Any Other Name (25 page)

“You gave me
The Time Machine
by H.G. Wells and we talked about it for hours. You taught me about Emmeline Pankhurst and Virginia Woolf and Aphra Behn! Don’t you remember any of it?”

Miss Rainer’s brow creased. “You’re upset.”

“Of course I am!” Cathy croaked. “You were everything to me. You made me what I am!”

“Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver…” Miss Rainer said again and looked down. “The floor.” She pointed at a patio flagstone. “Something important in the floor.”

“What do you mean?” Cathy felt a glimmer of hope again. The Agency had done something terrible to her, but something remained, she was sure of it. Perhaps she’d been drugged. If she could get her away from the house and somewhere safe–

“Something important,” Miss Rainer said and bent down to take off her shoe.

Cathy felt sick as she watched the broken shadow of her hero fumble with a stocking and peel it off her leg. She wanted to find Bennet and smash his face into a wall until he confessed what they did to make her this way. She wanted to go to Elizabeth and dangle her out of a window by her hair until she really understood how much hurt she’d caused by telling Father about Miss Rainer’s unorthodox lessons.

“Catherine.” Miss Rainer’s voice pulled her out of her rage. Rainer was now sitting on the back step with one foot bare, her skirt hitched above her knee. She was pointing at a scar on her thigh in the rough shape of a diamond. “Something important in the floor.”

“What does that mean?” Cathy crouched down. “Who did that to you?”

“Me,” Rainer replied. “To remember.”

“Remember what?” The vacant shrug of Rainer’s shoulders made her want to cry.

Cathy pulled the hem of the skirt down to cover the scar and restore Miss Rainer’s modesty. She threw her arms around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry. I’ll find out what they did to you and I’ll make you better, I promise. I swear it, Miss Rainer, I swear I will.” She wept.

“Shhh.” Miss Rainer patted her back awkwardly. “Don’t cry. I’m fit as a fiddle. But I do have to go, otherwise I’ll get into trouble.”

Cathy released her and helped Miss Rainer to stand after she’d put her stocking back on. “Do you remember me at all?”

“You’re… familiar,” Miss Rainer finally replied but Cathy wasn’t sure if she only said that to make her feel better. “But it doesn’t matter, not as much as you think.”

“What does matter?”

Miss Rainer looked up at the sky again. “The work,” she finally replied and, after an uncertain smile, went back into the house and locked the door.

Cathy stumbled out of the garden and over the side gate. She walked a little way down the road before she had to sit on the kerb with her head in her hands. She let the grief take her, unable to hold it inside any more.

Cars drove past and a woman out walking her dog stopped to ask if she was all right. Cathy mumbled a lie to evade any further attention and dried her eyes as the woman carried on. Cathy watched the dog snuffling at the kerb and breathed in the morning air, steadying herself. She couldn’t run away, not now, not knowing what she did. Then she was grieving for a life she knew she could never have again.

Eventually, Cathy stood and blew her nose. “Time to stop pissing about,” she whispered to herself and went back to the car as her thoughts settled around a different plan of action. Sophia was still asleep and Lucy was supposedly reading a guide to flower arranging.

“How’d it go?” Lucy asked as Cathy got in and put her seatbelt on. “Did you find her?”

“No,” Cathy replied. “But I found something important.” She looked over her shoulder at Lucy. “You were right about me. I thought I was the only woman who doesn’t fit in. I think I liked that, because I thought I was better than everyone for seeing through it all. I was so obsessed with getting out that I didn’t give a sod about anyone else. That was selfish, I see that now. I’ve been a childish idiot.”

Lucy reached forward to squeeze her shoulder gently. “You thought you were alone, but you’re not, do you see?”

“Oh, I see all right. I’m not going to run away again.” Even as she said the words they caught in her throat. “I can’t, there’s too much to be done in the Nether. It’s not just the way women are treated – the Agency is dodgy as fuck and they’re doing terrible things to people and I’ve just ignored it all. We shouldn’t be treating people that way, not in the twenty-first century.”

Lucy grinned. “You said it.”

