Flora's Wish (18 page)

He managed to grab her hand, and a strong tug almost sent Flora tumbling back to the ground, but she stood firm while he hauled himself to his feet.

Lightning illuminated the room again, this time from a greater distance, and bathed the scene in pale silver. The table nearest Grandmama's favorite sitting spot had been upended, but the only casualty appeared to be the marble statue of Cupid Flora had recently lodged a complaint to.

Apparently Lucas McMinn had been pierced by Cupid's arrow. The irony struck her as humorous, and Flora couldn't quite manage to contain a giggle.

“I'm glad someone thinks this is funny,” Mr. McMinn said. “You figure the bellpull works? We probably ought to get one or two of those maids in here to help set this place to rights again.”

“In the dark? I don't see how anything can be done until the electricity is restored.” She paused. “Now, unless you're desperately in need of medical attention after your unfortunate attack by Cupid, I'm going to make my excuses and go downstairs to find something to eat.”

“It's pitch dark. And I'm fine, thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself.” She took a few halting steps toward the door and reached out to touch the writing desk. Yes, she knew where she was from here. Three or four lengthy strides and she would reach the parlor door. From there, she could only hope there was some way to find the stairs.

Behind her came a scratching sound and then the odor of something odd. A pale yellow light danced to life as Flora turned around to see Mr. McMinn holding a glowing matchstick.

“I'm afraid I don't have any idea where the candles are,” she told him. “And if you're not careful, you'll burn yourself holding that.”

“Unless I've calculated wrong, this match should have three or four minutes burn time. It won't get us downstairs to the kitchen, but it will shed some light on the matter.”

He appeared to wait for her to react to his silly pun. When she humored him with a shake of her head, he gestured for her to come toward him.

“Hold this for me, would you?”

She did as he asked, keeping her attention mostly on the flame burning ever closer to her fingers. “If this gets too near to my skin, I'm going to blow it out. So whatever you're digging for in your pocket, I certainly hope you find it quickly.”

“Here it is.” Mr. McMinn produced a thin brass tube with a circle of glass on one end and a cap on the other. “When I tell you to, I want you to touch the match to the end of this.”

“What is it?” she asked as she eyed the contraption with an equal measure of curiosity and skepticism.

“I haven't given it an official name, but I guess you could say it was a pocket lantern.”

He removed the cap from the end and stuffed something inside. After fiddling with the brass tube a bit more, he held it near the yellow glow of the now-dwindling match light and nodded.

“All right, Miss Brimm. Just touch the lit end of the match to this spot right here.”

Flora leaned forward to peer at the spot he had indicated. “You mean at the bottom of the tube where the cap was?”

“Yes,” he said as he held the tube out at arm's length. “Remember, just barely touch it with the fire.”

She gave him a doubtful look. “It's not going to blow up, is it?”

“I hope not,” he said with a chuckle. “I'm the one holding it.”

“All right.” Flora edged forward and held her breath as she reached to touch the flame to the end of the brass tube. “Now what?”

Before he could respond, something inside the tube sparked and the match went out. A sizzling sound was quickly followed by a soft puffing noise. An instant later, something inside the tube began to glow—first a pale green, and then a soft blue, and finally a brilliant white. The tube appeared to have something burning inside.

On closer inspection, there was no fire at all. Rather, whatever Mr. McMinn had placed inside the tube was somehow lit, and though the interior continued to glow, the exterior remained cool to the touch.

“Actually, it's more like a torch,” she said. “A hand torch, maybe? How does it work?”

He shrugged. “I don't figure it would make any sense to you if I did tell you. And if it did make sense, I'd have to wonder whether you would tell our secrets for the formula.” He paused to direct his attention at Flora. “So I think I'll keep that to myself if it's all the same to you.”

“Our?”

“I collaborate with an old friend on many of the things I design. Sometimes he comes up with the idea and other times I do.” He met her stare. “But neither of us like to talk about it, understand?”

Momentarily distracted by the brilliance of his green eyes when viewed in the glow of the odd invention, Flora could only nod. The circle of light, small as it was, caused the parlor to fade into darkness. The thought of being alone with Mr. McMinn—something that felt so innocent, even slightly irritating, just moments ago—suddenly seemed like something much more.

A thought occurred.

“If you had a match and this invention, why did you wait around in the dark until now to use it?”

He shrugged. “It's a prototype, and my associate, Mr. Russell, wasn't sure if it worked. Given the weather and the fact this hotel has chosen electric lights over the more dependable gaslights made me think I might have use of it.”

“You're serious.” Flora shook her head. “So you just carry things like this…this experiment…around on the chance that you
might
get to test them? Does Mr. Russell do the same?”

