Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (12 page)

Ethan smiled at her tolerantly. “Certainly nothing so exciting… perhaps just a young prankster.”

“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Wright declared, asserting her proprietorship. “I will have the inn searched top to bottom. Now, Mister Graham, while I thank you for your concern, I do think we should leave these ladies to their rest. Perhaps you might join me for a cup of tea while I send Johnson and Timothy to search the grounds. I always enjoy meeting Gabriel’s friends.”

“I would be delighted.” He bowed. “Goodnight ladies, and please forgive the intrusion.”

“Not at all,” Cara replied with icy politeness.

At the door, Josephine turned and gave the women a stern look before following him out.

Odette and Cara stood rooted to the floor as they listened to the retreating footsteps. When it was clear that neither Mrs. Wright nor Ethan Graham were within earshot, Cara turned, for once, truly furious with Odette.

“How could you?” she said in a fierce undertone. “How could you behave so recklessly? That man was brought here by your actions. Jumping on a moving coach! Honestly, Odette. Words fail me!” She walked over to the sofa and sat down heavily.

Odette followed her and sat in the chair opposite. “It’s worse than that.”

“What?” Cara blinked.

“He was in the coffeehouse, at the table with Gabriel and his friends. I barely noticed him, but when he spoke I recognized his voice.” She shook her head. “I can’t figure it. It could be a coincidence, him leaving the coffeehouse at the same time as I. Maybe he saw me jump the coach, but I didn’t do that until Long Acre. No. I have a weird feeling he followed me out.”

Cara groaned. “Why? Why would he follow you?”

“I was a little too close to one of Gabriel’s friends. Simon, I think. He moved unexpectedly and knocked my arm. Some of my coffee sloshed on Gabriel’s sleeve.” She smiled softly. “He was very kind about it.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “
Now
you moon over him! What exactly did he do?”

“Nothing really, and I’m not mooning!” she protested. “For all he knew, I was just a scared country bumpkin and… well… he just didn’t make a big deal of it. That’s all. No one else seemed to notice.” Odette stood and paced the length of the room. “Why would Ethan Graham notice?”

She turned and looked at Cara. “He’s different from the other four. He is older… more sophisticated. He didn’t talk as much. Now that I think of it, he doesn’t really fit in with the group. And if he left directly after I did, he didn’t stay for the main attraction.” She sat down again, frustrated. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Maybe its best we just get some sleep and wait until morning,” Cara suggested. “Mister Graham didn’t make his visit a secret so you can ask Gabriel about it. His mother is bound to.”

Chapter 14

The morning brought
little clarity and no Gabriel. Odette had descended early to the common rooms with the intention of speaking to him before he left for London.

She had lain awake for hours rehearsing her method of interrogation. She wasn’t quite sure what approach to take. Maybe the “indignant about the intrusion” approach or the “scared about the intruder” approach or the “wasn’t it so exciting” approach. But none of those seemed right. She longed to use the “I was dressed up as a boy last night because I’m a time traveler from an alternate history and I’m trying to make everything right again” approach, but knew that was a non-starter.

As it turned out, no approach was necessary, because the only Wright she could find was Barbara. The inn was bustling, and Barbara hardly had time to nod and smile before heading up the back stairs with an armload of clean linen. Odette had learned that the end of the month was often busy, with old guests moving on and new ones arriving.

She saw the Delaney sisters sitting on a sofa chirping softly to each other. Their many pieces of luggage surrounded them. Miss Constance, the youngest at seventy, motioned to Odette.

“My dear, my dear, do sit down,” she piped in her soft, high-pitched voice. “We were rousted from our beds last night!” she exclaimed excitedly and flapped her hands around exactly like a little parakeet. “An intruder! Some man saw an intruder come in through one of the windows!”

“You aren’t leaving because of it?” asked Odette, concerned that the incident would reflect poorly on the inn.

Both ladies blinked at her wide-eyed and tilted their heads to one side. The sisters were fashionably dressed with gowns opened in front to show off the decorative petticoat underneath. They were both so old and frail that Odette often wondered how they supported the heavy dress and wide panniers that were the fashion.

