“You want me to be your mistress?”
“Yes.”
Not a wife. She knew how society worked; it shouldn’t upset her that she was firmly in the mistress category, but it was clear it didn’t even occur to him that he might marry her. He would fuck her, and if she had a child he would take care of it. That was what he was offering. You’re not having children. You’re not seeing him after this. It doesn’t matter!
She pasted a smile on her face and moved off him, back to the opposite seat. “You’re right. This isn’t the place. We’ll talk about everything later.”
He scrubbed his jaw with his hand. “Do you ever make a decision and know, instantly, that it was a mistake?”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” she said.
“That was the goal,” he said, sincerity and a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “But I don’t think that my offer had quite the effect I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
He crossed his arms over his chest loosely. “That you would be flattered.”
Helen laughed. “I’d be flattered that you would offer to make me a whore?”
“No, you would be flattered to know that one of the most powerful men in the land is so enthralled with you that he would risk shaming his fiancée a few months before his wedding. You would go from being no one to someone.”
“I would go from being somebody that nobody knew, to being your personal prostitute.”
“Good God! What do you want? Marriage?”
He sounded so horrified she couldn’t help but throw him a glare. “I barely know you, of course I don’t want to marry you. But it’s no one’s fantasy to be a man’s dirty secret. To be his weakness and someone he’d skulk around with only in the dark. But you know what, it doesn’t matter. There is nothing between us. After this—“
After this I’ll never see you again.
The carriage was stopped. Edward swore. “This conversation is not over. I’m going to find the harbormaster. You’re going to stay in the carriage. Once the departure is delayed, we can consider the options. We’ll get your blasted plans, and then we’ll finish this discussion.”
“You want me to stay in the carriage?” she asked with disbelief.
“This is my mission.”
He adjusted his cravat and the cuffs of his shirt. “You’ll get nowhere without me. Stay here,” he commanded. As if she were a dog.
Edward got out, giving her a 'stay put’ glare, and told the coachman to keep an eye on her. “She’ll sneak away given half a chance. Whatever you do, don’t leave her alone.”
Helen peered out of the carriage, watching as Edward walked towards a shabby house near the docks. The thick decaying smell of dead fish and water invaded her nostrils. Helen smiled at the coachman. The coachman squinted back at her suspiciously.
Within two minutes, he was unconscious; his hulking form sprawled on the carriage floor.
Helen looked around at the bustling docks. Even at night there were people everywhere. The logistics of what she was about to do were a little intimidating. She would have to get different clothes since a woman couldn’t just wander onto a ship. Then she would have to sneak on board, then—
“A Victorian lady would never be here, and she especially wouldn’t be here in the dead of night.” Colchester said, his words heavily accented. Something hard poked Helen in the back. “Don’t move or I will kill you.”
“Sauerkraut,” Helen said with a scowl. “Shouldn’t you be at your home cleaning up Roland Black’s blood and waiting for the police?”
“Walk.” The gun pressed hard against her.
Helen jerked into motion, calmly walking towards the ships. Baron Colchester took her right elbow, holding her in a vice-like grip with one hand, while the other was steady on the gun digging into her side. A belly wound was fatal here. No doubt about it.
“You killed Roland Black! What the hell were you thinking? I thought we weren’t supposed to mess with the timeline. Colchester kept walking, forcing her closer to the ships.
“I didn’t want to kill him.”
Helen stopped abruptly, the hard metal digging into her corseted waist. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t want to do it. You did do it.”
“The Allies cannot have the plans. I took steps to ensure that didn’t happen. I’m simply following orders. Onto the boat,” he said, his German accent making each word sound harsh.
Helen stalled before the boat ramp, keenly aware that when she was on that ship—she was fucked.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“I’m going to take you to Germany. To my superiors; who will have many questions for you. Now get on the boat.” He shoved her forward. She walked up the ramp, uncertain what to do. If she screamed, would he kill her and leave with the plans? The only thing that mattered was stopping Colchester from taking the plans out of the country.
“Tie her up,” he told one of the sailors as they stepped onto the boat. The sailor nodded sharply and dashed off, coming back with a length of rope that he wound around Helen’s wrists. And the bastard tied a mean knot.
“Do you really think you can get away with this? Taking the plans out of the country, changing history?” You sound like you’re in a bad movie.
“Do you want to see them?” he asked with a wolfish smile.
“The plans?”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. “This is it. The future of the world is right here.” He smiled smugly and even opened the envelope, pulling out the pages and showing her the schematics. Drawings and mathematical formulas, detailed instructions in almost illegible handwriting covered every page. He looked at the pages fondly, touched them almost reverently.
“Why are you showing them to me?”
“Because this is the reason you will die, and the means of our triumph. Here on these pages. It is a phenomenal thing to hold history in one’s hand. Who, but you and I can appreciate the importance of these papers? Every German boy is taught that there was only one great war and a period of intermission. Those years between World War I and World War II were a break; a chance the Allies used to their advantage to keep the Germans weak. We will change history so that there will never be World War II. The Germans will crush Europe and end the first world war in victory, changing the landscape of time forever.” Helen felt sick. The sheer audacity of the plan was mind-boggling. If the Germans were able to start World War I with superior weapons and conquer Europe quickly, the US wouldn’t get involved.
