Aether Spirit (30 page)

Doubts wiggled into his mind, like what if the ground was too wet for the fuse to stay lit, and what if the flare wasn’t good? What would he do then? Go over the wall and hope he didn’t land atop a Confederate soldier?

A hiss preceded an explosion, and shouts and footsteps followed. He laced his fingers through the handles and shot the hook over the wall, and it caught. The grappling gun had an extra button, which he pressed, and he barely had time to tighten his grip in response to the pressure before the rope re-wound, bringing him up along the side of the wall and flinging him against the bricks. He couldn’t help the “oof!” that escaped from him. After dangling for a minute to catch his breath, he scrambled over the wall with the help of the metal-tipped gloves and collapsed on the catwalk, panting.

His elbow throbbed, the old injury awakened, and liquid oozed down his neck again. He couldn’t sit and assess his wounds for too long. Nearby footsteps sent him scrambling down the nearest ladder, and he huddled into a crevice between a piece of artillery and a pile of crates just before the moon peeked out again and gave him a good view of the courtyard he was in.

“What d’you think that was?” one of the soldiers asked.

“Who knows? Something left over from that demon machine the Union used? Did you see what it did?”

“We’re not supposed to talk about it, General’s orders.”

“He wasn’t there. He didn’t see those boys burned up to crisps their mamas couldn’t even recognize. He shoulda surrendered before they can use it again.”

“Shh! Them’s treason words.”

Chad smiled but made sure he didn’t open his lips and reveal his teeth. But then Claire’s concerns and regrets came to mind. He shoved the thoughts from his mind and focused on the task at hand.

Where would Claire and Patrick have been taken? The clever Patrick would have tried to ensure they’d make it somewhere obvious, but Chad feared they’d been put somewhere special. The moonlight showed him that the fort was laid out similarly to Fort Daniels, and he made his way to where the prisoners should be kept, a squat building toward the center with a guard beside it.

Damn, he’s green enough to be anxious.
Indeed, the soldier bounced on the balls of his feet, his gun drawn. He looked around the courtyard, but in no discernible pattern that would help Chad avoid his notice. Chad drew the cloak around himself and darted through the shadows, freezing whenever the man seemed to look in his direction. Chad crept beside him, covered his mouth, and dragged him into the shadows. He flexed the claws in his other glove and pricked the soldier’s downy cheek.

“Don’t move or I’ll claw your face off.”

The man—boy, really—nodded. Chad pressed on his carotid arteries until the soldier passed out and then Chad tied and gagged him with his own shirt. Chad put the homespun uniform jacket on over his own clothes and detached the goggles from the helmet. He put them on and pulled the soldier’s hat low over his brow so he’d hopefully pass as one of them on first glance.

He walked into the prison and found another guard on duty, which he pointed his steam pistol at. The man raised his hands.

“If you’re looking for the Irishman and the young lady, they’re in the last cell.”

Chad frowned. “Are you trying to send me on a wild goose chase so you can alert your fellow soldiers?”

“Would I tell you if I were?”

“I like you, so I’ll keep you alive. Where are the keys?”

The soldier tossed him a ring of keys. Now Chad had a dilemma. He needed to tie the man up, but he also needed to keep the gun trained on him. He reluctantly tossed the keys back to him.

“Go and open the door to the first cell.”

“Good idea. Then they can tie me up or stick me in there.”

Chad wondered at the man’s cooperativeness, but the soldier did as Chad said and opened the door to a cell with three young men in Union uniforms. He stepped back for them to come out, but Chad shoved him in and locked the door behind him. Now the guard’s face scrunched up in anger.

“How did you know it was a trap?”

“While Southern hospitality is legendary, you don’t keep a war going with stupidity.” The now-captive Confederate soldiers cursed at him. “Plus, that’s the advantage of being a doctor—although I haven’t been there for too long, I do know my own soldiers. Who wants to see how many bullets I have left?”

They quieted when he aimed the gun at them, and he moved past the brick wall to the next cell, which held some familiar faces.

“Private Greely,” he said. “Pleasure to see you again. I didn’t know you’d been captured today.”

“Boy, am I happy to see you, Doc. Nice goggles.”

Chad released him and his cell-mates. “I’ll leave the keys for you to release the others, but I need to find Mister O’Connell and Doctor McPhee first.”