Cathy tried to smile back but the thought of staying in the Nether to fight the patriarchy and unearth the secrets of the Agency made her feel sick to the stomach. She wasn’t cut out for this, she wasn’t a great thinker or a great writer. She was just an angry woman who read weird books and couldn’t handle life in Society. How could she make a difference?

But maybe that’s what all of those women before her had thought before they went on to fight the system. They had found the strength and the courage to speak up and challenge the establishment despite the impact on their own lives. Rainer had taken a terrible risk to teach her things she wasn’t supposed to know and had lost everything as a result. Cathy knew that if she gave in to her own fear it would make Miss Rainer’s suffering worthless.
is
the most important thing. The work.

 

22

 

The potion tasted faintly of onions. It burned Cathy’s throat as it went down like the rough whisky she’d tried at an awful student party in Manchester. The canvas and paints were laid out before her and she’d told Morgan to bring her tea every hour, on the hour, until she retired. She had no idea how long it would take to paint the picture for Lord Poppy, nor any idea where to start. She’d only just managed to stop crying about the state Miss Rainer was in now. She had to satisfy Poppy if she wanted a chance to help her.

Then, as the burning faded in her chest, she knew where to put the first line. Cathy picked up the pencil and began sketching out the Royal Crescent in Bath, barely looking at the book she’d obtained to guide her. By the time Morgan arrived with the first round of tea, the shape of the painting was described in faint graphite lines and she knew exactly what to do next.

“Morgan,” she said as she reached for the brush, “I'm going to need cake. Lots of cake.’

 

Amelia listened for footsteps on the stairs, knowing that Will was expected for another late morning meeting with Cornelius. She’d wasted days and lost sleep wondering why he’d snubbed her after his last meeting with her brother. Now she was busy at the dressing table trying to hide the shadows under her eyes with makeup.

Loud thuds sounded more like Cornelius in a rush. She sighed and applied her blusher, trying not to see it as painting her face like a whore.

He still managed to knock, but entered before she’d even called him in. “Cornelius!”

He shut the door. “Will’s on his way.”

She twisted round to frown at him. “I know.” His fist was clenched around a note. “What’s that?”

He strode over to the fire and threw the single piece of letter paper onto it. He didn’t answer until he was satisfied it was ash. “I’m not going to tell you what it said, only how it affects you. Darling, we must keep Will here today.”

“How long for?”

“As long as we can. I can occupy him for an hour or two easily. When I send for mid-morning refreshments you must come and join us and persuade him to spend some time with you.”

“He didn’t seem interested when he last visited.”

“There’s a lot to distract him, so you must be persuasive today.”

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She did look like a whore.

“I’m sorry to ask, but it’s critical.” He came over and kissed the curls arranged to emphasise her slender neck. “Not long now, darling. We’ll look back on this time and marvel at how awful it was, and how it never will be like it again. I promise.”

She nodded as the sound of the bell downstairs made him dart to the door. “I won’t let you down, Cornelius.” She made herself smile at the kiss he blew to her and listened to him going back down the stairs more slowly. She heard him greet Will casually, like everything was normal.

Amelia looked down at her trembling hands. She knew why she had to keep him there: to keep him away from Catherine. It was the day everything would change for Will, for Cornelius and ultimately for her. She knew it would take time for Will to recover from the death of his wife, but not as long as someone in love would take. Amelia was used to playing the long game. She could wait.

As she checked her face in the mirror, she wondered what Thorn would do to Catherine. A frown creased the skin above her nose and she swiftly corrected it. She didn’t want Catherine to suffer. She hoped it would be quick and painless, like one would slaughter a beast for meat. She closed her eyes. What a perfectly despicable thing to think.

She thought back to the brief conversation she’d tried to have with Catherine on the night everything collapsed in Aquae Sulis. She only wanted to check that the glamours used to disguise the Lavandula decor had been done to perfection, simply to put her mind at rest.

There was also curiosity about Will’s fiancée and the need to check Catherine wasn’t going to be a problem. It was clear early in their conversation that she cared nothing for Will and seemed to be in a strange world of her own, incapable of having the most basic of conversations without tripping up. How the families could have decided she was the best match for Will still confounded Amelia. Will was evidently destined for great things – why pair him off with someone as plain and incapable as Catherine?