The Germans could solidify their hold on Europe, and set out to take over the rest of the world. This boat couldn’t make it to Germany. She had to destroy it. Even if she were on it too. Crap.
“Where do you want her?” the sailor asked, looking her up and down as if she were food, and he’d been on a diet forever. He stank to high heaven, and Helen tried not to gag. Colchester folded the pages up and put them back in the envelope, tucking it inside of his jacket and patting it gently. “Keep her on deck where we can keep an eye on her. I will take no chances.”
The sailor gave her bound wrists a tug, leading her to the rail and out of the way of the busy crew. Commands were being called, the ship was beginning to move, and Helen tried to squash the frantic wish that this was a nightmare rather than reality.
“Stay here and be quiet. You move so much as an inch, and you’ll regret it. There are over fifty men on this ship. And they will all want their turn.”
An added dollop of fear made Helen’s mouth go dry. It felt as if her heart was in her throat, like she might throw it up at any moment. Her head was pounding with nerves as she sat down next to one of several barrels. The smell of alcohol hit her.
“What’s this?” she asked the sailor.
“Gin. You be good, and you might even get a drop or two.”
Helen nodded and tried to look afraid. She probably just looked depressed. Helen could see the shore getting farther and farther away, becoming
blurry through the incoming fog. The sailor left, the Baron watching her like a hawk from twenty feet away. Time crawled by, stress making her want to scream. A man came up to the Baron, asking him questions, and the Baron finally turned and walked away, giving Helen the opportunity she needed.
The moment he was out of sight, Helen shifted around slightly, making it look as if she were trying to get comfortable on her seat of canvas, moving it closer to the flammable barrel. When the cloth was bunched up against the barrel, she closed her eyes, bringing forth her power, feeling the heat slide up from her core and into her arms like molten lava. It poured into her fingertips and onto the canvas, the smell of smoke instantly rising. She used all of her energy, exerting herself as if it were the last ten yards of a sprint, opening herself wide and pouring all of her strength into making the canvas burn. A single flame suddenly appeared on the canvas, and Helen moved away, watching as the dry material was quickly consumed; the fire growing rapidly. It licked at the edges of the barrel and erupted. Pandemonium broke out, sailors shouting as they rushed towards the fire, desperate to put out the flames. Colchester was suddenly next to her, dragging her to her feet by her bound hands. He steadied her with one hand and swung with the other, pain exploding outwards from her cheek, her teeth rattling as he punched her hard. She fell back down to the ground and he kicked her in the stomach, the breath rushing out of her.
The barrel of gin exploded, shards of wood and liquid, drops of fire raining down on them. Colchester blinked, a look of confusion on his face. His mouth opened, and a heavy trickle of blood came out. He turned his back on her, seeking the source of the injury, and Helen felt a surge of cold-blooded triumph as she saw a large piece of metal embedded in his back from the explosion.
The men were screaming, some in pain, others shouting orders as the fire spread and a wall of heat seared her skin. There was another explosion as the next barrel of alcohol caught fire. Colchester sank to his knees, and Helen surged forward, the first hint of air seeping into her lungs. Blood was pooling in front of him steadily, making a large irregular circle. She shoved her hands into his jacket, getting a grip on the envelope, his own hands wrapping around her wrists as he tried to stop her. He said something, but it was no more than a gurgle, his grip weak.
She let go of the envelope and reached for the gun at his side, cocking it and firing into his chest without hesitation. His body jerked, his hands falling down lifelessly. Her hands shook as she reached back into his jacket and pulled the plans free. The ship groaned ominously, the wood cracking and buckling. Helen stood quickly, the ship reeling around her. One of the crewmen was screaming, his legs sheared off in the explosion. Nobody was paying any attention; everyone engaged in trying to put out the fire before the entire ship exploded. He had a knife on his belt, and Helen grabbed it, ignoring his cry for help as she moved to the rail. She didn’t have much time to cut her hands free before the ship would blow, barrels of explosives beneath her feet.
She slammed the knife into the deck and put her hands around it, sawing through the ropes as fast as she could. Every second was too long, and she knew it was only a matter of moments before the ship exploded. The rope gave, and her hands came free. She grabbed the envelope in one hand and ran to the rail, climbing on top and jumping out, feet first, as far as she was able.
The breath exploded out of her on impact, icy cold seawater swallowing her whole. Helen kicked frantically, breaking the surface and beginning to swim, the envelope awkward and slowing her down. Why was she holding it? It seemed bizarre that she would let it go. That she traveled through time, and gone to such great lengths to get these plans, and now suddenly she could let them sink to the bottom of the ocean.
She swam another few strokes before a flash of orange exploded above her, illuminating the night around her as the ship exploded. Helen dove under the water, the explosions oddly muffled underwater. Something struck her shoulder, a piece of wood no doubt, and she let go of the envelope, frantically trying to grab it even as her body bobbed back up to the surface.
