by Gwynn White
Also, he’d been given no choice. The INR had threatened to expose his part in the bombing at the Irish Parliament—no matter that he’d been there to try and save his brother, and played a completely unwilling part in the terrorist act. Still, Derek’s own guilt and horror at Seamus’s death would haunt him to the end of his days. Though maybe working for the INR wasn’t the answer to assuaging his guilt, after all.
He glanced at Diana. While it was true the past would never leave him, that didn’t mean he had to serve it forever. She was beginning to show him the truth of it. Streetrat or lady, it didn’t matter what you were. It mattered what you made of it.
“Well, you helped us.” Diana reached over and touched his arm. “You even raided Breggy’s because you thought we were there.”
“That was brave.” Tipper looked up at him, respect in his eyes.
“I didn’t go by myself,” Derek said. “Most of the Southampton force turned out.”
He’d been one of the first in, though.
“Did they catch Pick?” Diana asked.
“Yes, and most of the other deputies. You needn’t worry, Diana. You and Tipper are safe here.”
I always settle my debts. Breggy’s words echoed coldly in Derek’s memory. But there was nothing the gangrunner could do to harm Diana now.
“We might be safe.” Her voice was low. “But there are plenty more on the streets who aren’t. I’m hoping to save up enough to help them, too.”
“Aye.” Tipper sat up straight. “Di’s going to buy a ship and give streetrats free passage off Earth!”
“To where?” Derek asked.
It was a grand notion, but even leaving aside the prohibitive cost of buying a spaceship, he couldn’t envision the orphans and urchins doing any better off-world than on. He hadn’t been out into the galaxy, but it held the same squalor, the same divisions of rich and poor. Lives could be realigned, he was coming to believe that—but flying to the stars didn’t change everything.
She pressed her lips together. “I’m still working it all out. There will have to be something for them to do, to live on, wherever they end up. And I’d need to find a colony that would take them in.”
“New Eire might,” he said, surprising himself.
It was true, though. His people had suffered enough that they knew what it was to starve, to be thought less than human. If anyone would take in a shipload of streetrats, it was the Irish.
Or the Quakers, but rumor was their world was already overflowing with refugees.
“There’s a thought.” Diana tilted her head at him. “New Eire’s not full yet. And I hear it’s in need of farmhands.”
“I’m not going into the galaxy just to pull weeds,” Tipper said, folding his arms.
She gave him an exasperated look. “Tip, there’s plenty more you could do. Cook, for one. But not everyone has your skills.”
“You’d need a school,” Derek said, her vision starting to come into focus for him. “Not just reading and writing, but trade skills, that sort of thing. A place where people could find their talents and then put them to good use.”
“In between milking cows and the like?” A thoughtful expression crossed her face.
The sound of bells chiming the hour drifted up, and she glanced at Tipper.
“Eleven o’clock,” she said. “Bedtime for you.”
“But we have company.” He gave her a pleading look.
“That’s why you’re still up. Be glad I didn’t send you to bed at ten.”
“I should be off.” Derek rose. “Thank you for the delicious dinner. One of the best I’ve had all year.”
“Really?” Tipper bounced to his feet, grinning. “Next time I’ll make Duck a l’Orange, aye?”
“I’ll see you out, Derek.” Diana stood, then sent Tipper a stern look. “Get ready while I do.”
“Of course. G’night, officer.”
“Goodnight, Tipper.”
Derek collected his hat and coat, and Diana wrapped the woolen shawl around her shoulders, then escorted him out the door.
“That was a fine evening,” he said as they waited for the lift. Indeed, he’d enjoyed himself more than he’d imagined he could. A warm glow settled in his middle.
“It was. Thank you for coming.” She looked at him, the light picking out golden streaks in her hair.
He lifted his hand to smooth the wayward strands, to touch her face—he wasn’t sure which. Before he could do either, the lift arrived with a bright chime. The doors whooshed open and they stepped inside. Suddenly, Derek felt as awkward as a schoolboy with his first infatuation.
As they descended, he stared at his boots, newly shined for the occasion, and wondered what to say. Surely he could think of something witty, or clever, or…
The arrived at the lobby. The smell of roses permeated the air as they silently walked to the doors.
“Well,” he began, just as Diana began to speak.
They both broke off, and then she smiled.
“Do come again, Derek.”
“I’d like that, very much.” He halted just before the door. Then, before he could think too much, he bent to kiss her.
Their lips brushed, the softest touch, and his heartbeat pounded through him. She didn’t pull away, but instead breathed a soft oh, her breath warm on his skin.
Too much, too close. Too perfect—and he wasn’t ready for anything nearly so close to heaven.
“Goodnight, Diana,” he said, pulling back.
She simply gazed up at him, then put her fingers to her lips.
Damnú, if he stayed there any longer, he’d kiss her again. And again. But he wasn’t free yet. He needed to finish his business with the INR. Only then would he be able to meet Diana, openhearted, to see what they could make of their lives—together.
The sound of his own wanting loud in his ears, he made her a quick bow, and fled out into the night.
20
When the doorbell rang the next day, Diana jumped up to answer it. To her regret, it wasn’t Derek’s voice, but Lord Atkinson’s issuing from the speaker.
