Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  As exhausted as she was, her mind continued to churn and she found true sleep elusive. Briar couldn’t keep her eyes open and at the same time couldn’t drift off completely. When Isabella knocked at the door and whispered “Are you awake?” through the crack, she couldn’t respond. Nor did she protest when Isabella crawled into bed next to her and took her in her arms.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It hadn’t been Isabella’s intention to slide into bed with Briar, but once she’d changed into her nightgown, she’d been unable to stop herself from standing at the top of the stairs and listening for snippets of her parents’ discussion. And after that she’d needed her comfort.

  The light coming up the stairs had been faint, but there. Her parents were still discussing things in the parlor. Every now and then, Isabella heard the muted rumble of her father’s voice. He hadn’t sounded happy, not that she could blame him. She didn’t blame her mother either. No, she knew exactly where the fault in this situation lay, and that was with Wellington in Heidelberg.

  She’d slipped down the stairs, not even having to work at it to keep the old boards from creaking too loudly. There was a bench along the wall outside the parlor, and she’d settled there, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them to ward off the chill of the room and to soothe the pain of listening to her parents argue.

  “How could you have done that?” Joseph had asked in the tone of one who’d asked the same question before and received a rather dissatisfactory answer.

  “How could I not?” Althea sounded almost as weary as he did. “We stood to lose everything. I did what I had to do. We are still afloat—”

  “Barely, from what you’ve said.”

  Althea had ignored his interruption and continued. “Isabella’s efforts have funded her season and our home in London. It won’t be long before she charms a young man into making an offer for her. I’ll make sure she marries well, and our money problems will be solved.”

  “This was your plan all along? Find Isabella someone to marry?”

  “Do you have one that is better?”

  Her father’s shoes had sounded against the wooden floor as he’d paced up and down the room. She could only imagine how furiously he must have been puffing away at that pipe. “You expect her to get married when you’ve all but ruined her prospects.”

  “It would have been fine if not for her Miss Riley. As long as no one found out, the plan could progress.”

  “We should be glad it was only Miss Riley who found out. At least all she wanted was some help with a project. What if she’d been shot, Althea? What if someone had turned her over to the constables? How would her marriage prospects have fared if she were dead or imprisoned?”

  “Joseph—”

  Her father had continued, refusing to let Althea get a word in edgewise. Isabella had been quite shocked to hear her father speak to her mother in such a way. Her parents rarely disagreed, but when they did, Althea was usually the one to get her way. There was very little that Joseph got upset over.

  “Does Isabella wish to get married? Have you thought of that? Did it ever occur to you that she would be ruined for marriage not through someone else’s discovery, but through her own? Her world is too big for her to be satisfied being the wife of some puffed-up minor lord. How can she be content running a household when she’s gallivanted across the rooftops of London? Can you ask her to make that sacrifice?”

  “She’s a good daughter. She will do what needs to be done for this family. It was the only reason she agreed to steal from our peers in the first place.”

  “It is one thing to ask her to go out on adventures every night and quite another for her to agree to be tied down for the rest of her life.” Isabella no longer heard her father’s feet on the floorboards, but his voice was quite loud now. She’d looked up to see his silhouette in the doorway. He was carefully avoiding looking at her.

  “I did.” Althea’s voice had been quiet; Isabella had strained to hear it.

  “Oh, darling.” Joseph’s voice had receded as he turned back into the room. “I know you did, but your circumstance was completely different.”

  “I’d been shot, for one.” Althea’s voice had been dry.

  “For one. Surely you don’t wish that upon Izzy?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And you had me for another. You still have me. I wish you’d come to me, my love. I have other options, you know. We could have managed without turning to criminal acts.” He’d tsked her quietly. “Why is your first course of action always the most illegal one?” The words had been blunt, but the way he’d said it had been so full of love that Isabella found herself smiling in the dark. Her parents knew each other and loved each other despite all that. They would be all right. She stole back up the stairs and up to Briar’s room.

  “Are you awake?” Isabella asked quietly. She held the door open a crack and listened carefully. There was no answer, no movement even.

  She pushed open the door far enough to slip through. The hinges squealed in protest, much as those on her bedroom had. Someone must have oiled the hinges before the house was closed, but that had been a long time ago. She supposed she should be happy the doors weren’t rusted shut.

  The candle in her right hand cast a warm glow around the room. Shadows danced and swayed from a stray draft, but Isabella could still see well enough. Briar hadn’t bothered with as much tidying up as she had. From the footsteps in the dust, she’d gone to the wardrobe for linens, but that was about it. She was ensconced under a blanket, her face in almost-complete repose, except for a tiny crinkle between her brows as though she still concentrated on something that vexed her. There were sheets upon the ancient mattress, but barely. She had spread them out, but made no effort to tuck them in. Isabella tugged gently at one edge in a vain attempt to smooth it down. It would be impossible to make the bed while Briar was in it.

