Hear, see, be silent
January 6, 1895, Sunday
She made it a point they eat at the odd hour, away from the bustle of mealtime peaks, but it was necessary they be seen on occasion, keep the public's curiosity sated so they might leave her and Robert alone. The cacophony of the chatter and china would also serve to mask their conversation. They did not often entertain people over lunch, but Gwendolyn was joining them this morning.
It was due time she had an evaluation, nearly a month and a half into their employ. Quite certainly, she had been the longest hire, though the record before her was one week and hardly worth note. All those girls, and indeed one young man who fainted at the sight of blood on his first day, had proven ill-fitting for the job, but Gwendolyn, was very competent as well as intelligent. Her work did not go unnoticed or unappreciated and Rosalind would make certain that she was compensated fittingly.
That being said, the matter of discretion and all the subjects she had been made privy to, intentionally and unintentionally, should also be appropriately addressed.
Rosalind had discussed the matter with Robert, that perhaps, there was the possibility of them sharing the true knowledge of their work with someone who had the potential to contribute. Though that was merely a thought, and nowhere near a feasible action. A month had merely proven she was competent. Certainly there were notable traits Gwendolyn possessed that hinted at an outlier, perhaps a protege, but it was early yet, enough time to still observe her or groom her.
Still, Rosalind lingered on the thought.
Comstock had given her funding yes, but that was simply a matter of immediate funds. She had been on the brink of an even larger discovery with tears, with Robert, and it was only when she had proven her worth to his cause beyond suspending the city that he had given her more. Blood from a turnip. Initially, she had not minded the secrecy, but now, his insolence was becoming rather boring. Imagine how much more progress she could make with their work once the rest of the world knew. Instead of the early days when she petitioned for patrons, it would be patrons begging for her favor. And with that, she could choose her own assistance, direct her own lab proper.
From across the table, Robert watched her. It had been some time since they had simply sat and smiled, their minds unison. Comstock's antics aside, they had made fantastic progress on their infusions and were set to expand their work, Gwendolyn included. Recently, however, this solidarity was becoming difficult to discern. There was an increasing look of yearning in Robert's gaze. Admiration, inspiration, adoration, these were always present, but this implication, this yearning that pulled at her when she stared back, always returned her to that night she witnessed the universe tear away and unveil his face for the first time.
Rosalind concerned herself with her tea to break the connection. Yes, Christmas had made it very clear to her that they were steadily approaching something new in their relationship. Their touches were bold, while hesitant. Their words direct, while nuanced.
She brought her tea to her lips, watching his eyes observe the moment skin touched porcelain. He was aware of her scrutiny but still he met her gaze and he smirked in that charming way of his despite his cheek. When she placed her cup down, she was careful to hide the corner of her mouth that had quirked up behind a napkin.
A discussion was in order, as it always was when they reached a new quandary. They had discussed the differences and congruences of childhood, of scars, music and literature, research and patrons, or lack thereof. The list went on. Now it seemed they were to discuss unification. And they would converse how they normally would, as Robert, as Rosalind, as male and female, as two sides of the same coin. The discourse had always been clear, predictable, but this, copulation,
was completely extraneous to their existence. For a time they had even thought a simple touch would be impossible, destructive, but they had touched hands, and Robert had crossed over and recovered. What was next in their experiment? All things pointed to success, given time.
But what was successful in this universe, was unsuccessful in another. Had she declined Robert's affection? Had he never recovered? Had the tear for his crossing destabilized? Had those dimensions collapsed because of some error? Hers?
Robert eyed her carefully across the table now, mildly concerned.
Rosalind reassured him with a quick smile, still considering her thoughts. His pain, his blood; she had never fretted over anything before he had crossed, and that was always the defining condition to anything they partook.
She glanced over his shoulder at the door, keeping an eye for Gwendolyn. "She's here."
The host escorted her to their table, and they both stood to accept her.
"Miss Marlowe," he announced.
She smiled at them both and Robert helped her with her chair.
When they were all seated, the host asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water will be fine, thank-you," Gwendolyn answered.
"Please, order what ever you like," Rosalind offered.
She considered a moment. "I'll have cocoa then."
"Certainly," he nodded and left them.
Gwendolyn glanced around, observing the crowd.
