The Heartless City (20 page)

“She’ll be here soon,” he said, strolling over to his side. “She and Andrew are brushing up on their family history.”

Joy and excitement were fizzing inside his chest like champagne bubbles, and when Elliot glanced at his face, he saw it reflected in his eyes.

“What are you grinning about?” he asked, and then it dawned on him. “Did Andrew fix―”

“He did,” Cam beamed. “The Victor is now in working condition. We’re trying it out tonight, and you are formally invited.”

“The pantry at midnight?” Elliot asked, as that was when and where they usually met to test the contraband.

“Yes. And, just so you know, Miss Faye will be in attendance as well. I invited her a moment ago, and she graciously accepted.”

Elliot’s faced flushed. “You didn’t have to―I mean, just because I―”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cam said, taking a sip of his drink. “I simply thought that, as an American, she’d appreciate hearing some new music from her country.”

Elliot smiled, his chest blooming with gratitude and affection. “Well, that was very thoughtful of you. I’m sure she appreciates it.”

“Speak of the devil,” Cam replied.

Elliot immediately turned to the dining room entrance.

Iris was walking beneath the archway, holding Andrew’s arm. Her curls were piled on top of her head for the first time since he’d known her, with a few dark, corkscrew tendrils framing the sides of her face. Elliot didn’t know whose dress she was wearing, but it seemed too small, stopping at her ankles and revealing more of her bosom than was currently fashionable. His cheeks burned, and he quickly forced his gaze back up to her face. However small, the dress’s purple hue made her eyes stand out even more, and they glowed like pools of liquid gold in the flickering candlelight.

“She’s truly beautiful,” Cam remarked.

Elliot nodded, beyond the envy he’d felt when Cam said the same thing after they met at the music hall.

“
Et magique
,” Cam continued. “
Juste comme nous le pensions
.”

Elliot smiled. He’d said, “And magic. Just like we thought.”

He managed to speak with Iris for a moment before dinner started, just long enough for her to confirm that her dress was indeed too small and that she would join them in the pantry. Before he could ask what Philomena had wanted back in her room, however, the meal was announced, and the guests all took their seats at the dinner table.

As Elliot had expected, Iris was seated next to Andrew, but the two of them were too far away for him to talk to her. He watched her, though, and she handled herself with confidence and grace, pleasantly chatting with those around her and smoothly correcting herself if she picked up the wrong utensil. When the Lord Mayor stood and announced why she’d joined their company, the rest of the courtiers nodded and smiled at her with mild acceptance. Beneath their veneers, however, most of the women felt madly jealous―both of her beauty and of the grand attention she was receiving―except for Philomena, who grinned and gave her a little wink.

Elliot’s favorite reaction, however, was that of Charlie Hands. He hadn’t noticed Iris at all until the Lord Mayor’s speech, and when he realized that she was not only seated at the table but also Andrew Heron’s cousin, the rage and frustration he felt burned through the flesh of his doughy face. He couldn’t touch her now, couldn’t
talk
about her the way he used to. She might still only be working class, but Andrew was one of the Lord Mayor’s most valuable assistants, and he couldn’t chance offending someone so close to the hand that fed him. Still, a wicked part of Elliot wanted him to try, just to give Iris the chance to hand him his arse on a silver platter.

Once the meal was over, Philomena got her wish; the Lord Mayor moved the crowd to the Music Room to hear her sing. The courtiers settled themselves in the chairs laid out on the hardwood floor, and Andrew took his seat behind the mahogany grand piano. The tall, domed, horseshoe-shaped hall had excellent acoustics, but once Philomena began to sing, it was clear she didn’t need them.

The song she had chosen was
Love has Eyes
, an old piece Elliot had heard many times before, but he had never heard anybody sing it like Philomena. Even though the melody was cheerful and upbeat, most girls sang the song in a tone that was smooth, airy, and light. Philomena, however, belted the notes with strength that nearly shook the room, proving her voice as large, fierce, and powerful as her spirit. The sound was piercing but beautiful in a resonant, soul-stirring way, and Elliot preferred it to any other voice he’d heard. As he looked around, however, he found most of the women―especially her mother―felt shocked and uneasy, while the men found her entertaining, like a kitten that thinks it’s a lion. Eventually, he closed his eyes and focused on only her feelings, which were so bright and full of joy they wiped out all the others.

