Odette Speex: Time Traitors Book 1 (4 page)

Chapter 4

He felt ridiculous,
like a five year old playing dress-up. Except for the cowboy or police costume most little boys would have preferred, he was dressed in formal evening wear. The fine, dark cloth fit perfectly his slender physique. The traditional attire didn’t keep tailors from using modern materials and the stretchy superfine molded to his muscles and was surprisingly comfortable.

He carried an ebony walking stick but balked at wearing the shiny top hat. There was really only so much he could take.

Odell remembered the first time he had donned this outfit at the wedding of Lady Adriana Treadwell and Sir Robert Leigh. He hadn’t known Odette would be there until she performed. Afterward she spotted him in the crowd and came flowing over, a vision in gauzy pale pink. He smiled at the memory.

She had grabbed his hands, eyes full of warmth and affection. “Odell, you look smashing!” she exclaimed. Looking around, she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “What are you doing here? Are you a guest?”

Odette was a revelation. He still found it hard to believe that all that love was directed at him. To this vibrant, alive woman, he was the most important person in the world. It was humbling, and Odell was not a humble man.

It was this lack of humility that grated on the nerves of Lord Westchester and his ilk. James Treadwell, the Duke of Hudson and Lady Adriana’s father, had invited Odell to his daughter’s wedding. He really wasn’t welcomed though. It was a necessity, a way of keeping Odell under their thumbs.

Drake and Treadwell were only two representatives of a privileged cohort that controlled almost half the world. It was an elite formed over two hundred years ago at Lord Westchester’s instigation and with Odell’s unwitting assistance.

He clenched his jaw and stepped into the lift. Odell nodded politely to the operator as the boy closed the elevator cage behind him. He watched the floors flash by and thought of his stupidity and arrogance. When they reached the lobby, the bell captain opened the elevator cage for him.

“Good evening, sir. A night on the town, is it?”

“Yes. Thank you, Sean. My sister is dancing tonight.”

“Miss Odette, is it? I’ve heard you speak of her, sir, but haven’t had the pleasure of opening the door for her.”

Odell nodded his head guiltily. He had received a note and small gift just this morning from Odette. The note was a flowery ode to his brilliance and achievements. He read it through several times and knew that she was overcompensating, the congratulatory tone covering up for the hurt of his neglect.

He reached up to touch the small pin nestled in the folds of his loosely tied cravat. She must have found it during her incessant rummagings. It was the size of a small cameo and delicately made. The background was white ivory and painted in black was the profile of a swan. It was a play on his name. He imagined her dancing with joy at the luck of finding such a thing, saving it up to give him on the appropriate occasion.

“Will you be needing a cab, sir,” Sean asked.

“No. Thank you. I’ll walk.”

It was several blocks to the theater, but Odell preferred to walk. He suppressed a shiver as he passed the line of cabs waiting for fares. They still gave him the creeps. Like great headless beasts they lumbered down the streets powered by a technology that had advanced little in the last one hundred years.

The lack of imagination and ingenuity was astounding. It was still a horse-drawn coach, just without the horse. The driver sat atop steering the awkward contraption with levers and brakes. The engine was strapped to the back. The drivers were typically large, burly men. They had to be strong to wrestle with the heavy steel levers. The noxious black smoke belching from the exhaust and the squealing brakes put Odell’s teeth on edge. It wasn’t unusual for one of these machines to careen out of control, sending pedestrians scrambling for safety.

He swished his walking stick in irritation. It wasn’t a lack of talent. Just today he had spoken with another fellow of the Academy. In whispered undertones the man described his research in solar power. It was tentative and he had very little money with which to pursue his studies, but it was imperative, in his view, to find a cleaner fuel. Considering the heavy, poisonous smog that hung perpetually over the city, Odell had to agree.

But he wouldn’t get far. Not with the thickheaded morons who ran this world. All they ever wanted were more toys. The silly “holographic,” he used that word lightly, pictures were a perfect example. They would never allow technology to develop in any democratic sense, to be used for the greater good. True innovation required an open society and that was one thing they would never tolerate.

