Chapter 102
The drought would never be over, Clive thought. He already had plans in place to relocate, even though he could have supplies shipped in for decades. But the team he had working on making 75’s ocean potable had so far been nothing but a disappointment to him.
He’d have to move his business, and soon there’d be a mass exodus. Better to be the one in charge, the one to lead the way.
The turbulent red-orange sea splashed up onto the slab. Clive’s favorite place. He was sitting there now, naked, his chin on his knees, his hands at his sides.
The sea churned, but it didn’t foretell rain—only a storm consisting completely of lightning and the occasional fireburst, which 75 was known for. A pyrotechnic delight, said one of the marketing pitches, and that wasn’t far from the truth.
Alexander will be here soon, Clive thought, and his cock responded instantly. The man was truly an extraordinary specimen, and there was something tremendously familiar and enticing about him that drew Clive back to him time after time.
Most of his lovers he’d simply used and abandoned. That’s all they were good for anyway. Allene Dickens, of course, was another matter. She was his extension, in a way, doing the things for him that he couldn’t do himself.
Although even she had outlived her usefulness, having fulfilled her final duty to perfection, as he’d known she would.
The waves washed up onto the slab, and Clive let go of his knees and lay back, staring up into the barren sky.
But Alexander. He was the passionate lover Clive had always yearned for. Real passion, not the fakery put on by most of his lovers. Allene of course had been passionate and meant it, but her display of passion was weak and uninspiring. Alexander was wild and imaginative.
Would he take Alexander with him when he moved? He’d decide later. There was no reason he couldn’t.
A blinking image of his son growing up and running away to be with Alexander burned itself into Clive’s third eye. This was enough to convince Clive that it was time to cut his ties with his favorite lover, no matter how much pleasure there still was to be had with him.
Clive had been warned before with these blinking images. They’d started when he was a boy, before he could effectively interpret and use them. But by the time he was twelve, he knew what they meant—their warnings were not only vivid, but accurate. He’d stopped ignoring them then and started acting on them instead.
Without those images, he never would have the riches he currently enjoyed. Without those images, he’d still be a laborer on 217, like his useless father and even more ineffectual grandfather had been.
He’d had one of these blinking images right before he’d met Marguerite, which was the reason he knew she’d be his wife. He’d seen her the week before, blinking into his consciousness, showing him the path to his future. Yet in that image he’d seen her as being as passionate as Alexander was.
Marguerite was having a son. That was perfect. His son. Marguerite would be cut off from Nicholas Coburn, who’d never get the chance to see what he’d created.
If only Alexander had done a better job. He was lacking there. When he sent Allene to do his bidding, she delivered precisely as she was bidden. Alexander, though, had let him down. Beau Ogden was still alive and Nicholas Coburn’s business hadn’t collapsed yet. Although it would.
Soon Marguerite would be home, and Clive’s plans to relocate would be under way. His plans for his son would be under way.
Marguerite’s pregnancy would change everything. When she saw what a wonderful, generous, loving, giving father he was, she’d love him the way she should have from the beginning. Her gratitude would translate itself into the pulses of ecstasy that he’d always dreamed of. Perhaps even more than anything that Alexander gave him. Although . . .
The red-orange waves rolled up onto the slab and thrilled Clive with their building intensity. The weaker of 75’s two suns beat down on his naked body.
It was quiet here, the way Clive liked it. The two suns of 75 were like Marguerite and Alexander, Clive thought. The weaker one the most beautiful, the most desirable. The stronger one the most passionate and gratifying.
He imagined the suns merging into one, his perfect lover. He stroked himself as the first fireburst of the afternoon erupted overhead.
Chapter 103
Halfway back to the manor house, Lady Patience ran right into Violet, who was walking in what looked like circles or maybe ellipses.
“What do you think of my coif?” Lady Patience said after they’d exchanged greetings.
“I think Harriette is learning her job, my lady. You look lovely.”
