A Spark Unseen

21

I did absolutely nothing. I just stood there, letting him hold me close, then responded to his lead as we began to dance. The strings played and inside my head there was nothing but confusion, a dissonant swirl of hows and whys and wherefores, as if each instrument had started its song on a different page. But the discord lasted only a moment or two before I began to hear the inklings of harmony. Deep down, I must have known, or at least suspected. And Lane must have known it, too. He wouldn’t have stayed in Paris if he hadn’t.

Ben was not much changed. The round boyish face, the blue eyes, the neatly trimmed side whiskers were all there, but he was paler, not sun-pinked and tanned as he had been during that hot summer at Stranwyne, and he was a little thinner, more polished. The biggest change was the fact that in my imagination he had been cold, drowned, and dead, and the man now swinging me through the dance was very much alive. And smiling hugely.

“My, my, Miss Tulman, you are all eyes. I believe I am flattered.” We made our first turn. “But you are looking extremely well. Paris will not know what to make of you.”

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“Is that a philosophical question, Miss Tulman, or are you speaking more practically?”

“Why are you alive?” I clarified.

He laughed merrily. “Well, it’s no thanks to you, I must say.”

I thought of the opium-laced wine he’d nearly killed me with. “I suppose I could say the same of you, Mr. Aldridge.”

“Now, now, Miss Tulman, the name is not Aldridge here. We don’t use —”

“So it’s Arceneaux, then?”

He looked pleased. “Fancy you knowing that. And it’s Charles, by the way. That’s what my mother called me. ‘Charles Arceneaux,’ or no one will know who you’re speaking of.” He swung me around, making the hoop under the green dress swirl. “But we were speaking of being alive, Miss Tulman. Let me heartily recommend that you learn to swim. It’s a very useful skill, even with a broken arm and a knock on the head.”

My eyes went reflexively to the hand that held mine. Of course it was not still broken, but I saw a bandage there, a strip of snowy-white cloth around the wrist, disappearing beneath the black sleeve of his jacket.

“Yes,” Ben said, seeing where my eyes had gone. “I daresay we are even for past wrongs, you and I.” His smile remained the same but his voice lowered slightly, the grip tightening on my hand. “Burns can be extremely painful, can they not?”

My brain was still sluggish, picking its way through a mire of new facts, but I could see the night in my uncle’s workshop, the oil lamp in my hand, the smash of glass, the burning jacket being ripped away from the body of a man in a mask. My eyes darted upward. “You?”

“It’s rather a shame we got the wrong door. I wouldn’t have disturbed your rest for the world.” I thought of that crude map in the pocket of the dead man, with my corridor marked. Made by someone who knew the house, of course. But I kept silent, unwilling to increase his enjoyment with my shock or my words. “Though I don’t suppose we’re even in the matter of our servants,” he chatted on. “Your little maid split my man’s skull.”

He was still smiling outwardly, but I could feel the fury bubbling just below the surface, tightening the arm around my waist, his hand now squeezing down so hard on mine that I had to hold in a gasp. If I could sense the heat of his anger, I wondered if he could feel the bitter, freezing bite of my hatred. He leaned close to my ear. “I should have shot her. But since I did not, I think you rather owe me a favor, don’t you?”

I’d had enough. I struggled once in his arms, trying to shove him away, and we faltered in the dance. He jerked me back into position.

“Temper,” he chided. “Don’t make a scene. We are being observed.” I followed his eyes straight to the piercing ones of Napoléon, slowly twirling the pointed end of his mustache, sphinxlike as he watched us dance. “The emperor will take it as a personal insult if you — or your current watchdog — offend me.”

I caught a glimpse of Henri, frowning as he followed us surreptitiously around the edge of the dance, never quite letting me out of his sight.

“Marchand, wasn’t it?” he continued. “You seem quite good at picking up protectors, Miss Tulman, but I must say that was fast work, even for you. It took you much longer to convince Lane Moreau to step into that position.”

I was done being baited. “What do you want? I assume it was you that had me invited here tonight for this nasty little chat? Wouldn’t it have been easier to knock on my door? I daresay you know where I live.”

“So charming,” Ben said pleasantly. “I invited you here tonight, dear Miss Tulman, so you could view where I live. Or where I will live very soon. Welcome to my future home. It is rather grand, is it not?”

I felt my brows come down, feet moving automatically to the count of the dance as if they’d been wound with a key. Ben had gone truly insane.

“But as for you,” he continued, “in that regard my wants are very simple. I merely want you to tell me where your uncle is.”

