Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (24 page)

Odette had thought to go directly to the Theatre Royal and loiter about until after the ballet. Cara, Wu, and Fancy were scheduled to dine afterwards with the Wrights so she had plenty of time to search the crowd for Benjamin Franklin. She had already nixed a plan to buy a ticket and search the audience from the pit. The chance of being inadvertently unmasked as a woman in the rowdy pit was too great, not to mention being spotted by one of her friends.

If Mister Franklin were to attend the ballet, she felt certain he would be among the dignitaries who visited the dancers backstage after each performance. She would slip in through the stage door with the other tradespeople, perhaps carrying a bouquet of flowers as a prop.

What to do once she spotted him? She wasn’t quite sure yet.

Odette stood for a moment indecisive. She looked east toward York Street, but instead turned west and made her way up Southhampton toward Covent Garden Market. She had a couple of hours yet to kill, and the days cooped up in her room had left her bored and restless. She stretched her legs out into a boy’s overconfident stride and felt the blood flow into her tired muscles. Thrusting her hands into her pockets, she walked and watched as people went about their individual routines in the gathering dusk. Many of the shops were closing up, but the coffeehouses and taverns were doing brisk business as people stopped in for a quick drink or long conversation.

With her mind unfocused, her feet somehow found their way to the coffeehouse near Saint Paul’s. It was the same one to where she had followed Gabriel so many weeks before. With a sentimental shrug of her shoulders, she wandered in with the intention of finding an isolated corner in which to sip coffee and contemplate her next move. Odette scanned the crowded room for a seat while her eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness.

Her casual gaze alighted on a familiar figure. One she had seen in history books and comic renderings of the portly inventor. In her time, he was a figure of fun—reduced to a benign eccentric with a kite in a thunderstorm.

The reality of the man couldn’t have been more different. Portly he certainly was but with an unexpectedly graceful manner. Odette had assumed that such a towering intellect would dominate any conversation. Instead he sat listening politely to the other man, adding an occasional word and nodding in agreement.

There he was, Benjamin Franklin. The man Odell had sent her to save. The man on whom so much hinged.

Odette was affronted.

Apparently, she thought, he doesn’t care for the ballet.

Chapter 27

She nursed the
cup of coffee for a whole twenty minutes and still could not conceive of a plausible approach. What could she possibly say to him?

She had no idea how he had been killed or by whom. She assumed that Drake was involved, but didn’t know whether he had committed the murder himself or someone else at his behest. She shook her head. The actual facts didn’t matter. He was sure to think her a lunatic no matter what.

From her vantage point behind the door, Odette watched as two other men approached his table and joined the conversation. She recognized them both. One was Richard Price, the other, Ethan Graham. She sat back further into the shadows and pulled her hat lower down over her forehead. Odette felt that if she even batted an eyelid, Ethan would see her.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered to herself.

She didn’t really know what to think of Ethan. He had acted to protect her at the ball, but his association had proved surprisingly unfruitful. For a man who was most certainly a spy, he seemed to know very little. And now, here he was with Benjamin Franklin. An aspect of their mission Cara assured her she had not revealed to him.

Odette looked around the coffeehouse. It had grown more crowded, and the air was thick with smoke and conversation. The door opened to admit a group of young men who milled about the entrance looking for a table. Momentarily blocked by the open door, Odette slipped in amongst them and out into the darkness.

Outside the evening was warm and muggy. It had rained earlier in the day and left puddles sprinkled about the broad avenue. Odette wove her way around them as she crossed the piazza to Saint Paul’s church. Under the protection of its massive portico, she sought a secure location with a clear view of the coffeehouse. Tucked into the shadows, she sat down with her back against a wall to await the appearance of Benjamin Franklin.

As luck would have it, less than three-quarters of an hour later he walked out on the arm of Richard Price. Ethan Graham was nowhere in sight.

The two men stood for a moment conversing then bid each other goodnight. Benjamin Franklin walked toward Saint Paul’s. He set a brisk pace. Crossing the piazza, he turned west onto Henrietta Street. The evening was young and people were out. It was easy for Odette to obscure her tail and still keep him in sight. A few more turns and they were on the Strand heading west again. They had already walked a significant distance and Odette was surprised, yet grateful, he did not hail a cab.

Finally he turned down a street only a few blocks short of Charing Cross. She followed him at a discreet distance and found herself on a small residential street bordered on both sides by Georgian townhouses. More upscale than Exeter Street, no businesses were present to interrupt the quiet respectability of the modest homes.