“Oh no, my dear, certainly not,” twittered Miss Patience, the elder. “We’ve been coming here for years. The waters keep us in excellent health, and no one runs a more congenial establishment than Josephine Wright. Her husband, the dear man, was just a gem. Wasn’t he Connie?”

“Yes, a gem, just a gem,” Miss Constance agreed. “No. We are merely leaving at our appointed time. We have a grand-niece coming out this season and must attend her début.”

Odette smiled at the ladies and stood to leave. “I hope she is successful in her first season.”

“Oh undoubtedly, she is very pretty. She’s sure to be quite the rage,” enthused Miss Patience. Then added absently, “Which is why we thought it so very odd to see Mister Graham here last night.”

Odette stopped in her tracks. “Mister Graham? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Oh no, not ours. He’s an intimate of our niece’s husband, Archie.”

“Archie?”

“Sir Archibald Brandon, a member of His Majesty's Most Honorable Privy Council,” Miss Constance announced proudly.

“Really?” Odette said rather breathlessly. “And Mister Graham?”

“He works for Archie.”

“I don’t know if ‘work’ is the right word, Connie,” Miss Patience scolded. “He
is
a gentleman.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. They collaborate.”

“On what?” Odette pressed.

“Business of State, I should imagine.”

Odette felt her knees go weak and gripped hard the back of the chair she had just vacated. “Why is it so strange Mister Graham would be here?”

“Archie held a private dinner last night in honor of Lillian, our little grand-niece. Just a small affair, but Mister Graham is usually in attendance at all family functions. I can’t imagine what brought him to Hampstead.”

“He was the man who reported the intruder to Mrs. Wright, you know,” Odette informed them.

They sat up straighter and twittered in surprise. “We had no idea!” exclaimed Miss Patience. “But it is like him—so attentive.”

“Oh yes, very attentive. But not the most fashionable of gentlemen,” interjected Miss Constance. “Sometimes one hardly notices him.”

“Except us,” chirped Miss Patience, “we notice everyone.” The two sisters leaned toward each other laughing, their heads bobbing up and down.

Odette made a mental note on the acuity of old ladies and bid them goodbye. It was several moments before she regained her senses enough to find herself in the gardens. She sat down on a stone bench next to one of the topiary chess pieces. With every breath of the chill morning air, she felt her mind clear.

Ethan Graham, friend of a high level government official, had almost certainly followed her from the coffeehouse. The Privy Council consisted of the King’s most trusted advisors and, if she had her history right, often yielded a spymaster from among its ranks.

Could this be Sir Brandon? And, if so, was Ethan Graham one of his agents?

She stood and paced the gravel path.

But what was he doing in the coffeehouse among Gabriel’s friends? And why follow me?

“Such fierce concentration.”

She looked up and immediately wished she had taken more time with her toilette. Gabriel stood directly in front of her looking splendid in rough-spun work clothes. His blond hair was perfectly disheveled and his smile was both warm and cautious. She forced herself not to blush.

“Oh, Mister Wright, just the person I wanted to see.” She had hoped to sound businesslike but croaked a little and cleared her throat.

He stood silently regarding her. She needn’t have worried about her appearance. The simple morning gown of pale rose was a lovely compliment to her skin and dark hair. There were no hoops or large panniers so the silk fell in a natural silhouette. She had thrown a fine woolen shawl of dark green about her shoulders. To Gabriel she resembled an early spring flower. He almost sighed aloud and cleared his throat as well.

“I am, of course, at your service, Miss Swanpoole.”

Odette smiled and said, “Perhaps we are overly formal. Can I call you Gabriel?” She saw him stiffen and immediately regretted her friendly impulse. “Forgive me, I—”

“No,” he interrupted her awkwardly. Gabriel looked down at his feet and then up again at her. “It is not my intention to insult you.” He stopped and seemed to struggle with his words. “My mother was once in a very delicate position. And while marriage to my father and her own hard work has earned her respectability and some status, I think even she has forgotten how tenuous a woman’s reputation can be. I am sometimes overzealous in protecting it.”