At midnight, Elliot crept through the darkened hallways and down to the pantry, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst right through his chest. It was true that he was breaking the rules, and also about to hear music no one in London had heard before, but seeing Iris was more exciting than either of those things. Normally, when he and Cam and Andrew had these secret nights, they didn’t bother dressing in anything more than their shirtsleeves and braces, but because of Iris, Elliot had decided to wear a suit, complete with a coat, vest, and tie―as was proper in front of a woman. When he tiptoed down the steps and into the darkened pantry, however, he saw that he was the only one of the three of them to do so.

“Out for a night at the opera?” Cam asked, stifling a laugh.

He and Andrew were sitting on a crate of fruit against the wall, their giddy excitement so heady and thick it almost made Elliot dizzy. At Cam’s remark, Andrew started to laugh but stopped himself, looking up at Elliot with apologetic eyes.

“Don’t listen to him. We should have dressed properly, too, since Iris is coming.”

“What about me?”

Elliot spun around to see Iris slipping down the stairs, but once she stepped into view, his pounding heart leapt into his throat. Once again, her hair was down and billowing over her shoulders, but instead of a dress, she was wearing a cream-colored nightgown trimmed with lace. The frock was thick and covered her from her neck down to her slippers, but Elliot flushed as if she were standing in front of him totally naked. The purple gown had been skimpy, and the waitress’s dress had been skin-tight. But beneath them both, her body had still been bound by a formal corset, which made it seem contained and distant somehow, as if sealed off. The nightgown, however shapeless, was loose and clearly a single layer, and he’d never been near a woman with so little fabric between them. When she saw him blush, she knit her brow, but then she looked down at herself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, looking back up. “It’s just, that purple thing was a nightmare, and my old dress is still so dirty―”

“It’s fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “You look absolutely lovely.”

“What am I―chopped liver?”

Elliot blinked as Philomena materialized next to Iris. She was dressed in a nightgown as well, but hers was a frilly, pale sky blue, and her hair was done up in little rag curls that made her look even more like a little girl than usual. Her presence was a surprise, but Elliot didn’t feel truly shocked until a tall, broad-shouldered footman emerged from the shadows just behind her. Cam and Andrew leapt to their feet, equally alarmed, but Iris raised her hands and stepped forward.

“Don’t worry. I know it wasn’t my place, but I invited Philomena. She already knows the real reason I’m here.”

“She
what
?” Elliot gasped.

“That’s why she came to see me today. She was listening outside the drawing room when I told the Lord Mayor the truth. We can trust her; she brought Albert along to keep watch for us tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” Philomena added, marching over to Cam. “I can’t believe you were going to listen to
brand new music
without me, you prat!”

She smacked him on the arm, and he winced and put up his hands in defense. “My mistake, Miss Blackwell. One I shall never make again.”

“You’d better not,” she growled, and then she returned to the waiting footman. “Stay near the doorway and warn us if someone’s coming, Alby. Thanks.” She raised herself onto her toes, and he bent down to allow her to kiss his cheek. Then he turned around and hurried back up the stairs without a word.

“Well,” Cam said, after a moment of stunned and awkward silence. “Now that we’ve got girls…” He crouched beside the crate and produced a cut-glass bottle of bourbon. “And something to drink, it’s a party.”

In order to ensure no one else would hear the Victor, Cam had decided to try it out in the subterranean kitchens. He handed the bourbon to Andrew, lit a candle, and opened a door in the back, and they followed him out of the pantry and down a set of worn, stone stairs.

“Iris,” Andrew murmured as they followed Cam through the dark. “When Cambrian got out the bourbon, it reminded me of a question I had. Do you think your abilities would allow you to consume alcohol without feeling the effects? The thought occurred to me at dinner, and I was curious.”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I’ve never really tried. Dealing with drunken men every day has dimmed the appeal of spirits for me. I don’t mind if the rest of you drink, however,” she added quickly.

“Good,” Philomena chirped, seizing the bottle from Andrew, removing the stopper, and taking a swig. Her eyes bulged, but she blinked against the burn and grinned once she got it down. “That was exhilarating. Later, I’ll have to have some more.”