It was gone. The plans were gone, and Colchester was dead. Debris was everywhere, bodies and pieces of bodies floating all around her. She took in the destruction surrounding her, the surface of the ocean still aglow with small fires that the waves hadn’t yet extinguished. Helen grabbed onto a floating plank and draped her arms over it, breathing heavily.
She stopped kicking and instantly began to sink; her skirt heavy as though it were lined with bricks. The material billowed out below her, so she looked like a peculiar jellyfish. Her fingers were clumsy from the cold and shock of survival, as she sifted through the material looking for the ties to her petticoats. She pulled the knot free, and the material slid off her body, tangling her feet for a moment before she was free. Her teeth began to chatter as she floated in the middle of the ocean. Between one blink and the next, the ocean was dark and quiet. Helen looked for land, the fog thick enough that she couldn’t see more than a few hundred feet in any direction. And she couldn’t see where the shore was.
Fuck. She was going to die out here after all. Unless she had the luck of Rasputin, she’d freeze to death before morning. The stars whirled above her, and she thought about what it would be like to die. Dying from the cold was supposed to be pretty good in the hierarchy of death. She’d go numb and go to sleep. Better than a gas chamber or being shot in the gut. For better or worse, it would take her longer to die than anyone else. If any of the crewmen had managed to survive the explosion, the cold would quickly kill them. Thanks to her genetic modifications, she could survive a couple of hours, maybe more. It was just possible she’d survive till morning; survive long enough to see the shore and know just how far away safety was. Although I might die by drowning, Helen thought morbidly. Which was also apparently a pretty good way to die.
She chose a direction at random and started kicking lazily, willing to do anything to try to save herself; even if the odds of choosing the right direction were minuscule.
The full enormity of what she’d done sunk in. She’d stopped the Nazis from getting Roland Black’s plans. She’d killed Colchester. I did it. Go me. She suddenly remembered a line from one of her favorite books: It’s hell being a hero. Wasn’t that the truth.
And it wasn’t over; the Germans were here. Colchester said he had superiors in Germany, men who were already working towards inventing weapons that could change the course of history and secure Germany’s victory.
What would happen now? What would the Germans do next?
She couldn’t help but think of Edward, and didn’t even try to stop herself. She could just imagine him on the wharf, staring out at the burning ship and knowing she was on board. Was he sad that she was dead? He must have felt something for her. After all, he offered to make her his mistress. That’s because I made him horny, nothing more than that.
Still, it seemed cruel that she didn’t get to sleep with him. That she’d never gotten a chance to see him lose control. To see him in the throes of passion.
God dammit, she didn’t want to die! The injustice of it all made her furious, and she screamed in anger. Why not? It wasn’t like anybody could hear her. Her voice carried over the water, coming back to her and sounding different.
Very different. She strained to listen.
“Helen! Helen, where the hell are you?” Now I know I’m dying. It sounded exactly like Mary. Maybe the hypothermia was making her hallucinate. A lump of grief filled her throat as she listened to that voice call again and again. Her pronunciation was strange, so different from the way the people spoke here. So much brasher and honest. God, she missed her friend.
“Helen! Where the fuck are you?” Mary shouted. Helen looked around her wildly. It did seem a little strange that she would imagine Mary right now. If anything, her rescue fantasy would have Edward in it. He’d apologize and kiss her back to warmth. Maybe even offer to make her his Duchess.
“I’m here,” she called out weakly. Because, what the hell? Who cared i
f she wanted to die talking to imaginary people?
Her limbs moved sluggishly, the heat inside of her beginning to fade. Helen saw a light in the dark, close, only a few hundred feet away, and a small dinghy. Mary was sitting in the boat by herself, hunched forward against the cold; the lantern held at arm’s length as her head craned around, searching the dark ocean for Helen. Helen tried to smile, but her teeth were chattering so hard she couldn’t do it.
“Mary?” Her voice was so faint she could barely hear it herself. She said it again, her voice a little louder this time but not loud enough. Her teeth chattered violently, cutting the word Mary in half as she repeated it over and over again, louder and louder each time until finally her voice carried along the frigid water and reached her friend.
Mary gave a little cry of delight, her face illuminated by the lantern as she rowed the oars. “There you are! Keep talking. I’m coming for you.” Mary put the lantern down, the splash of oars cutting through the water peculiarly loud, as if the sound were bouncing back to her in a cave. That can’t be good.
Helen kicked, trying to get a little closer to Mary, feeling an hysterical urge to laugh. And then, suddenly, and as if it had taken forever, Mary was speaking from directly above her, looking down at Helen with a disgusted expression. “You look like shit. And pale. Here, take my arm.” Tears streamed down her face, taking the sting out of her words.
Helen reached up, hand shaking. It was hard to grip because she was so cold.
“Oh fuck, if you capsize this boat and kill us both, I’m going to be pissed,” Mary said and grunted with the exertion of hauling Helen into the boat.
Mary pulled her over the side, and Helen lay there, stunned, feeling like a fish pulled from the deep and smashed on the head. Was that it? Was she actually safe? Helen had been so convinced she was going to die that it seemed impossible that any of this could be real. “What are you…” She had to swallow and a shiver racked her. “What are you doing here?”
A Lady Out of Time (Helen Foster) Page 15