If I Fall (11 page)

“I told you, you would tell me your secrets,” he murmurs. “Chapter one of the story that is Elvira Hamilton,” he breathes in my ear and slowly brings his face in front of mine. His thumb brushes across the fading cut on my cheek, still imprinted with the fire of that hideous night. A smirk lights his features. His nose wrinkles on one side. It is amazing how a smile upon his face can instantly eradicate all of my thoughts, my fears. The grin broadens as he says, “And I didn’t even have to buy the book.”

I stand there in shock, unable to move or speak. The bedroom door is pushed open and we both look to see Gertrude standing in the entrance. She looks curiously from Adam to me and back again, her eyes narrowing as she looks at the thin space between us. We both back away.

“Miss Dela is done in the bathroom, Miss Hamilton. I have drawn another bath for you,” she says, and then adds purposefully, “if you are done here.”

If I am done? As if I can be finished with something that has never begun. The moment—whatever it was—is gone. There will not be an opportunity for another. Adam and I? It’s simply impossible; I mind as well accept it now before it has the ability to pain me any more than it already does.

I grin, glancing back at Adam as I move to the door. “Yes, quite done. Thank you, Gertrude.”

“Of course, Miss Hamilton. Call when you are ready to dress.”

I nod and she exits the room with a sly glance back over her shoulder at the two of us. I turn back to the room; Adam stands before me. I jump, putting a slender hand to my mouth as I emit a yelp.

“You really must stop doing that,” I hiss.

“And miss out on all the fun? Never.”

I turn in the direction of the bathroom, but he grabs my arm, pulling me back.

His eyes latch onto me, searching. “Your secret is safe with me, Vi. Any secret of yours is safe with me. I hope you know that. I hope you know that you can trust me.”

“‘If you reveal your secrets to the wind, you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees,’” I whisper. “Kahlil Gibran.”

“Well, Kala Gabron—.”

“Kahlil Gibran,” I correct him.

“The point is he does not know me.” He pokes a finger at his chest. “I know me, and I know that this wind keeps his promises.”

I meet his gaze and know that he speaks the truth, but I still cannot divulge my secrets to him. Even if I wished it, I cannot scrounge up what I have so well hidden in the deepest cavern of my heart. I cannot allow my mouth to spill these words I have forbidden it to say.

I nod. “I believe you,” I whisper. “Sadly, it doesn’t change anything.”

He smiles. “For now,” he declares. “Chapter two will come, Vi, and I will be waiting patiently until it does.” He holds my gaze before lowering his eyes to his feet, still bare against the carpet. “The water will be getting cold; you had best be going.”

Shaking my head as though I can shake away the daze he has put me in, I walk out into the parlor.

“And by the way, Vi,” he calls out. “You were wrong about me not liking this story. I was enthralled from page one!”

This is not the chapter I was afraid you would not like, Adam Laurence. You will not be so enthralled when you know the secret that marks my wrist in violet. You will not like the story then, and you certainly won’t like me.

13
DISCOVERING

Swirling tendrils of steam rise from the surface of the water. A warm vapor hugs the bathroom walls and a misty fog coats the mirror above the sink. And although I cannot see my reflection in the mirror, a blurry image of a girl stares back at me from the surface of the water.

Her hair hangs limply around her face, black curls snarled around one another and twisted into troublesome knots. Smudges stand out against the pale white of her skin. Burning violet dances across the water. Like a window with the curtains pulled shut, her eyes are wide open, yet guarded.

Is this whom Adam sees?
I wonder, scrutinizing my filthy face and wild hair, remembering that I have not bathed in over three days. A sudden afterthought troubles me even more:
I must smell terrible!

Utterly embarrassed, I want to dip beneath the water and never come back out. I want to be able to wash away this feeling Adam has inflicted upon me along with the grime. If only it were that simple.

