Some wonderful reviews guys, thanks. Thank you for all the follows and faves too.
Here we go with the fallout from the shopping trip and an awkward dinner with a few hoity-toity peeps.
Chapter Eleven
Christina climbed into the cab first, guessing that HG would help her Mama up and then she could sit far away from the inventor. As soon as Myka was on board, she grabbed the adult's arm and buried her face in it.
She couldn't get the image of her Mummy kissing Lucile out of her mind and though her Mama had asked her repeatedly to tell her what was wrong, she couldn't, not in front of Helena.
Adventures were supposed to be fun, weren't they? This one didn't feel like that. In fact, as she thought about it, all real adventures seemed to be more scary than fun. In Paris, Mummy had been scared. She remembered Helena's hand holding her own tighter than usual and the panic in her mother's eyes as they were figuring out how to rescue Mama. The incident at the fairground had been similar. Sitting, waiting for news and not knowing if everything would turn out ok. She remembered how uncomfortable that feeling was and felt it now.
Aunt Leena said that having new siblings was like an adventure. She thought about the arguments her parents had had recently and decided that perhaps babies weren't as exciting as she'd assumed either. If having brothers or sisters was going to pull her family apart, she didn't want them. It was too late now though and she couldn't help feeling that Mummy and Mama might forget about her when the twins arrived.
The ride back to the Wells' house was conducted in silence with Myka throwing the inventor concerned and accusatory glances and Helena looking hurt and puzzled by Christina's behaviour.
On arrival, the eight-year-old excused herself and ran off to her room, leaving the adults alone. By this time, Myka thought she had figured out what happened. As Helena went to move towards the stairs in pursuit of the young girl, the American reached for her sleeve and held her back.
"What happened in the basement?" Myka asked quietly.
Looking uncomfortable, HG ran her hands through her hair. "I haven't the foggiest," she said automatically, though she had an inkling of what might have occurred. As Lucile had been kissing her, she had sensed movement at the top of the basement stairs. "I thought we were getting along swimmingly."
Myka raised an eyebrow and enquired in a resigned sort of tone, "Nothing happened with Lucile when you thought you were alone?"
Helena's surprised expression at the curly-haired woman's guess quickly fell, betraying her answer. She met Myka's gaze with a sinking feeling in her stomach. "I... I thought she was with you."
Dropping her hand to her side, Myka nodded and slowly retreated. She ran a hand over her face, trying desperately not to let the inventor see how much the confession wounded her. "I'll speak to her and try to explain."
HG watched dismally as an underlying sadness filled those forest-green eyes. She shot forward, suddenly worried that she'd just lost any chance of keeping this woman in her life. "Myka. It was just a short farewell. What might have been is no more."
Taking pity on the repentant woman, Myka moved closer and tried to adopt an understanding facade. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Helena. Who you spend your time with and what you do is your business. You don't owe me anything." She swallowed down the urge to pull Helena into a hug. She felt her body pulling her in opposite directions; wanting to comfort the woman she loved but feeling slightly queasy after confirming her suspicions. "I'm sorry but I have to check on Christina."
Leaving HG to think on her actions, Myka hurried upstairs and entered the room she shared with Christina. She spotted the girl curled up on the bed and felt her heart sink. Closing the door softly behind her, she made her way over to the bed and climbed up beside her daughter. As she sat back against the headboard and began stroking wavy locks, Christina turned over and buried a tear-stained face into her Mama's side. Myka shuffled down on the bed so she could wrap her arms more fully around the small figure, shushing her gently as she waited for the tears to abate.
"Mama, I want to go home," a small voice said joylessly.
Myka felt the lump in her throat tighten. She swallowed passed it as best she could. "So do I, Sweetheart, and we will eventually, I'm sure. Do you want to tell me about this afternoon?" she inquired tentatively, wanting to give the girl chance to open up in her own time.
