CITY oF LIGHT

by CTCORBITT

When Booker DeWitt brought the girl back to New York City, he'd planned a one way trip...there would be no more tears and no more lighthouses. Still, a life with Elizabeth would surely be worth it..even considering THAT sticky detail. But when the Morello Mob comes calling at 108 Bowery, the pair discover that even in the real world there is ALWAYS one more lighthouse.

11. To the Nines

11. To the Nines - Saturday, August 3rd, 1912

"I am so excited for tonight and I'll tell you both...Robert cannot wait to meet you!" Resplendent in a dark green gown, Katharine Johnson was already dressed for the evening when we arrived at the door of 327 Lexington, the woman's hair caught in fiery brilliance by the westering sun. As Oscar climbed the stairs behind us from with our meagre luggage, our hostess looked upon her guests with glee. "He is in our dressing room upstairs and shall be down shortly. Thank you so very much, Oscar..." She continued, offering with outstretched hand entry into her home. "We shall be an hour preparing. Do have the car ready and waiting for the ride over to the Morgan Mansion...we would hate to be late!"

Despite her gaiety I could see strain upon Katharine's face...not unhappiness, but worry betrayed by a subtle glance to the grandfather clock patiently ticking away at the end of the red-carpeted hall. For whatever reason Elizabeth hadn't caught on, for she looked over at me grinning ear to ear, perhaps as excited about anything as I'd seen her since we'd escaped the Bowery.

Down the hallway I heard a creaking, saw a man descending the similarly carpeted stair behind our hostess. Dressed in a tuxedo, his vest was white and pressed so tightly it looked like steel plate beneath his black-tailed jacket and bow tie. Hands clasped, Katharine turned back to greet him. "And here is my husband now. Robert, might I introduce Mr. Booker DeWitt and his charge, Miss Elizabeth Comstock. Miss Comstock is the new scientist Niki has been so excited about."

"Robert Johnson." He said, extending his hand without much of a smile. As in his pictures he was surprisingly older than his wife, fully gray where she had the vaguest hints. Still, with his immaculately trimmed beard and mustache, high cheeks and focused eyes, he was regal if dour. With fingertip he pressed his round spectacles back upon the bridge of his nose. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. DeWitt."

"Likewise." I answered.

Having delivered a firm handshake, he turned to Elizabeth, took her hand and donated a kiss to its back. "Enchanted, Miss Comstock. So unusual to find a lady in such a field, not since Madame Curie have I heard of such. And so young."

"A great pleasure to meet you also, Sir." Again she smiled at me. I had half a suspicion she'd wanted to curtsy.

Giddily Mrs. Johnson took Elizabeth in arm, hustling her toward the stairs. "Gentlemen, we shall retire upstairs to prepare for the evening's festivities. Robert...could you show Mr. DeWitt to the Lexington side guest rooms? I've taken the liberty of hanging his tuxedo on the coat rack just inside the door upon the right, along with his shirt and shoes. You'll find your cufflinks upon the dresser!"

"Of course." He said. For a moment Elizabeth had turned to look at me, Katharine her husband. The women glanced at one another, tittered and were off.

"So..." Johnson said, tugging with this thumbs and fingers his black jacket downward. "Katharine informs me through that you are 'Tesla's new man,' and that also you were also in the Army?"

"For a fair shake of years."

As we passed through the second sitting room I could see that it had aside, from its dark red chairs and sofa, an excellent view of the cars passing by in the street below. Numerous pictures hung the walls, photographs of them when they were younger...daguerreotypes, really, alongside newer portraits of them like I'd seen in the halls. Prominently one of a young woman hung nearby, not Katharine but resembling her, alongside that of a handsome man of dark hair, his wife and children. "Our daughter, Agnes." Johnson enlightened. "And our son, Owen. He is quite the writer in his own right, you know."

"Writer in his own right? Is that what you do, Mr. Johnson? Many pardons...our introduction to your wife the other day was a whirlwind and we've not had the pleasure to learn much about you."

One of the doors from the salon was open, a door which led to a large bedroom with a bath off to its side. Like the sitting room the bedchamber sported a solid view of the streets below, cars making their way north and south and east and west. As we entered my tuxedo hung upon a dark wooden coatrack, on the bed ten feet away matching pants, white shirt, cummerbund and other accessories. The black top hat I'd selected the day before watched prominently over them.

"Yes, in fact I do claim that, although professionally I am an editor. Century Magazine. I would be pleased if you'd heard of it."

Deciding whether to take my chances with a lie or reveal my lack of culture, I thought of Elizabeth and chose the latter. "Unfortunately, I've not had the pleasure. By your association with Mr. Tesla and the title, I garner you cover progressive topics?"

"An excellent manner of stating our interests..." He said, gesturing to the garments. "Although I do worry my efforts at advertising unsuccessful considering your unfamiliarity with of our publication. I shall take that as incentive to redouble them."

"I wouldn't take that as an insult, Mr. Johnson. I would say it's more like I haven't had the time for literary distractions."

His gaze narrowed. "I would not find that surprising. No insult intended either, but Katharine and I, we have known many military men in our lives...several of whom we consider close friends. I would say a healthy portion have not had spare capacity for idle reading…the military man lives a busy life. As I have told them nearly to a man, over my years the stars were not kind for me in that manner, and I regret never having served. Do you mind me asking where you campaigned?"

Taking suit in hand, I lay the jacket out upon the bed and looked over shoulder his way. "The Philippines, mostly.

He shook his head. "Terrible business, that. Were you enlisted at the outbreak of the war?"

"You mean when Hearst blew up the Maine?"

For a moment he hesitated. For some such flippancy over important matters carried the tang of blasphemy. I'd thrown it out to gauge him...to know what kind of company we'd keep for the evening. "Well...I shall leave you to dress. When you are done, I shall be waiting in the Salon with refreshments."

As I dressed I wondered if I'd poked too far and too fast, but decided what was done was done. Fifteen minutes later, slipping my cufflinks into white cuffs, I emerged to find Robert alone in the room, ensconced in one of the plush leather chairs. Legs crossed, he was reading the third of a small stack of letters, sampling a sniffer in hand. At my arrival he looked my way and set the glass upon a coaster on the table beside him. "Remarkable." He said, smile thin, barely visible between the fading gray of his mustache and beard. He lent his weight to the chair's armrest and stood, walking to a table with several decanters and bottles upon it. "A spot of Brandy to start the evening?"

