Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (11 page)

The siblings good-natured bickering faded into the background as Odette quietly moved into the sitting room and out of sight. She leaned against the mantelpiece and blew out a gentle breath. Grateful for Barbara’s timely intervention, she had a moment to collect her thoughts before facing Gabriel’s scrutiny. He was sure to ask the kinds of questions Barbara and Josephine never did. And while his sharp and distrustful intellect irritated her, she couldn’t really blame him. If their roles had been reversed, she wouldn’t believe her either.

“Really that Barbara is a gem.” Cara floated in on a whisper of silk. “Not only can she sew but she has an unerring talent for diverting her brother.”

Odette smiled.

Cara glanced quickly into the parlor to find the two still quibbling. “He really is outrageously good-looking.”

“I’m more concerned with his outrageously quick mind.”

Cara was skeptical but didn’t contradict her. “I don’t think it will overrule his mother’s kind heart.”

Odette looked at her guiltily. “That’s what has me worried. We must be out of here before we find Drake. I don’t want the Wrights mixed up in this any more than they already are. They’ve been so kind. I don’t want them in any danger.”

“I won’t pretend that I have any real understanding of how we got here,” Cara responded. “But if what Odell told you is to be believed, we have some time before he and Lord Westchester arrive.”

Odette and Cara drifted back into the parlor in time to see Gabriel’s departing back. Odette looked after him and said, “I hope he didn’t think us rude, Barbara. I just needed to retrieve some lamb’s wool, and Cara wanted to discuss our housing venture.”

“Oh think nothing of it.” She waved away any concerns. “He just dropped in on his way out anyway.”

“At this time of day,” Cara protested. “Won’t he miss his supper?”

“This is his night dining out with his philosophical club at St. Paul’s coffeehouse.”

“What topics do they discuss?” asked Odette.

“Mostly science and politics. But tonight they’re discussing the arrival of a diplomat from the colonies.”

Odette had turned away to inspect a piece of appliqué for the costume’s bodice but, at this, turned abruptly back. “The American colonies?” she asked sharply.

“Yes. Pennsylvania, I believe.”

Odette’s hands trembled. She clasped them together. “Do you know the name of this diplomat?”

Barbara shrugged her shoulders. “No. Gabe says he’s coming to try and settle a dispute between the colonist and Lord Thomas Penn. You may have heard that the Penn family owns Pennsylvania. I really know nothing more about him, but my brother says he is quite brilliant.”

Cara approached and laid a calming hand on Odette’s arm. “And when should England expect to see this shining intellect?” she asked in a careless tone.

“Sometime this summer. At least that’s what Gabe hears.”

A look of understanding flashed between them. It had to be him! Odette’s mind was in a whirl. Her plan to become the toast of the London stage had been a way to rub elbows with powerful people. To reach luminaries like Benjamin Franklin and Charles Drake. But now, if Gabriel were to meet him, how much easier…”

She stopped herself with a sudden realization. If Gabriel were to meet him or even become a member of his circle, keeping the Wrights safe and out of harm’s way was going to be more difficult than she imagined.

Chapter 12

Gabriel walked into
the coffeehouse. The evening chill clung to his cape as he swung it off his shoulders, and was enveloped in the warm conviviality of the room.

He was of above-average height, and had been described as lanky when a youth. Now a man of twenty-eight, he was broad and filled-out but still trim. He had known hard labor as a child while helping his parents build their business. Slowly the inn prospered, and they were able to hire servants to help with the most onerous tasks. But he still lent a hand when needed, chopping wood, hauling furniture, and assisting Johnson in the gardens. Occupied as his days now were with higher thoughts, he often felt the need of physical labor to clear his mind and keep his body strong.

He wove his way easily through the crowded tables.

“Ho, Gabe!”

Hailed by his friend Simon Keller, Gabriel turned to see him and three other men seated at a long table beneath the street window. He walked over and sat down on the bench next to Simon. Taking off his hat, he clapped Simon on the back and flashed a broad, slightly crooked grin at the other three men.