A quick survey of her surroundings revealed Benjamin Franklin nowhere in sight. She stopped and looked back at the first two houses and wondered if he had entered one of them. Odette felt suddenly exposed. Having left the bustle of the Strand, her presence was more noticeable on the quiet street. And, indeed, she found the gazes of a young boy and his little sister interestingly fixed upon her. They stood within the rod iron fence of the house directly in front of her, and were the only other people on the street.

“Their names are Jeremy and Anne and both are frightfully ill-behaved.”

Odette gasped and turned of a sudden to find Benjamin Franklin standing behind her, a look of mild curiosity on his face. “However, I must say, neither one has had the bad manners to follow me about the city.”

Since the pavement was disobliging enough not to swallow her up, Odette opted for playing dumb.

“Whot?” She blinked stupidly, letting her mouth go a little slack.

“Very good.” He chuckled. “But may I remind you, if I were so lacking in intellect to let that fool me, we wouldn’t be standing here.”

Odette was sure she could easily make a break for it and was equally sure he had no intention of stopping her. Instead she asked, “How did you spot me?”

“I am very observant,” he said.

“That’s really not much of an answer.”

“It is the only one I am prepared to give you.”

She pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “I’m a great admirer of your work, Mister Franklin.”

“Which work?” he asked.

“Oh, all of it,” she replied expansively and racked her brains for any tidbit she could remember from the history books of her time. “But most especially your thoughts on governing.”

“Governing?”

“Yes,” she replied, finally hitting on a talking point that Odell had once casually thrown out. “For instance, your proposal to unite the colonies under one national congress.”

The genial, amused expression on his face was replaced with one of caution. “That is an obscure piece of knowledge for one of your age and station.”

Odette felt her palms sweating and her throat go dry. This wasn’t going well, and she had no idea what she was doing. She noticed he had grasped his walking stick more tightly. His eyes cut over to a house across the street as a young girl walked out onto its stoop.

“Mister Franklin, is that you?” she called out, peering into the dimness of the flickering street lamp.

“It is, Polly.”

“Oh. Mother couldn’t be sure in the darkness. Will you be wanting tea?”

“Yes, indeed. I’ll be right there.” The girl went back into the house.

He turned back to Odette, his tone stern, “It is clear you are not what you appear to be. What I assumed to be some sort of harmless prank is obviously something entirely different. State your business and be done with it.”

“You are not safe here!” she blurted out, throwing caution to the winds. “None of you are safe. There are powerful people who will destroy you and your work! You must return to Philadelphia! At once!”

He laughed, not with amusement, but disbelief. “England is the most civilized country in the world. And I am a loyal Englishman! I have nothing to fear.” He turned from her and crossed the street to the house where the girl had stood. Odette followed him.

“You think you know the rules!” she exclaimed, angry at him for his obvious disdain and herself for bungling the whole thing. “Well, the rules are about to change! ‘Civilized countries’ are built on the backs of the vanquished. You believe you are not among them. But you’re wrong. You have much to fear!”

They had reached the door of his lodgings. He looked at her again with mild amusement. “The rules have indeed changed if a young woman can dress as a boy and accost respectable men on the street. I am a liberal-minded man, but my advice to you young lady is to return to your home and your petticoats.”

With that he entered the house and shut the door firmly behind him.

Odette stood for a moment longer staring at the sturdy wooden door. Her hands were balled into fist, and she was breathing heavily.

“What a fool!” she hissed, not sure to whom she was referring.

She walked almost blindly back toward the Strand. It took several minutes for her breathing to slow. The bustle along the broad avenue was distracting, and she let the ebb and flow of passing conversations soothe her nerves. She dug her hands into her pockets and walked the long distance back to Exeter Street.

Entering the walled garden, Odette was sufficiently calm enough to appreciate the lovely lemon-scented air provided by the potted trees Mrs. Cheever had moved outside only days before. But her hard-earned serenity was short lived when she recognized the broad-shouldered silhouette sitting on the stone bench next to the frog pond.

He stood and walked the short distance between them. Removing her hat, he ran his fingers through her short, silky hair and murmured, “The boy from the inn.”

She almost cried at the gentleness of his touch. Instead she asked, “Where are Lady Caroline’s guards?”

“Looking for you,” Gabriel answered with a mild laugh. “Cara mentioned you might be in need of company tonight. With your illness and missing the première, she thought you could use some cheering up. So I skipped the last act and came here.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “It seems she was mistaken.”

Odette stepped back and looked defiantly up at him. “I went to see Benjamin Franklin.”

She saw the outline of his face go still. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and turned to pace the length of the garden. He stopped in front of her. “You sound like your brother,” he finally replied, his brow creased with concern. “And it almost got him consigned to Bedlam.”