As he tipped it toward me I looked at that bottle for a long minute, tasting the liquor in my mouth. It was the first time in weeks I'd thought about booze...ever since we'd come back. Memories came now...memories of an alley years ago. Memories of Laslowe, or whoever he'd been...taking her. "No, but thank you." I managed with restraint. "I'm...trying to stop."

"Well, if not, then, perhaps a seat?" With a flourish he offered me a chair, and I obliged him by taking it. "Katharine and Miss Comstock will likely be some time yet in completing their task. Luckily we have much to discuss. Earlier you were telling me about your service? I believe a hint of politics slipped in?"

Again I found myself looking at the Brandy. "I came late to the war. Missed the big 'victory' party in Manila. Got there just in time with the First Kansas for the meat grinder.

"Water?" Johnson asked, to which I nodded. "I take it that you do not have kind words to say about our involvement there?"

As he poured me a tall glass of icy water I produced a grim smile, thoughts slipping back to the years before Elizabeth. Before the Pinkertons. "If you consider lies, betrayal and subjugation 'service,' sure...I have some kind words to say. Now the Philippines are an obedient little colony just like all of the Dutch East Indies, or the European concessions on the Chinese coastline."

"Before he died two years ago, a good friend of mine was Samuel Clemens. You might know him.

"Samuel Clemens? You mean Mark Twain?"

"The same, God rest his soul. You are not the only man to harbor such sympathies...in fact a great many men in Congress and otherwise did."

"Yeah…I read some of his writings on the matter. McKinley didn't seem to agree with him." I answered. "Nor Roosevelt…hell, Roosevelt practically started the whole thing, from what I hear tell."

Johnson nodded, looking at the caramel liquor in his glass. "Samuel and I talked long hours as to how and why we stumbled into that mess."

Remembering the burned-out villages and countryside of corpses, the crack of my Springfield in hand, 'mess' didn't begin to describe it. "It wasn't about the Philippines. It was about China. Hell, a hundred years from now it will still be about China."

"China? Despite what Mr. Hearst's papers proclaim, the Middle Kingdom is hardly a threat. It's partitioned...torn to tatters by the European powers, each with their coastal concessions."

"It wasn't the threat from the Chinese that had Washington worried. Had we not stood our ground, the same fate would have come to the P.I. as China...and a finer coaling station and aerodrome in the western Pacific one could not find." They weren't my words, only ones I'd heard from Otis. Staring at my glass, I remembered how reasonable they'd sounded at the time…before we'd come onshore in Manila Bay and the killing had started. Reason didn't sound so reasonable after the thousands of dead…a mutual massacre that had made Wounded Knee seem like an orgy of altruism. "I guess the Katipunan didn't get the memo about our 'good intentions'." I took a drink, wishing I'd accepted the Brandy instead.

#

"Well, what do you think?" Katharine said hands before her, almost as if she were offering a prayer. She'd spent the last hour working with my hair, and as I sat before her with the light casting in from the windows I developed the distinct impression this was what having an actual mother must have felt like. As I stared back into the mirror my locks were pulled back into a regal bun. To the sides of my face tendrils of stray hair fell, twisted and ephemeral, while my shoulders were mostly bare above a waist hugging blue gown dotted with studs of brilliant glass. I'd never had anyone help me dress before, not since I'd been a child…and that wasn't the same.

"It's beautiful..." I answered, feeling like a princess from a fairy tale. "Thank you so much, not just for your care, Misses Johnson, but your hospitality in general. I...I don't believe I've ever had one treat me so kindly."

"Please, Elizabeth...do call me Katharine." She said earnestly, though as she spoke the smile upon her face faltered. Realizing her emotion laid bare, she turned to dally with a pair of long white gloves from her dresser top.

"Mrs...Katharine...are you well?"

"I'm...sorry, Elizabeth." She wiped her eyes and turned, handing me the gloves. In my hands they felt light and cool, and I realized they were of silk. When first we'd met she'd captured briefly Booker's attention and I'd come to terms she was a beautiful woman. The attention she'd stolen from him had made me self-conscious...even jealous. I didn't feel that now.

"Katharine..." I said, placing my hand upon her shoulder. "Please, what is the matter?"

"Please pay me no mind." She answered, attempting to comport herself. "Seeing you in the gown, the mirror...it reminded me of Owen's wife, Mary."

"Owen is your son, is he not?" Remembering the pictures downstairs upon the walls.

"Yes. Mary...she passed away this last year. They lived in Paris and did not get to visit us often. Agnes and I...have not been on good terms, so this is no longer something I..." She stopped and for the moment seemed distraught. "As I said the other day…the house has grown...quieter...over the years." With her hand she reached out, brushing my cheek. "And it has been some time since we had interesting young guests."

I'd not thought of Booker as being overly young and wondered if she were prying. "You...suspect me and Mr. DeWitt of being...involved?" I stated without looking.

"I…would not blame you..." She said, looking out the window into the street. "He is a handsome man, perhaps older than many of my of my generation would accept for you but, then again, Robert is older. What can I say?"

"The observation had not escaped me." I said, slipping one of the gloves on hand, followed by the other. "I hope that doesn't bother you. We...cannot help who we fall in love with, can we?"

"No." She said quietly, and in her silence I heard volumes. She closed her eyes before a nervous laugh escaped her lips. "The matter is that Robert is...older...though not so far apart. He is but three years."

"Three...years?"

"You know, when I was your age I would have thought a failure to show one's years a blessing. Now when I attend parties I feel my former friend's looks…see them talking about Robert and me. Mostly me. I feel if somehow I've done something dreadful. She put a happy face on. "Let us finish you up."

Into her jewelry case she foraged, removing from its polished teak two glistening diamond earrings. They were beautiful and as she brought them before me they caught the evening sun like fire, each stone hanging from silver studs by flashing silver chains. "Oh, dear."

"What...what is it?" I asked, glancing around for her eyes had widened in surprise.

"You've not had your ears pierced."

"Ears...pierced?" I said, uncertain of her meaning but finding the sound of it awful.

"If I had only noticed that yesterday...my sincerest apologies. Perhaps I can find some earrings with clips, or..." She turned and looked at me. "How is it possible that a young lady of your refinement cannot have her ears pierced?"

Sheepishly I looked to her from under my eyebrows. "I had an austere upbringing."

Thwarted by my shortcoming, she set them back into her case and produced a matching diamond necklace. Like the earrings it was beautiful. "Perhaps we should set the choker aside for the evening. The necklace would clash."

I found my fingertips guarding it. "Katharine, the earrings and necklace are lovely, it's just that...that Mr. DeWitt bought this for me when we were at a low moment. I...couldn't bear to be without it."

