Aether Spirit

by Cecilia Dominic

  Money certainly can’t buy class for some people. She turned her attention to Louisa, who offered Claire a nod but didn’t hold out a hand. She looked at first glance like she ought to be pleasant enough with her jet-black curly hair and eyes the color of the autumn sky, but her lips pursed in an almost-bored expression. She also stood as far as was socially acceptable from her father, an observation Claire found interesting.

  “So what did your parents give you?” Louisa asked in a tone that said, I’m making conversation to be polite, but I’d rather be anywhere else.

  “The best thing parents can give their daughter,” Claire replied. “Good advice and words of caution.”

  “About what?” The boredom cleared from Louisa’s eyes just before she darted a glance at her father.

  “Huh, that sounds about as boring as you can get,” Cobb said. “You’re right, Mrs. Adams. Strange Irish traditions. Shall we get some punch and let the girls talk?”

  They walked off leaving Claire with a reluctant guest she couldn’t remember inviting.

  “About life and love,” Claire told her.

  “Must be nice to have parents who give you useful advice,” Louisa said. “All I hear is about who would be the most advantageous to marry. The advantage is all to him, of course.”

  “What about your mother?” Claire bit her lip. “I’m sorry, that was an inconsiderate question.”

  “No problem. I’m used to it.” Louisa cocked her head and recited the words like she’d been explaining them her whole life. “My mother has been dead for about five years now. It happened soon after she married him.” She darted her eyes toward Cobb.

  “So he’s not your biological father?” Claire chided herself mentally. Why was she asking such personal questions of a girl she’d just met?

  “Stepfather, but he adopted me. It’s not a problem. My mother had consumption. He needed her money and promised to take care of me after she died. We didn’t have any other family, and my natural father was killed in the Mexican War, so…” She shrugged.

  Claire had the sense Louisa had told the story so many times she’d divorced from the emotion behind it, but she felt for the girl. It sounded like her household, although wealthy, was an emotionally cold place. Claire thought she’d take her poorer one over it any day.

  “Oh,” Louisa breathed, “who’s that?”

  Claire turned to see that Chad and Patrick had arrived. The butler Eliza had leant the McPhees for the evening took the young men’s jackets and goggles. Claire recalled that Chad had just gotten a new steamcart, one of the first made in the United States, not in Britain.

  Claire tamped her jealousy down. No sense in it because she knew Chad was hers, and would be forever after tonight. “Which one?”

  “The tall redheaded chap. He looks so…ruddy.” Louisa blushed, and Claire hid a smirk.

  Yes, she could see how other women would find Patrick attractive with his open face and near-constant grin. He was also a brilliant engineer. There were rumored to be mechanical problems with the American steamcarts, but she knew Patrick was taking care of Chad’s, so she wasn’t too worried for him. In fact, she had a secret hope that she’d get to ride in it sooner rather than later. It was a two-seater, so there wasn’t room for a chaperone, but what could possibly happen if he was driving?

  “That’s Patrick O’Connell. He’s a promising young tinkerer from Ireland studying at Harvard with the other young man, Chadwick Radcliffe, who’s going to be a doctor.”

  “Oh,” Louisa said. “Just my luck. The most attractive men are always the most inappropriate. Father would never allow me to marry a tinkerer. And a Negro doctor? Well, I suppose they get sick too.”

  Now Claire wanted to get out of this conversation as soon as she could. The girl might have had some potential once, but living in upper echelon Boston society had obviously dulled her wit and intellect. What to do?

  Patrick smiled and nudged Chad, who came over to Claire and took her hands.

  “You look lovely,” he said.

  “And you look handsome.” And he did in his dark blue suit, silver-embroidered vest, and purple tie. “And look! You even got Patrick to dress up.”

  “Aye, but I can’t breathe in this.” Patrick ran a finger under his collar.

  “You can return to your workshop soon enough. This is Louisa Cobb,” she said. “She’s the daughter of one of my Aunt Eliza’s friends.”

  “Poor girl,” Patrick said.

  Louisa’s cheeks colored again, but she gave Patrick a shy smile and looked at him through her eyelashes.

  Claire and Chadwick grinned at each other and moved away into a quiet alcove. Claire’s parents arrived, so thankfully the party’s attention turned to them as people moved to greet their host and hostess. In spite of Eliza’s feelings that their tradition of a few quiet moments before the rush of the party was inconsiderate to their guests, Claire’s parents stuck with it, and she was glad for the distraction when they entered.

  She searched Chad’s face for a sign of what was to come, and he grinned. “Happy Birthday.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a coy look. “And do you have a present for me?”

  “Of course! I’m just trying to think of the best time to give it to you.”

  She batted her eyelashes. “Well, that depends on what kind of present it is. Is it one that requires the intimacy of a quiet moment or a gift best given at the height of celebration?”

  A loud, screeching laugh distracted them, and Claire turned to see Eliza covering her mouth, her face turned toward Cobb but her eyes on Claire.

  “I would prefer to give it to you when we’re alone,” he said, his voice deep with adoration.

  “Sadly, I doubt that will happen tonight.”

