This went in a slightly different direction than I originally intended but though our OTP are like moths to the flame, and for the sake of the plot ;-), I needed to throw some obstacles between them. Not as much shopping shenanigans as you all might have hoped for I'm afraid but let me know if you like it anyway.
Wonderful reviews guys! Can't tell you how much it helps to hear your thoughts. I was going to wait until tomorrow to update, but I'm too eager! I hope it's edited well enough. I wrote a lot more this week, so fingers crossed for another early update next week. I need to go away and reread other bits I'm tinkering with. I can see the end in sight (to this part at least) and I don't want to get too far off track. It feels like it's taken forever to get to this point!
Chapter Ten
Beside the pond, Myka held a giggling girl with both arms, smiling into soft waves as Christina wriggled and pretended to escape. They tussled for a short time before both gave up and bright, brown eyes gazed down with excitement at the prone adult.
"You're silly, Mama," the young girl declared breathlessly.
"You don't like frogs?" Myka asked with faux surprise. "All this time, I thought you painted your room green so you could pretend to be a frog."
Renewed giggling filled the air. "No! It's green for your eyes," she responded matter-of-factly, missing her Mama's sudden misty-eyed expression.
Hearing the crunch of gravel under feet, two pairs of eyes glanced up to see the tardy inventor approaching. Myka wiped at her tears surreptitiously as she scrambled up from the ground and brushed the bracken from her clothes.
"Helena!" Christina leapt at the new arrival, eliciting an exaggerated 'oomph!' "You're late," she admonished boldly.
Wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulder, HG led her back to the house, assuming that the American would follow. "The perils of a late night and peculiar dreams," she whispered as if it were a dire secret. "Regardless, I am here now so let's away."
After waiting for the curly-haired woman to exchange her wrapper for a more appropriate coat for public viewing, Helena led them to the waiting carriage. She was painfully aware that Myka was less than ten yards behind her the whole way and that she had not yet acknowledged the other woman's presence.
She couldn't shake off the intense knee-jerk reaction she'd had at the sight of the woman playing with her daughter. She already knew that Myka was nothing like any other woman she'd ever met. Any of her mother's friends, or well to do women she'd grown up with, all had nannies to see to their children. Indeed, if it hadn't been for her grandmother, her own upbringing would have bordered on torture; forced to sit, sew, paint, read, write and above all, behave. Yet here was this intelligent, beautiful stranger who spent most of her waking hours teaching, talking to and even playing with her daughter. It was unheard of. Myka defied convention in a way Helena had never given much thought to before and the effect was intoxicating.
Even as she knew she could not avoid talking to the woman all day long, HG gave no eye-contact as they piled into the hansom-cab, driven by Thomas, and sat with Christina between them to act as a buffer. She could feel those green eyes on her, analysing her every move and as the cab took them closer to their destination, she grew increasingly more stubborn in her refusal to break the silence between them.
Myka smiled to herself, shaking her head at the inventor's obvious avoidance. Initially, she had been puzzled and hurt by this complete about-turn from the previous day's attentiveness, but as she watched Helena fidget and replayed the scene HG must have witnessed by the pond, she thought she had the reason sussed.
Forgetting for a moment their temporal dilemma, a surge of warmth flowed through her at the idea that Helena could be falling for her even now. At this time, when she was apparently care-free and resistant to the idea of committing to any one person, she was showing all the signs of someone who felt cupid's pull and struggled against it.
In her excitement, the eight-year-old couldn't keep still, alternating between one side of the cab and the other, peering curiously out of each side. Helena chuckled while Myka closed her eyes and placed a hand over her stomach.
"Sweetheart, I know you're happy to be leaving the house, but will you please sit still?" the brunette asked as the swaying of their vehicle finally started to get to her.
An initially irritated expression became concerned as Christina took a good look at her Mama and complied. "Sorry. Are you alright, Mama?" she asked guiltily.