Seeing my face, Katharine smiled and placed the jewels aside. With my hands in hers she sat me upon the side of the bed. "Does he know how you feel?" Quietly I nodded. Her eyes were sympathetic but the emotion inside I found them hard to look at. Insight was always followed by questions. "Might I ask how he came into your family's employee?"

"My Mother...died when I was born. And my Father...an untimely death, also. Mr. DeWitt has been my guardian practically ever since..." I paused, lying in the truth. "Ever since I've been in this world."

"I am so terribly sorry you've lived through such tragedy." She looked away and into the mirror. "Years ago...when Agnes was courted by an older man I...I did not have the kindest words for her. Oddly time and life changes one's impressions." She sighed deeply before turning back to me. "I would tell you to follow your happiness. If he is your man, then that is what God has intended." Without releasing my hands she rose, hauling up to look me over a final time. "So, the choker it is. Let us see how he reacts to this!"

"Robert, Mr. DeWitt..." She called, leading me from the room into the hall.

"Yes, Dear?" Her husband's voice answered. She motioned for me to remain, hurriedly carrying down the stair, turning at its base with clasped hands and a grin. "Gentlemen, may I introduce Miss Elizabeth Comstock."

Hesitantly I took the handrail in one hand, the hem of my dress in the other. Halfway down the steps I stopped, seeing Mr. Johnson, round glass in hand, while beside him Booker and Katharine looked on. Dressed in tailed jacket, black pants, and bow tie beneath his white vest, both men wore spotless white shirts, tiny gold buttons adorning their center. In his tuxedo Booker cut a devilishly handsome figure, eyes wide and brow furrowed at my appearance, nose straight and sleek. His jaw was hanging slightly and from his glass I saw water spill before he caught it.

"Elizabeth..." He whispered.

Having achieved my objective, I descended the remainder of the stair and stopped before them. "Good evening, Mr. Johnson." I said before turning to Booker with a subdued little smile. "Good evening, Mr. DeWitt."

"What a vision." Robert Johnson said, holding his glass up toward me before taking a sip. "Almost as lovely as my Katharine."

"Oh, Robert!" She said, turning embarrassed with hand upon chest. She laughed and looked to me and the other man dressed to the nines. "You do look quite the couple."

Booker took my hand. "You look radiant, Miss Comstock." Raising its back to his lips while still looking into my eyes, he kissed it.

"As do you, Mr. DeWitt."

"It is about time." Katharine said. "I'll see if the car is waiting and we shall be off. "Nora? Are you in earshot?"

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson. What do you require?"

"Only that we are off for the evening and shall not be back until later, Dear. Could you please have the Lexington guest room and Owen's room beds turned down and a spot of water at the nightstand? I am thinking we shall have guests tonight."

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson. You can count on me."

"Wonderful." She said before heading to the front door. "Oscar is waiting. Good." She slipped past us into the sitting room, coming back with a shawl about her shoulders. Stopping before us, she let out a huff of relief and looked to her husband.

He downed his Brandy and offered the lady his arm. "Very well then. Let us be off!"

#

In the Johnson's elegant chariot Oscar drove us south on Lexington then west on 36th two blocks. There along the side of the road and set against the evening illumination of New York's skyline rose a three story brownstone, fronted by a pair of cupolas. Amid them a central stone stair led upward along a shallow, grassy slope to a rectangular portico, a landing showcasing great double doors bracketed by two pair of Greek columns. Above it watched the windows of a study, blinds half drawn such that the warmth light spilled out and we could see the silhouettes of people. All about the townhouse's illuminated flanks and windows vines spread upward, almost encasing the place, while below and around that surrounding lawn a wrought iron fence in the pattern of diamond grille set the estate off from the sidewalk.

"So very elegant." Elizabeth observed as the valets approached from both sides, opening the vehicle's doors for us. I stepped out and took Elizabeth's hand while on the curb side Robert did the same for Katharine. "So this is it?"

"Indeed." Robert said. "Morgan House, and just up Madison past the garden...that cavernous residence..." He pointed. "That is the home of his son, Jack, a twin to his father if ever I've seen one. I've been here a time or two and last I heard tell from Mr. Edison, Pierpont acquired it in the early 80s...all in all, the compound has forty-five rooms including twelve bathrooms...should you need one." To me Elizabeth smirked and giggled.

Having thanked Oscar, Johnson's wife considered her husband and straightened herself. With our ladies on arm, Robert and I headed up the steps. Arriving at the double doors I could hear music, while a tuxedoed man stood to either side stood by to open the portals. The doors parted to reveal the lavish length of a grand foyer, music louder and spilling out onto the street. Dozens milled within, couples sipping cocktails, conversing upon a red carpet laid down the center of a polished, cut stone floor. Along the walls stood small pedestals and statues, upon the walls sashed red curtains, curtains whose drawn tassels framed a dozen paintings.

At our entry a doorman nodded politely and gestured to a guest book which Robert signed, followed by me. As he took Katharine's arm anew, an older lady approached, dressed in a fine if matronly gray gown adorned by a brocade of flowers. I had seen her before...on the First Lady.

"Booker?" Elizabeth whispered and I realized the blood must have drained from my face." What...what is it?"

"I..."

"Robert, Katharine...oh, do thank you for coming!" She said, taking Robert's free hand.

"Thank you for your invitation, Frances." Katharine replied with a smile. "I know you don't get into the City that often and it was wonderful to hear you'd be visiting."

"Well, you know Pierpont. So many matters to attend to all of the time. With his dealings in Europe it's not just the City we don't made it into often." Glancing over her shoulder she grinned. "There he is now. Pierpont, do come over here, Dear."

At her summons the man glanced our way and again I froze, remembering him too from the railings of the First Lady as we'd pushed east out over Long Island Sound. Cigar in hand he seemed to sigh, rolled his eyes and slipped through grand double doors down the hallway. "I...believe he must not have heard me." She said, the poor woman attempting to paper over her embarrassment. "Might I ask who this dapper young man and his lady are?"

"Frances..." Katharine said still with a smile. "May I introduce Miss Elizabeth Comstock? She is an acquaintance of Mr. Tesla's and a new researcher at Wardenclyffe. This gentleman..." She said, turning to me with an appreciative smile. "Is Mr. DeWitt. Her evening's accompaniment."

"And your profession, if I might ask?" Frances asked.

"That of security and arms." I answered stoically. "Miss Comstock's, err, father, retained me to ensure the lady's safety, seeing as we're from...Columbia." In one of those odd moments amidst a muttering crowd a lull suddenly took place, and I found no one but me speaking and Robert, Katharine, Frances and Elizabeth looking on. "Missouri."

