The Hidden Goddess (27 page)

“I have to speak with you.” Emily looked between him and the young man. “It’s important.”

“I believe we’re finished,” Stanton said.

“But what is my direction, sir?” The young man leaned forward, his knuckles resting on the desk. His eyes seemed to burn. “May I do as I see fit?”

Stanton looked at the young man for a moment. His jaw tensed, and rippled. Finally he said, “No, Gormley. It’s out of the question.”

“But, Mr. Stanton—”

“I don’t want to hear about it again!” Stanton blazed, his
voice resonating off the walls. There was a pause. A strange mean smile crept over Gormley’s face.

“Of course not, sir. I understand. You won’t hear about it again.” The young man gave Stanton a little bow. As he passed Emily on his way out, he touched the brim of his hat.

When he was gone, Emily crossed the room with short quick steps and threw herself into Stanton’s arms, burying her face in his chest. She felt Stanton’s shoulders relax as he drew her in closer, his lips finding the top of her head. Neither said anything. For that silent moment it was enough to share warmth, to appreciate the fact that both of their hearts still beat strongly.

“What’s happened?” Stanton said finally. “What’s wrong?”

Emily looked around the room, aware of a budding suspiciousness that was alien to her trusting nature. She did not trust this office, did not trust this place. Everything around her seemed suddenly menacing, malignant.

“Are we safe here?” she asked. The question made Stanton tense and look around the office.

“Safe from prying ears, you mean?” Stanton asked. “That is one thing I can vouch for.” He paused. “For the time being.” He paused again. “If nothing else.”

Emily did not like the descending string of clauses, but she pressed forward urgently. “It’s about my trip to Boston. My family—”

At that moment, the door to the office opened and Rose’s blond head poked through the door. When she saw Emily, her face became reproachful.

“Oh,
there
you are, Miss Emily! You were supposed to wait outside.” She looked at Stanton nervously, as if terrified she’d made a horrible gaffe. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stanton, I told her you were busy—”

“Not now, Rose,” Stanton said curtly.

“It can’t wait, I’m afraid.” The words were brisk; Miss Jesczenka stepped past Rose into the office. She closed the door behind herself softly. The older woman had a very worried look on her face.

“It’s about the Institute’s public Haälbeck doors.” Miss
Jesczenka’s tone made it clear that whatever business the well-dressed man had brought was urgent, pressing, and unpleasant.

Stanton let out a breath, unfolded Emily from his arms. He sank wearily into his leather desk chair.

“What about the Institute’s public Haälbeck doors?” Stanton said, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“They’ve been malfunctioning. Misdirecting travelers. There is a lawyer outside, representing a half dozen highly placed business interests who are claiming a loss of income resulting from the Institute’s negligence. He intends to file suit in the New York County Courthouse first thing in the morning, unless the Institute wishes to discuss a settlement. He’s waiting in the vestibule.”

Stanton pounded a fist on the heavy polished wood of the desk.

“Settlement?” he roared. He threw himself back into his chair, raked his fingers through his hair. “You must be joking.”

Miss Jesczenka gave him a look that indicated that she wasn’t. Stanton exhaled exasperation through clenched teeth.

“Fine. I’ll speak with him. Meanwhile, is anyone looking into this matter of the malfunctioning doors? Anyone?” Stanton looked from Miss Jesczenka to Emily; the look on his face was a bit too demanding for Emily’s taste.

“Well, don’t look at me,” she snapped.

“Rose!”
Stanton bellowed. The door from the vestibule opened quickly; the blond girl had obviously been leaning on the doorknob.

“Mr. Stanton?” Rose breathed.

“I want Professor Eames and Professor Leigh to look into this matter of the Haälbeck doors—”

Stanton paused at a small shake of the head from Miss Jesczenka.

“Not Eames,” Miss Jesczenka murmured. Stanton’s eyes held a moment’s silent conference with hers. He sighed.

“Fine. Not Eames. McAllister, then. I want to see them first thing in the morning.”

