Chapter 12: Cum grano salis
"With a grain of salt"
December 22, 1894, Saturday
The clock hands were at the bottom of the hour, though he knew they had suspended there and were not any indication of the true hour. Still, he had consulted the time as often as she had kept adjusting his tie; this was now the fifth adjustment, by his count. Always an end askew, or the bow too large or some error only she could discern. There was of course, her lack of experience tying one compared to his, but no, her loops were sure and pulls even—there was nothing wrong in her execution.
"When our name is called at the entrance," she said, as if privy to his thoughts, "Every eye will dissect you as any would an insect or devour a prime tenderloin."
Her concentration remained on her work at the base of his throat, focused and stern.
"Well, dinner isn't until midnight, so I should hope I sate them until then."
Her eyes flicked to his and a quirk formed at the corner of her lips before returning to his tie. "You are sure to stir many appetites this evening, brothermine."
"I'm sure I'm to retort about the pitfalls of vanity at this moment, but there are worse sins." He was tempted to say that every eye would be on her, both man and woman, and they would find no blemish.
She glanced over him. "Are you ready, then?"
Robert peered at her. "Am I?"
Rosalind hummed her agreement and smoothed the lapels of his jacket for good measure. She had been in a noticeably agreeable mood since Thursday, even after the Authority's holiday luncheon, not that that was terrible in any sense, but it was still in the company of their peers, so to speak, and he knew, of course, how her mood altered on Friday mornings. There was no separation between them this week.
Or was it her attire this marvelous evening that was altering his mood? In her dress, she looked as a great Lady from a storybook, one that stopped all eye in a king's court, or ruled a court of her own. As she slipped on her gloves, an elegant digit at a time, ensuring the material fit snug over her skin, it came to the forefront of his mind that he had the honor of escorting Columbia's Greatest Mind. It was a wonder to him always, that she would extend a hand to join her.
"Shall I take your arm, or you take mine?" he asked.
She remained silent, but her lips spread slowly in a rare open smile, and she placed a hand at the crook of his elbow. "Shall we, Mr. Lutece?"
"Certainly, Madame Lutece."
Comstock had arranged for his most esteemed guests to arrive by horse-drawn carriage at the gates of Comstock House, something Robert was not so inclined to enjoy. Most of the other departments at the Authority disregarded Zoology, but he payed close attention to the reports of horses frequently getting spooked or in one case, jumped from the city. If it had not been winter, he would have walked the short distance. From there, it was a ride in an exquisite gondola—velvet seating, gold trimmings— up to the main residence, under the watchful eyes of the Forefathers.
The lighting was dim, and many did not recognize he and Rosalind in formal attire, though of course, Robert believed their attention was focused on finding friends and acquaintances. Already there were several comments on dresses, on who they had spotted entering the front of the gondola. Apparently the Vanderwalls and Tellock-Bakers were in their company and not a mention or inclination of their long-standing feud was indicative so far this evening. He did not care to know the whole story, though a gentleman beside him thought it impressive to share with his lady the entire affair, from land and slave holdings to plots in Memorial Garden.
When the wind gusted, the gondola swayed, and there was a chorus of feminine gasps and low groans followed by uneasy laughter. There was no action from Rosalind except the tightening of her fingers at the crook of his elbow, and he remembered that she had put a city in the clouds. She was reassuring him.
But why should he need be? He was reborn here, rearranged by her hands. He touched her fingers, deerskin on silk, to tell her.
The gondola stopped at the end of the line, and they all exited to walk the path to the front door. In a way, the herding brought to mind cattle and sheep as they collected in the foyer. Several servants and waitstaff greeted them, taking their coats, ladies at one corner of the room, gentlemen at the other. The brief separation was inconvenient , but soon she had taken his arm again.
A queue had formed at the entrance to the hall. All the respectable ladies and gentlemen of Columbia stood waiting for their name to echo throughout the walls and for an instant, old the attention of the guests. It was altogether narcissistic, the vanity worth the indignity of standing in line, but then again, the fleeting glory was nothing to him as he removed the invitation from his breast pocket and offered it to the valet.
Mister and Madame Lutece.
Their name resonated though the main hall, and Robert felt every eye. All at once, he felt like a young lady at her debutante, the gaze of the curious and interested appraising him. His eye began to throb, and he looked to Rosalind instead of the crowd. Like a flame-haired virgin queen, she surveyed them as she would her subjects, brow perked, no one person worthy of her attention, until she turned fully to peer at his face and smile. She urged him into the fray, directing him towards the last hurdle; the host and hostess.
Even in his best suit, Comstock still looked, to him at least, belligerent; unkempt. He was not of course, hair slicked, ivory buttons, but Robert saw it in the part of his hair, the breadth of his stance, the hardness of his eyes. It was not difficult to conjure up his other unshaven drunkard self.