“My uncle is dead,” I said immediately.

“Really?” He smiled. “A most conveniently timed death, I must say. But why then, Miss Tulman, have you been visiting hospitals and asylums?”

I said nothing, heart slamming against its tight casing of ribs and green velvet, my insides in a tangle. I had never considered that my search could take on such a connotation. He leaned in close, whispering in my ear. I shuddered.

“Bringing him here was bold, but it was stupid, Katharine. Very stupid. Mr. Tulman is an old man, and I would be most gratified if you did not endanger his health. Is he well enough to work?”

“I told you that my uncle is dead.”

He sighed sadly, breath moving the long curls that were brushing my neck. I wanted to scream, to thrust him away, to run, kick, make him stop touching me, but then he did move away of his own accord, and I realized the dance had ended. Couples were breaking apart with smatterings of gloved applause. Ben let go of everything but my wrist and began to pull me from the dance floor. I dug in my heels, but he turned quickly and said, “Come. The emperor is beckoning to us, and believe me, Miss Tulman, this is not a man you would wish to offend.”

I looked over my shoulder as I was dragged away, tripping a bit over the enormous skirt. Henri was still watching us from the edge of the dance, hanging back now that he saw where we were going. He would not be able to help me. I turned back to Ben.

“And if this emperor is a man one would not wish to offend, Mr. Aldridge,” I hissed, voice dripping venom, “then tell me why I should not inform him that you are a liar and a murderer, and that you are holding me against my will at this very moment?”

We stopped, and those hard blue eyes locked on to my own. “Because, dear Katharine, we have a bargain to discuss. One that I think you will wish to hear.” He smiled at me. “And because he will not believe you.”

“And why in the world not?” If I did not know what was behind Ben’s beautiful smile, I might have been charmed.

“Because, Miss Tulman, he is my father.”

And before I could think or react, I was jerked forward eleven more steps, and found myself wrapped in the enigmatic gaze of Charles-Louis Napoléon Bonaparte, emperor of France.

Ben bowed, pulling me down into a curtsy beside him. “Vos Majestés Impériales,” he said, “je vous présente Mademoiselle Katharine Tulman?”

My head was down, but I was stealing looks at the emperor, trying to understand how what Ben had just told me could be true.

“Does the young lady speak French, Charles?”

I lifted myself up to see the ivory-skinned empress smiling sweetly at us. Whatever Ben’s relationship might be to Napoléon, it was clear that the Empress Eugénie was not his mother. She could not have been much older than Ben. Her glance slid once over my tightly gripped wrist, and Ben instantly let go of me, smiling stiffly. “I believe she does not, Your Majesty.”

“Then where are your manners, Charles? Let us speak English for the new acquaintance.”

He bowed formally and said, “This is Miss Katharine Tulman, Your Majesty, lately of England.”

I curtsied again, and the empress inclined her head before she said, “So you must have known Charles in England, Miss Tulman. He talks so little of his time there.”

I stared at the empress, a large diamond winking from the center of her tiara. I had no idea what any of them knew about Ben’s past. For that matter, neither did I. “He is a …” I began. Liar? Poisoner? Murderer? Thief? “He is a remarkable man,” I finished lamely.

“And so thoughtful,” said the empress, beaming. “Only last week, Charles brought me a gift of my favorite claret, just because I happened to mention my fondness for it.”

“You are too kind, Your Majesty.” Ben gave her his smile, all charm, while I prayed that the empress would drink nothing from the hand of Ben Aldridge.

“Is this your woman?”

The voice had been high and distinctly German. We all turned to look at the Emperor Napoléon, whose gaze now rested fondly on Ben. The question had been directed at him, but it was me that he had been speaking of, as if inquiring after a pet.

“No, Your Majesty,” I said clearly, and a little too loud. “I most certainly am not.”

There was a pause in the surrounding conversation. Napoléon’s gray eyes bore back into mine, like a tunnel where no one else could intrude or interrupt, and again I was struck by the sound of distant bells. Then his waxed mustache twitched.

“You must dance with her some more, Charles, I think, if you wish to make her so.”

Everyone laughed politely, including Ben at my side, as if the emperor had just concocted a very witty joke. Ben said, “Then with Miss Tulman’s permission, we shall take our —”

“Is the woman a Pisces?”

Again there was a lull in the conversations surrounding us. Ben hesitated, turning to me, and the empress said quickly, “The emperor is so very interested in his horoscope.” She caught my eye and gave me one tiny shake of the head.

