Rebel Mechanics (18 page)

“I—I need to go home,” I stammered, the tears threatening to spill again. “B-but the roadblocks. I'll never make it through.”

He patted me on the arm. “Easy, there, Verity. I can get you outta here. Don't you worry about that. Come on.” He led me down a short flight of stairs to a basement door, which he opened, gesturing for me to follow him into the gloom. I felt my way through a narrow passage toward a square of light at the end, where Nat held open a door that led into a barren yard between buildings. We crossed the yard and entered another basement, then came up onto the sidewalk on a major street.

“There you are, on Fourteenth, past the roadblock,” Nat said, brushing his hands together in satisfaction. “The roadblocks only keep out people like you who follow the rules. The ones they're guarding against know how to get past. Now, d'you need me to get you home, or can you make it from here?”

“I can make it on my own,” I said, even though I wasn't sure. I knew the way, but my strength was failing.

He disappeared back into the basement, and I waited for a break in traffic to cross the busy street and head for the nearest bus stop. Fortunately, the bus I caught wasn't the one I'd just left. It was practically empty, so I had a seat to myself for the long ride. I was so lost in thought that I almost missed my stop.

The sun was setting and the streets were growing dark as I walked the last few blocks toward the Lyndon home, which now seemed like some distant dream. It couldn't really exist in the same world where the slum children lived and British troops shot at them, could it?

But it was real, and I wanted to weep for joy when I saw it. Climbing the front steps took the last remnants of my strength, and I barely managed to stumble inside when Mr. Chastain opened the door for me.

“Miss Newton!” a voice cried out in alarm. Lord Henry rushed toward me down the main staircase.

I tried to tell him that I was perfectly fine, only a bit tired, but the words disappeared into the blackness that blocked out the rest of the world.

*   *   *

I must have been unconscious only a few seconds, for I opened my eyes to find myself in the same spot in the entry hall, slumped against Lord Henry's shoulder. “Oh dear, that was terribly silly of me,” I said, trying to push away from him.

He didn't release me. “Whatever is the matter, Miss Newton?” he asked.

I couldn't begin to answer that question honestly, so I settled for a half-truth. “It was a very trying day, and I'm afraid in all the to-do of serving the children lunch and making sure they didn't steal it from each other, I completely forgot that I needed to eat, too.”

His smile was warm and reassuring. “Then we must get you some dinner.” Addressing the butler, he said, “Could you please have Matthews bring something for Miss Newton to my study? I believe I still have some tea to help restore her in the meantime.”

I would have preferred making it up the stairs on my own, but he kept a firm grip on me, and I was too weak to resist. After everything I'd been through, it was nice to lean against someone else for a moment.

He brought me to his study and seated me in the chair where he'd sat when I tended his wounded arm. There was a tea service on his desk, and he filled a teacup from the pot, poured a generous splash of something from a bottle on his desk, then waved his hand over it. He handed me the cup, making sure I had both hands firmly wrapped around it, and ordered, “Drink up. It will make you feel much better.”

The tea was hot, strong, and extremely sweet, and it had another flavor that reminded me of the punch at the Mechanics' party. I squeezed my eyes shut and fought back a shudder at the memory of the Mechanics. He was right, though. I did feel much stronger as soon as it hit my stomach. “That was very restorative,” I told him, handing the cup back. “Thank you for your assistance, but I'll be perfectly fine.”

“You're not going anywhere until you get some color in your cheeks,” he said firmly, but with a slight smile. “We can't have you scaring the children.”

“Yes, sir,” I said meekly.

It wasn't long before Matthews tapped on the door and entered, carrying a tray. “Cook sent up some soup and bread,” he said, setting the tray on a low table next to the chair. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Not now, thank you.” When he was gone, Lord Henry removed the cover from the tray and handed me a bowl. “Cook makes the best soup,” he said, his voice soft and gentle, the way he spoke to Olive.

