Loving the ideas and predictions coming out in the reviews guys! Duvetsnuggler, you've got me thinking more deeply about Helena's horse and buggy comment. Aeternus, hold on for the possibility of angst to go along with the heart exploding happiness. Thank you too Manhattanite for your not so patient patience ;-)
Hello Lurker and thanks for the review! I would PM you but can't with a guest. So glad you're enjoying this foray into my quirky mind!
Mostly Helena and Eleanor (aka KAG (Kick Ass Granny)) in this chapter, but a peek at HG's not so agreeable mum.
Wish I could write faster, feel like I'm dragging this out too much, but it needs to be done. I swear this is still a Bering and Wells fic, even if they don't get much 'screen time' for a while.
Well, on with the show...
Chapter Six
Regardless of what the future HG might eventually think about the odd situation, the young, carefree, aspiring writer was not yet conflicted in her thinking.
Down in the dining room, Helena listened dutifully to her grandmother's renewed attempt to make her understand the importance of outward appearance. In the back of her mind though, she was much more interested in the curious creature who had just left.
Returning from Filey with another successful capture to her name, Agent Wells had spent some time with her mentor, winding down with tea and chess. The thrill of the chase, solving mysteries and besting men twice her size always got her blood pumping and made the task of returning to the daily trudge of life ever more difficult. Challenging Chaturanga was a sure fire way of bringing her back down to Earth and today he'd seemed more challenging than ever.
After an extended hunt like this one, agents were required to spend two days recuperating before returning to the Warehouse for their next assignment. This was to prevent burnout and injury, and to ensure that they were all seen going about their daily lives by their families and peers.
Helena usually used the time to tinker in her brother's basement, flesh out new plot lines for stories and to generally avoid her mother. When she was forced to attend any of her family's social functions, she used the time to hone her skills of persuasion and if she was lucky, she might find a body worthy of extra attention.
Being prone to boredom, she was easily intrigued by anyone with a little extra spark. Like the green fire in exuberant eyes and the rouged cheeks of a woman roused by close physical contact.
Given the choice, she would spend all of her spare time between hunts at her brother's house. He might be insufferable at times but at least he left her to her own devices and didn't constantly demand that she pretend to be someone she wasn't. Her mother on the other hand…
The morning following her return from Filey, Charles had taken missive from a courier, asking him to put his sister in a carriage to Kent as soon as possible.
After fuming for a good hour at the audacity of the woman, to think that she could treat her daughter like chattel to be summoned when it suited her, Helena had relinquished to the inevitable and decided to get the unpleasant duty out of the way so she could return to what she really wanted to do.
So it was, full of attitude and defiance, she had waltzed into her parents' house and entered her mother's private drawing room without waiting for an invitation.
Genevieve Wells gazed sternly at her daughter over her reading glasses, shaking her head at the impertinence.
George Wells had been a very eligible match for her; his parents were well known and respected with influence in unexpected circles. As the youngest child, with a sister and four brothers before her, connections had appeared a better prospect than money. All had seemed to go well at first; Charles was a quiet baby and her husband's investments were going from strength to strength, but Helena, it soon turned out, would be her cross to bear.
Though a beautiful, angelic looking child, adored by all, she had a boy's curiosity and a fire in her that defied convention. She heeded no one save her beloved 'Norie' and much to Genevieve's consternation, Eleanor took great delight in encouraging the girl's queerness.
Rumours were always rife within London's socialite population, and though most of them were not worth paying tribute to, on occasion, something would reach her ear that, even if untrue, would be enough to cast aspersions on her family. More often than not, those rumours would involve Helena. Her dalliance with the Duke of Kent's daughter had been quickly brushed aside, but whispers of an evening spent in solitary company with a local journalist and notorious womaniser were not so easily hidden. Money in pockets had been the only option.
Now, mutterings about Rupert and Eleanor keeping an American fugitive in their house, having taken her and a girl from the grasp of the authorities, were threatening to ostracise her from polite society for the foreseeable future.
"Sit," Genevieve nodded to the hard-backed chair on the far side of her writing table.
Helena made a point of dragging the chair closer to the table, sitting at an angle and letting her posture fall slightly into a barely perceptible slouch. Most other people would not notice the subtle revolt, but HG knew her mother well. "I do love the efficiency with which you conduct our interactions. Do you imagine that treating me like a disobedient pet will entice me toward obedience, or are you simply so busy these days that your time must be clocked by the syllable?"
