Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (10 page)

“I have a plan,” Odell had told her.

A plan
,
thought Odette with a twinge of despair. You never told me your plan
.
Then she remembered Odell’s “notes.” She grubbed in the bag again and under the money, was a small, leather-encased notebook. She sighed with relief and opened it and there indeed was Odell’s neat script which she proceeded to read.

In the meantime, Cara snuggled down beneath the bedclothes. She turned a sleepy head toward Odette. “What are you doing?”

“I’m reading Odell’s notes. Then I’m going to work on a story.”

“A story?”

“Yes, a plausible, believable story. We’re going to need one.”

The story she told to the three listening Wrights the next morning as they sat in Mrs. Wright’s small parlor was as much of the truth as she could safely tell without being branded a lunatic. Her brother had fallen into the clutches of an evil and powerful man. She had attempted to rescue him but was discovered by one of his henchmen. She and Cara had barely escaped with their lives. She did not know if Odell was dead or captive. And she dared not name their nemesis or reveal any detail of their plight until she knew for sure, fearing it would only endanger Odell more.

With this rule established she could deflect any questions regarding where they came from or their background. It was something, she could tell, that frustrated the skeptical young lawyer. His frown deepened throughout her recital, whereas his sister sat wide-eyed, captivated by the “romance” of the tale. Their mother just seemed to take it all in as if Odette were describing something as mundane as plucking a chicken.

“Well, my dear, what can we do to help?” asked Mrs. Wright, ignoring a sputtering expostulation from her son.

“You’ve done so much already,” replied Odette. “And we do have the money to pay you. In fact, if Mister Wright could help me bank our money and assist us to more permanent lodging and, of course, clothes. That would be sufficient.”

“Aren’t you afraid that this 'evil' man will find you? Don’t you want us to help you hide?” asked Gabriel his blue eyes narrowed, and his finely cut lips stretched into a thin line. Odette couldn’t help but notice how much he still resembled an angel, albeit a stiff and disapproving one.

“Oh no, I want to make myself as visible as possible.”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Oh?”

“I won’t use my real name. It seems Odell has made Speex rather notorious and too well known. It may put people off at first,” she replied. “But I have no intention of hiding. To find Odell, I need to find this man or he needs to find me. And I don’t want to be found without resources or… friends.”

She cast her eyes down. And Gabriel couldn’t help thinking how well she did it. For her appeal caught at his heart as did her large golden eyes, her elfin features, her slender figure, her shining hair. It was making him angry.

“In fact, I was thinking of going on the stage,” she continued. “My mother was a dancer and sent me to the finest dancing masters in Europe.”

Gabriel, his face growing red, burst out, “A dancer! A… a dancer is no more than—”

“An artist,” said Odette proudly. “I am an artist. And so was my mother.”

Chapter 11

Barbara sat with
her dark head bent over the stiff fabric. Her fingers were cramped from the hundreds of tiny stitches she plied across the ribbed bodice. She had never seen such a costume as the one Cara had designed and on which she now worked.

Made of heavy white silk, the bodice was embroidered in gold thread with intertwining vines of green. Barbara had watched in awe as Cara drew the design across the expensive fabric and then expertly outlined it with the gold and green thread.

The skirt, if “skirt” is what one could call the crisp, gauzy confection, was made mostly of a stiff taffeta. It was made even stiffer by carefully applied blue starch.

“We need a good laundress,” Cara had announced only days after their arrival and after they had ventured to London on an extravagant shopping trip. “Only an experienced laundress can apply the starch properly and keep it from dragging down the skirt.”

The scene at the laundry was one Barbara later recounted with much laughter to her mother. The delicate and beautiful Cara, now perfectly clothed and coiffed, had stood with Nan, their local laundress, discussing her precise instructions for processing the expensive fabric. The typically blunt, no-nonsense Nan was struck dumb by the “gentry lady” who seemed to know more than she about laundry and starching techniques. But Barbara could tell by the thin line of her tightened lips, that Nan was none too pleased at being told her business. Still her feathers were significantly smoothed when Cara announced the job “masterful” and paid her an extra five shillings for her trouble.

The day after Odette and Cara’s arrival, the Norvell’s and their colicky baby vacated the family suite in the inn’s quiet west wing. The suite was one of their best with a large bedroom, a small cozy sitting room, and a well-appointed parlor for eating and receiving guests. It overlooked the lovely park and gardens that were one of the most charming aspects of The Ferrous Swan. Odette thought it wonderful, and she and Cara proceeded to fill it with purchases.

Barbara was surprised that their trip to London had not included visits to mantua makers or fashionable modistes. Instead they ventured into a decidedly unfashionable, albeit busy, part of the city. Here the stores were stocked to the rafters with bolts of fabric and long trays and drawers filled with all manner of lace, thread, buttons, clasps, and appliqués. Again she watched Cara’s display of knowledge. She refused to deal with sales persons at all and cowed the proprietors into giving her exactly what she needed at the exact price she demanded.