“First thing in the morning,” Rose repeated to herself as
she wrote down the instructions in her notebook. Emily almost expected the girl to salute.

Then, like the blast of a cannon, there was a loud crash from the antechamber, accompanied by the sound of a suddenly muffled masculine shout. At the same moment, Stanton doubled over, grunting with pain and nearly falling off the chair.

“Mr. Stanton!” Rose hurried to his side. She was kneeling beside him and patting his cheek before Emily even knew what had happened. Miss Jesczenka jerked open the office door; stray pages fluttered into the room from the vestibule. She hurried out of the office, and Emily could hear her speaking with someone. There was a moan, and then a sharp cry of agony. Emily remembered suddenly that the lawyer had been waiting for Stanton in the vestibule. Miss Jesczenka reappeared at the door.

“The bookshelves collapsed,” Miss Jesczenka said. “And it seems that our visitor now has a broken leg.” She looked over at Stanton, who was climbing slowly to his feet. “Sophos, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Stanton grumbled, pushing Rose away as she tried to help him stand. He brushed himself off, straightened his coat. His face, lined with pain, seemed immeasurably weary. “I didn’t expect the office to start going so soon.”

“Rose, please go and fetch a doctor,” Miss Jesczenka said.

“I can help,” Emily said quickly. She’d healed broken bones before; it had been one of the services she offered in Lost Pine. She looked at Stanton. “I still need to speak with you.”

“As you like.” Stanton was leaning heavily on the desk, his face pale. His voice sounded uncertain. Miss Jesczenka shook her head sharply.

“No, Miss Edwards. It’s better that you go. It’s late, and you can speak with Mr. Stanton in the morning.”

For the first time in her acquaintance with Miss Jesczenka, Emily felt truly furious at the woman.

“No, I’m going to stay,” she blazed. “I am going to stay, and I am going to help!”

“Miss Edwards!” Miss Jesczenka barked. Anger kindled in
her eyes, but was quickly hidden. The woman made an exasperated gesture. “All right, come on.”

The vestibule was a wreck of papers, books, and bindings. The lawyer lay buried under a pile of leather-cased tomes, moaning. His left leg was twisted at an agonizing angle. Emily bent over him, her fingers finding the broken place through the fabric of his trousers. It wasn’t good; the bone was shattered like a summer-dry stick.

“This place … this place is a shambles! It’s unsafe! I’ll have the buildings division here in the morning! Just see if I don’t!” The lawyer’s voice was high and hysterical; his eyes glinted miserably. He looked up at Miss Jesczenka, who was picking her way carefully through the wreckage. “If you think you had problems before, madam, you can’t imagine the problems you have now—”

“Oh, hush,” Miss Jesczenka snarled, laying a soft hand on his forehead. In an instant the man fell into unconsciousness, his head lolling back on his shoulders.

Emily looked up at her. “It’s badly broken,” she said.

Miss Jesczenka came to kneel next to her, sighing heavily. “Of course it is.” Her voice was leaden with resignation as she looked sidelong at Emily. “You just can’t take a hint, can you?”

“I want to help,” Emily said fiercely. She could take a hint just fine. She knew what the woman was going to say. That she was a distraction, a nuisance. But if
Rose
could stand at Stanton’s side, why couldn’t she? There were things she could do, legs she could heal, bunting she could pull down …

“You
can’t
help him now,” Miss Jesczenka said softly. “Watching him suffer will make you suffer, and watching you suffer will make him suffer more.”

Emily looked away, looked at her hand lying on the dark fabric of the lawyer’s leg.

“You wanted to tell him something,” Miss Jesczenka said. “Can it help him regain control of the Institute?”

Emily thought about it. Some new memories, the whiff of old secrets, and Witch-hating grandparents?

“No,” Emily said.

“Then it can wait. You need to go away and stay away for a
while,” Miss Jesczenka said. Her words were even and measured. “If you truly want to help, that’s what you must do.”

“And where am I supposed to go?” Emily tasted the bitterness of the words.