“I was hoping to get here before the ‘Lofties.’ ”

The others laughed and nodded. “Lofties” was the name they called the more eminent members of their supper club. In fact, it wasn’t really their supper club. They were mere hangers-on, young professionals who sat on the periphery and mostly listened to the quick flow of conversation. It was never easy to get a word in. Even if one was successful in venturing an opinion, the sharp intellect of the Lofties could cut deeper than any knife.

It was Gabriel who had come up with the name. He had a dry, low-key wit that never failed to make them laugh.

Simon swirled the coffee cup in his hands and glanced at his newly arrived companion. Really, that combined with his good looks, would have made him intolerable if he wasn’t such a fine fellow and good friend.

“Geoffrey said much the same,” he commented quietly. Simon was soft-spoken and more reticent than most to speak his mind or give an opinion. As a young clergyman, this served him poorly at the pulpit. But his kindness and non-judgmental demeanor endeared him to his small flock nonetheless.

“I met Mister Price on my way up Bridges,” Simon continued. “He mentioned a previous engagement but hoped to make it nonetheless.”

Richard Price was one of the young men’s favorites. At the relatively tender age of thirty-four he was already widely published. His Newington Green Unitarian Church was a bastion of liberal thought and political activity. His opinions were solicited by a wide array of notables.

The others murmured their hope he would indeed make it.

Geoffrey saying, “We attended his sermon on rationalism and free will a fortnight past. Margaret found it particularly enlightening.”

Geoffrey Prime, short, round, and with a slight overbite, was arguably the most well-educated man at the table. Unlike the other three, he came from the aristocracy and had married well. His position as the fourth son of a peer of modest standing necessitated an early marriage to a distant cousin.

Fortunately for his domestic happiness, she was equally interested in the political debate and scientific inquiry that were the defining characteristics of their time. He thought it a great pity that Margaret could not accompany him to the coffeehouse for these gatherings. But found it one of his greatest pleasures to recount the conversation and hear her thoughts and opinions. Many of which he relayed to his friends.

So they weren’t surprised when he added, “She feels that much of what he said could logically apply to women as well.”

Gabriel and Simon nodded agreeably, indulgent of Geoffrey’s close attachment to his wife.

“A good point,” Cyril replied, although he couldn’t help a slight eye roll and his habitual sneer.

Cyril Redmond completed the usual group of four friends. He was a handsome fellow in a rather feminine way. Tall and slender, Cyril’s golden curls and heavily-lashed green eyes were the envy of his less-favored sisters and many female cousins. Like Gabriel, he had started life as a bastard. Being the result of an ill-fated love affair between his mother, the gently-bred young daughter of a duke, and his father, the duke’s secretary.

In an odd twist, it was Cyril’s father who was left literally holding the baby when his young mother was found at the bottom of the cliffs near her ancestral Cornwall home. The tragedy was gossiped about throughout society, but her death remained a mystery. Although there was some speculation she had taken her own life, the incident was ruled a misadventure. She was buried beside her two infant siblings in the family plot. Neither Cyril nor his father had ever been allowed to visit the gravesite.

Cast out by his own family, Cyril’s father struggled to earn a living and provide for his son. His fortunes finally improved when he was hired by the widow of a printer to run her business. Two years later the business arrangement turned into a marriage and four daughters, Cyril’s sisters, followed in quick succession.

It was a happy home, and Cyril loved the only mother he had ever known. But he was haunted by the girl his father described as “bright and lovely” and embittered by the dismissive treatment he received from her family. As a result he often drank more than was good for him, and was known to be rather callous with women.

Gabriel, who had some experience with noble families, often counseled him to let it go. “It does no good to resent them. They do as they please. Don’t let them poison your life.”

Cyril always answered with a practiced sneer. “Easy for you to say, my friend, your mother made them pay.
And
the Lady Caroline acknowledges you.”

“Good grief! Caroline! She’s in an unusual position. Only her money makes her acceptable to the
ton
.” But Gabriel’s words fell on deaf ears, and he knew Cyril had grown weary of his lectures.

“The treatment of women is a topic that concerns Margaret greatly,” Geoffrey continued primly, with a pointed look at Cyril. “Particularly those less fortunate.”

Cyril opened his mouth to retort.

