The Lady in the Coppergate Tower (Proper Romance)

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  And his ability to hold Sam, a strong-willed man, so effortlessly, was definitely cause for concern.

  Hazel put her hand on Sam’s knee and dug in with her fingernails until her hand hurt. He coughed and jerked his knee up, and looked at her, eyes wide, stunned. She could almost see the moment the film was wiped from his eyes. He blinked and recovered quickly, setting his teacup and saucer on the table.

  “Apologies,” he said, “I thought I felt something brush against my leg.”

  Hazel tensed. She needed to speak with Sam before Dravor lulled them into a false sense of security again. She wondered if Dravor had a small relic in the pocket of his dinner jacket that allowed him hypnotic suggestion over multiple people.

  She stood, and Sam rose with her. She took his arm and said, “Thank you, Uncle, for the tea. Please forgive our abrupt departure, but I am quite fatigued. I believe I shall relax for a time with a good book and retire early.”

  Dravor placed his hand on his chest. “Of course.” He inclined his head. “I shall meet you again in the morning for breakfast.”

  Hazel pulled subtly on Sam’s arm as she turned toward the door. “Until morning,” she said over her shoulder, though she didn’t breathe easy until she had him into the hallway and well away from her uncle.

  “What just happened?” Sam murmured. “And why does my head ache?”

  “What do you know of palistocin?” she asked him grimly.

  “The memory herb?”

  “The benefit is not only to help one’s memory. A small daily dose is rumored to build both mental resilience and determination in thought and behavior. Your approach to medicine is more clinical than mine is,” she continued, guiding him to her door and unlocking it, “but for the sake of my peace of mind, will you put a pinch of the herb in your tea each morning?”

  He frowned. “Of course, Hazel, but I am confused.”

  “I know you are,” she said, closing the door and locking it. “We have just been under a heavy blanket of hypnotic suggestion.” She turned to him, hands on her hips. “You were fairly swimming in it until I gouged your knee with my fingernails.”

  His brows drew together, and he paused, shifting his weight. “I wouldn’t say ‘swimming in it’ is a fair assessment,” he protested. “Are you suggesting you were immune?”

  “Not at first,” she admitted. “It was insidious. Dravor spoke until we forgot about my fit in the corridor, forgot about everything.”

  He looked at her, and his gaze sharpened. “Has Marit visited during waking hours before?”

  “Never.” She rubbed her forehead. “We are closer than ever to her, and I am quite tired. What I’ve learned tonight is that she is terrified of our uncle, or Renton. Or both.”

  Sam sat on the arm of a chair and regarded her carefully. “The count is more dangerous than we thought. Than I thought.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I agree. I think we are facing a deadlier foe than the undead. More calculating, which I wouldn’t have thought possible.”

  He nodded slowly. “Either way, given this information, I’m happy to garnish my tea with your palistocin. I suggest we remain alert, find your sister, and return to London as quickly as possible.”

  Hazel nodded and, as she opened her box of medicinal herbs, added, “Until we find her, we won’t know exactly how to help her.” She paused. “And I have no resources in Romania.” She selected the correct container from the box and tipped a good portion of the contents into a paper packet. “I don’t even speak the language, unless Marit is tromping around in my head.” She sealed the packet securely and handed it to him, wondering how she would be able to communicate with her sister in person.

  Sam took the packet but held her hand fast. “Hazel.”

  She looked up at him.

  “All will be well. We will pool our talents and finish this thing safely.” He lightly shook her hand back and forth. “Yes?”

  She nodded and managed a smile. “Yes. And thank you.”

  He tugged on her hand and stepped closer, and suddenly her only thoughts were of him, the smell of him. The face she had adored for weeks, months, was so close. He didn’t waste time with words, but gently tunneled his fingers into her hair and lowered his mouth to hers.

  The sensation of his lips on hers was everything she’d imagined and more. He took his time, softly, as though they hadn’t a care in the world, and she lost herself in the luxury of the feel and taste of him. His arm encircled her body and pulled her close against him. She wound her arms around his neck, tentative at first, and then bravely tested the feel of his hair against her fingertips.

