The Escapement of Blackledge: a novella (10 page)

Helena paused, half out of her chair. “Planning?”

“If he’s really going to help, and we’re really going to go forward with the robbery, then we’re going to do it right.” She shook her head. “And Lord have mercy on us all.”

When Helena dropped through the skylight, Weatherby was crouching in front of an elaborate box. His hair was in disarray and his shirt undone at the collar. He stood, turning with a smile of welcome that made her heart clench in her chest. If only Mama Agnes had seen that unguarded moment, she would know that Weatherby was not toying with Helena’s affections. She glanced up to the skylight, hoping that Mama Agnes had come into view but she was staying back, as promised.

Weatherby wiped his hands on the banyan robe he wore over his clothing and left a streak of grease down the side. “I’m so glad you’re here. It won’t work.”

“Sorry?”

“The mechanical hand. Or rather, it works perfectly, but it won’t do what you want it to do.”

She hopped off the table. “I am a little confused. It works perfectly and it won’t work, all at the same time.”

“I can make it extend and bend at the correct angle, but you won’t be able to see what you are picking up.” Weatherby rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You would have to feel for the keys, only the mechanical arm doesn’t have sensation. You’re likely to knock them off and— anyway. I’ve got another idea.”

This was not the visit she had planned, but here she was and there was no getting around it. Helena cleared her throat. "Before we continue... May I introduce you to my foster parents?"

Weatherby stared at her, brows drawn together as if she had spoken a language other than English. He blinked. "Yes? I mean... when should you like to bring them round?"

Shifting her weight, Helena looked up to the skylight. "They... they came with me."

"I see." He, too, looked at the skylight as though he could see into the darkness of the London night. "So this is not actually a request, is it."

"I can take them away." Helena wiped the sweat off her hands and onto her trousers. She had not wanted to bring them, but it had been the only way that they would agree to letting her meet Weatherby. "If it is not convenient."

"By all mea-- Wait." Weatherby looked down at his shirt and reached for the collar to fasten it. "Give me a moment to make myself somewhat more presentable."

"Of course." It was a shame to see him hide away his beautiful collarbones, and the firm muscles of his forearms. "I am sorry I was unable to give you warning."

"What.... ah... what prompted this visit?"

"Everything?"

He flushed red to the tips of his ears. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "Everything?"

"They are circus people and less easily shocked than society might be."

"Still." He picked up his cravat and wrapped it around his throat in an efficient and inelegant knot. "Still... that is not a conversation that I could have had with my mother."

"She did not want to." Mama Agnes voice made him flinch and look sharply upward.

Helena turned her head more slowly. The skylight framed Mama Agnes and Papa Fred as beautifully as a painting. At least they had let her prepare Weatherby for their arrival. With the smooth motion of long practice, the two moved as one and grabbed the edge of the skylight to flip down onto the table. They bent their knees on landing and sprang off the table to land on either side of Helena.

Helena swallowed, but did not turn to see how he was reacting to having two circus performers in his study. "My Lord Blackledge, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Mohabir?"

"How do you do?" For a man who flustered so easily, Weatherby sounded remarkably calm.

Helena turned as her foster parents bowed and curtsied. The flush on Weatherby's face gave his discomfiture away, but otherwise he seemed to be making an effort to appear at his ease.

That might have had something to do with the unmistakable suspicion with which Mama Agnes was glaring at him. Papa Fred's distrust was somewhat more circumspect and appeared nothing more than a chilly reserve.

Mama Agnes took a step forward. "Why?"

Weatherby’s brows came together with confusion and he gestured toward a contraption on his workbench that bore more resemblance to a beetle than a mechanical arm. "Why… Why won’t it work? Well... I tried a series of mirrors to view around the corner. But then there is the trouble of light and--"

"I meant why are you interested in helping Helena?"

"Ah."

"Mama Agnes-- We agreed not to talk about--"

"No. You asked me not to interrogate him as to his intentions, which I have not. I have assumptions, but I am not asking him--"

"I want to marry her." Weatherby turned bright red and swallowed as though he had not expected to say that. He took a step back, then steadied himself and faced Helena who suddenly had difficulty breathing. "You. I want to marry you."

"That-- I am..." Helena reached behind herself for the table and took comfort in its sturdy wood. "But--"

"But I'm awkward and unsociable and a mess and--"

"You're a
Duke
." Helena put her free hand on her bosom. "I'm a circus performer. And a thief. And not a virgin."

"Well, neither am I." Weatherby clapped his hand over his mouth and his eyes grew comically large as he looked from Papa Fred to Mama Agnes. "That is to say... I mean. I think we are well matched."

"We'd be a
scandal
. I would... do you know what people would say if you married me? I perform at Astley's circus and-- and--" She turned to Papa Fred not wanting to watch Weatherby and let hope grow in her breast. "Tell him."

Papa Fred laughed and shook his head. "Oh no. No, no... If I had a set of those arguments that worked, then Aggie and I would not be married. But she's a convincing woman."

Helena's brow contracted and she spun to Mama Agnes. "You asked him? To marry you?"

"Well, he wasn't going to get around to it" She shrugged. "But at the moment, we're leaving your young man hanging."

She had performed for hundreds of people, including the Prince of Wales, and nothing had made her heart race as much as the ardent fear in Weatherby's eyes. Why was he afraid? That she might turn him down? Helena took a breath, trying to catch some measure of calm. "I would be pleased to accept your offer, if I can prove that I am who I say that I am."

