Chapter 13
Edward helped her down from the carriage and led them in. As they entered the room, she felt as if everyone turned to look at them, a mixture of surprise and curiosity on everyone’s face. It was rather odd to think that everyone in this room was probably married to someone else, and that all the women were mistresses. But that’s what it meant to go to an event for the demimonde. The room was overly-warm from the multitude of candles used to light up the room. The smell of perfume cloying, and the noise hit her like an invisible wall, everyone talking loudly and laughing, their voices bouncing off the polished floor.
There were too many damn people in one room.
Edward extended his arm, and she held onto him as he began to move through the crowd.
The women were pale, some to the extent of being sallow, and they all looked at her with flinty interest. That they saw her as blatantly inferior was obvious. And yet the men all looked at her as if they were imagining her doing perverse things. A majority of the men were older, a slightly dissipated look to them, their cheeks florid and their laugh desperate.
But one man stood out, appearing so healthy and handsome, broad-shouldered and dashing that Helen blinked twice. His thick blond hair was parted in the middle, and he was significantly taller than most men in the room. He looks like a damned Aryan poster boy.
And then she saw Roland Black.
She’d seen a very dour-looking photograph of him before she left. An ordinary man in his early forties, he didn’t necessarily look like someone who’d created a weapon that changed the world. He had spent a lot of time on boats, and his skin had a weathered quality to it. His hair was gray, his figure trim, and he was talking very earnestly to a man with a portly belly and a huge monocle. She caught the word deer and deduced they were talking about hunting.
“That’s him,” she said.
“The atrocious waistcoat gives him away. Americans,” he said the word as if it was a fatal disease. Helen squashed a smile. His waistcoat was rather striking. China was newly open to trade, and it was now fashionable to wear Chinese silks. A brilliant red with multi-colored birds cavorting about like crazy.
Edward led them up to Mr. Black who had begun laughing at something the other man said. Edward introduced himself to Mr. Black, who exclaimed in a very American way that it was a great honor to meet such a distinguished peer of the realm.
“And this is Miss Foster, a fellow American,” Edward said, and Helen curtsied very low, so low that all the men could get a good look at her bosom. After all, it couldn’t hurt. She smiled at Mr. Black and he blinked as if dazzled.
“It is a great honor to meet you, sir. My father is a gun enthusiast and speaks quite highly of you.”
Roland Black appeared startled.
The Duke interjected, “I know it’s most uncivilized for a young lady to discuss guns—”
Helen cut him off, trying to throw him a look that told him not to help her. “Yes, but where I grew up, in California, it was best to be uncivilized rather than starve or be attacked by savages.”
“Good God, my girl! Did you grow up on the frontier then?”
Helen nodded, smiling blandly.
“And made it all the way to England. Good for you!” Mr. Black sighed dramatically. “You must be very careful in London. It is both an exciting and a frightening place.”
“Surely it cannot be that bad if you are here?” the Duke said.
Mr. Black blinked and crossed his arms. “I wanted to see it for myself. There has never been a city so large; so many people crammed into such a space. And I won’t stay long. I don’t know how you Londoners do it. And I, like many others, find myself wondering how long it will last.”
A harsh smile crossed the Duke’s face. Almost disdainful. “You think she won’t make it then? That our city is a grand experiment doomed to fail?”
“How can it last? So many people and animals, professions and classes all forced together. The diseases and amorality. London is worse than Babylon, and when she goes, I want to say I was here.”
The Duke stood ramrod straight, and Helen could feel his anger just below the surface. “You are wrong. This is the beginning. The whole world is changing, on the cusp of being remade, and it isn’t something to be frightened of, but proud of. The things we can do now, the treatments that we have to save people, people can be fed and can create a new life for themselves; they are no longer trapped in the countryside.”
Roland Black shook his head sharply, “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you’re wrong. People die at an incredible rate now, from sickness and plague—entire city-blocks might be filled with corpses over-night. When someone dies, they get thrown into the street, discarded like filth. Everywhere I go the smell is overwhelming. The miasma thick and lethal. I grew up where the air was pure, where water was as clear as rain, where death was treated like a tragedy not like something one threw out with the chamber pot.”
The Duke spoke through gritted teeth. “If you dislike our fair city so much, please feel free to leave.”
Helen could see her opportunity slipping away.
“Mr. Black, I am very interested in you, and your designs.”
He looked at Helen with unblinking eyes. “Excuse me?”
“You made changes to Colt’s designs for the Peacemaker, and he dismissed you. But I would be most interested to hear what you’ve been working on lately.”
Helen watched him closely, trying to read the expressions that were flickering across his face. Saying it aloud made it real; she had the strange fear that everyone would suddenly pause and look at her, aware of her plans to change the world, the course of things to come.
“How do you know about my plans?” He licked his lips nervously while people continued to chat and drink, ignorant to the momentous conversation. What the hell was he nervous about?
“I didn’t know it was a secret,” she smiled, wanting to put him at ease and feeling like a moron for approaching the subject so clumsily.
“Not a secret, but your interest is very…unusual.”
“Because I’m a woman? Or because I’m another interested party?”
He looked at the Duke as if asking for help. The Duke was studiously looking around for a glass of champagne, ignoring them both completely.
