“It's just that I'd like to give our regular man, James, at least one steady day off work each week. He has a family and all. Now, he'd never complain or even mention wanting a day off, but family's more important than my convenience all the time, don't you think?”
The older man gave her a slightly strange look, not displeased at all, and told them that he'd have one of the airfield lorries pick them up. Beth gave him a card with their apartment's address on it, knowing he wouldn't have it yet.
After he left them for a bit, Wilbur, who'd had more than one drink while they'd stood there, began hitting on Bethany in an almost comical fashion, going on about how pretty her eyes were in the moonlight, even though they all stood inside, on a cloudy night. Beth just smiled and preened a bit. It was something new to Gwen, but she realized her new friend might be a bit of a flirt, given the chance.
Chuan smiled at this interaction though and looked at Gwen wistfully.
“I'd be making my own advances, but I'm afraid my pending nuptials would make that in poor taste. Arranged marriage back home, which is an old and dying custom there, but something set up for me when I was four. No getting out of it now, not without a huge scandal. You don't do that here in the Americas, do you?” He asked this of her as if she'd know that answer, which of course she didn't, since the topic hadn't come up before.
Ethyl's voice came from behind her.
“Oh no, everyone just picks for themselves here, for the most part at least. A girl will sometimes allow her parents some say in who she marries, at least in our circle of society, but it's far from the norm. Is everyone enjoying themselves?”
This save came in a timely fashion, Gwen noted, as if the woman had been listening the whole time, so she could jump in at need. She put a huge, and what she hoped seemed genuine, smile on her face for the woman.
“Your party's lovely, Mother! Of course your parties always are, so no one should be shocked by that. Happy birthday by the way, I know I said it at the door, but I wanted to say it again...” This, she realized, ran her out of things to say about the party without risking topics that everyone should know about, especially her, like the floating light fixture or the wine fountain that pulsed wine through the air in a colorful display in the corner. Since no one else mentioned it, did that mean it was an ordinary type of thing or something so special that everyone knew about it? Silence, she knew, was her best defense here.
The older woman, who'd turned forty-four that day though she looked younger, moved in and gave her a small hug. At first it seemed like the woman was being overly shy about it, until Gwen realized that this had more to do with keeping make-up off their respective clothing than lack of affection. Back home Gwen hadn't ever really bothered with make-up. No amount of it would have made her look any better after all, so why bother? Here she'd have to learn to keep at least a little on her face at all times, as it was considered uncivilized to go without for some reason she'd yet to comprehend.
People had certainly started to treat Beth better when she'd been able to apply a little foundation and lip coloring at least. Then again it was hard to tell if that had to do with the decorations or the fact that the Westmorland had suddenly stopped walking around like a zombie. Gwen nearly smiled when the image of Beth walking around with her arms outstretched, softly moaning “Braaaiiiinnns”, hit her.
Mr. Vernor came to join them, taking his wife's hand with a smile.
“Dear? It's time to open the presents...”
A small table had been set up for the purpose, that held enough presents, wrapped and in a few cases sitting in nice wooden boxes, to make a small family quite happy on Christmas morning back home. Even at that it seemed clear that most people here hadn't brought gifts, since there had to be several hundred people in the room.
Most of the gifts, opened one at a time, seemed fairly generic. A few, like the one from Thomas Welk, Uncle Thomas she corrected, trying to make certain she didn't mess that up later, were obvious in-jokes. His box, which had a light-colored, possibly ivory, inlay and polished wood exterior, marking it as very expensive in its own right, contained only an old, round looking key. For some reason, this made Ethyl laugh out loud for a while. She finally explained.
“It's the key to my old shoe skates. Father took it from me when I was eleven, though he left me with the skates, so I couldn't adjust them when my feet grew next. It was his way of telling me childhood had ended, I think... I still have the skates though. Well, it looks like the floor in here may be getting a work out soon!”
Everyone laughed, since the idea of this proper lady skating around the ballroom seemed ludicrous to most of them. It sounded fun to Gwen, especially given how smooth the floor in here would be, if you could clear the people out. It would feel like ice to her old roller blades, she thought, compared to the pavement she'd always used as a kid. That her legs were even now would also be a treat. That or land her on her butt if she tried it. Either way it could be worth doing.
Near the end, Ethyl picked up a small, plain box. Simple tan cardboard, tied with brown string that looked like hemp or something similar. The older woman worked the string off carefully, an interested look on her face, since this clearly seemed different, compared to the other presents on the table.