Stern, brown eyes centred on the agent. "If I thought you could sit still for five minutes together, I might entertain a more verbose dialogue but I have long since given up on that score. As you seem to take pleasure in finding ways to use my words against me, I have chosen to get right to the point." Barely looking at her daughter, the elder Wells reached for a short assemblage of letters and briefly shuffled them into a neat pile, taking the top one before folding it open. "I've received several reports of your antics about town, as per the course, but I shan't attempt to argue with you about your choice of entertainment, I shall simply reiterate my concerns with regards to discretion. It is not only your reputation on the line, Helena. If you have no regard for what I suffer, then at least consider your brother and father."
"Why does Charles not have to suffer this tedium every time he decides to entertain a little merriment?" The inventor huffed in response. She really didn't care what people said about her, but she was loathe to involve Charles or their father, no matter how much her brother annoyed her. "Must you send spies after me wherever I go?"
Genevieve spared Helena a sardonic glance. "As your mother, it falls to me to see that you conduct yourself with a modicum of dignity. Since you have little to no intention of controlling yourself, I'm afraid that spies are necessary."
HG rolled her eyes. "Please tell me that you summoned me here for more than this. I could have derided such censure in a letter as easily."
Mrs. Wells shifted marginally in her seat, restraining herself from starting a pointless shouting match, as had happened frequently in the past. It was difficult to remember sometimes that she really did love her daughter, despite her flaws; the differences between them cast such a large shadow of contention over their interactions. "Mrs. Fairchild arrived at my door this morning to tell me that my in-laws are harbouring a potentially dangerous fugitive," she began in earnest. "As you are on better terms with your grandmother than I, it occurred to me that you might have an elevated chance of advising her to take the matter seriously. The idea makes people nervous. She should clear up any misunderstandings as soon as is possible."
"A fugitive?" Helena asked, confused. "That's preposterous. Who would be gullible enough to believe that?" Her immediate concern made her straighten, her body automatically turning to give her mother her full attention. This sudden shift didn't override her natural curiosity though. "Who exactly are they harbouring?"
"Mrs. Fairchild's son happened to be walking past Westminster Bridge and witnessed an altercation between a young woman and two gentlemen. He reports watching your grandfather order her to be taken into his carriage and I've heard via Dr. Gravestock that she is still at their house."
It was clear from the sour expression on Genevieve's face that she disapproved and was irritated by being caught in the middle once more. Helena could not care less about her mother's opinion. In her experience, Genevieve Wells would find a reason to be annoyed with the world if one wasn't offered to her freely. Her grandparents' reputations did matter to her though and, even as she knew that Rupert and Norie would dismiss her concerns, she felt that it was her duty to look into the matter further.
"I intended to visit soon anyway," she waved casually as if the subject was barely worth noting. "I'm not surprised that no one thinks to question why Gregory Fairchild spends all of his free time down by the banks of the river, hidden in doorways and alleys. Yet another example of gender inequality in our society. After spending a companionable evening with a male friend, I am apparently an aspiring whore who must be followed at all hours of the day and night." HG ignored her mother's scandalised gasp and stood to take her leave. "And Gregory is a concerned citizen, a hero, while he puts Nebuchadnezzar out to grass behind the Bear and Staff."
"Good gracious, Helena! What a thing to say." Genevieve leant weakly back in her chair, one hand over her heart and the other gripping the desk.
HG ran her hands over the line of her dress and returned the look with an entirely serious one of her own. "Why the expression of shock, Mother? It's surely not news to you? Oh, I forgot..." the inventor paused dramatically. "We don't deal in truth, do we? Only rumour and suspicion of anything different."
"Young lady, you may not respect the establishment into which you were born, but your livelihood; the roof over your head, the clothes on your back, the food in your belly; all of the things you depend on and take for granted, are provided for by that establishment." Genevieve took a moment to compose herself before striding to the door and holding it aloft. "It is past time that you gave something back... Josephine!" she called out into the hallway, pausing only seconds before the young woman appeared in haste. "Miss. Wells is leaving. Fetch her coat and please see that she doesn't dawdle on her way out. She has many important things to attend to, I'm sure," she added in a sarcastic aside, ejecting her daughter from the room with a glare.
Helena fumed inside as she followed her childhood friend down the ornate staircase toward the vestibule. "The nerve of her," she groused, not caring to lower her tone. "As if she or any of her meddling acquaintances know what it means to 'give something back' to society."
"Miss. Helena," Josephine hissed with resigned exasperation. "Please, lower your voice," she urged gently.
HG sighed but for her friend's sake, reigned in her anger. "Why, Josie? Holding my tongue only perpetuates the ridiculous notion that she and the rest of society is in the right. Doesn't it infuriate you to think that your worth is only calculated by the company you keep and sort of man you marry?"