"Very glad you could join us," Comstock enthused. He offered his hand to Robert first, allowing Rosalind to glance at him expectantly.`
He shook his hand. "Delighted." It was all pretense of course. There were still guests near them, hoping to catch glimpse of what the important founders of the city had to say. Yes, there would be no discussing work between the three of them.
Robert moved to greet Lady Comstock. She smiled at him, not too wide, but a set expression that sat about her face in required pleasantry. She looked ill to his eyes, though it could have been the tones of her dress reflecting back onto her pale skin. Comstock shook Rosalind's hand with two of his own—very patriarchal, almost genial and the delicate grip that had his hand transformed into a vise.
Then she released his hand as if she'd been burned. "We hope you enjoy yourselves this evening," she nearly seethed, a chill rivaling the snow outside so blatantly apparent.
Rosalind did not extend her hand, nor did Lady Comstock.
The situation was not tense— tense would require both parties to appear threatening— but Robert could perceive no immediate threat or reasoning behind the sudden change in demeanor. Still, he was a third party in all this and ignored the slight.
"Thank you. We look forward to it," he said, and they moved away from the entrance.
"Are you always so charming even in the midst of a quarrel?" Rosalind asked once they had walked a short distance.
He smirked. "When the occasion calls for it," he said, then added. "When I want Columbia's Greatest Mind to enjoy her evening."
She was immensely pleased with his answer, squeezing his arm as she smiled broadly. "Our evening."
To the west of the Main hall was the ballroom, where a majority of the guests stood conversing and enjoying light refreshments, but opposite that was the grand dining room, closed off but still full of movement and activity as the waitstaff prepped it.
"I wonder who we'll be seated with."
"God knows, but I do hope it's someone tolerable—"
"You've made it!"
Before they even turned around, they recognized the enthusiasm, the familiarity.
Fink shook both their hands equally. He was impeccable, not even a hair of his mustache out of place."It's been an age. How have you been? Busy, I'm sure."
Robert let Rosalind answer. She was always so careful around Fink, a habit he was picking up, but still unpracticed enough to slip on occasion.
"Always. As have you."
A broad smile. "The last push before the holidays, " he said. "But enough of that. Let's eat, drink, and be merry."
Robert had an exceedingly strong feeling that Fink's modesty was a direct result of greeting them, loudly, publicly, at the entrance. Even now, he felt the attention and interest of the guests to still be on them. Were they that intriguing?
Fink led them into the ballroom, greeting strategic attendees. J.J. Astor, socialite, Saltonstall, rising politician, Francis Cockrell, visiting Missouri Senator, the list went on.
Truly a year earlier he would have scoffed if he were told of the wealth of attention he was attracting; the established names, the new money, the rising stars. Intrigue in the stead of hushed chatter. They did not stop for talk, slowing only for brisk conversation. Those who were not acknowledged glanced at them longingly, the way one's face turned when they passed the bakery or confectionery.
Robert did not altogether mind, in fact, he thought he might enjoy that Fink paraded them, decided they were worthy of his time—dearly precious to the man. They knew him socially and professionally, in the thinnest sense of the word, but he did not think he would prefer any other guest in attendance, for he did not know anyone else. With Fink, he could gauge his reactions, related his interest, for the most part. He glanced at Rosalind to see if she thought the same, and her placid expression conveyed the same familiarity. Perhaps because Fink viewed her as an equal, more or less, in that odd way of his he seemed to regard people he thought interesting.
Yes, he was rather pleased with Fink's treatment of Rosalind. Even now, he was at her side opposite him, engaging with her, quite the opposite he had in mind of his behavior. No chat of the weather or her evening; they conversed on a topic they had already spoken about at length, picking up as if it had never ended months ago.
"—I agree, it has been an obstacle that's gone unsolved, since before launch. One I plan to tackle when I've got the time for it."
"On the list of priorities for this city," Rosalind pointed out, "It's not terribly important as of yet."
"But it will be. People will be bored of parks, yearn for hikes, for fishing. Even birds land to play."
Rosalind pursed her lips, ready to reply in begrudging agreement. "After a beach, there'll be a fair, and soon a circus. Heaven knows how a pachyderm will handle the altitude. We're still sorting out this business with horses."
"Oh a dreadful mess, not to mention the cleanup-"
"Yes, I recall the incident. It is not something one easily forgets."
"No it isn't. My apologies. I am somewhat pleased however with Easter's preliminary suggestions."
"-Jeremiah!"
Of the three of them, Robert was the only one to cast glance at the caller. When he had looked back, Fink's smile fell for the briefest of moments beneath the curl of his mustache, jaw ticking in irritation for having been interrupted, and suddenly it vanished as he turned around to greet his acquaintance. In the same expanse, Rosalind had witnessed the reaction and seemed pleased with it, daring a corner of her mouth to rise.