The American smiled through her clenched teeth, patting the girl's hand as she willed the sudden nausea away.
Sensing the change in the atmosphere, Helena forgot about her own issues for a moment, took a quick look at the area they were passing and made a snap decision. She allowed the carriage to travel another hundred yards or so before leaning out of the window a little. She tapped on the side of the cab and asked Thomas to turn into a side road and stop.
Green eyes snapped open in surprise but quickly became relieved as they pulled up at the side of the road. Helena was suddenly next to her, offering her a hand to help her out. She took it gratefully, enjoying the all too brief texture of the other woman's skin and felt her insides calming as she stepped down onto the street, appreciating the solid ground beneath her.
"Thank you," she said as she automatically reached for Christina's hand.
Helena felt her naturally chivalrous nature take over, her childish need to avoid her feelings almost entirely gone in the face of Myka's distress. "Are you ill? Would you prefer we turn back?"
"I'll be fine," Myka dismissed the concern, beginning to feel awkward. Did Eleanor tell her? Does she know I'm pregnant? "It's just a bit of motion sickness from the rocking. Do we have much further to go?" she enquired, looking around the decidedly less busy street they were in.
HG appeared for a moment as if she wanted to protest but thought better of it. "We are here," she announced. "I had thought to take you to Harrods to make a day of it but now that I think better of it, I'm not entirely sure that you would enjoy the kind of attention one usually expects there. It is a place for the rich and insecure to go to feel good about themselves." She finally smiled as she met Myka's gaze. "You strike me as the sort of woman to whom the opposite is true."
Myka blushed slightly and looked down at her daughter to hide the pleased expression in her eyes. "Where are you planning to take us then?"
Stepping around her companions, HG stood next to Christina and took her hand. "Just across the street, my dears."
They dodged horses and skirted manure, making their way across to a shabby looking shop front. The peeling paint on the sign was just legible from the front step and Myka looked up to read Mrs. Faraday's – Tailor for all needs. A smaller sign in the window listed some of the services available and the time-traveller caught the announcement that one could purchase women's work trousers before Helena ushered them inside.
The tinkling of the bell heralded their entry and Myka felt Christina's hand tighten in hers. Inside, the dirt caked on the windows prevented any light penetrating the glass so that every lamp had to be lit to allow the customers to see.
Several mannequins littered the tight space, though why anyone would choose to shop here after seeing the faded, dusty material on display, Myka wasn't sure. Upon closer inspection, she conceded that they must have been quite lovely when they were new; the good quality of the dresses was apparent, even in this dismal place.
"How does a place like this make enough money to keep the lights on all the time?" the brunette wondered aloud. "Wait..." She looked closer at the lamps and noticed for the first time the lack of odour in the air. "They're not running on gas or oil." She turned to the inventor, who appeared smug.
"They're being lit by a current run through wires to a tantalum filament, powered from a generator in the basement." She seemed about to launch into a lengthy explanation when the sound of hard heels on floorboards interrupted.
All three customers turned toward the sound and watched as a figure emerged from the base of a set of stairs. A buxom blonde with bright blue eyes and a tiny waist stepped into the room and greeted HG with a kiss on each cheek.
"Helena, it's been too long since your last visit!" the shop owner declared with a clear musical lilt to her voice.
As this unknown woman grasped the raven-haired inventor's hands with her own and held her close, she admonished her for her long absence. Myka noted critically that 'Mrs. Faraday' was at least an inch shorter than her future fiancée and appeared to have a habit of leaning too close, pushing her amble bosom against Helena's own modest chest without shame. Why doesn't Helena push her away? Myka felt her teeth grind together for an entirely different reason. When the two separated, she was pacified marginally by the colour rising on the taller woman's cheeks as she glanced quickly between Myka and the blonde.
"Lucile, I do hope you are not too busy today as we have a rather urgent wardrobe dilemma." HG gestured to her companions. Her hands still held Mrs. Faraday's but almost as if they were to keep the woman at arms' length without offending her. "My friends here require gowns for tomorrow evening and possibly a few other items appropriate for future formal and informal gatherings."
