I rushed to them, the staff of the kitchen not daring to question or even acknowledge my presence. “Oh no, Moira,” I breathed, my chest aching. I reached for her, but the other girl put her hand out.
“We’re fine, ma’am,” she said, her face a mask of outrage. “You’ll sully your dress.”
“Violet,” Moira said through sniffles. “Miss Blackburn is a friend.”
Eyes narrowed, Violet scooted aside despite the reservation on her face.
“I am so sorry,” I whispered as I inspected Moira’s hand, stood, and pulled one of my gloves off. Dipping it in a nearby basin of water, I carefully cleaned the slivers from the cut as I tried to keep from hurting her more. She shook in my grasp, her tear-streaked face breaking my heart. “I’m sorry, Moira. I—I should have done something.”
“You do enough,” Moira said and hissed as I extracted another shard. “Especially for Tommy.”
I smiled, despite the present situation. “And how is your little scamp of a brother?”
“Much better,” Moira said, her gaze on mine. “I thank you for that. He is all that I have left of family.”
“There has been too much loss,” I muttered. “Too many hearts broken.”
“What are you on about?” Violet cut in, her face tense as she took in the staff’s curious glances our way. “This isn’t no tea party, miss. Someone comes looking for you and we two are the ones to get in trouble.”
I nodded. She was not wrong, but the slashes to Moira’s hand needed more care than I could give. With cuts like these, she would not be able to work for weeks. I threw the glove in a rubbish pile, unclasping my bracelet before peeling off the other glove. “I am almost finished.”
“We don’t need nothing else,” Violet tried to take Moira’s hand, but I held fast.
“Violet, stop,” Moira said. “Remember Tommy’s sickness? How he nearly died of the fever?”
Violet stilled, looking at me with renewed interest. “You?”
“The medicine, the food, everything,” Moira whispered and then turned to me. “And I do not know how to thank you.”
“You can start by staying out of Rothfair’s sites. He is a harsh man, Moira.” Holding out the bracelet to Violet, I said, “Get her to someone who can help with those cuts.”
“And be accused of thievery?” Violet shook her head. “You toss trinkets at us to assuage your guilt, but you did nothing to prevent this while it was happening. Look at her hands.”
“I—I’m sorry,” I whispered to Moira. “I froze. I was frightened.”
Violet let out a derisive snort. “As I said, we do not need to be accused of stealing—”
“Shut it, Violet,” Moira snapped. “There’s a man in The Boroughs. Miss Blackburn made an arrangement.”
Violet blinked, hesitated, and then finally took the bracelet from me with furrowed brows.
“We’re supposed to keep that between us,” I said, ripping a section of my underskirt in a long ribbon of fabric. I used it to bind up her hand the best I could. “There.”
“W-What are you doing this for?” Violet asked. “Are you a friend of Defi—”
“She is just a friend,” Moira cut across her. “Thank you, Miss Blackburn. Again.”
I nodded, backing away. “Better to get going. Before Lord Rothfair sends someone to secure you to your quarters.”
Violet helped Moira to her feet and led her out a rear door.
I touched my bodice, wondering about the note that started all of this, and then remembered the blood on my hands. Frowning at the crimson smear, I sighed. Aunt Sadie would not keep her temper over my ruined dress. Cleaning off my hands in the water pump basin, I attempted to lighten the stain before giving up. Sighing, I dried off my hands, dodging a server as I went.
The eyes of several workers were on me. They nodded, meeting my gaze with strange expressions.
Confused, I nodded back, slipping back down the hall and into the ballroom once more.
I spied Aunt Sadie looking around, and I settled behind the plant once more as if I’d been there all along. She spotted me, frowned, and motioned for me to join her.
“Punch again, Charlotte?” She dabbed at the blood stain with pursed lips.
“I was nervous when that young man collapsed,” I muttered.
Across the room, Lord Rothfair glanced in my direction, his brow raised.
A moment later, Cornelius appeared with my punch. His uneasy smile meant he’d seen my horror over the incident.
I hid the smear with my palm and accepted the glass with the other.
