Chapter 2: Bis in die
"Twice in a day"
Rosalind's threatening promise left him in a better mood, far better than it was moments ago mulling over Fink's sudden and enigmatic inspiration. Any interaction with her, though, tended to have that affect.
"Stepping out again, Mr. Lutece?"
Adjusting his scarf, Robert smiled at their most recent hire, Gwendolyn Marlowe, who by her own account, impressed him enough for the job with her poise than her familiar connection to one of the city's Founders did. By his measure, she was not intimidated by himself or Rosalind, and she had a tolerance for the peculiarities of their work that most women—indeed most people-- of her class did not possess.
Still, she'd been in their employ for only a week, so the true measure of her character and assistance remained to be seen. Regardless, she was doing an excellent job in her duties as secretary.
"For the same thing, actually, yes," he told her.
"Are you sure it's not anything I can do for you?" she asked for a second time that afternoon.
"Quite positive, but thank-you so much."
Like earlier, he had to decline—not for lack of trust, but these errands were sensitive matters pertaining to their most recent project. Considering Fink's vigors were encroaching into similar territory, he had to remain cautious. He thought he caught disappointment tugging at the corner of her mouth, but he looked to the front door instead of confirming it. A woman distraught was not something he could stand for very long without rectifying the situation.
The biting, winter chill seemed to creep through the dense oaken doors, and he reconsidered Miss Marlowe's offer when he reached them.
"Well," Robert started, noticing at once her dark features brightening. "I suppose there is something you can do for me, Miss Marlowe."
She straightened in her chair behind the front desk. "Yes?"
"You may head home if you like. I know it's early, but the weather is quite disagreeable for the hour. I'd hate for you to be caught in it should it get worse."
"Oh." Glancing at the clock, she was surprised at the hour. "Thank-you. You're too kind."
Robert dismissed her praise saying, "I'm just being realistic." Truly he was. There was no exaggeration needed for what was only the right and logical action. And of course, he also did not want them all to be on the wrong side of her uncle. "Do you need an escort?"
She smiled demurely. "I'm sure my uncle would insist, but I am quite capable of getting home on my own. Again, thank-you for asking. I'll leave once I've tidied up."
"Very well," he acquiesced, tipping his hat to her. "I shall see you tomorrow then, Miss Marlowe. Have a pleasant evening."
"And you and Madame Lutece, sir."
With that, he braced himself for the sharp gust that greeted him when he opened the doors and stepped outside. There were many winters he'd experienced in his lifetime between New England and Britain, but none like Columbia. Upon further examination of that statement, he corrected that no one had until last year. He hadn't spent much time outdoors then, as he was still recovering from his travels—vocabulary courtesy of Rosalind.
Stepping off the porch, he wondered if all winters at this altitude would be so harsh. If that was the case, surely he might reconsider living here. He pulled the lapels of his frock tighter around himself, scoffing. And surely, the weather was affecting his mood. Miserable and cold as it was, the blizzards only last a few weeks in comparison to the agreeable rest of the year. He stepped lively in the snow now, for they were remarkable steps which no man could have taken were it not for a woman.
He smiled, the cold quickly seeping through his teeth. A truly remarkable woman.
She had broken the walls of reality to share her achievements, her Creation, her life with him. How could he ever leave it, this marvel that had the entire planet entranced? This Eden where he was their Adam, and Rosalind their Eve? There would be no Fall, not when it was they who offered the Fruit to God.
But that was quite enough of that, Robert chided himself. How easy it was to lapse into this religious folly, this illusory amazement the population held.
Quite easy, when every man and woman fawned over their cleverness.
'Good day, Mr. Lutece.' 'The finest seats in the house for you tonight, Mr. Lutece.' 'Might you enlighten us with your metier, Mr. Lutece?'
If he'd encountered them in his universe, in his life before Rosalind, they'd have never given him a second glance, and the knowledge of that truth was perhaps his driving reason for ensuring Columbia's legacy. He pondered about it most days, when it was silent enough, or Comstock's preaching loud enough. And perhaps it was for the better. The man's alternate self was accruing massive debt and deadly vices; a terrible situation for a new life to enter.
In many ways, he and the girl, this lamb, were the same; saved by grace. Selfish, selfless grace.
At that allegory, he stopped his musings, for he was not wont to compare dear Rosalind to Mr. Comstock.
The crowd in front of Harper's Family Pharmacy had whittled down from the brouhaha of twenty minutes ago- seems even the fiery concoction couldn't keep men outdoors for very long in the Columbian winter. Still, Robert made no effort to make himself known to the crowd once more. He slipped unnoticed into the establishment, brushing the snow off his shoulders and hat.
"Mr. Harper," he started, with a curt nod.
The apothecary of Harper's Pharmacy was an older gentleman who was as sharp as he was meticulous, and every vial and ampoule, every brass scale and mortar and pestle, was in its appropriate place. There was no room here for Fink's vigors and salts between the carefully labeled lineaments and elixirs. His lips spread in a slow and calculated smile.
"What do you require today, Mr. Lutece?" Mr. Harper asked behind the counter.
Robert pulled the note with Rosalind's neat handwriting from the safe confines of his pocket and placed it between them.
"A few items for a personal project." A pause. "I'll have your discretion?"
Glancing at the paper briefly, Mr. Harper unclasped his bony hands and set his palms flat on the countertop, holding his gaze more strongly.
"Always, Mr. Lutece."
The absence of Fink's products on the shelves helped solidify the statement, and Robert sealed the confidence. "I appreciate it."
