The Deepest Night

Mandy wasn’t laughing any longer.

I became abruptly, acutely aware of my breathing. Of his. Of how my own arms had stolen around his waist.

Of how wherever we touched, I was no longer cold at all.

I felt his hand shift, his fingers weaving though the floating mass of my hair. His touch along my shoulder blade, satin again … but it brought back the shivers.

“Bad news,” he whispered, not letting go.

“What?” Was that my voice? It sounded so reedy.

“I’m afraid this is the warmer end of the pool.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out mostly choked. He pulled me closer.

“Lora—”

“My, my,” said someone behind us. “You do realize the walls are made of glass, don’t you?”

We broke apart at once. I ended up on the deeper side; Armand had to pull me back until I could stand without the water smacking me in the face.

“Good morning, Sophia,” he said evenly. “What a surprise to see you up and about so damned early.”

She stood at the edge of the tiles in a vanilla lace dress that already looked wilted, smiling a cool, cool smile. “Well, you know. The early bird and all that. I’ve found that one discovers the most interesting sights first thing in the morning.”

“I’m teaching Eleanore how to swim.”

“Oh? Is that what you’re teaching her?”

“So far. Perhaps you’d care to shove off so we can get back to it.”

“Back to what, exactly? The swimming or the lovemaking?”

I said, “We weren’t—”

“Both,” retorted Armand. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather we didn’t have an audience.”

“Then don’t do it under glass.”

“Stop it, both of you.” I slapped my hand against the water for emphasis. “We’re just swimming, Sophia. Honestly.”

“Honestly, Eleanore, apparently neither of you have realized that half the mansion is already awake. So unless you’re planning a wedding in here—”

I bobbled back and choked again, water filling my mouth.

“—I think it’s best that I stay. I’m an excellent chaperone. Pious as a saint. Ask anyone.”

“Bugger you,” Armand muttered.

“Language, Lord Armand! I’m shocked.”

“I doubt it, since you’re the one who taught me that word.”

Her smile returned. “Chloe was right about one thing. This summer would have been positively wasted on dances and social calls. Why, I might have missed all of this! Shall I go wake her to join in our fun?”

Armand shook his head in disgust. “Stay, if you must.”

“Smashing!” She clapped her hands. “Swim away, children. Swim away. I’ll just be right here. Chaperoning.”

I looked at Armand standing inches from me, water breaking against his chest, all ivory skin and toned muscles, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed.

I couldn’t tell if it was me or the pool, but suddenly I was much, much warmer than before.

And I knew I should be glad that Sophia was going to stay.

My almost-but-not-quite fainting spell from the day before had been noted by more than just Chloe. I wasn’t three feet into the induction room before Deirdre cornered me.

“Ah, Eliza! There you are.” She gave me that quick smile, which I’d come to realize didn’t necessarily mean she was pleased. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Knackered, actually. I’d been up practically all night and then had my first swimming lesson this morning, and nearly everything about me right now ached.

Armand had been patient with me. Sophia had not. I’d endured her heckling (You call that a forward stroke? Eleanore, you’re useless!) for almost an hour before wading near enough to splash her pretty dress all down the front.

“Good, good. Listen, dearie, I think perhaps you might be better suited for a position slightly less … strenuous than assisting Dr. Newcastle and me.”

“Oh,” I said, partly offended. Mostly relieved.

“There, now, don’t you fret! There are still many important tasks left undone! Why, Mrs. Quinn was just mentioning that we’re always running short of properly rolled bandages. And many of these poor lads are sorely lacking for books and games. You might have a hand in distributing those!”

“Games,” I said.

She clasped me on the shoulder and lowered her voice. “Not everyone is cut out for the realities of war, Eleanore. It is a grim business, a grim business indeed. You’re still very young. You’ve not dealt with death before, and that’s perfectly normal. A slip of a child like you shouldn’t have to dwell on such things. You’re more concerned with bonnets than bullets, I daresay! Have a go at the bandages, won’t you? There’s a good lass.”

Another smile, and she was gone. I watched her until my eyes were caught by someone new: Chloe, seated in a chair by a bed, a man’s hand clenched in hers, speaking something I could not hear. She felt my stare and returned it with a smirk, still talking. A duo of doctors worked frantically around her, both of them spattered in blood, and no one was giving her the boot.

I turned away, my chest tight. I walked a few aimless paces one direction, then another, until I found myself by the piano.

Someone had arranged a sheet over it, but it was already sliding off. A tray of dirty scalpels and clamps had been set haphazardly atop the sheet. A fly buzzed around it, hopping from blade to blade.

I was not useless. I was small and marked with a strange magic; I was different, but I would not be made useless. Not by Sophia, not by Deirdre or Chloe. Not by anyone. I had my own kind of power, and even if practically no one else knew of it or understood it—even I didn’t fully understand it—it was real. It existed.

I scooted the bench into place. I took my seat and raised the cover from the keys.

It took a moment, but eventually a song did come. I followed it with my hands, soft as I could at first, just in case someone noticed and got angry. But no one stopped me, so I kept playing, my eyes closed, swaying in place because this was a meandering, sweeping sort of song, with parts that danced far and near and then doubled back on themselves, echoing, and I needed to concentrate to catch the smallest of the notes.

I wasn’t sure where it came from. It seemed more permanent somehow than the bits of gold and silver worn by the people swarming around me. Perhaps it belonged to the limestone base of Tranquility itself. Perhaps Tranquility was trying to assert its own voice. After all, it wasn’t the house’s fault it’d been designed by a crazy person.

I finished and opened my eyes. Nothing in the chamber had changed. Same bustle, same noise, same smell.

Well, almost nothing had changed.

“I liked that,” said a soldier dreamily from his bed. “Reminded me of home. Of the rye fields in autumn. All the frost on the stalks, and the sun coming though.”

A new man spoke, sitting up as best he could with his torso and both arms swaddled in bandages. “Miss, can you play ‘Tillie down the Lane’?”

“Um, no,” I said. “Sorry. I don’t know that one.”

“How about ‘Always Love a Sailor’?” called out a different man.

“ ‘Green Apples’!”

“ ‘Follow Me to the River’!”

“ ‘When She Said Yes’!”

“No.” I felt my face begin to heat. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know any popular songs.”