Aunt Sadie nodded, sidling away to give us privacy.
“I regret you had to witness that, Miss Blackburn.”
“What did she do?” I searched his face, unsure if I’d really seen him fully before. So much anger seethed under his polite visage. “She had a message?”
Cornelius’s expression darkened, and I thought he’d shout at me, but he simply shook his head. Leaning in, he spoke softly. “I believe she was passing messages for the traitors. Helping them to carry on their violent and subversive actions. Their devices kill indiscriminately when they explode. Worker, governor, they care not who dies.”
“Traitors…is that what they are being called? The bombers?” He nodded, so I pressed on. “What do they want? Why destroy the processing factories? We need—”
“They’re criminals, all of them. My father told me witnesses say they hide their faces behind blue bandit masks like the outlaws they are. They mean to drag us back to the days of riots and violence after The Great Calamity.”
“Who would want to go back to those dark times? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Violence never does,” Cornelius muttered and glanced pointedly at my cup. I took a sip. “They decry the very government that saved us all. That put an end to the death and…” He looked away, his jaw tight. Anguish clouded his light eyes when he glanced at me once more. “I lost my sisters to the riots. They were murdered in our family carriage for the gold in their purses. I saw…I was there.”
I did not know what to say, how to behave in the face of his unflinching honesty. Unsure of what to do, I put my hand on his forearm, soothing him with hushed tones. “It’s been made right,” I said, quoting my aunt.
“Yes,” he looked up, relief on his face. “You understand, then, that we cannot allow even a hint of treachery in our midst. We, those of us who made it through, cannot weather another collapse.”
“Not another,” I repeated, and he nodded, a smile pulling on his lips. “My aunt said there have been other processing plants lost, one of your father’s. These…traitors…did that?”
“The explosion is being investigated, of course,” Cornelius said, with a troubled look on his face. “Well, it’s exceedingly clear who it was, regardless.”
“You’re right,” I said and frowned at the foul feeling that settled in my chest. “What else could it be?”
“The Union Security Soldiers must establish tighter control outside the dome. Why, I’ve heard rumors of attackers roaming the wilderness surrounding the factories. Monstrous men with crazed behavior…”
I stilled, the bloody smears on the carriage window flashing behind my eyes.
“Cornelius,” Lord Rothfair snapped, making me jump. He’d sneaked up behind us. “You mustn’t believe anything that disturbed groomsman of yours mutters.”
“Of course not, Father,” Cornelius said, his face flaring red.
“You’ll frighten Miss Blackburn,” Lord Rothfair said with a smile.
I curtsied, thinking for a fleeting moment what a rabbit might feel like when glancing up at a hawk circling overhead.
“Or has your father told you tales that pale in comparison?”
“Pardon?”
“How is the old Colonel these days? Is he home ill?” Lord Rothfair’s concern was exceedingly kind.
I had no idea why he made me so nervous. Of course, his standing and reputation intimidated most.
In
the corner of the room, near the exit to the kitchen, an older man dressed in the dark blues of a head butler emerged, his face tense as he scanned the room. No doubt he’d just discovered Moira did not go to her quarters.
I hoped the fear that flooded through me did not show on my face.
“Is there something the matter, Miss Blackburn,” Lord Rothfair asked.
“I…” Another minuet began and the crowd around us churned, moving into position.
“Will you dance with me, Cornelius?” I tugged on his hand, wanting to put space between Lord Rothfair and myself before he saw the unease I felt around him.
“Of course.” Cornelius cast a curious glance at me and nodded to his father.
“Take care, Miss Blackburn,” Lord Rothfair said, his gaze on mine as Cornelius led me back to the dance floor. “Give your father my regards.”
I danced by rote, heart racing from the scene with the serving girl and Lord Rothfair’s tone. Troubled, I excused myself and took a turn around the ballroom. All around me conversation seemed to flow back to politics and parties to come. Needing to distract myself, to calm my nerves, I wandered in and out of couples and clusters of ladies.
