For a moment that didn’t make sense. “Edwina’s delaying until I find out what happened to Stephen?”
Maker made a sound of agreement.
It had never occurred to Jenson that he might change the actions of the family, but it made sense. The door opened again and in walked Lady Garrington-Smythe and Great-Aunt Flora. The two were clearly good friends, they often nattered like schoolgirls and Jenson had seen a private look that told him they knew one another very well after all these years. There were some friendships that couldn’t be stopped and these two formidable ladies were lucky enough to have one.
Amethyst stepped in immediately behind them. She was wearing a simple lavender gown with a sweetheart neckline that emphasised all the right parts, and the drop of that necklace pointed the eye where it wanted to go. Such an unusual design. The gold strip was set with stones: sapphire, jasper, jade, amethyst, emerald and ruby. The jewels after which the siblings had been named. Having briefly met Jasper when he’d visited Amethyst before she went to Wales, Jenson had his suspicions about Jade, but he wasn’t sure enough to voice anything just yet. More investigation required there too.
He didn’t need any investigation to understand why Maker only had eyes for the most eligible woman in the room. It was foolish, but what heart wasn’t?
“Beautiful.” He breathed the word, barely moving his lips.
“She always is.” It was one of Amethyst’s charms that while she wasn’t a classic or obvious beauty, she was extremely attractive and yet seemed oblivious to the fact. She greeted every man and woman with the same open welcome and interest in humanity. Every woman with one notable exception. “Remember you’re married.”
Unintentionally, he caught Amethyst’s attention even as Maker turned his, his eyes stabbing unnecessary poniards.
“Good evening, both.” She offered a small curtsy, they each returned a bow. Of course, her eyes tended towards Maker, and with Violet not in the room, this might be her only opportunity to gaze on him unhindered or judged. He wouldn’t deny her that small opportunity, though he worried for the outcome. A few too many heartbeats went past as the two just looked at each other, then Amethyst turned to Jenson.
“You look very nice tonight.”
He didn’t feel it, too many parts of the outfit didn’t really fit. But at least it made him look like the other men in the group, rather than the obvious outsider.
“How was your day? Did you find out anything useful?”
The sudden intake of breath from the room had Jenson hold back his answer and like everyone else, he turned to the door. Violet stood there, glorious, a vision in palest pink. She always seemed to pick washed-out colours. His eyes went back to Amethyst, who had turned to look, but now turned back, offering him a weak smile. Amethyst usually picked strong colour, but then she could bear it. Perhaps Lady Violet was right, pastels were more her.
“What are you doing with my husband?”
The cold demand had Amethyst turning to face the taller, slimmer woman as she stalked towards them. “Actually, I was just asking Jenson how his investigation was going.”
Now Violet turned those cold eyes on him. “Oh, you managed to dress the ape, then.”
It was hardly the first insult he’d heard, and a long way short of being the worst. He looked her in the eye, unabashed. He’d seen eyes like hers before, on murderers, the kind that didn’t even consider it a crime because they didn’t care enough about anyone else to feel they’d robbed a human being of life; who felt that all they’d done was exterminate a lower life form. That, he supposed, was what he was to her, a lower life form. Thankfully his own thinking easily switched those positions.
“Please do answer, is your investigation going well?”
That was an odd question from her, and Jenson felt he was being led into a trap. “It’s still early days, but yes, I think for a first day on the case, it went well.”
“Oh good, you won’t need to be here too long, then.” She swept towards a chair. “It is so odious to have to suffer the lower classes in one’s own home.”
“This isn’t your home,” Amethyst pointed out with a smile and far too much sweetness.
A lot of the superiority and calm went out of Violet’s gaze as she pinned the younger woman with a sour look. “It’s certainly not yours.”
Before Amethyst could respond, Lord Montgomery stepped in.
“While you’re here, I hope you will all consider it home. Wherever you came from.”
