by James Bow
“Mr. Proctor?”
“The foreman. I was right, by the way; he lives in this shed on-site. He has one kerosene lantern. I couldn’t find any spares.”
Rosemary sucked her teeth. “Those things are expensive.”
Peter didn’t say anything. He folded his shirt and draped it over the screen.
“I know,” said Rosemary. “But Faith and Edmund sound like they need the money. They’ve given a lot to us, and I feel guilty just taking from them.”
“I know.” He shrugged on the clothes Rosemary had tossed him, and looked around for the rest of the bundle. He couldn’t find anything. He looked down at himself, then stared.
“Peter? What’s wrong?”
He stepped from the cover of the screen, wearing a white nightgown in the same cut as Rosemary’s. “We didn’t accidentally switch, did we?”
Rosemary smirked and patted the sheets. “Come to bed, Miss Nightingale.”
Peter rolled his eyes and crossed the floor. As he pulled back the sheets, Rosemary stopped him. “Hey.”
Peter looked up. She knelt on the bed and looked him in the eye. “You’ve been good, these past couple of days. When I ...,” she faltered and looked at her fingertips, “... panicked, you were level-headed. You kept me steady.”
“It was nothing.”
“No.” She took his hand. “It’s everything. It’s terrible being here, but ... it would be a whole lot worse if you weren’t here with me.”
He looked away. His mouth quirked. “Thanks.”
“Thank you,” she said. And she kissed him.
He kissed her back.
They kissed again.
They paused a moment, and then reached out and pulled each other in. They kissed longer, lingering. His kisses strayed from her lips and over her throat. Clasping him, she leaned back. He pressed her to the bed.
Then they stopped. Peter pulled back. They stared at each other. After a moment, Peter coughed. “So many reasons we shouldn’t —”
Rosemary couldn’t quite catch her breath. “Level-headed. That’s my Peter.”
“We should go to bed ... I ... I mean, to sleep.”
“Yeah. Sleep. Right.”
They stared at each other a moment longer. Then he rolled off her.
As he sat up and put his feet to the floor, she caught his arm. “Stay? Please?”
He looked at her. Smiled nervously. Then he blew out the candle and slipped under the covers.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALDOUS BIRGE
Rosemary ran downhill, wild and free, the skirts of her blue dress billowing behind her, dancing like marsh light, shimmering with a phosphor glow. The damp grass mushed beneath her bare feet and she laughed to the sky.
Then she looked down and saw bricks lining her path, turning the grass to gravel. The stones bit her feet. She cried out and tried to jump over the bricks, but the line grew into a wall and she bounced off it, back onto the straight and narrow. She ran faster than ever. She couldn’t stop.
Water bubbled around her, rising from the gravel and turning her blue skirts black. The bricks rose around her and closed in over her head.
The water cried out, “Release me!”
She ran face first into a metal grate. Her skirts tangled around the bars. The water pressed into her back. She pushed away, desperate, and felt another grate fencing her in from behind. The walls narrowed until she was in a brick-and-metal coffin, black water rising over her chin. She screamed.
The water cried out again, “Release me!”
Her glow flickered and went out.
She woke, gasping. It took a moment to realize where she was, whose arm draped over her, and who snored in her ear. She sighed, levered Peter’s arm up, and kissed the back of his hand before slipping out of bed.
Peter rolled onto his stomach. “Turn the water off,” he mumbled.
Rosemary wrapped a shawl over her nightclothes. Then she heard a soft knock at the door. She padded over.
Faith was on the other side, holding out a bundle. “Good morning! I meant to give these to you yesterday.”
Rosemary blinked sleep from her eyes. “Faith? You already gave us clothes.”
She pressed the bundle forward. “These are a little old, but they were my Sunday best, once. I thought you could use these today.”
“Why? What’s today?”
“Sunday,” said Faith, as if that said it all.
“What happens Sunday?”
