Saving the Scientist

by Riley Cole

  She cleared her throat. “You were saying?”

  “How do you feel?”

  Ada waved away his question. “You were saying something about my heart?”

  He coughed. “Just worrying out loud. You’ve been out a long time.”

  Ada considered him for a moment, the corners of her mouth quirked up as if she were working out whether to push for a real answer.

  Edison stilled like a cornered mouse, hoping invisibility would ensure she passed him over.

  Ada sank back down and put a hand to her head. “My head is pounding.” She frowned. “Chloroform,” she muttered. “It was chloroform.”

  “That’s how they got me, too. Bastards.”

  “Nelly and Henry!” She bolted upright and immediately groaned as the effort clearly made her head pound. “They were with me. They—”

  Edison put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “They’re not here. No good reason to add more hostages. It only leaves more people to guard. More to attempt an escape.”

  “Do you think?”

  “I’m sure of it.” He squeezed her hand, trying to infuse the gesture with all the confidence he could muster. “I have no doubt it’s just the two of us.”

  She shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it. “Chloroform spray.” She looked up at him. “A strange young woman…”

  “A boy, I believe.” He clenched his teeth. “Whoever did this has a street gang in his employ.”

  Ada picked at something on her dress. “We’re outnumbered then. By a great deal, I should guess.”

  Edison smiled. “That’ll make them over-confident. We’ve faced down their like before.”

  Ada jerked her head toward the door. “Guards?”

  “Three at least. All armed.”

  Ada looked around the empty closet. “And we have nothing at our disposal.”

  “That covers it. But I have an idea.” Edison unbuttoned his vest and threw it off, then he attacked the buttons on his shirt.

  “What are you doing?”

  Edison cupped a hand over her mouth. “Shhhh.” He waited until he felt her relax against him before he let go. “Quicker to demonstrate than explain,” he said, and finished removing his shirt.

  He twisted the shirt from cuff to cuff, transforming it into a makeshift rope. When he’d finished twisting the fabric as tightly as he could, he wrapped the ends around his knuckles, and pulled the length taut.

  He nodded toward the guards outside. “Might only get one chance,” said softly.

  Ada scrambled to her feet, but stumbled sideways, as if her legs weren’t yet steady. The wide-eyed look of panic on her face suggested her stomach was heaving from the effects of the gas.

  He recognized that look. He’d fought the same nausea several hours past.

  As it had with him, the wave quickly dissipated, and she straightened up and let go of the wall. She reached beneath her skirts and began fussing with her petticoats.

  “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “My petticoats. I could use a weapon as well.”

  He had the odd feeling she was avoiding his gaze, but then the whole situation was exceedingly odd, he had to admit.

  Shadows cut through the light from beneath the door just as Edison caught the sound of shoe leather scuffing across a smooth surface.

  He put a finger to his lips. Ada nodded, and moved to the other side of the tiny room, ready to spring forward on his mark. She tightened the makeshift rope around her hands and held it up, at shoulder height.

  Focussed. Intent. And so very brave, she waited for his signal.

  Edison’s heart did a funny little flutter.

  There were no tears. No hysterics. No swooning. Just a determined glitter in her dark eyes. Whatever awaited them, she’d face it like a hero.

  “We’ve got several weapons pointed at you now, Mr. Sweet,” a plummy, unctuous voice called out. “We’re about to open the door. I’d suggest the two of you step to the back of the closet.”

  He knew that voice.

  Not well, but he knew it. Edison squeezed his eyes shut, chasing the snippet of memory that niggled at him, but it skittered away. No time to bother about it now. Every fiber of his being was focussed on the door, ready to spring the instant an opportunity presented itself.

  Ada seemed puzzled as well. Her nose wrinkled up in that way she had when she was thinking.

  “Open it slowly,” the man commanded the guards.

  “Holy Christ.” Edison couldn’t help the curse that exploded from his lips at the sight of their jailer.

  And then he remembered.