  “Then I shall take the opportunity of this quiet moment.” He took her hands again and said the words she’d been waiting to hear for months, but she knew her parents had forbidden them until she was eighteen. “Claire McPhee, will you make me the happiest man in the world and become my wife?”

  At Chadwick’s words, the party guests ceased their conversation. The weight of their attention fell on Claire. She smiled and squeezed his hands.

  “Of course I’ll be your wife.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Claire,” Eliza said. “You have a bright future ahead of you. Don’t ruin it by marrying a Negro.”

  “Eliza!” Claire’s mother said. “How dare you sully this moment for her?”

  “She may as well be dead to you now, Melanie. Her social standing will never be the same.”

  But the moment wasn’t ruined. Claire imagined her and Chadwick standing in a bubble of love that no one could burst. He let go of her hands, reached into his trouser pocket, and brought out a little box.

  “It’s not much,” he said, “but once I’m a famous doctor, I’ll buy you a fancier one.” He opened the box to reveal a band with a ruby. The light flashed off its deep red facets. “It’s to show you’ll always have a piece of my heart.”

  Claire’s own heart beat in triple time as he slid it on her third finger. “You already have all of mine,” she told him.

  He leaned forward and kissed her. The party guests, mostly her parents’ progressive friends and colleagues, cheered, albeit some less enthusiastically than others. Aunt Eliza, of course, looked like she’d just smelled something disgusting, but Claire didn’t care about her. Melanie bundled Eliza off to the dining room, presumably for some choice words, and Claire grinned with pride, not only for herself for having the love of a wonderful man, but for her mother for standing up for her to her evil aunt.

  Eliza disappeared during dinner. So did Aidan.

  Allen felt badly about Eliza’s behavior too. After dinner and cake, he pulled Chadwick and Claire aside and said, “You were right, Claire. We should never have invited Eliza. We could have done the party without
her servants. Both of you have my sincere apologies.”

  “That’s all right, Mister McPhee,” Chadwick said. “I know Claire and I don’t have an easy road ahead of us.”

  “Then please take this as a sign of my trust in you to take care of her—she’s been talking about your new steamcart for weeks. Would you like to take her for a ride around the park? Just a short one.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Claire threw her arms around her father’s neck.

  “Yes, thank you!” The way Radcliffe looked at her, Claire knew he would find a quiet spot to pull over and steal a few real kisses before bringing her back. “You can borrow Patrick’s helmet and goggles.”

  “Be careful,” Allen admonished. “If it wasn’t a night for celebration, I’d say to wait because the fog is thick out there, but your steamcart has lanterns, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her as if she was already my wife.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fort Temperance, 4 March 1871

  The base clock struck one. Chad untied Patrick’s wrists and tried to figure out what to do with Claire.

  “We could carry her, but I don’t think I could get her over the wall safely,” he said.

  “No, you’re going to have to bring her back,” Patrick said.

  Chad muttered something under his breath that would have made most of the soldiers blush. “I can’t! If the ring and the letter put her under like this, I’m the last thing that will bring her back. Dammit, I wish the aether device had worked!”

  “How do you know it didn’t?”

  Chad frowned at Patrick, who rubbed his wrists and flexed his fingers.

  “Because it increased her hallucinations. In fact, we all felt them.”

  “What if what we heard and saw weren’t hallucinations? Remember how the statues moved in Paris and trapped Iris? And how the aether lighting in the theatre caused us all to feel things we’d rather forget when we first tested it? We know we’re dealing with something supernatural.”

  “And the creature that looked like Mrs. Soper said we’d die if I broke her heart again. I can’t. You know that even if I revive her, we couldn’t be together. The north might win the war, but prejudice will remain.”

  Patrick poked a hard finger into Chad’s chest. “Again, you’re not giving the lass credit for how strong she is. Or yourself. That’s been your problem the whole time—you don’t think you deserve her. You act like you don’t, but you secretly believe all the people who tell you you’re not good enough. And you know what? If you keep acting like a daft ass, you’re proving them right.”

  Chad retreated, and his back found the cell’s bars. Had he really been in a prison of his own making? Could he claim Claire as his, for them to face the difficulties of life together?

  “Allen told me before I proposed to her that he and Melanie would warn her, tell her how difficult it had been for them with Melanie ‘marrying beneath her’.” He snorted. “There was no finer man than Allen McPhee.”

  “You’re right, and it had nothing to do with who he was and where he came from. He thought you’d be a fine husband for his daughter. He trusted you with her. Claire went into your engagement with her eyes open. Give her enough credit to let her make the choice again. You can’t limit her to keep her safe. That makes you no better than her Aunt Eliza.”

  “That witch.” But Chad recognized how Patrick was right. Again. And he had to wake Claire. Otherwise getting out of the base would be impossible. Even Patrick with his strength couldn’t carry her over the wall, and walking out of the prison with an unconscious woman would attract too much attention.

  The ruby on Claire’s finger winked in the moonlight streaming through the small window, and Chad knew what to do. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and sat with her on his lap, her head tilted back. Her mouth fell slightly open in unconscious invitation, and he accepted. Her lips moved against his, and he dug his fingers into her hair while gently probing her mouth with his tongue. She stirred, and he broke the kiss to caress her face.

