Daughters of Aether

by Nicholas Petrarch

  Emmaline turned red as she realized her error.

  “Oh, no! That’s not what I meant. I meant to say I didn’t mind. I don’t mind.” Why was she stumbling over her words? She scolded herself and breathed out a deliberate breath. “You can stay if you’d like.”

  Stoddard looked relieved and sat down on the sofa beside her. She had to admit, he looked odd in his suit—but the admirable odd of someone trying a little too hard.

  “Not much of a dancer?” he asked.

  “I’m just a little tired,” Emmaline explained. “And perhaps a little overwhelmed.”

  “You’re not the only one. I could hardly find a path through all this… frill. Honestly, is there such a thing as too much frill? And where do they all get it?”

  “No,” Emmaline said. “I don’t think there is.”

  “Your dress is beautiful though,” he said. “Not that I’m a judge of things like that, but I think your frill perfectly reasonable. Though you’re missing your necklace,” he noted.

  Emmaline touched her neck. Had he been watching before? How else would he have noticed she’d taken it off?

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you said this type of thing was beyond your reach.”

  Stoddard looked at his feet. “I suppose I only had to stretch a little. Besides, the way you talked about it I was certain it was something I couldn’t miss.”

  Emmaline smiled. She was glad he was there. In the moment that had passed since he’d appeared it felt like she’d come up from under the water. He was a breath of much needed air.

  “So, apart from your little tumble earlier how has it been?” Stoddard asked.

  Emmaline winced. “You were watching?”

  Stoddard grinned, though he tried to hide it. “I might have recognized you on the floor. Yes.”

  “Oh,” Emmaline groaned. She covered her face in her hands.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “You were brilliant for the other ninety-nine steps.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better,” Emmaline said.

  “Is it working?”

  Emmaline smiled. “A little.” She set her drink down on the end table beside the sofa. “You know, I don’t think I recognized a single face here tonight before you showed up.”

  “What about your father?” Stoddard asked. “Isn’t he the one who’s supposed to show you around?”

  “He couldn’t stay.” Emmaline’s voice betrayed her frustration, but she did little to mask it. Quite suddenly her chest caved as a single sob-like sigh overtook her.

  “Well, from my experience you’re not missing much,” Stoddard said, leaning forward as to catch her eye so that she looked up from the ground.

  “But this is the night I’m supposed to come out into society,” she said.

  “Yes,” Stoddard conceded. “But that’s not too difficult, is it? All one has to do for that is to make an appearance. And you’ve already done that.”

  “As a klutz,” Emmaline said, somewhere between a sob and a chuckle.

  “As a beautiful young woman,” Stoddard corrected.

  He’d responded so fast Emmaline felt her heart kick a little in her chest.

  “It takes a special kind of courage to come to one of these things,” he continued. “Perhaps some people don’t recognize that, but it’s true. And who gives a scrap if you had a bumble out there. That was one time. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to make a good impression—though I can’t imagine anyone would harbor an ill impression of you.”

  “I suppose,” Emmaline conceded. She felt herself blushing. “But it would have been nice not to have to do it all on my own.”

  Stoddard sprang from the sofa and extended a sturdy hand toward her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, giving him a questioning look.

  “As you said, tonight is your coming out. And, since you’ve been denied your escort, I would be honored to act as his stand-in. If you’ll have me.”

  “I don’t know,” Emmaline said, glancing toward the floor. She wasn’t sure what Farley would think if he saw her dancing again with someone other than Edmond.

  “I know you’ve given up on the evening already,” Stoddard said, “but we can’t let the night pass by while we sit watching—particularly when you’re dressed as stunningly as you are. Moments like this are filled with potential, Emmaline. We’d sin not to explore its possibilities.”

  He offered his hand again.

  “Come on. What do you say we give it one more chance?”