"The usual quid pro quo?" the blonde asked in an aside, causing Helena's eyes to widen a fraction too far for Myka not to read into the question.
HG coughed. "Grandmother is paying."
Lucile seemed to assess the inventor's honesty, her gaze jumping briefly to the curly-haired woman she'd brought with her. "A shame, but you can take a look at the improvements you've added to my shop while you're here."
"Certainly," Helena conceded, finally breaking contact and returning to Myka's side. "Lucile will take care of you both. Her skills are quite far and beyond most tailors. She'll have you looking fit for a ball in a trice."
Myka tried to put a cap on her jealousy; she couldn't blame her future partner for having had lovers almost a century before she was born, but to see them in the flesh, she couldn't prevent the gut reaction. She couldn't even tell Helena that she returned her interest, though at this point, if she could alter the timeline, she had inevitably already done so. What would it matter now?
Trying not to let her turmoil show in her expression, Myka nodded slowly, resigned to her immediate fate as a doll and pin cushion. "Let's get on with it then."
"Another fashion enthusiast I see," Lucile commented sarcastically as she gestured for the tall brunette to follow her into the back.
"I would like a new dress," Christina announced as she followed her mother. "I think they're pretty."
"Well said," Mrs Faraday smiled at the youngster, completely ignoring the terse looks she was getting from the American. "Just for that, you shall get first pick."
"Really!? I would like something longer, like Mama's..."
Christina's enthusiastic words faded as the three disappeared into the back of the shop where the majority of the merchandise was kept, leaving the inventor to her thoughts.
Stood on her own, in the middle of the cramped and dingy shop entrance, Helena ran both hands through her hair and blew out a long lung-full of relieved air. What had she been thinking bringing Myka here, of all places? She was suffering, her inner voice reminded her. You wanted to find the most efficient answer to the problem, without thinking on the consequences as usual.
Starting for the door to the basement, she thought about Myka's behaviour and the unmistakable knowledge in her gaze; the brunette knew that there had been more than friendship between her and Mrs Faraday. Had Lucile's overtures been so obvious? Helena didn't think so. She couldn't help thinking that no woman would come to that conclusion without prior experience. The fire in those magnetic green eyes had suggested disapproval on a personal level; jealousy and not disgust. The American had politely refused all her attempts at friendly intimacy thus far and yet, when someone else entered the picture, she left her careful detachment at the door.
What did that say about her relationship with her husband to be? Were they truly the match Myka claimed they were? Could he really be so liberal? Perhaps they had an understanding. Perhaps he too had leanings toward his own gender. Such arrangements were not unheard of if you knew the right people. Though where did that leave Helena?
Catching her own thoughts, Helena shook her head. She was reading too much into the situation. Myka was beautiful, intelligent and unconventional, exactly her type. It wasn't surprising really that she was so attracted to the brunette, but where normally she would test the waters and move on if there was resistance or complete obliviousness, Myka's confusing signals had her floundering.
It wasn't a feeling she enjoyed.
"Bollocks. HG, she's getting married and she hasn't responded to any of your advances the way you wished she would." She reached the generator in the basement and began a few basic precautionary checks before opening it up. "You would do best to nip this in the bud. These feelings serve no one and will only cause you consternation."
While the inventor tinkered in the basement, upstairs, Myka watched closely as Lucile took Christina's measurements and chatted with the eight-year-old about fabrics and styles. She had to wonder what this woman's story was. Her name suggested that she was married but there was no sign of a man about the shop. There was no sign of anyone frequenting the establishment other than their own small party, but why was that? The blonde clearly knew what she was doing and, assuming that it was her handiwork littering the front of the shop, had skills in the trade. Why was her business so run down and how had Helena come to know her? To know her so intimately?
