“Up?”
He was still trying to get to the settings.
Charles raised a finger, sketching patterns in the air to demonstrate the circulation of water through pipes. “When the stack moves, the water is piped to the Engine to provide steam, which in turns powers the stack. This stack has been going a while, so the pipes will be hot. But we should be able to use them as a ladder.”
She pushed herself off the ground and headed toward him. As she neared, heat emitted from the pipes fanned her face. Steam – sweet and clean – filled her senses.
Charles was already unwinding some of the leather strips that he had bound around him when in the Faraday car. “I had hoped it would not come to this, however, we are not totally unprepared.” He handed a couple of strips over to her.
Taking the leather would mean she would be beholden to him again, and that was the last thing she needed. “I’ll be fine.”
“I must insist that—”
“I shall manage.”
Charles studied her for a moment before exhaling heavily. Without another word, he wrapped some of the leather around his own hands, then leapt and grasped a pipe. It hissed and spat at him. The odour of charred leather clouded the air, and she screwed up her nose at the stench.
He swung himself high, scuffling and kicking against the pipes. The terrifying ring of metal echoed about the room, causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand on end, but in a few wild seconds, he was out of sight.
“Your turn,” he called, his voice muffled.
Easy as climbing a burning tree. Pity she had never done so.
She reached a hand out tentatively, but even before she could touch the nearest length, the heat made her withdraw. She stared, tempted by the lengths of leather Charles had left behind for her.
No, he had referred to her as his colleague, but she would do this her way.
Gine, if you’re watching, I hope you are gentleman enough to look away.
Berd sucked in a deep breath before unbuttoning her blouse and pulling it off. Then she stared down in annoyance. She had forgotten that she was still wearing James’s pants. Had she not, she would have had her petticoat for the purpose she had in mind. For the first time since donning the trousers, she wished she were wearing skirts. But only for a second.
Another deep breath and this time she undid the pants, stepping out of them. Her under drawers would have to do. She stretched the silken undergarment, hoping it would be thick enough. Then she ripped off two of the pants’ pockets. There!
They would suffice. Berd redressed then stuffed each pants’ pocket with part of her under drawers. Finally, she slipped her hands into each pocket as if it were a glove. When done, she exhaled heavily
Her pulse quickened as she reached out to grasp the first pipe. The odour of smouldering silk scorched the air, but the pipe was comfortably warm so she did not panic only tightened her grip and started to pull herself up. Within seconds though, the warmth changed, intensifying into a burning sensation. Heat seared her flesh and she screamed, released the pipe, and fell. When she hit the floor, she lay sprawled and dazed.
“Elizabeth!” Charles leaped down beside her. “Show me your hands!”
“No! Don’t touch me,” she ordered, stunned and embarrassed to see him next to her.
But Charles was not put off. “Give me your hand!”
“It’s merely a burn.” She hugged her scalded hand to her breast.
Despite her deliberate refusal, he seized her hand. “I’m sorry to disregard your wishes, my lady, but I must insist, and I have to be quick or risk the injury worsening. One hand or both?” His tone was brusque; his face dark. Nor did he wait for an answer, but tore the silk inner pockets free from her hands.
She gritted her teeth, ready to explode from pain and frustration that everything was constantly going wrong, but even she could see the skin was inflamed.
After a swift assessment, he banged on one of the panels. “Water. Cold water and plenty of it.”
She watched as a trickle began to reflow down one wall panel. Then cradling her injured hand in his as if it was a fragile rose — she resented the idea immediately — he placed it in the stream.
The same hand she had slapped him with.
Cold soothed the pain away.
Berd had opened her mouth to object; now she snapped it shut. He had been right again. About everything. She had been deliberately stupid.
She glanced away, determined not to say a word while the healing took place. Yet, even in this minor attempt at independence she was defeated, because the cold which had been so kind before now turned cruel, as if wreaking its vengeance on her for her ill-treatment of Charles.
Her pain was disappearing because the water was freezing, and she began to shiver, her body shaking uncontrollably and forcing her to speak.
“Charles,” she said, almost apologetically, as she tried to stop her teeth from chattering, “It’s not that bad, truly. We have no time to waste.”
His face tightened with annoyance. “The process of healing a scald takes a while, and to remove your hand as soon as the pain vanishes will merely cause the pain to return swiftly. Trust me. I know. We may as well sit and wait.”
Again, without waiting for a response, he settled himself on the floor, half-pulling her down as he did, so she ended up hunched at an awkward angle with her arm across his chest. If she looked over her right shoulder, their faces would be inches apart. The only way to regain her dignity was if she sat.
She remained bent over, uncomfortable. With one arm across his chest, she was receiving some of his body heat. She wasn’t sure if this actually made it worse, the knowledge that what she needed was so close to hand.
After allowing some time to pass, he winked. “Why don’t you sit?”
“I— I don’t li—like sit—sitting on the floor.”
Perhaps he sensed she was close to defeat for his tone changed to one curious but pleasant, as if asking the time of day. “I see. Might I inquire as to the reason?”