“I did it,” Lady Patience said. “Harriette’s learned absolutely nothing.”
“I was afraid so, my lady,” Violet said. Maybe the taciturn Allene Dickens could tend to both the duchess and Lady Patience. She’d talk to Mrs. Allman about it before she left. And the duchess’s hair always looked exquisite.
“Lettie, do you really have to leave right now? You couldn’t wait just a little while longer until the majestic’s over?”
“Yes, my lady.” Stick to the script, Violet reminded herself. She’d already said too much.
“How about we do the maze together again? For old time’s sake,” Lady Patience said.
“Yes, my lady,” Violet said.
Lady Patience looped her arm through Violet’s, as though they were good friends and not lady’s maid and lady. As though they had every reason to be happy and carefree. As though Violet’s heart hadn’t been broken again and as though Lady Patience were finally in love.
“Lettie,” Lady Patience said as they approached the gigantic fountain. Now that it wasn’t raining all the time, the fountain was in full operation, spewing streams of water from all its dreadful orifices.
“Yes, my lady,” Violet said when Lady Patience didn’t continue. She had to restrain herself from laughing at the fountain. Perhaps LP thought the monstrosity was gorgeous.
“Lettie,” Lady Patience said again, then started giggling. Then stopped walking and started laughing so hard she had to bend over to support herself. Soon Violet had joined her.
The fountain really was ludicrous, with its water-spewing frogs, the horrendously misshapen pitchers the mermaids were holding, and just the overdone entirety of the thing.
“Lettie,” Lady Patience said when she’d finally controlled her laughter a bit. “Forgive me. It’s just so unlike the rest of Hollyhock. Maybe they put it here for just this purpose. To cheer people up.”
“Yes, my lady,” Violet said.
“I want to ask you something, Lettie. And please don’t misunderstand.”
“No, my lady,” Violet said. She held her breath. What could LP possibly be planning to ask her? She’d be gone tomorrow. There was nothing further she could do for her.
“Do you know Calvert very well?”
Violet exhaled. LP had changed her mind and was going to idly chatter away instead of requesting whatever big and probably unfulfillable favor she’d apparently decided against asking for. Thank goodness.
“No, my lady,” Violet said. She hardly knew him at all except to say Yes, Mr. Calvert and No, Mr. Calvert.
“I see,” Lady Patience said. “Are you in love with Lord Trevelton still?”
Violet swallowed the air that was in her throat and coughed. She’d been so sure the dangerous part of this conversation was over, and here was LP, who Violet thought was oblivious to anything and everything not directly about herself, asking Violet the one question she didn’t want to be asked.
A question that even her dear friend Rosie would never dare to ask her. Although in Rosie’s case, it was because she’d been against Trevelton from the beginning and had been relieved when he’d broken it off.
“No, my lady,” Violet said. It’s impossible to love someone in a vacuum. Love must be returned. Mustn’t it?
“I see,” said LP. “Does Calvert have a wife or a girlfriend?”
Sudde
nly Violet understood what Lady Patience was getting at. Was it possible that she was interested in Mr. Calvert, of all people? The incredibly well-to-do Lady Patience who hadn’t been interested in one single player at either Hollyhock or Brixton? Who’d brushed all her possible suitors off as though they were annoying fleas?
“No, my lady,” Violet said, but she was bursting to say more. She watched the head of one of the fountain’s malformed seagulls as the water squirted out of its disproportionately large beak.
Tomorrow she’d be on the transport, on her way back to Earth, back to Los Angeles, back to a role in Mirage.
By this time next year she’d be a well-known actor. She’d have to fend off onlookers in restaurants. She’d have a new place to live. She’d’ve forgotten Hollyhock Manor, Trevelton, Lady Patience, and this majestic. But she’d miss Rosie terribly. She’d never had such a good friend.
“What are you thinking, Lettie?” Lady Patience said. Their arms were still entwined, and Lady Patience backed away from the fountain and started heading toward the maze.