"I love my husband," the young blonde answered softly.
Helena huffed this time but smiled. "Well, you had the good sense to fall in love with a man who, not only worships the ground you walk on, as he should, but has more than two brain cells to rub together." As they approached the front door, she allowed her mother's maid to help her into her coat. "That wasn't my question though."
Looking into intelligent brown eyes, Josephine recalled the many occasions that she had had to calm the youngest Wells after a disagreement with the mistress of the house. She had always admired Helena's outgoing nature and listened with interest as she listed all of her views about the inequalities in modern society and declared the many ways that she would change them.
She had even grown to feel something of a tentative attraction to the girl as they matured through their adolescence together. Thankfully, that had all come to nothing and after one or two experimental kisses, they had become closer as friends, almost like sisters.
In all the time she'd known Helena though, she'd felt something akin to pity. Her friend was a square peg in a round hole and the world was constantly trying to smooth off her edges to make her fit. The wonderful person behind that penetrating gaze was forever destined to be knocked about, bullied by convention until she submitted.
"I believe that there are many things out of balance with the way things are, Miss. But I don't believe that anything will improve to your liking by baiting your mother," she added with a knowing glance.
Helena rolled her eyes. "Why must you be so sensible about these things?" she queried aloud, her voice much less fiery. "So what have you heard about this 'fugitive' of my grandfather's? Should I be concerned?" The servants always knew more than they let on and she trusted Josephine's intelligence more than her mother's.
With swift, searching eyes, the maid checked that they were alone before turning a smile on her friend. "They say she's as brave as she is beautiful. The footman saw her fighting those men like she'd been born to it and Beth says she spends all day now in the library, reading or else in consultation with your grandmother." Her gentle smile curved into a knowing smirk at the interest that ignited behind Helena's eyes. "She has a little girl too; eight-years-old and bright as a button." Before Helena could ask for more detail, a noise of motion from above roused them. "Oh, Lord. You'd best go Miss." Josephine pleaded, with a suddenly anxious expression.
HG squeezed her friend's wrist reassuringly. "I am gone. Thank you, darling."
She hurried down the front steps to the carriage that awaited her. One thing she could say for her mother's love of decorum; it always gave her a comfortable ride back to town. The journey also gave her time to mull over this new, mysterious stranger.
Her mother had given her no indication of when the 'incident' by the river had occurred but it couldn't have been more than a couple of days ago. There had been no talk of it when she left for her trip. If rumours were beginning to circulate now, it meant that the bored and rich ladies of the neighbourhood were desperate for a new story, a curiosity to sate their growing pangs, and a stranger at the Wells house set tongues wagging like nothing else.
Tonight, she had thought to herself, a tremble of burgeoning anticipation fluttering along her spine.
She had known it would be late by the time the carriage dropped her off at her brother's house and she'd managed to change into something suitable for a night time excursion, but once the idea of that strong, intelligent, beautiful somebody had taken seed in her mind, she found she could not wait.
The window had been easy enough to jimmy with her self-made tools and her outfit had leant her enough flexibility that the climb and the drop could be performed with agility. Her bravado had soon been tested though when she happened upon the unexpected figure in the dining room. Senses on high alert, the prickling down her spine had warned her of another's presence and without thinking, she'd reached into the shadows to find the culprit. The sudden jostling in the dark had taken her by surprise but no more so than the powerful pull she felt when the dark had been lifted and her opponent's identity finally revealed.
After the brief banter and the delicious sight of the woman looking flustered in little but her nightgown, she had watched with a sense of disappointment as the green-eyed someone left, her gaze lingering on the door long after it closed.
"Helena," Eleanor's firm voice dragged her granddaughter's attention back into the room. She had expected this reaction but to see the young rebel so swiftly enamoured was both amusing and worrying. Her Little One wore her heart on her sleeve and that openness made her vulnerable. "Since you're here now and I have no particular desire to send you into the night alone, you may as well extol your mother's concerns on me," she suggested, sarcasm colouring her tone. "What vexes her this time?"
Smirking, HG slid into a chair, crossed her legs at the ankle and ran a hand through her hair. "The usual," she responded dismissively. "Her image. Talk about your mystery guest reached her and as no one has the facts, and they all have far too much time on their hands, they're on top form, inventing the most scandalous story they can think of." She fiddled absently with the cuff of her shirt. "Mother didn't share all the details but enough for me to concede that she might have a point. The sooner you show off your new friend, the more expediently the rumours will dissipate and they can all return to their needlework, safe in the knowledge that they've done their duty to expunge the undesirables from 'polite society', even if there weren't any to begin with."