Chapter 18
As the ladies withdrew so the men could enjoy their coffee and cigars, Great-Aunt Flora indicated that Amethyst was to join her and Lady Garrington-Smythe on the sofa. Between them, no less. Offering a smile and dreading what was coming after her earlier baiting with Violet, Amethyst did as she was told. Lady Garrington-Smythe took her hand in something of a surprise move. The skin was dry, older. For the first time Amethyst realised that Lady Garrington-Smythe wasn’t as young as she looked. Bobbie was thirty and while Lady Garrington-Smythe looked in her forties, the reality was at least a decade more.
“Is there a lock on your bedroom door, my dear?”
She looked at Lady Garrington-Smythe, not at all sure how to take that comment. “Erm, yes.”
“You’re sure?”
She thought for a second. It was a good thick, sturdy door, and she was sure it had a lock. “Yes.”
“Then you make absolutely certain that it’s locked tonight.”
“That may not be enough,” Great-Aunt Flora said. “Remember Florin Dubois?”
Amethyst had no idea who Florin Dubois was.
“Ah, yes,” breathed Lady Garrington-Smythe, then patted Amethyst’s hand again. “Prop a chair under the handle too.”
She could only presume that Florin Dubois had a very determined late-night visitor. “I will if you think it’s necessary.”
“Oh, it’s necessary.”
“Why?”
“Never mind why, deary, just do as you’re told.”
She turned to look at Great-Aunt Flora. “This isn’t like you. You always, or at least usually, have a reason. What’s wrong?”
Great-Aunt Flora looked away, back towards the dining room. “You know, I don’t think it’s enough. You’ll have to sleep in with me tonight.”
Now Amethyst reared. The way Great-Aunt Flora snored, that would not be a good choice. “But‒”
“Perhaps you’re right, Flora. That would be the best thing.”
Now Amethyst turned to Lady Garrington-Smythe. “Eugenie, I don’t mean to be rude, but why? Why would I need to share with anyone tonight?”
“It would not be the done thing to share with me, and imagine what people would say if you shared with my darling Roberta.”
Sometimes, hearing Bobbie referred to by her given name required Amethyst to think. The implication made her think again.
I’d very much like to know what you look like out of a dress
“While that particular makes sense, the general does not. Why shouldn’t I stay in my allotted bed tonight?”
The two older women shared a look. “Please, just trust us on this.”
Amethyst looked between them. It took a moment, but then she understood. “Oh, I see. Well then.” This time she patted Lady Garrington-Smythe’s hand. “I’ll lock the door and put a chair under so even if someone has a key, they won’t be able to get in.”
Neither of the older women looked entirely mollified. Thankfully for Amethyst, Bobbie chose that moment to draw near. Amethyst shot to her feet.
“Cards?”
Bobbie looked between her mother and Great-Aunt Flora. “The way pieces are being placed I’d say this was more a game of chess, but by all means, let us play cards.”
Still chafing from the instruction of the two great ladies, Amethyst retired early, feeling rather tired. It was surprising how such concentration could take it out of her. She was still worried about Maker too. There was something wrong wh
en she’d seen him in the maze, but she didn’t know what. She hadn’t had a chance to ask. She couldn’t be sure if Violet was keeping him to heel because she wanted him near or because she didn’t trust him not to wander. Either way, the opportunity hadn’t arisen and Amethyst was too tired to care. She headed for the bedroom, where the first thing she did was reach for the bell to summon Dickens. Then she realised her mistake. Before she could make another, she turned to lock the door. There was a lock, but there wasn’t a key.
A quick look about the room also told her that the one backed chair she could use to block the door wasn’t there anymore.
Ah.
Gladstone was watching her from the bed, her head cocked to one side. Amethyst ruffled the fluffy head and received a squeak of approval from the affectionate animal.
“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll be sufficient protection.”
The cat’s eyes narrowed, then she turned her back.
Amethyst gathered up her nightshirt, her new and probably overly modest dressing gown – and headed out. With the door still open she looked at the cat, who now looked back with the famed curiosity of her species.
