Earth.
Some were books about politics. Others were philosophy and history. Gideon was the only person I could think of who would sneak these books into my possession. But where had he gotten them and why was he sharing them with me?
Trying to understand Gideon was not a practical endeavor, so instead I began reading the first book on the list, a biography of Madeleine "Maddy" Austen, the first female President of the United States of America.
It was hard to imagine. Women were protected from the rigors of politics on New Geneva. Most women didn't need to work at all, unless they were in my class. The wives and daughters of our planet served a different purpose, though no less noble. They made the world a better place by gentling the harshness of the lives of their working men. They added beauty and serenity with their hearts and sensibilities. When the men came home, worn out from their work, it was to the women they returned to for comfort and respite.
Women were more delicate than men.
Even as I thought it, I heard Gideon's voice in my ear. If that were so, then why was I not as fragile? What of Mrs. Witherspoon? Or the countless women who did work because they were not born to a station above it? Was I less delicate or, perhaps, were the women considered so actually more robust than appearances determined?
Maddy Austen hadn't been born to privilege. She'd been a single mother trying to make a living in a poor economy. She and the other mothers in her neighborhood would trade childcare with each other, and often met for coffee in her apartment home. It was there they christened her dining room the "round table" and what began as jokey lists for changing world problems somehow became a manual for a better world.
Maddy appointed many of those mothers to her cabinet when she made it all the way to the pinnacle of American politics. She'd been passionate about many things and was widely recognized on Earth as one of history's best leaders.
She'd championed green technologies as well. It was unfortunate that she couldn't rally as many supporters of her environmental initiatives as she did her social ones.
I glanced at the aether logs burning in the grate and tried to push back the memories of the consequences of Earth's fatal denial.
I don't know why living at Thornfield had brought back my memories with such force. I'd hardly thought of Earth the entire time I'd lived at the academy. It wasn't until the day of the sale that the tumbler in my brain brought the remembrances up over and again. It seemed the harder I tried to push them away, the stronger they became.
I closed my eyes and heard the boots of men, heavy on the pavement. Even scared as I was, I'd had to keep my breaths shallow or risk coughing. I used a rag to filter the air, but held it over the baby's nose and mouth instead of my own. There was shouting. A scream in the distance and another much closer. When the baby cried aloud, I knew we were done running.
My heart raced and I got out of bed, pushing the memories away. Not tonight, not on top of everything else I was feeling. I needed a distraction, and quickly. I dressed in haste and used the secret panel.
Gideon's whyrlygig was quite easy to maneuver even without any lessons. I managed to follow the same path to town he'd used, much faster than the pneumatic taxi's route, and, better yet, it avoided the sentry at the wrought iron gate. I even found his street urchin on the curb, ready to help me.
"I don't have any coin, Edmund." I hadn't planned very well. I hadn't planned at all.
"'sallright," he answered. "Master Gideon pays me ahead sometimes, so he doesn't have to worry about carrying money. I'll take care of you."
We both knew Gideon didn't pay him "ahead" for his own convenience. He was obviously trying to keep the boy afloat. "Gideon speaks very highly of you, Edmund. I can see why."
The boy beamed as he made off with Gideon's transport, hopefully not for the last time. I set myself to the same foot path as before. I'm fairly certain I didn't know the right signals at the door, but I was recognized by those that mattered and they let me into the ribaldery with no fan fair.
I wore the same dress as the last time, though it was my own cloak, not Gideon's, that I held together tightly as I soaked in the rowdy atmosphere. I dismissed the pang of regret that I should miss him, the scent of his cloak. I sat on a barstool facing the room instead of the bar man, better to watch the antics.
The colors and sounds were fascinating. On stage tonight was not the female impersonator group, but one very real, very feminine woman dancing. She shimmied her jeweled hips in a skirt of sheer fabric. On top, she wore a contraption that covered her breasts, barely, with scraps of fabric and jeweled ties. The men sitting near the stage were mesmerized by the sway of her body, loose and lithe, under the colored lights. I blushed when she touched her own skin, caressing herself in a way that should have been vulgar, but seemed instead to be almost beautiful.