"Theodore!" Fink was all at once dashing and genial again. "How are you?"
"Very well, my friend. Very well."
Their insinuator stood a head shorter than Fink, indeed, a head and a half than himself, as tall as he was round. He drew to mind the image of a clock sitting on a mantle, exceedingly ornate, but ultimately easy to overlook in a bustling room. A young woman, certainly his daughter and none other for they shared the same round face, clung to his arm.
"Splendid. I have no doubt your Yuletide celebration is going well."
"Surely as well as yours," Theodore said, rather eagerly, Robert thought. "Are you enjoying your evening Madame?"
"As well as you are," she answered straight faced and Robert tried his utmost not to smirk. He thought he might have seen the corner of Fink's mustache perk.
Whether her lighthearted cheek was realized or not, Theodore smiled, further rounding his features. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I am Theodore Olivere III."
He extended his hand to her and she gave the barest of smiles, one that could have been mistaken for meekness but he knew otherwise. "Of course."
He turned to him. "And you must be the illusive Mr. Lutece. You are certainly quite the topic this evening."
At that, Robert glanced briefly at Rosalind and she perked an eyebrow at him of her prediction.
"Good things, I hope," he laughed lightly. "Are you a jeweler, Mr Olivere?" Never in his life had he met the man but by instinct he felt he knew the man's métier, accompanied by feelings of mild annoyance. Rosalind deduced its source, and the barest hint of concern formed on her face.
The prelude made Olivere beam. "I deal in the business of jewelry, yes. My grandfather was a jeweler and he set his sights on a proper source. I provide only the finest gems for the finest of people."
"Yes, you'll find some Olivere rubies in my clocks," Fink added. "The finest I've seen this side of the Atlantic."
"Oh, You flatter me, Jeremiah. Sapphires are the Olivere pride, but I've yet to find any gem that could match my dear Marie's eyes. " At this, he patted his daughter's arm endearingly, indeed just properly acknowledged her at all since he'd made himself known. Robert had felt her interested gaze since she and her father had approached and he finally met it politely when she offered her hand. Something of the attention disinterested him; he felt bored, haughty, as if she were in comparison to something unattainable.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, conscious of how empty her eager handshake left him.
"And yours, Mr. Lutece."
Did he perceive Rosalind thinning her lips? He quite rather liked that she did. Did Fink do the same?
"Do you enjoy gems, Madame?"
"Pardon?" Rosalind asked, but her tone, he knew, was as if she was insulted, for he knew she cared not for jewelry of any sort.
"Have you an inclination for gems? I dare say sapphires would bring out the blue in your eyes."
The color of her eyes intensified along with her stare. Robert, too found offense with the comment perhaps meant to compliment. Since Olivere had just uplifted his daughter's uniqueness, he had also removed Rosalind's, and the integrity of Miss Olivere's character aside, she was in no way equal to Columbia's Greatest Mind.
"I've yet to find scientific value for them, but when I do, you shall be the first to know."
"Ah, of course, while we are on that matter," Fink deftly maneuvered, "Dreadful of me to talk business during a time of leisure, but I simply must have your finest selection of rubies by the next month."
"Rubies?" Olivere exclaimed. "Of course, my friend." Apparently, it seemed he shared all the attention span of a magpie. "The same specifications?"
"Oh yes, and then some."
"Do tell," Olivere said, eager for the challenge.
"In addition to the original diameter, the rubies will have diameters one and two times larger than the shaft. The depth will remain the same on all of them."
"Ah-"
"And if you can spare it, I've drawn more calculations that show promise of efficiency."
"Of course-"
"My associate, Flambeau has all the details. Ah, here he comes. Would you care for a drink?"
"Yes!" Olivere exclaimed.
Rosalind visibly smiled. When Fink's attention was not on them, it was amusing to see just how adept he was at getting his way. Indeed, Flambeau must have been following closely behind them, ready to assist his employer for this very situation. He had procured drinks for all of them. Robert reached for one but saw Rosalind declined and he thought better of it.
"What is your profession, Mr. Lutece?"
"Hrmm?" he said. He had hoped to catch more of Fink's calculated exit. "Oh, forgive me. Science, Miss Olivere. As is Rosalind's."
The young lady smiled politely at Rosalind as if wondering why that was of any importance. Rosalind in turn had the expression she rarely did when she wanted him to speak. "Erm, particularly, physics," he continued.
"Papa always mentions you are responsible for the city."
"Responsible? Yes, in the way that an heir is to a title and estate, but no, I must attribute creation and vision to Rosalind."
"How—peculiar."
"Quite." Rosalind responded.
"But no doubt, there is much else."