  She blew out the candle and placed it carefully on the dresser, then made her way through the pitch-dark room to the bed. Thankfully, the room was tiny, smaller even than her own. It was likely a servant’s bedchamber, possibly for a ladies’ maid, but more likely for someone’s valet. She didn’t imagine women had visited the lodge often. It was definitely decorated with a man’s touch. Her own room had the head of a deer in it. Its glass eyes had stared down at her disapprovingly when she’d pulled the protective cloth off it in a prodigious cloud of dust. Isabella’s hope had been that Briar might join her in her room, but even after the minutes spent stowing her clothing in the armoire and giving the room some lived-in touches, there had been no knock at her door. It wasn’t surprising, not now that she’d seen Briar’s room. Her friend had fallen into bed almost immediately. Perhaps there was something to her mother’s admonishments after all. What had Briar called her? Carnélie, yes, that was it.

  The bed creaked softly when Isabella slid under the covers next to Briar. When she snuggled up to Briar, though, her hands came in contact with heavy fabric not at all appropriate for bed. Was she still wearing her dress? Sure enough, when Isabella explored further, she encountered the line of buttons up the back. There had still been no acknowledgment of her presence by Briar. She was so dead to the world that even Isabella’s careful explorations under the covers hadn’t elicited any response whatsoever. This was not good.

  Experimentally, Isabella gave Briar a tiny shove. Not enough to send her flying out of bed, but certainly enough to rouse a normally sleeping person to wakefulness. Briar had all the resilience of a corpse. She flopped forward a bit, a quiet sound of protest rising from the back of her throat.

  “Oh, Briar. What am I going to do with you?”

  There was no response, not that she’d expected one. She felt her way down the double row of buttons, undoing each one as she went. Briar would sleep much more comfortably if she wasn’t wearing the dress. It was no easy task by feel alone, and for a moment Isabella wished she had her goggles. As she went, it got easier to undo the button
s. As long as she worked, she didn’t have to think about the discussion she’d overheard. Her parents were so close. If anyone could weather these stresses, it was them. It was important that there be no more unpleasant surprises, however. Briar had kept back a lot of details and Isabella approved heartily of her discretion.

  Now that she had the dress undone, Isabella did her best not to disturb Briar while she removed it. It was impossible to be unobtrusive about doing so. Briar slept through all of it regardless, though not without an occasional grumble of protest. Her eyes never opened, not even when Isabella had to raise both her arms and pull the dress over her head.

  Then there was the corset. Of course there was the corset. Many women slept in them, which seemed like the height of insanity to her. She settled for loosening the ties. It might have been her imagination, but Briar seemed to be sleeping more comfortably. She was certainly going to be more comfortable for Isabella to cuddle up to.

  Isabella burrowed under the covers, pulling the blanket up over both their shoulders. She slid her arm back around Briar’s waist and nuzzled her face into the space where Briar’s shoulder and her neck met. It smelled of her, comforting and dark. The tension drained slowly from Isabella’s shoulders, leaving her truly relaxed for the first time since she’d woken up that morning. Had it really only been a day since she’d broken into the Mirabilia factory at Briar’s behest? It felt like a lifetime ago. Her eyelids slipped down and she allowed herself to be drawn into sleep.

  The layer of dust upon the lodge’s windows only did so much to reflect the early morning sun. Isabella tried to burrow more deeply into the yielding surface beneath her cheek to get away from the relentless brilliance, but with little success. Instead, she got a low moan for her efforts. That wasn’t a pillow beneath her head. Sometime in the night, she’d apparently decided Briar’s bosom was a more comfortable resting place than the bed’s ancient pillows. Isabella couldn’t fault her sleeping self’s logic. She opened her eyes and enjoyed the blurry view of cleavage not two inches past her nose.

  Briar was on her back, that was good. She’d had enough energy to move during the night.

  What time is it? Early enough that she could move back to her room without being caught. As progressive as her mother was in the more criminal areas of women’s suffrage (women can be burglars too), Isabella had no idea how she would react to finding her daughter in bed with another of the fairer sex, one who was clad only in her bloomers and corset. It was a discussion she wished to avoid as long as possible. Never would be soon enough to tell her parents about her unusual tastes. If they were going to get grandchildren, those would have to come from Wellington.

  She slipped out from under the covers, doing her best not to disturb Briar. She needed as much sleep as she could get. Perhaps later they could explore the effects of pleasure upon her recovery. Isabella smiled as she closed the door behind her. If they were going to be forced into this unexpected and awkward vacation, she might as well enjoy it.

  The smell of frying bacon permeated the upstairs hallway. The servants must have arrived sometime in the night. If she’d slept through their arrival, she’d been very tired indeed. She counted herself as a light sleeper; it didn’t take much to awaken her. A full night’s uninterrupted sleep was generally a pleasant fiction for her, but last night had been one of those rare events. Had it been Briar’s presence or her exhaustion? Perhaps a bit of both. There was only one way to find out, and she looked forward to it.