Myka closed her eyes to try to organise her thoughts but only ended up imagining things that she really didn't want to see. You don't even know that they were really talking about that, she scolded herself, feeling a stirring of insecurity. She couldn't help thinking back to that day in Warehouse 13 when Helena had not so subtly hinted that she'd had more than her share of female lovers. Don't jump to the worst case, Mykes.
Hearing Pete's voice in her head, Myka smiled to herself sadly. She missed her home, her family and mostly her fiancée. They were over a week into their stay in 1890 and each day she felt a little less confident that they would ever find a way home. The melancholy took hold of her sporadically, but mostly when Christina was showing signs of fatigue or they spoke about their Helena.
It took a good hour before Lucile was finished with the young girl; half of that time being spent in debate about the best materials and colours. Myka sat by patiently, smiling when her daughter asked for her opinion and offering her judgement where necessary.
There was an awkward moment as the blonde declared that she had what she needed and ordered Myka over to the platform for her measurements. The agent still hadn't forgiven the woman for her comment in the shop and found it difficult to maintain an air of polite indifference, but when she was asked to undress and Lucile's blue gaze passed over her now obviously pregnant belly, she blushed.
"You will need gestation stays," the tailor explained. "You're fortunate to be carrying fairly low; it will make it easier to pull the waist in."
"Not too tight," Myka insisted. "I want to be able to breathe comfortably."
A blonde eyebrow shot up. "You really don't care much for fashion. It's quite the thing, I hear, to fall faint from lack of breath. It shows your dedication to convention."
Myka heard the teasing tone in the shopkeeper's voice and felt a sense of boldness rise from within. "I think if I worried about what people thought of me, I would never have let Helena drag me into your shop."
"Touché," Lucile chuckled in a girly manner, very unlike HG's lower, ever mischievous tone. "That you did allow her to drag you in here suggest that you value her opinion and trust her judgement."
Their eyes met and Myka read the insinuation behind those amused blue orbs. The agent's eyes narrowed in warning. "Do you intend to fit me for a dress today or will I be going like this?" she asked acerbically, gesturing to her half-dressed state.
Unmoved, Lucile continued to flit around with her tape measure. "You would certainly turn a few heads," she commented nonchalantly. "But I think you should give Miss Wells a fighting chance at least. She does love to think that she's in control."
Christina watched her Mama colour from the corner of her eye and frowned to herself. Adults had strange conversations sometimes; they said one thing but seemed to mean another. The pretty, blonde tailor appeared to be making polite conversation but whatever she was saying beneath her words, it was upsetting her Mama. Christina assumed that it had something to do with her Mummy.
"Mama, may I see what Helena's doing, please?" the eight-year-old asked. Waiting for someone to be measured and fitted for clothing wasn't nearly as interesting as having it done to herself.
Considering the question carefully, Myka looked at her daughter's bored features and felt her pain; she had hated clothes shopping when she was a child and Tracy had needed new outfits. "Yes, Sweetheart," she agreed softly. "Just be careful; Helena's tinkering." She caught brown eyes and a knowing glance passed between them; they were both well acquainted with the occasional HG Wells' laboratory disaster.
"Ok, Mama." Christina kissed her mother's cheek and left the adults to their business.
"She's delightful," Lucile commented as the girl departed. "You and your husband must be very proud. I imagine she'll be a great help when this one arrives." She nodded towards Myka's mid-section.
Deciding that she wasn't going to get out of this conversation any time soon, Myka took a deep breath and resigned herself to providing vague answers to Mrs Faraday's questions. Though this wasn't the company she had expected to be wary of, she was cognisant of the fact that gossip always travelled at speed. She half expected to return to Eleanor's behind news that she'd taken ill and had visited this rundown establishment to purchase her evening ware instead of a more respectable outlet.
If a few titbits would keep the blonde's thirst for information satisfied then she could endure the polite interrogation for a short while.
Down in the basement, HG was deliberately taking her time working on the generator and wiring, and checking filaments. She had a small pile of parts that she intended to replace or improve but she was running out of things to do.
