Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (15 page)

They said goodnight to Topper and walked out into the mild evening. The three women mounted the steps to Mister Harris’ large, comfortable carriage. Fancy had to gather the cloak around her and lift it up so as not to trip. “Where are the flowers?” she asked as she seated herself opposite Odette and Cara.

“Mister Harris’ boys took them in another carriage. There were too many to fit in here with us. And besides, we’re headed in the other direction.”

Odette smiled. The girl was observant. She would make a good little spy.

The trip to their lodgings was really quite short. She wished it were longer. Unlike the careening noisy cabs of her timeline, the horse-drawn carriage calmed her with its gently rocking motion. In the last few weeks, these trips were all too brief moments of quiet and relaxation.

She thought back to the triumph of her début. There was the thunderous applause. Cara and Eva beamed from the wings. David Garrick took a bow. Then the moment when she had pulled Noverre out onto the stage. She would never forget the sickening silence that fell over the theater. He had stood nonchalantly beside her, but she could feel the tension vibrate between them. She hadn’t thought. She had only wanted to share this moment with the man who had given her so much. David’s face was a mask. Nobody breathed. It seemed as if the cosmos hung in the balance tipping inevitably toward violence.

And then it started again—the applause. She heard from where it came and was grateful. Slowly it built to a crescendo surpassing even her ovation. They cheered and called his name. He bowed and smiled graciously, then stepped back to let Odette and David take center stage again. Later David had stoically admonished her, “That was incredibly foolish, Odette,” but then said no more.

Backstage was a madhouse. Well-connected patrons crowded in to meet the new prima ballerina. Some even wanted to discuss her technique and expression, but most just wanted to ogle and fawn over her. David and Eva expertly worked the crowd. They shepherded her from one prominent person to another protecting her from the most egregious advances. Flowers and calling cards were left in her dressing room.

She searched the crowd for one face in particular. At her request, the Wrights were given a place of honor in one of the front boxes. When she was on stage, Odette tried to imagine him out there. Watching her and beginning to understand her artistry and passion.

It was his hands, and his voice that had turned the tide in favor of Noverre. His shouted “Bravo” began the acclaim that now allowed Noverre to work openly and garner the accolades he so richly deserved.

If Gabriel had appeared in front of her at that moment, she would have kissed him for all to see. But he didn’t appear. Instead it was Barbara and Josephine who embraced her and enthused over her performance.

“Where is Gabriel?” she had asked them.

“Trying to find a carriage,” they answered. “It’s raining.”

Odette hid her disappointment. It wasn’t until she was preparing to leave that she saw it. On her dresser, shoved behind bottles of perfume and makeup, was a small nosegay of violets. He wrote on a lovely card imprinted with gold bordering:

A true artist needs no validation… nonetheless, you were magnificent.

–Gabriel.

They were the only flowers she ever took home. The only card she kept.

“Fancy.” Cara leaned across the carriage to put her hand on the girl’s arm. “I think—”

Afterwards Odette could not remember which she heard first, the explosion or the gunshot. The impact of the blast hit the carriage sideways. It rocked violently and nearly tipped over. The wheels slammed up against the curb. The occupants lost their balance and were thrown to the floor. Odette caught Fancy as she fell. She pulled the girl to her and stared dumbly at the dark stain spreading across her chest. The horses screamed and careened out of control. She heard Cara yell something, but her ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton.

Odette looked in the direction of Cara’s terrified gaze and saw a masked face at the window. A gun leveled at her. She blinked. Her brain was frozen in horror.

A muted thud and the masked face was gone. To be replaced by an even stranger sight. A boy in black pajamas clambered in through the window and dropped lightly to the floor of the speeding carriage.

Chapter 18

Odette could barely
absorb the chaos of the moment—the lurching carriage, the bleeding girl, the strange boy. With her feet braced against the opposite seat to keep from being thrown, she pressed her hands over Fancy’s wound and held them there. Blood seeped out from between her fingers. She felt Cara pry her hands away only to slip a folded scarf between them and the bullet hole.