“I don’t know.” How she wished she didn’t sound so petulant. Or frozen.
“I dropped down to your level.”
She knew she was being silly, childish even. “That’s— that’s dif—different. You’re a fool. Men are fools.”
He gave a little laugh, leaned back and shut his eyes, relaxed and comfortable while she shook violently.
Her gaze took in her right arm, snug and warm against his chest, then followed it all the way to where her numb hand rested in the icy water.
Her hand. Charles had taken her hand once again. Allowing him to take her hand meant she would have to follow him down to his level. The gesture was almost symbolic of marriage.
“We— we really don’t have m-much time left,” she grumbled, trying to annoy him into moving. “Less than a day. Haven’t y-you been thinking about it?”
His eyes flicked opened, perfect lashes framing iridescent blue eyes as his lips twitched. “Oh trust me I have. I asked myself, if I had one day left to live, how would I live it?” He raised his eyebrows, and smiled pointedly at her.
Berd sucked in her breath. The realisation struck like the sun in all its golden glory, blinding and dazzling as its rays reached out to warm her.
If she had less than a day of life left, how would she live it? Fighting Charles or loving him? He appeared to have made his decision.
But of course he’d made that decision. He was a boy. But she was a woman. It was her priority not to give in to silly things like feelings! She would be single until the day she died. It was the best thing. It was.
It was her body that betrayed her; weak from hunger, exhaustion and cold, she slid down beside him.
For a moment, Charles did nothing then he wrapped one arm around her. Just a minute or two, she told herself, until she was warm and her hand was healed. She closed her eyes, sighing at the bliss already filling her.
When she stopped shivering, she lifted her head. “I don’t underst
and. Why didn’t your hands blister?”
“They did. Like hell in the beginning. But now, having done it for so long, I guess they toughened up.”
The admission made her feel a tiny bit better. “We need to get going. Now. Please.” They had to; for with each step the stack was moving further away from the Mill. They were running out of time.
“Another minute,” he said softly, seemingly unwilling to move, unwilling to release her. She let him have his minute.
“Charles?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking. That flow of water down the walls. Why did it stop when the book stack started moving?”
“Because the water was needed to make steam, obviously when the book...” his words died away. He glanced at the walls and then at her. Then he tilted his head and gave her a long, slow smile. His tone was full of praise. “Brilliant plan, my lady. If we divert the water, the stack will run out of steam and be forced to stop.”
She gave him a tentative smile, the first since she had slapped him. “Can we? Can we actually do that?” She stilled, hoping beyond hope that finally she had an effective idea.
He beamed back at her, his eyes shining as if the full moon shone from behind. “Come. I’ll show you what to do.”
They circled the room, banging on the walls, and before long water again trickled down the walls. The scent of lavender thickened the air and she felt dizzy with excitement. Gine wasn’t going to get it all his own way! They were going to get out. She was about to bang on the last panel when Charles stopped her.
“No, we don’t need that one. That conducts signals to be stored. Now watch!” He wrenched the finger-thin channel that lined the room away from the walls. With no exit, water began to flow, pouring into the room in great quantities.
Waves of frigid water rolled across the floor, pouring towards the centre of the room. She had no idea this would be the result, but logically, the water had to go somewhere and this place seemed designed as the overflow area. Pray the stack stopped before the room filled completely.
Water lapped at her feet, swelling up to her ankles in minutes. As thick as her leather boots were, they were no defence against the biting cold. She was about to rub her shoulders for warmth when Charles scooped her up.
“What are you doing?” She kicked and struggled, trying to get him to put her down. He was being idiotic. He was so close to exhaustion it would be fatal for him to do all this unrestrained.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He gave a little laugh and then unexpectedly kissed the tip of her nose.
Heat filled her. She stopped struggling. “You knew this would happen, didn’t you? Was this why you never suggested it?”
“Nonsense. It was a good idea and I should have known. I helped create the Engine.”
The water had now reached his knees. Waves of cold shimmered upwards, chilling her derriere. She trembled.
“You knew, didn’t you, that by doing this it would be dangerous. Why did you agree?”
“We had to stop the book stack somehow.”
He was going to help her escape no matter the cost to himself. His words on the train came back to haunt her now.
‘You will be the one to leave ...’
The water reached his hips, and though he tried to keep her above the water level, cold streaked painfully through her body like iron veining into her. Yet he still carried her.
“Why?” she whispered, tightening her hold around his neck, the strands of his hair soft against her fingers.
“Why not? Nothing is going to happen to me. Gine will intervene long before anything happens.”
Hot tears filled her eyes; that was the problem – Gine would intervene.
“Don’t cry, my lady,” Charles said, his voice husky. “If you really want me to put you down, I will.” He smiled wryly. “Do you want me to?”
It seemed a ludicrous question as the water was now up to the middle of his torso and they were both wet, but she understood what he was asking.
He had just proposed.
He bent down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll always carry you.”
The strength of his words seeped into her, warming her from head to toe. But even as his words warmed her, his muscles began to harden. His eyes silvered.