“Yes, my lady,” Violet said.
“Please tell me, Violet,” Lady Patience said, using Violet’s name. Violet was immediately touched by this.
“I’m thinking about the future, my lady,” Violet said. “And what an illusion all this is.”
Lady Patience laughed. “Have you ever thought that the very show you’re going to be in is also an illusion? It’s even called Mirage!”
“Yes, my lady,” Violet said. She’d thought that very thing many times.
“I think I’m in love with Calvert,” Lady Patience said. “It’s a very odd feeling. And it’s unstoppable. In a way I’ll be happy when the majestic’s over.”
“Yes, my lady,” Violet said.
“Pamela,” LP said. “Just for a little while today, I want to be myself. If you’d like to tell me, I’d like to know your name as well.”
“Violet,” Violet said. “Mrs. Allman didn’t change it.”
“It must be strange playing a role and using your own name,” Pamela said.
“It is that,” Violet said. “Pamela’s such a beautiful name. Why didn’t you become Lady Pamela?”
“This is my eleventh majestic, Violet,” Pamela said. “The joy of doing them for me has always been playing a part. I’m not a professional actor, not like you, and this is my only chance to have such an elaborate fantasy. But, Violet, I came here hoping to find a mate. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
“My husband died, Pamela. And Trevelton dismissed me without a care. I think I’ll enjoy being alone for a while.”
“I do so wish you’d stay,” Lady Patience said as they came out into the clearing before the maze.
Chapter 104
Allene Dickens stood at the window in her tiny room at the end of the servants’ hall and looked out into the steep, dim corridor between the wings.
Marguerite was going home on the transport tomorrow. He’d sent for Marguerite, but he hadn’t sent for her. What was Clive’s plan? Had it changed? Did it no longer include her? Had he found out somehow that Nicholas Coburn had returned and that she hadn’t told him? That she’d disobeyed him?
Worse still, had he found another lover? Someone he favored over her? Someone who could give him things that she was incapable of? He’d have to give her another chance, she thought. All he had to do was ask and she’d do as he wished. He must know that.
What if he’d been waiting for her to initiate something spectacular in bed? She’d have to read up on different techniques, learn about them. She’d come to him without any experience and had always depended on him to show her the way. Another lover, though, might be more creative. He’d forget about her. He’d already forgotten about her.
She held on to the windowsill in front of her and willed herself to stop thinking of how far down it was. Instead, look at your hands. But they were shaking so hard that the window would start rattling soon from the vibration.
Marguerite was going home on the transport. Why hadn’t Clive sent for Allene as well? What had gone wrong? Allene went over everything in her mind for the hundredth time since she’d gotten up.
She’d disposed of the antidote, throwing it into that heinous fountain so late at night that no one could possibly have been nearby to witness it. She’d thought of that herself, and congratulated herself on her creative thinking.
But what if someone had seen her? Worse, what if Marguerite herself knew? But why would that cause Clive to send for Marguerite? And why hadn’t Marguerite confronted Allene herself?
Maybe the woman was more devious than she’d suspected. Maybe Marguerite was planning something so terrible as her revenge that Allene would wish she’d never met the extraordinary Clive Idrest. Her ideal. And he was slipping away from her. Already unreachable.
Calm yourself, Allene, she told herself. Think logically. Of course Clive wants Marguerite home. She’s already almost showing and he wants everyone on Outworld 75 to see her bulging belly. So she would have to go home, where everyone could witness for themselves how she’d blatantly, flagrantly betrayed her husband.
Then Clive would be free to rid himself of her. But why had Clive never discussed the details of this part? Why had she never thought to ask?
Allene would finish out the majestic and then return to 75, where she could be reunited with her true love. She missed him desperately. The way he’d look at her—so reassuring and, well, just good. No one had ever treated her so caringly, so beautifully, with such respect and consideration.
Although he seemed to have forgotten about her.
