Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (2 page)

She was tired. Richard wasn’t satisfied with their rehearsal, and the company had worked through the night on a piece that was premiering in just two days. Adelphia was there as well. She had watched silently from the darkened house of the small theater.

While Odette was preparing to leave, Richard had issued his warning. “Get another citation and you’re out,” he sternly admonished. “We’re walking a fine line as it is, Odette. We can’t afford unnecessary scrutiny. You need to control your actions, or you’ll be replaced.”

She had nodded in agreement. But what could she have done differently? It wasn’t her fault.

The police were dragging an undocumented urchin to the local lockup when she recognized him as her landlady’s youngest. The kid had either lost or forgotten his papers. She was just trying to save her landlady the cost of a fine. Her intervention, however, was rewarded with a citation for interfering in the duties of a law officer.

Richard’s words were harsh, but Odette understood. He was a brilliant artistic director, and together he and Adelphia had established The White Swan Theater less than a year earlier. 

Their stated mission was to bring ballet to a wider audience by staging smaller productions that the city’s poor could attend. Left unsaid, was that these ballets would be different. A new form of dance and expression, they would be a mixture of classical and modern.

Suspicions swirled around the actual purpose of the theater. Anything that smacked even vaguely of social advocacy was immediately repressed. Layers of bureaucratic paperwork, city, municipal, and borough were needed to approve its formation. But such was Adelphia Montagu’s exalted position in society, nobody interfered. Yet still they had to be careful. Anything too obviously radical and they would be shut down in a heartbeat.

Odette looked up from her reverie and found herself on a street of run-down old brownstones. Scraggly trees lined the sidewalk, and neglected flower boxes hung from several windowsills. She mounted the steps of number twenty-eight and pulled keys from her cloak pocket.

Odette occupied the topmost apartment, but she didn’t mind the climb. It was cheaper and more spacious than the bottom floors. With access to the roof from her window fire escape, she had planted a small herb and vegetable garden there to supplement her meager food budget.

She could have shared rooms with other dancers in a more fashionable part of town. But this way she could afford some privacy and avoid at all cost the Earl of Westchester. He wouldn’t be caught dead in this ramshackle part of the city.

“The perks of being poor,” whispered Odette with a crooked smile.

The next instant she stopped, still as a hunted rabbit. Her door stood ajar, and she could hear movement on the other side.

Suddenly it was flung wide, and a beautiful vision materialized before her.

“Cara!” she cried and threw herself into the other woman’s arms.

Chapter 2

“Darling, I had
the devil of a time tracking you down.”

The vision sat at Odette’s tiny kitchen table and held a cup of tea. Her head was cocked charmingly to one side as she blew on the hot liquid.

Odette looked at her fondly. Cara was somewhere in her mid-forties but looked ageless. In the fifteen years Odette had known her, not one new wrinkle had emerged to mar her perfect complexion. More amazing still was her long mane of thick auburn hair. It retained a youthful sheen and was miraculously free of the gray that typically plagued redheads. Cara insisted it was all natural. Odette had never found any evidence to the contrary but was still unconvinced.

“How did you find me?” Odette asked nervously. She had taken up residence only a few weeks before and was especially cautious with her new address.

“Odell, bless him.”

“And just how did you find him?”

Odell had a cramped room at the university, but he was notoriously hard to locate. “And how does he know my new address? I haven’t seen him in weeks.” She sighed. Used to the fact that her enigmatic twin brother had a habit of knowing everything.

Cara set her teacup on the table and replied a little severely, “Your brother knows better than to leave me in the dark as to his whereabouts.”

She was right. Odell would never fail to give Cara the means of contacting him. They owed her too much.

“Unlike you, my dear,” she admonished.

“I’m sorry, Cara,” Odette apologized. “But I only recently moved in and had no idea you were back in town. In fact, I had no idea you were even back in the country.”

Odette furrowed her brow and scrutinized her friend. “Why
are
you here? You were supposed to be gone for months. It’s barely been six weeks.”

Cara glanced hastily down at her lap and smoothed the soft fabric of her skirt. “Darling, why do you insist on wearing those dreadful trousers and that ugly cape?”

Odette smiled knowingly at her evasion. “You’ve argued with Emile.”

“Emile! Blast that man!” Cara sat up straighter, her cheeks flushed. She dropped the society drawl and let her native Irish lilt creep into her speech. “Oh, he thinks he’s so clever! You’d think he was the brains and talent behind the business.”

“Cara, I’m sure Emile didn’t—”

“Oh, didn’t he now?” Her eyebrows rose dangerously high on her forehead and the deep green eyes flashed. “He was swanning around Hispaniola and Nueva Florida pointing out this fabric and that—demanding the finest lace. I wanted to throttle him!”

“You’re slipping, Cara dear,” Odette replied with a sly smile.

She cast Odette a fulminating glance and sat back with a huff, crossing her arms over her lovely chest. “It’s bloody hard to keep up, Odette. Society ladies sashay into my shop, already with their noses in the air. It wouldn’t do if they discovered my father was Irish.”