What must it be like, to feel so about one's body? She had no shame in her feminine figure or grace, and while the men ogled, they seemed reverent. I wondered if Gideon had watched her dance before. If he'd compared me to her. No wonder he teased me so.
I was a priggish miss. Why had he ever bothered to bring me here? Or kiss me afterwards. When he tucked me in last night, did he leave Thornfield and come here to watch a real woman? Had he ever touched her? Kissed her the way he'd kissed me?
"Miss Violet, whatever are you doing here tonight?" Minerva had sidled up to me while I was lost in thought.
"Hello, Minerva," I managed, feeling somehow as if she'd caught me. As if she'd known what I was thinking.
She'd donned a long sheath that evening. It was cut so trim I'm not certain how she walked. The material of her dress was forgettable, but she accessorized with so many strings of pearls she must have cleaned out an ocean. Her hair fell long and straight, completely unadorned, but her eyelids were painted like rainbows.
"You didn't answer my question. Where is Gideon? I didn't think he was here tonight." She slipped a long string of pearls through her fingers absently and studied me. I had a feeling it was impossible to get anything past Minerva.
"I came alone."
One of her eyebrows shot up in a perfectly sculpted arch. "I'm not sure how wise that is."
I tilted my head at the assumption. "Tell me, Minerva, do you have an escort this evening?" For she seemed very much a woman who did what she pleased.
She smiled wryly and ordered two drinks. "I don't need an escort. I live upstairs. No dangerous travel required."
As she passed me a drink, I remembered Gideon's warning. I stared at the glass while her cool eyes bored into me. "Maybe you're wiser than I thought, Violet. Gideon would kill me if I let anyone spike your drink, though."
In for a penny, I thought to myself, and sipped the amber liquid. I scrunched my face as it went down. Brandy again. "I doubt he would kill you."
"I prefer not to take the chance."
We watched the dancer and sipped our drinks in companionable silence until the song ended. "Why are you here?" she asked baldly.
"Why is anyone here?" I countered.
"Are you looking for Gideon?"
A sidelong glance told me she was staring as if to unearth my darkest secrets.
"If you've designs on Gideon, Minerva, I can assure you, you'll brook no arguments from me. We have no attachment."
"Really." She seemed amused. "It seems to me you must have a tie of some sort. He's never brought anyone to a ribaldery before."
I shook my head, willing her to understand. "He just seeks to fluster me. He thought it would be a great lark to take a fish out of water."
"You have a lot to learn about men. I'm not certain that Gideon is the best beginner model, but I wish you luck."
As I opened my mouth to protest, we were interrupted by a deep, male voice. "Imagine my surprise to find my whyrlygig had gone to town without me this evening."
I spun to face my accuser. He took the glass from my hand and sniffed it before handing it back. He exchanged telling glances with Minerva, and she smiled as if
she'd not only eaten the canary, but possibly one of its friends as well.
Then he trained his gaze back to me and the heat left my face. "Gideon-"
"Dare I ask what you're doing here?"
"She's having a drink with me," Minerva answered. "Want one?" she asked, the playful tone of her query caused an answering, visible throb of his temple.
"I'm sorry I borrowed your transport without asking, Gideon. I didn't think you would need it as I thought you were already out and had taken a coach."
Minerva leaned back on her stool and sent me a saucy wink. She was not helping matters at all. If it turned out that Gideon really were furious, I risked losing my job.
Of course, I'd already risked my employ by sneaking out at night. I may as well enjoy it. I began unbuttoning my cloak.
"Not that little number again. Gideon, you have the fashion sense of a …well, of a man." She grabbed my wrist. "Come with me, Miss Prim."