Barbara was awed at the change in Cara. From the obviously frightened and disoriented woman who had arrived only days before, she had morphed into a commanding yet strangely gentle presence. At the inn she was unfailingly kind and polite. This won her a devoted following among the servants and many of the guests. But when it came to business, and especially Odette, Cara brooked no nonsense, twice even calling Gabriel on the carpet for a perceived slight to her darling.

Barbara’s lips twitched with amusement. Observing Gabriel was almost as fun as watching Cara in action. That first morning with Odette’s story laid out before them, he could barely contain his disbelief and suspicion. Her brother, half brother really, usually had a strong sense of the ridiculous. He was always ready with a witty remark and easy laugh. But when it came to their mother he could be… well… he could be as protective as Cara was of Odette.

During Odette’s recital, Barbara watched as he struggled with his natural skepticism and their mother’s desire to help two women in obvious need of friends. That Josephine Wright had once been such a woman was never far from her mind.

“Gabriel, don’t look so grim.” Their mother had laughed at him after Odette and Cara retired to their rooms. “They’ve obviously omitted a great deal, but we’ve no right to pry.”

“We have every right,” he retorted. “We have a respectable business and—”

“…and if word got out we took in some disreputable women—”

“Exactly! We aren’t immune to gossip, no matter your standing in the community.”

“My standing in the community?” Josephine put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. “There isn’t one person in this town that doesn’t know where I came from. And not one who doesn’t know I’ve been a good and faithful wife and mother for over twenty years. Ralph Wright made sure of that.” Her voice caught a little when mentioning her late husband.

“Mother—”

“No, Gabriel.” She laid her hand on his arm and smiled. “I know you mean to protect me, but you’ve no need. There is some truth in that tale Miss Speex spun for us. She is afraid of a powerful man. And if there is one thing of which I take great offense, it’s a powerful man taking advantage of a woman not his equal.”

The case was closed. Josephine Wright could take care of herself. She had proved that a long time ago. Mother and son spoke no more on the topic.

Barbara had watched the familiar play of emotions cross Gabriel’s face. He had never been acknowledged by the man who had taken advantage of their mother twenty-eight years before. While Ralph Wright had willingly given Gabriel his name and, most importantly, his love, the shame of her brother’s origins was lodged firmly in his heart and could not be shaken loose.

Barbara tied off the thread and lifted her head to look out over the gardens. She was sitting on the window seat the late afternoon sunshine highlighting her work. March had indeed come in like a lion, leaving the park bare. The dirt walks were bordered by flower beds tilled and ready for the spring. Johnson, the gardener, moved purposefully among them. He was quite old but still strong and sure in his movements. Just now he was examining the lovely topiary chess pieces that were the only sculptures to survive the park’s decades-long transition into a natural garden. Barbara sighed. Mr. Pope’s admonitions notwithstanding, she still missed the whimsical topiary sculptures that used to dominate the park’s walkways.

A flurry of activity at the parlor door announced the entrance of a new arrival. Barbara shook off her thoughts and stood up as a rotund little German man scuttled over to make his bow. He waved her back to her seat.

“Nein. Nein. Do not get up. I can see your hands are full,” he said in his clipped, accented English.

“Mister Schumacher, what brings you here?” Barbara asked as Cara breezed in from the sitting room and called over her shoulder, “Ah, Odette, the master shoemaker is here.”

Odette followed with a look of intense interest on her face. She held out her hand to the little man then quickly dropped it back into the folds of her skirt. Barbara had seen her do this first upon meeting Johnson. She reached out and shook the confused gardener’s hand before letting go and smiling up at him. Only Barbara had been witness to his perplexed stare, and Odette’s obvious embarrassment. She wondered if this was a common gesture among Odette’s people. She had only seen handshakes among men of similar class and then, only to seal a bargain.

“Mister Schumacher.” Odette smiled. “I’m so glad to see you again. Have you the samples already?”

Barbara was perplexed. “Odette, how do you know Mister Schumacher?”

“I went out a few days ago to meet with him. Your mother told us he was the best shoemaker in town. Even by London standards,” she added to the delight of the little German.

Barbara frowned, her typically good-natured face anxious.

Odette quickly added, “I took the kitchen maid, Mary, with me. She had some errands to run for your mother and showed me the way, and I helped her carry the purchases.”

Barbara relaxed. Odette’s easy ways were charming, but her tendency to venture out alone was disconcerting. While not as repressive as her brother, Barbara still worried about how these strangers’ behavior reflected on their mother and did not look kindly on the cavalier flaunting of convention.

“Yes, yes,” the shoemaker responded excitedly. “I have the samples. I was so intrigued by your design; I even kept Mister Rawlings, the tanner, awake past midnight.”

He quickly unpacked the wooden box containing several pairs of very odd-looking slippers. “Now these…” He held up a pair of pink slippers that looked as if silk had been stretched over a flattened cone-like toe and then molded into a stiff cast around the heel. Turning it over, the women could see that the sole was a piece of thick, hardened leather. “These are built to your precise specifications.”