Inside was a bracelet, the kind that, in Gwen's world, little girls made for each other and called friendship bracelets. Gwen had never had one herself. Seeing it made the older woman tear up a little, actual tears flowing when she read the small card out loud to the audience.
“Mother, please take this as a token of my pledge to aid you in your charity project this coming Yule. Yours always, Katherine.”
A small gasp came from Mrs. Vernor's friends in the audience, even though the business men clearly didn't see what was so shocking about it. The older woman, tears flowing and make-up running a bit, scurried into the audience and gave Gwen a real hug, no longer caring about getting make-up all over the clothing apparently. She gripped the woman back, feeling her own eyes tear up, if for a different reason.
How bad of a daughter, how selfish a person, had Katherine been to make this woman cry like this over the mere promise of help in a soup kitchen? For that matter, how had the girl managed to become such a spoiled brat living with these people? Sure, they had money, but they also seemed to actually care about others, which from what she'd been hearing, Katherine really didn't seem to.
“Oh, dear. This is so wonderful. Thank you!”
The hug tightened warmly. When Robert Vernor walked over and joined the hug a soft “Awe...” filled the room and people started to clap their hands a bit. Gwen hugged them both back as warmly as she could. After all, as Beth had pointed out, things like this just wouldn't happen with someone that had their body stolen here. This should, she hoped, put those rumors largely to rest.
Then, with an effort, Mrs. Vernor turned and went back to the table opening the remaining gifts, all of which seemed nice to Gwen, if similar to what had been given before. A nicely dressed older woman, who looked about fifty, worked her way over to Gwen's little group, not bothering to introduce herself, which probably meant she either expected to be known or didn't care, and started asking Gwen questions about her gift. Pointed ones.
“That's a unique present, and one that clearly means a lot to your Mother... What are your plans with it? Show up for a few minutes on the first day perhaps?”
It seemed an odd thing to ask, and even more strangely, the woman had managed to say it without sounding like she was condemning that level of effort at all. She just seemed honestly curious.
“Oh no. I plan to work the whole season there. Cooking, serving, cleaning floors, and washing dishes... I'd better brush up on my cooking skills first, I think. It wouldn't do to accidentally poison anyone after all.” She hoped her answer didn't sound flip or comical to the woman.
“Oh? That sounds... ambitious. Is this part of you turning over a new leaf then? I'd heard you were making the attempt, after that attack a few weeks ago.” The look on the woman's face was leading, clearly trying to get her to expand on the idea.
Gwen nodded. It seemed that her near-death experience had turned into the most acceptable reason for her sudden change as far as most people were concerned. Even here, in this strange place, nearly dying made a good excuse for a lot of things apparently.
“That's pretty accurate. When you look down and see a knife sticking out of your chest and know you're dead, then wake up later, it kind of puts things in perspective. I realized that my last thoughts weren't about how many things I had, or the parties I'd attended, but about my family and how much I wished I could tell them all how I loved them. That, and what a waste my life had been. I got a second chance. I'm not going to waste it now.”
Gwen had to fight a smile, since her real last thought had been calling the fucking bastard that stabbed her out and wishing she could have taken him with her. Well, to be even more honest her last thought had really been something more like “ow” but what she'd just told the woman felt like what she should say. It came from an old program she'd seen about a businessman who almost died and then changed his life, some of the words were changed, since his lines had been about business deals and fast cars, still, it sounded decent, she hoped.
The older woman looked at her as if appraising her words carefully, but not quite buying them.
“I look forward to seeing you there then.”
Gwen put her hand out to the woman, who seemed surprised, but returned the gesture linking hands to shake.
“Great! It's a deal then. Maybe you can help me with the cooking?”
This got a big laugh from the woman, who hid her smile behind her hand, but didn't say no.
Shortly after that, when the woman had faded away, Winslow, the butler who looked like a special forces operative, stood at the side of the room at attention. Tall, lean, and oddly hard-looking for a man that was supposed to spend his days seeing to the household staff, he announced that dinner would be served soon in the great hall. Gwen's mind, having recently been on the idea of cooking for a soup line, boggled a bit at the idea of trying to put together a complex meal for all these people. She mentioned it to Bethany, whose own eyes went big at the idea.