  Emmaline smiled as she looked up at Stoddard. He’d obviously gone to great lengths himself to prepare for tonight, and even though he fell short of the fashion of the other gentlemen his attempt to salvage her evening was admirable.

  “Oh, all right! Go ahead then,” she laughed as she took his hand, rising from the sofa. “Show me off!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Leaving

  EMMALINE LAUGHED AS SHE AND Stoddard came away from the floor for the third time that night. Stoddard had certainly done a credible job showing her off. She’d attracted more than a few glances from the gentlemen present, and one or two had even approached her for a dance of their own. She’d obliged them each in turn, but somehow she’d always found her way back to Stoddard’s side.

  She found in him a comforting presence, taking the edge off of the new environment. Perhaps it was his tradesman ways, but he didn’t seem so bound up in the customs as the rest were, and so she could forget some of her worries and enjoy herself. The way he stood, the fit of his clothes, even the way he held his glass spoke simplicity and utility. To him, a dress was a dress, and a dance was a dance.

  Emmaline mirrored his confidence. If he could function in a setting like this as a simple tradesman then there was no reason she couldn’t manage as the daughter of one of the most successful businessmen since the Great War. She belonged here.

  “How long have you worked for your master?” she asked after Stoddard had replenished her glass between dances.

  “This will be my seventh year,” Stoddard said.

  “Isn’t that a little long for an apprenticeship?”

  “I suppose,” he said. “I was due to move on a year ago, but our time line changed when Harper returned from the war and my master was called on to attend him. Everything else took a back seat to Harper’s needs.”

  “So you’ve remained an apprentice all this time?”

  “They needed my services,” Stoddard explained, shrugging as he took a drink.

  “You must feel honored to work for a man like Harper,” Emmaline said. “My father seems to think highly of him.”

  “Yes, well… would you like to know a secret?” Stoddard asked with a grin. He gestured for her to come near and Emmaline leaned in closer, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up a little as his breath tickled her ear as he whispered. “He’s a miserable man.”

  “Really?” She pulled away, the butterflies stirring in her chest again.

  “It’s true,” Stoddard insisted. “I can’t say I’ve exchanged many words beyond what’s required for my work, but I’ve seen the way he treats my master. He’s an ornery fellow through and through. Not that I don’t understand where he’s coming from. I can’t imagine what it would be like to carry such a heavy weight wherever I went, and I’m not just talking about the arm.”

  Emmaline considered Harper’s plight, having fought years in Selaria only to have part of yourself ripped from you. And to have to endure the pain through the rest of your life. Suddenly her ankle didn’t seem like such a large inconvenience to be borne.

  “So, why didn’t you serve?” Emmaline asked, realizing for the first time that Stoddard would have been old enough to be enlisted.

  “I was old enough,” Stoddard explained, “but I wasn’t able.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was sick.”

  “Oh,” Emmaline said. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s nothing to be
sorry about. A weak heart, the doctors tell me. I’ve had it my entire life. A bit of dancing is all I can manage.”

  “You don’t seem so weak to me.”

  “You’d never be able to tell,” he said. “But it’s always there. I suppose that’s why I took my apprenticeship. It’s less demanding physically than, say, factory work. But don’t think I wouldn’t have fought if I’d been able. I’d have been happy to put Selaria in its place.”

  “Selaria isn’t all bad,” Emmaline said. “My father owns one of the mining charters there—just north of our old home. He says it’s one of the richest lands he’s ever seen. Richer than Hatteras even.”

  “Perhaps,” Stoddard shrugged. “But any city which would insist on continuing a war that brutal is a scourge in my book, given what I’ve seen come back from it.”

  “And what have you seen?” Emmaline asked. The subject was dark, but she found satisfaction watching Stoddard speak about something that obviously held so much passion for him.

  “Harper wasn’t the only injured soldier sent back less a man than he was. And certainly he wasn’t the least favored. We were able to help him, but how many other men will bear the scars their entire lives? And how many don’t even have one of those anymore?”