  He softly ran his thumb along her jaw, cradling her head and subtly guiding her as they explored the sweet intimacy of learning another’s touch. He finally, slowly, lifted his head, and she sighed.

  “Sleep well,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. “Scribe me immediately if you suspect something is wrong.”

  She nodded and tried to catch her breath. Had he not still held her close, she suspected she’d have wobbled and fallen over. She wished she had a better sense of how to manage sophisticated situations. What did a woman say to a man who had kissed her senseless, robbed her of coherent thought, and stolen her breath away?

  He slowly released her, and she missed the warmth instantly. As she withdrew her arms from around his neck, her fingers trailed down his jacket lapels and paused on the fabric, as if to hold him there. He would leave, and she would be alone. She was anxious again, completely at sea in more ways than one.

  “I can sit by the fire again and read while you sleep, if it would help relieve your worries,” he offered quietly. “I would even bring in Eugene to act as chaperone and vouch for your protected reputation.” His lips twitched.

  “Eugene, lovely timing, that one.” She glanced at the adjoining room, hidden by the closed doors. “He probably needs to charge, no?”

  She crossed the room and cracked open one of the doors, and then pulled it wide. A single light was on in the small space, and it illuminated an empty bed in an empty room. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

  “Sam?”

  “Yes?” He was studying the label on one of her herb packets.

  “Sally and Eugene—where are they?”

  Sam took one look in the adjoining room and cursed. Hazel, heart pounding, followed as he ran from her cabin and entered the one he shared with Eugene.

  “Where is she?” Sam asked Eugene, who was reading a book on the history of Romania.

  “Hazel?”

  “No,” Sam bit out. “Where is Sally?”

  “I received your message that you moved her back to the infirmary.”

  “I never sent you any such message.” Sam ran his hand through his hair, the other planted on his hip. He looked around as though if he willed it, Sally would appear.

  Hazel braced herself against the doorframe. “Eugene, when did you receive this message?”

  “When you were at dinner with Count Petrescu.”

  “That was ages ago!”

  Eugene paused, his processors humming. “Odd, it appears there is a four-hour gap in my data.”

  Hazel closed her eyes. Sam pulled her fully into the room and closed the door.

  “Who neutralized you?” Sam demanded of Eugene. “Review the last segments before you received the message.”

  Eugene’s cogs whirred. “I do not have a visual record . . . someone entered the room behind me . . . my neutralization code is spoken . . . that’s the last until your message. Processors reinstated just as you started dinner.”

  She swallowed a sob. “What have they done with Sally?”

  Sam looked at her, and his face paled. “We must find her.” He grabbed his scriber. “I will start on Deck One. You and Eugene start on Deck Three?”

  She n
odded. “I’ll get my scriber.” She hurried back to her cabin and grabbed it from the nightstand.

  Sam and Eugene joined her in the corridor, and they quietly made their way to the stairs. They passed three ’tons, all of which paused and stared at them. “How long do we have until they inform their master that we are out and about?” A soft click sounded from the ’tons behind them. “I believe they may also be recording images,” Sam muttered as he took the stairs at a jog.

  Hazel and Eugene descended and checked each unlocked room up and down the corridor. ’Tons charged in most rooms, but the human chef answered their knock sleepily and said he hadn’t seen Sally. They checked both the examination room and the recovery room where Sally had stayed before they took her upstairs.

  The room was just as Hazel had left it earlier after she’d found the sachet beneath the bed. She stared at the bed, pinching her lip in thought and fighting the sting of tears. She didn’t know what she’d hoped to find.

  “Something is wrong, Eugene.” She gave the room a long, slow look. “It’s as if they’ve erased every trace of her.” Perhaps they had her stashed away in their quarters.

  She reached over the bed to switch off the lamp and noted a single hair, bright red, caught just behind it. She carefully pulled it up, the long strand curling around her fingers.