The boy crept forward and put two fingers to Fancy’s neck. “She lives,” he pronounced, “but there is too much blood.”

Odette hardly heard him. She tried to focus on his face. He looked familiar, yet strange. Her sluggish brain struggled to comprehend. The olive skin, the almond-shaped eyes, she knew these.

Finally the carriage swung to an abrupt halt. Men’s raised voices and the panicked sound of bystanders penetrated Odette’s shock. She heard Ignatius Harris’ gruff command, “You there! Take the horses’ heads!”

The door was thrown open and Ignatius stood motionless as if unable to grasp the scene before him. “My God! Is that Miss Fancy there?”

“Yes. She’s been shot. We need a doctor,” Odette said matter-of-factly and was stunned her voice didn’t shake. She used it as a focal point to pull herself back together. Taking a deep breath, she clasped the girl close and pushed up onto her knees.

“We need a doctor,” she repeated and handed Fancy to Ignatius as she scrambled out of the carriage. “Is there a doctor nearby?” she asked to the gathered crowd of onlookers. “Is there a doctor?” she pleaded again, close to tears.

“Yes.” A young matron stepped forward. “My husband’s surgery is two blocks down, above the apothecary.”

Odette didn’t stop to think. She grabbed Ignatius by the elbow and turned him in the direction the woman had indicated. She lifted her skirts and ran flat out. Ignatius was close behind breathing heavily with his wounded burden. When they arrived at the apothecary it was closed. Odette banged on the door shouting all the while.

“Here now, what’s all the racket?” A man leaned out from the second story window.

“A gunshot wound! She’s bleeding!”

Not thirty seconds later the door was thrown open, and they were ushered into a stark yet clean room. “Put her there.” He indicated a waist-high table pushed up against the wall.

“Light more candles,” his voice was clipped. He wasted little energy on speaking. “Help me pull off her collar and sleeve.”

Ignatius lit the candles, and Odette assisted with removing her clothes. They pealed back the blood-soaked wool, and Odette heard the doctor’s hissed intake of breath.

Everything after that was a blur. She and Ignatius reacted automatically to the barked commands. “Hand me that.” “No, no, that… over there.” “Bring the light closer, man.” These were interspersed by an occasional moan or fluttering eyelid from Fancy.

The doctor’s wife arrived, and Odette was gently pushed aside to be replaced by a more competent nurse.

The candlelight threw misshapen shadows onto the walls. They danced around Fancy’s still form like evil spirits.

Odette shuttered and collapsed into a chair. She stared blindly at the scene before her, then closed her eyes and dropped her face into her hands.

*

Cara watched Odette and Ignatius run down the street and out of sight. She stood next to the dangerously tilting carriage. Her hand rested on the shattered wheel. The horses tossed their heads, shaking the already unsteady conveyance. The two boys unceremoniously recruited from the crowd looked at each other nervously, but continued to hold them.

Cara took an unsteady step away from the wheel and pushed the hair back from her face. Something had to be done.

She felt a hand at her elbow before she heard his voice, “Miss Mills?”

Cara looked at him. “Mr. Graham.”

“You remember me.”

She nodded her head graciously. “How could I forget?” Her hat was knocked askew, and her hair tumbled in disordered curls to her waist. Her gown was streaked with blood, and unheeded tears made tracks down her face. Yet he was struck by her dignified bearing and the obvious effort it cost her to maintain it.

“I hope to make my presence more welcome this time. Can I be of assistance?”

He wasn’t a big man, perhaps only a few inches taller than she. But his well-tailored clothes showed a physique both trim and strong. The streetlight threw into relief fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. She calculated his age to be a least ten years younger than her own. His calm presence was compelling, and she resisted the urge to lean against him. She knew Odette viewed him with suspicion, and was forced to acknowledge that his presence here was oddly coincidental.