Silence stretched for several minutes while Myka waited patiently, still running her fingers through soft hair, hoping to provide adequate comfort to the distraught child.
"I saw Mummy with the lady in the shop... Lucile," Christina sniffed, her words sounding watery and tight.
When no other details were forthcoming, Myka decided to fill in the blanks. "You saw them kissing." The small head nodded against her shoulder. "Oh, Sweetheart, I know it's upsetting. I don't like it either but Helena is a young woman who hasn't found that one special person she wants to settle down with yet. Before I met your Mummy, I kissed other people too," she admitted. "When you grow up, you might kiss different people, until you find your special someone. Try not to be angry with Helena; she didn't mean to hurt either of us."
"But you're here, Mama," Christina protested stubbornly. "You're her someone special."
Myka smiled sympathetically. The fire in those eyes reminded her of her fiancée when she was feeling indignant. It was comforting to know that a part of their HG was with her still. "I know that, but I don't think Helena does yet. It's difficult, Christina. I can't tell Mummy that I love her because I don't want to risk changing the timeline. You haven't been born yet you know."
"Does that mean Mummy has to kiss a man as well?" the girl added, her expression scrunched up in distaste.
Myka closed her eyes briefly. This conversation was entering waters that she wasn't comfortable or familiar with. What on Earth was she going to do when Christina was old enough for 'the talk'? "I think that might have already happened."
Christina remained quiet for several long moments considering that statement. "You mean Mummy might be pregnant already... with me?"
The eight-year-old finally sat up, her face smudged where her tears had run tracks through a thin layer of accumulated dirt from the ride. She looked down in shock and confusion.
Myka lifted a hand to push a lock of hair behind the girl's ear. She wanted to be doing anything but having this conversation; this was her child, not his, whoever he was. "It's possible. It's 1890. You were... will be born in 1891." She watched the wheels turning behind brown eyes.
"I might see my father," Christina concluded eventually. "Do I have to talk to him?" she asked uncertainly.
It took some effort for Myka to push herself into a sitting position; the events of the day and the early morning added to her fatigue. "Christina, in all likelihood, we won't even know who he is, but if more information does come to light then it will be entirely up to you. If you want to get to know your father, I will help you in whatever way I can. I will be there with you, for as long as you need me."
Christina sank back down onto the bed covers, her arms circling the adult. Her tummy still hurt. She felt as if her family was falling apart around her and she could do nothing to keep it together. "I have you, I don't need a father."
Something resembling a mix of relief, pride and contentment filled Myka at those words. "And I have you," she repeated. "You will always be my little girl. Even when our home is full of the sounds and smells of babies," she added, voicing a concern that had been simmering below the surface for some time. "When Mummy and I are cranky and everything feels like chaos, I don't want you to ever think that you can't come and do this with me. Ok?" She felt those fading insecurities raise their heads again as she looked down into a worried expression.
Christina wondered how her curly-haired mother had known what was on her mind. A tentative ray of hope broke through the gloom of her dark thoughts. "You won't be too busy?"
There it was, Myka thought; confirmation that looming changes to their lives weighed heavily on other minds than her own. "I imagine that we'll all be busy. Do you remember what it was like when we visited Aunt Tracy's?"
"Mm-hm," the girl nodded, clinging tighter to Myka as she tried to picture the same atmosphere in their home.
The agent took her daughter's hand and placed it together with her own atop her rounded belly. "These two will rely on us to do everything for them until they begin to learn how to do things for themselves. I have no doubt that they will love their big sister and your help is going to be invaluable to Mummy and me. I just want you to know that it's ok for you to need us too."
"So will I still get bedtime stories?" Christina asked uncertainly.
"Of course," Myka chuckled even as a part of her ached at the innocent question. "You might have to occasionally settle for one of us at a time. Thankfully, babies need a lot of sleep so there will be times when Mummy and I have both arms free to wrap around you."
Evening the following day arrived faster than Myka was comfortable with. She stood in her room, wearing the gown Lucile's courier had delivered that afternoon, waiting for Polly to finish putting her hair up.