  “Where is the rest of Miss Tucker?” Eugene asked as he studied the hair.

  The rest of her . . . the rest . . . Images washed over Hazel in a sickening rush, a memory of her collision with a ’ton outside the Control Room, the heavy thud of his falling laundry bag, his quick retrieval and subtle movement away from Hazel’s outstretched fingers, his clear dismissal and the way he lingered outside the supply room until she climbed the stairs.

  “Oh, Eugene.” Hazel put her hand over her mouth. “Sweet, sweet mercy.” She tore from the room and ran for the stairs, dashing down to the bottom deck. If she didn’t keep moving, she would either collapse or vomit. Possibly both. She rounded the corner, nearly tripping herself over the swirling fabric of her skirt.

  She ran past the Control Room doors and grasped the supply room door handle. It was locked. She clutched the handle with both hands and pulled, her practical mind knowing she couldn’t open the door, but panic overrode her common sense.

  “Miss Hazel!” Eugene reached her side. “Hazel, the door is locked.”

  “I know!” Hazel’s eyes burned. She pounded on the door and yelled. “Open this door! I know you are inside, you horrible ’tons, open it!”

  Her fist hurt from pummeling the solid surface, enough to give her pause. “Eugene,” she panted, “open this door. Immediately, open it.”

  Eugene complied, giving her a second and third glance as he manipulated the lock.

  “Sally is in there.” Hazel choked back a sob.

  “Why is she in the supply room?” Eugene asked as the lock clicked open.

  The Control Room doors opened, and two ’tons entered the corridor from down the hallway.

  Hazel ducked inside the supply room and took in the sight of enormous clothes-washing machines, shelves of supplies, and automaton pieces. Two ’tons were exiting the room to the right, from which a cold blast of air emerged with a smoke-like haze.

  Hazel darted to the right, intent on seeing as much as possible before the ’tons physically hauled her from it. The cold room, a freezing compartment by the looks of it, was dark, but light from the main room shone in, illuminating a set of shelves that contained bags like the “laundry” the ’ton had been carrying.

  Her brain quickly processed what her horrified senses did not want to acknowledge. She dashed around the pair of ’tons, who called out to her sharply. She ran to the heavy door of the freezing room and caught it before it swung shut. There were four laundry bags, full of something, laid out on shelves. Tags attached were labeled “Chute,” identifying their final destination.

  “No, no, no . . .” The cold furled around her like fog, her fingers growing numb where she clutched the doorframe.

  “Miss Hughes!” One of the ’tons grabbed her hand, and she tried to pull away, stumbling backward when Eugene clobbered the ’ton from behind, knocking it to the ground.

  “Intruder!” the other ’ton shouted, and mayhem erupted as time seemed to slow to a crawl.

  She lunged into the room and clutched the end of the nearest bag. A drawstring cinched it closed, but a small opening remained. The fabric was stiff and cold, so cold her fingers hurt. The door began to close behind her, dark encroaching by degrees, but then suddenly was yanked wide open, and light shot across the shelves.

  A rough hand grabbed at her even as she tightened her grip on the bag, shoving her fingers inside the opening and pulling with all her might.

  “No!” Her scream echoed through the icy room as her assailant closed arms around her with automaton strength. The bag slid along the shelf, but her numb fingers were unable to maintain their grip on it. The bag hit the floor with a loud thud, even as she was dragged from the room, the breath squeezed from her midsection so tightly she feared a rib would crack.

  “Let go of her!” Sam’s shout echoed through the chaos, and the pressure around her middle eased.

  She gasped and collapsed, but Sam caught her before she hit the floor. Voices around her rose in anger, an alarm sounded, and the room swirled in her vision until she was certain she’d be sick. A sob rose in her throat, and she clutched Sam’s shirtfront as he picked her up and carried her through the noise, his occasional shouts mixing with the others.

  He lifted her high against his chest, and when she put her arm around his shoulders, she noted the long, red strands of hair entangled in her fingers.

