may or may not include hard labor.”

  The cigar drops from his lips as he utters an indignant hmmpph.

  “The age of consent is sixteen,” I say. “Lexadora is fifteen. Therefore, in exchange for my silence, you will give me your patents for the Aeroglider and the aetherical communicator.”

  “Never. They are the product of a lifetime of work.”

  “You have nothing else of any worth. You have borrowed against your holdings in order to fund your scientific endeavors.”

  “It seems I am heavily in debt, but not for long. The Aeroglider is already in production at Dirigible & Sons. It is proving very popular with rich, daring young men who dream of being aviators. I am certain my communicator will be equally successful. Imagine an apparatus that allows individuals to communicate at great distances using aether as a medium instead of wires?”

  “Surrender your patents or surrender yourself to Scotland Yard. You can keep your lands and your estate.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Hephaestus reaches over to shut off the Panoptoscope display machine. It is just as well, for my harsh discipline of his father is the next event to transpire. As I rest against Hephaestus’ chest, I hear the loud beating of his heart, and his arms curl tightly against me.

  “The Panoptoscope does not lie. Your father was guilty of the crime of which I accused him.”

  “What of Lexadora? You did not banish her? It was him all along?” He appears stricken.

  “Yes.” I struggle into a sitting position, holding my bound arms over my breasts. “Go to my cabinet and look in the second last drawer. There you will find all you need to know about Lexadora.”

  Quickly, Hephaestus slides me off his lap and strides to the cabinet, wrenching open the drawer. He takes out an assortment of small Panoptographs I took several months ago during my trip to Lyon, and he returns to sit next to me.

  “A portion of the earnings from the Aeroglider is reserved for Lexadora and her son. She has a house in Lyon with a maid and a governess. We discussed giving the child to a family in need of a son, but she refused to hear of it. Instead, she decided to pose as a young widow whose husband passed away a few short months after their marriage.”

  Hephaestus holds a Panoptograph of a four-year-old boy astride a Shetland pony. “He has my father’s eyes.”

  “William is your brother, Hephaestus.”

  “William? She named him after me?” He stares at the picture. “I must visit her. How could I not see what Father was doing? Whenever he was near, a light went out in her, yet she never hinted that this sort of depravity was the source of her unhappiness. Had I known, I would have protected her.”

  “Do not blame yourself.” But he does.

  “Why did I not see it? I should have questioned her, should have questioned Father. I merely believed her to be moody in his presence. Even at the dinner table, when he spoke to her, she answered tersely and picked at the food on her plate. What did her life become after my departure?” Hephaestus sits on the bed, his face in his hands. “I always thought my father sent me to Italy because he supported my dream, not because he wished me to fail. I thought he had pride in me.”

  I want to comfort him but cannot yet walk without collapsing on the floor.

  “Thank you for looking after Lexadora, for doing what I did not.” Hephaestus looks at me. “There is good in you, Camilla, but there is also darkness so deep I fear I will lose myself in it.”

  “If you feel there is a measure of goodness in me despite what I have done, then there is hope for us st
ill.”

  He shakes his head. “I am unworthy of any woman. Look what I did to you. I should have listened when you wanted to tell me about my father. I allowed revenge to obtain a stranglehold over my life.” Swiftly, he crosses the room and crouches by my side. His voice cracks. “A good man would have listened. A man with integrity would never have drugged and beaten a woman.” He gazes at his hand and then at the purple welts on my buttocks.

  “Your chastisement was well-deserved,” I say. “If you still have feelings for me we can pursue this relationship and repair whatever damage has been done. We both need to heal.” He must not walk away. I need him.

  Hephaestus turns around, seizes the paddle from the bed and throws it across the room. He kicks my handbag so hard all my instruments scatter, the prod pole, the immobilization bar, a riding crop.

  “We would make a poor match.” With angry, jerking motions he removes the restraints, sweeps me into his arms and puts me down on the bed. “The effects of the drug will soon vanish. Goodbye, my sweet. Stay well away from me. Your actions made me into the man I am today, and I am ashamed of what I have become. To be a better man, I must be away from your influence.” His lips linger on my cheek. I make a desperate grab for his hand, but he pulls away and walks out the door, my heart-shaped pendant squeezed tightly in his palm.

  Chapter Ten

  I stare outside my bedroom window. Hannibal and Ironheart lie at my feet. In two weeks, Hephaestus has not sent me a single message, even though I have exhausted several rolls of paper by sending him apology after apology through the aether. It occurs to me that he may no longer have the communicator, since he wished to sever all ties with me. Neither have I heard from Devlin, nor do I have the courage to visit the forge and face him there. Sighing, I rest my head in my hands. Hannibal whines and his tail thumps against the floor.