"Missouri, then?" She smiled perfunctorily and looked to my girl then the Johnsons. "Well, many of our dinner guests have already arrived, and as you know there will be dancing afterward for those who wish to partake, perhaps even some singing." Behind us the doors opened anew and a top-hatted man and his middle aged wife entered. "Daniel, Lutetia..." She said, clasping hands together. "How lovely of you to make it."

Katharine shrugged and Robert chuckled, and as the evening's hostess greeted her new guests we made our way through the hall. "So, now what do we do?" Elizabeth whispered, and though she was smiling it was that nervous smile I'd noticed of her in crowds.

"Hey, you're okay." I said, squeezing her upper arm and hand in mine.

"They're all...looking at me." She said, angst troubling her words. From corners of eyes I could see lingering glances...from the women envy as we passed.

"That's because you're very much worth looking at." I said.

She didn't look at me but her smile grew...felt her fiddling with my hand to gain better purchase. Morgan, Astor, White, King, Westinghouse, Tesla...those names and many more came in a whirlwind as the Johnsons introduced us one by one to the prominent and mighty of New York City. In all I counted twenty people, the men like Robert and I in black coattails, hats left in the coatroom near the door, the ladies all in fine gowns. We exchanged small talk for about an hour, the men interested in what I did and the women in where Elizabeth had gotten her gown. As the topics had begun to drift towards details I was certain neither Elizabeth nor I were comfortable with, a dinner chime rang. One by one the Ladies and their Gentlemen began to file into the massive dining hall of the Banking King.

The chamber looked out through three great windows onto the back garden, the walls trimmed with wooden panels of mahogany. Up its center and beneath hanging chandeliers of untold intricacy ran a long table fifty feet in length, enough for all of Morgan's guests to sit comfortably. And comfortable our seats were, red backed leather and of the finest wood to match the wall panels. Amidst the placements of fine china neatly set at every seat rose candelabras, four large candles ensconced in glass atop golden candlesticks, while atop each a singular candle stood watch. Flowers and decanters of wine and water dotted the table, along with multiple services of silverware.

Glancing at the table, Katharine nudged her husband and pointed towards two chairs two thirds down and away from the head. As we followed them to stand like the other assembling guests behind our seats, Elizabeth glanced toward the far doorway to see Morgan and two other gentleman, one tall and mustachioed and handsome, while the other one looked entirely like a younger version of Morgan himself. "Who are they?"

She'd whispered to me, but Katharine responded anyway. "That is Mr. John Jacob Astor." She said. "Not only one of Nikola's backers but a principal Board member of White Star. The man beside him and Mr. Morgan is Jack, Mr. Morgan's son. Oh..." She exclaimed, following the men like most others as they made their way along the window side of the room. Near the head of the table Tesla had appeared, chatting with grand gestures of his hands to a more portly, gray haired gentleman. "There is Nikola now!"

"We're rather far away." Elizabeth muttered, gazing jealously down the table towards Tesla and his benefactors.

"Unfortunately, my Dear...that is because in the grand scheme of things we are rather unimportant." Robert observed. "If we mind our manners, we might endeavor to alter that situation."

"Ladies and Gentlemen." Morgan said, turning from his discussion with his son and Astor to Tesla and the other man. "May I have your attention, please?" Despite our distance down the table, we were closer than we'd been in the Foyer and I could see the man clearly now as he addressed the table...a full head of hair salt and peppered, handlebar mustache and the most intense eyes. On the First Lady we'd talked, but with this man never. And something was different, and I couldn't place my finger on it until I realized not only was his hair not white, not only was his skin supple and nearly devoid of wrinkles, but that great purple, knobby nose I'd been so careful not to notice on the First Lady's railings was of the most normal color, unaffected by whatever ailment had cursed the man in that other world. He almost looked...young. Like his son. "Welcome friends of the White Star. I am so pleased that you could all make the evening, the first we have had together since the commencement of regular transatlantic service by Olympic and Titanic between our eastern seaboard aerodromes and destinations in the United Kingdom and upon the Continent." With us tonight I am pleased to introduce Mr. J. Bruce Ismay, President of the White Star Line… in just today on Olympic."

A gentle clapping rose from about the table, a thin, dark haired and mustachioed man rising to accept the accolades. After a moment of soaking it in he offered the gathering a modest clasp of his heart and took to his seat.

"And an auspicious evening it is, for our bookings are growing by the day and demand for safe aerial passage, pioneered by this company against all doom saying, proven the transport of the future." Again there was clapping and smiles all about the table. "Now Cunard, Holland and Hamburg America and, not to mention Orient are all trying to catch up with us and Norddeutscher Lloyd…the only shipping lines to have foreseen the coming revolution. They are saddled with fleets of seagoing dinosaurs while it is we who race across the heavens. Frances and I wish to thank you for your long hours and hard work, toil that over the last three years has made this dream our common reality. A dream that has inspired not only North America but the world!"

More clapping.

"Before our dinner begins, Jack and I would like to introduce our very special guest, whom you all know or have heard of…Mr. Nikola Tesla, the Wizard of Hudson Street, whose prowess in the ether has enabled our ventures not only to be safer but more profitable. Tonight, Nikola informs me he has a prodigious development that we lucky few shall be the first...in the world...to witness." At Morgan's words his wife looked to him and smiled, while about the table a tremor of excitement rose.

Beside me Katharine leaned in to whisper. "It is great privilege for people here in New York to see Niki's experiments, Mr. DeWitt...hundreds used to gather when he'd open his lab, just hoping for a glimpse of the magic within...and now something new...doubly so! I am so excited!"

"I hope I shall not dampen your anticipation, but that shall be after dinner and our adjournment for business. So, without further ado let the dinner service commence!" Precisely at the conclusion of Morgan's address, dozens of wait staff approached from behind, coming to our sides with salads drizzled with some variety of dark red dressing upon fine porcelain plates. I doubted Elizabeth had ever sampled such fare, and leaves were generally not to my taste. Uncertain as what to do, an antsy girl glanced silently to me for guidance. With a sigh I smirked, taking in that uncertain smile of her, the eyes and elegance of her hair and profile. To the accompaniment of the live ensemble in the adjacent salon, more plates were brought out and set upon the table, steaming filet mignon set beside the previous course. I couldn't deny it looked and smelled delicious. As the waiters charged our wine glasses, a quiet came over the table. Down at the head I saw Morgan once more stand and bow his head. "Let us pray." About the table the gathering bowed their heads. "Heavenly Father, we thank you for this meal we are about to receive and the fine company we share it in. Help us to remember the less fortunate in life, those who do not have what we are blessed with, and help us in our lives to provide them succor and shy from the temptations of avarice and plenty. In the name of our Blessed Savior we pray, Amen."

