The Perilous In-Between (The Chuzzlewit Chronicles Book 1)

by Cortney Pearson

  “Oscar.”

  He paused, glancing down at her. Flickers of hope rested behind that glance.

  “I never suggested any kind of indifference,” she said, her heart chugging in her chest with the effort of holding everything back she’d like to say. How she had imagined him every day, down to the minute, wondering what he had been doing. If he had been thinking of her, if he felt badly for not writing. How she could never be indifferent to him, how her heart was entirely his and had been since they met.

  “You never answered any of my letters.”

  “I—you wrote to me?”

  “I told you I would.”

  “That day—that terrible day . . .” The day he’d kissed her. The day he’d left her.

  “And I did,” he went on. “I wrote weekly. I told you of my studies, of the tutors, the cab catching fire outside my dormitory, how a pair of rogue horses had nearly crashed through my window. Did you—have you not received my letters?”

  His eyes swam like glossy pools in the moonlight. This time, Rosalind didn’t hesitate to slide her hand forward and join it with his.

  He glanced down at their clasped hands. His gaze lifted to hers, filled with such delight she couldn’t help but smile.

  “I never received a word,” she said, but was prevented from saying more as his lips struck hers.

  His mouth was warm and firm, his touch reassuring her more than words ever could. Though sitting, she spun, anchoring herself to him to keep from letting the sensation take control.

  “My darling,” he said, clutching her to his chest. “I’ve longed to hold you. I was so down, so withdrawn. The thought of you was my only consolation through those long months apart. Even when you didn’t write to me, even when I was penniless and drowning in sorrow, the thought of you was my stay.

  “I knew there had to be more behind it all, Rosalind. My heart told me so. Not even full pockets or a meeting with the Queen of England would make me a happier man if I knew I had your love.”

  “You have it, my darling. You have it,” Rosalind promised, throwing her arms around his neck. This time he rose and spun with her, never once letting go or moving his face from her neck.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t dance.”

  Oscar released a low chuckle, stilling. “Then let’s do so now.”

  Rosalind gazed into the promises resonating in his eyes, the pure adoration and smile on his lips. Every inch of her pulsed in response, and she soared inside. Oscar’s hand was steady at her back, and he guided her in small circles on the grass to music only the two of them could hear.

  Sixteen

  Victoria rushed to the end of the dormitory walk as the medic hovney pulled to a stop. The flowers on either side of the walkway beamed toward the bright sun above, basking in its warmth. At the sight of the bobbing hovercarriage, she wondered about Mr. Fenstermaker and how severe his injuries were. It must have been bad, to have him taken to Wolverton. She knew once the medics dropped Dahlia off, they’d be picking him up.

  She beat the footman to the door, opening it before he could.

  “Hello!” she said, relieved to see her friend. Dahlia appeared as cheery as ever, blonde hair piled on her head and dressed in a lovely, pink day dress. But she moved slowly. With a wince, she allowed Victoria to help her down, pausing to retrieve a cane from the paisley velvet fabric lining the hovercarriage’s bench.

  It had only been a few short days since the attack. Victoria was both surprised and pleased to see Dahlia putting a small amount of weight on her injured ankle, and she kept her own pace slow as they headed from the street to the walkway. She considered several times what to say, how to bring up how awful she felt about the entire ordeal.

  “Don’t be so silent,” Dahlia finally said as they passed the pink flowering dogwood trees on their slow way to the dormitory entrance.

  “I feel so responsible,” Victoria said.

  “Well, don’t. It isn’t your fault. Besides, as my leader, you need to fill me in on what I missed while I was in Wolverton.”

  “For starters?” Victoria said. “The Kreak attacked during the day.”

  Dahlia leaned heavily on Victoria’s arm. “Are you serious?”

  “And I was removed from the Nauts on a probationary trial.”

  “Now you’re lying.”

  “I’m really not.”