He was now entering the less prosperous part of town. Evening had fallen and the supper crowd poured into pubs and taverns. Odell could hear rowdy songs and an occasional shouting match echo out into the street. He was out of place in his fine clothes but strode along as if oblivious to the sideways covetous glances.

He finally arrived at the theater thirty minutes before the curtain and was pleased to see a crowd queuing up at the box office. The people milling about were only a little less poor than those he had just passed. They were comprised of the small merchant and professional classes, mostly shop owners, seamstresses and upper servants, like valets and governesses. There were some children, mostly girls, but a few boys as well. It was a gentle scene after the boisterous activity of the taverns.

The location of the theater had been carefully chosen. Set back onto a quiet side street, it was bordered by an Italian restaurant with a bakery on one side and a used book store on the other. The building itself was tall and narrow but opened up past the lobby into a respectable-sized auditorium.

Odell looked around and suddenly stilled. He stepped back unobtrusively into the crowd. He hadn’t moved quickly enough. A light hand touched his arm, and he looked down into Cara’s lovely green eyes.

*

Odette stretched and listened to the cacophony of the orchestra as it warmed up. Testing out the ribbons of her pointe shoes, she flexed and pointed her feet. She practiced her opening steps by moving her arms about in graceful arcs. Richard had come back not ten minutes earlier to tell them ticket sales were brisk, and they would be dancing to a full house.

“Odette.” Janie, the house manager, came running up with an armful of red, pink, and white peonies. “These are for you.”

Odette smiled. She knew before turning the card over that they were from her brother. She loved peonies. “Please put them in the dressing room. Oh, and Janie, did you distribute the roses to the corps?”

“Yes. They loved them. It was a kind gesture.”

“Not at all,” Odette replied, and meant it.

When she had arrived at the theater that afternoon, about four dozen dark red roses awaited her in the dressing room. Their heavy perfume saturated the small space. It crowded out oxygen and fresh air making it hard for her to breathe.

She knew without looking at the card who had sent them as well. Only Drake would send a tribute so suffocatingly sophisticated. Split up among the dancers of the corps, they lost their power to overwhelm. Now they were only gentle roses in the hands of the appreciative dancers.

“Okay, everybody,” barked Richard, “to me!”

They crowded around him as Adelphia walked out from the wings. She looked magnificent. Tall and big-boned, she was dressed in heavy maroon silk with a feathered turban on her head. Her face was stark with its large, hooded eyes and prominent nose. She was often described as plain, but Odette thought her beautiful.

“I can’t tell you how proud I am at this moment,” she spoke in her quiet, deep voice. “It has been months of hard work, and now we are ready to premiere our first ballet. Even before we opened our doors, extensive planning went into this evening… these next few hours. It took time to find the right people. Patrons who believed in what we were doing. And then a suitable space and, of course, a brilliant artistic director.” She took Richard’s hand, and he returned her warm smile.

“And all of you… it took time to find all of you. So I’m just going to repeat what I’ve said many, many times over these last few months. Tell a story. Not with words but with your movements, with emotion. You can be technically flawless, your turns perfect, your extension amazing, and it means nothing if you cannot make the people out there
feel
something. Bring about a shared experience. Pull that audience onto the stage with you. Create a community of dance.”

Odette could hardly breathe through the lump in her throat. Not once at the King George Ballet had she been so inspired. “Thank you,” Odette croaked in unison with the other dancers. Never had she meant it more.

The performance was entitled
An Evening of Dance
and consisted mostly of famous variations or vignettes from classic ballets. It had been Adelphia’s idea to draw a new audience into the theater by presenting some of the most exciting pieces.

For Odette, the final piece was the most compelling. They used the last act of La Bayadere as a template. The Dance of the Shades, the ghosts of maidens spurned, was changed to include male dancers and incorporated elements of modern. The movements were haunting, with some dancers elevated
en pointe
and others barefoot. Richard choreographed it to represent the invisibility of the average person in society, and Odette felt her own impotent rage filtered through the steps.

When the curtain finally dropped, the audience sat momentarily silent. This produced among the company several seconds of panic. But soon a thunderous applause followed, and the relieved dancers filed out onto the stage, bowing, smiling, and waving. 