Faith stared at Rosemary as though she had sprouted horns. Rosemary clued in a second later. “That would be church!”
Faith kept staring.
“Which we go to!”
Silence stretched.
“Every Sunday,” Rosemary added.
More silence.
Rosemary snatched up the bundle. “Thanks!”
Faith turned away, casting looks behind her as she went downstairs. Rosemary closed the door and banged her head on the frame. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”
She snatched a dress out of the bundle and tossed the rest at Peter. He woke with a grunt. “Wha—?”
“Get up!” She darted behind the change screen and pulled off her nightdress. “We’ve got to go to church!”
“But I wanted to sleep in,” he mumbled. “What is this, Easter?”
“Just do it!” she snapped. “We’re Christians, after all!” She emerged from behind the screen, hoisting a brown brocade dress over her camisole. “Help me with my buttons!”
Peter rolled out of bed, grumbling about rest for the wicked.
The toll of church bells rolled across the city. Faith walked as though she were pulled to church on a string. Among the crowds, the others struggled to keep up. Rosemary pulled at the collar of her dress. It had been starched to within an inch of its life. Peter slouched, blinking sleep from his eyes. As for Edmund ...
Without breaking step, Faith turned back and glared. “Edmund, come on! You shall make us late!”
Edmund started. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he’d been staring at the gaps in the sidewalk. Rosemary nudged him. “You okay?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had a late night last night.”
“Are you sure you couldn’t use my help with the ledgers?”
He reddened. “No. I’m fine.”
The crowds converged on their church — the same church Peter and Rosemary had passed when they first arrived. Rosemary glanced at the crowds in their Sunday best, wondering if anyone would recognize her with her clothes on.
Her eyes tracked to an alleyway between two stores. A group of three boys, barely older than ten, huddled in the doorway, their skin mottled with grime. They frowned at the people in their fine clothes. One of the boys caught her staring and stuck out his tongue.
They hurried up the church steps. Peter held the door for Faith and Rosemary. Faith entered, but Rose-mary took the door and nodded Peter inside. Faith looked back. “Edmund, come on!” He woke from his reverie.
“Edmund!” another voice called. He froze.
Rosemary stood at the door. A man strode up to Edmund, cane clicking on the wooden sidewalk. He wore a beard and a fine, cream-coloured suit. Rosemary thought he looked familiar.
Edmund stood at the bottom of the steps, hands at his sides, eyes wide, as the man came up and clapped him warmly on the shoulder.
Rosemary frowned and craned her neck to see more, but the crowd shouldered her inside.
As she made her way to the pew where Faith and Peter were sitting and slid in beside them, she cast an eye on the church. It was Presbyterian, just like her own church in the twenty-first century, with no stained-glass windows and no ornamentation save for a cross on the altar, but there was an air of strictness that had no place where she was from. Faith sat ramrod straight in her pew. People packed into row upon row of uncomfortable wood. And something told her that the service was going to be a lot longer than what she was used to — on those occasions when she went to church. Her dress bega
n to itch.
The congregation stood. Peter and Rosemary followed a half-second later. At no cue Rosemary could hear, the congregation burst into song.
“Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
As Rosemary fumbled through her hymnal, she heard Faith mutter beneath her breath, “That Edmund! Where is he?”
Edmund rushed to the pew and slid in, flinching under a dozen disapproving stares. The man he’d talked to sauntered past and took his place two pews down.
Rosemary found her place in the book. Taking a deep breath, she hoped she could get through the service without offending anyone.
“Faith? Are you still mad at me?”
It was after dinner. Faith and Rosemary were in the kitchen. Faith’s books were spread out over the table, but the two women were washing dishes.
“Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” Faith’s towel blurred as she scrubbed a pot. “Save for the fact that you made me laugh in church!”
“I said I was sorry!” said Rosemary. “It’s an old joke. When the pastor goes on about throwing alcohol in the river, you say, ‘please turn to the next hymn: Shall We Gather at the River.’ How was I to know that would actually be the next hymn?”