  Dahlia’s mouth pursed as if waiting for the joke to sink in. Her mouth dropped and she tossed her hands up. “I get injured and the whole town is in uproar.”

  Victoria linked her arm through Dahlia’s and helped her friend mount the few steps leading to the door. “It’s clear we cannot function without you.”

  “And exactly how long will you be off the squad?”

  “That,” said Victoria, opening the door and waiting for Dahlia to enter. “Is no longer the case. This boy came to town as well . . .”

  “Oh? Oh.” Dahlia’s smile lengthened at the redness Victoria was sure was climbing her cheeks.

  “His name is Graham Birkley. I promised my uncle I would not interfere if he let me fly, and I ended up rescuing Mr. Birkley before the breath reached him.”

  “Ooo, a rescue? He’s delicious, isn’t he?” Dahlia prodded. “You don’t have to say it. I can tell from your face.”

  Victoria angled her chin. “Miss Covington, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Dahlia smirked. “In all the times we’ve discussed Charles Merek, I’ve never seen you get this flustered over him. You can hardly speak without turning red! Your Mr. Birkley must be something of a catch.”

  Victoria’s mouth twisted. “He is rather nice to look at.”

  “I knew it!” Dahlia said. “So you flew, then? You’ve been re-instated? Goodness, how much I’ve missed. Don’t ever let me get injured again.”

  They passed the open gathering room, the numerous floral chairs speckling the carpet empty for the moment. Beyond that was a cafeteria, and at the end was a twisted staircase leading up to the room the girls all shared. Victoria wasn’t sure how Dahlia would make it up.

  One stair at a time, she supposed.

  “I don’t plan on it. In fact—”

  “You coming?” Dahlia cut her off, one foot on the bottom step.

  “Upstairs? No I’ll be staying at home for the next little while. I’ve only returned because I heard you would be back today.”

  “Uh huh.” Dahlia chewed her lip, gripping the banister with a knowing look. “Tell me. Where is this Mr. Birkley staying? I should like to meet him.”

  Victoria wouldn’t look at her, her cheeks hotter than ever. “At the Range.”

  “How convenient.”

  “It was at my uncle’s request.”

  Dahlia’s brows rose.

  “Honestly!”

  Dahlia smirked and began the first step. “I follow your command, Digby. Make sure you’re there to give it tonight.”

  “You mean you’re flying?”

  Dahlia looked down at her and shrugged. “As if they could keep me away. Doctor said I was well enough. I won’t use my ankle all that much—I only need my hands.”

  A genuine smile spread over Victoria’s face. “That’s a relief,” she said, thinking quickly. “Listen, Dahlia. I wonder if you can help me. Despite what you’re thinking, the real reason I’m staying home is to test this piece I found.” Victoria unearthed it from her skirt pocket.

  Dahlia inspected it with a single finger and then winced as though the piece burned her. Strange. It was cool to Victoria’s touch. She explained to Dahlia what she was up to, the books she’d gotten from her father’s study, the chemicals she’d like to try on the metal piece. “The thing is, the chemical I need is in the laboratory in Section II, and there is an attendant on duty at all times. A heartbreakingly handsome attendant.
”

  “Oh?” Dahlia’s eyes twinkled. “You need my help.”

  “I need your help.”

  Dahlia seemed pleased by this. “I’ll do it. This creature thinks it can come and go, causing damage where it pleases. But as soon as I get back in my plane, I intend to show it just how wrong it was to attack me.”

  “This leg is killing me.”

  “Is now a good time? We can come back later—”

  Dahlia urged her forward. “Now is perfect.”

  The two girls knocked on the door Victoria hadn’t had the nerve to approach. The young man in his long white laboratory coat opened the door. He was tall and well-suited to that coat, with his tanned skin, dark hair and well-proportioned features. “Can I help you?”

  “Sorry to disturb you. It’s my friend,” said Victoria. “She’s just gotten back from the hospital in Wolverton and they forgot to send her medication with her. I wondered if you had some of these in your stores?” She offered the small list she’d brought with her as though he was welcome to take it.