The fifth man at the table gently cleared his throat, neatly diverting Geoffrey and Cyril from the beginnings of an argument. “I believe Mister Price’s sermons frequently generate debate,” he said in his quiet, precise manner. “He has found favor with some powerful people and made critics of others.”

“Indeed he has,” Geoffrey responded with a sidelong look at Cyril, who stared back at him innocently. “Margaret is often at odds with her family over her admiration of his views.”

“I hear he has a new publication,” the man muttered almost to himself.

This was enough to set the four friends off on a lively debate of Mister Price’s
Review of the Principal Question of Morals
. Leaving the other man to sit back and observe.

His name was Ethan Graham, and he was new to the group. He had approached them unobtrusively one evening several weeks ago and introduced himself as a friend of Geoffrey’s uncle. Which uncle was never quite clear, but the young men were only too happy to invite into their circle a man of obvious intellect and breeding.

Trim and rigged out in well-tailored clothes, he was of average height and build. He was older than his companions perhaps in his middle thirties. His hair was brown and un-powdered. His skin had an olive tint and dark black brows were slashing accents above brown eyes. He was described more commonly as attractive rather than handsome. People often found it difficult to remember him in detail.

This particular talent served him well. For Ethan Graham was a spy in the employ of the Crown. And he was finding this particular assignment a dead bore. He watched the earnest flow of conversation between the four friends and felt the unusual prick of his conscience. He was not a man to overthink his allegiances or question too closely his superiors. However, spying on honest Englishmen was not his idea of serving his country. But powerful people were at play here. And one powerful family in particular cared very much about the activities of a certain diplomat from the colonies.

“Benjamin Franklin…”

Ethan snapped out of his reverie.

“He’s to arrive sometime this summer I hear,” Simon continued, his typically mild voice tinged with enthusiasm. “He’s quite brilliant, you know.”

Gabriel smiled fondly. For “Simon the Scientist” always trumped “Simon the Clergyman.” In his cramped rooms on the Strand, Simon kept an impressive array of tools and instruments used for various and, to his friends, mysterious experimentation.

“Does anyone yet know when he is scheduled to arrive?” Ethan asked off-handedly.

Simon puffed out his cheeks and blew out a long breath. “I’ve asked the Lofties many times and all I get is ‘sometime this summer.’ ”

Gabriel clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Simon. You’re sure to meet him.”

The others nodded in agreement. They couldn’t imagine another group with a more illustrious membership. It was all that the noted Colonial philosopher and inventor could possibly hope for in supper companions.

“Look, there’s Mister Price now. And he’s brought Reverend Burgh with him,” Cyril observed.

“What! Reverend Burgh never comes,” Simon declared, straightening abruptly. This sudden action brought him into contact with the arm of a very young man who had been lingering near their table. His full cup of coffee sloshed over and landed with a plop on Gabriel’s sleeve. Fortunately it was cold.

The boy, for he couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen, stepped back and pulled the large brim of his hat even further down his forehead. “I’m very sorry, sir,” he mumbled and then cleared his throat. “It was an accident.”

Seeing the boy was nervous, Gabriel smiled kindly. He dabbed his sleeve with a napkin and said, “No harm done. It’s a bit crowded in here, to be sure.”

“Sorry, sir,” the boy repeated and touched the brim of his hat as he backed away. “Thank you, sir.”

Geoffrey stared after him. “Bit underfed that one. He should be spending his money on food not coffee.”

“Maybe that’s something Margaret could do,” Cyril sneered. “Proper nutrition for poor children and such.”

Geoffrey opened his mouth to retort but shut it again quickly as the arriving Lofties arranged themselves in their usual spots with cups of coffee and apple puffs. More soon arrived and the conversation quickly took off, leaving the four young men to follow and interject as best they could.

The fifth member of their group wasn’t missed. Ethan Graham had exited unnoticed as the others arrived.

Chapter 13

Odette had no
problem slipping quietly past the many dogs that roamed the inn grounds. She hadn’t spent days feeding them table scrapes and praising them for various and sundry doggie behaviors for nothing. Barely a whisker twitched as she walked past the stableyard. She stuck close to the shadows as she approached the beautiful old oak tree spread out under the second-story window of their lodgings.