She had to assume that Lucile had finished with Christina and had moved onto Myka. Just the idea of the American in a state of semi-undress made her heart race and her palms sweat. Part of her very much wanted to join the women upstairs to get a sneak peek. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done it. Knowing that Lucile had an uninhibited view, she also had a powerful urge to protect Myka's modesty. Her thoughts were becoming more conflicted by the minute.
Just as she was beginning to lose her resolve, Helena caught the sound of small feet descending the stairs and smiled to herself in relief. Where Myka's presence was marvellously torturous, Christina brought a sense of calm and comfort with her.
"Helena?" the eight-year-old's voice called from the foot of the stairs.
"Over here, darling," HG answered. "Come on in. Just mind the wires won't you. I shouldn't like to imagine what your mother would do to me if you took a fall."
"I'll be careful," Christina reassured the inventor and she crept across the basement.
Two gas lamps were lit, casting an eerie yellow glow across the assemblage of machine parts. Christina was used to the seemingly random things her mother liked to tinker with and invent, but their basement at home contained a great deal more modern technology and less nuts and bolts.
"This looks like something from a gothic story," she observed with fascination. "Like I imagined Dr Frankenstein's laboratory."
Listening to the interest in the girl's clear diction, Helena was charmed. A stray thought flitted through her mind. She would want children if she could have one like this. "Your mother read The Modern Prometheus to you?"
"Oh yes, Mummy loves to read!" the girl cried without thinking, her attention drifting around the room.
"And your father? Does he enjoy reading too?" HG prodded gently. She felt slightly guilty for attempting to weed information out of the young girl, but felt compelled to learn something about Myka's mysterious situation.
Suddenly realising that perhaps she shouldn't say any more, Christina shrugged.
Nonplussed, Helena frowned. "He doesn't like to read?"
Wracking her brain for a way around the question, Christina decided on a method both her mothers often used - vague answers and deflection. "Both my parents like to read. Did your parents read to you?"
Disappointed at the non-answer, the inventor returned to her work, keeping an eye on the eight-year-old as they talked. She described her upbringing with minimal bitterness; her father's love of work taking him ever further from his children while her mother barely tolerated them. The nannies she had tormented into quitting until the only people who would agree to nurture her for any length of time were her grandparents. She complained about the inequality ingrained in their society, forgetting for quite some time who she was talking to.
"I apologise, Miss Bering." Helena eventually stopped for breath and turned to find a serious expression gazing back at her. What would Myka think to her ranting within earshot of her daughter? "One does tend toward the dramatic when one's passions are stirred."
Christina's head canted to one side in thought. It was refreshing to hear her Mummy talk without censure about serious issues. Too often her parents tried to sugar-coat the truth. "I agree," she said boldly. "Working women pay taxes. They should be allowed to have a voice to agree on how money is spent. We also have to adhere to laws and live with the choices the government makes. It makes sense that women should be involved in the decision making process."
Helena's jaw dropped slightly. Never in her life had she heard a child orate so lucidly on political issues. "Is politics a regular topic for conversation in your household?"
Blushing, Christina hesitated. "My lessons cover many topics and sometimes we have debates. Did you go to school?" she deflected again.
Eyes narrowing suspiciously, the inventor considered whether to pursue her line of inquiry or allow the girl to sidetrack her again. Myka had done a good job of prepping her daughter with what she should and should not say. The question on Helena's mind was - why?
Deciding that Christina didn't deserve to be caught in the middle, HG fell into conversation about their favourite subjects and began to teach the girl some of the basic fundamentals of electricity and the race amongst scientist to develop more efficient lighting.
With an extra pair of attentive hands, the inventor had the machine back together and closed before a second pair of feet started on the stairs. Two sets of identical brown looked up curiously to find the tailor descending towards them. Christina stood and brushed down her skirt. She turned to offer her companion a hand up and almost fell, laughing when Helena pretended to struggle and became a dead weight.