I dip a toe in the water and quickly retract before fully lowering myself into the bath. The water has cooled to the perfect temperature. A cake of soap rests on a dish by my shoulder, and I reach for it. It slips from my grasp, diving under the surface with a light splash. My hands trail the bottom of the tub—a claw-footed affair in the shape of an oval—in search of the silky feel of the escapee.

At last, I find it. Holding it firmly this time, I glide it over my body, scrubbing its suds deep into my skin and hair until the water has become gray with dirt and ash. I stare at the water’s blackness and think back to standing on the beach that night. As I remember the distraught cries that floated across the dark expanse, still distinctly ringing in my ears, I snap back to the present.

I stand in a flourish; water rises with me, but unable to defy gravity, slides back down my body and into the murky pool. Grabbing a blue silk robe as I step out of the bath, I wrap it around myself. I look around the space for my clothes, but the dirty trousers and shirt are gone, a few specks of debris the only sign that they were ever there.

Figuring that Gertrude had taken them to be washed, I open the door a crack and call her name. I am not answered, and I step out further into the living room, my wet hair dripping down my back. My left arm aches from keeping it pinned to my side, hiding the Mark. I pull the robe tighter as I look back and forth in search of the woman and my clothes. Annoyed, I turn back towards the door of the bathroom when I suddenly slam into Adam.

He stumbles backwards as I fall forward and knock him and myself to the ground. A stream of curses escapes his lips. I let out a groan as my elbow knocks against an end table. In a panic, I glue my wrist back to my side, terrified it is too late. Has it already been seen? Did he see it when we were falling?

My legs tangle around his. Our chests press together. A silk robe is the only thing that separates us and I feel it slide against my skin as it creeps up my thigh. I raise my head to see his face. He holds a hand behind his head, groaning as he rubs the back of his skull. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Why did you run into me?” I say angrily.

His eyes finally snap open, the startling green making my breath catch as they ignite with an anger to match my own. “Me? Who’s on top of whom here?”

“You’re the one who snuck up behind me!”

“You’re the one traipsing around here naked.”

My eyebrows furrow together as my mouth drops open. I glance down at the thin robe wrapped around my body and am positively mortified. Why did I not just wait in the bathroom until Gertrude returned? “Gertrude. She—she took my clothes!”

I push myself up from him, making sure to keep everything covered. I fold my arms over my chest. A glance down assures me that the Mark is fully concealed. Slowly, Adam stands and brushes himself off as he says, “That is why I was behind you. I was told to put these inside the bathroom door with strict orders about not looking at you, though I suppose that is all blown to pieces now …” He does not finish, simply hands over what he had just picked up from the floor.

I take one glance at the garments and shake my head. “These are not my clothes.”

“Very good, Vi. Next you will be discerning left from right and apples from oranges!” A single eyebrow perks up into a smooth arc. “I would apologize for my sarcasm, but I rather found myself amusing. As for the clothes, they are my mother’s. They should fit you. They are older and she has outgrown them.”

“But it is a dress …”

He cocks his head to the side, a smirk sidling up his face. “I’m sorry. Did you plan on playing boy at the ball, too? Because I’m afraid it would look awfully odd if I danced with another man. Oh, unless, of course, you wanted
me
to wear the dress? I always did say red looks marvelous on me. Brings out my eyes.” He bats his eyelashes at me and smiles. I sneer, annoyed by his mockery.

“I thought your mother was joking. I thought we would simply stay in the cabin. She doesn’t honestly want us to go to the ball!”

Laughing, he suspends the hangers on the bathroom door and looks back over his shoulder at me. His eyes travel slowly down my body and back to my face. I pull the robe closer around me. “My mother does not joke. Ever,” he says, and laughs again.

The laugh comes from deep within his throat, but does not reach his eyes. He walks back towards me and pauses. “Be a good little girl, Vi, and go back to the bathroom before Gertrude finds out that I have seen you like this and her proper little world falls apart. I have some things I have to do, but I will see you tonight.”