The stairs opened up to reveal a small space, sort of like an open room, lined with shelves and cabinets and a couple of massive ovens. The air was cool and perfumed with herbs and spices like thyme and rosemary, and their shoes made soft little scraping sounds against the uneven stone. Cam sat his candle on top of a shelf, and then he and Andrew walked to a cabinet in the back, returning with the Victor Talking Machine in both their arms. The palace had an old gramophone that everyone except for Iris had heard at one time or another, but this contraption was newer, sleeker, and apparently, could produce much better and longer lasting sound. Once he and Andrew had placed the machine on the floor, Cam opened a side compartment and pulled out the two new records.

“Which should we play first?”

The rest of them crowded around and took a peek at the records’ titles:
The Pine Apple Rag
and
The Weeping Willow Rag.

“
The Pine Apple Rag,
” Philomena suggested. “The other one sounds sad.”

“
The Pine Apple Rag
it is.” Cam grinned. “The fruit before the tree.”

He slid the second record back inside the side compartment, and everyone else spread out and took a seat on the flagstone floor. They formed a sort of reverent semicircle around the machine, with Iris on the left, Elliot beside her, Philomena next to him, and Andrew on the right. The room swelled with silence and electric anticipation as Cam laid out the record, turned the crank, and dropped the needle. At first, there was only static, so he took the moment to lower himself to the ground on Andrew’s right. Then, with abruptness that jolted them all, the music began to play.

It was truly unlike anything Elliot had heard. Only a single piano played the foreign melody, but the vigorous, bouncing beat of the song made it seem like an orchestra. The tune was light but pulsing, and the rhythm was strong but erratic, like the wild heartbeat of someone who’d just dashed up a flight of stairs. Elliot found his own heart speeding up as he took it in, so much so that it leapt into his throat when Andrew spoke.

“Now I understand,” he said. “I know why they call it ‘Ragtime.’”

“Why?” Philomena asked.

“Because it’s ragged. It’s syncopated.”

Cam blinked and furrowed his brow, turning to Andrew. “Sorry?”

“The rhythm,” Andrew explained. “The accents on the beats are, well, purposely displaced. The weak ones are strong and the strong ones are weak. It makes the song seem uneven and disjointed. Not smooth, but ragged.”

“It’s thrilling,” Iris murmured.

Elliot turned to look at her. Her breathing had grown as shallow as his, and her heart was singing with joy that quickened the blood in his own veins. Then, out of nowhere, a woman’s voice soared out over the piano.

Hark to that music, it’s the Pine Apple Rag

Lordy goodness how entrancing.

Who on earth can keep from dancing?

Tease up to me, ease up to me,

Set me a reeling, Lord what a feeling,

Oh, the Pine Apple Rag.

“How cheeky,” Philomena exclaimed. “I adore it!”

In no time, she’d completely memorized the “cheeky” lyrics, and was singing along to the tune with her bright and robust voice. Slowly, the bourbon made its way around the semicircle, and at first, Elliot―like Iris―simply passed it along. As before, he didn’t want to appear slow or sloppy in front of her, but soon the excitement grew so intense that his hands began to shake, and the next time the bottle came his way, he took a hasty gulp. Iris must have seen the desperation in the gesture, because she leaned over and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

Elliot tightened his grip on the bottle and lowered it to his lap, closing his eyes as the alcohol seared his throat and swarmed his stomach. “It’s just… too much,” he murmured in reply. “Too much feeling.”

Iris studied his face and then scooted a little closer. “What if you shared it with me?”

“Shared it with you? You mean share what…
everyone
is feeling?”

“It might lessen the impact for you, make it easier to bear.”

“I don’t even know if I can.”

She smiled, took the bottle, and reached across him to give it to Philomena, causing his breath to hitch as the lace of her nightgown brushed his chest. Once she’d passed it off, she leaned back and offered him her hand. “You won’t know until you try.”

Elliot set his jaw, closed his eyes, and placed his hand in hers, flinching only slightly when their flesh made contact this time. He took a breath and concentrated just like earlier, imagining the excitement leaving him and flowing to her. After a moment, he felt the sensation slowly begin to drain, and his heart relaxed to a steady pace, and his breathing became more even. Iris sucked in a quiet gasp, and he knew that it was working, that the two of them were sharing the weight of the room’s emotional pulse. He blinked, opened his eyes, and withdrew his hand from hers, and even though the feelings came rushing back, they seemed less daunting.