Robert glanced at Rosalind, who continued her passive expression.
"Of course, but you understand it has not been made privy as of yet. We are dearly protective of our work—"
"-Ah Robert, Madame," Fink interjected. "Miss Olivere, might I converse with them a moment?"
"Certainly, ."
Robert bowed his leave to her, and Fink whisked them away once more into the sea of guests. This time, there was less show and he wondered where exactly Fink was taking them.
"Is your brother in attendance this evening?" From his left he could feel Rosalind's inquisitive stare.
Fink seemed extremely pleased with the question. "He most certainly is." They walked further until they were near the orchestra and Robert saw Albert's wife.
"Ruth, my dear!" Fink called out.
"Oh Jem, you just missed him!" Ruth said, gesturing to her husband setting up amongst the musicians.
"Just my luck," he grumbled. "Well," he said, turning to them. "I had hoped you'd meet him before he began. You have of course, met Al's lovely Ruth."
"Always a pleasure," Robert nodded.
"Do we have the pleasure of another Magical Melody this evening?" Rosalind asked.
It was his turn to glance sidelong at her as he couldn't place whether her interest was from the music itself or its origin.
"We do. I hear you two are quite the music connoisseurs."
"We are." she replied coyly.
Fink hummed, his mustache skewing with his amused smirk.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Albert started, "I hope you are all enjoying your evening." On stage, he looked as refined and polished as his brother, nothing askew, beaming in the spotlight. "Many thanks to the Columbia Orchestra. Truly, only angels are your competition up here." Here there was laughter, and he continued. "This piece I am to debut is something I think we all, as Columbians, will enjoy, especially as we celebrate the holidays. May I present: Wonderful Christmastime."
The orchestra began a light upbeat melody that was steady as the choir joined in.
"The moon is right, the city's up
We're here tonight, and that's enough.
Simply having a wonderful Christmastime."
Another stanza followed and they entered a cheerful bridge with bells.
"The word is out, about the town.
To lift a glass, ah don't look down."
"Simply having a wonder Christmastime." By the third chorus, the guests had caught on and the hall filled with laughter and applause as the song ended.
Rosalind clapped, raising an amused eyebrow. On her left, the Fink's were understandably beaming at the forefront of accolade. Albert attempted to make his way to them, and likewise, Fink and Ruth attempted to make towards him, but guests made to converse and congratulate, and soon they were all at once each speaking to a different guest. They found themselves caught up with William Arthurton, esteemed socialite, known for his style of dress more than his wealth and family name. He smiled, broadly, perfect teeth in a perfect smile. Impeccably dressed.
"Madame! You look absolutely wonderful this evening. What are your thoughts on this splendid piece?"
"I think it rather festive, Mr. Arthurton, what of you?"
Robert detected a hint a interest from her. Rare, indeed.
"Oh festive, definitely, and perhaps a bit nonsensical."
"Yes, and still quite fitting," Robert interjected, quite forgetting he had not been addressed. The gentleman had quite the persona.
"Indeed!" Arthurton directed his smile at him and Robert found himself charmed by the piercing gaze and dark features. How similar and how different than Fink's. "I don't believe we've been introduced; William."
"Ah, of course, Mr. Arthurton, this is my brother, Robert."
"Splendid! I can see why the good Madame should decline my hand for a much younger, more handsome gentleman."
"Er," Suddenly, he had forgotten his manners and he looked to Rosalind as his first reaction. She had the same pleased intrigue about her face as earlier. "A pleasure to meet you."
Arthurton's smile widened. "The pleasure is mine. Might you share the same métier as your sister? I've always been so enthralled with her work. A travesty I could not witness its progress."
"I do. Her work truly is remarkable."
"Our work," Rosalind corrected, but she was beaming. "And we've only just begun. How is your evening?"
"Marvelous, madame. I'm amongst friends; I hope to be red in the face before dinner." He laughed, and Rosalind had that peculiar quirk about her lips again.
"I'm sure."
"Hrmm." Arthurton grinned, peering quickly to something behind them. "Well, I should let you enjoy your evening. Perhaps I might have the pleasure of a dance later if you were so inclined, Madame."
"Perhaps." She said coyly, and that seemed to amuse him as if he already knew the answer.
"Robert, it truly was a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we might all meet for lunch sometime in the future." He shook both their hands and departed.
As they observed him navigate the crowd to another gentleman that Robert did not recognize, he inclined towards her ear. "An acquaintance of ours?" As with most people Rosalind was acquainted with, there was a familiarity that lingered at the forefront of his mind from her memories. William Arthurton had one of the strongest influences that he'd ever experienced, second only to Comstock.
"Yes," she said. "In a way...a suitor."
"Oh? I thought we had none of that."