"Amen." We answered, a gentle murmur rising and resonating off the arches of the ceiling.

As our host sat and spoke a few words with the head waiter the dinner goers looked on. At the head of the table Morgan sized up his fare, a green salad which he smirked at and pushed aside for the main course. Subtly down the table many did the same, but not Elizabeth. "What is this?" She asked, genuinely puzzled with the smatter of crimson drowned green.

"Why it's a salad, my Dear." Robert said with amused curl of his mustache, eyes crinkling as he shared his humor with his wife. "A vegetable."

Elizabeth tried a tentative bite and chewed for a moment, eyes widening. "I think I like it."

"You don't let her out much, do you DeWitt?" Robert grinned. Amongst the gathered at the table neither of them had followed the host's lead. Taking after my girl, they began picking at the rabbit food.

"Now Robert, don't tease the poor man." Katharine giggled. "New York City ways are certainly new to the both of them."

"Where did you say you came from, again?" He asked.

"Columbia." His wife answered for us, causing the couple across from us to look up from their whispered conversation past the candelabra. For a moment I felt my heart skip and saw Elizabeth's eyes wide, hand frozen mid-air as she positioned a few shoots before her lips. "Missouri." Robert nodded and took a bite. The air came out of us both.

"Why, James is from Jefferson City...just down the river from Columbia." The lady in yellow gown said. "And your sister Mary lives there, doesn't she, Henry?

"Yes, she does, as did I when I was a child." From his meal the balding gentleman looked up, dabbing his mustachioed lips with a white napkin. "Henry Saltonstall." He said.

"Mr...Mr. DeWitt." Elizabeth said, her words hanging until I realized I'd frozen looking at the man and his wife. Morgan wasn't the only man I'd met on the First Lady.

With distinct unease I offered my hand." "Booker DeWitt."

Still struck by the happenstance, Elizabeth and I exchanged small talk for the next thirty minutes, the man elaborating about how he had been an early investor in White Star under Ismay and how he had been so delighted at Morgan's acquisition he'd sought a position of governance. From what I gathered, he was something of a legend in place we were supposedly from. He liked to talk and I let him.

As he bantered, I turned my eyes to the master of ceremonies. Morgan was physically large with massive shoulders, a gray handlebar mustache and eyes so dark and intense they seemed to spear you. As a light orange sherbet was brought out in small silver goblets, the twin doors to the foyer opened and Laslowe entered.

"Booker..." Elizabeth whispered, taking hold of my forearm. Saltonstall was still pontificating as the ginger came to Morgan's side at the head of the table, exchanging a word and short conversation. Casually Laslowe's eyes turned our way, exchanging a glance with us before taking his leave.

"Man, are you quite all right?" From my side I heard Saltonstall's voice and gathered my wits.

"Yes. My apologies." I looked at the iced cream, seeing from the corner of my eye a similarly dismayed Elizabeth. Taking the small silver spoon beside the dessert upon the tray, I shaved a curl of it off and took a bite. Having stifled our conversation, he and his wife took to their own confection, an awkward silence ensuing, but how could it not? I'd seen the man's scalp nailed to a bloody board in a place that didn't exist.

After some minutes and the rise of conversation Morgan surveyed the quorum. "Ladies and Gentlemen, in preparation for the evening's entertainment later, I would request that the Gentlemen present adjourn to my study. We have some topics as well as cigars to discuss and shall rejoin you presently." With smiles and adjustments to their jackets and ties the men about the table rose, donating small affections to their wives and assurances they'd soon return.

As I did the same, Elizabeth looked at me anxiously, glancing across the table apprehensively as the women she'd soon be dealing with. "Booker..."

"Don't worry about it, Elizabeth." I said, patting her white gloved appendage with a calming smile. I didn't like her being out of sight particularly with the otherworldly weirdness afoot, but knew for forms' sake I'd no choice...no men were staying behind. Though we barely knew her, I took comfort knowing that Katharine was. "You'll do just fine."

#

I'd worked for Robber Barons a time or two, but I'd never been in one of their houses. As we departed the dining hall for the foyer we made for a rotunda on the opposite end of the doors we'd earlier entered, treading the red carpet black and white checkered tile floors to a wide and winding circular marble stair. About the domed chamber paintings curved round its walls, in some places hung upon each other three and four high. I wasn't much on art, but recognized the works and circle of statuary upon the tile below as more than simple family heirlooms. "Nice finger-painting." I muttered to Johnson and Saltonstall.

"Indeed." Robert answered, eyes straying along with the other men around the works. "Van Gogh, Monet, Raphael, Rembrandt...I'd heard Mr. Morgan's collection to be impressive, but this surpasses the imagination."

"So he's loaded. That's what you're trying to tell me?"

Stepping foot on the red carpet of Morgan House's second story, Saltonstall answered. "Loaded would be an understatement."

Down a hallway we passed, more paintings and statuary lining its walls, walls draped red with curtains. Upon tables lay curious artifacts under glass. The place smelled of lacquered wood and burnt cash. Ahead Morgan and his son led our procession, chatting with Astor and Tesla as a doorman parted great oaken doors to a voluminous chamber of gold-trimmed red carpet. Inside sat two crimson chairs, plush along with a similarly clad sofa between them, bracketed by walls of books...books to the ceiling. Where there were no books paintings adorned its walls while in the corner a polished grandfather clock's golden hands marked the hours. Not far from it upon a long table a black shroud covered lengthwise a cylindrical shape.

"Welcome, Gentlemen, to my study, my sanctum sanctorum." The elder Morgan announced. "Feel free to solicit my men for refreshments. A selection of cigars are available, including my Meridianas Kohinoor. I hope you find them as enchanting as I." As he spoke his domo poured himself a glass of something dark and caramel, acquiring a roll of tobacco from a silver tray that seemed the side of a tree branch.

In tuxedos and white vests the 'friends of the White Star,' or whatever Morgan had called them, descended upon the booze and stogies. Whereas Robert deferred to only a sniffer of his favored Brandy, Saltonstall took both, holding in one hand his glass while admiring the massive cigar in the other. "I hear these called 'Hercules' Clubs.' He said with an appreciative shake. A full twelve inches long, the stogie looked like a small tree trunk. After admiring its girth, he allowed a white jacketed Negro servant to light him up. Alongside my companions I took a sniff and allowed the man to do the same. At the head of the room before an unlit fireplace Morgan was speaking with the mustachioed crowd, Astor and Ismay joining them to clink glasses together and drink. Smiling and laughing, Telsa seemed to be in his element.