  The figure in the shadows. The chloroform must have erased the memory.

  He cut a glance at Ada. She’d given up any pretense of a fight. Hands at her sides, the mangled petticoat dangled in a loose arc across her thighs. Face slack with disbelief, she stared. Simply stared.

  “Stanton,” she whispered. “Why?”

  * * *

  Anger and disgust and hatred collided, distorting her old friend’s face until he was all but unrecognizable. He glared at her, his eyes small and glittering. “You don’t deserve that device. Mine’ll be completed by Christmastide. You only beat me by weeks. Just a few damned weeks.” His voice rose as he spat out the words until the last few were hard to make out.

  Ada staggered back, stunned. He was Stanton, yet not. She’d never seen that anger, that ugly twist to his mouth, the red flush of rage that mottled his face.

  “You and Harrison were friends,” she said, her voice thinned by shock. “We were friends.”

  Stanton reared back as if she stank. “You’re an abomination.” Spittle flew from his thick lips. “An abomination. You have no business claiming the mantle of womanhood.”

  The venom in his tone bit into her. Who was this man? What had happened to the kind, gentle friend who shared so many of her dreams, so many spirited scientific discussions?

  A low roar rumbled up from deep in Edison’s chest. Makeshift rope taut, he lunged at the portly man.

  Stanton scrambled backwards, hampered by age and thick, fat legs. Just as Edison wrapped the cloth around his neck and began to twist, something cold and hard pressed into the side of Ada’s temple.

  She gasped, but forced herself to remain still.

  “Stop!” Stanton’s voice gurgling from his throat as Edison tightened the rope. “Let go or she dies.”

  Hands still around the cloth, Edison looked back over his shoulder and quickly released his prey. As he did, the guard took the gun away from Ada’s head.

  Stanton yanked the twisted shirt from Edison’s grasp. Fury—and loss of air—turned his face a shade closer to purple than red.

  Ada sensed he was teetering on the edge of sanity. She wondered why he didn’t order them shot on the spot.

  Edison moved back to her, closing in until they were shoulder to should, hip to hip. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Ada felt his strength, his anger and confidence flow through her. Like Caldwell Nance’s magnificent hero, Edison would retreat and wait for a better time.

  Small eyes blazing with hatred, Stanton snapped his fingers. “Toss them the clothes,” he ordered the guard closest to him.

  The man grabbed a bundle of what looked like unwashed laundry. He threw the wrinkled wad straight at Edison.

  “Your evening attire.” Stanton snickered. “Put them on. All of them. And then we’ll have your things.” Braver now that he had three men holding guns on Edison, he stepped closer. “Straight down to the unmentionables.”

  He snapped his fingers again, and the guards closed in, forcing them backwards into the closet.

  “As I’m a gentleman, I’ll allow you some privacy.” He nodded at the closest guard, who slammed the door shut.

  The bundle reeked. It reeked of old sweat and coal smoke and any number of other human scents Ada had no wish to consider.

  Edison dropped the bundle and set about untying the knot that held it together. “Might be s
omething useful in here.” He pawed through the pile.

  “What does he mean, ‘all of it?’” Ada asked.

  Edison held up a wrinkled pair of ladies' drawers. They were plain and dingy from years of use, the fabric worn almost through at the knees.

  The sort of garment only the poorest would own.

  Ada grabbed the unmentionables from Edison’s hand. Still reeling from Stanton’s betrayal, she couldn’t think. “What’s he about?”

  Edison looked up at her. The kindness—the regret—in his expression stopped her breath.

  He rose to his feet, studying her the entire time, as if thinking through a great decision. Then he gathered her in his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, she laid her cheek against his chest, allowing herself to savor the intimacy.

  He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was a long moment before he spoke. “You know he wants you dead.”

  Ada could only nod. If this was to be the end, she wanted to spend it touching him and breathing in his clean, spicy scent. She wanted to revel in the feel of his bare skin beneath her palms as she pressed them against his chest.