He turned his attention to other tasks within his study while I ate. By the time I'd finished the soup and bread—which had been liberally coated with butter and served with a tiny cup of honey on the side—I felt quite restored. But Lord Henry wasn't ready to let me leave.

“No, you still don't look like anything I want the children seeing,” he said when I attempted to stand. There was a teasing tone to his voice, but he stood firm in not allowing me to go. He sat in front of me again, and his face and voice softened as he said, “I know how disturbing it can be to see the slums for the first time.”

How could he have known one of the reasons for my distress? “It was worse than anything I imagined,” I whispered, relieved to have the opportunity to talk about it. “To think that they live like that while we live like this.” I gestured around the room, although the study was hardly the best example of opulence in this mansion.

“If it makes you feel better, I am no slumlord. When I became trustee of the estate, I made sure we didn't own any of those hellholes. I tried to purchase some of those properties, with an eye to improving them and asking a fairer rent, but they're so profitable that none of the owners cared to sell at a price I could spend on Rollo's behalf. I had to find other ways to help.”

“You helped today. Your money bought a splendid lunch and candy.” That candy may have saved the lives of some of those children. Without it, I might never have persuaded them to leave the fight and board the bus.

“Did the children enjoy themselves?”

I remembered them running and playing on the grass, and smiled. “Yes, I believe they did.”

“Good! Now you're looking more yourself again. You gave me quite a fright when you arrived.”

“Thank you for being so kind to me.” This time I managed to stand without his help, or without him trying to keep me seated.

He rose with me. “I'm glad I could be of service.”

I returned to my room to find my bag already there. I'd dropped it when I fainted, and one of the servants must have brought it up. With a rush of panic, I opened it, fearing that someone might have searched it, but everything was as I'd left it, my notebook and Mechanics' insignia still safely hidden.

I ran a bath and peeled off my clothes, then soaked until the water cooled. Dried and dressed in my nightgown, with my damp hair loose, I sat at my desk to write my article while the impressions were still fresh in my brain.

It was easy to depict the plight of the slum children and their delight at the day out. I had no trouble summoning outrage at the British troops who had shot at children who wanted nothing more than to see the airships, even though I sympathized with the fear they must have felt at seeing that mob rushing toward them. I was at a complete loss, though, for how to describe the confrontation with the general. I didn't want to report the lie as truth, but exposing the lie would only hurt the cause. I may have had doubts about some of the rebels' tactics, but I had become an even more fervent believer in the cause of liberty.

I was still chewing on the end of my pen, lost in thought, when I heard a terrible noise, followed by a scream that sounded like Olive. I shoved my notebook into the desk drawer and rushed into the hallway to see what was happening.

Olive ran to wrap her arms around me and bury her face against me. “What's that sound?” she sobbed. A rumbling noise came from the street, but I couldn't identify it.

Rollo came charging out of the schoolroom, shouting excitedly, “It's a riot!”

What I'd heard was the rumble of many voices from a distance. With my arm around Olive, I followed Rollo into the schoolroom. If I stood to the far side of the window, I could just see a dark mass with torches rushing toward us up Fifth Avenue.

Lord Henry entered then, still dressed but in his shirtsleeves, without coat, waistcoat, or necktie. “Uncle Henry, it's a riot!” Rollo said.

“A riot? Are you sure?” Lord Henry looked out the window, then turned to me. “Verity, take the children to the back of the house.”

“But, Uncle Henry!” Rollo protested. “I want to see what's happening, and I'd be more scared not knowing. We're on an upper floor, and the house is warded, isn't it?”

Lord Henry placed his hand on the window frame. “Yes, it is warded,” he murmured. Then he nodded. “Stay here.” He left the room, returning a few minutes later with a shotgun. “Just in case,” he said. “Chastain, Matthews, and the rest of the male staff are guarding the doors downstairs. The maids are safe up in their rooms.” For a moment, he looked wryly amused. “And Flora is somehow still asleep. Mrs. Talbot is in with her.”