  Hazel’s world was a blur as Sam reached Deck Two, still carrying her while trying to gather information from Eugene. Chaos surrounded them as ’tons climbed the stairs beside them, the alarm still ringing from the bottom deck.

  Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she tightened her fist around the strands of red hair, the ghoulish evidence of Sally’s demise. Her sense of guilt at having failed to protect the young woman was thick in her throat, and she berated herself bitterly.

  “What is the meaning of this chaos?” The count’s voice echoed down the hallway, and Hazel turned blurred eyes to see her uncle approach with Renton at his side.

  “You!” She pushed at Sam until he set her on her feet, and then she ran at Renton, blind fury coursing through her. “You killed her!” She launched herself at the man, raking her nails down the side of his face and drawing blood. His head snapped to the side, and she shoved his chest, taking advantage of his shock to knock him hard against the wall. She pounded on his chest, his arms, his face, a torrent of sobs and angry words nearly choking her as she attacked him.

  Suddenly, Hazel felt hands on her shoulders and someone pulling her away. She struggled, certain a ’ton was going to squeeze her breathless, but slowed when she realized it was Sam who held her firmly.

  Renton recovered himself, his eyes hardening and his breathing ragged. He straightened his lapels as he glared at her.

  Sam dragged her away from the scene, barking at her uncle to have Renton restrained and then join them in Hazel’s cabin.

  “You will hang for this!” Hazel’s scream echoed down the corridor.

  Eugene unlocked Hazel’s cabin, and Sam ushered her across the threshold, setting her down on the bed.

  Her sobs continued as she doubled over, coughing. Sam instructed Eugene to wet a cloth in the lavatory.

  Hazel felt the cool, damp fabric on her face and forehead.

  “There, love. There,” Sam murmured as he gathered her hair and pulled it aside. He continued to dab her tears from her face.

  She cried until her tears were gone, then her breath shuddered out in a ragged sigh and she sniffed, clutching the cloth. She looked at Sam, then, and tears burned anew. If she weren’t
so devastated, she might have been embarrassed he’d witnessed her uncharacteristic mania.

  The grim set to his jaw was a mirror of her own emotions, however. She tried to say something, but her breath caught.

  He seemed to know what she was thinking, because he placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side, guiding her head to his shoulder where her hot tears continued to flow, quietly this time, down his neck and onto his collar. His hand slowly rubbed her shoulder, the other clasping her fingers that rested limply on her leg.

  He simply held her, occasionally murmuring soothing words, until her breathing slowed again and she felt some control over her emotions. She heard him sniff, and she raised her head to see his own eyes suspiciously bright.

  “I am so very sorry.” He cradled her cheek, brushing tears from Hazel’s eyelashes with his thumb. “I ought to have known. As soon as Eugene joined us on the surface, I should have realized something was amiss. I was distracted, and—”

  She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “It is not your fault, Sam.” Her voice was scratchy, and her head felt stuffed with cotton. “Renton did this. I would not be surprised to find my uncle complicit, but I know, I know that wretched assistant killed her. He assaulted her, or tried to, she ran away, nearly died then, and to keep her quiet, he silenced her permanently.”

  “I am responsible for Miss Tucker’s death,” Eugene said quietly from where he stood by the lavatory.

  “No,” Hazel said.

  Sam shook his head. “Renton neutralized you, Eugene. You weren’t aware until you performed a diagnostic review of the afternoon. We shall immediately adjust your programming to correct that problem.”

  A quiet knock on the door pulled her attention toward it, and at Sam’s nod, Eugene opened it. He stood aside to allow Petrescu to enter, and then closed the door quietly behind him.

  “Dearest Hazel, I am beyond horrified by Renton’s actions.” Her uncle stood before her, his bearing straight, but his expression held distress and underlying anger. “He has been placed under lock and key, and when we are in range, I shall alert the authorities to meet us at the docks. He will pay for his crimes.”