"So, DeWitt…" Can't help but saying it, but you do seem familiar? When is the last time you've been in in Jefferson City?" Saltonstall asked, obviously enjoying his smoke. How had he recognized me?

"Not for some months."

Robert's brow furrowed and Saltonstall shook his head. "By golly, I don't ever forget a face, and I could swear…"

"Gentlemen, might I have your attention please?" The chamber's high ceilings had begun to collect our smoke, twin fans above stirring the miasma. As Morgan spoke the only sound in the room was their gyration. "I realize that many of you must have wondered of the letters Mr. Ismay sent you over the last month, and I regret to inform that I have been in a bit of a quandary as to how to respond. I'd not wished to call attention to the matter anymore than absolutely required, and felt our gathering tonight a moment we might satisfactorily broach the subject."

Looking to Astor, another graying gentleman and the Morgans in particular, Morgan's man Ismay proceeded to address us and the curve of puffing men. "As my letter intonated and you may have heard in the papers, there was an incident on Titanic midway across the North Atlantic on her way to London this past June 7th. I must request that you keep this matter in strictest confidence as our profitability would be adversely affected were news of such to slip into the public domain. Apparently one of the main fuel tanks was damaged during the inadvertent penetration of an electrical storm over the mid-Atlantic. This contributed to the outbreak of a fire onboard, which had it not been contained by the valiant efforts of Captain Smith and his men, might have left us ruined...not to mention hundreds of souls given over to the sea. Although the passengers were only vaguely aware of how close we came to disaster, the crew was very much so. As was I. As you might have heard, both I and Mr. Astor were onboard."

Mumbles rose from the entourage, some of them having ceased their inhalation at the news, cigars now producing sinuous billows in hand. "The newspapers both here and in Britain were keen to trumpet this matter, and of course we played it down. However, the truth was far darker than White Star has publically acknowledged. Over the last month our engineers in Belfast have been hard at work finding a method to reinforce and ground the tanks so that such an event might not recur in the future, however, as you well know the mechanics of airships are held in a tight balance...any weight added shall inevitably decrease the passengers we can carry. Fortunately another possibility has presented itself to resolve this malady, one we have Mr. Tesla to thank for. I am certain all here are aware of his contributions to Mr. Morgan's efforts? Nikola?"

Having eschewed cigar or libation, Tesla had seemed apprehensive during the man's speech, but with his name called the inventor nodded to two of Morgan's house men and strode forth. Into the midst of the crowd he established his presence, coming to a halt over what I now could clearly see to be a marked spot upon the floor. At his behest his two servants brought the black-shrouded object forth, placing it with some adjustment upon the spot. As if an omen had passed the quorum our circle fell back, bow tied men wondering at the covered mystery in their midst. "Gentlemen. As you know, I have been at the edge of scientific advancement for many years. When first I approached Mr. Westinghouse about the possibility of the plant at Niagara Falls, the possibility had already entered my mind of something even greater. Surely you have all heard of our developments at Wardenclyffe, and I am here today not only to confirm that we have been probing the possibility of electrical transmission via the ether, but that we have indeed perfected it." At Tesla's statement approval rose from the gathering, Ismay pleased. This was no shock to him. Looking back over his shoulder, Tesla nodded to Morgan's men and they withdrew the sheet of black silk, revealing a sleek, silver cylinder much like a cigar, adorned by two lengthy gondolas underneath. At its stern four great tail planes rose, top, bottom and to the sides, the uppermost red, emblazoned with the airship line's signature white star, while the bottom one carried the moniker RMS Olympic with alongside the red, white and blue of the Union Jack. Four egg-like engines adorned its sides.

"Lovely model." I heard one of the men say. "Pity it's the wrong flag." At his quip chuckles arose, though not from Ismay.

"It is indeed a model, George." Tesla answered, eyes aflame as he turned to Morgan's guests. "But as you shall soon see, oh so much more." Upon a pillow one of Morgan's men brought him an elegant black telephone trailing a cord upon the red carpet, its handset inlaid with gold filigree. Tesla picked up its handset and took it to his ear and mouth. "Hello, Operator? Please connect me with the Wardenclyffe laboratory, Shoreham 45750." On pins and needles the assemblage waited, Tesla reveling in the spotlight. He took the opportunity to smirk. "Alfred, Hans…it is Nikola and the time is now. The coordinates are as we agreed upon earlier." Walking to the model, he drew a sleek antenna with a small bulb upon its end from the curved cigar's top as the cord trailed behind him across the rug. "You may bring the generator house up to full capacity and commence transmission. I shall set the telephone aside for the moment, for safety's sake. Power the machine but hold it in reserve." Walking to Morgan's desk, he set the pillow down.

"Gentlemen…" He said. "Please stand back."

The lights flickered in the room and even, I noticed, out in the street. Upon the model the four motor pods I'd thought mere decoration began to whine and their propellers spin. A gasp arose from the crowd. Tesla nodded and Morgan's head domo dimmed the lights, to where we could see the zeppelin lit from within by dozens of small bulbs.

"You must have a battery in there." The man nearest Tesla said, his astonishment making his hair even whiter in the ghostly light.

"I assure you, Mr. Westinghouse, there is no battery within…the power you see before you is coming from Wardenclyffe, some fifty, even sixty miles away. The miniature motors are my design, all electric using the principles I have pioneered over the last twenty years. So, you see…" He continued, looking eye to eye with every man in the room until finally his gaze landed upon Morgan and his son. "We have succeeded. Not only are my designs for the Olympic classes' induction motors half the weight of the most efficient diesel designs available, but our vessels, relieved of the need to transport fuel, shall gain nearly 120,000 pounds of carrying capacity…enough to embark up to 63 additional passengers over and above the current 97! And all of this at only the minor cost of refitting fuel tankage for cabins. Of course there are details to be worked out, but one must concede that the margin of profitability is increased by 64 percent."

About the chamber mumbles erupted, men standing with their cigars depositing ash steadily upon the carpet, forgotten by their spellbound owners. Of them all Ismay and Astor were perhaps the most pleased, and in Ismay's gaze in particular I could see dollar signs. As his son and Ismay exchanged congratulatory handshakes, the elder Morgan stood like an iceberg amidst them all, unmoved. I saw him glance to Tesla with the barest nod of approval. Tesla grinned.