“Why don’t we go somewhere quieter, Mr. Black. I’d be happy to tell you how I know of your invention.” Mr. Black blanched, visibly shocked. Edward snagged a flute of champagne, taking a hefty swallow before turning back to them. He clapped Mr. Black on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Let me reassure you, that although she says ‛let’s go somewhere quiet’, she is actually saying she would like to have a conversation with you, not any other interpretation you might come up with. Especially considering where we are…amongst this gathering of agreeable women.”
He gestured towards the back of the room with his glass, and although Mr. Black did not appear reassured, he followed the Duke’s lead.
She wanted to elbow Edward in the ribs. But she also felt like an idiot. Of course she wasn’t propositioning Mr. Black for sex! He was old! And what did he mean ‘agreeable women’? Was he calling her easy? Once again, he managed to be insulting without saying a damned thing clearly.
They made their way through the crowd, stepping into a hallway and finding an empty sitting room. There was a fire going and the lamps lit, as if the room were just waiting for guests.
“Why did you decide not to put the plans up for auction?” she asked, as soon as the door was closed.
“Is that how you learned about my design? The auction house?”
“Like I said, my father is interested. I’d heard they would be sold at auction. I would very much like to buy them.”
He made an empty-handed gesture. “I’m afraid I’ve already sold them, Miss Foster. That’s why I didn’t go through with the auction.”
“Who did you sell them to?” she asked, stomach plummeting like a plane falling out of the sky.
“Baron Colchest
er bought it; he’s part of a philanthropic group.”
“Part of his efforts to help people include buying weapon designs?” Helen asked harshly.
He shrugged. “Why not? You would like me to believe you want the plans for your father. Although what use he might have for them out on the prairie, I cannot imagine. The plans are useless, a good idea, and maybe someday someone would be able to make good on them, but now…we just don’t have the skill.”
“Whatever they are paying you, I can pay you more.”
The Duke had been a large silent presence, standing in the corner of the room. But when she offered Mr. Black more money, he straightened and took a step closer.
Mr. Black appeared genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry. It’s done. It took a while for the money to arrive from overseas, but I gave them to him yesterday.”
“How much did he pay you?”
“1500 pounds. The Baron is here tonight. If you would like to meet him, I would be happy to arrange that. You two might hit it off. Strangers in a strange land. He sounds more German than Prince Albert.”
As if Helen had time to meet him. No, she’d be better off keeping her interest a secret, and then stealing the plans from Colchester.
“What could the plans do,” Edward asked, “if someone could make them work?”
Mr. Black frowned. “It’s a cannon, but it would be very fast and light with the ability to revolve at an unbelievable speed.”
“Would it be used by the military then? The army or the navy?”
Mr. Black nodded.
She took a step towards Mr. Black, offering her hand, desperate to stop Edward from asking more questions and coming to his own conclusions. She could practically see him thinking, reaching conclusions about what her plans might be. “Thank you so much for meeting with me. It really is an honor to meet you.” After a brief moment of hesitation, he took her hand, and Helen tightened her grip, shoving electricity into him, feeling it flow down her arms like hot acid cascading down her skin. The pain of using her skill was intense, and always left her drained. She hated doing it.
He shuddered at the contact, his body going into spasms as he tried to pull away from her. A hoarse gurgle came from his throat, and Helen locked her knees so she didn’t fall down, watching as his eyes rolled back into his head. She overloaded his synapses, creating a short-term memory loss. When he woke up, he’d have no memory of the last several hours.
“What are you doing to him?” the Duke asked, urgency making his voice loud. Using energy this way made Helen hot, raised her body temperature to about 120 degrees. In the right light, one could see it shimmering off her, like heat off pavement.
“Stop,” he said, voice near a growl as he came close.
“Almost…done. He…fine,” she said, unable to make her mouth coordinate the sentence when all of her energy was focused on Black.
The Duke reached out to touch her, and she tried to move away, unable to manage more than a step. Mr. Black fell, toppling to the ground and Helen followed him, not wanting to break the contact yet. She didn’t have the strength to catch herself, crashing to the floor with him, the connection severing. Was it enough?
The Duke touched her then, placing his hand on her exposed arm. The power was dissipating, but he swore when he touched her, probably getting a fierce zap at the contact. “We have to go now….” Damn, thinking was hard. “He won’t remember…this,” Helen said thickly.
She felt sick, lightheaded and clammy, her body hot but covered in a cold sweat. Her stomach heaved and she retched, shaking hard. This wasn’t right. She should be able to do this ten times over, fry the Duke next and make him forget all this, still with the energy to break into Colchester’s house. Spots swam in front of her eyes.
Edward’s voice was close, but she couldn’t hear what he said. Her ears were ringing, and she realized her eyes were closed. She opened them, surprised to see that Edward was sitting right next to her.
This is bad.
He touched her face, the feel of his evening gloves against her skin soft and strange. He’d put gloves on. Smart man. “You’re very smart,” she mumbled.
“Oh, I doubt that,” he said, the words hard and clipped.
And then the world went gray around the edges, the ringing turning shrill. She needed to get those plans. She couldn’t be weak right now.
And then she lost consciousness.