Aether Rising

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Somewhere over the Atlantic States, 11 March 1871

Patrick had many things on his mind, not least of which was the feel of Louisa’s shoulders under her silky night shift and how her hands trembled on his chest, but he was definitely not interested in kissing her and forgetting her. Or allowing her to forget him, not again. He could at least accommodate the first part of her request—no, command.

He trailed the fingers of his right hand along her shoulder and collarbone, up the side of her neck, and to the back of her head, where they tangled in her tumbled curls. She watched him with her wide sky-blue eyes, the ones he’d dreamed about when he felt things were about to go horribly wrong.

She’d been looking at him with the same sense of wonder when Aidan had run into the party and shouted, “There’s been an accident. Claire’s hurt.”

Chad and Claire had put the accident behind them. It was time for Patrick to do so as well and to finish what he’d started that night, heal the memory of the first and only time he’d met her. He pulled her head to his, and their lips came together in the natural fit he remembered with all the attendant sensations he’d put out of his mind because he thought he’d never feel them again. He pressed her lips open with his tongue, and she reciprocated his passion.

No, he wouldn’t forget her.

Her hands went around his back so her arms almost encircled him. He pulled her more tightly to him, wanting to touch as much as possible, and the peaks of her n*****s pressed through the fabric of his shirt and vest. He knew she could feel him as well, that part of him that wanted to bury itself inside her and make her his. His mind mapped out the most efficient way to get her into the bed, lay her back, and—

He couldn’t. He was no gentleman, being of Irish peasant stock, but she was a lady and a virgin and deserved to be treated as such. Although she was the daughter of his enemy, he had no complaint with her and couldn’t take advantage of her, no matter how badly she wanted it. How much they both wanted it. With more regret than he’d ever felt, he pulled away again and held her at arm’s length. She opened her eyes, and her eyebrows drew down into a look of fury.

“Was that enough of a kiss for you?”

“Why did you stop again?” She crossed her arms and rubbed her hands over her shoulders. He, too, felt the absence of the warmth they’d created together.

“Because you’re a young lady from a good family, and you need to save yourself for your future husband.”

“Ha! What future husband? My stepfather hasn’t found anyone who offers something good enough to trade me for.” She turned and grabbed the blanket from the bed. She wrapped it around her, and rather than hiding her appeal, it made her look like a Celtic goddess in a cape.

“Still, you’re a virgin.” He frowned, a suspicion forming in his mind—had she rebelled? “Aren’t ye?”

She sat on the bed with a huff. “Yes, I’m a virgin. Of course I am. Do you think he would let anyone near me like this?” She gestured to the small distance that separated them. “He wants me pristine for my future master.”

The hopelessness and resignation in her voice resonated with his own. They were both stuck in their situations.

“Do you want to be married?”

“If I could make a love match, yes. Like Claire McPhee. And if he would be someone not like my stepfather.”

Patrick thought of Edward and Johann, both of whom were happily married to spirited women. “Not all men want to rule their wives.”

“No, but most gentlemen do.”

He didn’t have an argument for that. Plus, she wasn’t in the mood to view her situation positively, and he didn’t like the thought of her being married off as part of a business deal.

“Listen to your message tube,” she said. “Here, I have a player. Sometimes music helps settle my stomach.” She pointed to the corner, where she’d set up her equipment. “I’m going to put myself back together.” She rose and went into the lavatory, shutting the door behind her.

The quality of her sound would be better on her equipment than on the makeshift player Patrick had fashioned from the clockwork wyrm. He put the tube in and cranked the handle until he found the right speed to make the words on the cylinder sensible.

“We’re following below you. Will come for you at 0600 while most of ship asleep. Look for double-chambered cruiser and take escape compartment. Will pick you up.”

Patrick glanced at the clock—five thirty. That gave him half an hour to wait and plan. But did he want to escape? Cobb would sabotage Chad and Claire’s chances of legally marrying.

But he had enough information to pass on to Davidson, perhaps enough for him to make an arrest or at least investigate further and shed suspicion on Cobb. Plus, he didn’t want Cobb to get hold of the aether device or anything like it. He could deceive Cobb, but not Louisa, and he had no doubt Cobb would wield Louisa and her talent against him.