“Come on then.” It was only a light thump from the bed to the floor and the animal didn’t seem to suffer by it, so Amethyst waited until the black bundle, now free from the cumbersome bandages, was in the corridor with her. Then she closed the door. Aware that she had a feline follower, she headed for Great-Aunt Flora’s room off the main balcony around the hallway below. Knocking solicited a command to enter, so she did. Denby was still undoing the many onyx buttons down the back of Great-Aunt Flora’s bodice. Great-Aunt Flora looked at the bundle in Amethyst’s arms. The black cat at her side.
“Good choice.”
The sound of a door and footsteps didn’t wake Amethyst. Unlike Gladstone, who was curled in a ball at the bottom of the bed between their feet, she had yet to fall asleep, despite the exhaustion. The rattling of Great-Aunt Flora’s nose and throat forbade a good night’s sleep. Curious, and certain that Flora’s snoring would cover any noise she made, Amethyst went to the door, carefully unlocked it and opened it just the tiniest crack to look out.
Lord Montgomery was tiptoeing away from his room. The direction he took would take him to her room.
Ah.
Carefully she closed and locked the door.
Chapter 19
Maker sought the sanctuary of the workroom. Only the servants were awake at this hour, so there was no one to interrupt. This was the room where he was least likely to be disturbed. Edwina spent her mornings with the female guests, a habit into which Maker recognised she had been bullied.
He twisted the crick out of his neck. Violet’s insistence that they share a room but not a bed was less about appearances than it was about torture.
Sitting in the shadows of the dark corner he wondered what was actually in the boxes Blanchard and Dickens had brought back from London. They had been bringing the last box in when he had come down. Both looked like they hadn’t slept, and he guessed that was more through choice than necessity. Now they had retired to bed, separately he’d ordered, and hoped he was obeyed. He was left alone now to contemplate his own foolishness again.
The door opened and Amethyst stepped in, her eyes went to the crate pile and she quickly, quietly closed the door, her bottom lip smiling between her teeth. Then she moved swiftly to the boxes, giving a little squeal of delight, bouncing and clapping her hands. As she moved, she spotted him. Her eyes went wide, her cheeks flushed.
“Maker! I didn’t see ‒” Her forehead creased. “Ben? Is everything all right?”
Not when she said his name like that, it wasn’t.
“Ben?”
Suddenly she was kneeling by his feet, her hand on his over the arm rest. The touch was soft and smooth and gentle. Such softness was virtually unknown to him. It made his heart sore and he looked away.
The other hand gently cupped his face, drew him back to her. The expression of concern, of care, tore at him. He didn’t decide to move, but she was in his arms and by his action not hers. The stiffness of surprise eased as arms wrapped around him. He buried his head in the comfort of her neck, her loose hair. He breathed in the wonderful warmth of her acceptance. Closing his eyes, he turned towards her, his lips on her skin. The salty human taste of her. He’d eat her up given the chance.
“Ben?”
Pray God he could resist the temptation, not defile the innocence on offer.
It took every ounce of control, but he pulled away, sat back. Not far, mere inches and her concern, her lips were just there. His hand shook as he caressed the silk of her cheek. What he wanted and what he could have were, as ever, different things.
Her lips parted to say something, then she thought better of it and forced a smile.
“Come see what Dickens and Blanchard brought back.”
She stood and went over to the boxes, tossing her hair over her shoulder to look back at him with that inviting smile.
He couldn’t accept the invitation he wanted, so he took the one he had and followed her.
All the crates were marked with the Sanderson Glass Company logo. One was large, probably two feet square, one foot tall, and on top was another, eighteen inches square by six. The other two were about 14 inches square and about 30 inches high. They were the right size for lamps, he’d had several shipped directly to him, including one that was Amethyst’s design. The shards of Violet’s temper had been swept up soon after. Served him right for thinking he could have something he cared about, and for not having the sense to have it shipped to him at number 7, he still owned half that house after all.