With that, Mr. Harper reached for the note and swept his eyes over it once, frowning slightly. "The dittany won't be in until January."
"That's fine." He and Rosalind could hold off that part of their work until then.
"Very well. I'll place a reserve for you." He procured a thick moleskin ledger from under the counter, and when he opened it, fluidly and gently, Robert was awash in the ancient scent of the pages. An elaborate 'R. Lutece' became the most recent addition of the hundreds of names listed in black lettering. It was not the first to appear, but its frequency in the book was increasing as of late.
Mr. Harper completed the last of his records, smiling as he closed the ledger. "I'll be but a moment," he told Robert, and began to move quickly throughout the shop, gathering the remaining items from the list.
He moved to a catalog that existed only in his mind, because Robert had many times, including now, tried to follow the classification system the man had created for his shop. Lineaments, elixirs, infusions, extracts, tinctures. Tinctures with alcohol as a solvent; with vinegar, with glycerol. Those were just a portion of the solutions on the shelves. There were still herbs and botanical material. Valerian, violet, lavender, marigold, nightshade. All further categorized by their physical state; ground, grated, full roots, diced. Then there were balms, cremes, resins…
He suspected they were further divided by their country of origin, and that's where he stopped trying to decipher Mr. Harper's elaborate organization. It wasn't as vital to him as the elements he needed themselves, and the apothecary placed them all in a brown package wrapped in twine.
"Here you are, Mr. Lutece. My warmest regards to your sister," Mr. Harper said. "Shall I continue to send a statement at the end of each month?"
"If you would? I can pay in full if you prefer." Rosalind and he were well respected in Columbia and the insistence some citizens took to give them exceptional convenience was something he was not used to- Rosalind maybe, but not him. This was her universe; he was still assimilating into it.
Mr. Harper pushed the package toward him. "The bill is fine. Best of luck for with your project results," he said, and Robert knew then, that the man did not often make accommodations for even the finest Columbians. There was sincerity and genuine interest, and he took that to be a shared profession of the sciences.
With this new understanding, Robert gave his farewell. "Thank-you very much, Mr. Harper. Rosalind and I are very much in your gratitude."
"Have a pleasant day."
"And you," Robert replied. He placed his hat back on and braced himself for the cold once more.
He had been right; the weather had worsened as the afternoon stretched on. It was good that he was done with his errands and soon to return to the warmth of his—their—home. The language had not yet set upon him completely, as was the prospect of returning home to someone. Still, the prospect was unlike anything he had ever experienced; thrilling—in a way he imagined a married man might return to his wife, only the woman who awaited him was his complete counterpart.
Robert's lips quirked as he walked up the steps of the porch. To him, she eclipsed every woman in this universe and the next—a truer statement if there ever was one.
He found the foyer empty, which was good. Miss Marlowe had heeded his suggestion. Her early dismissal was perhaps a better blessing for her, because Rosalind tended to get a bit miffed when she started experiments and there were people around. He hoped she'd warm up to Gwendolyn. He was getting equally miffed having to find a new front girl every week. But he digressed. Perhaps if he had been a female, being fussed over by Mother and cousins and maids, he would have the same predisposition as she.
He began to remove his outer wear and draped them on the coat hanger.
"I'm back," he called out.
"Kitchen," came her reply-soft, at normal speaking volume.
There was a bustle of pots and jars, and he headed towards it, detecting the faint scent of smoke and something else he couldn't identify—meat, perhaps. Was she attempting to prepare a meal? Surely she wasn't starting work on infusions yet.
"Rosalind?"
She didn't answer, and he thought he heard her sigh and what sounded like broken glass shifting across the floor. A sudden wave of dread washed over him and he nearly sprang down the hall towards her. "Rosalind!"
When he finally entered the kitchen he found her leaning on the median. The air here was full of a thin haze, the sink with bits of charred material, the floor with the remnants of an alembic.
She scowled at him, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos, she still appeared in control of the situation."You didn't have to panic, Robert."
"Are you…alright?" he asked, suddenly feeling foolish. What had he thought he'd find? An emotion he'd never experienced before had gripped him so terribly when he had thought she was hurt. It was almost innate, a compulsory imperative of his being that left him spent and disoriented.
He went to her side at once, hand on the crook of her elbow to aid her, and he found he breathed more steadily.
"I'm fine," she muttered, but continued to let him hold her.
"What happened?"
Rosalind stood up straighter with his support, gesturing with her chin irritably at something on the median. He knew the devilish jar immediately, and his lips twisted into a frown. He'd seen quite enough of it this afternoon.
"Did you drink it?"
She brushed him away then, and started tidying up. "Possibly."
"Does that mean likely?" he pressed.
He disliked the demeanor she adopted when she wasn't in the mood to discuss matters, and he clenched his jaw because he recognized that he did the same. He knelt to assist her in picking the glass off the floor. There was a moment of silence between them, only the sound of clinking glass, but she finally relented.
"It means-"
She paused suddenly and they both heard the sound of the parlor door opening and shutting.
"Hello there!"A boisterous voice boomed throughout their house. "Pardon the intrusion, but the front desk was empty."
Rosalind eyed Robert and he shook his head. He had no idea who the stranger was.
Helping her up, Robert led the way to the parlor, and even from down the hall, the man's mustache and harsh features were telling of his identity. He glanced sidelong at Rosalind to share a look of concern with her before greeting their visitor.
"Good evening, Mr. Fink."
A/N:
Some questions:
Why has Fink stopped by their residence?
What was Rosalind doing with the vigor? Why?