"Only with his funding. In the early days, he had answered my inquiries, expressed interest in it as well. I found him to be quite progressive in every way, as did he in myself. We were set to work out our financial business when he had to unfortunately place them on hold— legal matters that were frivolous but unfortunately had to be addressed. By the time he had sorted, Comstock had proposed such a grander offer I could not refuse at the time."
"Do you imagine he might—"
" —Might have made a better patron?" She pulled closer to him, her voice thoughtful, "Oh I quite believe so. More freedom, more challenges. He would not be so unaccepting of us as Comstock. Thrilled even. I dare to think that he might be more vain than I."
That she had not gone on about him, placated him. But…he was the first man Rosalind had shown any sort of genuine interest in. "Had I not crossed over, would you have accepted his hand tonight?"
The corner of her mouth quirked. "Do I detect jealousy?"
He declined, hoping he might downplay his emotion. Was he jealous?
"There is no need. Mr. Arthurton has certain proclivities that don't involve women."
"Well." He stated simply. He was quite certain William Arthurton, teeth so straight and jawline so strong, was sure to easily attract attention from both women and men."He is quite the gentleman."
"He is." She said plainly, and glanced sidelong at him. "And he did call you handsome." She stared a moment longer. "I must agree with him."
He could not stop the rush of heat that spread to his face and ears at both comments.
Rosalind took pleasure in it, smiling once more.
"You are enjoying this," he muttered.
"I enjoy you." She tugged at his arm. "Come, let us continue with our evening. Fink approaches."
"Do forgive me," he said, when he had drawn near. "I dare say I've stolen you for enough of the evening. We'll talk more at dinner?"
"Of course," Rosalind answered.
When he had left them again, he asked, "You think he had a hand in that arrangement?"
"Oh I don't doubt it."
Robert laughed. This time, Rosalind steered them around, to no certain point in the room, but they veered from guests he knew had quite different perspectives on life than they did. The mood of the room was that most people were acquainted or knew of those that were deemed important. They were of the latter, and now, he was starting to feel the attention, the gaze, a nuisance. Guests smiled at them, hoping perhaps one of them might break etiquette or someone within their group would introduce them to Columbia's Greatest Mind.
"Does no one catch your interest, dear brother?" she asked, as if she could sense his thoughts.
"Would you think unkindly of me if I preferred to keep to myself?"
"Birds of a feather, you and I."
"We two are to ourselves a crowd."
"Quite."
They were within earshot of a small group and they overheard a gentleman accost his son. "Now, now," he said. "I'm sure Mr. Lannon wouldn't want to hear about that— "
At the mention of Lannon's name, slight concern briefly displayed across her face. He moved to steer themselves away but quickly enough they were greeted once again.
"Mr. Lutece! Madame!"
Together they faced their caller, his face immediately familiar.
"Mr. Sinclair," Robert greeted. "How are you?| He was among the members of his family; his wife, Leander, Percy, and a younger son. In their company was Harold Field, his wife, a gentleman he was unfamiliar with, and another he knew, from Rosalind's descriptions to be Franklin Lannon."
"Splendid. Yourselves?" He sensed Rosalind would have him answer again. She eyed the rest of the group warily.
"The very same."
"I do believe you've met my family briefly the last time we met. Madame Lutece, this is my wife, Anthea."
Anthea Sinclair was a woman who possessed a certain poise that could have only come from years of governesses and wealth. Still, there was warmth in her smile and weight to her handshake.
"My, sons, you know, Percy and Leander, and Gabriel." The youngest Sinclair resembled his mother the most, fairest of hair, though still rather dark. His eyes were the brightness of youth; inquisitive and observing.
"And Perrin Baudelaire, a colleague and friend of mine at the University, professor of Biology."
"Pleased to meet you both," Baudelaire greeted warmly. He looked to be an odd choice of company for Mr. Sinclair, facial hair full and white, in contrast to the younger man's trimmed face. Short and overweight next to the tall, slender Sinclair.
Harold they knew of course from the Authority, and he introduced his wife, Yvette. She offered her hand delicately.
"Madame," Lannon greeted and he and Rosalind shared a loaded glance.
"Mr. Lannon," she said evenly, almost a warning.
What he knew of their relationship came from her short comments and valid frustrations. Often there were days she would return from the Authority furious and fuming. The man was combative, always challenging her at every move, and he knew it was because of her sex. It bristled him even on the best of days that she still encountered such contempt. When he had made it known to her, she had been both appreciative and disapproving.
Lannon turned to him. "You must be Robert. A pity we haven't met properly."
"Ah yes, no better time, then." Robert shook his hand, despite his preconception, taking measure of the man. As a scientist he quantified and assigned value, from his coppery complexion to his hair, more red than his. Perhaps there was Irish in his blood— not that it mattered to him, but if it was indicative of his behavior, his contentiousness, it could clue in to handling him.