For a moment, Amethyst looked at the boxes, then she looked around, moved to a drawer, and pulled it open to reveal a range of tools. She picked what turned out to be a long reach screwdriver. Her grin was broad as she inserted the head of the screwdriver between the top and sides of the slim box. She worked the metal in a little, her lip between her teeth as she grinned broadly and worked the lid up with the tell-tale squeak of metal staples being pried from wood.
When the lid moved away, it revealed a thick layer of straw. With eager but careful movements, Amethyst scraped that away and allowed herself another squeal of delight.
With loving care, she reached in and brought out… he wasn’t sure what it was. About half an inch thick and six by eight inches. It seemed to be a number of thin layers of glass stacked on top of each other, and there were multiple thin wires fixed at narrow intervals along each side, more than eight per inch. The wires had been drawn together and plaited in thirds on each side.
“Oh yes, he’s done a marvellous job.”
“What is it?”
She smiled as she carefully moved over to the desk and rested the thing on the top. “Hopefully, if I did my job well and if Sanderson did his, this is a screen.”
Sanderson. Of course. “A collaboration?”
She nodded as she laid the screen flat and turned back to him. “Yes. Sanderson is an absolute genius with glass. It was discussions with him that allowed me to develop my idea and design this. He did a lot of tests while I was with him in Swansea and we worked out together the best way to produce this tablet of glass.”
His gut twisted. “A partnership?”
She nodded.
“The only one?”
For a second, she frowned, not understanding his meaning, then she laughed and moved closer. “No need to be jealous.”
He tipped his chin up but couldn’t bring himself to deny the reality of that emotion. Her sigh was quite heartfelt.
“If I’m honest, he did ask. And I was tempted, but as much as I like Sanderson, and enjoy working with him, I just don’t want that kind of partnership with him.”
The way that she held his gaze just a little longer than she should have, sent his mind into circles of desire wanting her for his partner. Stop it, you can’t!
With a sad small smile, she broke the gaze.
A screen. The only thing he knew that used a screen was the CAMM, the Calculation And Memory Machine, Professor Richards had built. The screen on that was a treated linen sheet that glowed when the right fragments of aetheric light were channelled through it. Only CAMM was a big bulky thing. He struggled to lift it on his own, and it was much bigger than any of these boxes, even if all of them were put together.
“CAMM?”
“At home.” Finished with the wires, she turned to the largest of the boxes. “I did some redesign work. Can you give me a hand with this?”
This time, she knelt down by the largest box and again eased the screwdriver between the top and the side panels. As the metal and wood protested, he knelt to reach the other corner and took the screwdriver when offered, to pry that corner open. As the two panels separated, Amethyst lifted the top away, revealing yet more straw packing. Moving that aside, she uncovered a thick leather cover roughly twenty inches square. She ran her hands over it, pushing back some stray strands before pulling a rolled tool bag from beside the larger object. One hand went back to the leather. She patted it.
“Would you take this to the desk for me?”
Reaching inside the box, he found the object was thicker than he had expected, a good four inches thick. As he lifted, he appreciated the weight of the thing, but he also knew Amethyst didn’t actually need his help. This was weighty, yes, but she would have easily been able to lift it. She was just trying to make him feel useful. Perhaps she didn’t realise that he never did. Though suddenly he wanted to.
Beneath the leather he could feel a hardness that could only come from a metal plate. Amethyst cleared the centre of the desk as she moved behind it. Behind a desk seemed to be her natural habitat.
Her grin was broad and her eyes alight with the joy of mechanical mastery. Whatever this was, she was happy with it. He placed it in front of her. She opened up the leather and he saw a sandwich of steel plating with a filling of brass cogs and rods. The top was hinged and when she pushed it up, it rose to about a foot tall, and even though there was a plate between him and it, he was tall enough to see a layer of slim rods stacked with cogs and gears and he realised that this was a miniaturised version of CAMM, though it also looked like the double layer gave it more working space.
Echoes of Aether Page 9