“I saw the general’s private guard bring them in. They’re further down.”

“Thanks.”

As promised, Patrick and Claire were in a cell, but in the middle. Patrick stood, wrists tied. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, a man is only as good as his gadgets,” Chad said as Greely unlocked the door, but he scowled when Claire didn’t move. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nanette’s the one who broke into our room, and she had your letter and the ring, which she gave to Claire to prove Claire was faking her hysteria.”

“And it backfired.”

“In a big way. You’re going to need more than a good device to bring her back.”

* * * * *

Even after her parents’ sobering conversation, Claire couldn’t wait to go down to the party, where she knew Chadwick would be waiting for her with his friend Patrick O’Connell and also probably—hopefully—with a ring. She kept the delicious anticipation alive until she arrived in the parlor, where the first person she saw wasn’t Chadwick, but rather her Aunt Eliza speaking with an older gentleman with a full gray beard and hair. She tried to duck back into the hallway, but it was too late. Eliza had spotted her.

“Claire, darling, come meet one of my fellow sponsors of the Union Symphony!”

Claire looked around for an escape, but there was none, and still no Chad. The party had started half an hour ago—where could he be? She reluctantly approached Eliza and her friend, who stood beside a girl younger than Claire and who looked as thrilled to be in the conversation as Claire felt.

“Hello, thank you for coming,” Claire said and tried for a convincing smile, hoping that overshooting would at least land her at polite. “I’m Claire McPhee.”

“Yes, Allen McPhee’s daughter,” the man said. “I’ve heard he’s doing some fascinating work. Will he be arriving shortly?”

“He will be down in a moment. He and my mother and I had to take care of a family tradition first.”

“It happens every year,” Eliza sighed. “They give her their gift first, then they come down to the party. Some sort of barbaric Irish custom, I wager. Claire, these are Parnaby Cobb and his daughter Louisa.”

Claire didn’t correct Eliza out of habit. Plus, she refused to be rude to guests in her parents’ home. She shook hands with Cobb, who studied her like she was a horse for sale.

Money certainly can’t buy class for some people.
She turned her attention to Louisa, who offered Claire a nod but didn’t hold out a hand. She looked at first glance like she ought to be pleasant enough with her jet-black curly hair and eyes the color of the autumn sky, but her lips pursed in an almost-bored expression. She also stood as far as was socially acceptable from her father, an observation Claire found interesting.

“So what did your parents give you?” Louisa asked in a tone that said,
I’m making conversation to be polite, but I’d rather be anywhere else.

“The best thing parents can give their daughter,” Claire replied. “Good advice and words of caution.”

“About what?” The boredom cleared from Louisa’s eyes just before she darted a glance at her father.

“Huh, that sounds about as boring as you can get,” Cobb said. “You’re right, Mrs. Adams. Strange Irish traditions. Shall we get some punch and let the girls talk?”

They walked off leaving Claire with a reluctant guest she couldn’t remember inviting.

“About life and love,” Claire told her.

“Must be nice to have parents who give you useful advice,” Louisa said. “All I hear is about who would be the most advantageous to marry. The advantage is all to him, of course.”

“What about your mother?” Claire bit her lip. “I’m sorry, that was an inconsiderate question.”

“No problem. I’m used to it.” Louisa cocked her head and recited the words like she’d been explaining them her whole life. “My mother has been dead for about five years now. It happened soon after she married him.” She darted her eyes toward Cobb.

“So he’s not your biological father?” Claire chided herself mentally. Why was she asking such personal questions of a girl she’d just met?

“Stepfather, but he adopted me. It’s not a problem. My mother had consumption. He needed her money and promised to take care of me after she died. We didn’t have any other family, and my natural father was killed in the Mexican War, so…” She shrugged.

Claire had the sense Louisa had told the story so many times she’d divorced from the emotion behind it, but she felt for the girl. It sounded like her household, although wealthy, was an emotionally cold place. Claire thought she’d take her poorer one over it any day.

“Oh,” Louisa breathed, “who’s that?”

Claire turned to see that Chad and Patrick had arrived. The butler Eliza had leant the McPhees for the evening took the young men’s jackets and goggles. Claire recalled that Chad had just gotten a new steamcart, one of the first made in the United States, not in Britain.

