by Anne Renwick
If Nadya did not produce a new sample soon, Wasp would be forced to provide motivation. Discovering that Lady Amanda’s sister lived among the gypsies as one of them had been… revelatory.
It was an effective screw to turn.
Chapter Twenty-Two
AT THE END OF the last lecture for the day, a selection of students was called to the front of the lecture theater to stand before Professor Quimbly for a public shaming. Amanda was one of them.
She deserved this. In favor of spending more hours in Thornton’s laboratory—and now in her own—she’d neglected her studies. In this particular case, her failure was to review the slew of assigned histological slides in the microscopy facility. Now, like the others at her side, she was being taken to task for failing an unannounced quiz.
Exhausted past the point of caring, she kept her gaze downcast. She’d taken on far too many tasks for one woman and the balance had finally tipped against her. School, the neurachnid, the nerve agent. Husband hunting.
She glanced at Simon.
She’d arrived in the lecture theater to find he hadn’t moved from his usual seat. She hesitated, but only briefly. Amanda refused to let the end of their courtship displace her. Sitting in the back with her female classmates was not an option. Nodding in greeting, she’d settled herself beside Simon. He was all that was polite, pleasant and proper, though her arrival had been met with a noticeably cooler reception.
Eventually, Mother would comment to Father that Mr. Sommersby had ceased to call on Amanda for tea and her social obligations would increase.
Amanda closed her eyes while Professor Quimbly began to berate her along with her fellow students.
What to do about Ned? Worry churned her stomach, making her feel she’d swallowed the contents of a bottle marked poison. Thornton needed to know. That Ned had been the one to steal her neurachnid, to deliver it to the eye doctor. That, while searching for the eye doctor, Tony had gone missing. That her own brother was the one who put her and Emily—his own sisters—at risk.
She dreaded the look that would cross Thornton’s face when she informed him. Her own brother, and she’d missed every sign of his guilt.
Worse still was knowing the nerve agent was a failure. It pained her to admit—even to herself—how much hope she’d pinned on last night’s distillation. For future patients. For her brother. For Thornton’s leg.
The packet of Emily’s notes weighed heavily upon her mind. She would turn a copy of them over to the Lister chemists. Whether or not they dismissed the work as “gypsy snake oil” was irrelevant. It was the correct thing to do. Not that it would stop her from continuing to work on her own to find possible alternatives to the amatiflora.
All these painful tasks to accomplish as soon as Professor Quimbly dismissed her.
“Do you think that your gross anatomy studies are sufficient to prepare you for the identification of all a patient’s diseases?” Professor Quimbly railed. “Do you intend to simply cut out the offending organ for study when a man arrives in your surgery?”
Condescending laughter from her classmates filled the room. Particularly cutting was the nasty tittering that came from the back of the room where her female classmates roosted.
“No!” Professor Quimbly shouted, his face growing red as he answered his own question. “There is so much to be learned from tiny scrapings, from the most infinitesimal…” His rant continued for quite some time, finally concluding with a tirade against those who might dare think themselves privileged. “No consideration will be given to rank.” He surveyed those among their small number descended from peers, then fixed Amanda with a look. “Or sex.”
He spun to face the audience catching Simon in his sight. “And no excuses will be offered on their behalf. Balls and teas and garden parties and drives along Rotten Row… pfft.”
Simon stiffened and his face grew red, but he did not move to defend her.
Amanda’s face grew hot with embarrassment. She did not wish for—nor had she ever asked for—special treatment from either her professors or her classmates. She was, however, sorry for the impression Simon had formed from her behavior. Perhaps her female classmates had a point. She would reconsider her wardrobe.
“Class dismissed.” Professor Quimbly waved a hand in the air.
Elbows jabbed, heads bent toward each other, and whispers filled the room, speculating on the current state of the class romance.
Amanda walked past her classmates with all due speed toward the exit. She had no desire to hear their relationship pronounced as alive as their cadavers. She strode down the hall, bypassing the histology room. She was in no frame of mind to spend her afternoon peering through a microscope. For that matter, she was in no mood to work on the neurachnid either. Thornton’s impersonal company would be too much to bear.
She’d not abandoned her plans to bring him around to her point of view on how an intellectual partnership could involve both romance and maybe even marriage, but today was not the day.
This day called for a retreat into her chicken coop laboratory, a soothing afternoon in Rufus’s silent, uncondemning company where she could apply herself diligently to her studies as another plant’s blooms distilled. She would hand a packet to the footman standing guard among the hens. He could carry Emily’s notes and Amanda’s excuses to Thornton—along with the news of her brother’s treachery.
Cowardly?
She preferred to think of it as efficient. If she failed to attend to her studies, she would be sent down from Lister University and no longer available at all for work in Thornton’s laboratory. If he wished to discuss anything with her, he could come to her.
“Lady Amanda!” Simon called. “Wait.”
She didn’t. Her quota of rejection and humiliation for the week had been met. Tired, frustrated, and despairing of her future, she stepped from the building into a gray, drizzling afternoon. No matter, her personal bodyguard—disguised in gold-trimmed livery—stepped from her waiting carriage, opening an umbrella as he approached.
