Chapter 18: Aude alteram partem
"Hear the other side"
January 4, 1895, Friday
When she had taken the flask off the flame, he knew that this crimson concoction was balanced. Its aroma was pleasant; sweeter, heavier, than all the others before. But Rosalind was always careful about managing her expectations. She remained as concentrated and focused as ever, even as she eyed him from across the counter.
Their outing to Freedom Fields and the discovery that followed did not sit well with either of them. Comstock had not come to them in the days since and they had retreated to their routine with fervor. The dittany arrived earlier than expected, allowing them a much preferred subject to hone in on.
Robert worried for her. He understood her coldness following the Authority meetings, her usual unyielding focus over equations, but in this experiment, she had barely eaten, barely spoken to him. Meanwhile, the bottle of meade had emptied over the course of the week.
He knew he was not without his own scrutiny. She had observed him in that dissecting eye of hers, as if he might be struck with a spell, or as she normally did when Comstock was in the room, worried that she could not predict what might happen.
It was a blessing then, that they were capable of fixating on a a subject, shirking such normalcies as dedicated meals and social outings to focus on work. Such were the traits of a good scientist. He could hardly recall his actions between then and now that weren't pertaining to infusions. The dittany had come in, yes, and maybe an invitation to a New Year's celebration, but there was also a telegram from Arthurton.
Rosalind had sent one to him, and he had responded quick sharp, thankfully. As she stated, he certainly was well informed of the situation and had stopped by for a brief moment to convey his thoughts in full.
There had been a gathering of some sort for supporters in the Populist Party, but it was notable that Sutherland was not in attendance. Some time after midnight a fire started due to what authorities attributed to 'a mixture of intoxication and improper use of Fink's newest vigor.' There is no official count of the deceased, only of those unaccounted for. Bodies were "missing" because the buildings had fallen.
And buildings with the Lutece Particle did not fall, fire or otherwise, unless they were tampered with. But their report for Sutherlandwas carefully worded to explain that a fire cannot influence the Lutece Particle and offered "direct human intervention," as a possible reason.
Maybe this business with Sutherland would end soon enough. He did not like the assumption that Rosalind would be so easily swayed, indeed that that Clay fellow was so boorish, but he knew of him from the papers.
Rosalind tested the temperature of the flask with the back of her hand now and nodded.
They would start with the blood test. It wasn't fresh, but Robert procured the sample he had ready in a shallow dish and she let fall a single drop into it. He held his breath, watching as the blood receded from the infusion. It didn't boil or thin or congeal, and Rosalind glanced up at him, smiling.
He must have looked foolish with how wide he grinned.
"Shall we do a live test?" she asked.
Once again, Robert went to the mud room and selected a buck. Holding it steady, he stroked its chest as Rosalind made a tiny incision on its leg. Then he placed it on the counter, she dabbed a small amount on the wound and they took a step back.
He expected another incident, another malformed tumorous mass of flesh and hair, but the rabbit remained the same and the wound grew smaller until the skin mended into a faint pink welt. Before he could do anything, Rosalind was on it in a heartbeat, carrying the animal and examining the new turn of events.
"Extraordinary." She checked its eyes and ears, grasped at its fur to see if it came loose.
"Yes." It amazed him always, her skill at determining when something failed or succeeded. "Success?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. She always had the final say on experiments.
"We shall have to perform more tests," she replied, and then her expression softened, a rare smile forming. "But yes, success."
"Easy enough," he said, though their weeks of undesired results and sleepless nights spoke otherwise.
"Everything that's easy was hard first." She handed him the rabbit. "Just think, I once had to do all this myself."
"You still do," he grinned again, heading to the hutch.
"Yes, but it's so much easier," she called after him.
When he returned, she was scouring over their notes, writing down measurements and checking their documentation. They had taken exceptional notes this experiment. Rosalind was keen they have a more structured record system now that there were two of them. Before then, she wrote in any available journal and he fit several unrelated subjects in his current ones.
"Now that we've got a positive reaction," she started, "We'll have to recreate this formula precisely. Though we've done most of it half a dozen times and more, it's the last steps we've found to be the most crucial. This time, I'll prepare the dittany and you'll conduct the execution and compare results to this one—"
She paused. "Did you hear that?"
