Gwen Hayes

by Ours is Just a Little Sorrow

  "I cannot wear this, Gideon. It's indecent."

  "You promised you would try to fit in. I can't take you there in one of your servant gowns." He poked his head around the screen. "It looks fine to me."

  I gasped and sputtered, but he only stepped further in and began lacing the back of it for me. "Hush," he admonished, breathing the word onto my skin like paint. "I'm very good at dressing women."

  "I should think you're better at undressing them…er…I mean to say that you would rather be known for….oh never mind." I was hopeless.

  He chuckled lowly, and my toes curled. Gideon spun me around to look at me. "You're lovely."

  I looked down at my chest. "I'm exposed."

  "As I said, lovely."

  I crossed my arms.

  Gideon removed his coat and gestured for me to turn so he could put it on me. "What do you know about the first settlers to New Geneva, sprite?"

  I shrugged into the ridiculously large overcoat. "Are we to have a history lesson, Gideon?"

  "Perhaps we are." He turned me around and buttoned the coat as if I were a child. "You of course know of Michael Addison."

  I frowned, wondering where all this was leading. "He invented liquideous aether and later colonized New Geneva because no one on Earth would legitimize his substitute for fossil fuels despite the depletion the planet was facing." Not until it was too late anyway. Much, much too late.

  He tapped my nose. "Spoken like a true textbook. However, it wasn't just his invention. Addison was considered a lunatic, he and his friends outcasts. They were part of an alternative community that dabbled in costume play and pretended they were from the Victorian Era on the weekends. It was called steampunk, and most people thought they were slightly ridiculous."

  "Why are we discussing this now?"

  "Those are the roots of our society, love. Addison made a lot of money from the aether, even though it wasn't used as much as it should have been. He bankrolled a crazy plan to settle on a new planet, New Geneva, and modeled it after a theme park from their world called Disney. Only his was a steampunk theme park. It was as ambitious as it was insane. They were renegades from their own society, Violet. They had raucous parties that lasted for days and pretended to be airship pirates." Gideon took me to the wall where he pressed a panel to show me how to open and close the secret door. "As time went on, they just kept their twenty-four-hour-a-day costume party going and built a society that was actually pretty ingenious. We had a woman chancellor, you know-they like to leave that out of the history books. There were few rules and virtually no social classes, as everyone was pretty much a reject from their home planet. But as Earth got sicker, more and more people became refugees. New Geneva couldn't handle the influx of population if she didn't want to suffer the same consequences as her mother planet."

  "The Reckoning," I volunteered with a shiver.

  He nodded, casting his eyes to his shoes.

  Nobody liked talking about The Reckoning. They were dark days in the history of New Geneva. Days in which hard decisions had to be made about who was worthy of citizenship and who would be forced back to a dying planet. There was violence and the first need for a military regiment.

  New Geneva was a small planet just outside of Earth's galaxy. Too small to support all the souls that needed refuge, it was easily defended once the military disabled Earth's satellites-the crushing blow. Earth's population turned on itself and the citizens of New Geneva could only watch in horror at the carnage.

  "Why are we having this discussion about history?" I asked.

  "The society that you defend, Vi, is one that crept up on New Geneva out of fear. We were built on a different spirit-a rebellious one. One of acceptance of others instead of unnecessary classification. Everyone was treated equally in the first days. A gay man didn't live in fear of being shipped to a barren land. Women ruled alongside men. Children weren't raised in orphanages to become servants."

  I bristled. "I would be dead, Gideon." He didn't reply, so I repeated. "If they hadn't rescued me, I would be dead. Hungry people do very bad things when there is no food available. Please understand, I would be worse than dead." I closed my eyes, but could still hear the sound of my crying brother as he was ripped out of my arms. "There isn't any food there. They eat…whatever can be caught." I shook my head. "New Geneva may not be the perfect Utopia you so desire, but my life is more than I dreamed possible."

  When I opened my eyes, Gideon was whiter than a ghost. "I'm so very sorry. I had no idea."

  "It's of no consequence."