“Good afternoon, Diana,” he said. “I was hoping I might tempt you to go for a drive in the park.”
Her first impulse was to send him away—but then she’d only sit on the sofa, wrestling with the turmoil of her feelings. So far, she’d nothing to show for it but a cup of cold tea and a lingering sense of melancholy.
The equations of her heart were not adding up satisfactorily, no matter how she tried to balance them. On one side were all the reasons love was an unreliable, unquantifiable emotion, too weak a force to have a lasting effect on the universe. And on the other side was… Derek Byrne.
By all the stars, she wished the human heart was not so complicated.
In addition to the algebra of her own emotions, she was left trying to calculate how he felt about her in return. It seemed he cared for her, if that kiss was any indication. That kiss… She set her fingers to her lips and sighed.
Then gave herself a sharp mental shake. She should be grateful Lord Atkinson had arrived and given her a reason to bestir herself. Perhaps she could pluck a daisy while she was out. The flower’s predictive powers were probably just as accurate as her own theories. He loves me. He loves me not.
“I’d enjoy that, Lord Atkinson,” she said into the speaking tube. “Give me a few moments to get ready.”
“Certainly.” He sounded pleased. “I’ll be waiting at your convenience.”
She went and changed from her dressing gown into her favorite blue-gray dress, tucking a few bills into the corset, just in case. Tipper was down at the White Owl, so she jotted him a quick note saying she was out and not to wait supper for her.
Likely she’d be home by then, but perhaps Lord Atkinson was planning a picnic. She pinned her hat on over her upswept bun, collected her gloves and reticule, and went down to meet him
Stepping outside, she was glad to see Lord Atkinson waiting in an elegant two-person barouche—no footman
, no driver, no ostentatiously decorated carriage. He tied off the reins, then jumped down to assist her.
A twinge of annoyance went through her. Yes, it was polite and gentlemanly of him, but she could climb into the vehicle by herself—though it would be easier if she were wearing trousers instead of skirts. She rarely felt nostalgic for her time on the streets. But the way Society, and the gentry in particular, treated ladies was a bit absurd.
“Good afternoon, Diana.” Lord Atkinson offered her his hand. “Thank you for joining me on this lovely day.”
She let him settle her into the passenger side. The horse—a white mare—stood quietly as he returned to his seat and took up the reins.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” she said, though she didn’t tell him why. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a fine drive along the greensward,” he said. “Have you ever visited the tower folly in East Park?”
“I haven’t.” The only parts of Southampton she knew at all were the slums of West Quay and the train line leading from Queensway to the spaceport.
As he steered them expertly through the traffic, he kept the conversation light and amusing. The sun filtered through the branches of the tall trees they drove beneath, and Diana was, quite frankly, glad of the distraction.
She was careful not to bring up his Calculations Device, or Derek, or anything that might sour the mood.
After a half an hour, Lord Atkinson steered the barouche off the main drive and onto a lane leading away through the park. Beyond the manicured green lawns lay unmowed fields where wildflowers grew in bright profusion, and she smiled to see the poppies and bright blue bachelor’s buttons. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—there were no daisies in evidence.
“It feels like we’re out in the country,” she said.
The air was quiet, even the ever-present sound of ships blasting off from the spaceport muted. As if sensing her thoughts, Lord Atkinson glanced into the clear blue sky.
“This is the first weekend that Director Quinn has allowed my device to be hooked up with the control center,” he said.
Diana nodded. She was aware of the fact, but hadn’t wanted to say anything unless he mentioned it first.
“I’m sure it will do a fine job,” she said.
“Of course it will.” He shot her an irritated look. “It’s been perfectly functional for the last week, but the director didn’t want to test it until now.”
“Perhaps he didn’t want to pay you for the privilege,” she said dryly.
It had surprised her to learn that Lord Atkinson intended to charge the spaceport for use of his device. Then Nails had confided that, in general, the nobility were quite poor. Centuries of maintaining a certain standard of living, coupled with a disdain for actual work, had ruined the fortunes of many noble houses. Lord Atkinson’s financial situation was, Diana gathered, rather worse than she’d guessed.
He gave her a haughty look. “The fee for making use of my Calculations Device costs the spaceport far less than paying your salary, Miss Smythe.”
Well. There wasn’t anything she could say to that.
They rode along in stiff silence for a few minutes. Ahead, Diana could see the round shape of a tower rising slightly above the trees and fields.
“I’m sorry.” Lord Atkinson reached over and took her hand. “You might not believe me, but I am not usually so contentious. There’s something about you, Diana, that brings out the fire in me.”
She would call it rudeness, not fire. But there was no point in arguing, since they still were working together. Or were they? She shot him a glance.
“With your device completed, I suppose I won’t be seeing as much of you,” she said. And thank heavens for that.
“Perhaps not. Ah, but here we are.”
He pulled the barouche to a stop outside the tower. Swallows darted in the air above the sun-warmed stones, and a climbing rosebush decorated the walls, small pink flowers shedding their petals on the ground below. Before Lord Atkinson could come around to assist her out of the vehicle, Diana hopped down.