“You can indeed, Mr. Graham. This carriage and the horses belong to Mr. Ignatius Harris, a coachman. I believe his yard is located in Spitalfields. If we can get word—”

“You, there!” He gestured to a couple of men standing to the side. “We need to unharness the horses, and one of you boys must ride to Harris’ Coaching Yard in Spitalfields.”

With the air of a man used to issuing orders, he helped untangle the horses from the carriage. He assigned the two men the task of guarding it until it could be retrieved. She saw him slip coins into the boys’ hands, and watched as one of them mounted and rode off in the direction of Spitalfields. He sent the other boy to the Rotation Office on Bow Street to report the incident to the magistrate.

Finally he stood beside her again. “There is nothing else to be done here. Can I escort you home?”

“No,” she replied, setting her hat more firmly on her head. “I intend to join Odette at the doctor’s surgery.”

Ethan fell into step beside her as Cara made her way in the direction she had seen Odette and Ignatius disappear. Evening festivities had yet to commence, and traffic was light. It had been many days since Cara was out just as the early evening heat was giving way to the nighttime chill.

Typically after a performance, she and Odette would return to their rooms for a brief respite before setting out for a fashionable salon or soirée. Exhausted as Odette often was, she felt the need to be seen in society and was constantly making connections and listening to gossip.

It was a time of day Cara missed, but was now unable to enjoy. Her thoughts were concentrated on what she might find at the surgery.

“Can you describe what happened?”

She had almost forgotten he was there.

Cara looked at him cautiously. “I hardly know. There was an explosion, a gunshot, a man, a boy…”

“A boy?”

She swallowed and looked away from him. She needed to think.

Why ask about the boy?
As a matter of fact, where was the boy?

Cara had not seen him since stepping out of the carriage. He had saved their lives, certainly Odette’s. She wasn’t going to bring him trouble.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was just the man. He was masked and had a gun.” Cara shook her head as if confused. “Really, Mister Graham, I can’t speak of it now. I’m much too upset.”

Nothing like falling back on the weak woman routine, she thought. He took the bait and fell silent again beside her.

They had just turned the corner to the apothecary when they were met by Odette and Ignatius. Cara stretched out her hands and grasped Odette’s.

She asked through a lump in her throat, “Fancy?”

“Alive… just. We are fortunate in her doctor. He’s very skilled, as is his wife.”

Odette looked haggard. Although the nighttime crowd had yet to emerge, the street was still populated by people going about their business. They passed the foursome, often stopping to stare at the disheveled appearance of the two women.

“The doctor said the bullet just missed a major artery,” Odette continued. “It entered through the front just below her shoulder and exited out the top.” She stopped to wipe away the tears that had started anew. “She’s lost a lot of blood. He is not certain she will live.”

She looked at Cara miserably. “How could this—”

“Sssh.” Cara hugged her tightly. “We need to go home.
Mr. Graham
has offered to escort us. The doctor can send word if there is any change.”

Odette looked up and blinked. She noticed Ethan for the first time. Her expression didn’t change, but Cara noted a tightening of her shoulders.

“Yes, of course. But Mister Harris’ carriage…”

“That has all been arranged,” Ethan replied. “Both the coaching yard and magistrate have been notified.” He nodded politely to the coachman who had remained silent in deference to a man obviously his social superior. “I put two men in charge of guarding the coach.” It was a subtle dismissal, but Ignatius stubbornly waited for a sign from Odette before leaving.

She thanked him profusely and promised to send word the minute Fancy was out of danger. He left them and they turned to walk the final few blocks to Exeter Street.

As Covent Garden streets went, Exeter was relatively quiet. It had its share of taverns and the ubiquitous prostitutes, but it was a street dominated by respectable businesses and their attendant residences.

Odette and Cara leased rooms from the widow of a staymaker. They formed a small apartment that was uniquely detached from the main residence. The building had served as quarters for various apprentices and tradesmen, but had stood mostly unoccupied for several years. It sat back from the house at the end of a walled courtyard. The location was quiet and, most importantly, private. They entered by a narrow alleyway bordering one side of the house.

