Something prickled through her stomach—unease mixed with anticipation. “It is certain he will come here, then, and not to one of the other ranchos?”
“Quite certain. The whole town is in an uproar. You cannot imagine it is like this under normal circumstances.”
“You forget I grew up in Philadelphia and London, which are in an uproar all the time,” she said. “I’ll wager there will be a frenzy of cleaning in the morning to wash away the debauchery of tonight.”
“He will be staying with the grandee and his family, of course, so our task will be to get you in to speak with him before the entire country descends to have their cases and grievances heard.”
“Is that what usually happens?”
“So I am informed. The trouble is that the young man is unwell.”
“Which may make it difficult for us or anyone else to see him.”
“Exactly. However, he must appear at the fiesta, to which all the surrounding noble families have been invited. If he does not, the rumors will become twice as thick, and may even go so far as to say he is on his deathbed. Which would not do the government any favors. The country is in enough unrest as it is.”
“The poor boy,” Gloria said with some sympathy. “Is there no doctor to treat him?”
“I’m sure there must be an army of them. But whatever his condition, it does not seem to be improving. Quite the opposite. Of course, this is all hearsay. But I suppose it is best to plan for the worst and be pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t happen.”
“So what you are saying is that we cannot simply make an appointment with his secretary and take our place in line.”
“No. But here is another little piece of news. I have been asking myself why he is here at all, if he is so unwell, and in the jakes behind the hotel I had my answer.”
“Spare me the details, if you would.”
He leaned in a little and lowered his voice. “He is apparently here to meet an interpreter of dreams. Like Joseph in the Bible, I was told. I was also told to expect to see signs and miracles, so I am not sanguine as to the reliability of my informant. He was in the righteous stage of drunk.”
“Good heavens.” Gloria shook her head. “Is there no end to the foolishness and superstition of these folk? First airships fly in the face of God, and now dreams may be interpreted by prophets. Next they will be killing poor chickens to examine their entrails and predict whether or not he will live.”
“Don’t say that—you will start a rumor.”
“If I see any chickens about to be used for that purpose, you can be certain I will do more than that. I have a very good friend who makes a habit of rescuing the birds when it is necessary. I am quite prepared to follow her excellent example.”
“If one rescues a chicken, it is merely so that one may have it for one’s own dinner, I am sure.”
Gloria lifted her chin. “Not among my acquaintance, I assure you. Claire’s hens fly as members of the crew in her ship, and have their own domicile in the garden when she is ashore. Her ward Maggie is studying the field of genetics, and the hens she and her grandfather breed in Cornwall are renowned throughout the country for their beauty and productivity.”
After a moment in which she peered at him to be sure he was not trying to stifle a laugh, he said, “I shall be sure not to order chicken for dinner in future, given your feelings on the matter.”
“Thank you. That is very thoughtful of you.” She paused, then said, “So if the rumors prove to be true, and the Viceroy will be receiving no one, how are we to approach him?”
“And now I note your use of plural pronouns, my dear.”
“You have just reminded me that I must not go about alone,” she said with some asperity. “I merely assumed this meant bearding monarchs in their dens as well.”
“You are quite right. It is clear that we must join the fiesta, and attempt to close the deal in a social setting, not an official one.”
Gloria allowed that this was likely their best plan.
“I hope you will be succinct. A waltz is not much time in which to put the case for peace to a man who has had many months to plan for war.”
Now, wait just a moment!
It was dark, but the moon illuminated enough of his face that she could examine it to see whether he was serious. “A waltz? You cannot be suggesting that I dance with the Viceroy. With a house full of noble families? If it is anything like London, the mamas will be pushing their daughters in his path like ninepins, hoping he will choose one of them to be Vicereine. We shall be lucky to be allowed on the property, much less be in the same room, or the same set of dancers.”
“You underestimate yourself, Mrs. Fremont.”
“This is not Philadelphia, where I had my fortune to recommend me,” she said tartly. She had become a realist long ago.
“You still do. You are a wealthy woman, and in fact are his partner, if one may be so bold as to bring it up. You have as much right to waltz with him and discuss business as anyone in the room.”
Gloria stopped her slow stroll and released his arm abruptly. “I am not his partner. I am the farthest thing from that you can imagine.”
“I know that, and you know that, but he does not know that.”
“And the moment I step into the room, the Ambassador to the Fifteen Colonies, Augusto de Aragon y Villarreal—” The syllables rolled grandly off her tongue. “—will spot me and clap me in irons. That is how I was to have come here, you know. As a penitent, to apologize to the Viceroy for losing his shipment of mechanicals.”
“And what was to have happened to you afterward?”
“The clapping in irons, I imagine. One doesn’t simply admit to losing hundreds of thousands of pounds in arms and then walk away to spend the afternoon in the shops.”
“I don’t see why not. My father did, on one memorable occasion.”
“I am not your father. Or mine, for that matter. No, we must approach him in a different way. If I cannot use business, I must use—” What? What on earth did she possess that would entice a prince to spend a single moment in her company?
“Guile?” her husband suggested. “Blandishments? Beauty?”