No, making a break for it would be the most logical thing. He hated that he had to balance his friends’ needs against his own and those of innocent people, but he didn’t have a choice. He grabbed the cylinder and two of the pillows from the bed, threw them through the trap door, and jumped on the trunk and hoisted himself through. He listened for noises outside the room and was pleased to hear snoring. That would make things easier. He placed the pillows under the blankets on his cot so at first glance he would seem to be asleep. Then he went back. He tossed his bag down first but came upon a problem.

Closing the door behind him proved to be difficult, as it lacked a string or handle. Obviously it had been designed as an emergency means of exit. Could he leave it open? No, he didn’t want Louisa to be accused of complicity in his escape. Nor did he want her reputation to be at risk. Patrick acknowledged his ruthless side, but it was nothing compared to Cobb’s, and women tended to be blamed for men’s actions against their purity. Patrick would have to hold the door with one hand and lower himself with the other as he pulled it to behind him. He managed to do so, but the drop to Louisa’s trunk was longer than he remembered, or maybe his arms were fatigued. Either way, he tumbled into Louisa’s bedroom, and the trap door slammed shut behind him.

Louisa heard everything through the thin wooden door between the bedroom and water closet. She braided her hair and splashed water on her face to calm the furious reddening that came to her cheeks when she thought of what she’d wanted—still wanted—Patrick to do to her. When she heard him exiting, she dashed out and to the closet just in time to see his feet disappearing.

What is he doing? And where did my pillows go?

Still wrapped in the blanket, she watched and waited for him to reappear, which he did momentarily with a loud thud. He wore his vest and jacket, and he carried his bag.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “And could you be a little louder? You’ll have the guards upon us.”

He took her hands, and hers were small and cold in his large ones.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to slip out and hide until it’s time for my friends to pick me up. I closed the door so they wouldn’t know you were involved.”

“But you took my pillows. They’re monogrammed, you oaf.”

“Right. I didn’t think that through.”

“Your friends had a lot of faith you’d be able to escape,” she said and tried not to make it sound like a barb.

“Come with me. You’ve time to dress if you’re fast. I promise I won’t watch.”

The tension had disappeared from his jaw with the promise of freedom. She was tempted. What would it be like to drop away and start a new life with a new family? She’d done it before, when her mother married Parnaby Cobb when Louisa was a child.

But she knew Parnaby. He wouldn’t let her go that easily. Her talent was too valuable to him.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She couldn’t help but think he’d asked her many more questions at this point than she’d posed to him, which was unusual. But then, there wasn’t anything “usual” about their current situation.

“Because I’ll be a danger to you and your friends.”

He brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “You can just join Marie, then. Cobb has been after her since she claimed her talent in Paris.”

“Marie’s back?” Louisa clasped her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’ve missed her, although I doubt she’s thought of me.”

“She never mentioned you, no.” Her little clock chimed five-forty-five, and the door to the laboratory above them opened with a squeak. Patrick grabbed his bag.

“Are you coming or not?”

She bit her lip. It hurt that Marie hadn’t mentioned her, but she hadn’t ever treated the maid like a friend. What would it be like to be equals? Would it feel awkward? And Louisa was angry with Cobb for treating her like a treasured pet, not a person, but he’d given her security when her mother died. Could she leave that for an uncertain future with a man she hardly knew?

Looking at the consequences of leaving with Patrick made her feel the same as when she’d glanced at the far-away ground from the conference room window—dizzy and terrified.

“No. I can’t be that ungrateful to him. I do owe him everything.”

“Then can I count on you not to give me away?”

“I will do what I can. And, Patrick, be careful.”

He crushed her to him with a quick kiss, then disappeared.

After locking the door behind him, Louisa rearranged the remaining pillows on her bed and spread the blanket before hopping in and curling into a ball around her cold hands. Footsteps sounded above her and crossed the room as Patrick had done. Unfortunately whoever was above her discovered her pillows quickly, and someone walked over to and paused above her closet.

I’m asleep, I’m asleep, I’m asleep, she chanted in her head.

“Wake the master. The prisoner is gone.”

“Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know, but those are Misses’ pillows. See the embroidery?”

Louisa cursed under her breath. That stupid man. She rose and put on her wrapper just before a heavy knock sounded at her door.

“What is it?” She tried to sound like she’d just woken.