She had to leap to reach the lowest branch. Dangling by her arms, she swung her legs up and over the next branch. Her hands caught on another one further up. She stood within the secure network of branches and quickly scuttled up the tree. In a matter of seconds, she arrived at a branch conveniently perched like the crook of an elbow on her bedroom windowsill. She sat wedged in between the tree and the wall and opened the window. Odette lightly dropped onto the wooden floor of her bedroom.

The room was warm after the chill of the late March evening. Aside from a small fire glowing in the grate, the only light in the room was the dim flicker of a candle. Cara never looked up from her sewing but pursed her lips.

“You know, Odette, I cannot approve of this nighttime gallivanting around.”

Odette pulled the large-brimmed hat from her head and threw it onto the canopied bed. “So daytime gallivanting is okay?” She said with a playful smile.

Cara looked at her and sighed deeply. “I don’t know how you convinced me to make those dreadful clothes for you. But I must say you make a charming boy.”

Odette twirled around the room and fell with a plop onto the large soft bed. “Freedom, Cara! Freedom!” She waved her arms dramatically over her head. “To walk unnoticed down a city street… to run unencumbered by burdensome skirts and men’s rules,” she intoned sonorously, “To—”

A pillow landed heavily across her face as she felt the bed bounce with Cara’s weight. “Shut up, you silly child.”

Cara flipped over on her back next to Odette, and they both lay gazing up at the heavy brocade of the canopy.

After a short silence, Odette asked, “Why don’t men wear skirts?”

“Oh for heaven’s—” Cara began, exasperated.

“No, really, Cara.” Odette turned on her side, crooked her elbow and rested her head in her hand. “Why don’t men wear skirts?”

“Well, the Scots—”

“Oh no! Not short skirts! Long, elegant skirts that trail the ground and twist around your waist and legs, pulling and weighing you down. Why don’t men wear those skirts?”

“Just because they don’t.” Cara shrugged.

Odette stood up and looked intently down at her friend. “It’s because they’re prisons—soft, beautiful, confining prisons.”

Cara sat up. “Yes. I know, dear. But it is the way I survive. I happen to make those prisons.”

Odette sat down again and hugged Cara fiercely. “Lucky for me, dearest! But I wish just once you’d come with me. That we could roam the streets together, and you could feel how liberating it is!”

Cara patted her cheek indulgently. “Perhaps… some day. But I’m a creature comfortable within her confines. I don’t have your courage.”

Odette snorted derisively but before she could retort, Cara continued, “What did you discover? Hopefully you didn’t take such a risk without some gain.”

Odette turned grave and walked restlessly about the room finally stopping at the small writing desk. She sat down in the straight-backed chair and rested her forearms on her thighs. “Do you remember the Progressive Purge of the late eighteenth century?”

“Well, not personally.”

Odette gave a grunt of amusement but shook her head sadly. “You know what I mean—from history.”

Cara nodded.

“Well, I saw many of them today.”

“Saw many of whom?”

“The Progressive leaders—men of the Enlightenment. I saw them at the coffeehouse where Gabriel meets his friends. It was a shock, Cara. To see them and recognize their faces and names and know that in a few short years they will all be dead. Rounded-up, imprisoned, and executed by the Crown.”

This was the part that Cara found hardest to believe. Of all that she had experienced and all that Odette had explained, the existence of an alternate history was almost inconceivable. Restoring a timeline that didn’t exist because it was what really happened was a conundrum her logical, linear brain found difficult to grasp.

Undoubtedly they had traveled back over two hundred years in time. But to actually change history… she shook her head but only said, “Yes, I remember. They were found traitors. It was a bloodbath from what I recall. Whole families were rounded up, neighbor turned on neighbor. That such a thing could happen…” She shivered at the thought.

“If you were with me, Cara, you would understand how implausible it is. The feel in the streets, in the coffeehouses, people aren’t afraid to speak their minds. I think, after tonight, this is the first time I truly believe what Odell told me. The trajectory of history is moving toward progress. It feels…” Odette sat back and spread her arms wide. “It feels inevitable. But something or someone, in this case, changed it all. And one thing’s for sure, Cara, he had help.”