Mr. Sinclair continued. "I was just telling everyone about your assistance a few weeks ago."
"Oh yes, dreadful business," Field added. "Our district was affected. Couldn't sleep for nearly two days! The only soul to catch a wink was the baby. Slept through the whole ordeal, didn't she, dear?" he asked his wife, who nodded. "Constance has adapted to the city faster than all of us."
"How interesting," Rosalind started, honing in on the topic. Her interest lay sporadically in the acclimation of citizens to higher altitude, primarily in children and the elderly—the only interest she had in them. "Children seem to take more quickly to the air. I've been in discussion with Dr. Pelletier about a formal committee about that subject. Your daughter was the youngest child when the city lifted. Surely if you allowed the Authority to take notes on her growth and progress, we might have a standard all children are compared to."
"So she would be the model for other children in Columbia?" Yvette asked.
"In this, yes," Rosalind answered, much to Mrs. Field's pleasure, and Robert did his best to keep his face straight. Oh, how she got her way with things.
"Well, that sounds excellent. No doubt a budget will be involved."
Baudelaire interjected, "Do keep me updated. The data would prove well in an academic setting."
"Indeed."
"Splendid," Lannon added. "The good Madame is always taking steps to ensure our safety."
There were nods and hums of agreement between them.
Mrs. Sinclair said to Mrs. Field, "And how are your other daughters fairing? Temperance?" and the group broke into several smaller conversations.
Harold and Lannon conversed with Rosalind, perhaps about the very subject in discussion, but Mr. Sinclair pursued commentary on the incident of the reactors and the city's current state for the duration of the winter and the foreseeable future. Apparently, there was minor concern—among the citizens outside of the scientific community, that the issue might appear again next winter.
Robert was very quick to quell such concern, especially to Mr. Sinclair, since his son was very well the reason the city faired as it did, that they celebrated as they did tonight.
"Of course, certainly. I am of the same mind. I was merely conveying to you the thoughts of some other citizens, despite evidence to the contrary."
"The contrary being, of course, that our city would be several feet lower and defunct," he added, some of his annoyance seeping through. "But there's no use in thinking what might be."
"What might have been."
"Pardon?"
Mr. Sinclair turned up his chin ever so slightly. "What might have been. The subjunctive."
His lip quirked and Leander must have noticed for he interjected, "—Mr. Lutece, I wanted to thank you again personally for considering my work."
Grateful for the interruption, he answered, "How are you handling work now?" It was refreshing to finally discuss alternatives to the project beyond the data they officially received.
"Very well. I'm enjoying the challenge." Both Mr. Sinclair and Baudelaire looked pleased.
"One of my best students," Baudelaire said.
From there, their conversations shifted again. Several more people mixed with their group; wives of Founders, men from the Authority, even from the working district, men in good standing, but regardless, not likely to be invited often as dinner guests for social reasons. They were all interesting for the most part, though he and Rosalind had remained separated. She had been swept up into deep conversation by members of the Authority. She spoke now with Harold Field, Lannon, and Dr. Pelletier, and how he wished to be part of the discussion. It seems Rosalind set the theme for the evening. Here and there he was catching flickers of comments and information. There was talk of vitality, of children's improved behavior, of maids and doormen not taking to the air well. To be fair, it was a topic that needed to be studied at great length, and he shared Rosalind's thoughts that not enough had been done before liftoff and in the year and a half since.
He looked to her, spotting her mild interest in her conversation from across the short distance. She found his eyes through the crowd and gave the smallest of smiles.
"Mr. Lutece," Baudelaire started, drawing his attention once more. They had gone on at length about the city's necessary shift from animals—horse drawn carriages and the like— to industrial means, and the consequent innovation of such things. Robert was glad he shared his sentiment of Columbia's potential. "I'm unsure if I'm going about this in the right fashion."
Robert inclined his head to show his consideration, as Rosalind might do.
"I'd like to put in a formal request about incorporating a curriculum that benefits the Authority."
"What might this curriculum entail?"
"It would be something of the effect of Madame Lutece's committee and the taking to a buoyant lifestyle. My subject of study however would be in animals; frogs, pigs, birds, perhaps others, to develop a discourse on evolution..er..adapation. At the very least, we'd have charts of a biological sense to fall upon."
"Well, I'd say that's a very sound presentation. Of course, you understand I must be forthright and disclose that I have no insight or influence into the Authority's approvals."
"Certainly. Certainly. I had hoped I might have your insight and Madame Lutece's perhaps if should could spare her time. I'd appreciate your thoughts on this more..secular course of study and if it might have gravity on a decision."