The sight of punch-stained hems brought back the visage of the quaking man and his bloody mouth. I tried to push back the unease. To tell myself not to wonder what could compel someone to use their own body as a battering ram, but all thoughts fell away when I saw the man who watched our carriage from the street.
Surreptitiously, sure the shadows of the plant fronds shielded me, I lifted my opera glasses and fiddled with the knob at my temple. The lenses extended, focused with a muted click, and stilled.
He stood at the entrance of the ballroom, his long, dark coat hung over broad shoulders and long legs. Dark hair fell over his eyes. Deep and piercing, they scanned the room with determination. His bone structure and bearing was unmistakably the product of noble birth. And yet the aristocratic air did nothing to lessen the hard set to his lips or the almost predatory way he strode.
Unabashedly mesmerized, I stared at him from my dark corner.
Conversation floated to me from guests seated nearby as I watched him walk along the far wall of the drawing room. I barely registered it when Megan Fornith muttered to her sister as they sipped their punch. “…even the metal-clad ships are escorted by Union Security to their ports. The pirates and hordes…dreadful deaths…”
The stranger’s gaze swept the room.
Almost without thought, I lowered the mechanized lorgnettes and walked from the protection of cover. Circling the room’s perimeter, I wove in and out of guests clustered in conversation, my legs steady as I kept watch on him. Something about the act of evading him felt like a dance, but the anticipation building with each step was more intense than anything I’d ever felt in a proper polonaise or reel.
He stilled when he encountered Aunt Sadie.
Curious if he’d speak with her, I drifted toward a group of men too deep in discussion to note my presence behind them. From around the heated brass post of an ambient lamp, I watched as he continued past as if she were of no account. He did not stop, his gaze never tiring in his search. He sought someone specific.
And I knew it was me.
What could he possibly want?
Several men stopped their conversation to watch him but he did not seem to notice.
Their obvious wonder at who he was piqued my curiosity. Enthralled by the whole affair, I nearly bumped into Lord Rothfair who stood just on the other side of the lamp. He checked his pocket watch when it clicked, the mechanized alarm buzzing before he stilled it a moment later. Lord Rothfair, a tinkerer? I lifted a brow and almost stumbled trying to see the enhanced timepiece, but a gentleman to his right stepped over, blocking the view.
Having lost the stranger in the crowd, I scooted closer, listening.
“Any progress on the investigation into the explosion at your property, Lord Rothfair?”
“Not here, Mr. Nigel,” Rothfair warned, his voice low.
“But with your connections to the Governor, surely New York City-State should have the resources to stop these attacks.”
“Enough,” Rothfair snapped, his irritated gaze boring into Mr. Nigel.
“Quite.” Nigel took a step back, nearly planting his shoe on the hem of my gown. “Nasty business, that.”
“Yes. Terrible business. Excuse me.” Rothfair said evenly before turning and heading for his wife.
Mr. Nigel blinked, quite put out by the look on his face.
It was odd for Lord Rothfair to be so abrupt, he was normally cordial and commanding the room at these events.
The head butler motioned for Lord Rothfair’s attention, and my thoughts went to Moira and how he’d shaken her as if she weighed no more than a bag of flour. She was rightly afraid of Rothfair. Wondering if she’d managed to escape, I moved, meaning to follow him. I paused, my breath catching. The mysterious stranger caught my eye and all thought tumbled out of my head.
He stood opposite the ballroom floor, staring blatantly.
Captured by his dark gaze, I found it impossible to look away. Feeling like cornered prey, I stood motionless, staring back.
“Miss Blackburn?” A voice made me jump, and I nearly yelped before realizing Lady Rothfair stood at my side.
“Oh, Lady Rothfair,” I gasped, glancing back at the mysterious man only to see he’d slipped away. I curtsied, trying to calm my breathing.
Lady Rothfair stood just inside a circle of light on the floor like a singer on a stage. Her buttery locks were held in a beautiful coronet of curls set with precious gems and threads of gold which made her appear regal. The chainmail bodice of her burgundy and silver gown made tinkling noises and she wore sapphires strung on fine filaments that dangled against her bosom.