He listened for a moment. It was faint, but it sounded like voices from the foyer. "If that's bloody Comstock—"
"—No," she said, standing up to investigate. "It's a woman."
"Gwen?" He grew slightly alarmed. There had never been a situation she raised her voice at a guest. Unless someone upset with them had come in?
"Where is she?!"
He was out of the kitchen first. The door to the front room flung open and a dark-haired woman burst through, Gwen looking very upset following after her.
"Lady Comstock, you can't-"
Robert was surprised. "Lady Comstock," he addressed, but she looked right passed him.
"You!" she exclaimed and jabbed her finger at Rosalind. "You whore."
Bloody hell. It was like a completely different woman. Her face was absolutely livid, like some siren of Odysseus' time, all semblance of beauty gone with the ugly turn of anger. Lady Comstock or not, he was not going to let her speak to Rosalind in that manner.
She raised her hand to stop him and approached her. "I assure you Madame," she seethed. "My sexual interest in your dear prophet is non-existent."
She took a slow deep breath. "Furthermore, the man is quite sterile."
Lady Comstock winced. Rosalind had just dealt a serious blow to her person. Comstock of course had made their reproductive attempts privy to them, swore evidence of her blood. If anything, she should have wondered about her husband's seed. The realization must have hit her, because her expression faltered for a moment and it retaliated yet again.
"That's a lie! Come and get your little bastard! I want her out of my house." She turned on her tailored heel and made to stomp out.
"You wish to know so terribly? I'll tell you then."
The woman paused. First Lady and Great Madame glared at each other.
"You are tired of lies, then you should have the truth: your husband repulses me. I have more a relationship with his funding than the man himself. He knows this."
Her face did not change and Rosalind continued.
"When your…marriage failed to produce a child, he came to me. Not in such a puerile way, of course. I would never agree to such a request as that. There are other ways to bring a human into this world. Look around you. I am a woman of science, and I tell you, that is the source of the child."
"Science? You think me a fool, Lutece?"
"That is dependent on your thoughts of I being a whore."
Perhaps it was that Rosalind brought up the nerve of her former life, but it affected the woman enough to knock some decency back into her.
"The correct form is Lady," she huffed, not displaying an ounce of the grace a lady of her standing and religion should.
"And the correct form, my lady, is Madame."
Lady Comstock turned her chin up, looking at Rosalind first, then Gwen and Robert and left.
They all waited until they heard the front door slam shut.
"Madame Lutece," Gwen said, stepping forward. "I apologize that I could not stop her."
"It's no fault of your own. The attempt is noted. I don't believe anything could have stopped her from confronting me," she replied, although she looked at Robert.
"I raised my voice at her."
Rosalind looked at her for a moment. "I thought you handled the situation well. Now then," she sighed, "I thank you for doing your best to tame her. No more guests for the day."
"You may leave early," Robert said, sensing that Rosalind required time to themselves to discuss this turn of events.
Gwen nodded, taking her leave.
"Oh, and Gwendolyn," Rosalind called after her. "Do join us for brunch this Sunday. New Eden, 11 o'clock."
He waited until she had closed the foyer door fully, and when he looked for Rosalind, she sat at their desk, already procuring a new vinyl for record.
"Lady Comstock," she began, viciously, "seems to believe the child is a result of some errant act of carnality between myself and her beloved Prophet—"
He seethed. The audacity, the revolting assumption that that woman had created. Absolutely abhorrent. Never had he encountered a person, or indeed persons, as she shared her name with her husband, so superficial and reprehensible as they. So misinformed and ignorant.
He did not remain angry on a subject for very long, but this issue with Comstock was wearing thin. As was becoming routine, they would discuss the current matter, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with every situation and remain well-mannered, even if he was with Rosalind.
Robert exhaled slowly, stepping into the drawing room and fetching a glass to pour some scotch. This sort of situation called for a pipe, but tobacco took too much time to prepare, and his supply was running low as of late.
He downed the drink and mused on the warmth that washed over him. In dealing with Comstock's nature, they were learning much more about theirs, as far as habits were concerned. He refilled it again for Rosalind and went to check on her.
"Ta," she said, looking up at him from the chair. She drank most of it in one gulp.
She licked her lips slowly and focused on the lamp behind him as she swirled the remaining liquid in the glass. "She was never happy with my arrangement with Comstock."