Faith snorted. Then she caught herself and glared. “So, you laugh in church often, do you?”
“No,” said Rosemary. She looked up. “But would God strike me down if I did?”
Faith stared at Rosemary a long moment. Then she sidestepped away.
Rosemary’s eyes narrowed. She took a step forward, putting Faith back within striking distance.
Faith took another sidestep away. Her mouth quirked. They giggled, then laughed, as Rosemary stalked Faith into a corner, and then tagged her. “Zap!”
Faith shrieked. “‘Zap’? I’ll ‘zap’ you!” She flicked her hand into the bucket of dishwater and sprayed Rosemary in the face. Rosemary gasped and tagged Faith again.
Then someone cleared his throat.
Faith and Rosemary looked up. Peter stood at the back door, staring. Both women were flecked with soap and water, hair straying from their ties.
“Um ... how are the dishes coming?” he asked.
“Come and see!” Rosemary’s smile showed her teeth. Her hand swirled the water. Faith beckoned.
“Um ... no.” He darted up the stairs.
Rosemary and Faith collapsed into fits of laughter.
“I envy you, Rosemary,” said Faith, once her laughter subsided. “You are a free spirit.”
“Me?” said Rosemary. “You’re the one going to medical school.”
“And I fret about it all the time.” Faith thumped the books lying open on the table. “I worry over classes. I worry over what the men say. You don’t care what anybody says. You speak your mind. You can laugh at Pastor Reeve’s overlong sermons —.” She glanced sharply at Rosemary. “Tell no one I said that!”
Rosemary grinned. “Your secret is safe with me.” She frowned. “Have you been having trouble with what some men have said? Does Edmund give you trouble?”
“Edmund? No!” She looked shocked. “He teases me, and goes on about the bills, but he pays them. However, I have had more than one man tell me that women have no place in medical school. This includes teachers and fellow students. Sometimes I wonder if they’re right.”
“Have your marks been good?”
“Respectable.”
“Then you have a place there.” She pressed a textbook into Faith’s hand. “And while I’m here, I’ll help you. I’m really proud of what you’re doing.”
Faith blushed. “Well, why shouldn’t women be doctors?” she said lightly. “We’ve nursed enough men back to health over the ages.” She sighed. “Still, ’tis hard.” She put the towel aside and moved to the table, sitting herself down among the books.
Rosemary frowned. “Don’t work too hard. You need your rest as well as your study.”
“I need to study,” said Faith. “And afterwards, I need to sew. To help Edmund pay for this.”
Edmund came in through the back door, muttering numbers to himself. He barely looked up as he passed. Faith bent over her books, muttering medical terms. Rosemary watched. Her frown deepened.
The next day, Rosemary worked the front of the shop when the door jangled. She looked up from the colony of ink blotches on her hands. She found herself staring at the man in the cream-coloured suit who had called out to Edmund outside the church. He had a long handlebar moustache twirled at each end like something you’d expect to see on a circus ringmaster. His eyes were dark pools. He leaned on his ebony cane.
“Good day to you, madam,” he said. His voice was cultured, his British accent measured. “What happened to young Miss Watson?”
Rosemary blinked. Then the light dawned. “Oh, you mean Faith! She’s in class. I’m filling in for her.”
“I see,” said the man.
Silence stretched. Each stared at the other, wondering who had dropped their cue. Finally, the man said, “And you are ...?”
Rosemary straightened up. “Sorry. I’m Rosemary. Rosemary Watson.”
“Aldous Birge.” He held out his hand. Rosemary gave him hers, then stumbled into the counter as Aldous pulled her hand up to kiss.
“Watson?” he repeated as Rosemary rubbed her stomach. “Are you related to Faith and Edmund?”
“Distantly,” she replied.
“That explains it!” He laughed. “I didn’t think Edmund could afford to hire extra help these days.”