“We know. But Odell was tricked—”

“No, not just Drake and Odell. It’s much bigger. There is absolutely no way Drake alone could have changed the course of history. Even with a library full of history books.”

“What do you mean?”

Odette stood up, frustrated. “I’m not sure what I mean. Only what I feel, and I’m feeling very, very uneasy.”

She walked over to the wardrobe and pulled the loose-fitting shirt over her head revealing the soft chemise underneath. She stepped out of her trousers and carefully folded both pieces of clothing. She tucked them securely under layers of feminine finery. Finally she pulled off the chemise and began to unwind the binding from around her small breasts. She wasn’t sure this was absolutely necessary but couldn’t risk an accidental grope on a crowded street or in the coffeehouse. Completely disrobed, she wrapped a heavy silk dressing gown around her and walked back to the bed.

“The other thing, Cara, Gabriel is up to his neck in all of this. I was close enough to hear some of their conversation. He and his friends are clearly part of the movement and great admirers of its leaders. I can’t begin to imagine what happened to them.”

“Not everyone purged was famous, Odette. Many an ordinary man and woman were rounded-up as well,” Cara reminded her.

They sat in silence for a couple of moments until Cara asked, “Did you learn any more of Mister Franklin.”

Odette shook her head. “Only what we know from Barbara. That he arrives sometime this summer—”

A brisk knock on their apartment door startled them both. Cara was still dressed so she rose from the bed, picked up the candle, and went to answer the door. Odette closed the bedroom door to a crack and stood with one eye on Cara’s back.

“Who is it?” Cara asked

“I’m so sorry, Miss Cara.” Josephine’s clear voice came through the door. “But there’s a man here swears he saw a boy climb in through your window.”

Startled, Cara looked over her shoulder at Odette but turned back and said calmly, “He must be mistaken, Mrs. Wright. There is no one here except Odette and myself.”

Cara could hear an exasperated sigh through the thick oak door. “I apologize, but please oblige me by opening the door. The man won’t leave until he is assured that no trespass has occurred.”

Cara was tired and the anxiety of Odette’s evening adventure had worn hard on her nerves. She felt her hackles rise and said, “Well, he will have to be satisfied with my word, Mrs. Wright. While I am still dressed, Odette has retired for the night and I do not feel up to visits from strange gentlemen. No matter how well-meaning.”

“I understand.” Josephine’s voice was tense. “But unless he can see for himself, he says he’ll go to the local authority and report the incident. I’d much rather avoid that, if possible.”

If Odette could have seen Cara’s face, she would have easily recognized the warning signs. But with her friend’s back to her, she didn’t see the dangerously flushed cheeks and flashing eyes. All Odette saw was a slight stiffening of Cara’s shoulders and a shake of her magnificent hair.

“By all means.” Cara opened the door and gestured wide with her arm. “Do come in Mrs. Wright. You, of course, are quite welcome. The
gentleman
,” she said with exquisite scorn, “will oblige me by not venturing any further than the parlor.”

The gentleman stood rooted to a spot just within the door. Odette could dimly see the man’s face. She almost chuckled. Over the years she had seen this reaction from many men when confronted with her beautiful friend. The years hadn’t muted their attraction to her, only her interest in them.

This one regained his composure quicker than most. Odette had to admire how he took a casual pose and bowed respectfully to Cara. “I apologize, Miss…”

“Mills,” Cara said tightly, raising her chin in the air.

“Miss Mills, I realize this is an impertinence. But the sight of a boy entering through your window elicited my concern for the safety of those in this house.”

Odette drew her breath in sharply and stepped away from the door. The face was vague, but the quiet voice was unmistakable. This was one of Gabriel’s friends from the coffeehouse—the older, dark-haired one.

But why was he in Hampstead? Mrs. Wright didn’t seem to know him. How did he arrive here so quickly?

She ran shaking hands through her hair and tried to calm her racing thoughts.

Cara was saying, “You have the advantage of me Mister…?

“Graham.” He bowed again. “Ethan Graham.”