  His eyebrow quirked at the note, then at Victoria and Dahlia’s innocent expressions. Dahlia batted her eyelashes at him.

  “I’m not an apothecary,” he said, moving to shut the door.

  Dahlia reached out a hand and touched his arm. “Oh we know that. I just wanted to see if you had anything on hand. It hurts so badly.” She gave him an imploring look.

  “You injured your foot?” he asked, staring down at that object.

  As if the cane wasn’t proof enough, she lifted her skirt to display the bandage wrapped tightly around her left foot. “My ankle,” she said.

  He hesitated, keeping the door tight against his shoulder and making it difficult for Victoria to see past him. Dahlia simpered at him, and he shifted his weight, allowing Victoria a glimpse of the cold storage door directly across from them at the opposite end of the room.

  “They’ve broken for lunch,” he said. “It’s only me.”

  “Perfect.” Dahlia flashed her smile. He stiffened, his jaw twitching. “We only need you.”

  His gaze was calculating, but when her ready smile and friendly, inviting eyes didn’t relent, his face softened.

  “Can you help me? I’d like to show you what we’re dealing with.”

  He peered behind him again. “Very well, but only for a moment,” he conceded.

  She slipped her hand through his elbow. Victoria heard their soft exchange of names. Henry, Dahlia, and his inquiry of how she’d gotten injured. He guided her to a chair, but instead of sitting at it, she took his hands and placed them on her waist, indicating she wanted to sit on the table. His breath caught, but he did as requested, helping her to sit atop the counter.

  Dahlia lifted her foot, tugging up her long skirt just enough to show him her ankle. The poor lab assistant was hooked.

  Victoria snuck toward the storage door and slipped in. The temperature was considerably cooler in here, enough to give her goosebumps. Eye protection, microscopes, plants, hammers, pestles and bowls lay in orderly rows on the counters. She couldn’t help feeling she’d been in a room like this before.

  The cold prickled up the backs of her arms and neck. A white sheen slowly crept across her vision, carrying with it other images, another room with desks like this, a man standing at its front and offering a lecture of some kind. Victoria’s mind blurred over and a severe pain gripped her heart like a fist. She bumped into the desk, rattling several beakers.

  Stop, she told the images, thrusting them away. She exerted herself, working her mind, attempting to clear it, to clear the inexpressible discomfort welling within her at the sight of them.

  “It’s really been painful.” She could hear Dahlia attempting to distract the assistant, and imagined her gazing up at him with large, pitiful eyes.

  It is nothing, Victoria told herself as the images faded from her mind. She paused for several long moments, attempting to recapture her breath and slow her racing heart.

  These instances made no sense whatsoever. She couldn’t understand what they meant, nor why they kept happening.

  Victoria shook it off, forcing her attention back to the bottles resting on the shelves along the darkened, chilled room. She searched their hand-written labels, anxious for sight of the terms she’d read about in her father’s books.

  Taurine, cartic alloy, meganese fiber. Her heart gave a little leap as the knob behind her jiggled a few times, followed by a heavy thud and a giggle. What was Dahlia doing out there?

  Victoria rushed to the next row where several small bottles sat. There it was, HN45. Nultric acid.

  Victoria snatched it, along with some beakers. She exited to find Dahlia propped against the assistant, using him for support. She twirled his collar, beaming up at him. His hair stuck up in the back, and his lips looked more swollen than they had when they first got here.

  “Thanks, Henry,” Dahlia said with a wink. “I feel better already.”

  Henry cleared his throat and watched in a daze as the girls left his laboratory.

  “You took your sweet time,” Dahlia said halfway down the hall. “I don’t think that poor man has been kissed in his whole life. Did you get what you needed?”