"But I already believe you." Weatherby came a little closer but stopped before he was close enough to touch. "So we don't need to rob your aunt's house in order for you to help your father. You can both-- all four of you can come live here."

Helena shook her head. "That is your other plan? That I just give up? My aunt stole my life from me, and my fathers. If I come live with you, even married, as I am then the scandal will ostracize all of us. I cannot expose my father to that. But if my circumstances are known -- if my aunt's machinations are clear then the story that goes with the scandal becomes entirely different. "

For a moment, Weatherby seemed poised as if he had another argument, but he rocked back on his heels and nodded. "Well... As it happens, I do have another idea." He beckoned them to follow him over to the elaborate case he had been working on when Helena arrived. "The question is... how small a box can you fit inside?"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Delicate Mechanism

As the footmen at the Worthen estate lowered his case from the carriage, Weatherby winced, though not as much, he suspected as Helena was. “Careful. That is a very delicate mechanism and I’ve only just restored it.”

“Very good, my lord.” The butler for the estate gestured the footmen inside with a meaningful glance.

“I will see it settled, if you don’t mind.” Weatherby followed the footmen, not caring a whit how eccentric it made him appear. And rude, for that matter, to not trust the servants of a noble house.

The butler paused just long enough to show his opinion but not long enough for it to be something that he could be called out on. “Very good, my lord.”

Weatherby followed the footmen inside, clenching his walking stick so that he would not try to take one end of the case from them. The grand entry rose two floors above them and was covered with a ornate glamural of climbing vines. The constant movement of the leaves and petals seemed more appropriate for eels than anything else.

Out of one of the rooms to the right, came an older woman attired in a purple gown of some sort and a young man with hair as blonde and full of curls as Helena’s. The woman said, “My lord Blackledge, what a great honor.”

“Lady Worthen, I presume.” He stopped from necessity, watching the case as the footmen carried it upstairs.

“May I present my son, Lord Worthen?”

“How do you do?” The case got farther away as he was forced into the niceties of polite society. He could observe the forms without much thought, which was fortunate in this case as the young man’s blond curls were so strikingly like Helena’s that he did not see how anyone could view the two of them and not see the relation. To be sure, the young Baron got his eyes from his mother, and his nose, but his brows and the general shape of his face were strikingly like his cousin’s. Weatherby glanced up the stairs, hoping she was all right. “Thank you for allowing me to examine your collection.”

“But of course.” Lady Worthen spoke for her son. “My late brother-in-law was devoted to the craft.

“They are monstrously clever.” Young Lord Worthen shifted his weight. “I wish we could keep them out.”

“But they are so fragile, Andrew. We should have no idea how to repair one, not like glamour.” She gestured around the vines with a smile.

“Your own work?” The case was halfway up the stairs, but if he had any hope of pretending that this was a regular visit then he had to play the part of the nobleman. God, he wished that George were here. He was ever so much better at this sort of thing.

“Indeed.” She preened and lifted her chin. “I think it would be difficult to create such a spectacle using automaton.”

“I should not make the attempt, no.” He glanced up the stairs once more. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should like to make certain the case is settled before—”

“Oh, my men will see to it. Come—” She came forward and captured his arm. “The other guests have arrived and my niece has been dying to see you again.”

Her niece? Weatherby's thoughts tripped over themselves and he could not arrange his words in any sort of order for his tongue. Her niece was currently upstairs in the mechanism case of an automaton. Unless Helena were not her niece, in which case he was a fool and helping a robber. Or no-- wait. He was being over-hasty as it was entirely possible for someone to have more than one niece. But then, too... She wished to see him "again" and he had not the faintest notion of who she was.

In a befuddlement, Weatherby let himself be led into the drawing room. A small collection of gentlemen and ladies glittered in the candlelit room.

George stood next to the fireplace, talking with a young lady. He touched her arm and nodded toward the door, smiling. She glanced over her shoulder and flushed. Weatherby had met her before be could not for the life of himself recall where.

His efforts to recall, or to settle his mind in any way, were interrupted by Lady Worthen, who nudged her son with an elbow. He stepped forward, clearing his throat though his voice still cracked upon the first word. "Friends, our guest of honour has arrived, the Duke of Blackledge."

As they arose, Weatherby shot a desperate glance to George. His friend was merely smirking behind his glass, which was hardly surprising as he had been trying to convince Weatherby to do some sort of exhibition for years. Still, if not for that, Weatherby would not have had the idea to try to arrange something at Lady Worthen's. And if not for George, he would have had no means of making the arrangements. For all that the Duke of Blackledge outranked the Honorable Mr. George Corke, the latter had more social capital than the former.

He managed to mumble something about being charmed to meet them all. He thought. It might have been more along the lines of wishing for a drink. He found himself still standing beside Lady Worthen and a cup of punch had somehow materialized in his hand.

Clearing his throat, Weatherby lifted his glass. "Thank you for hosting this evening. If we are not to disappoint your guests, I should really prepare the automaton."

"Of course, but first you must meet my niece." Again, she took him by the arm and steered him across the room toward (Thank God) George.

The young lady he was speaking with wore a green dress and had overlarge eyes -- no, she was merely staring at him. Where had he seen her before? She sank into a curtsy and his memory finally coughed up the where if not the who.

"You wore blue before," he blurted and then winced. "At my birthday. And chided me for having no balls."

George choked on his drink.

Miss Blu-- Miss Green Dress patted him on his back, as he coughed and sputtered. "Oh dear! Oh, dear, dear!"

Wiping is streaming eyes, George shook his head. "Quite all right. I was just surprised because I'm also always complaining that Lord Blackledge has no balls."