The courtyard was a lovely oasis on an otherwise mercantile street. Their landlady, Mrs. Cheever, was Italian by birth and had a passion for water and flowers. Over the many years of her residence she had carved out a hidden garden of rosebushes, fruit trees, and lily ponds. As they entered the courtyard, Odette, for once, was untouched by its quiet beauty. Her sensibilities were still on edge from the noise and blood of the last hours.

They reached the main entrance of their modest home. English ivy draped over the door from the balcony above. They had spoken little during the short walk.

“Mister Graham.” Odette turned to dismiss their escort. “It was good of you to accompany us. I hope you won’t think me rude not inviting you in, but Miss Mills and I are quite shaken and need some time to recover.”

Ethan looked at her steadily and replied in his mild way, “Certainly not. I understand completely.” He bowed his head and prepared to leave but hesitated, saying, “You realize the magistrate will require a full account of the incident.”

Odette was prepared. “I can’t imagine what sense either Miss Mills or I can make of this outrage. That three defenseless women could be attacked with such brutality on a busy street is almost inconceivable. The thieves and footpads of this city have become bold indeed, Mister Graham.”

The real outrage in her voice was an excellent cover for her disingenuous words. “Since you were in the vicinity, perhaps you could throw some light on the
incident
.” She couldn’t conceal a tinge of hostility in her voice.

A slight crease furrowed his brow. “I was in the tobacconist shop and heard the blast. I saw the carriage only after it had stopped.”

“How unfortunate. I saw nothing but my wounded friend and a man with a gun. Perhaps the magistrate will have better luck finding witnesses.”

“We can only hope, Miss Swanpoole.” With that he bowed again and was gone.

*

Ethan walked slowly back up Bridges Street toward the spot where he had first seen the carriage lurch out of control. Of course he had not spoken the truth when questioned by Odette. As a spy he very rarely, if ever, told the truth. And then, only if it served a greater deception. It had never bothered him much until now.

The truth in his business was always elusive. But in the past he had typically maintained a measure of control. He was the one telling the lies, creating the illusion, spinning the web. He never had the complete picture though. That was for people far more senior and well connected than he would ever be. The younger son of an impoverished baronet could hardly aspire to such an exalted position. Nevertheless, he was a valued and trusted member of his community. And spycraft, however devious and underhanded, was something he was good at.

But now he was puzzled. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Beginning with the night he had followed the boy to Hampstead, the picture had shifted. Something was at play here that was completely new. He could feel it. Over the years he had learned to listen closely to his instincts.

After his visit to the inn, he was inclined to believe he had indeed mistaken the window. But his conversation with Gabriel’s mother had convinced him something more was going on. She had offered him just enough information that further questioning on his part would have been impolite. “Miss Odette? Oh, the sister of a friend of Gabe’s. They arrived a few days ago, but will remove to London soon. Miss Mills is her friend.”

In his experience people with nothing to hide, didn’t. They spoke of little things, details that rounded out a story. They gave peoples ages or their origins. They told anecdotes of how they had met, or if the families got along. They offered insight into a person’s character or disposition. If only to say, “Poor Miss Odette, she’s always coming down with something or other.” He worked hard at this himself. Making sure his stories sounded real, because if one sounded “real,” people rarely looked any deeper.

He had gotten none of this from Mrs. Wright. Later that same night, he had spoken of his suspicions with Sir Brandon.

“A boy, you say.” Sir Brandon’s large frame was tending toward fat. It filled the overstuffed winged chair across from the fireplace, the room’s only source of light. They sat together in Sir Brandon’s library surrounded by impressive mahogany shelves filled with books. The smoke drifting out from his mentor’s cheap clay pipe mingled with the wood, leather, and paper of the library to create an almost overwhelming masculine aura. “Are you sure he was eavesdropping?”

“I can’t be sure. But his behavior was very odd. He hung about over Gabe’s shoulder even though it was clear he knew no one at our table.”