  “Claire? C’mon sweetie, you can come back to me now. I need you, and—” He swallowed the lump in his throat, which hushed his next words to a whisper. “And I love you, never stopped loving you.” He kissed her hair. “My beautiful, silly, stubborn Claire.”

  * * * * *

  Claire heard the hoofbeats and turned to the steamcart’s driver, who the glow of the lanterns showed her to be Chadwick Radcliffe, her fiancé.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “Probably a draft dodger trying to use the fog to get out of town before the hunters catch up to him.”

  “I can’t say I blame him.” She felt the ruby ring on her finger and smiled. She hadn’t wanted to wear gloves so she could continue to look at it and so had tucked them in her reticule once they got out of sight of her parents’ townhouse. Chad wore his driving gloves, so she couldn’t hold his hand skin-to-skin. He’d always been a cautious sort, but she knew that he would always take the best care of her.

  “Yes, maybe he has a sweetheart.” Chad squeezed her hand and smiled at her.

  She grinned back, and tried not to think about how the army was paying for his medical education, how he’d end up somewhere on a base or in a field hospital close to the enemy. She hoped the war would be over soon, but it didn’t look likely.

  The hoofbeats grew closer, and she tightened her fingers on his. He pressed hers back and returned his hand to the wheel.

  “So I can have better control in case he doesn’t see us and I have to swerve. Better put your gloves on.”

  The ring slipped off Claire’s finger when she reached into her reticule, but she didn’t dig for it. She pulled her gloves out and closed the little bag to keep her treasure safe. Now her heart beat in time to the frantic hoofbeats, sharp on the cobblestones, and her hands shook so badly she couldn’t get her fingers in her gloves. Chadwick slowed the cart to a crawl.

  The horse appeared out of the mist, rearing and pawing at the air. The rider’s face was half-covered by a scarf, but the eyes were familiar, blue like Claire’s own. Claire screamed and instinctively covered her head. The beast came down, its shoes sparking against the metal steam engine block, and the entire steamcart shook and buckled.

  Something hissed, and Claire knew she had to escape, but the door was stuck.

  “Chadwick!” she cried. “I can’t get out, can’t find my way.”

  The darkness pressed in on her, and she braced herself for what she knew came next. She’d put her hands up to protect her face, and then there would be an explosion and searing heat, and then loss and grief and—

  He turned to her and caressed her face. “It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe with me. Come on, open your eyes, I love you…”

  Claire opened her lips and welcomed the kiss and the warmth, hope, and love that came with it. The emotions washed over her, taking the dregs of the nightmare memory and the barriers that had kept her from remembering it away in a rush of golden light. She opened her eyes to see not gold, but silver moonlight through a tiny window and the face of the steamcart driver, her former fiancé, close to hers. She reached her arms around him and kissed him back. His body felt right this time, and she knew she’d missed it for the last six years.

  “You still love me?” she asked when he paused to bury his face in her hair.

  “Never stopped,” he murmured.

  “Oh! Me being on the base must have been torture.”

  He nodded, and she felt something wet on the roots of her hair. He shook and released all his tension, sadness, grief, and despair. She received it and passed it back to him as love and healing as her own heart mended. The base clock struck one-thirty, and it felt like a benediction, but Chad raised his head, and his gray eyes caught the moonlight with a flash of panic.

  �
�Uh, you two?” Patrick asked from the cell door. “This is a lovely reunion, but you better hurry it up a bit.”

  He set her on her feet.

  “I remember everything now,” she said. “We were engaged, and my Aunt Eliza didn’t approve, and there was a steamcart accident with a horse.” She put a hand to her temple.

  “Don’t force it,” he said. “The memories might come back gradually.”

  “No,” she said with a sigh that replaced the last of her own tension with joy. “I was going to say it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

  “Good.” He kissed her again, then put a cloak around her and something on her head that had yellow-tinted goggles attached to it. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Y’all ready?”

  Claire stiffened. A man in a Confederate soldier’s uniform who carried a gun stood there and beckoned to them, but he looked familiar.

  “Private Greely, you look very convincing,” Chad said.

  “Good. Let’s send you on your way, and then the boys and I are going to cause some mischief. Did you know the general’s balloon is in the next courtyard over?”

  They passed by the cells in the prison, all except the last one, where a group of men in Union uniforms sat tied up and gagged.

  “They’d left their uniforms at the front,” Greely said. “Rather nice of them wasn’t it?”

  “Yep, there’s that legendary Southern hospitality,” Patrick said. “Got one for me?”

  “Of course!”

  Claire turned to give Patrick some privacy and raised her eyebrows at Chad who, she now saw, also wore a Confederate uniform.

  “Long story,” he said and pulled the cap down over his forehead. “I’ll tell you when we get back to base.”

  Soldiers outside darted about and in and out of buildings. They seemed to be looking for something.

  “I’ll go first,” Chad said.

  “No!” She grabbed his arm. “I can’t lose you again.”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t.”

  “You there!” Someone called to him. “Are the prisoners secure?”