Rosemary frowned at the heartiness of the laugh. She cleared her throat. “How may I help you, Mr. Birge?”
“I doubt you could,” he said, his chuckles fading. “I have business to conduct with Edmund. May I see him?”
“He’s not in,” she said. “Are you sure I can’t help you? I can find what you’re looking for —”
“I’m not looking to buy trinkets.” Aldous waved a hand. “I have serious business to conduct. Was Edmund not expecting me?”
Rosemary put on the smile she used at the library for people trying to back out of late fees. “If he was, he didn’t tell me. He left me in charge of the store, and I’m perfectly capable of —”
“Mr. Birge!”
They turned. Edmund stood, half in and half out the front door, staring at Aldous, his eyes wide. His gaze flicked between Birge and Rosemary. Then he stepped into the store. “Mr. Birge,” he continued more calmly. “What brings you here?”
Before Aldous could answer, Edmund cut in. “Rosemary, I fear I forgot to buy bread. Faith will be furious if she finds out. Can you run over to the baker’s and purchase a loaf?” He held out a coin.
Rosemary stared. Edmund shifted on his feet and didn’t look her in the eye. Aldous stood patiently, waiting for her to leave. She took a deep breath. “Fine.” She took the coin and lifted up a section of counter. “I’ll be right back.”
“Pleasure meeting you, Miss Watson,” Aldous called after her.
“Chauvinist pigs,” she muttered as she turned up the street. Then she gave herself a shake. What had just happened? So, she’d met a customer she didn’t like. What of it? Edmund obviously didn’t like him either, so perhaps he’d sent her away so he could speak to him without a lady’s “sensitive” ears present. Not that he had to worry on her account.
But something about Aldous nagged at her; maybe his dark gaze, his patronizing smile. The feeling of déjà vu didn’t help. “Where have I seen you before?” she muttered as she slipped through the crowds. “And why are you so interested in Edmund?”
At the end of the day, Rosemary heard Edmund in the hallway, stepping into his bedroom/office. She locked the front door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and drew the blinds shut. She gathered up the receipts and mail and went in the back.
Edmund’s door was ajar and he didn’t answer her knock, so she pushed in
and found him hunched over his desk, surrounded by papers, his head in his hands.
“Edmund?” She nudged his shoulder.
He jumped. “What are you doing here?”
She glared at him. “Receipts and the mail. Interested?”
He looked away, wincing. “I am sorry, Rosemary. You just startled me.”
“Fine.” She handed him the papers. “You okay?”
“Just tired.”
“Faith’s tired, too.” She sighed. “You know, you both could use a holiday.”
But Edmund snatched an envelope from the mail and his face lit up. “He wrote!”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer. He just tore open the envelope and pored over the letter. Rosemary shrugged and turned away. She stopped when she saw an odd-looking device on a table by the door, all gears and grease. She fingered two wires stretching from it.
“What’s this?”
Edmund snapped upright. “Do not touch that! You canna possibly understand —”
But Rosemary followed the wires to the floor, where they ran to a jar of brackish liquid. She held back her hands. “Acid! You built a battery?”
Edmund froze halfway out of his seat. “You know what a battery is?”
“Sure,” said Rosemary. “The presence of two metals in an acidic solution generates an electric charge. They taught us that in basic chemistry —.” She stopped herself too late.
He stared at her. “That was a very advanced schoolhouse.”
She smiled, then turned back to the machine. “So, what are you doing with a battery?”
He coughed. “I ... I like to tinker.” He cleared his throat. “I invent things.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing in a pawnshop?”
He drew in a breath. “My uncle James was the inventor in the family. Him and his steam engine. My father, Edmund Watson senior, bought the shop before I was born and always intended that I should inherit it.”
“Your father’s name is Edmund and he named you Edmund?”
“He wasn’t inventive. Particularly with names. If Faith had had sisters, they would have been Hope and Charity, in that order.”