  “My guess is he’s going to leave us here, dressed in these rags,” Edison said. “Make it appear a couple vagrants snuck in to keep warm.”

  “But then he’ll have to destroy the…” Her voice trailed off as the implications hit her, making her head spin.

  “Exactly.” Edison set her aside and began pulling clothing out of the bundle. “He’ll use the chloroform again.”

  “How can you—?”

  “He hasn’t tied us up.” Edison frowned at a soiled pair of trousers, and stepped into them, lip curled in disgust. “He wants it to look like an accident. Like we broke in to find shelter and set something on fire.”

  “The battery.”

  Edison threw her a confused look. “It’s in the safe. At the league.”

  She shook her head. “Stanton was to be the manufacturer. He’s got early prototypes and containers from my latest design.”

  Edison clenched his jaw. “That is damned clever.”

  He kicked at the dwindling bundle. “He’ll set up one of your devices to create the fire. If I were him, I’d explode it.”

  He paced about the small chamber, thinking. “It’s the perfect story. Destroy you. Destroy the evidence, and make your device appear completely unstable.”

  Ada stared down at the pile of rags, all her anger, all her energy, draining away. “Then he’s free to present it as his own. A superior battery. A stable battery. Much better than a woman’s pathetic design.”

  Edison put a finger beneath her chin, gently tilting her head up until their gazes locked. “He hasn’t won yet.”

  Ada tried to smile. “No. He wasn’t.”

  Edison ran his thumbs along the tight line of her jaw. “They won’t use the chloroform until he’s moved us where he wants us to be found.”

  Ada opened her mouth to ask how he knew, but reasoned it out for herself. “Why drag us when he can make us walk?”

  “Exactly.” Nose wrinkled against the stench, Edison began pulling on the clothing. “That’ll give us plenty of time.”

  Ada smiled for the first time since this nightmare began. Really smiled. “He’ll have explosives handy.”

  Edison’s grin made her heart beat faster. “That’s my girl.”

  If only she were.

  Ada unbuttoned her gown, but stopped before dropping it to the floor. The corset. Why had she insisted on wearing that scandalous corset his friend Cherise had lent her?

  It seemed a small thing—a ridiculous thing—under the circumstances, but now that things were over between them, she didn’t want him believing she cared enough to wear it.

  Edison threw her a look. “We should hurry. No sense in upsetting him… yet.”

  He was right. The quicker they prepared… Ada turned her back and shrugged out of her dress. Maybe he won’t notice.

  She unfastened the hooks and eyes down the front as quickly as possible. As she pulled it open, the paring knife fell to the floor. One hand shielding herself from his gaze, she whirled around to face him. “I forgot about this.” She held it up to him.

  Edison snatched it out of her hand and examined the wicked little blade. “I’ve defeated smarter men than Grenville with less.”

  Ada hoped that was true.

  “Had I known you were wearing that,” he pointed the tip of the knife at the pile of green satin on the floor, “I might not have been so clear-headed.”

  Ada felt her cheeks blaze. “It was all I had at hand,” she lied.

  “It suits you,” he said, a small fire twinkling in his eyes.

  Ada stared down at the lovely undergarment, amazed that even under the present conditions, his compliment warmed her.

  Clearly, she’d never be immune to his charms.

  Attired now in his own rags, Edison scooped up the filthy gown meant for her and held it out. She tossed it over her head, arms swimming in the wide bodice. Too wide and far too short, it swam on her. The wide neckline threatened to slip straight off her shoulders.

  Edison managed to find a length of string long enough to go around her waist. He turned her around and secured the excess fabric at the back of the greasy old thing, tying it off with the rope.

  Ada tried not to breathe too deeply, lest the stench of rancid perfume and sweat and cooking grease make her stomach heave.

  If Cherise’s stunning blue satin made her confident and sensual and desirable, how did this wrapping of rags transform her? She ran her hands down the dirt-streaked bodice.