Odette felt a certain depression steal over her. She knew intellectually that his fears were well founded but couldn’t help the lump of disappointment that rose in her throat.

Was this respectability for his mother’s sake or his own?

All thoughts of confiding in him were swept away. The hope of an advisor and ally, at least in Gabriel Wright, was dashed. How could she expect him to shoulder her problems, a woman he barely knew, as well as his own? But he had done so for Odell. She guessed that being crazy was more respectable than being a wanton woman.

“Of course, Mr. Wright,” she replied with admirable composure. “It is perfectly understandable, and one of the reasons I wished to speak with you. Miss Mills and I would like to move into London at the earliest possible date. I was thinking somewhere in the Covent Garden area. Perhaps somewhere convenient to Drury Lane.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and pursed his lips. “You still insist on moving forward with this ridiculous plan?”

Odette pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and jutted her chin out in a belligerent attitude. “Mister Wright, I understand you
mean
no offense, yet you consistently
give
it. I, too, have a family to protect. And while you may doubt the veracity of my story, I have every intention of finding my brother and removing him from harm’s way. No matter the cost!”

“I just don’t understand why you won’t go to the authorities—”

“And have them think me as mad as my brother? No thank you, Mister Wright, I’d rather not need your services to keep me out of Bedlam.”

She turned from him and walked back toward the inn.

Two long strides brought Gabriel alongside her. He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Odette, what would you have me believe?” His voice was full of frustration and confused feeling. “You come here out of nowhere—literally nowhere. No horse, no carriage… wearing next to nothing and carrying a bag full of gold and money. Your brother is missing and an unnamed villain is responsible. Whom you, by yourself, are setting out to trap. It certainly sounds like madness to me!”

“Well, Gabriel, you don’t know the half of it!” She could barely speak. Her throat was tight, and she clinched her fists to stop herself from crying. She breathed deeply to regain her composure and looked up at him. “Listen, I really don’t want to drag your family any further into this mess. But if you can’t believe me, at least open your eyes and your mind. You know about the man who reported an intruder last night?”

“Yes,” he replied briskly. “My mother told me of the incident. Ethan Graham is a friend of mine. It’s a strange coincidence. But Graham is a gentleman, and—”

“He is more than that,” she countered forcefully. “He is an intimate of Sir Archibald Brandon, member of His Majesty’s Privy Council.”

“So…” He stopped, suddenly pensive. “Sir Brandon, you say?”

“Yes. Do you know something?”

Gabriel shook his head vaguely. “Only rumors.” He looked at her. His eyes were calm and assessing. “How do you know this?”

“The Misses Delaney.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Old ladies…”

“…know everything. Sir Brandon is their dear niece’s husband. With his daughter coming out, they were rather shocked to see Ethan Graham here instead of at a special dinner last night in her honor.”

Gabriel’s hands were still resting on her shoulders. “He saw a lad jump on the luggage rack of a moving coach.”

Now she raised
her
eyebrows. “So he follows the coach to Hampstead? Somewhere he just happens to be going?” she said disbelievingly. “I know it’s unusual, but I’ve seen boys do the same.”

Where do you think I learned?

“And I don’t follow them all over the countryside,” she concluded aloud.

Gabriel looked intently down into her face and drew her closer. “You think Ethan had an ulterior motive for coming here?”

“I think it’s strange,” she equivocated.

“And the boy he saw climb into your window?”

He was too perceptive by half. It was obvious his mother had yet to tell him of her little dress-up act. But she had to risk it. He had to be wary. It wasn’t just Benjamin Franklin now. It was all those good men she had seen last night, all of them working toward a new world. She wasn’t going to see them die in a history-altering purge.

“I don’t know what he saw. Maybe he’s lying. The questions you should be asking are who or what is Ethan Graham? And why should he concern himself with you?”

Cara found them thus, standing close, Gabriel’s hands on Odette’s shoulders. But for once, the intimacy of their pose was lost on her.

She glided up gracefully, waving in her hand a heavy sheet of writing paper and said excitedly, “Mister Garrick of the Theatre Royal will meet with you tomorrow!”