Christina seemed mostly recovered from the previous day's trauma. True to her benevolent nature and thanks to the conversation she'd had with Myka, she had largely forgiven Helena for her indiscretion and deigned to bid her goodnight when the raven-haired woman left. Now, she was full of excitement again for the dress she had been wearing the past two hours.
"It's just the right length to make me look older, but not too much older," Christina was regaling the maid with the benefits of her attire. "The ruffles and taffeta match Mama's but keep her looking mature and me still like a child. The tailor knows her fashion."
Myka saw the faraway expression in the maid's eyes. "Christina. Why don't you see if you can help Mrs Wells? It won't be long before your bed time."
"I still have a bed time? But it's a party," the eight-year-old protested.
"And last time I looked, you were still my child," Myka informed her firmly. "I don't mind you staying up a bit later, just this once," she added calmly. "But I still expect you to be in bed by ten."
"Mama, I don't think that's fair," Christina grumbled. "When will I be allowed to stay up late?"
"When you're twenty-one," Myka said, deadpanned.
Polly smiled but held her amusement well. "Miss Bering; I've seen these events many times. Believe me, you will be relieved when you're released to go to bed."
Christina wasn't convinced, but thought longer on the maid's comment. There would be no other children present and her grandmother Genevieve would be making an appearance at some point. She thought back to a time before America and the family that now doted on her. Other than her Mummy, Charles and one or two of the maids, most adults hadn't wanted to know that she was there. Perhaps Polly was right. Still, there would be entertainment in admiring all of the dresses.
Most of the evening's pleasantries were to take place in the drawing and dining rooms. Eleanor was treating the gathering as a practise run for New Year's, joking that she was behind with her contributions to the social machine so she should be excused for her out of season event. There was to be a sit down meal at seven, after which they would all congregate in the drawing room to socialise, and at some point in the evening, Rupert would lead the men away to partake in his stock of brandy and cigars, leaving the women to their business.
Myka was to be introduced as the wife of one of Mr Wells' prospective business partners who was aiding him with research to expand his business overseas. She was to tell people that an unfortunate incident had detained her husband and she'd been forced to travel alone to meet with Mr Wells. On arrival in London, she'd somehow got turned around, panicked when the officials had approached her and was indebted to Mr Wells for his timely intervention.
Knowing that her believability rested on her performance tonight, Myka was nervous. She had always hated social gatherings, feeling awkward with nothing to say to people that she had nothing in common with. Tonight would be no exception, only this time she had script to help her along. She only hoped that she wouldn't say anything inappropriate and start the scandal they were trying to prevent.
Guests began to arrive at around half passed six. Rupert and Eleanor's long-standing friends, Mr and Mrs Eustace Pickering were escorted into the room, where the lord and lady of the house greeted them, Myka by their side and Christina holding onto her mother's hand.
"Eustace," Rupert grasped his friend's hand and shook it firmly. "How are you old boy? How are the northerners treating you up in York?"
"Fair, Rupert. They're not all as uncivilised as we were led to believe."
"Jolly good. Eleanor and I were delighted to hear that you were in town..."
Myka smiled at the familiar camaraderie between the two couples. Seeing their easy friendship allowed her to take the smallest breath of relief.
At Genevieve's invitation, the next couple arrived with their disagreeable looking son and a bit of that tension returned to the agent's muscles as she was assessed by the mother's critical eyes, ignored by the father's and ogled by their offspring's. She remained polite, inclining her head towards the floor and dropping her knees in imitation of a curtsey as Eleanor had instructed, and thanked them for coming on such short notice.
The evening had barely begun and she was exhausted already but there was a trio of guests still expected.
In her parents' carriage, boxed in by her mother and brother, Helena felt conflicted. Too many thoughts careered around her brain, crashing into one another and gaining momentum.