The water reached his shoulders.
“No!” Berd gasped, pressing herself against his chest, but it was like trying to embrace a rock. She ran her fingers through his hair, clutching at the ends and lifting them to her lips. Then she kissed his poor frozen face, working her way down to his mouth as she muttered. “Charles, please, please, come back to me.” And all the while the water roared maddeningly in her ears.
His skin was turning blue. His lips blistered and peeled. She had to stop or risk tearing her own to bits on the jagged surface. She drew back and stared anxiously into his eyes. Though open, they saw nothing. Charles was now as sightless as a statue. Snow-white crystals formed like miniature diamonds on the tips of his lashes and brows. She gave a strangled cry and heard her frightened voice echo about the room.
“Berd. My name is Berd.”
There was no response.
“Charles!”
She held her breath as she waited for a response, blood pounding in her temples as though someone was trying to hammer her head open from the inside.
Cold water enveloped her.
In sheer panic, she kicked, freeing herself from his rigid grasp and began to float upwards. Berd took a gasp of air from the surface and despite the water pressure, hauled herself once more against his chest.
I am not leaving. I love you, Charles.
Warmth flowed through her body and she flinched, feeling as if she were being steamed alive as waves of sleepiness overcame her.
Chapter Eighteen
A VOICE WAS roaring deep inside Berd’s head, causing her ears to ring as she hovered on the edge of consciousness.
“Berd? Berd!”
Light flared; a red glow that flickered and danced upon her inner eyelids. Opening her eyes, she squinted but saw nothing except an almost impenetrable grey, through which a faceless figure loomed. All around her, odours hung in the air, a vague memory, only she could not grasp it or its meaning. A whiff of paraffin, followed by the stench of charring…
“Damn you! What have you done to my sister?”
The voice rippled through the grey, but it only closed into black.
“Charles!” she shouted into the darkness, not because that was who she had heard but because that was who she wanted. And it was as she was watching her brother’s furious face with its dreadful shadows that Charles’s voice rumbled down to her.
“Berd, my darling, wake up.” His voice sent a delicious tremor through her, and she leant into the hollow of his shoulder. The rules of etiquette now long passed.
His dark shape surrounded her, holding her up. It was soft and warm and stationed on the ground with her. She craned her head in his direction, feeling like a newborn kitten in her blindness. Large, warm hands slid protectively around her, and calm enveloped her.
The first voice battered on, “I have sent for the servants. You had better be prepared to provide answers as to why my sister has been missing these three days, you savage.”
Oh blast! That was definitely James. What a fool he sounded. Charles would never send servants to take care of a situation like this. He would do so himself. Yet, James was her brother, and he was trying to protect her. Only the last time she and James had conversed, they had had a difference of opinion regarding her spinsterhood. This made the current situation almost ludicrous: he, who wanted her to marry, was attempting to protect her from the man she intended to marry.
Berd rubbed her eyes and stared again. She was able to distinguish not one, but two figures: James, standing at the door to the stables. The second was Harold, the butler, hovering behind her brother and carrying a lamp that cast deep shadows that contoured the landscape of James’s face so that in his anger her brothe
r appeared almost alien, barely recognisable.
And as her brother shouted, lips brushed the top of her head. “Shh, my darling.”
“James, this is Charles Babbage Fotheringay. And Charles, that loud noise is my brother, lord ... lord ... James, be a dear and help out. What are you lord of? I forget; my mind’s such a blank.” Her words ended in a yawn. “Can I retire, now?”
At her statement, Harold’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. A feminine gasp of astonished horror rose from behind the two men. That had to be Rose.
James, however, pointed a white-gloved finger at Charles as he demanded, “What have you to say, blackguard? A ruination of womanhood lies before you in your care and thievery.”
Berd jerked upright, and one foot kicked the air as she turned in a panic to Charles. “No! Charles has done nothing wrong!”
His face was a concentration in tranquillity. “Go with them. I will explain.”
She felt his parting words like gentle smoke against her brow, but it was the iridescent blue fire in his eyes that cradled her with hope. She stared at him, and her breathing slowed even when Rose and James materialised beside her.
“Let me escort her,” Charles insisted.
James’s face only tightened. He held out his arms.
Charles kissed Berd on the forehead before releasing her. “My darling, I will brave a word with your brother when he returns. Go with them for now. I will come for you, I promise.”
James, once encumbered with her in his arms, swiftly headed towards the door, leaving Harold to guard the stables. Outside, stars glittered in the black sky like diamonds spilled on a velvet chaise. If Berd wanted further proof she was in the world, as they turned the corner, her aunt’s townhouse appeared, all aglow with burnished light, as welcoming as Cleopatra’s barge must have been to the ruler herself on the dark Nile.
I am home.
Surely things would sort themselves out. Berd pressed her hands against her face, inhaling the lanolin from his leather outfit. Charles...
But the storm in James was not over. He manoeuvred her through the front door. “I have our family’s reputation to think of,” he seethed.
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