  He grabbed my shoulders firmly. "It is. You are of consequence, Violet. If I show you nothing else tonight, let it be that."

  And then he led me into his secret world.

  The dark alley smelled of standing water and grease. Shadows cast their own shadows as the night drew its fingers over the cobblestone and brick. I shivered against the recollection of a similar alleyway. The memory blinked across my mind like kinetoscope images in grainy black and white. I remembered scurrying away from the lights with the vermin whenever I heard the footsteps of men on the pavement. The sound of boots had struck terror into my young heart.

  I pushed away the images. Those days were gone. No longer a helpless street urchin, I was an accomplished young woman now, a governess making my mark on a new world. I would prove myself beneficial to society.

  I clasped Gideon's borrowed coat tighter to my neck and watched as he handed a grimy young boy a few bills, and the lad made off with the whyrlygig round the bend, surely never to be seen again.

  "Valet service?" I asked, arching my eyebrows.

  "Edmund will make sure nothing happens to it," he answered. When I made my opinion plain, he said, "He'll not make off with it, I assure you. Edmund is the stalwart type." I shook my head, but he ignored my disapproval. "Come on, then. Unless you've changed your mind."

  "Another dare, Gideon?"

  The slight lift at the corner of his mouth was answer enough.

  Gideon knocked a rhythmic pattern on the first door we came to, and a gruff man with hands like ham hocks sized us up before he let us in. Once inside the door, we still weren't anywhere but a long brick hallway. Gideon bid me to follow him through a labyrinth of brickwork and down more rickety stairs than I dared count. At last he opened a large, heavy door and I stepped into a new world.

  "Where have you brought me to?" I could scarce keep the wonder from my voice.

  "It's called a ribaldery. It's more fun than a gentleman's club or those prissy parlors run by the upper crust."

  A ribaldery. I'd heard of them. Ladies don't attend ribalderies. Not unless they are ladies of quite a different nature.

  I looked at him in horror. "Ribalderies are illegal, Gideon. They get raided and…and…they are frequented by defilers and bounders."

  "Which do you think I am? A bounder or a defiler?" When I made no attempt to answer, he leaned to my ear, his voice low and his breath hot. "Perhaps both?" He chuckled. "Welcome to my world, Violet."

  Music I didn't recognize, with strong beats and amplified sound provided a backdrop for a kaleidoscope of color. So much color. Dresses, feathers, waistcoats-everything so vibrant I wondered if bits of a rainbow had broken off and landed in this lounge.

  A haze of smoke clung to the air, adding mystery and a faint odor of cloves. Laughter punctuated the din, some of it sharp and mirthless, some of it bawdy, all of it loud.

  The shocking gown I wore was the chastest outfit in the room. Women, many of them my age, in barely covered corsets and stockings lounged in men's laps, laughing and drinking. Some wore men's breeches, some wore stockings in colors and patterns I didn't know were possible. Their hair was done in strange shapes-braids and rolls so unlike the simple coil I wore. Some of the women wore their hair down, loose and flowing or stick straight, and more color on their eyelids, cheeks, and lips.

  The men's styles resembled Gideon's, mostly formal suits that had been left rakishly disheveled. A few wore the clothes of pir
ates, or at least like the pictures of pirates I'd seen on lithographs. Their eyes barely rested on me, and who could blame them? The other females were so much more interesting than I would ever dare.

  An exotic girl stopped in front of Gideon. The epicanthic fold of her eyelids spoke of a highly prized Asian ancestry. Pearls threaded through the shiny black hair she'd swept over one shoulder. Of all things, she wore a tightly fitted man's blue tailcoat. Her exposed petticoat and corset were more ornate than many a lady's best gown.

  "Minerva," Gideon said as he kissed her hand. I looked at the floor quickly, not sure why. I didn't want to see his reaction to her, I suppose. At the academy, I was the brazen one, a leader and an original. In this place, next to this girl, I was milquetoast. "How lovely to see you again," he murmured against her gloveless hand.

  "Yes," she said, less than impressed. "It's been all of twelve hours. Don't be droll, who's the chit?"