He remained silent. This business with the Miracle Child happened when he was still adjusting. There were parts he had been made to forget when her memories collided with his. What he knew and what he'd been made to know were completely different.
"I suppose neither are you," she continued, "But the lie we uphold is a paradox, brother."
How telling that the two greatest lies in Columbia were both known to them, both construed by them. But if the truth of him became known, it would not affect them as it would Comstock.
"Our lie is only necessary for theirs. My existence and standing are not reliant on the public's perception of me."
Rosalind sniffed. "If only she'd accept what we've given her. What her own husband couldn't," she muttered and finished the last of her drink. "What a pity," she continued, "The duty of a Lady is to bear her Lord a child. All that religion, and she could not even do that."
She got up from her chair and he followed her into the foyer as she refilled her glass.
"She need keep only one secret, tell one lie," she said before taking another drink. "But even that has proven too difficult for her." She shook her head, looking at some far off corner, perhaps recalling a previous incident, and he wondered if at some point Annabelle Watson Comstock had been enthusiastic of Rosalind, had invited her for tea, or spoke of her kindly in social circles. And perhaps her husband began spending increasing hours at a time with the Great Madame, and spoke of her marvels, and then procured an infant she did not birth that he claimed was his child.
"And bloody Comstock," she spat. "The man has no bollocks, in every sense. But a man can be a false prophet, a man can come from another universe, but a woman cannot claim to be a mother or a scientist. In the eyes of society, she is merely barren or whore."
Robert was unsure if he should say anything, not that he had anything to reply with. He had longed to see the Rosalind that existed before him, before Columbia, and he realized with a heavy heart that that was the farthest from what he desired. She fought tooth and nail, and it was foolish of him to think that had changed in any way.
She began searching in the dresser for another bottle.
"That's the last of the scotch," he said.
Rosalind exhaled sharply, setting her glass down on the surface harder than usual, and rested her hands on the furniture.
He placed his hand gently on her back.
She shrugged away. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
She glanced at him sidelong, considering him, that careful eye of hers. She sighed again, crossing her arms, then leaned against him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. "I do not like this baiting nonsense, but the woman needed to know. She was so ghastly misinformed, it was pitiful."
Tentatively, he brought his hand to her shoulder to give her an embrace.
"Does she really think me that tasteless? How dare she assume that I would sleep with her beloved Prophet. Or any man. That is my business alone."
Unbidden, his thoughts drew to the subject. Had she been with anyone? Even as he was her, he realized it too was none of his business, but even more unbidden, he thought of that morning the day after Christmas, how she pressed against him, touched him as she had not before. He quelled the thought.
"And she would insult me further by thinking me some vixen that abandoned her young as soon as she could."
"You are the manifestation of her failures," he said. "She cannot produce an heir, perhaps cannot even hold his interest; Comstock's fault to be sure, but still, she was in the wrong to come here all fume and fret."
Even as she grasped his hand briefly to show her affection, she said, "There will be repercussions. For us or for her. Comstock will not like this lack of control with information or temper. Annabelle was never to know about Elizabeth's true origins—too delicate he said, though we've witnessed she is quite capable of drawing her own conclusions. And he will see her outburst as a miscarriage of his power. "
"Don't we have some pull in this?" This was always a delicate matter, but Rosalind had weight. It was due time they exerted that power and reign Comstock in. Especially coming in the wake of this Sutherland affair.
Rosalind straightened, pulling away from him. "We do," she replied, her face impassive once more, "But we will not go about it as what transpired here."
He nodded. "Of course."
"And I have you, now," she added, heading into the hall to secure the parlor door.
There was a glimpse of a smile and he grinned. "You do."
They entered the front room to check if Gwen had remained, but perhaps it was better that she had gone home. He would speak to her later about the incident.
Rosalind locked the front door of the house, something they rarely did, but yes, they had had too many unwanted visitors of late.
"What's this business with Sunday Brunch?" he asked, remembering.
"She's due an evaluation," she answered, glancing around the front room, no doubt observing Gwen's work area. "But either way, the amount of things she's seen must be dealt with accordingly."
Yes, it was a great amount of things she had come to know either by intention or accident.
"She is exceedingly clever." He was almost worried they'd made the mistake of hiring her.
There was a list of tasks neatly written on a small sheet left on the desk and Rosalind picked it up to study it more closely.
"Yes," she said quietly.