Odette smiled sadly. How well she knew it. The English hated the Irish. King George had crushed the revolutionary movement in America. But Ireland won its independence over one hundred years ago and pushed the English out of Northern Ireland for good. The English had exacted their revenge every day since by ringing the small island with ships—making it nearly impossible to prosper. They forbade Irish immigration to England or any English territory.

Yet the Irish stubbornly clung to their independence and found their way to other countries. Odette was aware that many Irish expatriates supported their cause with arms and money and wondered if Cara was among them.

“You do very well, Cara,” Odette replied soothingly. “I’ve never seen you drop character in public. I’m assuming Emile still doesn’t know.”

“Me arse and Katty Barry!” she exclaimed sarcastically, now fully Irish. “If he knew, he’d try to take my business for sure.”

“He can’t run it alone, Cara. He’s only the front man.”

She sat back again her anger dissipating. “No, ’tis true. But he could cut my share by threatening to expose me.”

Odette knew this as well. Cara was a genius. But she was a woman and, if known, her Irish roots would be a liability. As it was, only Odette and Odell knew her true origins.

They met when Cara had worked as a junior costume designer for the ballet where their mother danced. With talent and ingenuity she advanced quickly and soon managed a department of over thirty designers and seamstresses. A few years later, she opened her own shop on Fifth Avenue. The recent passage of the Gender Laws, however, stripped women of their right to own businesses, and Cara was forced to hire a front man.

Emile had been a friend of long standing. Being French, Cara thought he would bring some cachet to her store. Instead, the partnership proved tumultuous, and Cara constantly had to depress his pretensions. The fact that he was legal owner of all she had built was never far from her thoughts.

Odette leaned over and grasped her hand. “You’re the talent behind that store and he knows it. He’d never threaten his own standing and livelihood by turning you in. Besides,” she added practically, “you could go anywhere else in the world and prosper without him. He couldn’t do the same.”

Cara patted her hand in a motherly fashion. Or Odette thought of it as motherly. It was hard to tell since her own mother had not been particularly nurturing.

“My dear, here I am complaining when you’ve been through so much.” Cara shrugged her shoulders and cocked her head again to one side. “But,” she said cheerfully, “Odell tells me you are dancing again. Um… ballet… that is,” she added hastily.

Odette was happy to fill her in. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she recounted the events of the past several weeks. The White Swan had saved her life! Richard Atwood was brilliant! The Duchess of Montagu was a kind and gracious patroness!

“And the dancing. Cara! I feel so free!” she exclaimed excitedly. “You must come and see. We are premiering a new piece on Saturday.”

“I most assuredly will.” Cara smiled at her indulgently and then sobered. “And Westchester?”

“Drake?” The light in Odette’s eyes dimmed. She stared out the window. “It’s strange, Cara. I haven’t seen him in months, but it feels like he’s ever-present. Like a shadow over my life.”

“My dear—”

“I know. I’m being overly dramatic.” Odette stood and took a turn around the small kitchen. “I can only hope he’s done with me… that I’m too much of an embarrassment for him. After all, I no longer dance for a prestigious company. I’m even more of a nobody than before.”

She knelt down beside Cara and grasped her hands again. “But you should have seen the look on his face. It was only for me. His smile as he wiped off the cake… it made my blood run cold.”

Cara reached out to remove the old black slouch hat Odette had pulled down nearly to her ears. “Is that why you wear this getup—what!” she screeched and jumped out of her chair. “
What
, Odette, have you done to your lovely hair?”

Odette stood up and put a hand to her close-cropped head. “You don’t like it?”

“Like?” Cara was practically bereft of speech. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Odette’s black hair had once cascaded over her shoulders in thick, shiny waves. It was her most beautiful feature. Now it was only a few inches long. Cut like a boy’s, one side swept back and tucked behind an ear.

Odette was flushed and her eyes were cautious, but she tilted her chin up proudly. “I like it.”

Cara surveyed the girl she loved as a daughter and seethed. It wasn’t just the hair. Odette wore loose trousers with knee-high boots and a shapeless cloak thrown over her shoulders.

Damn Lord Westchester and all those like him! Is this how she survived, avoiding men, hiding her femininity? A prisoner to other’s desires?

Cara calmed herself and studied Odette more closely. The shorter hair did suit her. Odette’s small face looked broader and better able to accommodate her features. Maybe the dancing had freed her like she said. But she was mistaken if she thought the severe haircut made her less attractive.

Cara reached out to run long fingers through the dark, silky hair. “You look like a wee fairy.” She smiled but then pointed an accusatory finger at Odette’s garments. “Those clothes, however, must go! I cannot tolerate such lack of fashion. And don’t tell me you haven’t got a drawer full of indecency citations for those things,” she declared, indicating the offending trousers.