She bent to smooth her skirts, and hide her smile at the look of annoyance on his face. Truly, she shouldn’t enjoy aggravating him so much, but pulling his tail seemed to be something she excelled at. It would be a pity to stop now.
“Shall we go inside?” He held out an arm.
She glanced at the arched doorway leading into the shadows. Dimly, she could make out a flight of ruined stairs spiraling up the inner walls.
“It is safe?”
“Of course. We won’t go up, but I’m told this is considered a very romantic spot.”
A flash of alarm went through her and she gave him a sharp glance. Did Lord Atkinson really believe he was courting her? She settled her fingertips on his arm, ready to dash away the moment he began to make any protestations of love.
They had to duck beneath a spray of roses as they entered, and once inside the tower, Diana had to admit it held a certain musty charm. Sunbeams filtered overhead, and the rose vines twined with ivy partway down the walls, giving it a bower-like feeling.
“Diana.” Before she knew what he was about, Lord Atkinson took her by the shoulders and gazed intently into her eyes. “I hope you know that I’ve come to respect you, despite your unfortunate past—and I do regret this. But I have no choice.”
Her thoughts crashed to a halt, and she stared up at him.
“What are you saying? Ow!” She jerked away at the sharp pinch to her arm, to see that he’d just injected her with a needle of some kind.
Run! her mind screamed. She turned, trying to sprint away, but all she managed was a few stumbling steps toward the door.
“Yes, out we go.” He set his hand at her back and pushed her forward. “You’ll need to climb into the carriage before you lose consciousness entirely.”
“Why?” Her tongue felt slow and heavy in her mouth. “What have you done to me?”
The trailing rosebushes caught on her hat, and she batted at them ineffectually with arms made of lead. It was too difficult, and she simply wanted to sink down and sit for a while…
“No, no, you must keep going.” Lord Atkinson hauled her to the barouche. “Do understand, it’s not personal, my dear, only necessary. Onto the step now, up you go.”
He shoved her upward, and she fell into the barouche, sprawling across the seat. In a moment he was there, wrapping a blanket about her and then propping her against him. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and she knew she ought to do something. Kick him, or scream, or… but the sky was so blue.
“Rayleigh scattering,” she mumbled. “Inversely proportional… fourth power wavelength…”
Behind the sky was the dark of space.
Behind her eyelids more of the same, though that darkness held no stars. Only black.
21
Derek took a long swallow of his morning tea, trying to prod his sluggish brain into waking. He’d lain in his bed far too long the night before, unsleeping, thinking of Diana. Thinking of his past, and of his future.
Time for him to be done with the first, and move onward into the second. Time to make that small adjustment that would ultimately deliver him to a new destination. Today.
His decision made, Derek took a deep breath and pushed back from the rickety table in his two-room flat. It didn’t take long for him to do the washing up, and then pull on his coat and boots and run a comb through his hair.
Half an hour later he was strolling through Southampton’s fish market, a sprig of greenery tucked into his breast pocket. It was the signal he’d been told to use if he needed the INR to make contact.
To extend his time there without seeming suspicious, he bought a packet of fish and chips from one of the vendors. Leaning against a piling, he ate them slowly and watched the light dance off the water. It was mesmerizing, the way the sparkles ran up and down the edges of the ripples, and he felt a deep quiet enter his soul.
Not sure how long he should linger in th
e market, he meandered between the stalls and finally purchased a small flounder to fry up for his supper. Fish twice in one day wasn’t his preference, but it was necessary.
In truth, he’d eat fish every day for a month if it meant he’d be free of the INR at last.
He hadn’t realized how much his double identity weighed on him, until the prospect of ending the charade was lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps that heaviness was why it had taken him so long to do the resistance’s bidding. They certainly hadn’t been pleased with his performance thus far.
And what of his debt to Seamus? He wrestled with that question as he strode the wharf, the smell of tar wafting up from the boards. Would his brother really want Derek to give up his future, for a blood debt he’d placed on himself? Was Derek willing to do so?
No.
He was not fit for a life of subterfuge. Not even in service to his country. As soon as Molly contacted him—which he hoped would be soon—he’d tell her what he’d discovered about the spaceport and its shipping schedules, and then be done with the INR.
Not done with being a constable, however, he realized to his own surprise. Despite the flaws in the system, he believed he could continue to do some good if he remained a policeman. And he welcomed the thought of being a respectable officer with a clear conscience, who might court a certain young lady in the employ of the spaceport, without any lies between them.
Derek was not surprised to find that his feet had turned him up Queensway, toward the tallest of the buildings set along the busy avenue.
And why not visit Diana? He glanced down at the wrapped fish in his string shopping bag. It wasn’t the best courting gift, he had to admit. Perhaps Tipper would like the flounder. No doubt the boy would be able to cook it up in a tasty manner.
Whistling a tune from his childhood, Derek strode up to the entryway of the tower and pressed the bell for Number 54.
Only silence greeted him.
He tried again, and then, after waiting several minutes, once more. There was no reply, and for some reason anxiety fell across his mood, like a cloud shadowing the sun.