  I wasn't sure if I was feeling more insulted or unworthy of her attention, so I settled for thrusting my hand out like a man and telling her my name.

  It seemed better than a curtsy, at least.

  Minerva started and then looked to Gideon as if she were wondering if I were serious. After a shrug, she shook my hand, both of us slightly awkward with the masculine greeting. "Nice to meet you, Violet. I'm Minerva. We don't use last names here." She returned her gaze to Gideon. "Good luck with that one."

  And then she was off.

  "Are you warm enough?" Gideon asked.

  I knew he was teasing. When wasn't he teasing? The pink of my cheeks broadcast my temperature, and yes, it was plenty warm. However, his coat provided me more than warmth, and I wasn't ready to shed my cocoon just yet. Nor was I ready to ascertain why wearing his coat made me feel safer.

  I rationalized that by wearing something of his, perhaps the rakes and cads in the room would understand that I was not alone, thus not fair game for their shenanigans. But really, if I were going to be honest with myself, it smelled nice, like Gideon. And it felt as if he cared for me by providing it.

  Which made me gasp at my own foolishness, so I shucked it off immediately, baring my shoulders and low décolletage. Handing him the jacket, I straightened my spine.

  "There's my girl." Gideon draped the jacket over a chair. "What do you want to do first?"

  "Do?" I asked.

  He put his arm around me and we wove through the crowd. The colors and sounds were so foreign. A man stopped in front of us with a glass vase of sorts. It held a murky purple mixture in the bottom and a layer of smoke in the cylinder. "Toke?" he offered.

  Gideon waved him away with one hand.

  We squeezed through more people than should have been in such a small space until we came to the center. On the stage, three women mesmerized the crowd with a choreographed dance number. They wore short ruffled pantaloons and their breasts near overflowed their laces. Their dance titillated the audience, drawing cheers and hollers. I was witnessing my first burlesque and it made my heart pound extravagantly.

  And then I realized all three of the dancers were men.

  "Where have you brought me, Gideon?" My eyes must have been as big as saucers.

  He laughed and the sound of it jolted me back into reality. Gideon never laughed. Not really. He chuckled and he teased, but his humor was always tinged with a dark shadow.

  The entertainment on stage was finishing up, so I reluctantly watched their finale, entranced by how seamless their performance was. The young man on the end was far prettier than I ever hoped to be, and I felt a little like I'd been squandering my femininity.

  "You're frowning," Gideon said.

  "I feel out of place," was the simple answer. He didn't need to hear that I didn't feel pretty.

  Gideon led me further into the abyss. A man stopped me, separating my hand from Gideon's shirt sleeve. Gideon didn't notice and kept going, no longer in my reach.

  "Drink on the house for the lovely lady," the man said.

  I blushed and stammered a thank you, but as I brought the glass to my lips, Gideon plucked it from my hand and sent a look of warning to the man that sent him scurrying like a schoolboy. Gideon tipped the glass upside down, pouring the contents onto the floor.

  "Do us both a favor, sprite, and don't drink anything unless I give it to you," he said, as if I were trying his patience.

  "Why not?"

  He looked side to side, as if to make sure nobody was listening, and then he bent to my ear. "Some of the gentlemen here aren't as trustworthy as I am," he said in mock seriousness.

  I rolled my eyes at him. Trustworthy, hah. "I still don't understand."

  Gideon frowned. He didn't like to get serious, but apparently, I was forcing him to dire straits. He put both hands on my shoulders. I tried not to shrug him off, despite feeling very vulnerable and, well, bare.

  Gideon looked very deeply into my eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you. You understand that, right?"

  I nodded.

  "Violet, you're a very pretty girl and the people I associate with are reprobates. I know this because that's why I like them. They won't touch you if they know you're with me, but I'm still not inclined to trust them. There are tinctures floating around this place that would render you unable to make good decisions."

  "Spirits? I'm not likely to become inebriated from one drink."

  He shook me, just a little. "Not regular spirits. The tinctures are more powerful than that. Please, just promise me."