“Please.” Simon’s hand caught at her elbow.
Her extremely tall and well-muscled footman loomed over them both, glaring at the placement of Simon’s hand. “Lady Amanda, is this gentleman troubling you?”
Amanda’s elbow was hastily released. “Not at all. A moment please,” she said.
The footman handed her the umbrella, bowed and stepped a few feet away.
“Really, Amanda, your servants—”
“How may I help you, Mr. Sommersby?” She’d rather had enough of his opinions.
“So formal, Amanda? You have to forgive me,” Simon began.
Amanda frowned. She had to do no such thing.
“About this evening’s concert…”
She sighed. Amanda had intended for the London Symphony Orchestra performance to fulfill her weekly social commitment. Without Simon—or any male escort—at her side, Father would discover her lack of a suitor sooner than she hoped. She saw more balls in her immediate future.
“…I apologize.”
“Excuse me?” She returned her full attention to the man before her.
“I humbly admit that I did not expect a lady of your station would wish to pursue a career in medicine.”
Something inside her twisted in agony. She didn’t want his apology. If he weren’t constantly at her side, it might be easier to convince Thornton to reconsider his stance. “There’s no need to revisit our last conversation. I release you from your obligation as my escort.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I do not wish for you to think me such a small-minded man. If you want to work, then so you shall.”
“What if I want to work in a research facility?”
He stiffened, but quickly relented. “Then we will make that happen.” He glanced warily at her glowering footman who had somehow managed to inch closer. “Perhaps we should discuss this at another time?�
�
It was wise of him to worry. The agents Thornton had assigned to guard her were both over six feet tall and solid muscle. They seemed to have two states, watchful and menacing. She only wished she could say for certain Thornton cared more about protecting her safety than he did for catching the eye doctor.
Though Simon didn’t—and couldn’t—know, the guards both had implanted acousticotransmitters. Anything said in their presence was immediately relayed to another listening agent and, ultimately, to Thornton.
A smile tugged at her lips. The idea that Thornton would receive a report on her ongoing courtship with one Mr. Simon Sommersby amused her. She’d plan on providing Thornton with an earful.
Perhaps the evening would prove more entertaining than she’d hoped. “Very well,” she conceded defeat. Besides, she could not afford to blithely toss aside Simon’s regard. Not without a drastic realignment of her life’s goals.
She found herself deeply resentful of her father’s condition of marriage, even though she herself had initiated the bargaining process with blackmail.
What kept Thornton from pursuing her romantically?
Amanda couldn’t believe it was from a desire to honor the rules set down by the school’s board of directors. Thornton didn’t strike her as a man to blindly follow rules unless they suited him.
Perhaps he had no interest in a wife. Or perhaps as an earl, he wanted nothing more than a wife who would produce children at regular intervals, tend to the comfort of his home, and make no demands on his time, leaving him free to pursue his passions.
If so, that certainly wouldn’t be her.
“I’ll see you tonight, then?” Simon asked.
But neither was Amanda ready to consign herself to a tepid marriage where her husband tolerated her career. True, she’d been resigned to such a marriage, but that was before she’d stepped behind the great iron door that separated Lister University, School of Medicine from Lister Laboratories, a place where technologies that physicians couldn’t even dream about were already in development.
No, she was not at all resigned.
“Yes, Simon. I will see you tonight.”
~~~
Hours later, Amanda paced from one end of the room to the other.
She’d spent the afternoon as planned, studying and distilling more plant essential oils. Though she was now considerably more on top of her coursework material, the oil from the alternate plant’s bloom hadn’t worked, and Thornton hadn’t seen fit to reply to her missive, let alone pay her a visit.
Evening invariably arrived. Trussed in a peacock blue gown with the accompanying feathers sprouting in all directions, some doing their best to conceal the deep vee of her plunging neckline, Amanda stopped pacing and crossed the room to greet Simon. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to hand her into his carriage. If Simon thought it odd that her statuesque footman rode on the back, he didn’t comment. Father must have had words with him earlier.
The ride to the Symphony House—short though it was—was an exercise in endurance. Simon was overly solicitous to the point of being outright annoying, offering her a heated foot warmer, a fur blanket and a glass of champagne.
Amanda declined them all.
He might be celebrating their reunion, but she only found his romantic overtures irritating. Even worse were his attempts to engage her in a conversation about how the cellars of Seymour House—the property his father had allotted him—might be best retrofitted to incorporate her laboratory needs.
Could he not hear himself? He may have taken her off a marble pedestal, but instead of imprisoning her in an ivory tower, he proposed to lock her in a dingy, dusty, subterranean dungeon.
“Thank you, but no.” Her words were clipped as he again held out a box of chocolates. “Please stop, Simon. While I appreciate your efforts, I’m not yet convinced we suit.”
“I shall convince you otherwise,” Simon replied, his jaw tightening.
Amanda suppressed a sigh and turned her face away, glancing out the window, wondering if her footman was close enough for his enhanced ear to register Simon’s fawning words.
At last they’d arrived.