She was content being single and carefree; ignoring the expectations of her peers and elders; living for science, adventure and the prospect of leaving her mark (and her name) on the world. No matter how close she had come to feeling more than transient emotions for a lover, she had never felt a desire to cross that line and change who she was.
Until now.
Was this how it started? Love? Were these insidious and persistent thoughts the sign of insanity or just a malfunction of her ability to control her consciousness? That was the only word she could really think of to describe the absolute distraction and frustration she'd experienced over the past forty-eight hours - insanity. Two days ago, her thoughts had been her own. Now, it was as if the rhythm of her pulse whispered a woman's name to her over and over. My-ka... My-ka... My-ka.
What had begun as the occasional drifting impression of curls, green eyes and a gently absorbing smile had turned into daydreams, wishes and pointless hope.
The woman was getting married for God's sake! She had a daughter and another child on the way. Regardless of how distant the father of those children was, he was a very real obstacle to all of the images of a possibly future with Myka Bering.
Irritation jumped across her mind, souring her mood further. It was idiotic to harbour any notion of a relationship with the relative stranger, yet she couldn't prevent her thoughts drifting in that direction.
What if there was no Mr Bering? Could there be a chance for them? Likely not in London but perhaps a suburb, where there was less pressure on them to appear amongst the populace and they could pass themselves off as closer friends who were simply passed the point of marriage; a spinster and a widow. A country house possibly? Somewhere they could embrace by the fire and not concern themselves with nosy passers-by. Winters would see them always seeking one another out to battle the cold unless her ingenuity and engineering skills could find new ways to heat their home. Their lives might have to be simple and recluse but they could be happy... together.
She would miss the Warehouse of course. Could she still track curiosities while tied to a family? Be an agent? What would Myka think to the world of hidden magic? Agents were permitted to bring one person into their confidence. Would she be intrigued, excited, afraid? Would she want Helena to give it all up or be happy to let her pursue the life she loved?
It was as the carriage turned into the street where her grandparents lived and the carriage rocked over a particularly large bump that HG realised she was at it again; letting her mind drift off at an impossible tangent, ignoring the reality that was staring her in the face.
Utterly ridiculous. You're behaving like one of those ingénues at court when faced with a prospective husband; simpering and brainless.
"Helena," Mrs Wells' voice broke through the inventor's self-admonishment. "I trust that this mood you're in will have dissipated by the time we are inside. Regardless of how your grandmother allows you to behave, I will not tolerate you embarrassing this family. Do I make myself clear?"
"Your concern is as overwhelming as ever, Mother." Helena rolled her eyes in Charles' direction, not wanting to give Genevieve reason to poke at her further. "Rest assured that I shall endeavour to respond to others with the manner in which I am addressed." In other words, she thought to herself. I will not sit quietly by while your acquaintances try to insult me.
They pulled up and the footman helped the two women down, stopping for a brief word with Mrs Wells before stepping back up into the cab and driving away. Herbert, the butler, greeted them at the door and led them to where their party was gathered. Seeing the people already congregated, Helena knew that they were the last ones to arrive, as her mother had no doubt planned. Genevieve Wells was never late for an appointment but where possible, she would time her entrance for the best possible effect, allowing the guests already mingling to notice her.
Without conscious thought, HG sought out the American, her eyes barely needing time before they landed on a head of tamed curls and met forest green. She felt a flush fill her cheeks and turned away, her heart pounding its new rhythm.
Had Myka been looking out for her? She almost smiled and then immediately clamped down on the idea, willing the thought away.
She watched through her peripheral vision as the tall woman graciously excused herself from her conversation with Mrs Pickering and squared her shoulders for the last introductions of the evening. HG instantly wished that she could see what Myka was thinking. How did she feel about meeting the woman who had insisted on this evening? Who would have preferred to see her left on the street?
After fond greetings to their grandchildren, the hosts turned their attention to their temporary resident and her daughter, who were both now standing unobtrusively beside them.