"I have made the most sincere recommendation to Mr. Morgan, and now you, members of the Board and our principal investors, that Majestic and Iconic be placed on hold for modifications to their drawings, and though we may perhaps wait six months to see their frames rigged the outcome is, as you might understand, well worth it. By now the gathered White Star men were not only excited but the volume of noise in the room was rising. One would have thought us at a Roman triumph. Tesla raised his hands. "My friends, my friends…" He said, prompting the gradual turn of attention from me with profit in their eyes. "There is but one final matter I wish to address. One…new development...that I wish to reveal." As he spoke Morgan's brow puzzled, the men grew quiet and I gained the feeling that none knew what he was speaking of…including the old man. "These developments, these miracles of which I have shown you…they are set in stone. They are known fact. But there is one surprise I have not yet discussed…not with any of you." He glanced to the Morgans and Ismay who were by now just as confounded as the rest of us.

"Over the last weeks, a refinement upon some of my earlier research has yielded...unanticipated results. Results I must say that I was entirely reluctant to bring to anyone's attention lest they prove illusory. But as of tonight…" His eyes happened my way. "I am here to announce that what is to come shall not only cement the airship industry in its relationship with ocean going liners, but render the latter utterly obsolete." He walked to the pillow and took the receiver in hand. "Hans? Yes. Please tell the men at the tower they have performed stupendously. Everyone is in entranced." For a moment he paused. "Yes, it is time. Proceed with the final demonstration." The room was silent now, men muttering to one another as again he took center stage amid the carpet. "Gentlemen, behold...the future of transportation…"

For a moment nothing happened, and as usual the mumble of the gathering began to increase. A shudder shook the desks and lamps and paintings around us, the chandeliers high above wavering with the sounds of tinkling crystal. The silver cigar of the Olympic was still humming with the sounds of its thumb sized motors, but as we stood about it a glow seemed to shimmer and above it a slender shear of fire tore at the air. Glacially the vessel rose off of its wooden mountings, lifting supernaturally five feet in the air to the gasps from Morgan and his men. Somewhere in the eerie dark a glass fell to the floor and shattered. Eyes were wide, caught somewhere between awe and horror as if they'd seen a ghost.

I certainly had.

At Morgan's side white haired Westinghouse stumbled, as did several of the attendees. Having riveted his audience's attention, Tesla confiscated a heavy glass paperweight from Morgan's desk, walking with eyes upon on the shocked men and to the hovering dirigible. "My friends…" He said, holding the glass ball before him. "It is not only the mastery of lighter than air flight that my researches have unlocked…" Into the air beside the hovering model he released the token, and rather than falling it tumbled, rolling, suspended midair like the leviathan. "We have bested gravity itself. No longer shall the sky be the realm of zeppelins and other such craft, but soon we shall have the power to loft the likes of Cunard's Lusitania into the breathless heights. Even whole cities. The age of the aerial leviathan has arrived!"

#

Down the stairs we headed afterward, the 'Friends of the White Star' to a man in stunned silence as we emerged into Morgan's ballroom. Having departed the steps I walked past the alcove and band into an opulent chamber to find Elizabeth with Robert and Katharine. Immediately her gleeful smile at my return soured. "What…what is it?" She said.

"Robert, Katharine, do you mind if I speak to Elizabeth privately for a moment?"

"Not at all." He answered, detecting my mood no momentary fluctuation.

"There is Madeline now, speaking with Frances. Perhaps we should say hello?" Katharine observed, attending our hostess and the woman I'd seen Astor with earlier.

"Good luck." Robert said, taking his wife's arm. "Enjoy mingling with the crust of New York society. We shan't be far."

"What on earth happened up there?" She asked with concern.

"What did you tell him?" I growled before glancing back from Morgan and his son who'd just entered the room, Tesla in their midst.

"I…" By her face I could tell she had told him something, for guilt was written all over it. "Booker, I couldn't help it. He was on the verge of a great epiphany on how to use the tear machine and I…I…"

"Elizabeth!" I said, taking her by the upper arm and hauling her off behind the curtains that hung around the ballroom's periphery. "I knew this was a bad idea. All of this. You gave him the lift cell!"

"No!" She exclaimed and brushed my hand away. "I did not! I…I only pointed out that he might orient the machine differently and build it onto a vessel!"

"Like an airship?" I was glaring at her now, and beneath that withering gaze she wouldn't look at me. "Tesla is brilliant! You think…you think he won't make the connection? He already has motors the size of the palm of my hand! He'll realize the way to do it, and then…"

"And then what?" She snapped back, brow suddenly tight, the girl's voice low but barely. "You said it yourself, Booker…there is no Comstock in this world. If there were, you'd be him and you certainly aren't the one lording over this city!" For a moment I stood there gobsmacked, the venom of her retort reverberating in my ears. She saw it too, and instantly her countenance changed. "Oh, please, Booker...that didn't come out like I meant it too!"

"You remember what we found in the Liftworks, don't you?" I sniped. "What Lutece invented and what your Father was getting ready to unleash? You've just done that here! The genie, Elizabeth…it's out of the bottle and hell is going to follow!"

"Having a lover's quarrel?" I heard from behind us, and together we turned to find Laslowe accoutered in tuxedo.

"What is your game here, Laslowe?" I said, putting myself between Morgan's man and her.

"No game, DeWitt…only to congratulate you again…both of you, on your successful repatriation." To Elizabeth he offered his hand. "My Dear, you look enchanting. Allow me to introduce myself, for we have not met. At least not in person. I am Robert Laslowe, President of Electrical Holdings, Incorporated…one of Mr. Morgan's enterprises and a close adviser to International Mercantile Marine's Board. Your father and I met last week. A pleasant experience, I might add…save for the gun."

Still flustered at our falling out, Elizabeth swallowed and offered the man her gloved hand. "A pleasure, Mr. Laslowe." She said with a troubled glance back toward me. "I have heard a great deal about you, and now we finally meet."

"And with much to discuss when time allows." Laslowe continued as he kissed it. "There is someone who would like to meet you."

"And who might that be?" I interjected with a growl.

Champaign glass in hand, Laslowe turned toward the fore of the chamber where the musicians were setting up for the evening's festivities, and Tesla's men an odd red carpet upon the chamber's floor. Morgan the elder was talking excitedly with Astor and his son, Tesla beside them making grand gestures with his hands over the newly emplaced fabric. As we looked Morgan's eyes rose to us unflinching. "Not you, I am afraid, DeWitt. Only the lady."

"You aren't going with him." I growled.