Winslow intercepted them on the way into the dining room, a huge affair with some forty large tables set up, the walls lined with black and red clad servers, many of them holding trays with pitchers of drinks, probably wine of some kind. The butler led them to the head table, larger than the others by about four times, where Gwen and Constabulary Detective Chuan were sat to the left of Mrs. Vernor. Right next to her, sat a man she hadn't met, who seemed to be about thirty, and across from her sat a woman with light blond hair, looking about forty, who sat next to Uncle Thomas. Gwen smiled at the woman and waved genially, just in case it was her aunt. She gave a small wave and a smile back, seeming happy to have been noticed, whoever she was.
The man to her left looked around a bit drunkenly, sized her up and smiled, then looked at Bethany on his other side, frowning. After a second the man took a drink of wine and looked around again, his frown growing bigger as he looked at the detective beside him.
“What did I do to get sat next to this Westmorland whore?” He asked loudly enough for the whole room to hear.
Chapter nineteen
“You know, it seems to me that every time a man calls a woman a whore, especially one he doesn't know, it usually means he wants to have sex with her, but doesn't feel that he... measures up in some way. Since you're good enough looking, I can't imagine what shortcomings you'd possibly have that would make you feel that way. Maybe you'd enlighten us?” Gwen said this in an innocent and sweet voice she had to fight to keep the laughter out of.
Next to Bethany, Detective Wilbur stood, ready to call the man out, Beth placed a single hand on his arm, gesturing for him to sit, her expression interested and polite. Winslow moved in behind the man, apparently ready to act with force if the man presented a problem. Good to know she had backup if things went south. That would be close to a first in her life.
The only other time that had happened had been on the playground in the third grade, when a group of older kids had attacked her and a second grade boy named Billy had jumped in and fought on her side. It was the first time she'd been on the winning side of a fight. Six to two, all the attackers being bigger than they were and all bullies. Two of them had to be taken away in an ambulance.
Billy had been tough. That event had been what had taught her that a person could fight against horrible odds and win.
Gwen turned and made a small gesture with her hand, trying to keep the butler back. From the way the servant moved she had no doubt that he could take the man in a fight, she just didn't want one to break out if it wasn't needed, not at Ethyl's birthday party. Now if they could get the man outside, kicking his ass seemed like a great idea to her.
“Watch your tongue, bitch,” he growled at Gwen. “I know who you are too and if anyone here deserves to be called a whore, you do. Don't think you're fooling anyone with this phony change of yours, once a whore always a whore. People don't change.”
She nodded, looking down briefly, still fighting not to smile. If this twerp thought that calling her names would derail her, he was about to be surprised. She'd been called almost every name in the book by people far more intimidating that this guy. Whore, of course, was a new one for her. No one having seen her old face had ever assumed her to be of easy virtue. Monster, freak, abomination and yes, even demon, all of those had come up more than once. Whore, however, was brand new to her. Yay, she thought to herself, I'm moving up in the world.
“Oh?” She added, just as softly and sweetly as before. “So you really believe that there's no hope for you? That you're going to be like this forever? How sad. As for myself, I think that people can change, if given a chance and the proper motivation to do so. Don't you think so, Bethany?”
On the other side of the man, Beth smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye as she regarded the man next to her.
“Katherine, this man, I believe, is Mr. Martin Cardell. Most noted for his blind hatred of anyone or anything associated with the Westmorland projects. Quite famous for it actually. I'm a little surprised to see him here, much less having been placed next to me. Maybe they thought we'd have a lot in common, my being a Westmorland and that being a favorite topic of yours, Mr. Cardell. It certainly gives us something to discuss.” Bethany sounded sweet and conversational about the whole idea.
At the head of the table – the whole room watching now, after the initial outburst from the man – the Vernors had both turned red. Mr. Vernor looked ready to kill someone, and Ethyl simply looked mortified. Her gaze went from Gwen to Bethany rapidly, as if not certain how to explain this.
“I'm not certain that Mr. Cardell was on the guest list, dear. I certainly wouldn't have invited him. Perhaps he came as a guest of someone else, but even then, I can't imagine how he managed to have that seat...”
Reaching over suddenly, Beth took the man's wine glass and sniffed deeply. She looked at the table briefly and nodded.
“Given that he's drinking grape juice and the name plate on the table has had the chair number removed, I'd guess that he did manage to come as someone's guest and then traded places with the person that had been assigned this seat, in order to create a scene. Probably attempting to gain publicity for his cause by instigating a violent outburst from someone here. Most probably me. Interesting idea, Mr. Cardell, though I don't think it's really going to work very well. After all, if anyone else here thrashes you for insulting me, public opinion will probably go to their side, not yours, and I won't attack you based on words. I'm a Westmorland. If you think whore is the worst thing I've been called, you haven't listened to your own diatribe.”