"You wouldn't be referring to those rumours that you've neither heard of nor remember, would you?" Eleanor enquired knowingly.
Helena shrugged unrepentantly. She had never managed to lie convincingly to her grandmother yet they both knew that she wouldn't stop trying. It was their little game. "So... Who is she?"
"A drifting soul who requires safe haven until she is able to access her transport home." Eleanor responded cryptically. "Along with her daughter."
"Husband?"
"Helena..." the regent's tone warned.
"It's just a question." Dark eyes smiled from beneath lowered lids. "If she continues to reside here, you know the topic will arise."
Levelling a serious gaze at her granddaughter, Norie sat straighter in her seat. "I am well aware." She would have preferred to leave the conversation to another day, making the young woman wait, but she knew the agent well enough to suspect that Helena would take matters into her own hands if denied information she sorely wanted. Eleanor decided that she couldn't do that to her guest. "She is engaged to be married but for obvious reasons we agreed to play along to the assumption that she is already wed."
"So..."
"Mrs. Bering."
"Bering..." Helena tasted the appellation. "That's not a name I'm familiar with."
"There are a few families in London with that name I believe. Myka is American however."
Myka. The name sent an unexpected shiver along Helena's spine. "And the lucky Bride-groom to be?" she continued, unaware of the edge of jealousy in her tone.
"Miss. Christina Bering sounds very English so I have to assume that her father is too." She watched the changing expression on Helena's face and felt compelled to add a little of her own observations. "I haven't asked for the particulars of Christina's birth. It is obvious that she loves her mother and vice-versa, but there is not a great deal of physical resemblance between them. In fact, Christina rather reminds me of you." She tilted her head to one side, curiously awaiting her granddaughter's response.
Helena pondered that a moment before a mischievous smirk tugged at her lip. "So the mother likes her lovers dark haired and handsome?"
"Fie! Is that all you think about?" Eleanor tutted, shaking her head while she tried not to laugh. The last thing Helena needed was encouragement. "I should be ashamed of you."
Colour rising to her cheeks, HG laughed bitterly, "Ha! My mother experiences shame enough to deprive us all of the feeling."
Hearing the disappointment in her granddaughter's tone, the regent softened. "Have you not found amongst your conquests the one you want to settle with? What of your friend, Richard? I know that one at least you keep from your mother's many eyes."
"We're friends..." Helena began defensively before shrugging slightly and adding, "And occasionally more, when the mood strikes. I don't wish to spend my life with him though." She wasn't sure where this sudden need to check on her had come from, but it was comforting to know that someone cared enough to ask how she felt about her life.
"Marietta?" Norie continued tentatively.
A chuckle replaced any tension in the raven-haired inventor's voice. The old woman's trying hard, she thought. "Fun, but not enticing enough to want to spend the kind of energy it takes to keep a female lover indefinitely." Only one of her acquaintances had ever tried a long term relationship with her lover and it had ended in tears for both of them. Now, they had their husbands and shared longing glances across crowded ballrooms. That sort of torture, Helena could do without. "Didn't you ever want to just explore the fruits of life? Taste the bounty instead of marrying?"
"For a time, I did. I very nearly passed your grandfather over for that life too." Eleanor smiled with self-depreciative amusement. "Like you, I disliked the idea of convention for the sake of convention. I didn't want to adhere to that expectation." Having never shared this part of her past with her granddaughter, she was cautious not to appear overly encouraging or dismissive. She admired Helena's bravery when it came to her personal choices, no matter how much they worried her. "I never quite saw the appeal of the female form as you do, and your grandfather is the only bed-fellow I've taken but still, I fought vehemently against being forced into wedlock. Rupert turned out to be a God-send. After two refusals from me, he simply asked if we could be friends. My parents were furious, but were in India, so by the time they heard the news of my defiance, I had already made my own proposal. Your grandfather accepted in good grace." She chuckled at the memory and made a mental note to thank him again for his patience.
Helena's brow quirked curiously. "What happened to change your mind?"
"Quite simply, my dear; I fell in love." Eleanor's hazel gaze became distant as she recalled that period of her life. "Lust is fun, I understand its appeal. It's quick, exciting and for the most part, uncomplicated. Love however... Love sweeps you off your feet. Love says, you didn't know you wanted this, but now you'll never wish to be without it." She reached across the table and placed one of her hands atop of Helena's fidgeting two. "I apologise, my darling. You know I support your pursuit of your own path in life. However, I do not want to see you pass up genuine happiness in favour of a life of defiance, simply because you do not wish to bow to convention."