“Well, Mister Graham,” she said regally, “I don’t know what you
think
you saw, but I can assure you there is no one here but me and my young friend.”

He raised his eyebrows at the mention of Odette. “And this young friend is male or female?”

Cara’s eyes narrowed to icy, green pinpoints of light. “Female, obviously” she replied curtly. Adding, “ ‘Odette’ can hardly be considered a masculine name.”

“An unusual name to be sure. What is its origin? French?”

Cara waved an impatient hand. “A mother’s whimsy. Now, Mister Graham, if you are done. I am tired.”

“Not quite yet.” He smiled politely. “I’d like to meet Miss Odette.”

Josephine Wright stirred and said sternly, “Mister Graham, I appreciate your concern, but you ask too much. The young lady has retired. She should be left to her rest.”

He smiled again, flashing even, white teeth, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “Mrs. Wright, I forgot to mention that I’m a friend of your son’s. I realize I am pushing the bounds of propriety but would feel remiss in my duty not to—”

“Cara, what’s happening?” Odette appeared in the doorway of their bedroom. Fortunately all eyes were on her, and Ethan was not privy to the startled expression on the other two women’s faces.

Odette had quickly pulled on several layers of clothing. She wrapped her dressing gown around her and drew the belt in tightly at the waist. While she was still slender, the added padding gave her silhouette a more voluptuous outline. She had thrown a shawl over her short hair and tied it under her chin.

At the sight of a strange man, Odette drew back with a gasp that turned into a cough, “Goodness! I had no idea! Cara, what is going on?”

Cara pressed her lips firmly together and tilted her chin. She covered her amusement with an indigent snort. “This gentleman says he saw a boy enter our bedroom through the window.”

Odette swayed gracefully into the parlor with another delicate cough. “Forgive my strange appearance, but I fear I’m coming down with something.” She smiled tiredly at Ethan and pulled the shawl more tightly under her chin. “You are free to look in the bedroom if it will put your mind at ease, Mister…?”

“Graham,” Ethan answered, his eyes never leaving Odette’s face. “Thank you. I think I will.” He walked off into the bedroom. The three women followed closely.

He stopped at the threshold and surveyed the darkened room. Cara came up behind him with a candle. Her breath brushed the back of his neck. “Perhaps the candle will make your search easier.”

“Thank you,” he said with admirable composure. He took the candle from her and walked over to the window. “You can see here how the tree branch rests on the sill—an easy route of entry for any thief, Mrs. Wright.”

Odette leaned out the window. “Indeed, yes, Mister Graham. But you can also see that the tree grows close to the building in several places. The attic, for example, would be a more logical place for a thief to enter. Perhaps in the darkness you mistook the window? In fact,” she continued, a thought striking her, “it might be wise to search the entire inn. He could be anywhere.” She turned to Ethan. “What did he look like?”

“I think it is unlikely I mistook the window,” he said doubtfully. “But since he is obviously not in this room, I agree it would be a good idea to search the inn. As for his appearance, he was a young, very slim boy. I didn’t see his face clearly.”

Odette gave an inward sigh of relief. “How did you come to spot him?” she asked but immediately regretted her question when he turned his deceptively mild attention back to her.

“I saw him leap onto the luggage rack of a moving coach, Miss Odette. A rather daring maneuver don’t you agree. Are you alright, Miss Mills?”

“Yes, quite. I must be catching Odette’s cough.”

“Since I was also headed to Hampstead, I rode as close as possible. However, I lost sight of the coach about a quarter mile back. It was just happenstance that I saw him climb up the tree.”

“Are you sure it was the same boy?” Cara asked.

He looked at her and drew in a breath. “I cannot be entirely sure, but I believe so.”

“Well, it’s all very strange,” Cara declared. She shook back her dark red curls distracting him momentarily. “I do hope you’re satisfied we’re not harboring a fugitive or plotting dark conspiracies.”

He bowed his head slightly, and she noticed for the first time the exotically slashed eyebrows and dark eyes. “You are certainly not harboring a fugitive, Miss Mills.”

Odette’s artless laugh came out a little shrill. “Fugitives! Conspiracies! I think I might swoon!”