No, he hasn’t forgotten about me, she reminded herself. What had their plan been? She couldn’t remember some of it. But when Marguerite got home and he saw she was pregnant and everyone then knew she was pregnant, Clive would finally be able to effect the break with her.
Then he’d send for Allene. Of course. That was it. He had to be seen to be with his wife, to be betrayed by his wife. Everyone would be on his side. What man would tolerate his wife’s having a child with another man?
That part would have to play out before Allene and Clive could be together as they’d planned. As she’d planned and dreamed and yearned for. To lie in his reassuring arms. To watch his lithe body as it moved effortlessly through the rooms in the beautiful apartment he’d gotten for her.
To feel him inside her.
She should have saved some of the antidote for herself. Why hadn’t she thought of this before she carelessly threw it into the fountain? Although perhaps there was some left at the bottom of her bag.
Chapter 105
“Damn you to all hells, Wyatt Conroy,” Ephraim said as the two friends emerged from the maze. “That’s the very last time I’m depending on your supposedly accurate sense of direction.”
“I swear, Eph. That’s how it worked the last time I was here.”
“You mean, they’ve moved it around since?” Ephraim was grinning and Wyatt laughed, since of course nothing had been moved. The overgrown hedges had clearly not been seen to in years, maybe decades. They’d hardly been repositioned during their stay at Hollyhock.
“Steel yourself, Trev. I’m afraid your lady love is approaching.” Saybrook stood taller and straightened his own jacket, but when he saw it was Lady Patience with Violet and not Rosie, as he’d guessed it would be, he resumed his accustomed slump.
“Ah, my lords,” said Lady Patience. “I see you’ve had a successful run of things. Congratulations.”
“My ladies,” Trevelton said, bowing to both women. “I’m afraid you’ve overestimated the earl and myself. The center remains a mystery to us still, and we’ve emerged with barely our lives intact.”
“I told you,” Lady Patience said. “You need Lettie in order to properly conquer the maze. She has a sixth sense in there. Remarkable, really.”
Violet held tight to Lady Patience, who nudged her.
“Perhaps we should let Violet show Trev how it’s done,” Saybrook
said. He winked at Lady Patience, who laughed, unlooped her arm from Violet’s, and pushed her slightly forward.
“Perhaps we should. Shall we return to the manor, Lord Saybrook?” Lady Patience ran her hand back along her chignon, which was still in place, and picked up her fan, then dropped it again. She had no idea what to do with it even now. She’d skipped out on fan class the day Jewel Allman had given the lecture.
“A sterling idea, Lady Patience,” Saybrook said as Trevelton and Violet stood there, both silent, neither looking at the other.
Saybrook picked up his horse’s reins and held out his arm for Lady Patience, who took it. The two of them, with Saybrook leading his horse, made a quick retreat, although both Violet and Trevelton heard their laughter for minutes more.
“Violet,” Trevelton said hesitantly. “I believe I should be getting back now.”
“You don’t want to see the center?” Violet said. “Anyone would want to see the center. That’s the main feature of the maze.”
Violet took off and headed into the maze, pulling open its gate and heading inside. She knew exactly where the center was and had a potent desire to see it again for herself before she left 5730. Maybe that’s why she’d urged Rosie to come with her. She had to see it again. She was drawn to it.
As she walked down the first row, the one that had the dead-ended right turn, she thought about Booker. She’d been thinking about him a lot lately, maybe because she’d be in Los Angeles soon, the city where they’d met and married and where he’d died, his corpse generously revealing his lies and deceits.
Booker had been so so charming, so lighthearted, almost. So carefree. She could almost remember how happy she’d been. Almost. Although his dead body, an unbearably steep pile of debts, and an even steeper pile of unmet promises were an effective block to that memory.
She heard Trevelton’s steps behind her, but didn’t turn around. If he wanted to follow her, she wouldn’t stop him. He was there to see the maze’s center, as anyone would want to. If he’d wanted to see her, he would’ve done so a thousand hundred times in the last few weeks. But he hadn’t.
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