Ah, he understood now: Baudelaire was atheistic. He would stand against much opposition in the primarily Fundamental Authority. "I understand. How should I go about this?" He didn't want to speak on Rosalind's behalf, but he was certain she would entertain the notion as it fell within her current interests. "I will present it to her, but I cannot speak for Rosalind. Would you care to meet for lunch and go over your proposal?"
Baudelaire was ecstatic. " I would greatly appreciate it, sir! Thank you very much. I'll have everything prepared. When shall we meet?"
He found his eyes drifting again to her location. "Friday week," he said. "If that suits you. New Eden."
"It does."
Robert smiled and nodded. "Very well. I look forward to it. If you'll excuse me."
He worked his way to Rosalind. She was not too far from him, though in this room, the separation felt stifling. Unbearable even, dramatic as that sounded. As he approached, he became privy to the discussion, hearing Francis Pinchot, another of their peers. "—Science brings us closer to heaven. We are nearly halfway there."
Rosalind looked skeptical. "I seem to recall the last time humanity tried to reach God by their own means."
Yes. Pinchot easily irritated her. Always so unnecessarily eager and sensational, she would say.
Dr. Pellitier gave an even laugh. "Madame Lutece is right. I caution your choice in words, Francis, but it is a Marvel we must continue to monitor closely."
"There is still much to build, I hope," Lannon jested, "Lest I join Smith in Zoology. I can build you a cart that will make a mule the most efficient with its workload, but I couldn't tell you the front end of the beast from the back."
Laughter spread amongst the group, though Rosalind looked only vaguely amused, and he suspected it was not directed at the joke but at something else entirely.
"Oh Robert, do join us," Lannon said, spotting him.
He took his spot next to Rosalind, slipping comfortably at her side, and the night pressed on.
It was as they would in their home, their own records, their own melody, their own selves.
When Comstock had invited all for a round of dancing, Robert thought she would forego it. Of all the ladies in attendance, her position was most unusual. She was a woman of great importance and popularity, but also on the same standing as a gentleman, more or less. There were rules of etiquette that no longer applied to her. He too, was unsure of what she might want or frown upon in this social setting. She could shape the rules now. So he was surprised when she had led him to the floor, lined them to begin a set, and they fell into their rhythm.
Perhaps none had thought she would dance this evening, for he still felt many eyes on them. How they must have looked! He had not danced socially in quite some time. The steps came effortlessly though; his practice had never faltered. After Rosalind had discovered music soothed him, mended him, their first dance was not long after. A stalemate more than anything, but she had returned a bloody fool to a gentleman again, and they moved like water.
"Do you see all the women who wish to make your acquaintance?" Rosalind started, quite accustomed to discussion in the midst of steps and turns.
Truthfully he had not given then much consideration. He glanced at the crowd. "Do they, now?"
She lifted her chin up, so that she might see over his shoulder. "You may dance with them if you please."
"I only see one." Regrettably, he had only two sets in which he could dance with her.
For a moment she turned her head slightly to gauge his expression and the corner of his mouth lifted at her brief drop in composure. She rolled her eyes, resuming her fixation over his shoulder.
He continued with her, pleased with himself, wondering if they would ever give up an opportunity to dance. Was there a universe in which they didn't? Of course there was. He mourned for his counterparts that did not, could not participate in this expression of unity.
All too quickly, the music ended and he bowed to her, her face impassive, but gaze full of infinite possibilities. He was paralyzed by it, her gravity. In the midst of these pairings, these couplings, he was drawn to her; bound, a particle held by an atom, suspended in time.
There was a tap at his shoulder, a gentleman seeking to intervene.
Rosalind raised an eyebrow; it was Fink.
"May I?"
She looked to decline, but she offered her hand to him. Fink in turn, bowed to him.
A spark welled in him., one that would make Rosalind scoff at his predictability. Ever the gentleman however, he gave his best smile, his best bow, and stepped off the floor.
When the swirling, bustling, continued, however, he felt as if he had forcefully, involuntarily, been thrust back into his own universe, peering into this one like some voyeur, as he had once been. His left eye began to throb, and he sought to quickly remove himself from the displacement and the hopeful eyes of women seeking to garner his attention. He followed some of the other guests who had taken a break from dancing into the refreshments room.
The mood here was quite different, much more subdued, and he was grateful for the reprieve. He fell into the queue for beverages, selecting the strongest one. Mint julep was hardly one of his favorites, but it would serve its purpose. As he drew himself a glass from the large serving bowl, he glanced up at the guest across from also serving herself, feeling his mood lifting when he recognized her.
"Enjoying your evening?"
Gwen looked up, smiling herself. "Very much. And you?"
"I am."
"And how is Madame Lutece? I saw her earlier in the hall."