Satisfied she looked as good as possible, Amelia went to the cheval mirror and inspected her outfit. It wouldn’t do. It had been selected for an average day, not one when she’d have to use everything in her arsenal. She chose another and then rang for the maid, all the while worrying about the tiny amount of perfume left in the bottle. Once she had more freedom it would be a trifling matter to obtain the Charm from the Shopkeeper again. She had no idea how long that would be and whether there would be another time she’d need it more before then. Having control over Will’s affections as he grieved would be critical.

The maid arrived and helped change her clothes and tidied her hair. Half an hour had passed already. “Would you be so kind as to let me know when Cornelius rings for elevenses? I’d like to join them instead of taking it in my room today.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid curtsied and left Amelia to pace the room and obsess about the perfume. Before long, she was informed of the request for tea and after one last check of her reflection she descended the stairs and went to the drawing room.

“I thought my friendship with Oli, not to mention my helping his family, would count for something.” Will sounded irritated. “I can only imagine Peonia has had his head filled with absurd promises by the Wisteria idiot.”

“May I join you?” Amelia asked as the tea and sandwiches were brought in.

Will stood, she offered her hand and he kissed it. It was the first time she’d been in a room with both her lover and her brother and she didn’t like the way it made her feel obliged to act in two different ways at once.

“Trouble with the Wisterias?” she asked, seating herself next to Cornelius so she could flirt with Will without her brother seeing every detail.

“And the Peonias,” Will said. “They’ve teamed up and are being perfectly odious.”

Amelia poured the tea, taking the opportunity to put herself at the centre of attention. It had worked so well in Aquae Sulis Will had positively slavered at the sight of her. But today he seemed distant and when she looked up from the teapot he wasn’t even looking at her. He looked very tired. Perhaps the strain was taking its toll.

“I’m sure you and Cornelius can think of a way to bring them round.”

Amelia handed Will his tea, brushing his finger as he took it, but he didn’t even notice. He dropped a lump of sugar in, stirred and stared at the fire. She should have used the perfume.

Cornelius seemed unconcerned, but he didn’t notice such details. “They’re simply trying to feel like they’re part of the game,” he said, taking a sandwich from the stand. “Let them play. When it’s time to commit they’ll realise how foolish it would be to ignore your generosity.”

“But together they’re a sizeable faction in the Court and they know it.” Will drank the tea in three gulps, alerting Amelia to an impending announcement of his departure. “Well,” he began, putting the cup and saucer on the table, “I’ll give it some thought and we’ll revisit it tomorrow, Cornelius.”

He stood and Amelia did the same. “William,” she said, trying not to seem flustered, “could I possibly speak to you in private for a moment?”

Will looked at her, as if properly noticing her for the first time. “Of course,” he said with a smile, but there was still a distance between them.

He didn’t touch her as she led him up the stairs to her room, but just followed in silence. When they reached her bedroom she gestured for him to come in and then closed the door.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I missed you yesterday.” She said it with a smile, not wanting to make him feel guilty. “I know you’re very busy, but it’s good to pause every now and again, is it not?”

He looked more tired now she was closer to him. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Can Cornelius help?”

“With some of it.”

It wasn’t just the Dukedom that had been worrying him. Unsurprising that an inadequate wife would cause him no end of worry at such a critical time.

“Perhaps I can help you, in my own way.” She approached slowly, watching every minute movement, trying to gauge whether he would accept contact. She got close enough to reach out and touch his arm before he looked at her properly.

“I’m not good company at the moment, Amelia,” he said, clasping her hand briefly before letting it go.

“Only because you’re burdened.” She took a step closer. “Let me take your mind off things for just a little while, then you can return to your business refreshed and ready to demolish any difficulty with the silly Peonias.”

She kissed him, but there was no passion so she slipped her arms around his waist, looking at the atomiser on the table and cursing her poor decision.