Odette took the slippers from him and sat down as she prepared to try them on.

He shook his head. “I can’t imagine they will be very comfortable, especially for dancing.”

Odette laughed softly as she put a tuft of lamb’s wool into the toe before slipping her stocking foot into the shoe. “They never are, Mister Schumacher.”

Odette knew it would be impossible to procure elastic and had asked the shoemaker to build some lacings into the front of the shoe. She laced them tightly and then tied the ribbons securely around her ankle.

“There,” she said and stood.

What happened next, Barbara could barely describe later to her mother. “It was like she was floating! Almost like she had no feet at all!”

Odette held her skirts a little above her ankles and pirouetted around the room. A few more graceful moves and she came to a stop in front of Barbara and the shoemaker.

She put out one foot and placed the blunt, flattened toe of the shoe on the floor. She pushed forward with her foot and bent the slipper backward. “I think they will need to be stronger. And there are some moves I will definitely be unable to perform, but for now, these will do. Thank you.” She smiled brilliantly at the two astonished onlookers.

Cara cleared her throat. “Yes. Well, darling, that was lovely.”

Finding her voice, Barbara stammered, “How… how did you do that?”

“That was unbelievable!” added the shoemaker.

She looked guiltily over at Cara who shrugged her shoulders helplessly at Odette’s careless display.

Odette saw on their faces an expression of confused awe. She remembered the riots caused by
Chronicle
and understood the power of art, particularly something completely new.

The ballet of the mid-eighteenth century was typically an accompaniment to opera or theater, and generally featured men. The female ballerina was a nascent creature. Odette was almost sure her plan would disrupt history but felt the spread of democracy more important than the invention of pointe. Nevertheless, she muttered a silent prayer for forgiveness to Marie Taglioni.

To Barbara and Mister Schumacher she told a story carefully crafted to explain her particular ability. “It’s a new technique. I learned it at a very small dance academy in Cernobbio, Italy. The dance master there… ah… um… Mister Blasis, was experimenting with new steps and selected only a few of us to train. It took many hours of practice every day over years to learn. I think it’s very beautiful. But because it requires short skirts to dance, the local authorities eventually shut the school down.” She smiled at her listeners. “I’m hoping Mister Garrick will see the artistry, and not just my scandalous ankles.”

“Well, it is certainly lovely to watch,” pronounced Mister Schumacher. “Did this Mister Blasis also design the shoe?”

“He had help from the dancers,” she explained. “It was a group effort.”

Cara cleared her throat and looked a warning at Odette. “Barbara.” She turned to the still-amazed girl. “How is that skirt coming along?”

Barbara looked down at the elaborate costume in her hands. “Well… I think. I’m not quite sure how it’s supposed to fall. But you were right. The bodice can easily support several layers of material.” Sufficiently diverted from Odette’s earlier display, she moved away with Cara to discuss the costume’s construction.

Odette, left standing with the shoemaker, quickly examined and approved several pairs of simple leather slippers and another pair of pointe shoes.

After a few more exchanged words and payment, Odette saw the little German out just as Gabriel was making his entrance.

He nodded politely to the shoemaker as they passed, then looked at Odette with raised eyebrows. Odette cocked her head to one side and raised her eyebrows as well. She felt a prickling of irritation at his inquisitiveness, which was only heightened by the distrustful look in his very fine blue eyes.

“Mister Wright,” she said sweetly, “do you have a question for me, or am I to interpret your speculative look for you?”

His lips twitched, but he frowned down at her seriously and said, “Please, give me your interpretation of my ‘speculative look.’ ”

“Well, your eyebrows were definitely asking why the shoemaker was here,” she answered.

“Traitorous eyebrows!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to have to learn to control them if I should ever be a barrister.” He bowed to her. “Why indeed, Miss Spee… um… I mean, Miss Swanpoole, was the shoemaker here?”

“Oh, Gabe! But you should have been here!” interrupted Barbara. “You should see what Odette can do! I’ve never seen such dancing, and I’ll bet no one else in London has either.”

Gabriel walked over to the window seat and looked at Barbara and Cara’s handiwork. He reached down to touch the delicate fabric, and Odette noticed his lovely strong hands.

Like Michelangelo’s David
.

She shook herself at the thought.

“Yes, Mister Wright,” she commented aloud. “I learned a new form of ballet in Italy that I hope Mister Garrick will appreciate. Mister Schumacher was here to deliver some slippers made to my specific instructions.”

“Italy?” He turned again to look at Odette. “When were you in Italy, Miss Swanpoole?”

“Oh, really!” Barbara interrupted again. “Could you two please stop with the ‘Mister Wright,’ ‘Miss Swanpoole’ nonsense? All this formality is a little ridiculous, Gabe. You had no problem calling Odell by his given name, and neither did I.”

“Miss Swanpoole is a young woman completely unrelated to me—” he began stiffly.

“How can you be so silly? You address Caroline as Caroline. And she’s the daughter of an earl
and
completely unrelated to you.”

“That is entirely different…”