Odette looked relieved. “Unless they’re observant, most people just assume I’m a boy.” She thought uncomfortably of the lady in the hansom cab and then shrugged her shoulders. “But even so, Cara, technically I’m not breaking the code. The cloak covers my trousers and most of the boots, so I’m not showing any leg.”

Cara raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. “Aye, right. I’d like to see ya explain it away to a magistrate then.”

“The code’s stupid.” Odette snorted in disgust. “It’s indecent for me to wear pants, but my breast can hang out of a low-cut dress. I can’t uncover my legs, but some skirts are so sheer they’re transparent. I can show as much skin as I like dancing on a stage but not walking down the street. It’s indecent for you to own a business but not to work for a man. Two hundred years ago we had more rights! The bloody code is indecent!”

Cara sighed. She had heard all this before. “It doesn’t change the fact that those clothes are ugly.”

“The prevailing fashion doesn’t suit me.”

Cara looked at Odette’s firm, willowy figure and thought of the narrow, filmy skirts and off-the-shoulder, low-cut backs that were now
a la mode
. She snorted in turn. “Nothing would suit you better, and you know it.”

Odette flushed and looked away.

Cara took her hand and said dismissively, “Never mind, I can design you something better.”

Together they walked into Odette’s cramped sitting room adjacent to the cupboard-sized kitchen. If her fashion sense was lacking, here, at least, Odette’s personality shone through. It was clear to Cara that much of her free time had been spent rummaging through secondhand shops and attending black market estate sales. No matter where she lived or how little money she earned, Odette had the ability to turn any space into a home.

Cara milled about the room. She smiled at the eclectic mix of elegant furnishings. They were worn and somewhat tattered but still classical and graceful in design. She saw some familiar pieces, an overstuffed Victorian armchair with elaborate embroidery, some colorful throw pillows, and a beautifully crocheted afghan that Odette had managed to hang on to through all her wanderings. 

Cara stopped next to an old mid-twentieth-century love seat. She cocked her head at two new pieces that were strategically covered, the table with a heavy velvet runner and the chair with a throw and pillows. She removed these and sucked in her breath. “Odette!”

“I found them at the Black Flea Market last Sunday. They’re too beautiful to destroy,” she pleaded.

The Shaker chair and side table stood in stark simplicity to the other furniture. The polished wood and clean lines were like an astringent that wiped away the grime of sophistication.

Cara sighed for the millionth time. It was no use reminding Odette that the Shakers and all that they believed, all they had created, was outlawed and destroyed. Odette was an artist. She could no more destroy beauty than cut off her own feet.

Well, Cara was an artist too. She ran her hand along the back of the chair. “It’s lovely,” she replied. “This is new.” She picked up a double-sided holograph frame. On one side was a three-dimensional street scene of London, on the other, a view of York Minster.

“Yes, I found that at a secondhand shop in the Village. It’s old tech. It flickered pretty badly at first, but Odell was able to fix it. I like the London scene. It reminds me that there are ordinary people all over the world.”

The room was finished off with photographs and prints that hung from the walls and sat framed on the various stands and tables. Cara picked up a photograph in an elaborate silver filigree frame.

She recognized the woman at once. Slender and graceful, Ivy Speex was stunning. She stood
en pointe
bent back at an impossible angle with long, sinuous arms stretched out beside her face. The white tutu was old fashioned but elegantly made.
Swan
Lake
was her greatest triumph. So much so, she found a way to saddle her children with her legacy.

Cara met Odette when she and Odell were only eight years old. Their mother was a principal dancer for the King George Ballet, the foremost ballet company in the New Country. She was brilliant but distant and very eccentric. By the time Cara had joined the company, Ivy Speex’ star was already on the descent. Nothing could reconcile Ivy to aging. She fought it with a fierceness boarding on obsession. Her children were an afterthought. Their father was a complete mystery.

Cara and Ivy were never friends in any conventional sense. Ivy really was incapable of friendship. “Associate” was a better word. Cara was her closest associate. But even she knew nothing about the twins’ father. She had never heard Ivy refer with love to another person. It was as if she had miraculously conceived the children on her own.

Ivy’s success was such that her children were surrounded by material comfort but little else. They rarely saw their famous mother and what time she spared was only for Odette.

A boy and adamantly resistant to dancing, Odell was a grave disappointment. Studious and bookish, he often stayed to himself tinkering with his inventions and disappearing for days at a time.

Odette was almost pathetic in her attempts to compensate for their mother’s disinterest. To her, Odell could do no wrong. She covered for his absences, interested herself in his activities, and loved him with a fierceness matching their mother’s obsessive self-interest.

As much as she could, Cara tried to make up for Ivy’s neglect. They were little things like remembering birthdays, shopping for new clothes, or throwing together a home-cooked meal. It wasn’t unusual for a new servant or tutor to mistake Cara for their mother. Cara was often embarrassed by the children’s overblown gratitude. She never guessed it was her personal warmth and physical affection that had gained her such love and loyalty.