“Very good, then,” he said, breaking into an awkward smile. “On the morrow.” He turned and left, the blanket around his shoulders, cord dragging.
Simon knew Willie wanted to hug her father and he knew the man wouldn’t let her. “Wife,” he said softly, opening his arms as she turned and, teary-eyed, sought comfort in her husband’s embrace.
CHAPTER 22
JANUARY 22, 1887 CANTERBURY, ENGLAND
Upon reaching their room at the Hawthorne, Willie had been so weary she’d fallen upon the bed fully clothed. All she wanted to do was sleep and recover from the emotionally exhausting day. Simon had removed her spectacles and her boots and then he’d prodded her to sit up whilst he’d helped her out of her gown and stockings. Still wearing her chemise, she’d crawled under the covers with a weary sigh.
Next thing she knew, the lamps were doused and Simon had climbed into bed, pulling her into his arms. He was gloriously naked and she was so very tired. “I fear I am not up to spectacular,” she whispered.
“I am not even capable of mildly wonderful.” He kissed her forehead, then tucked her face into his chest. “We shall make up for it another time,” he said with a smile in his voice.
Her heart had fluttered with tender regard, but then she’d drifted off and her dreams had carried her into the next morning. She did not think she had slept overly long and was alarmed to find Simon gone. Dawn’s light had yet to fully break through the partially drawn curtains. She checked her time cuff. Half past six in the morning. What the devil?
Just then he walked in the door, handsome and windblown, shaking off a chill.
“Where have you been?” she asked, pushing up to her elbows.
“Taking care of a few errands. Checked in on my mother and sister via Teletype. Heard back from Harry, Ashford’s groundskeeper. He said they are in London visiting a friend. I find it curious that they traveled to the city alone. It’s certainly not like Mama, but at least they are together, and I confess I am relieved that they are finding comfort in each other’s company. They have never been of like mind.”
“Perhaps your father’s passing has brought them closer. I wish my father would have sought comfort in my company after my mother’s death, but instead his mind and attentions drifted.”
“Speaking of your father,” Simon said whilst hanging his greatcoat on a wall peg. “I arranged to have a supply of chopped wood sent to his cottage and hired someone to examine the heating system. I spied a radiator in each room. There must be access to steam heat at least.”
“There is,” she said, chest tight. “It’s forever malfunctioning, but as long as there are fires in the hearth . . .” She choked up as her heart pounded with the same fierce flutter as the night before. “Such kindness, Simon. How can I thank you?”
He grinned whilst shedding more layers and raking his gaze over her scantily clothed body. “I can think of a thing or two.”
“Lucky you, I am feeling most refreshed this morning,” she said with a coy smile.
He dropped onto the bed and smothered her with an achingly sweet kiss that soon turned torrid. “Lucky indeed.”
• • •
Their lovemaking had been passionate and frenzied, both in need but both anxious to start the day. An unspoken physical and emotional symmetry that had been exhilarating in its own right. Their ablutions had been equally rushed, although Simon had slowed the process enough to change her bandages.
“A couple more days,” he’d said. “To be on the safe side.”
He had made no mention of the small but numerous and ugly puckered ridges marring her shoulder and the region of her chest just above her breast, but Willie knew he felt guilty. She saw it in his eyes, sensed it in his touch. He’d once noted that she’d saved his life and she wondered fleetingly if that hadn’t influenced his determination in marrying her. A debt of gratitude paid by offering his support and protection for life? The notion rankled, but she pushed it away, choosing to focus on their immediate mission. Their interrogation of her father and the confiscation of the clockwork propulsion engine.
Once dressed, they’d rushed down to the dining area and found Phin seated and waiting at a table, drinking coffee and reading the
“Not well,” she answered, stirring sugar into the black brew. “He won’t let me trace,” she said in a soft voice, “but he did agree to answer some questions this morning. Any news of the Triple R Tourney in the
“Not that I saw,” Phin said, passing her the newspaper. “Although you may find another article of interest.”
Intrigued, Willie focused on the front page whilst Phin updated Simon on the weather and flying conditions. She was vaguely aware of the multiple conversations buzzing around her via other breakfast patrons as she zeroed in on the top headline: FREAKS ATTEMPT POLITICAL KIDNAPPING OVER ATLANTIC!
Stomach turning, disbelieving, she pushed her tinted spectacles to the top of her head and squinted at the short but damning article.
Last night, in a brash and disastrous kidnapping attempt, a rogue faction of the increasingly dangerous Freak Fighters attacked a transcontinental airship transporting several dignitaries, including staunch Old Worlder Prime Minister Avery Madstone. Although the prime minister escaped abduction, lives were lost and severe injuries sustained in the overseas skirmish. The British Naval Service and International ALE have been placed on full alert. Details are unknown at this time but forthcoming.
Heart thudding in her ears, Willie reread each sentence, not wanting to believe, but knowing that a more aggressive faction of the FF did exist.
Lives were lost, severe injuries sustained. . . .
“Willie.”
She blinked out of her daze when Simon touched her forearm.
“The waitress was asking if you’d like to see a menu,” he said as she passed the newspaper back to Phin.
“My appetite is suddenly lacking, but I . . . I suppose I should have something.” Horribly distracted, she tried to focus on the young girl’s smiling face, her stomach flopping when the smile flattened and the girl’s cheeks flushed. It was then that Willie realized her spectacles were still on top of her head, and thus her rainbow eyes on full display.
“I’m sorry,” the waitress said in a hushed voice. “We don’t serve your kind.”
“What kind would that be?” Simon asked with a steely edge.
The girl swallowed and nodded toward Willie. “Her kind. There’s a sign posted outside.” She lowered her voice even more. “‘No Freaks Allowed.’”
“I saw no sign,” Phin said, his own voice hard.
“Nor did we,” Willie said, her heart beating so frantically she feared her chest might explode. “But we all came in after dark last night. Since when?” she asked the anxious server. “I’ve passed by several times before.” She’d even eaten here, although disguised as a male Vic. “I recall no such restriction.”
“New management, new rules.”
“I’d like to speak to that management,” Simon said, starting to stand.
Willie grasped his hand. “No, wait.” She was all too aware that she’d become the focal point and that the whispered conversations throughout the room were now directed at her. How many had read this morning’s headline? How many thought her dangerous and aligned with the alleged Freak Fighters who’d attacked the prime minister’s dirigible?
“This is absurd,” Phin said to the visibly flustered waitress. “Her money is as good as any Vic in this room.”