"As you no doubt have noticed," Rupert began to his son's wife, his jovial edge tempered just enough to make him sound friendly but not excessively so. "We have two lovely new guests with us this evening. Allow me to introduce to you, Mrs Myka Bering and her daughter, Miss Christina Bering. Mrs Bering, these are my daughter-in-law Mrs Genevieve Wells, my grandson Mr Charles Wells and my granddaughter, who you've already met, Miss Helena Wells."
Genevieve nodded her thanks to Rupert and the older couple left them to converse as they saw to their other guests. There was a moment of uncertainty before Mrs Wells turned her attention on Myka. "Mrs Being, I understand from my daughter that your husband encountered some sort of problem with his business associates abroad and that this is the reason for his not accompanying you here."
"Mother," Helena hissed. "Is interrogating Mrs Being really necessary?"
"Our family's welfare rests on the success of your grandfather, father and brother's businesses. We should feel duty bound to ensure that their contacts remain reputable. Do you not agree?" Her sharp gaze pinned Helena to the spot, her expression warning her daughter not to interfere. "Surely you understand my concern, Mrs Bering?"
"Yes Ma'am," Myka responded with a forced air of fearlessness. "We were delayed by gendarmes at Calais. A mistranslation caused an incident at the factory and the authorities were called in. My George was asked to help untangle the situation and felt obligated to go. As it means so much to Mr Wells' business, he sent me ahead to convey his sincerest apologies and assurances that his interests are being taken care of." She maintained her facade until Mrs Wells nodded and seemed to accept the lie.
"He feels that you are adequately qualified to conduct his business affairs?" the stern Victorian pushed.
"Yes Ma'am, he trusts that I can keep correspondences moving until his return," Myka continued, hating the lie as it left her mouth and left a frown on the inventor's forehead.
Nodding as if she was satisfied for now, Genevieve brought the conversation to an end. "His decisive action does you credit, Mrs Bering."
"Thank you, Ma'am. You are very gracious." Myka inclined her head, ostensibly as a sign of respect but in reality, she just needed a second without seeing that hard gaze. Realising again that her fiancée had spent the early part of her life under the pressure of this woman's inflexible expectations, she felt a surge of fondness and respect for Helena.
Rupert coughed to gain their attention and announced that dinner would be served momentarily in the dining room. He approached Mrs Pickering, escorting her as his wife followed with Mr Pickering. The remaining guests followed with Myka and Christina bringing up the rear, behind the sour faced young man.
At opposite ends of the table sat the elder Mr and Mrs Wells. To Rupert's left, Mrs Pickering and her husband, followed by Clarence Spencer, Mrs Spenser and Mr Spenser. To his right, Charles, Mrs Genevieve Wells, Helena, Myka and finally Christina. The moment they were all settled and a smattering of polite small talk began around the table, servants began to appear with the first course.
About five minutes into the meal, Christina realised Polly had been right about her estimation of the evening's events. As if from a previous life, memories of dinners at her grandparents' sprang to mind and reminded her of long, tedious evenings spent in their company. She and her Mummy were never invited with other guests around; dinners were always family affairs, but nevertheless, they were tense and seemingly never ending. She had much preferred the gatherings at Uncle Charles' when Mummy was home.
Christina looked up at her Mama and couldn't help but notice how stiffly she held herself. She felt bad for her curly-haired mother but at the same time, she was relieved that she wasn't the only one feeling out of place. Without thinking, she put a hand of the adult's elbow, drawing her attention.
Myka leant towards her daughter, automatically giving the eight-year-old her undivided attention. "Christina?" she prompted.
"We will be alright, Mama," the girl reassured the adult, her voice just above a whisper.
Smiling at her daughter's bravery and concern, the American squeezed the eight-year-old's hand gently. Though she wanted to offer more in the way of comfort, somehow she knew that this wasn't a conversation they could have in present company. "Of course," she said simply, hoping that the girl would listen to her non-verbal communication just as closely as her words.