There was a relaxed atmosphere of familiarity in the theater. Odette saw interest, delight, confusion, and even awe reflected in the upturned faces.

Richard walked out and gestured to the conductor in the orchestra. He stood and bowed, in turn gesturing to the Duchess of Montagu, who also took a bow. As the audience quieted, the dancers descended the stage and later mingled with the crowd in the lobby. They conversed, shook hands, and signed the playbill.

Adelphia and Richard hoped to build community support for the theater and entice others through their doors. Odette thought they were off to a good start.

Through a part in the crowd, Odette spotted her brother with Cara on his arm. Cara was speaking intently into his ear. He listened politely but with a rather harassed look on his face. Odette smiled. She was sure Cara was giving him a lecture on his neglectful ways. She walked over to them.

“Darling, you were wonderful!” Cara enveloped her in a cream silk embrace. Her elaborately dressed curls brushed Odette’s cheek.

Odette stepped back and looked up at Odell. How handsome he looked in his evening attire. She smiled brilliantly when she saw he wore the swan pin. She reached up to hug him tightly and said, “Thank you for the flowers.”

He was awkward and embarrassed but not in an obviously stiff way. It was an awkwardness born of uncertainty. He always seemed surprised by her affection, and she noted again the quizzical look.

“Odette,” he said. “I was hoping you… and… Cara might care to join me for a late supper.”

Cara smiled blandly up at him and bowed out gracefully. “Sorry, my dears, but I have an early morning tomorrow. The Marquise de Genesee comes for a fitting, and she is notoriously difficult to please.” She kissed them both on the cheek and left in a rustle of silk and waft of subtle perfume.

Odette smiled. “Was Cara giving you a scold?”

He ducked his head in a familiar way that always wrung her heart. She remembered that gesture whenever their mother came home and gave Odette one of her cold embraces while ignoring her son altogether. He would duck his head down as if trying to hide or disappear.

“She was right,” he replied. “I’ve been too busy. But I think she was mostly angry because I tried to avoid her.”

Odette laughed and wrapped her hands around his arm. Leaning her head on his shoulder she asked, “Where are we going?”

He looked down at the top of her shiny black head and wondered for the millionth time how his mother could have produced such a kindhearted creature. How could her rigid and harsh DNA have combined with anything that wasn’t equally tough and unforgiving?
He
was his mother’s son, cold and calculating.

“Odette.” Richard walked up to them with Adelphia on his arm. “Congratulations. You were magnificent. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

She glowed. “I don’t think I have ever felt so alive on stage. I can’t thank you enough, both of you, for the opportunity.”

“Not at all,” Adelphia replied graciously. “Your reputation preceded you. I must admit though, I was at Lady Adriana’s wedding.” Odette flushed and tried to say something, but Adelphia held up a hand and laughed. “Oh my, the look on Westchester’s face—I would have hired you on the spot, my dear. Your placement on the Undesirable Roll, however, made that impossible.” She nodded to Odell. “It was a chance meeting with your brother that finally put me in touch with you.”

Odette looked sharply at her brother. She knew he’d had something to do with it. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“The Duke of Montagu is one of the governors of the Academy,” Odell explained, trying to dispel the suspicion in her eyes. “We met at a reception for Sir James Wheatly, the preeminent aeropilot.”

They had walked out into the chilly evening. Some people still milled about the restaurant which had stayed open to accommodate the crowd.

“Would you two like a lift anywhere?” Adelphia asked.

Odell was about to decline when he saw that her coach was actually drawn by horses.

She noted his surprise. “I know. An oddity of mine. But I find those smoking, careening contrivances particularly uncouth.” She patted the sleek neck of one of the horses. “Jules and Jim are only a little bit slower than the mechanized hackneys, especially in traffic.”

Odell felt it again. He narrowed his eyes and clutched at his walking stick in an effort to maintain his balance. He focused intently on the Duchess of Montagu. Just for an instant he sensed that she had stepped out from another time. That they were actually standing on some city street in the eighteenth century.