The riot was close enough now that we could hear occasional words in the shouting instead of just a rumble. They cried out for blood to atone for the blood the British had shed that day. I jumped at the sound of breaking glass. Olive clung more tightly to me, and Henry put one arm around Rollo and the other around my shoulders, pulling us close to him.

I remembered then that I was dressed only in my nightgown and felt a different kind of warmth than when Alec had touched me the night before. This time, it wasn't my overly excited imagination, but rather Henry's body heat passing through the thin layer of fabric between his hand and my skin.

When the rioters reached the mansion next door, the sounds became bloodcurdling. Olive whimpered, and Henry grasped my shoulder so firmly that I feared he'd leave bruises. “Verity, perhaps you should take the children to the back,” he whispered, but none of us moved.

The breaking and crashing sounds stopped, and the mob moved closer. Henry released Rollo and me and picked up the shotgun. I held my breath as the riot reached the Lyndon house. Henry had said the house was warded, but surely the other magisters warded their homes and yet they had been damaged. There was a metallic sound as Henry chambered a round, then he held the gun at the ready. “Verity, shut the door. Rollo, help her move the piano in front of it.”

Olive moved from me to her uncle as Rollo and I obeyed Henry's commands. When we returned to the window, the riot was clearly visible, right in front of the house. In the poor lighting, I couldn't make out any faces that I recognized, but some of the rioters were dressed in the Mechanics' distinct style. Others looked like slum residents, but I couldn't tell if that's who they really were or if these were costumes like Lizzie and Colin had worn when confronting the general.

The leading edge of the mob had now passed our front walk, and they kept going. Someone threw something over the fence into the front garden, but there was no flame or sound of breaking glass. The next time we heard sounds of violence, it was from the neighboring house. The mob had completely passed us by.

It was a long time before we stirred from our spot in front of the window. When the mob was out of sight, Henry put down his gun and pulled us all to him again in a big hug. This time, his hand was lower on my back, at the curve of my waist. In that proximity, I could feel him trembling.

When we could no longer hear the mob or the sound of their violence, he gave a deep sigh, as though releasing a breath he'd been holding a long time, and said, “We should be safe now.”

“But why didn't they hurt our house?” Olive asked.

He released his hold on me to reach down and ruffle her hair. “Probably because they know you live here, Olive. No one could hurt anyone as sweet as you.” But he looked at me when he said it, frowning as though he didn't understand either.

“They probably couldn't get through our wards, right, Uncle Henry?” Rollo said.

“But wouldn't the others have wards, too?” I asked.

“A lot of these people don't know the magic to create them. There's no automated technology for that.” Lord Henry's tone said exactly what he thought of magical people who didn't know how to perform magic.

“You're going to teach us to make wards, aren't you, Uncle Henry?” Rollo asked.

“That's very advanced magic. You'll learn it someday, but there is much you need to learn first.”

“I'd use wards to keep you from doing mean things to my dolls,” Olive said to her brother. She'd quit clinging to me and had more of her usual spirit in her voice.

“And I'd keep you out of my room,” Rollo said.

Lord Henry broke up the argument by stepping between them and saying, “First, though, you must learn your other lessons. You both have school tomorrow.”

“If they don't burn the school down or break all its windows,” Rollo said, a trifle too eagerly.

“Let's plan as though everything will be perfectly normal in the morning. Just think, you'll have something to talk about with your friends.” Lord Henry unlocked the piano's wheels and pushed it aside so he could open the door.

“And Flora slept through it!” Olive said.

“That's probably for the best,” Lord Henry said with a crooked smile. “I'm not very good with fainting, hysterical ladies.” I knew otherwise from earlier in the evening, but then my hysteria had been far less dramatic than Flora's likely would have been.

“She wouldn't have fainted unless there was a boy here she wanted to catch her,” Olive said. “Or she'd have just said the riot was boring because it didn't come here.”

“She'd have been insulted that they skipped us and she'd have gone out to demand our fair share,” Rollo said.