Chapter 15

Odette stared out
the window of their hired coach and watched the barren fields gradually change into the straggled beginnings of a city. Small, distance clumps of buildings grew closer together. The small-town bustle of Hampstead was replaced by a constant stream of conveyances moving purposefully into the crowded streets of London.

Odette had always wanted to visit London. She smiled to herself. Well, here she was. It may be over two hundred years in the past, but it was London nonetheless.

“You lived here once didn’t you, Cara?” she asked.

“Aye, to be sure.” Now that there was no prohibition on just being Irish, Cara’s natural lilt reasserted itself more frequently. “I was just a lass of sixteen. I came to study design and dressmaking.” She contemplated her hands encased in soft kid gloves. “My aunt sponsored me. My mother was English, you see. I had to sign a pledge renouncing my Irish citizenship. But I was mad to study and make something of myself. And Ireland was so impoverished. That was long before the Gender Laws, of course. But the fact that I was Irish was bad enough. After school I wanted to get as far away from England as possible. So I signed on as apprentice to a fashion house in New York.”

She looked up at Odette and smiled sadly. “I left everything behind to build a new life, a business, and still oppression followed me. When they passed the Gender Laws, I wondered what it was all for. Why I had given up so much.”

Odette was stunned. She reached across to grasp her friend’s hand. “I am so sorry, Cara darling.”

She gave herself a little shake. “It’s being here.” Cara gestured out the window. “In England. I’m too close. I can feel the pull of my green island—my family. Of course, they’re not there yet. At least the ones I knew. I’m just being sentimental.”

“We’ll go visit,” Odette said with determination. “We have two hundred years after all to work with.” She pressed her lips firmly together and nodded. “After we save the world and reinstate the natural order of things, we’ll go celebrate in Ireland before returning home.”

They both laughed restored to a comfortable equilibrium.

The coach jolted over the clogged streets halting occasionally for familiar urban fixtures—traffic, street vendors, stray dogs, and beggars, many of them children. But it wasn’t until they turned onto Drury Lane, that Odette realized Gabriel’s distaste for her profession might have as much to do with location as social stigma.

For Drury Lane was one of the most depressing slums she had ever encountered. It was dominated by sleazy pubs and prostitutes. Working their wares, even in the daytime, the prostitutes quickly noticed the well-appointed coach. Most turned away when it became obvious that the occupants were not male. One, however, blew a kiss and winked saucily crooking her finger in invitation. Odette could tell she was young. Even under the layers of garish face paint. On impulse she leaned out the window.

“Stop! Stop for a moment!” she yelled up at the coachman.

“Can’t stop here, miss. Too busy.”

“Then pull over. Just for a moment. Please.”

“Odette, what are you doing?” Cara demanded. “We have an appointment to keep!”

“This will only take a second.” She leaned further out the window and waved to the young prostitute as the coach pulled alongside. The girl looked at her in surprise and some dismay. As if Odette had not understood her bold gesture as a joke.

Odette shook her head. “No, no, I don’t want your… ah… services. Just come here, please.”

The girl sashayed over, swinging broad hips. She was indeed young and still pretty. Her brown curls were piled high on her head. She had wide, blue eyes, a pug nose, and full lips over pleasingly crooked teeth. She stopped next to the coach.

“You want me for your man then?” she asked in an uneducated accent, although her voice was low and pleasant.

“Ah, no… no man.” Odette unclasped the pearl pendant from around her neck. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen, miss.”

Odette looked at her in disbelief.

“Fifteen last December,” she admitted with a wide grin.

“And your name?”

“Fancy.”

“Is that your real name?”

“It’s as real as you’re ever gonna know.”

“Fair enough, Fancy. My name is Odette. I’m going to the Theatre Royal to audition.”

“Good for you then. What’d ya need me for?”

“If I’m hired, I’ll need someone to help me—to assist with certain things.”

Fancy nodded with a knowing look on her face. “Help you with the gentlemen like.”

“No—”

“Got to move!” shouted the coachman. “Can’t stay here any longer, miss.”