“I’m sorry to startle you, dear, but a message just arrived. Your father requests you return home right away.”
“He did?” Something must be wrong. He would never call me away from a gathering or inconvenience the host like this. The knot in my stomach tightened. “W—would you please inform my aunt? And Cornelius…tell him I’m sorry to leave without a proper goodbye.”
“Yes, of course, but your father wanted you straight away. You may use our carriage,” Lady Rothfair nodded toward the doors. “The horses are still in harness. I’ll let your aunt know to follow.”
I thanked her and hurried to the waiting carriage, nearly forgetting my cloak. Climbing into the seat, I yanked the brass lever down, shutting the door. I slapped the carriage roof, urging the driver to go quickly.
Was he ill? He’d looked so haggard before he left. I steeled myself for what I might find when I returned.
We moved, and I glanced out the window as the driver pulled from the Rothfair home.
There on the walkway, the mysterious stranger stood with his hands in his coat, watching my retreat with a turn of his head. When he moved to leave, I saw just the faintest flash of a white handle in the man’s hand. A dagger.
As the incandescents in the ceiling of the carriage dimmed, I pulled at the hard edge of the bodice, shifting the metal links. Desperate for breaths that wouldn’t come, I flashed on the final look on the stranger’s face as we pulled way.
Danger came with him.
Of that I was sure.
4
I burst through the front door and stilled, listening. “Papa?” The first floor of the brownstone stood dark and quiet. Faint lamp glow on the second floor lent some light, and I peeled off my cloak heading for the stairs. I passed the foyer table. His hat, walking stick, and gloves rested on the polished surface. “You sent for me?”
Bindle, our butler, emerged from the pantry, gas lamp in hand. “He seemed ill, ma’am.” He yawned. “Went right up to his office after sending a messenger to you.”
“And my aunt? Did he send for her as well?”
“I don’t know for sure, ma’am, but two missives did go out.” Bindle stood with his jacket collar twisted an
d shirt askew. Rousted from sleep by my father’s arrival, he looked back at me bleary-eyed. “Oh, and this was left on the front steps along with an empty basket.” He held a small piece of burlap no larger than a coin. Wrapped around something hard, the parcel made me smile despite my worry.
“How odd,” I tried, noting the suspicion in Bindle’s quirked brow. “I must have left the basket out when I picnicked some time ago.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Bindle said without the least bit of belief in his tone. His gaze went to the stain on my bodice. “That must be where the apples and bread went as well.”
I cleared my throat, tucking the parcel into the pocket of my gown. “Well, ah, thank you, Bindle, truly. You may retire. I’ll take care of my father.”
He bowed, leaving.
A crash followed by swearing sent a needling worry through me. I gathered my skirts and bounded up the stairs. Light from my father’s private rooms spilled onto the carpet from his partially opened door. I stood at the threshold, listening to his angry mutterings. When he crossed into my field of vision, I gasped. Unkempt, his sparse, silver hair stuck out from his head as if he’d been shocked. The pants and collared shirt, always pressed to sharpness, looked rumpled and slept in. To the world, Colonel Morgan Blackburn never appeared out of sorts in the slightest. Yet tonight, even his vest hung unfastened, the chainmail links clinked with his hurried movements. Dark shadows marred his pale skin like bruises. He limped across the parquet floor, the strained whir and click of his mechanized leg echoing in the wood-paneled room.
I took a breath, calming myself, before entering with a forced smile. “You forgot to oil the ankle, Papa.” Pulling the copper spray infuser from the shelf over his desk, I bent to lubricate the gears.
“Charlie,” he turned, nearly toppling me over. “My child, quickly, we’ve no time. We must pack at once. Our metal-clad launches tonight.” He turned abruptly and limped away, his face slick with sweat.
“Leave? By ship? Are…are you jesting with me?” I stood, clutching the infuser with shaking hands.
“It is our only option at this point, Charlie.” He turned, his gaze bouncing wildly over the shelves, looking for something. “The ships hug the coast. They’re escorted by security soldiers. We’ll be fine.”
The Tremblers Page 3