“Louisa, answer the door.” That was Cobb, and the gravel in his voice said he’d been pulled from his bed and wasn’t too happy about it.

“Just a minute.”

“Now.”

Louisa opened the door to the irate faces of her stepfather, Morlock, and the man whom she assumed had been guarding Patrick.

“Where is he?” Cobb asked. He held a lantern up to illuminate the room behind Louisa, and she squinted against the glare.

“Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me. Was he in here? Did he—?” He pushed Louisa out of the way and knelt on the floor. There was still sawdust on the carpet. “Where did this come from?”

Louisa shrugged. “I’ll talk to the maid about it in the morning.”

Morlock stalked to the closet and looked up. “The trap door’s been opened.”

Cobb stood and said in a slow, even, terrifying tone, “I’m going to give you one more chance to answer me, Louisa. Where is the prisoner?”

“He’s escaped.” She glanced at the clock—ten ’til six. Would he have taken the escape pod early in hopes his friends would see him? But it was pitch black outside. They wouldn’t be looking for him, and what if he crashed in the mountains?

“And did you help him?”

“No. He just came through my closet.”

“Then how’d he have yer pillows, Miss?” Morlock asked. “He tried to make it look like he were sleeping in his bed.”

“He must have taken them when I went to hide in the lavatory.”

Cobb’s bushy gray eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose. Louisa knew their conferring wouldn’t be good for her.

“You’re not telling the truth. Come here.” He looked at her face, turning it to the right and left under the light. Then he let her go, but with a light slap across her face. It wasn’t enough to leave a mark, but enough to sting her pride. “You’ve got beard marks around your mouth, girl. What were you doing in here?”

She pressed her lips together in humiliation.

“Search this level,” Cobb told the men. “We would have seen him if he’d gone upstairs. I’ll deal with you later, stepdaughter.”

Louisa checked the clock—five ’til six. Just go, she thought toward Patrick. Parnaby’s hand mark still stung on her cheek.

No, wait, I want to go.

She threw on a day dress over her shift—no time to put on a corset—and after tying it as quickly as she could and checking to see the men weren’t outside her room, she ran toward the escape hatches. She opened one—it was empty. Then the second one—still nothing. She reached for the third, and a hairy hand grabbed her wrist.

“Are you looking for something?” Morlock asked with a sneer. “Hey, Mister, over here!” He threw the lever that would keep the escape hatch from being disconnected from the inside. The door was locked, but Morlock held Louisa, his fetid breath closer than was necessary, as his companion forced the compartment open with an axe and Cobb supervised. When there was a hole big enough for the man to peer in, a fist punched him and sent him reeling back.

Morlock tossed Louisa aside and jumped in.

“Don’t hurt him,” she cried and tried to follow Morlock, but Cobb held her back. The two men subdued Patrick and dragged him out. When he saw Louisa, he narrowed his eyes.

“You told them where to find me?” Betrayal coated his voice.

“Yep, led us right to you,” Morlock said.

“No, I didn’t mean to.” Louisa reached for Patrick, but Cobb wheeled her around and put a hand over her mouth.

“This is for the best, dear daughter. He’s beneath you. Whatever you feel for him, it’s just a passing infatuation. There are better men for you out there.”

By that time, the two guards had taken Patrick out of the corridor, and Cobb released Louisa.

“You had just better hope he didn’t ruin you,” Cobb snarled. “It’ll be hard enough to marry you off without you being spoiled, you ungrateful chit.”

Louisa pulled free, stalked to her room, and slammed the door behind her. As satisfying as the sound was, it didn’t help her bruised heart.

A passing infatuation? It’s been six years. She sat on the bed and hugged one of the remaining pillows to her. The other two dropped through the trap door, but she ignored them and turned her face toward the windows and the little table where her cylinder player stood.

She frowned. Patrick had left his message tube. She went to the table and picked it up, marveling at the scratches and pits on it that had produced the voice. What would his friends think? They were still in danger floating far below waiting for him. What if Cobb or one of the Blooming Senator’s sailors saw them?

She took out her quill sharpener and drew a big X on the waxy surface before popping it back into its wire cage. Then she opened her window, ignoring the frigid air, and dropped the cylinder out and away. Hopefully that would give the message to Patrick’s erstwhile rescuers that they would have to find another opportunity.