“Alright,” Odette yelled and turned back to Fancy. “I can’t explain now, but take this.” She pressed the pearl necklace into the startled girl’s outstretched hand. “It’s quite valuable, so don’t get cheated out of its full worth. It may be a fortnight or so before I start working. Use the money to stay off the streets. Then come to the theater and ask for me.”

The coach jerked sharply as it pulled back into the stream of traffic. The stunned girl was left to stare after them.

“What was that all about?” Cara sat back with her arms crossed. “A generous gesture to be sure, but you do know you’ll never see that girl again.”

“I wish it was a generous gesture,” Odette replied, her usually expressive face impassive.

Cara tilted her head to one side questioningly.

Odette looked down at the lovely dark blue of her skirt. She smoothed out a wrinkle and spoke without meeting Cara’s eyes, “We’re going to need information, Cara. In Odell’s notebook he wrote of building a network of informants. Finding people who are connected at all levels of society.”

“Fancy?”

“She’s a prostitute. She’ll have access to that world. To information we could never get on our own.”

“But how can this help us?”

“Drake can’t do this alone. He’s going to need people in both high and low places. We’re just going to get to those places before he does.”

The coach made a sharp turn and threw them back against the cushions. Odette poked her head out the window to find they had turned abruptly onto a side street. “Here, coachman! Where are you going?”

“I’m taking you ’round by the main entrance. Don’t think its right to let you ladies down with them sorts milling about.”

Odette pulled her head back in. Cara smiled. “He saw you give Fancy the necklace. He figures you for a Plushy.”

Odette thought back to the last time someone believed her soft. Cristabelle had called Odell soft too—an easy mark. Well, both Cristabelle and the coachman would be surprised to learn that she was doing Fancy no favors drawing her into this intrigue.

The coach turned again and then stopped in front of what looked to be a darkened entrance to a covered passageway. A boy stepped forward to grab the horses’ heads, while the coachman jumped down to open the door and put down the steps. Odette followed Cara out of the coach to stand on the wood planked entrance to the theater.

The coachman unbuckled two leather bags from the rear rack and handed them to Odette and Cara. “The theater’s right through that passageway. I’ll be back ’round in about an hour.”

“Thank you,” Odette replied and led the way into the wide, dark passage. They walked a short distance to emerge into a walled yard opened to the sky. Across the yard were small, narrow stairs that went in three different directions into the theater. They took the ones leading center and down and found themselves in the pit.

Odette walked forward. Her footsteps echoed in the large, empty theater. She stopped in the center of the pit and took a deep breath. Nothing had changed. Over two hundred years and yet nothing had changed. She could as well be standing in the darkened house of her own dear White Swan.

The White Swan was smaller, but the design was almost identical. The benches of the pit spread back from the stage in arching rows. On the wall, a circular line of boxes surrounded the pit. The front boxes, or amphitheater, would be where the wealthiest patrons sat. In the pit, one would find a mix of people. Merchants and other working folk rubbed shoulders with aristocratic young men and their mistresses.

The stage was large and elevated. Odette could see the polished wood planks from where she stood. Elaborate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and she realized that at least one thing was quite different. There was no electricity. The theater and stage were lit entirely by candlelight. One of the main reasons most performances were staged in the early afternoons.

“To dance by candlelight,” she whispered to herself. A little shiver of delight coursed through her. She wondered if candlelight would create an atmosphere of greater intimacy with the people who came to watch her dance.

“Odette,” Cara’s voice broke into her thoughts, “someone is coming.”

A petite figure approached them from the pit door. “Miss Swanpoole?” It was a lady, a very graceful one. Dressed in orange silk with ruffles of white lace at the throat and elbows, she stopped in front of them.

“Miss Swanpoole, I am Eva Marie Garrick, David’s wife,” she said in German-accented English, however, more polished than that of the little shoemaker.

Odette caught herself before presenting her hand to shake and merely bowed her head in greeting. “Mrs. Garrick, how good to meet you. This is my friend, Miss Cara Mills.”

Mrs. Garrick nodded politely to Cara but turned her attention quickly back to Odette. “I was very intrigued to read your letter. I have never heard of a dance master by the name of Blasis or this new technique you wrote of.”