Despite my protest, and Gideon's, she dragged me to the stairs, up a flight, and into a small room. Material of every color hung from any available piece of furniture or knob. A huge vanity alit with bulbs of aether was covered in pots of color and brushes of varied size.
She rummaged through a rack of clothes until she found what she was looking for and then sent me behind the privacy screen.
I looked at the garment she'd thrust in my hand and began a very emotional protest. "I simply cannot wear this."
"You must. That color of red will be amazing with your skin tone."
"It's a corset. It should go under a dress, not become my dress."
"Violet, do you want to stand out? Because if I were you, and I were visiting a place where I hoped no one recognizes me, I would want to blend in. If you want to blend in, you must not look like a lady sneaking into ribaldery. Own thyself, love. "
She had a point. And the color was perfection. I'd never seen anything that shimmered quite as much.
After I came out, she gave me an approving huff and sat me in the chair at her vanity. Before I could manage a word, she'd undone my hair. It held the waves from drying in coils, so she pulled it to one side and adorned the other with a comb decorated with peacock feathers.
"Close your eyes," she demanded.
"Why?"
"So I don't blind you." She began dusting my eyelids.
"Why are you doing this?"
"I have poured blood, sweat, and tears into building the reputation of this ribaldery up. I won't have people thinking we no longer enforce a fabulous code."
"A fabulous code?"
More dusting, this time on my cheeks. "Yes, only fabulous people with wicked sensibilities are allowed. You have the spirit, but not the wardrobe."
"I have the spirit?"
"Gideon wouldn't bring a useless moppet with him. He's as much to lose from his reputation here as you do in your world if you were found out." She did something to my lips with a special quill. "Now, are you going to tell me why you came without him tonight? And why he looks at you with such concern?"
I was still absorbing the idea that she thought I had a fabulous, wicked spirit, so it took me a moment to formulate an answer. "I needed a distraction. To not think."
"Why?" She surveyed my face and picked up another pot of color.
"A friend…a friend of mine is missing. They believe her to be murdered."
She raised a brow. "The maid from Havendish? You're not a lady then." She took in the new information with the kind of concentration John used for numbers. "Interesting."
"She wasn't a maid. She was a companion. And her name was Shelby." It was important that they get it right. "Why did you think I was a lady?"
Minerva shrugged. "You're so cool and collected, even when he's trying to ruffle you. I figured maybe you were married to some old lout and Gid was tempting you to the dark side or something."
"I wouldn't have been the first married lover he's seduced, would I?"
"Well, he doesn't tumble with unmarried girls, if that's what you're asking. He's not a despoiler of the virtuous, as a rule." She paused, realizing I wasn't married. "He hasn't…"
"No!" I answered, perhaps a little too emphatically. "We haven't…that is to say…we aren't…he doesn't like me that way."
"Right."
"Like you said, I'm an unmarried girl. Not his preference at all."
"I'm certain that isn't true," she said as she spun my chair around to face the mirror.
My breath hitched. "You're a magician."
While I was not used to color on my face, it didn't look harsh. The kohl around my eyes sought to define them, but not obstruct them. My hair looked as if she'd spent hours on it, not seconds. And the corset…
I'd never thought much of my chest. It was there, it did its job with the pushing and pulling of air into my lungs. My breasts would never nourish a child, so I really never thought much about them, other than the fact that they ran on the smaller side.
The corset pushed my breasts up, of course, making them suddenly much more ample than they used to be. The color of the fabric did indeed look nice with my coloring. I thought of the woman dancing on stage and a strange, alien sensation stole over me.
I wanted Gideon to see me like this.
"You're not going to fight me on this, are you, Violet?"
I didn't even want to blink, lest I shutter myself from my reflection. "No, Min." I swallowed. "Thank you."
I'd surprised her. She watched me watching myself for a moment. "You need gloves."