  He took a deep drink from his glass. He was upset, and not just in passing. Something in their conversation had struck a real cord with him, and she could see his pain. With another drink however, his expression softened.

  “How did we come to talk about such a heavy topic on a night like tonight?”

  “I thought you said you enjoyed talking about your work,” Emmaline teased.

  “I do,” Stoddard admitted. “But I must remind myself there are more things in life than work that deserve attention.”

  Emmaline smiled and looked away. The look he’d given her as he said it brought fresh color to her cheeks quicker than the sherry.

  “Perhaps another dance?” he asked. “Unless you’re too tired?”

  “I think another dance would be wonderful. Perhaps you could show me that… what did you say they called it?”

  “The Triple-Tap.”

  “My governess never taught me that one.”

  “Well, perhaps we can convince—”

  “That won’t be necessary!” Farley interrupted, stepping forward from the crowd. He was followed closely by his son. Neither of them appeared in a good mood. Stoddard stepped away reflexively, his head bowing slightly.

  Emmaline felt a little disappointed as he did.

  “Emmaline,” Farley said, his voice stern. “Seeing as your father has entrusted us to attend you tonight, I believe it’s time we returned you to him.”

  “But the ball isn’t over yet,” Emmaline protested.

  “I’d be happy to see her home when it’s concluded,” Stoddard offered.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Farley repeated, his voice growing shorter with every syllable. “She’s been entrusted to our care, not yours. We can manage just fine. Nevertheless, we appreciate you looking after her so vigilantly all night. You’ve rendered quite the service, and I suppose that’s commendable.”

  Farley took a step closer to Stoddard so that he was pushed further away from Emmaline.

  “However, might I remind you to remember your place, boy, and return to it. I’m sure the master of the house has enough servants at his disposal to attend to his guests’ needs.”

  Stoddard stiffened under Farley’s words and Emmaline could see that something else was whispered between them, though she couldn’t hear what was said. It was clear something had struck a blow to Stoddard. When Farley turned back to her again Emmaline could see that Stoddard’s confidence was all but gone.

  “That will be all,” Farley said to the air.

  Stoddard hesitated a second before bowing. “Of course, sir,” he said. He gave Emmaline an apologetic glance before turning and disappearing in the crowd.

  Emmaline watched him go, her spirits sinking as quickly as his had.

  “Poor boy,” Farley said. “It’s sad when young men like him lose their heads. Its moments like this that remind me how dangerous it can be when the classes are allowed to mix. They grow too confident in themselves when they’ve done little to earn it. Ego is a poor balm for the feeble.”

  Edmond nodded in agreement, his smug smile making Emmaline dislike him even more. Had she the chance, she’d have like to stick a bug in his drink.

  “Best not to encourage them too much,” Farley urged her. “It gives them false hope.”

  Emmaline nodded, though she didn’t want to. She wasn’t sure what else to do in a moment like that. She felt like someone had just swept away the life in the room and she was left an empty shell again. Her dress didn’t even shine like it used to.

  “Edmond, why don’t you take Emmaline home,” Farley instructed. “Her father will be glad to see you return her.”

  Edmond was surprisingly willing, taking Emmaline’s arm. Emmaline accepted it stiffly, allowing herself to be led away from the floor. Her thoughts felt so heavy, the evening covered so suddenly by a thick shadow. She scolded herself for not doing something to buy herself another moment with Stoddard.

  She hadn’t even thanked him for the dances.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Worthington's Plight

  “I’M SORRY DEMPWOLF, BUT IT couldn’t wait,” Worthington said as a manservant showed him into his partner’s office. It was a large space with high vaulted ceilings filled with stuffed and mounted animals. From big cats to regal stags, there was not an article within that room that did not testify of Dempwolf’s hunting prowess.

  “By all means, have a seat,” Dempwolf instructed as he stepped up to the bar. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “A gin, please,” Worthington said.