Having gotten both their drinks, he gestured for them to continue their conversation away from the table. "I do believe she is enjoying herself. Though, she does enjoy her privacy, however…" he tried searching for her and Fink across the distance briefly before continuing, "The public's fascination with her can become a bit much at times." He drank deeply from his mint julep.
"I imagine that must be exhausting."
"Ah, excuse me," Robert added, thinking perhaps he might have made his peakiness obvious. "I mean perhaps that people tend to forget that we are going about our lives as well as they are."
"I understand. I am still not so used to my family being quite known here." Gwen finished her drink. "I must leave you unfortunately, Mr. Lutece. I'm lined up for another dance."
"I apologize. Don't let me keep you."
"I'll see you at dinner," She said and returned to the dancing hall, leaving him to wonder more about the seating arrangement for dinner. So they were with Fink and the Marlowes it seemed. Not a terrible outcome in the slightest. As long as they weren't seated with guests they would get along poorly with, he was content. In the refreshment's hall, he was suddenly aware of how little he knew these people. To be quite honest with himself, he didn't fully care to know them. He no longer needed funding or required necessary social connections—they came to him. But then again, he wondered if this was now Rosalind's thoughts influencing his, and he stopped himself right there before his dissonance returned. Robert thought he might get another drink to banish it further and on the thought of Rosalind, get her a beverage as well. She had more of a palette for stringent potables.
At the table once more, he set about procuring drinks for Rosalind and himself. Perhaps they might return back to the main hall and continue conversing with guests. Here, guests were more inclined to gossip. He could overhear several conversations.
"Have you heard that Mrs. Harris and the much younger Mr. Whitechurch are carrying on an intrigue?"
"The artist?"
"The very same."
"Wasn't she was sitting for a portrait?"
"That is the front. My maid confided in me that her sister, the maid at Emporia Towers, walked in to find Mrs. Harris in the nude."
"Unthinkable!"
He tuned it out. Perhaps she might prefer some wine? She was dancing with Fink, after all. Her mood was bound to be affected. He moved towards the end of the table.
"They are a strange sort…"
"—How so?"
"My father spoke to them earlier and in perfect sequence, they inclined their heads at the same time as if they were one person. How very odd!"
Robert found himself inclining his own head to listen.
"Yes. I have two cousins—once removed, mind you, but they are the oddest of pairs. Never leaving each other's company, dressing the same, smiling in sync as if they were some odd automaton or clock. But they were identical. A gentleman and a lady, however?"
He paused. They were speaking of he and Rosalind.
"Peculiar."
"Indeed."
The other voice continued, lower.
"They are rather close, don't you think?"
"If you were so inclined, see how she holds him, touches him. I've not touched my brother in that manner since I was nine."
"Perhaps it's a twin—how do you say it? One of those, science enigmas."
"Science enigmas? Really, Margaret, you come across the most bizarre of literature."
"I've heard, in some foreign lands, the natives believe twins have… relations in the womb."
A noise of disgust. "Absolutely barbaric!"
"Well, it is the belief of natives—"
Yes, he was quite through with his eavesdropping. He gathered his drinks and quickly moved to return to the hall, bumping into a guest. "Oh I'm sorry!" he apologized, the same time as the young man.
"Mr. Lutece!?" the guest exclaimed, and he saw that it was Leander. Beyond him, there came the gasps of two women near the table at his identity.
"My deepest apologies. I was heading to—" He rubbed his hand nervously. "You were just speaking with Miss Marlowe earlier? Could you tell me perhaps which direction she was headed?"
Robert recovered quickly. "She returned to the dance hall."
"Good. Erm, thank you. Again, terribly sorry," Leander said, flittering away.
"Not a problem." He watched him head in that direction. Only one thing could make a young man foam and fluster after a woman, and he smiled knowingly as he followed.
When he reached the doorway, he found Rosalind in the hallway, back to the open corridor. It lowered his mood again as he remembered the gossip he'd just heard. It chilled him that she was so vulnerable in that position, alone, exposed to gossip and scandal mongers.
She seemed to sense when he drew near and she turned to face him. "Good, there you are."
He handed her a drink. "Oh splendid," she said and immediately downed all of it.. She took his arm, pulling him. "Back into refreshments."
"I'd rather not," he said, not moving, and she glared at his immobility. "I overheard some talk about us," he explained quietly, maintaining a distance he thought to be more appropriate, but still she leaned in close to hear him.
"Oh, our every glance weighed and measured!" she whispered harshly when she had heard. "Yes, yes, the nonsense of useless hens," she dismissed. When he looked at her seriously, she peered at him the same, raising her eyebrow. "Really, Robert, I have been dissected by men at the highest level of academia. Gossip of aging women preoccupied with needlework and the weather is hardly damaging on any level. Or as creative. Come," she urged, and he finally budged. "I will not dance again this evening. And if I'm honest, every man pales in comparison to you."