She went in search of a specific pair that had somehow gone into hiding in a drawer. Once found, she unrolled the black lace onto my hands, pulling them all the way to just inside my elbow. "You're going to out-fabulous everyone else out there." She paused. "I'm sorry about your friend, Violet. Shelby was lucky to have you to remember her." There was more to say, but she shrugged away the serious tone. "Gideon will probably faint when he sees you. I hope you carry smelling salts because I sure as hell don't have any around here."
GIDEON WAS standing at the bar when I descended the stairs. He brought his drink toward his lips, but stopped midway and stared. I hoped he was staring because I looked pretty and not because I was an oddity one might find at the Cirque de Freaque that came around once a year.
I'd never felt pretty before. It was certainly not something I strived for. Pretty was for other girls, girls less concerned with survival. I had always desired to be practical. Practical and well fed.
The man Gideon had been speaking to wondered where his attention had gone and followed Gideon's gaze, his eyes widening with appreciation as Gideon's narrowed with…something else. I resisted the urge to tug the corset up. Minerva warned me that she'd slap my hand if she saw me do it.
It was suddenly very hard to breathe.
A different man, dressed in six or seven shades of green approached as I got to the bottom. He bowed, making a great show of it, and picked up my lace-covered hand, kissing the back of it. "If I may be so bold as to ask for a dance?"
"Not unless you want to die in the most painful, merciless way I can come up with. And believe me, at this moment, my imagination is fairly robust." Gideon took my other hand, leading me away. "Come, sprite, I've given the band all my liquor money for the week if they promise to play only waltzes for the rest of the evening."
The other gentleman grimaced but put up no argument. I had a feeling no one liked to tangle with Gideon, though I didn't find him all that imposing myself. He led me through the crowd, his hand firmly squeezing mine as if I might bolt.
Once we reached the dance floor, he locked me in a tight embrace and we took flight, the colors and sounds whirring past me as Gideon deftly twirled me through the other dancers. I wasn't as self-conscious this time, as my outfit made me fit in much better, just as Minerva had said it would.
Gideon hadn't said anything to me yet, so I tried to break the ice and loosen the mask of irritation he wore. "I want to apologize again, for the whyrlygig. I don't know what came over me
to think I should just take it. I wasn't feeling quite myself, I suppose."
His face softened and he pulled me closer. "If you must know, I was never really angry. Mostly just intrigued. You continue to surprise me. I expected that I'd have to devise a fiendish scheme to get you back here, and you trot off and come on your own."
"I shouldn't have."
"It wasn't safe. I'd prefer that you allow me to escort you on your nightly rambles." He shushed me as I tried to argue. "I'm not trying to inhibit you. I can stay out of the way, if you like. I just don't want you to be hurt. Until they find whomever…I'm sorry. I don't want to ruin your outing with that kind of talk."
A coldness leeched into my bones. "You're right. It was foolish of me to go alone. Until they catch the killer, I'll only go out if you accompany me."
It didn't escape either of us that I hadn't suggested that I not go out.
"Thank you for the books, though I'm not sure why you chose the ones you did."
"Really?" he asked, spinning me in an impromptu break of the waltz pattern. It was so like him to spin me out of control during something I knew by heart, and yet, it was fun to give up what I expected and see where he would take me.
"Well, if you must know, I prefer scandalous novels to history."
"I'll keep that in mind. Most women would prefer flowers and fripperies, but I knew better. I'd get nowhere appealing to your vanity, so I aimed for your intelligence. Books for my Violet. Give the reading a try, though, sprite. I think you'll like it. They're from my personal collection."
They were books he'd read. That he'd shared them with me felt more personal than if he'd given me a lacey undergarment. I'd go over them more carefully now, searching for clues about what made Gideon's clock tick. How many people even suspected that he read, much less what he read about?
"It's like I can see the cogs and wheels of your brain spinning. What has you so rapt all of the sudden, Vi?"
"I'm wondering if those books are an answer to a riddle."
"What kind of riddle?"
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