Returning her attention to the table, the time-traveller was relieved to see that no one other than Eleanor appeared to have noticed the brief exchange with her daughter. Most attention focussed at the other end of the table, where Rupert was in mid-flow with his grandson.
Preferring only to speak when spoken to, Myka remained fairly quiet throughout the meal. Eleanor had a knack for rescuing her from awkward questions and Helena ran interference with her mother, giving Genevieve a constant target for her endless stream of back-handed complements. On the surface, it was a congenial meal, with conversation that by design never drifted to uncomfortable topics, but beneath the polite smiles and comments about the weather was an undercurrent of concealed disapproval.
It wasn't until they returned to the drawing room and the men disappeared with Rupert that the reason for that tension reared its ugly head. Apparently, Mrs Spenser was a childhood friend of Mrs Genevieve Wells and was present at the latter's request. The moment Mrs Spenser opened the subject of husbands and inappropriate behaviour with Helena, Myka knew that she'd made the right decision to send Christina off to the nursery to play for a short time before bed.
"Eligible young men will not remain available to a woman with a reputation for being disagreeable, Miss Wells. I dread to think what your poor mother suffers in trying to find you a match." Mrs Spenser had cornered Helena the moment the men were gone and, even from across the room, Myka could see HG's jaw clench with the effort to keep her temper in check. "My son wants a wife who will care for him and look out for his best interests while he keeps the family estate. I've no doubt that other mothers want the same for their sons. If you have any sense, you will take pains to curb your wild behaviour and secure a husband while you are still attractive enough to draw a man's attention. Four and twenty is after all not far from the point of no return and I'm sure you don't wish to remain a burden to your parents or your poor brother."
Feeling as if smoke may as well be pouring from her ears, HG tried to breathe through her anger. Does she ever come up for air? Her inner voice asked in the midst of the lecture. The expression of superiority on Mrs Spenser's face, coupled with the warning glares from her mother and she remained on edge. She was certain that it was only the compassion behind soft, green eyes that kept her from exploding. "With respect, I do not share the view that a woman must be married to consider herself secure or successful. There are people, movements within society, who are working with the aim of challenging those views and I say it's about time."
"Helena," Genevieve's voice cut through the chatter, pulling Eleanor and Mrs Pickering's attention from their stories of old. "We can manage quite well without the politics I think."
"I believe I am entitled to a say in my own affairs," HG shot back.
A pregnant pause broke when Mrs Spenser decided to pull the young American into the conversation. "What is your opinion on the matter, Mrs Bering? You must see the practicalities of marriage. Tell Miss Wells how she would be better off giving up all this nonsense and settling down with a nice young man. She could be running her own house and have children of her own within a year or two," she added as if that sealed the deal.
Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, Myka wracked her brain to come up with something that would pacify this woman without agreeing with her. "I understand Miss Wells' feeling on the subject. We don't all find happiness in the same goals," she began, catching a hint of gratitude behind familiar eyes. Thinking of home, she continued. "I was lucky to fall in love with someone who wants to listen to my opinions and, for the most part, shares my views. We are not just partners in marriage; we are partners in life." Without saying anything for or against Helena needing to surrender to convention, Myka hoped that she had said enough to be exempt from further comment.
Both older women frowned at the response but they did allow the topic did slide haltingly into a general chitchat about children and then somehow onto the latest fashions at court. Myka managed to manoeuvre herself closer to Eleanor and noticed Helena do the same while her mother conspired with Mrs Spenser across the room.
HG remained subdued throughout the remainder of the evening, her gaze focussed inward, bar the occasional glance at the curly-haired mother to be.
Without needing to be a mind-reader, Myka knew that Helena's thoughts were processing her words and her seemingly perfect relationship with her husband, who the inventor must now believe her to be in love with. She felt horrible for being the one to put that look on her face but perhaps it was for the best. After all, she couldn't actually let her know the truth, could she?