"Is marriage the only happiness?" That defiant edge had returned to her tone, but it played with a touch of despondency. She valued her grandmother's opinion; the woman was her idol and the only person she ever really loathed to disappoint, so naturally, she hung on the older Wells' every word.
Patting HG's hands in reassurance, Norie smiled gently. "Not at all. Just don't dismiss it simply because you think you should."
Helena filed this thought away, knowing that she would want to consider it in more detail, but feeling far too emotional about the subject at the current time. Instead, she brought them back to the topic they'd started discussing. "I think Mother would have you rid yourself of your temporary guests."
"We both know that will not happen," Eleanor offered a conspiring smile.
"I should think not," HG agreed with a chuckle. "I would help you introduce Mrs. Bering about town."
"I'm sure you would," the regent said knowingly, her eye-role punctuating her slight exasperation. "I would prefer to protect her from prying eyes. Unfortunately, I think her immersion into society is inevitable. It would seem that her stay with us will not be as brief as I had anticipated and I would not wish for her to become the victim of heavy scrutiny."
Helena clapped her hands together, delighted at the conclusion they were advancing upon. "I anticipate the need for a gathering."
"I fear you are right," Norie admitted reluctantly. "But Helena, you will take pains to remember that she is my guest and must be treated with respect at all times. She is not a toy for you to play with."
HG rolled her eyes in return but conceded the warning; she recognised that she had a tendency to get carried away at times and forgot that other people's feelings were sometimes at risk of being trodden upon.
The pair continued to scheme and plan until Eleanor insisted that they head to their respective rooms to procure a couple of hours of sleep.
Helena drifted to her room with little intention of falling into bed. Norie had informed her which room Mrs. Bering and her daughter had taken residence in so she wouldn't inadvertently disturb the pair, but the knowledge tormented her for some reason and as she tiptoed by and crossed to the opposite room, she had to resist the urge to peek inside the stranger's sanctuary.
Placing the candle she carried on her small writing bureau, she decided that she would sit and sketch for a while and reached for an oil lamp to light. There was a bitter chill in the room as the fires had been doused some time ago, but as with most things, Helena refused to be put off by this minor inconvenience. Placing the bulbous glass dome to one side, she fiddled with one of the dials, leavening the wick so she could trim the strip of blackened material at its tip.
Each morning, the servants would see to all the lamps, maintaining the glass, fuel and wick, but HG couldn't help herself and went about her ritual as usual. The motions were so habitual that she barely had to think, making sure the cut was even, bringing a lit splint from her candle's flame closer and lowering the wick to the point of almost extinguishing it. With a clean cloth, she wiped the excess soot from the rim of the glass and brought it carefully back into position. Bit by bit, she turned one of the dials, raising the lit wick once more, careful not to be too hasty. Late autumn nights bought with them a bite to the air and she didn't want the sudden change in temperature to crack the glass. Finally finished, she placed the lamp close to where she planned to work, the light dispersal having an immediate effect on the dim room.
An idle sketch of several members of politics in consultation over the repression of the lower classes and women wanting to vote, soon became idle curves and curls, eventually morphing into a faint likeness of the woman from the dining room… Myka.
The face wasn't particularly clear, just the hint of an intense gaze and a mouth open in shock. Surprise perhaps, to see a woman dressed in men's clothing? The impression of a womanly figure with long legs filled out a flowing sleep-shift, which was curiously without the tousled nightgown she'd seen. Helena traced the drawing several times with the nib of her pen, regardless of the fact that the ink had run out. Who are you? She pondered, the question threatening to drive her mad.
Being rather open to the idea of finding attraction anywhere, she felt oddly blindsided by the sudden obsession she felt toward this stranger. As much as possible, she tried to avoid persons already attached, married or otherwise. There had been one or two close calls where she had almost crossed a line, but for the most part, her chosen lovers were open minded and free of responsibility to a beau or spouse. So why did she suddenly feel no concern whatsoever for this woman's fiancé? In fact, if she was blatantly honest with herself, she thought she might feel more than a little smug at the idea of winning Myka over and claiming her for herself.
Don't be absurd, HG. Even if that could happen, would you truly wish to be tied down?
She shook her head vehemently at the thought, but a little voice in the back of her mind recalled her grandmother's words. Was it defiance for the sake of defiance? Could there be such a thing as love at first sight? She supposed she would just have to wait to find out.
Next up... Myka thinks some more.