"I thought you said that you were useless with children," Lucile reminded HG as she approached and stood toe to toe with her raven-haired friend.
Helena reached up to scratch the side of her head as she considered the comment. She glanced at the girl and pulled her into a side-on hug. "Not this one apparently."
Christina gazed up at her Mummy and felt that peculiar churning in her stomach again. She had a sudden urge to tell Mrs Faraday to go away so she could have her British mother all to herself for a while longer but then she thought of her Mama upstairs and sighed gently to herself.
"Your mother is changing back into her own attire. I'm sure she'll appreciate your help with the buttons," the shop owner commented in a tone that suggested it was an order.
Her Mummy's arm tightened around her shoulders just enough that the girl knew there was something else to this exchange, another mysterious facet of adult behaviour that she wasn't privilege to yet. Looking up, she caught HG's nod of reassurance and reluctantly made for the stairs.
The blonde waited until the eight-year-old's footsteps had completely faded before she smirked at her friend. "What are you getting yourself into this time HG?"
"I'm clueless to your meaning, Lucile." Helena returned to tidying the debris from her work, avoiding eye contact with the tailor.
"Don't play dumb. Somewhere, in that labyrinthine mind of yours, you hatched a plan; you brought them here to test Mrs Bering's reactions to me." Blue eyes followed the inventor's movements, her smirk still in place. "It likely wasn't even a conscious action on your part. You just cannot help yourself can you?"
Helena paused with an errant screw in her hand. She hated that Lucile apparently knew her so well. Had she really brought Myka here to see if she could make her jealous? The woman's responses thus far were confusing. "If I did?"
Lucile shrugged daintily. "She is married. Not your type if I remember correctly. At least, I wasn't your type until Ewart died."
Sighing through her building irritation, HG found a scrap piece of cloth to wrap around the rubbish she'd collected and moved to stand defiantly in front of her friend. "My standards have changed. What is your point?" she demanded, saying nothing about the American not being married yet.
"Oh my dear, Helena," the blonde muttered sympathetically. "Have you truly looked at this situation? She hides behind a dozen secrets and you're falling into a pit of unknowns. Did you know that she's with child?"
Helena buckled as if she'd been shot, her legs losing strength so that Lucile had to leap forward to catch her. She's expecting? Somehow, she'd overlooked the fact that the woman already had a child. Between her and Norie, they'd concluded that Christina was perhaps the result of the father's previous marriage, hence the reason Myka was not yet wed. Stupidly, this thought had given her hope that the American was not completely attached to her husband to be.
"Like many things, she hides it well." Lucile continued to explain. She worried about her friend. As intelligent as Helena Wells was, love was not something that logic and careful thought could defeat. She was not entirely selfless though, she had missed the inventor in her bed. "She won't be able to keep it hidden for long though."
Recovering from the news, HG shook her head. "Luce, I very much doubt that knowing this will make a difference," she admitted.
The tailor nodded sadly. "I thought you might say that."
"I'm sorry. I truly didn't intend to hurt you." Brown eyes held blue, conveying all the regret that she felt.
Lucile tried to smile. "That brilliant mind of yours runs away with you at times, I know." She hesitated and then leant gradually forward to steal a slow kiss. She felt Helena return the familiar caress but managed to hold herself back from deepening it; she was hurting enough already. She had always known that their affair couldn't last but had hoped that there might be a repeat performance somewhere in her future.
As the ex-lovers whispered their fond farewells, a figure stood frozen at the top of the stairs, her dark brown eyes wide with shock and confusion. Holding tight to her tears, Christina launched herself back from the disturbing scene and marched back to her Mama.
She wanted to go home.
She wanted to go home, now!
Btw, I know nothing about dress making or fashion and only a little about electricity (other than how to use it!). I have to balance my time carefully so that I can research but still write a decent amount in the time frame I've given myself, so I hope you'll forgive any inaccuracies.