Claire tamped her jealousy down. No sense in it because she knew Chad was hers, and would be forever after tonight. “Which one?”

“The tall redheaded chap. He looks so…ruddy.” Louisa blushed, and Claire hid a smirk.

Yes, she could see how other women would find Patrick attractive with his open face and near-constant grin. He was also a brilliant engineer. There were rumored to be mechanical problems with the American steamcarts, but she knew Patrick was taking care of Chad’s, so she wasn’t too worried for him. In fact, she had a secret hope that she’d get to ride in it sooner rather than later. It was a two-seater, so there wasn’t room for a chaperone, but what could possibly happen if he was driving?

“That’s Patrick O’Connell. He’s a promising young tinkerer from Ireland studying at Harvard with the other young man, Chadwick Radcliffe, who’s going to be a doctor.”

“Oh,” Louisa said. “Just my luck. The most attractive men are always the most inappropriate. Father would never allow me to marry a tinkerer. And a Negro doctor? Well, I suppose they get sick too.”

Now Claire wanted to get out of this conversation as soon as she could. The girl might have had some potential once, but living in upper echelon Boston society had obviously dulled her wit and intellect. What to do?

Patrick smiled and nudged Chad, who came over to Claire and took her hands.

“You look lovely,” he said.

“And you look handsome.” And he did in his dark blue suit, silver-embroidered vest, and purple tie. “And look! You even got Patrick to dress up.”

“Aye, but I can’t breathe in this.” Patrick ran a finger under his collar.

“You can return to your workshop soon enough. This is Louisa Cobb,” she said. “She’s the daughter of one of my Aunt Eliza’s friends.”

“Poor girl,” Patrick said.

Louisa’s cheeks colored again, but she gave Patrick a shy smile and looked at him through her eyelashes.

Claire and Chadwick grinned at each other and moved away into a quiet alcove. Claire’s parents arrived, so thankfully the party’s attention turned to them as people moved to greet their host and hostess. In spite of Eliza’s feelings that their tradition of a few quiet moments before the rush of the party was inconsiderate to their guests, Claire’s parents stuck with it, and she was glad for the distraction when they entered.

She searched Chad’s face for a sign of what was to come, and he grinned. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a coy look. “And do you have a present for me?”

“Of course! I’m just trying to think of the best time to give it to you.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Well, that depends on what kind of present it is. Is it one that requires the intimacy of a quiet moment or a gift best given at the height of celebration?”

A loud, screeching laugh distracted them, and Claire turned to see Eliza covering her mouth, her face turned toward Cobb but her eyes on Claire.

“I would prefer to give it to you when we’re alone,” he said, his voice deep with adoration.

“Sadly, I doubt that will happen tonight.”

“Then I shall take the opportunity of this quiet moment.” He took her hands again and said the words she’d been waiting to hear for months, but she knew her parents had forbidden them until she was eighteen. “Claire McPhee, will you make me the happiest man in the world and become my wife?”

At Chadwick’s words, the party guests ceased their conversation. The weight of their attention fell on Claire. She smiled and squeezed his hands.

“Of course I’ll be your wife.”

“Don’t be stupid, Claire,” Eliza said. “You have a bright future ahead of you. Don’t ruin it by marrying a Negro.”

“Eliza!” Claire’s mother said. “How dare you sully this moment for her?”

“She may as well be dead to you now, Melanie. Her social standing will never be the same.”

But the moment wasn’t ruined. Claire imagined her and Chadwick standing in a bubble of love that no one could burst. He let go of her hands, reached into his trouser pocket, and brought out a little box.

“It’s not much,” he said, “but once I’m a famous doctor, I’ll buy you a fancier one.” He opened the box to reveal a band with a ruby. The light flashed off its deep red facets. “It’s to show you’ll always have a piece of my heart.”

Claire’s own heart beat in triple time as he slid it on her third finger. “You already have all of mine,” she told him.

He leaned forward and kissed her. The party guests, mostly her parents’ progressive friends and colleagues, cheered, albeit some less enthusiastically than others. Aunt Eliza, of course, looked like she’d just smelled something disgusting, but Claire didn’t care about her. Melanie bundled Eliza off to the dining room, presumably for some choice words, and Claire grinned with pride, not only for herself for having the love of a wonderful man, but for her mother for standing up for her to her evil aunt.