“You are not helping.”
“I thought I was. You may walk into that fiesta like a queen, expecting to be paid homage, and you will get it. I’ve seen you do it myself.”
“Nonsense.” Her cheeks burned at the very thought. “Even in my salad days I could not do so.”
“I beg your pardon, but those days are not over. Come. Ella should be back by now.”
“Ella?” What had she to do with it? And where had she gone without telling Gloria? It wasn’t safe for a young woman to be out in the streets of the port with all these sailors reeling about.
“Yes. I sent her on a mission for which she is uniquely equipped.”
“Alone?”
“Of course not. She is a lady’s maid, and Riley accompanied her.”
“To do what?”
“Come and see.” And, maddening man, he would not say another word all the way back to the inn—though their pace was satisfyingly fast.
Ella met her at the door of their room with dancing eyes. “Come see, Gloria, how lucky we are.”
Considering she’d won quite a sum earlier that evening, Gloria assumed the surprise had something to do with Cowboy Poker. But with a flourish, Ella shook out a beribboned black skirt and a silk bodice that was clearly meant to go with it.
“A new dress for fiesta!”
Or nearly new, anyway, for of course there had been no time to have anything made up. Gloria had assumed she would have her audience with the Viceroy in one of the shabby, out-of-fashion dresses the witches had lent her. This was indeed a surprise.
“Where did you get it? Oh Ella, such fabric. I haven’t seen silk like this since Italy.”
“We’re so lucky it’s fiesta.” Ella was delighted at Gloria’s pleasure. “It’s the custom for the noble ladies to get new dresses for each holi
day, you know, and they give away their old ones. I just happened to hear of it, and sure enough, the ladies of Rancho San Luis Obispo de Tolosa had given several at the mission. I do hope this will fit you. The one I got is tight, but manageable if I don’t overeat.”
Gloria was sick to death of the blue dress in which she’d been married and been traveling all this time, but her only other options were the white ruffled petticoat and embroidered blouse she’d worn with her leather corselet, or the yellow day dress, neither of which were exactly suitable for meeting royalty.
“Goodness, I hope it does, after all the trouble you took. Can you unhook me?”
Captain Stan, looking on from the doorway, suddenly seemed to realize that he was de trop. “I trust you are in good hands, my dear. Join us downstairs once you are decent, so that I may see the final result.”
“Of course.” She could barely wait for the door to close behind him. “Ella, you are the best and cleverest friend a girl could have. I had no idea of this customs of the ladies in these parts.”
Ella’s skillful fingers made quick work of the blue bodice and skirt, and then Gloria stepped into the black silk skirt. “Goodness, how full it is!” She spun, and the layers and flounces with their colorful ribbon trim spun in a full circle with her. How lovely it would look during the waltz!
“It is a little large in the waist,” Ella eyed the skirt critically. “We will have to pin it.”
“I do not mind that at all. I would not mind if it were as big as a tent, as long as I do not have to wear that blue dress again for a day or two. Now the bodice.” She slipped her arms into the bodice and settled it on her shoulders. “Sensible ladies, these. It hooks up the front.”
“We are lucky its previous owner was not as heavy on the top as on the bottom. I am not much of a seamstress, but we would have had to take it in somehow.”
“I can sew enough for that, thanks to having embroidered enough samplers in my girlhood to paper a room.” She hooked up the front and turned this way and that in front of the little mirror over the sink. “What do you think?”
The neckline was much lower than Gloria was used to—clearly the Californio ladies had no compunction about displaying skin and curves in the evening. Covering the hooks was a series of pink and blue ribbons crisscrossing down the front, matching those on the skirt, and the neckline was edged in a deep flounce of lace as fine as a spider’s web.
“I think you look lovely.” Ella smiled with satisfaction. “Mine is silk, too, though not quite so fine, but that is appropriate. I didn’t think it would do to have a lady’s dress when I am not.”
Gloria touched her cheek. “If a lady is measured by her loyalty, her ingenuity, and her kindness, then you are a lady as fine as any I have ever met.”
For a moment, tears filled Ella’s soft brown eyes, and she blinked them back. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Oh Gloria, if only—”
“Dear heart, do not say it. No one ever made herself happier by a sentence that began with those two words. Come. Let us get you dressed, and we will go down and show the gentlemen what they must live up to.”
Ella bit her lip, and her gaze fell as she nodded. Then she brightened a little. “Wait—there were silk roses, too. We won’t tell anyone what the roses mean, will we?”
Gloria’s breath caught with mischief that matched Ella’s own. “We certainly will not. But I do believe there will not be two ladies more proud of their roses—”
“—for in death will bloom life, and none will take it from her,” Ella recited simultaneously with her, smiling a wicked smile. The words were straight out of the morning service in the witches’ church, so many miles away.
She and Ella pinned the roses in their hair in such a way that they looked almost like crowns, yet not enough to arouse suspicion or questions. Gloria felt quite sure that, with her blond chignon and blue eyes, she would be the last one in the room one might suspect of being a witch. Ella simply fit in with the dark-haired, dark-eyed ladies they had already seen going about their business in the town, though in Gloria’s admittedly biased opinion, her sweet temper made her prettier than most.