“I am not crazy and neither is Odell.”

“Why Benjamin Franklin? I know something is going on. But he just arrived. How could he have anything to do with Odell… Drake… whatever is going on at White’s?” His voice was full of fear and frustration.

“He is at the center of a conspiracy so vast and unbelievable, you would lock me up and throw away the key yourself if I told you!” she blurted out.

“Just tell me,” he said quietly.

And so she did. From the point where she had found Odell huddled in his cramped university room over two hundred years in the future to her escapades dressed as a boy and the involvement of Wu, Fancy, Lady Caroline, and Aamod. He stood silently and listened in the lemon-scented garden. The gentle splash of the fountain provided a tranquil backdrop to the absurd and fantastical tale he could scarcely comprehend.

When she had finished, he turned on his heels and headed for the arched arbor.

“Where are you going?” she cried, grabbing at his arm and turning him to face her.

“To Caroline!” His face was a barely suppressed mask of fury. “She can have a perverse sense of humor, but I cannot imagine her encouraging this nonsense!”

Odette brought her hand to her cheek as if he had slapped her. “You don’t believe me,” her voice came out on a thin wisp of air. She needed him to believe her—to trust her.

“Time travel! Changing history! A revolution in the American Colonies! For heaven’s sake, Odette, how in the world could they defy, much less defeat, the British Empire?” He shook his head as if to clear his brain. “I grant you something is going on, but how could you imagine I would be fool enough to swallow this claptrap?”

“Is that what you believe?” She struggled not to cry, her breathing constricted by a tightening in her chest. “That I think you’re a fool! That I’m just telling you lies?”

He clinched his fists and turned away from her. “I know that the theater breeds a different sort, that drama and playacting are encouraged.” He ran fraught hands through his hair and said almost to himself, “This is my fault. I was hoping… wanting something so badly…”

The sound of a door slamming brought him abruptly around. He was alone. Odette had left him standing in the garden. Gabriel had an overwhelming urge to run into the house after her. But he fought it down. Layers of protective cynicism warred with this newfound love. Years as an outsider, the bastard son of a degenerate aristocrat had convinced him that his personal happiness was secondary to his social standing. Protecting his family from a censorious society and the abject poverty that was often visited on those who defied it was paramount.

He breathed deeply. He had been living a dream. Odette’s troubles were likely of her and her brother’s own making. Gabriel could dismiss the questionable activities at White’s as the rumblings of a pampered and bored elite. The attacks on the coach and cottage were dangerous and frightening to be sure, but most likely the actions of the criminal class with which the siblings found themselves embroiled.

Gabriel turned again to leave but could only manage a few steps before he stopped and stared blindly into the darkness. The look on Odette’s face wrung his heart and tugged at his conscience. She had recoiled from him as if struck. He balled his fists in frustration. Either she was lying or she truly believed the insanity recounted to him. Whichever it was, it boded no good for her well being and any future they might have together.

He determined to find Caroline. According to Odette, she and Aamod were deeply involved in this conspiracy or grand plan or whatever it was. That Lady Caroline was some Hindu mystic was preposterous. However, the more he thought of it, the more uneasy he became. In some crazy way, it explained a lot. Maybe all of this, time travel and altering history, was some type of mystic doctrine or orthodoxy.

“Hell and Damnation!” he said aloud and strode purposely out of the garden in search of his noble friend.

His footsteps had barely faded into the distance when a figure emerged from behind a curtain of ivy overhanging the garden wall. Ethan stayed in the shadows so as not to be seen from the main house or cottage. He looked up at Odette’s bedroom window and congratulated himself on at last solving the mystery of the boy at the inn. Her presence at the coffeehouse had not gone unnoticed. She made a convincing boy, but this time he was not fooled. He had easily followed her, intrigued by her purpose and puzzled by her interest in Benjamin Franklin. Ethan could not get close enough to overhear her conversation with that gentleman. So he had stood at the corner of the Strand and watched. He could see it had not gone well.

Her conversation with Gabriel was another matter. He was stunned. However, shock was not something his training allowed him to indulge in for long. He had focused his mind and listened intently to her story and was rewarded with a detail that sent a shiver of certainty up his spine.

A crystal key. Ethan knew of one such pendant, and the man who was rumored never to take it off. It was said to be very elaborate, a priceless gift from a powerful admirer. Of course, Ethan himself had never seen it. It was part of the mythos of the man. Perhaps it was just that, a myth.

Now there was another man with a crystal key. Charles Drake, if Odette was to be believed. It was an odd coincidence. To a spy, coincidences were always suspect. And Ethan was more suspicious than most.