"Booker…" Elizabeth protested, removing herself from my protection. "You're being rude! It's not...not like he's going to steal me away in front of everyone!" I glared at them and turned to walk away, feet determined upon the polished tile of Morgan's dance floor. "Where are you going!?"

"Home." I hissed, uncaring as Elizabeth's face fell. "You can stay with the Johnsons tonight for all I care.

#

My heart was torn as Laslowe walked us toward the masters of the evening, and though I wanted to glance back at Booker I couldn't get over how boorish his behavior had been. My gaze remained ahead, even as great heaves churned my stomach.

"Ah, and here she is now, our laboratory's little songbird. "Miss Elizabeth Comstock, might I introduce Tesla RC's backers, Mr. John Jacob Astor and Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan." Before me were Tesla and three gentlemen, all dressed in black tuxedos, white vests and white bowties.

"Gentlemen." I said, feeling almost sick.

"My Dear…" Mr. Astor began. We were only just hearing from Mr. Tesla about the contributions you have made at Wardenclyffe over the last weeks. Such a prodigy. So, it is true that you have dealt with this electrical propagation theory of his?"

Not knowing what 'electrical propagation theory' was, I smiled. "Yes. I've had some experience with it, though my education has been somewhat non-traditional."

"Mother…" Morgan's son said from behind his father and Astor. "This is Mr. Tesla's female scientist we've heard about." From her conversation with a pair of other wives, the woman who had greeted us in the Foyer turned.

"Well, so she is! We met earlier at the entry."

"Where is your man?" The elder Morgan asked, prompting a palpable cringe by his wife. In hand he had a huge cigar, now half burnt but still smoldering.

"He is…over by the drapes, waiting." I answered, wishing to avoid those eyes. "The invitation to meet you was for me alone."

"That will not do, Tesla…" Astor said. The woman who'd been conversing with Morgan's wife approached. "Have him come visit for a moment. I'm certain Madeline would like to know who has won this young lady's heart."

Still mad and upset yet most especially chagrinned I'd been thrust into a social situation without him, I turned back to find Booker but against the curtains found him absent. "Are you quite all right?" I heard Misses Morgan's voice say.

I turned back to them, gloved hands clasped and produced again that smile, even as I wanted to cry. "He…does seem to have stepped out."

Undeterred by my obviously troubled state Tesla continued on, the light in his eyes electric. The dresses and trip to the Ladies' Mile made sense now, along with Katharine's tutelage. "Gentlemen, Miss Comstock has been instrumental the recent advancement I demonstrated upstairs. For purposes we discussed earlier, I should not go into any details here other than to say that aside from being uncannily attuned with this science, she is one of the hardest working individuals I have had the privilege of conspiring with." To me his eyes turned and he grinned, perhaps trying to lighten my demeanor. "Did I mention also she has the voice of an angel?" If it hadn't before, the rest of my blood drained from my face, though about us now the men and women gathered around and seemed delighted, in particular Frances Morgan and Madeline Astor. "Dear Elizabeth, would it be possible for you to sing for us tonight?"

Having seen the millionaires gathered at the front of the room, couples aside from Tesla's instigators had been approaching our congregation, and to our right even the band was listening. Save for a handful of outlying conversations, the chamber grew quiet. I swallowed, laughed nervously, and nearly fled for all of the eyes hanging upon my reply. "I…I suppose I could try."

#

I'd not known Morgan's place had a balcony beyond the curtains, but with Elizabeth choosing insanity over common sense I'd had enough. She'd be fine with Katharine and Robert I supposed, but as elbows on balustrade I looked out over Park Avenue to the steady stream of cars going by, I couldn't help but feel something had shifted between us. She was my daughter, and in the twenty years since I'd abandoned her nothing had changed that fact. She was bright and desirable, and as she'd so poignantly pointed out, I was not. I was, in fact...nothing.

I needed to let her fly.

Against the honks and toots of night time automobiles and the occasional whinny from a teamsters' charge I choked back regret, feeling as though I'd been kicked in the gut by one of those horses. And just when I thought I might hop those rails...disappear into the night lit streets and alleys for good, I heard a young woman's voice carry from the open French doors…a voice I'd heard before in an impossible tower.

Quando sono solo

Sogno all'orizzonte

E mancan le parole

Sì lo so che non c'è luce

In una stanza quando manca il sole

Se non ci sei tu con me, con me

At her words my ears perked and I stood up straight, turning to peer through the curtains into the warm glow of the ballroom. Between me and her the backs of darkly clad men and women in gowns imposed themselves. Moving slowly to the drapes, I drew them away to see the crowd about Morgan, his son and Tesla…saw their eyes looking to the brunette jewel amidst them.

Su le finestre

Mostra a tutti il mio cuore

Che hai acceso

Chiudi dentro me

La luce che

Hai incontrato per strada

Time to say goodbye

Paesi che non ho mai

Veduto e vissuto con te

Adesso si li vivrò

Con te partirò

Su navi per mari

Che, io lo so

No, no, non esistono più

It's time to say goodbye

By now I was certain it was her singing, finding myself drawn to the back of the crowd. As she continued I insinuated myself further into the dilettantes and their ladies, brushing through listening couples until coming eventually to the fore.

Quando sei lontana

sogno all'orizzonte

e mancan le parole,

e io sì lo so

che sei con me,

tu mia luna tu sei qui con me,

mio sole tu sei qui con me,

con me, con me, con me.

Time to say goodbye.

Paesi che non ho mai

veduto e vissuto con te,

adesso si li vivrò.

Con te partirò

su navi per mari

che, io lo so,

no, no, non esistono più,

con te io li rivivrò.

Con te partirò

su navi per mari

che, io lo so,

no, no, non esistono più,

con te io li rivivrò.

Con te partirò.

Io con te.

It was a song I'd never heard before, the language foreign with a bit of English she'd thrown in I'd suspected to betray its title. As she finished Elizabeth was subdued, demure and embarrassed for the ensuing silence. The band finished its impromptu accompaniment and set their instruments down. I stood looking at her with the rest, awestruck.

"Why…that was…lovely, Elizabeth." Morgan's wife finally said, and the crowd about beginning to clap then fervently. "And your Italian...every word with such...perfect pronunciation."

"Thank you, Misses Morgan." She said, obviously feeling the dozens of eyes upon her. "I take that as a high compliment coming from you."

Looking on with the rest of them, Fanny Morgan continued. "The only thing is, wherever did you learn that? I don't believe I have ever heard such a song sung before, even in Rome. And were it, it should be very popular."

"I...I composed it myself." Elizabeth answered, eyes searching the crowd in vain. "When I was younger it just sort of came to me. I guess I had a lot of time on my hands."

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