He did hold her, and gradually, as if remembering who she was, he adjusted his arms so that he enveloped her more fully. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you’re lonely, and how much you miss being in Society.”

She tilted her head back and they kissed again. Better this time, but it still didn’t convince her he was planning to stay. Usually he would be steering her to the bed, eager to start unbuttoning and unlacing, but he was still withdrawn.

She pulled away and looked up at him. “What is it? This isn’t just the Dukedom, Will. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“It’s nothing.” He kissed her but she knew it was simply to cut off the conversation.

“You look so tired, darling. Why don’t you tell me about it? Perhaps I can help.” Still nothing. “Is it Catherine?”

He broke the embrace and she knew she’d made a mistake. “I should go.”

“Talk to me, Will. I can help.”

“Amelia.” His was not the voice of a lover. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to discuss my home life with you. And if you do, you’re mistaken. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He headed for the door. Amelia went to the dressing table and brushed her fingertip against the mouth of the atomiser. There was enough residue to make her skin tingle and she touched it to her neck. “Will, I’m sorry, please don’t leave like this.”

She rushed over as his hand was on the door handle. The panic made her flushed and the heat lifted the scent from her skin to waft about him. She watched his pupils dilate and then kissed him. She was met with renewed passion, a new urgency to his kiss as he pulled her tight to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair as she kissed his throat. “Let me stay.”

“Of course,” she said, drawing him away from the door. “Stay as long as you wish, my love.”

 

Sam found Cathy where he’d left her, sitting on the bench in a children’s play area in Green Park, looking at an iPad. As he approached, a little girl ran up to her and they had a brief conversation before the girl ran over to some other children playing on a roundabout.

“I’m back,” he said, making Cathy jump.

She powered down the tablet and slipped it into a case. “How did it go?” She patted the bench next to her. “Take a seat. You look like you need it.”

“I do.” He sat down. One of the children on the roundabout started to cry and was carried off. “You don’t look so great yourself.”

“Thanks.” She yawned. “It’s the come-down I suppose, I drank more potions than cups of tea. And not sleeping for three days. What did
he
say?”

“Oh, the usual arse.”

“About the painting?”

“He didn’t look at it.” He nodded at the amazement, then anger, that flashed across her face. “I know. All that and he didn’t even look. He said it wasn’t the right time to see it.” He hadn’t looked at it himself, as they’d agreed, fearing Poppy would take offence. All he knew was that it was a huge, heavy canvas rolled in a wide tube over six feet long. He’d had to carry it on one shoulder. “But he did say he was satisfied you’d fulfilled your contract.”

She let out a loud, drawn-out sigh and looked even more tired. “Thank God for that. He didn’t mess you about, did he?”

“No, he said he had something important to arrange.”

She bit her lip. “I just hope it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“Cathy! Watch me!” The girl called from the roundabout.

“Who’s the kid?”

“My husband’s cousin.”

He watched another child snivelling his way across to his mother, holding his hand out. At least there weren’t any children involved in his mess with Leanne.

“So in your message you said that something’s going on with your wife,” Cathy said.

“I’m sorry about that. I was drunk.” He’d woken in a crappy hotel down the road with a hangover that had made Exilium even more difficult to cope with. When he got the call from Cathy to say the painting was ready with only a few hours left to spare, he’d noticed the phone battery was low. He checked the call log and found he’d made repeated calls to Leanne’s mobile throughout the small hours and then a call to Cathy’s. He couldn’t remember any of them.

“So what’s this about your wife’s boss killing people?”

Sam explained it all to her, from the dodgy apartment and him losing his job through to the people with the same wedding rings dying young. When he finished she rested a gloved hand over his briefly. “I can see why you’re so upset.”

“You don’t think I’m over-reacting?”

“No. In fact–”

“Cathy.” The small girl was back and tugging gently on Cathy’s coat. “Please can you play with me?”

“I thought you were playing with the other children,” Cathy said.

“They’ve all gone.”

Sam had been so engrossed in spilling his guts to Cathy he hadn’t noticed all the other families had left. He could see one of the mothers hurrying away, her child limpeted to her, weeping. “Did they all hurt themselves?”