  "Fine, Gideon. I promise I won't drink anything unless you give it to me." My voice conveyed my incredulity. "When did you become such a teetotaler?"

  His turn for eye rolling. "As you well know, I don't abstain from much, Violet. And if you would like to get intoxicated, I will be happy to help you with that." His smile turned carnal, and I shivered, just like he wanted me to do. "But I'd rather not have you poisoned, so let me know if you're ever…thirsty."

  My pulse stumbled over the inferred offer of quenching my thirst. It seemed that even if he weren't doing it on purpose, I found double entendre in everything he said.

  "Are you?"

  "Am I what?" I answered, wondering if I'd missed a question during my ruminations.

  "Thirsty?" He asked innocently, with an indecent spark in his eyes.

  I shook my head vehemently.

  Gideon chuckled. "Come dance with me, Vi."

  He pulled me into another room, a ballroom of sorts, where several couples had begun what looked to be a promenade.

  "But the music-" The music was pulsating and thrumming with too much percussion.

  "It's not what you're used to, but you can dance to it. I promise." Then he paused. "You can dance, can't you?"

  Like a marionette to his strings, I answered his taunt just the way he wanted me to, letting my pride ruffle and overtake my good sense. "Of course I can dance. Dancing was part of the curriculum at the academy. In fact, I'm a very accomplished dancer. Probably better than you."

  "I'll endeavor to stay off your toes."

  I shot him a glare. I'd seen the way he moved. Graceful like a cat-or at least a cat burglar. My toes were in no danger, but I doubt he'd promise me safe from anything else.

  We took our place for the Grand March. And I felt the distance between us keenly. The other dancers moved differently than I'd ever seen, making each step uniquely their own, despite the dance being the same as performed in all the parlors of New Geneva. As they strut, their hips and shoulders rolled in an imitation of intimacy. As if there were no inhibitions.

  "What kind of music is this?" I asked when we met in the middle to promenade down the alley of dancers.

  Gideon glanced at the musicians. "It's from the 20th Century. They called it Rock. It's a favorite here."

  I faltered in my steps. "20th Century…from Earth?" How extraordinary and old fashioned. "Why are they plugged in?" The aether tubes were not connected to all the instruments, just the mandolins.

  "It amplifies the sound."

&nbs
p; Before the next dance began, we all took places in two lines, the men facing the women directly across from our partners. I kept my spine rigid to hold my dress up, but I would have preferred to shrink into the corner and hide. All the dancing I'd done had been in gray, drab gowns-everyone in the ribaldery shone like polished gems. And Gideon, the rake, was never more dashing.

  I feared no tincture was necessary to inebriate my already addled senses.

  He bowed deeply. I curtsied, not as deeply, in order to keep my feminine figure all the way inside my dress. He blinked at me lazily, his eyelids hooded as if he were slowly wakening from a slumber.

  Even with the unfamiliar music, I was able to keep up with the steps I knew by rote. I began to feel a bit foolish clinging to the proper form when all around me shimmied and dipped, undulating their hips and making the dancing unique. Each time we met in the middle, Gideon would smirk or arch a brow or stare at my bosom. I let him fluster me for the first half of the song, but by mid-tune I actually giggled.

  A part of me cracked with the giggle, allowing the scents and sounds and visions around me to absorb into the fissure. My heart pounded with a new rhythm and the dance ceased to be the polite exchange of manners I'd learned at the academy and instead became a game of dare. As we wove the intricate patterns of the dance into the floor, I focused much less on my feet-or even my body-and became more interested in my partner. His gaze felt like a stroke so that even when Gideon stopped a breath away from touching me after a turn around the other couple, my skin felt the rush of him everywhere.

  No longer content to let him push and pull my feelings without retribution, I practiced a coy look at him over my shoulder as the dance dictated another pattern of movement away from each other. His eyes darkened at my attempt of flirtation, and I suddenly felt more powerful than a goddess.

  The music, strange as it was, stirred me deeply. As the last pattern ended, I curtsied as low as I dared.