I do not answer, his “good little girl” comment itching at me. I brush by him without a word and march back to the bathroom.

“And Vi?” he calls.

Reluctantly, I turn back. He smiles at my scowl and my irritation grows.

“What?” I hiss.

“That grimace will not complement the dress. I do hope you trade it in for that stunning smile of yours. I want you to look beautiful tonight.”

“Well, I want you to stick your—” My words are lost in the slam of the cabin door. Adam is gone. It is me and the dress. It is me and my fears. How am I to stay in hiding while attending a ball most likely crawling with Radicals? I sigh.

“At least he gave me gloves,” I say to the dress and carry it back inside the bathroom to get ready for the ball. After all, I want to look stunning for my demise.

I look up at Gertrude’s reflection in the mirror. She stands behind me, her silver hair pulled back in a slick bun. Gently, she combs a brush through my hair. Her opposite hand trails after the brush, smoothing down the wild curls. The feeling of the brush in my hair soothes my nerves about tonight. I close my eyes, remembering how Mother used to comb my hair every night when I was a little girl.

“I don’t know why I bother,” she would say. “You’ll have every curl in a knot come morning.” Then she would go quiet and continue despite her words.

Against my best efforts, tears begin their march down my cheeks. I swipe them away with a quick motion of my hand. A salty blotch develops on the tip of my white glove. I stare at it, hoping Gertrude does not decide this means they are soiled and that I must have a fresh pair. I feel the woman behind me raise her gaze, examining me in the mirror. She frowns.

“Is something wrong, Miss Hamilton?”

I meet her chocolate-brown eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Nothing,” I say. “Just nervous about tonight, I suppose.”

She nods and continues her brushing. I look at my image in the mirror. The dress Gertrude picked out is a deep red satin. Muted by elegant black-embroidered gauze, the red is stunning without being ostentatious. An open neckline is made even lower with sleeves that fall down around my shoulders. Like the sleeves, the hem of the skirt is beaded and embellished with black lace. The skirt flares out at the bottom, a section of red satin peeking out from beneath the lace. A short train of black lace and gauze trails at the back. Light and airy, the material is perfect for dancing. I look down at the dress fitted to my body and sigh. It is certainly beautiful, just as Adam wanted.

Adam.
The very thought of him and the possibilities tonight may hold stir up a storm of fluttering moths around the fire in my heart.

“Gertrude?” I say, a question that has been burning at the back of my mind suddenly pushing its way to my mouth.

“Yes, Miss Hamilton?”

I pause, deciding how best to word what I am about to say. “Did—I mean, where is Adam’s—” she shoots me a nasty look at the use of Adam’s Christian name and I correct myself instantly “—sorry. What I meant to say was, where is Mr. Laurence’s father?”

She takes a moment to respond and I feel her deciding whether it is her place to give me an answer at all.

“He is with his son,” she says finally.

“But Mr. Laurence is—.”

She shakes her head. “No. Not Mr.
Adam
Laurence. His
other
son.”

Dumbfounded, I stare at my furrowed brow and pursed lips in the mirror.
If Adam and I are friends as he says, why would he never mention a brother?

“Adam—” Another meaningful glare. “I’m sorry. Mr. Laurence has a brother?”

She nods, never stopping the brush running through my hair. “Mr. Ray Laurence. He is twenty years of age and two years Mr. Adam Laurence’s senior.”

“Why are they not on the ship, too?” I ask.

At last, the brush stills. Gertrude raises her warm gaze, looking me in the eye. She looks uncomfortable and I can tell she is not as interested in the conversation as I am.

“I should warn you, Miss Hamilton. Mr. Adam Laurence comes from a family that is not very … accepting,” she says, not answering my question.

“There is nothing there for you to warn me against, Gertrude. We are friends. That is all.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they aren’t true, and by the way she shifts behind me I am certain she knows, too.