  Are you getting ahead of yourself a little bit? The inconvenient voice from the back of her head likely had a point, but Isabella chose instead to dwell on the euphoria she felt at the idea of waking up next to Briar every morning. Her parents kept separate bedrooms, as was proper, but she happened to know they slept together almost every night. That was what she wanted, the companionship and affection Joseph and Althea displayed for each other whenever they were together. The idea of being married to a man whose attentions she’d be forced to endure until she’d delivered an heir was abhorrent. She certainly didn’t want that, nor did she want her bed to be empty more often than not. Briar extended the promise of something more, if only she could reach out and take it.

  Isabella held her breath when she pushed open the door to her bedroom, then released it when she realized it was still empty. She dressed for the day in trousers and a loose shirt. Another advantage to being on impromptu holiday, she supposed. The family servants were accustomed to her unconventional ways and rarely looked askance when she chose to dress after the masculine fashion. It was more comfortable than layers of crinoline that made fitting through doorways difficult and sitting without a ramrod stiff back almost impossible.

  How did Briar feel about her? Isabella met her eyes in the mirror as she drew a brush through her hair. She was uncomfortably aware that her own feelings were rather too strong for the amount of time they’d known each other. She’d heard that intense experiences could make people feel closer than perhaps they actually were. Was that what was going on here? She continued to pull the brush through her locks. The tug at her scalp that lessened as she pulled the brush down to the tips of her tresses was usually comforting and brought back memories of her mother brushing her hair as a child. Now it brought ideas of Briar tugging on it, winding the locks around her hand, pulling her head back, and nibbling her way down Isabella’s exposed neck to the supremely sensitive spot where her neck met her sternum.

  Isabella gripped the brush harder and gasped aloud when the motion yanked at her scalp. She dug the fingers of her other hand into her thigh. She was almost overcome at that one. Briar couldn’t wake up too soon for her.

  She needs her rest. The reminder should have been unnecessary, but Isabella had to fight the urge to sneak back into Briar’s chamber. She finished brushing her hair in record time and headed downstairs.

  Not unsurprisingly, there was no sign of her mother. Althea was a notoriously late riser, probably due to the pain in her leg. Sleep was usually a fractured thing for her.

  Joseph sat in a tall-backed armchair he’d moved to take advantage of the morning sun. The entry hall was possibly not the most comfortable spot for reading, but Isabella couldn’t argue with the amount of light that streamed into it. Someone had cleaned the window he used to read by. He puffed absently on his pipe, though it was quite cold and likely had been for some time. The book in his hands captured his attention well enough that he failed to acknowledge her presence.

  That was fine with Isabella. She followed her nose to the back of the lodge and found Mrs. Patterson frying up a prodigious amount of bacon in the kitchen.

  “Miss Isabella,” Mrs. Patterson said. “Would you like some breakfast, love?” Dark circles under her eyes were the only indication she’d been up much of the night. She bustled about the kitchen with the same energy she usually did, and her voice boomed out the same welcome it always had. If she harbored resentment over being pulled away from the townhouse with no warning, she didn’t show it.

  “Yes, please,” Isabella said. She took a seat at one end of the long table in the middle of the kitchen. It was made to seat far more serving folk than would be occupying it. It had been scrubbed down until it almost gleamed. Isabella was suddenly aware of exactly how much she owed the people whose lives she’d put through so much upheaval.

  “Head up to the dining room and I’ll bring it up right soon.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Patterson had never objected to her presence in the kitchen before. “Very well.”

  “It’s not my decision, love. Lady Sherard wants a word with you.”

  “Oh!” Isabella swallowed hard. When Althea was Lady Sherard to the staff, then her temper was up. “Oh dear.”

  Mrs. Patterson shared a commiserating smile with her before turning back to the stove.

  “Send out two plates, would you, Mrs. Patterson? I’ll take the second one up to Miss Riley.”

  “Will do, dear.”

  There was only one way to face the firing squad, which
was with her head high and her shoulders square; Isabella’s mother had taught her that. Dutifully, she made her way to the dining room, which took some doing. The lodge was laid out in the most unfamiliar fashion, but she finally found it.

  Like the rest of the lodge, it was decorated with hunting trophies. Isabella goggled at the dozens of antlers that made up not one, but two massive chandeliers looming over the long table in a mass of yellowed bone. They were liberally coated with layers of candle wax, though the antlers’ points still pushed through.

  Althea had taken her place at the head of the table. Two revolvers and a newspaper lay on the table in front of her, and she devoted her attention to cleaning one of the pistols. Isabella cautiously took a place toward the center of the table. The table was too long to take the foot, though she’d considered it.

  “Come closer, you silly girl,” her mother said without looking up.

  With great trepidation, Isabella got up and took a chair to her mother’s left. If Althea was going to grab her by the ear as she had many times when Isabella was a girl, better that she have to reach for it. Isabella might well be able to avoid it then.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  Althea quirked an eyebrow, managing to look simultaneously irritated and amused by the question. “What do you think it is?”

  “I’m not rightly certain. There are a few options to choose from.”

  “Then shall we start with the effects of your revelation to your father last night?”