This caused the man to freeze in place. Having been caught out, he clearly expected to be violently ejected from the party, he'd come knowing he might have to take a small beating, probably from a girl, Bethany most probably, maybe Katherine Vernor. The anger from the men around him – many of them quite large – clearly had him thinking twice about his plan now that it seemed to be about to work in a slightly different fashion than he'd expected.
He glanced about nervously, looking for some way to escape, planning to make a run for it, so Gwen put a hand on his arm gently.
“Tell you what, you stop calling names and leave the rhetoric out of the conversation and I'll make sure that you get out of this relatively unharmed.” Whispering this into his ear caused him to stiffen, but he nodded, his mouth going into a tight line.
“Ah, good then!” Gwen said more loudly, so that everyone at her table could hear at least. “Just a small misunderstanding. Well, let's not hold the party over it.” She tried to make her voice sound cheerful.
Leaning forward a bit, she tried to use her face to apologize to Beth. Making her sit next to a well-known bigot who'd come to cause problems just for her and the Westmorlands felt like asking a bit much, all things considered. The other woman just raised her eyebrows and gave Gwen a wry look in return. She actually seemed tolerably amused by the idea of making the man play nice.
The dinner turned out to be fabulous, each course better than the last, culminating in little confections, each person getting one, with four layers of a rich chocolate cake that felt almost like velvet in her mouth, with a very mild butter-cream frosting between each one, the outside decorated about as nicely as a wedding cake would have been on television, even though they were only about the size of a silver dollar and about an inch tall. Even the incredibly tense Cardell sitting next to her expressed his surprise.
“These are incredible!” He whispered to no one in particular, blushing when he realized that he'd said this out loud.
Bethany nodded.
“Truly fine,” she added, doing her part to smooth things over.
During the whole meal, Mr. Vernor had covertly glared daggers at Cardell, as if waiting for the party to end, so that he could have the man taken out back and beaten until he felt satisfied about it. Until Cardell felt satisfied about it, if she read the expression right. Gwen could understand the sentiment, but knew that the man needed to make it home in one piece, or else his being there would make the papers in a way that could possibly make all of them look bad. It didn't make her like the man any better, but he represented a trap that they needed to avoid. She swallowed the anger that rose within her then, trying to hold on and not lash out.
After dinner, people moved back to the large ballroom they started in, drinks being provided for those that wanted them, and everyone being subtly urged to mingle and network, since at least half of them had come specifically for that reason.
Gwen took Cardell by the arm, not needing to use any force to move him along she noticed, though she'd been prepared for it, and walked the man toward the back of the dining room, which had a glass door. Mrs. Vernor walked into the ballroom, throwing a worried look over her shoulder as she went. The detectives all followed Gwen, as did Winslow and Mr. Vernor. She didn't know what they thought her plan was, but all of them except Beth had at least one hand clenched into a fist.
“Now, Mr. Cardell... I'm not trying to be a poor hostess, but perhaps it would make the evening go more smoothly if you were to leave now? Don't get me wrong, I can see your desire was to cause a stir and show the world how evil and dangerous the Westmorlands all are. But perhaps you might want to try again some other time? Or, even better, maybe you'll realize that no one here, especially Miss Westmorland, has harmed you at all, even after you came looking to start trouble for her?”
She half hoped the fucknut would try something so she could justify beating him down herself. Being the polite and reasonable one in a group didn't fit her training or natural inclination, she realized. Still, Cardell looked more scared than she'd thought he'd be. Maybe he suspected that these men were going to beat him to death and dump the body out at sea. She entertained the idea for a moment, it was a good plan, no one would ever find it and they had all those airships. Then she had to let it go. Too many people had seen him making a fuss earlier.
“So, Mr. Cardell, it's your call. Do you want to go now, peacefully and unharmed, or do we each get to take turns beating you for the next hour?” She noticed that her fake accent made that last sound far more menacing than she'd intended it to. As if she secretly wanted him to pick the second option, which of course she kind of did, but that didn't mean it should sound that way. She'd have to work on that as soon as possible. Otherwise people would think she sounded mean or something.
Pulling out of her grasp with a sudden twitch of his arm and straightening his jacket, the man made his way toward the door. He didn't say anything, but Bethany did, as he pulled the door open.