  One could suggest it made her the loser. Stanton would agree with that sentiment. He wanted her to feel defeated. Dejected. Lost.

  But she refused to give in to that lunatic’s wishes.

  Ada rolled her shoulders back and straightened her spine. She decided her new disguise made her resolute. Quick-thinking. Dangerous.

  Stanton’s rags would transform her into the most dangerous woman he’d ever encountered.

  “What’s so funny?” Edison asked when he saw her grin.

  Ada opened her mouth to respond, but a sharp wrap on the door cut her off. “Hurry it along.”

  Edison reached out for her. He took her hands, raising first one and then the other to his lips, imprinting each with the warm outline of his mouth.

  Then he stared straight into her eyes. “Follow my lead. He’ll give us an opportunity. Several most likely. Be ready for anything.”

  Edison adjusted the loose neckline of her dress until it covered the dingy chemise underneath. “I’ll get you out of this. Never doubt it.”

  “I know,” Ada said. “Just in case we don’t, I need to tell you I’m sorry it’s come to this. This shouldn’t have been your battle.”

  This time, his smile was sweet and inexplicably sad. “It’s been worth every moment.” He trailed a finger over her lips. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Mrs. Ada Templeton.”

  He gave her hand a final squeeze before turning the doorknob. “We’re coming out,” he called, and opened it.

  Ada followed on his heels, her heart heavy as a chunk of lead.

  Edison was strong and smart and indescribably brave. She had no doubt in his abilities to save them.

  She only wished the end didn’t mean good bye.

  Chapter 27

  Were it not for the three armed men surrounding him, Edison would’ve broken Grenville’s nose for the look of utter contempt he gave Ada as they emerged in their stinking rags.

  “Follow me,” Grenville ordered. His fine leather shoes scuffed along the cement floor, echoing off the walls and the ceiling two stories above as he led the way across the massive factory floor. The factory was dark, the only light coming from the lanterns Grenville and his guards carried.

  The older man waddled down the wide aisle lined with stamping machines, conveyor belts and a great two-story smelter, his breathing obviously labored. Edison detected the wet wheeze of a man
losing the battle with age and ill-health.

  One blow below the breastbone would drop the old sack of lard.

  But he couldn’t rely on Grenville’s hired thugs abandoning the piece of filth. If he thought for a second the three goons would flee…. He flexed his fingers. Too early to rely on such a risky strategy.

  He eyed every piece of machinery, every tool, every pail and pot and cog they passed, cataloguing anything that might serve as a weapon.

  Or a distraction.

  Many sharp, heavy, damage-inducing implements lay at hand. If only he dared grab one.

  “Over here,” Grenville commanded as they reached the far corner of the space.

  The boilers. Edison sighed. He should have anticipated that.

  Tucked in the corner behind one of the great boilers that supplied the steam power for the factory’s many machines, Grenville had arranged a pathetic pile of ragged blankets. Old prototypes of Ada’s batteries had been stacked together to form a makeshift table top.

  Above that, Grenville had designed his accident. Empty cans used to package chemicals were stacked atop the batteries, close enough together to hold a dented cooking pot. In the circle formed by the cans, a pile of old candle stubs waited to be lit.

  Part of him saluted the man’s twisted genius. If anything survived the fire, it would look as if they’d set themselves a makeshift stove.

  A familiar, smoky smell caught his attention. He leaned over the pot, close enough to catch a glimpse inside before a guard shoved him away. “Is that bacon?”

  Grenville sniggered. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought. Wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a vagrant couple to fry up an old piece of fatback, would it?”

  He was enjoying this. Enjoying their fear.

  Good. Edison eyed the makeshift disaster. The more Grenville savored their reactions, the longer he’d draw things out. A stupid, stupid thing to do.

  Edison licked his lips and let his gaze dart about the room, forcing himself to project fear. Desperation.

  He pretended interest in a scrap of paper on the floor by his foot. He toed it away, at the same time dipping his head close to Ada’s ear. “Are those cans flammable?”