  They rounded the corner, nearly colliding with a pair of men in blue work suits. They tipped their heads in acknowledgment, and Victoria found herself eager to step outside and away from prying eyes. She gripped the handles on her bag tighter, wishing away the memory of that most recent lapse in her mind. She still didn’t know what to make of it. Perhaps she should mention it to Dahlia, but her friend was moving slowly with an aggrieved expression.

  “I hope so,” Victoria said, glancing behind and praying her uncle didn’t notice she was here. “I’m going to experiment. Are you all right? Did I make you push yourself too hard?”

  “I’m going to rest my ankle,” Dahlia said with a pained smile as they approached the exit and stepped back out into the sunlight. “Don’t need any more favors for a while, will you?”

  Victoria laughed and shook her head. “I owe you one.”

  Victoria walked Dahlia back to the dormitory and ensured she made it up the stairs before heading hastily back home. She could have done this much easier at the Aviatory, but she wasn’t about to tell Dahlia that Graham Birkley was the reason she was going all the way back to Range after all.

  Dahlia made her way back up the spiral staircase, feeling pleased with herself despite the burrowing pain in her ankle. At least she still had her charm where men were concerned. She’d enjoyed meeting that assistant. There were times it took some effort to work her charm, but it had been easy with Henry. He was sweet and easy to talk to. She may even sneak down there another time.

  Ten four-poster, canopied beds spread across the length of their bunk room, each paired with its own set of furniture. Some of the beds were slightly mussed, others hastily made. Personal items dotted vanity mirrors and wardrobe doors were left open.

  Dahlia was relieved to find the room empty. Her mother had insisted she return home, but she had no desire to do so. That would mean losing her position permanently. She loved to fly, and the truth was, the town needed her. She’d meant what she said to Victoria, about showing that mechanical imbecile in the ocean what happened to those who injured her.

  Dahlia gritted her teeth and sank onto her bed, weary with the weight on her ankle. She lifted her legs onto the bed and rested her head back against the headboard.

  After several moments, she could ignore the pulsing at her ankle no longer. Sitting up, she slung back her skirt, carefully removed the bandage, and withheld a scream.

  Lesions that had not been there when she’d shown her wound to Henry now protruded through her skin like large growths. They bubbled around her healing ankle, threatening to pop right through her skin. Dahlia’s heart pounded against her ribs and she breathed in shallow, rasp
ing gasps.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked no one, pressing the lesion with a finger. Pain shot through to her knee, and she inhaled through her teeth, rearing her head back.

  Hastily, she tightened the wrap back around her ankle. “It is nothing,” she told herself. “It is only healing.”

  She wasn’t sure how long she could believe the lie, but she couldn’t very well go back to the hospital. Not after what Victoria had told her. If the Kreak was attacking at all hours, then the town needed her. She couldn’t abandon them. Not yet.

  She would wait it out.

  Seventeen

  Victoria decided on the sunroom. Her father’s book had said to do this in clear light. No other of the many chambers at her uncle’s estate received as much light as this one did, and she wanted a clear view of the results.

  Vibrant purple hibiscus clumped together in containers beside speckled orchids and burgeoning passion flowers in shades of yellow and blue. Ferns, green and lavish, mixed with pink begonias near the windowsill. Their soft, floral hints tantalized her senses. She’d always loved this room and often found herself in here whether she meant to arrive or not.

  Out the window a pair of ladies strolled past, fully adorned and looking much too happy behind the boxy prams they pushed. Victoria certainly had nothing against babies. They were adorable, to be sure. But what did those mothers do all day besides walk and look pretty?

  With a sigh she fingered the cog and the small wrench in the hidden pocket of her skirts and removed them both. She always kept that wrench with her. It was like keeping a piece of her secret with her always.

  She opened the case and placed the wide beaker on the table, followed by the small jars of liquid. If anyone asked, she was planning a flower arrangement.

  In acid.

  The table tilted slightly under the weight of her assembly of items, as though one leg were shorter than the others.