"Forgive the crowd, I thought it might serve to make you more comfortable," Rosalind informed.
"Am I to be made uncomfortable?"
Rosalind was pleased at her forthrightness. She would speak her mind, even if her situation were against her, which was the contrary. "This has nothing to do with the incident regarding our unexpected visitor the other day," she said, "But I should like to give you opportunity to comment without fear of rebuke."
Gwendolyn fell into that sharp contemplation she possessed and after a moment asked, "Is her usual temperament like that?"
"She was…agreeable when I first met her," she revealed, catching Robert's interest from the corner of her eye. "Interested in my work, in a way that a woman like her might not usually be. But, a woman does not make easy company if she chooses a life such as mine."
Yes, Annabelle Comstock had been agreeable, perhaps a bit too much, in the first few instances they had met. Comstock had his city, his visions, until the issue of an heir arose, along with her discovery of tear stability and Robert's crossing, and suddenly the turn of jealousy made her true feelings apparent.
"You needn't worry about backlash from her either. Her quarrel was with me."
A server brought her beverage and Gwendolyn knew to wait until he had left.
"Madame Lutece, again, I do apologize if my actions led to further disagreement or were perhaps, improper."
Rosalind dismissed it. "As I've said, I feel you handled the situation as well as could be, and if you have no further qualms, we shall continue with the reason we are here."
She nodded.
"You have been employed with us for a month now, enough time for us to properly evaluate your work."
She sat straighter.
"We are very pleased with your ethic and your skills."
Rosalind glanced at Robert briefly. Gwendolyn had been his pick, his insistence, and she nodded for him to give the news.
"We're giving you more responsibility in the laboratory," he said. "You are free to read and borrow any books on the first floor, and your current wage will be doubled."
As expected, she was immensely pleased with their extension and expansion of her duties. Let it be said that she rewarded hard work and potential accordingly. Which brought her to her next extension, one that she and Robert were cautious of, but equally interested in: establishing a team and expanding their work.
"Now, you have discussed your career interests casually, however, if you would prefer, we can begin some preparation into broadening your skills in the laboratory."
In the current climate—Comstock and all that mess, it was dangerous to consider outside parties, proteges, but she was confident they would come to a mutual agreement, or perhaps a better benefactor, or perhaps Comstock might become his own demise. Either way, she would see that her breakthroughs were pushed to their limits, with or without Comstock's help.
"Is that something that interests you?"
"Madame!" she exclaimed, then thought better of the action and set about using a sip from her cocoa to regain her composure. "It's not something I considered, but yes, it interests me."
"Good," Rosalind said and truly she was pleased to hear it. "Now, it may be sometime before we put that into action, but moving forward we will make for accommodations. Any questions?" She glanced between the two of them. There would be no going back from this point.
"This is effective immediately?" Gwendolyn clarified.
"Yes."
"Madame, Sir, thank-you very much."
"And we thank you for your excellent work," she said, picking up her tea for a drink. "It is a new year. Let us work towards ever increasing achievement." From over Robert's shoulder she made eye contact with their server and waved him over to continue with their meal.
The traditional Sunday Roast was normally appreciated by the Catholic faithful breaking their fast, a surprising large number of the city's population. But as it were, they were breaking their own fast so to speak. In this last week, they had pushed though obstacles, both seen and unforeseen.
And as she carved into her Yorkshire pudding, she was mindful of the veiled figures in the corners of the room who claimed their piety, yet feasted on caged birds whole.
"Have you sampled Ortolan, Gwendolyn?" she asked after a bite. She took note of her glance in that direction. Despite its sinful associations, the dish was unusually popular amongst the elite.
From the corner of her eye, Gwendolyn glanced uncertainly once more at the tables. "I have not."
"You think it unusually cruel, keeping a bird locked in a cage?" Fattened, stuffed, until its tiny legs could not support it in its confined space. It was a testament to humanity's greed.
"A bird in its cage is not unusual, Madame. Perhaps you are protecting it from predators, perhaps you mean to study it," she offered, "But there is unusual cruelty in how it is fostered, how it is consumed."
Rosalind observed her. She always did speak so candidly without first concern of her surroundings. Even now, she spoke to her as if they were equals, not apologizing, not timid. A sure sign of her resolve. Yes, Rosalind would make sure to keep a careful interest in her direction.