Odette swallowed nervously. Lying always made her mouth dry. “Yes… well… he is very retiring—one of those genius types with little social skills and no interest in anything but his art.”

Eva flicked her hand charmingly in the air. “Oh, my dear, I know the type.” She led the way back through the door and up the stairs into the wings. Talking all the while, she pointed out important features of the theater. “My husband has many plans for improvement and would very much like to enlarge the theater.”

They walked down a narrow hallway with dressing rooms on either side. Odette was in her element. Just the smell of the theater soothed her. Through scent she could feel the aged wood, the polish from the floorboards mixed with paint, and musty curtains. By the afternoon this place would be humming with activity. Stagehands, technicians, actors, dancers all would come together in concert to provide a few hours of escape and entertainment.

She inhaled deeply and asked, “Is Mister Garrick to meet us here as well?”

Eva stopped at the opened door of a small room and gestured them inside. “I must confess, Miss Swanpoole, it is I who answered your message. My husband is in Scotland for several days, and I was too curious to wait until his return.”

The three women in their large hoop skirts filled the dressing room. It appeared even more crowded as the full-length and dressing table mirrors reflected their images back a hundredfold.

“So your husband is unaware of this audition?” Cara spoke for the first time.

“Entirely.” She smiled sweetly. “But do not worry. I was a dancer of some renown. David always seeks my advice when we stage a ballet.” She clapped her delicate hands to her breast. “And we have a visiting expert. He was set to return to France but has delayed his departure as a favor to me.” She picked up her skirts in an efficient manner and flattened them to her sides as she exited the room. “Now, Miss Swanpoole, please prepare yourself and meet me at the stage in half an hour.”

Odette and Cara were left alone.

The dressing room was located at the interior of the building and had no windows. Only light from the hallway and the wavering flame of a candle illuminated the sparely furnished room. Odette looked around at the dancing shadows and dimly lit reflections and felt a flicker of butterflies in her stomach.

She blew out a slow breath. “What do you think Cara? Is this on the upside? Is she for real?”

“Well, her dress is very luxurious and well designed. I have no doubt she is his wife. And she certainly looks the part of a dancer.” Cara put the bag on the dressing table. “What reason would she have for messin’ with us anyhow?” She gave a Gaelic shrug of her shoulders. “Aye, we’ll know soon enough. You’d better get ready.”

Odette was ready in under twenty minutes. The last ten minutes, she used to stretch and warm up. She didn’t have a barre and time was short, but it would have to do.

She walked down the corridor with Cara trailing behind her. Odette always thought it funny how ungainly ballerinas appeared walking flat-footed in pointe shoes. With feet splayed out like a penguin’s. The mid-calf tutu Cara had designed grazed the opposite walls of the narrow hallway. Odette flattened herself against one wall as two workmen rushed by throwing surprised looks back over their shoulders.

She put her hand up to check the hairpiece pinned onto her head to simulate a classical ballerina’s bun. Her hair was slicked back with a pomade Cara had concocted with the help of Josephine Wright. It was an unnecessary detail. Ballerinas had yet to wear their hair in this fashion. But Odette had insisted. The ritual of hair and makeup comforted her and gave her courage. A lot depended on this audition. Odette only hoped that Eva Marie Garrick was indeed the advisor to her husband she claimed to be.

She was certainly astonished when Odette appeared in the wings.

“Miss Swanpoole! You… you… look,” she struggled for words. After a moment of stunned silence she shut her mouth firmly and reached out to touch the tutu. “May I?” she asked.

“Of course.” Odette nodded.

“This is extraordinary!” she enthused, touching the stiff gauze. “The appliqué work is exquisite. But how is it held up? There are no sleeves, no corset.” She reached up to touch Odette’s shoulder and drew in a sharp breath. “Oh! But I see it now! The netting is so thin—so delicate. No one will see it from the audience. They will believe you are dancing in an enchanted dress!”

“Miss Mills is a master of her art,” Odette explained.

“Indeed she is! I think I should be scandalized. But it is too beautiful, and you look so lovely. And this?” She pointed at Odette’s feet. “What do you have on your feet?”