Hand in hand, chins tilted proudly, they went down to present themselves for inspection.
For the first time since they had met, Gloria witnessed Captain Stan Fremont struck dumb. She tried not to show it, for that would be dreadfully vain, but there was no denying that a little stunned silence from a man usually so sure of himself was just the thing to give a woman confidence in her secondhand clothes and not-quite-seditious hair ornaments.
“Ella, you look a right lady in that rig,” Riley said with undisguised admiration.
Ella primmed up her mouth, but at a smiling glance from Gloria, unbent enough to thank him rather solemnly.
“And what of you, Captain?” Gloria said half playfully, half seriously. “Will I pass for a lady?”
Wordlessly, he shook his head, taking her in from head to foot.
Gloria was suddenly acutely aware of the two pins in her waistband, the arrangement of her silk roses, and the fact that the bodice had been designed for a woman slightly shallower in the draft than she. The tilt of her chin became more pronounced.
At which he seemed to come back to himself. “No,” he said, “not a lady.”
“Well, I am afraid this will have to do, unless you have a way to raid the closets of the ladies up on the hill.”
What was the matter with her? She had no doubt he had the skills to inveigle himself into any woman’s private chamber, but it was badly bred of her to bring it up right here in front of everyone.
His eyes met hers. “Not a lady. You look like a queen.”
With difficulty, she broke the intensity of his gaze, her own dropping in shame at her thoughts, which might have been true at one time, but which were certainly unworthy of him now.
“Every man in the room will wish himself your partner, and the Viceroy is a fool if he doesn’t lead off the second set with you.”
“Only the second?” she said a little breathlessly, striving for a playfulness she no longer felt.
“He will have to dance the first with the ladies of the house.”
Of course. She knew that. It seemed that some customs were the same no matter what the culture.
Again her gaze met his. Again she was unable to look away.
“It is I who will dance the first with you,” he said, “if you will permit me?”
Gloria hardly knew whether she was standing on her head or on her heels. All she could do was nod, and wonder what else she might agree to if only he would look at her like that once more.
Chapter 15
Ian Hollys lay behind a rocky outcrop overlooking the east side of the Californios’ dam, and with one finger, turned the brass gear that adjusted the focus on the dualocular. The twin lenses moved slightly farther apart. “Well,” he said, squinting, “We have one thing acting in our favor.”
“And what is that—besides our new friends’ skill with mechanics, their bravery, and their complete loyalty to one another?” Alice bumped his shoulder, propping herself up on her elbows to peer over a rock.
“That is three advantages, and you are quite right. No, I meant you and I and the crew of Swan. We may be thankful that the Royal Kingdom does not possess airships, for if we have one weakness at the moment, it is our own ship.”
In the four days since they had crashed on the mesa, the bulk of their efforts had been focused out of necessity on the dam and the rising water, and not on repairing poor Swan, which still lay exactly as they had left her. Besides caring daily for the three chickens in the communications cage, Jake and Benny between them had finished scoping out the task that lay ahead of them. This involved getting Swan aloft enough to allow them to replace the crushed propeller on the port side, and to hammer her stove-in hull back into shape enough that they might get a temporary plate bolted to it so that nothing would fall out. But scoping out a job and getting it done were two
different things, and meanwhile they had no means of escape if everything went sideways.
“I don’t know how to get it all done,” Alice admitted. “It seems we must commit ourselves either to helping the witches destroy the dam, or abandoning them to their fate and taking our chances with wind and sky.”
“It seems we have already made that choice, or I for one would not be making a target of myself this close to enemy territory.” Ian handed her the dualocular. “Tell me what you think.”
“I think that’s another reason we have to be thankful for the rules against flying in the face of God.” She took the instrument and panned slowly across the chasm below. “No one can shoot at us from above.”
They had chosen their location carefully, a party of witches that included Gretchen coming with them in the darkness of the small hours. They had steered the least of the riverboats downriver as far as they dared, and then taken to the hills to walk the final mile in the cool dawn. Now their party of engineers was hidden behind rocks and on the sharp edges of cliff faces, broiling in the sun.
Since the original reconnoitering party had returned, it looked like the dam had not gone up very much more. Try as she might, Alice could not see the behemoth, which might account for the slowdown in the work. Still, the dam’s scaffolding teemed with men stripped to the waist, working with barrow and mallet and bucket. Men who were thin and starving, and who occasionally collapsed, to be dragged away by their companions and replaced by someone just as hungry and ragged.
“I’ll have no regrets about blowing it up,” she said at last, handing the viewing instrument back to Ian. “Those poor men.”
“You still agree that our best chance of success is the water flow regulation port in the bottom?”
She nodded. “I can see it in my mind—a steerable vessel wedged into that port as far as it will go, detonating right in the center of the dam. The whole thing will collapse.”
“We might consider a night attack,” Ian said thoughtfully. “I should not like to be responsible for the deaths of those poor devils—both from the collapse and from the subsequent flood.”
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