The steam carriage stuttered to a stop before the wide granite stairs leading into the Symphony House, and they joined Mother and Olivia in her family’s private box. Father—if he bothered to show at all—would be late. Carlton was reportedly en route.
While polite conversation circulated around her, Amanda studied Ned. He stood, mechanical legs engaged, in the orchestra pit beneath his mechanical orchestra. He’d designed the pit to be deep and shadowed, to conceal his legs from the public’s view.
“Amazing.” Simon leaned in closely, continuing his campaign, she supposed. “Every year, your brother outdoes himself.”
“Always,” she agreed politely. If only Simon spoke of her own work with such admiration in his voice. She’d not spoken to Ned since his revelation in the chicken coop. The orchestra was tuned and ready, small wisps of steam escaping from the musician’s various valves. There were several minutes before the concert commenced, and she was restless. She rested a few gloved fingertips on Simon’s arm, then rose. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be just a few minutes. I’d like to wish Ned luck.”
Simon rose with her. “Allow me.”
“Thank you, but it’s better if you don’t come. He’s terribly sensitive about his legs. It’s best if I go alone.”
Amanda made her way down the hallway, accepting compliments and congratulations on Ned’s behalf. It seemed half of London had turned out for this latest concert. If only she could feel proud. At last, she reached the corridor that led to the orchestra pit, but as she pulled back the black velvet curtain that marked its entrance, she froze.
Ned was not alone, and he was not addressing a stage worker. Those were the distinctly higher tones of a woman’s voice. They were huddled together out of sight and out of hearing of the audience.
“How much longer can you delay?” Ned asked.
From a dark corner, a trembling female voice replied, “A week more, maybe two. What happened with Dr. Millhouse?”
“There are… complications,” Ned answered. “The spider requires further modifications.”
Georgina stepped out of the shadows to lean her forehead on Ned’s chest. Her brother caught her by her waist and pressed a kiss to her hair.
Amanda’s heart ached for them.
“The spider may never work,” Ned admitted. “I’ve already scheduled a surgical replacement for next week. If you can hold out for two weeks…”
“No! Please, no.” A tear ran down Georgina’s cheek. “Not for me.”
Ned pressed a handkerchief into her trembling hand. Georgina dabbed at her damp eyes. “How can you say that? I’ll risk anything for you,” Ned insisted.
“Don’t. Please. We’ll elope,” Georgina begged.
Amanda wanted to add her pleas to Georgina’s.
A strident female voice hallooed from the corridor. The young couple stiffened.
“It’s Mother. I’d best go,” Georgina whispered, tipping her pale face upward. Ned pressed a kiss to her lips.
A replacement! Amanda turned her back, giving the couple their moment of privacy, but the rustle of her feathered skirts gave her away.
Georgina gasped, brushing past Amanda without a glance as she made her escape.
“How long have you been standing there?” Ned demanded.
“Only a moment.” Amanda turned to see her brother giving her a knowing look. She let the curtain fall, stepping forward to stand at his side. She kept her voice soft. “But long enough. Ned, please don’t. Ferrous replacements… the risk…” She pressed a hand to the wall to steady herself. She’d studied this surgical procedure. If you could call such a procedure surgery. More like butchering. Limbs were removed, the controlling muscles scraped away from the bone of the pelvis to make room for bolts and hinges and pistons… Her stomac
h turned.
The list of side effects and complications were numerous. Death being a particularly worrisome one. Impotence from nerve damage another.
“I’m done living my life in hiding. Others have replaced a limb and found acceptance in the ton. One day, I’ll be Duke of Avesbury. If I can pass for normal, her father might accept my suit.”
“And if something goes wrong?” For years she’d worked on her neurachnid, hoping to avoid exactly this eventuality. “If you can’t give her children?”
Ned looked away. “At least I’ll have tried.”
“Please. Don’t.” She added her appeal. “I’m so close. You’re young. You have plenty of time. There will be other women.”
“I don’t want other women!” His voice hardened. They’d had this argument before. “Five years I’ve stalled. I’m done waiting. So unless you’re ready for human trials…”
She snapped. “Stop!” she hissed. “Your actions set me back. Your actions have consequences.”
“Incredibly unfortunate ones,” he countered, his face impassive. “But they also drew the attention of the great neurophysiologist Lord Thornton. Is it too much to hope that his vast resources would hasten your progress?”
She sucked in a deep, indignant breath. “Lord Thornton’s resources are not mine to command. We’re. Working. On. It.” She leaned forward, shoving a finger into Ned’s chest. He inhaled, perhaps to defend his decision, but Amanda cut him off. “Has it never occurred to you that you put me at risk?” She paused for effect. “If my spider is not functioning properly, who better to fix it than the inventor herself? Or the woman who can brew the numbing agent?”
To his credit, Ned blanched. “Kidnapping? Has—”
“No,” she said. “However, as there are many who worry that it is a distinct possibility, I am well guarded. As is Emily.”
“I—”
She held up a hand. “If you want to help, convince Father to release me from my social responsibilities. The hours I spend sipping tea, flirting and waltzing are hours lost.”