“There’s only one safe place.” Stanton’s voice came from the doorway of the office. Emily looked up and saw him leaning against the doorjamb, surveying the wreckage with red-rimmed eyes. “Rose can take you.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Red Hand,
Gold-Colored Eye

It was almost 2 a.m. by the time the carriage conveying Emily and Rose arrived at the safe location of Stanton’s promising. When Emily saw where she was being sent, she felt like climbing out of the carriage, turning tail, and taking her chances on a bench in Central Park.

“Oh, how
elegant
!” Rose breathed as the carriage came to a stop before the Stanton family brownstone on Thirty-fourth Street. “How
sophisticated
! Of course Mr. Stanton would have grown up in a place like this. Like a prince in a castle!”

Emily let out a long breath through clenched teeth. A prince with frogs for parents. That certainly was a new twist on the old stories.

At least the Senator actively ignored her. But Stanton’s mother … Oh, she was going to just
love
having her son’s malingering fiancée turn up on her doorstep, unannounced, at two in the morning. This was going to be a night to remember, though Emily doubted that she’d wish to.

Emily and Rose climbed the high narrow stairs to the heavy oak door. No light showed through the leaded glass window. Rose seized the handle of the bell and gave it three insistent pulls. There was a long wait, but finally the light of a lamp bobbed up the hallway and Broward came to the door, silver-templed and forbidding. His face was a mask of unpleasantness—unpleasantness that tempered itself only slightly when he saw that it was Emily who waited on the doorstep.

“Miss Edwards!” he said. He looked at Rose. “What can I do for you at this hour?”

“Mr. Stanton has sent a note,” Rose said, briskly offering an envelope. Broward took it between two reluctant fingers, as if he were taking a soiled handkerchief. Then he opened the door and ushered them into the entryway, which was tall and decorated with classical urns.

“If you’ll wait here, I’ll go wake the Senator and Mrs. Stanton,” he said.

Emily and Rose sat on a pair of chairs upholstered in slippery horsehair. Rose was beside herself at the honor of being admitted into the Stanton family home. She kept looking around herself like a child at an amusement park.

“How refined!” she chattered to herself. “Such excellent taste! Do you know the Stantons were one of the first families in New York? Mr. Stanton’s grandfather was a general in the War of 1812, and Mr. Stanton’s great-great-grandfather was the state’s first attorney general.” Rose paused, giggling as if catching herself being silly. “But of course you know that! You’re going to marry him, after all.”

Emily said nothing. She hadn’t known any of it. It hadn’t occurred to her to research Stanton’s family tree, but she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Rose.

“Yes, the Stantons are very distinguished,” was all she said.

After a long time, Broward came back down.

“Mrs. Stanton is in the library. Follow me, please.”

Mrs. Stanton was sitting in a carved walnut chair, her back perfectly straight. She was immaculately turned out, having obviously taken the time to dress with great care. Or maybe she just never got undressed to begin with. Maybe she didn’t sleep at all, just wrapped herself in brocade and hung upside down from a rafter.

As they entered the room, the old woman eyed Emily keenly, waiting until Emily and Rose had come to a complete stop in front of her chair before rising to greet them.

“Miss Edwards,” she said coolly, leaning forward. She let her lips hang over Emily’s cheek, not touching it in the slightest, and offered her an embrace that was remarkable only for how far she was able to remain from Emily and still have it
seem an embrace. She hissed in Emily’s ear: “You missed my lunch.”

Emily bent her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. She looked up at Mrs. Stanton. “I’m feeling much better now.”

“Yes, it seems you recovered from the plague with astonishing alacrity.” Mrs. Stanton pulled back, stared at Rose up and down, lip curling involuntarily. “I fear I have not been introduced to your … companion.”

“Miss Rose Hibble, of Reno, Nevada.” Rose smiled, extending a friendly hand. “It’s an honor, Mrs. Stanton, to meet the woman who gave Mr. Dreadnought Stanton to the world.”

Mrs. Stanton accepted Rose’s hand limply. Emily saw her try to draw her hand away, but Rose continued pumping it enthusiastically.