I had no idea what any of this meant, or what sort of superstition I was playing into, but I said, “No, Your Majesty, I am not a … Pisces.”

“Then I am safe to dance with the lady, wouldn’t you agree, Your Majesty?” Ben said. The emperor waved a hand, while the empress smiled, seeming relieved.

Ben bowed yet again and, remembering late, I curtsied before he took my arm, steering me — without my permission — away from the royal couple. When we were swallowed by the crowd, I pulled my arm loose, but he grabbed it again, jerking me sideways through one of the arched doorways. I heard a few male chuckles. There was another grand room here, smaller, with upholstered chairs, fine cabinets, and one or two trysting couples, and then we were through another door, in the dark, and I was pushed up against a wall. The room was large, I could feel that, and empty, but it wasn’t until my eyes adjusted to the moon shining down through the window that I saw the dais containing two thrones. I made a move toward the doors but Ben had me in a grip of iron, bruising my upper arms. He pushed me back into the wall.

“You forget that we have a bargain to discuss,” he said. “Something I want for something you want.”

“You have nothing I want,” I spat.

He came close to my face, crushing the hoopskirt. I leaned back as far as I could, hands splayed against the wall. “Are you certain of that?” he whispered. “And what if I offered you Lane Moreau?”

I went still.

Ben smiled. “Well, that got your attention, I’d say. Poor Mr. Marchand.”

“Where is he?”

“This is a bargain, Miss Tulman.”

“Is he alive?”

“At the moment. But I cannot guarantee that he will remain so.”

I turned my head away. The velvet was so hot I could hardly breathe. Alive. I had been so sure, and yet it was my relief, not my corset, that was going to suffocate me.

“Give me the location of Frederick Tulman,” Ben said gently, his grip on my arms still painful, “and I will give you the location of Lane Moreau. That is our bargain.”

I took three shallow breaths that did me no good before I said, “I told you that my uncle is dead.”

“Oh, dear,” said Ben. “I do hope for Mr. Moreau’s sake that you are a liar, Miss Tulman. If you have nothing to trade, then I simply have no use for my guest.” My face was turned as far away as it could be, but he was so close now that his breath tickled my cheek. “And what do you think I do with things I have no use for?”

I remembered Davy’s small body making a curving arc through the air as he was thrown from Ben’s boat.

“Do you think I will hesitate?” he said. “Did I hesitate with that annoying little lawyer of yours?”

I turned to face him then, letting the truth of this settle into me. Whether Mr. Babcock’s death had been with or without the emperor’s knowledge I couldn’t be sure, but some of my earlier hatred twisted about, finding its proper place. I stared back into Ben’s eyes, a clear blue void of nothingness. No, he would not hesitate. But the mention of Mr. Babcock had let loose a rivulet of my pent-up rage.

“I take it you don’t know how to make the gyroscope work, then?”

His smile disappeared. “All I need is for Mr. Tully to show me,” he said. “It’s a very simple request.”

“And your father will be … most grateful, I suppose. So grateful he’ll hand over a palace and a kingdom? I had rather thought your father was a sailor, Mr. Aldridge, or that’s what you told me at Stranwyne. But I believe the emperor has already named his heir, hasn’t he? If the empress doesn’t give him one first. She would be quite the forbearing wife if —”

“Shut up!” he yelled, pulling me forward to slam me once against the wall, the words reverberating several more times in the empty room. “That … woman,” he said, his eyes close to mine, “is a bloody, royal fool. She has no idea who I am, and when my father is done being besotted with her, he will set her aside. But do not dare …” He paused, choosing his next words slowly. “Do not dare question his love for me. I will hand him a weapon that will give the Bonapartes more power than they ever dreamed of, and when I do, my father will give me anything I ask. Anything!”

There was a mania in this that frightened me more than anything else that evening. Ben relaxed, but not his grip on my arms.

“Our bargain, Miss Tulman?”

“I told you that my uncle is dead,” I whispered.

“I will come to Rue Trudon tomorrow night at midnight to collect him. If you give him to me without a fuss, then I will give you Lane Moreau. Without a fuss. And if Mr. Tulman is not there, dear Katharine …” He finally let go of one of my arms, reaching out to twine a finger around one of the curls on my bare shoulder. “… then I have a bullet eager to rid me of an unwanted guest. A fair and simple trade. Other than that, Miss Tulman, I don’t care what you do.” He chuckled at my shiver. “Choose well.”

And he left me.