"Greed is the most undesirable of sins," Gwendolyn said. "Worse than pride. A continual grasp, a possession. Perhaps they hide their sin out of necessity; in this city they are much closer to God."
Ah, she had her own rhetoric as well. "Do you go to church?"
Gwendolyn blinked, as if remembering. "Er, sometimes, Madame. You'll forgive my prose. I hadn't meant to offend—"
"—There is no division here. To deny that such texts and beliefs exist is only severing yourself from a possibility of outcomes and understandings. And consider that where one might see God, another might see science."
She nodded.
"Once one has become aware of infinite dimensions," Robert added, "The differences between two things is as simple as the side of a coin. Wholly different yet the same."
Rosalind stole a glance at him, finding increasing difficulty concealing her enjoyment regarding his cheek again. It was happening much more often she'd noticed, and he knew it too, daring to hold her gaze as he hid his wry smile behind his teacup.
"Now then," she said, breaking eye contact, "Let's enjoy the rest of our meal. Surely there are no sins that we might hide." But as she looked at his face, the weight of his gaze, the delightful smirk about his lips, she quelled the thought of which of those deadly seven she was guilty of in that moment; pride, vanity, perhaps something else.
The rest of their meal and conversation slowed. Rosalind took note that this was their first full and decent meal in sometime. A week? Probably not since Christmas. She glanced across at Robert taking large bites. There was the fact that his physiology required more sustenance than hers, but out of necessity he must constantly eat. His battle was constant, his fatigue or hunger a sure allowance of spells. He hid his tremors in moments they were caught up with work to press on to show his improvement but she would always be sure he took the time he needed to recover.
Gwendolyn also observed Robert take bites. No doubt she had learned their eating habits. Occasionally she had brought them meals, of which she was grateful for. It meant that Robert could eat and they could continue with their work. A suitable arrangement.
After a moment he became aware of the attention and lessened his intake. He was the last to finish eating and when their server had cleared their plates, Rosalind stood, Robert and Gwendolyn following.
She offered a smile and her hand. "Gwendolyn, we shall see you tomorrow morning then. We look forward to your continued presence with us."
"Again, I really appreciate it, Madame, Sir."
He shook her hand and gestured for them to walk ahead of him to the door.
The host and footman were already prepared to see them out with their coats, but as they stepped into the foyer, a fair amount of ruckus from the street could be heard.
"What do you suppose that is?" Robert asked curiously, adjusting his collar and lapel.
As she slipped on her gloves, she said, "I do hope it isn't anything." She really didn't. If it was Comstock acting independently again, she was certainly not in the mood.
Gwendolyn had pushed through the front door and out onto the street, encountering a man rustling down it. "Sir, what's this about?"
"Lady Comstock dead!" he cried.
"Dead?" she gasped.
Rosalind shared a glance with Robert.
"Only just last night, ma'am. Murdered!" he continued and removed his hat. "'Tis a sad day in the city of God."
Across the street a crowd bustled around three newsboys who had arranged an efficient system; a hawker, a receiver of coin, and dispenser. Gwendolyn hurried across the street to purchase one and returned to them, scanning the information.
"…In the late hour, while Our Great Lady knelt praying to our Creator for her husband and Miracle Child, a colored maid possessed by the Evil One himself, struck her across the head. Despite the terrible act, Our Lady died peacefully, taken into the arms of God who had blessed her with such a momentous and miraculous life…"
Silently, she reread it again. "But why would a servant kill her?"
Rosalind saw the skepticism in her eyes, the gears connecting.
"Is this because—"
She pulled the girl back into the foyer of the restaurant, startling both her and Robert. "—Gwendolyn," she hissed, "The subject of discretion has never needed to be fully discussed, though you have been very good at it," she added, assuring her slightly, "But whatever you may have seen or heard in our home. Whatever conclusions you draw, you must be very careful about keeping them to yourself."
Gwendolyn nodded, her eyes narrowing but even with its hardness, Rosalind remembered how young she was.
"Have it from me and remember it well. In these next days, Comstock may ask you if you were there when she was. You must deny it. "
"Yes, Madame."
"I've no doubt of your understanding of social interaction, but often you have little intention to observe. A good trait, in our eyes, but in this matter, do not reveal that you were there."