  He didn’t sit. Instead, he paced behind the couch while he surveyed the many heads hung upon the walls. They stared back at him with wild eyes, their panicked expressions mirroring Worthington’s demeanor. He rocked on his feet impatiently as he waited for Dempwolf to find the glasses and pour the drinks.

  “How was the hunt?” he asked to fill the empty silence.

  “Dismal,” Dempwolf frowned. “Bloody storm all but had us turning tail before we’d even touched land. Added nearly another week just to get there, and once we did finally make land, we could do nothing more than sit in our tents and wait for the storm to run itself down.”

  He handed Worthington his drink.

  “So,” he continued, “with only three days of clear skies before the ship was scheduled to return, we marched into the bush and shot at everything we could bloody get our hands on. Mostly elk, and a few foxes. I myself managed to secure the largest bull of the hunt—seven hundred and forty pounds even.”

  “I’m glad your trip wasn’t for nothing,” Worthington said.

  “Give me one clear day and I’ll make the most of any hunt,” Dempwolf grinned. “But I have to say I didn’t expect to see you so soon after my return. I thought I’d have another few days to settling in before I was needed back to work. You couldn’t have stalled whatever was so urgent another day?”

  “I wish I could have, but it can’t wait.” Worthington downed his drink in one quaff, skewing his face as the biting flavor lingered on his tongue.

  Dempwolf gave Worthington a queer look as he took his seat. “What is the matter?” he asked. “What’s gotten you so riled up? Has something happened to our ships?”

  “No. The ships are fine,” Worthington assured him. “Though I fear we may be sunk still.”

  “What is with these half-explanations? It’s not like you to hide in the dark,” Dempwolf observed. “Come out with it, man! Quit trying to delay whatever bad news is inevitable. There’s no point. For Septigonee’s sake, put it out of its misery.”

  Worthington steeled himself as he stared into his glass. “Our operation in Selaria may soon be compromised,” he said. “As a matter of fact, it already has been.”


  Dempwolf’s eyes narrowed on him as he took in the news. “The whole operation?” he asked, his voice steady and deliberate.

  Worthington nodded. “Every condemning detail.”

  “How?”

  “There were letters,” Worthington explained. “Letters containing details which, if pieced together, might expose us.”

  “I see,” Dempwolf said. He set his glass down on the table beside him, twisting it against the wood. “And who is it that has these letters? Who have you spoken to?”

  “No one,” Worthington said. “No one of consequence, at least.”

  “So you have spoken to someone?” Dempwolf frowned.

  “Only one other person.”

  “Who?”

  Worthington focused on his empty glass. To expose Margarete now was to hurl himself down a path he could not return from. To bring Dempwolf in now was a complication, but Worthington could think of no other way of addressing his problem apart from accepting Margarete’s offer and seeing her off. Even then the thought of her departure seemed too great to be borne. He needed time to sort things out, to reaffirm his feelings for her.

  He couldn’t bring himself to let her go. Not like this. Not now.

  It was his only hope that Dempwolf would find a way to recover the letters without complying with her request. With any luck his dilemma could be resolved without permanent damage to his relationship with Margarete.

  “Who!?” Dempwolf demanded, rising from his chair. His massive frame dwarfed Worthington in his chair and made him shrink back. Dempwolf stood tensed as though it were with great restraint that he didn’t descend upon Worthington.

  “A mistress,” Worthington said. “My mistress.”

  Dempwolf relaxed visibly. “Is that it? A whore?” He nearly laughed.

  Worthington’s hair bristled at the word, but he nodded—loathing himself for it.

  “And what is her angle,” Dempwolf asked. “Why haven’t you dealt with her yourself?”

  “She’s agreed to hand over the letters for safe passage out of Hatteras and sizable compensation for her silence.”

  “Yes. She would want that, wouldn’t she?” Dempwolf said. “How much has she asked for?”