“No comment, Miss Brimm. And as to this device, it's a prototype, not an experiment. There's a difference.”

“I'm sure you think there is, but right now I would much rather continue this fascinating discussion over a plate of cold chicken or a sandwich. What do you say?” She nodded toward the lighted tube. “Can that thing get us to the kitchen before it blows up?”

“The elements in this tube are not volatile,” Lucas said, “though the man holding it just might be.” He shook his head. “A joke. Brought on by the arrow that jabbed me.”

“Cupid's arrow.” The infuriating woman grinned. “Imagine that. What are the odds of Cupid finding you, of all people, to jab?”

“Apparently the odds are pretty high, because it happened.”

The Natchez belle snickered but said nothing further. The silence that fell between them was neither comfortable nor lasting. Outside the lightning that had been so frequent flashed across the western sky in a weak line that stretched across the mountaintops.

Miss Brimm had apparently had enough. “Well, if you've recovered from your injuries, I think it's time for us to see if we can find the dining room.”

She opened the door to the darkened hallway and stepped aside to allow him to pass her. “After you, Mr. McMinn,” she said as she tucked a hand in his elbow and followed his lead.

The hall was dark, its doors all thankfully shut tight. At the far end, where the maids' quarters were situated, Lucas could see an orange glow beneath the door. Likely that part of the hotel wasn't privy to the modern electrical conveniences like those reserved for their employers.

And yet tonight these girls were probably unaware of the situation outside their doors.

The pocket lantern did a passable job getting them down the first flight of stairs, but as they moved closer to the lobby, he decided it was time to extinguish the glow. No need for the device to make its debut any sooner than planned, especially as the patent hadn't been completed on the project yet.

Carefully replacing the cap, Lucas fitted the gadget back into his pocket and patted his jacket to be sure everything was in its place. “All right,” he said as he blinked several times to adjust his eyes to the absence of light. “Whatever you do, don't let go of me. Understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “I wouldn't let go if you begged me right now, Mr. McMinn.”

Lucas's pulse quickened as he inhaled the scent of lilacs. “Yes, well, I don't plan on begging for anything, Miss Brimm, except maybe a sandwich.”

The thought of the meal he'd missed was almost enough to make him forget that the woman's soft fingers had slid from his elbow and were now clutching his hand. Almost but not quite, for she gave his hand a squeeze and once again leaned in.

“Ready when you are,” she whispered.

Lucas could hear the muffled conversations of guests and, above the chatter, the sound of what could only be described as an impromptu concert by the same orchestra that had entertained at the costume ball.

“Is that a waltz?” Miss Brimm asked. “It sounds as though we're missing quite a party.”

“Likely just guests with nothing to do until the electricity is restored,” he said as he tried to look around the corner. He had a mirror that might do the trick, but the low light combined with the need to look as if he were a normal hotel guest should he be spotted kept him from making the attempt. Instead, he decided to rely on instinct.

“I hope that means the dining room is still open.”

“We're not going into the dining room.”

“I thought we were coming down here to have a meal.”

He shook his head. “We're coming down here to
get
a meal and take it back upstairs. I'm not taking any chances that we might be seen together in the dining room, and if you would consider it, you'd agree.”

“But I—”

“Miss Brimm, for someone who has asked that I not interfere with her wedding tomorrow, you certainly don't seem to care that your fiancé might see you breaking bread with a Pinkerton agent and hightail it out of Eureka Springs before the preacher can pronounce the ‘I dos.'”

He heard her sigh. “I can see your point.”

“Well, hallelujah for small miracles,” he muttered.

“There is no need to be sarcastic. Let's get this over with before I faint of starvation.”

“Just one more thing,” he said as he made a feeble attempt to sound as if he were the one in control of the situation. “You're not to forget that you are in the personal custody of a Pinkerton agent. That means we're going to do whatever it takes to not draw attention to ourselves. Also, it means you're to follow my instructions at all times and to stay within my sight.”

A giggle.

“What?”

“Well,” Miss Brimm said slowly. “I'm afraid I'm already in trouble.”

He let out a long breath. “And why is that?”

Another giggle. “You can't see me, so how can I stay within your sight?”

“Oh, come on.” He grasped the rail with one hand and squeezed Flora's with the other as he slowly made his way down the stairs to the landing midway between the first and second floors. “Almost there,” he said as he paused. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” was a breath against his skin as she nudged his shoulder. “But I'm truly starved. Can we move a little faster?”

“We could, but I'd have to throw you over my shoulder.” He laughed as her grip on his hand tightened.

“Don't you dare. I thought the idea was to not draw attention to ourselves.”

“Oh, really? And I thought the idea was for you to follow my instructions at all times.”

“Touché, Mr. McMinn. Do lead on.”