“Cousin, harrumph. He is a philanderer,” affirmed Fiona, “and I’ll put my money on she’s a painted woman. We’ll absolve the cad for now. To my way of thinking, it’s preferable for you to go out instead of mooning at home under your mother’s thumb,” Fiona said. “You can use your sister as an excuse to get out. I’ll accompany you.”
“Hm-m,Led Astray.I’ve been wanting to see the play that the news pundits are raving about. If Roderick becomes snooty, I’ll mention to Louise who has really been, ‘led astray’.”
At eight o’clock, Roderick picked her up, his eyes widening with incredulity. “You brought Fiona and Mrs. Merriweather?” He crushed his bowler to his chest, turning his head up and down the street. Was he looking for someone?
“I thought I’d reward Fiona. And Mrs. Merriweather was thrilled when I suggested seeing the play. I hope you don’t mind.” What was Roderick up to? “Where’s Louise?”
“You know your sister. She cried off with a migraine.” He tapped the carriage, and the driver whipped the horses into motion, causing the women to jerk back into their seats.
When the carriage stopped, her brother-in-law helped them alight. A boisterous rough crowd surrounded them.
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t the Union Square Theater.”
“Led Astrayis sold out. I tried to get tickets, but to no avail. I understand they have great entertainments at this theater.”
“Miss Spencer, I don’t know,” warned Fiona.
Her maid echoed her thoughts, but before Elizabeth had another word, off sailed the carriage and Roderick jostled them through the tangle of unkempt bodies.
Once inside, Elizabeth noted the grandness of the theater. The curtains parted and the performance began. Romeo and Juliet shared very suggestive declarations of love in Hoboken instead of Verona. In the background arrived a company of chorus girls in daringly revealing costumes, kicking up their legs and revealing their undergarments. Mrs. Merriweather smacked her lips in dismay. Fiona covered her eyes. Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open.
“Roderick, I’ve had enough. Escort us home immediately,” commanded Elizabeth.
“Are you always going to do what your family dictates? Have a little fun.”
“I said take us home.”
His condescension pricked her ire. She moved from the row, tugging Fiona and Mrs. Merriweather behind her. She glanced aside, saw Roderick running up a parallel aisle, and then flag a hooligan from the foyer. What was that about?
Once outside, she stepped from beneath the awning, treading around a dismembered body of what she thought might be a cat, and then turned to Roderick. “This is a disgrace. I’m sure Louise had no intention of coming. You are suspect in how you lured me here?—”
A huge crowd surged and enveloped her, pushing her in every direction. Screaming and deafening shouts rent the air. A choreographed dance of destruction. Would she be torn from limb to limb? She was ripped from Fiona and Mrs. Merriweather as the crowd closed about her like a dark sea. Fists flew and she sidestepped to miss a punch, the air whizzing past her head. What had been peaceful became polluted with rage.
She screamed for Roderick. The cad disappeared through the crowd and down the street. Her skin crawled with the grubby men pushing and shoving against her. She gasped for breath. “Fiona! Mrs. Merriweather!”
Her blood turned to ice. Would they be torn from limb to limb? Would they fall and be trampled? Would they be crushed beneath the throng’s feet? Muscles tensing, Elizabeth pressed back into the crowd, searching for her friends.
Pain, sharp and jabbing, like an icicle lodged in her shoulder as someone threw a punch at her. She screamed and kept on screaming.
Chen and O’Reilly led the way while Zachary dragged his feet. Acrid smoke belched from the fiery forges of a steel plant, stung his nostrils and throat. Soot rose and fell from a slight breezeoff the Hudson before falling as a filmy veil that coated every surface and matched his black mood.
“I worked all day and most of last night. I want to sleep.”
“You wouldn’t sleep anyway,” cajoled the Irishman.
“I’ve slept three hours a night and look like I’ve slept in a coffin. If Dyer and Spencer push me anymore, I’ll be celebrating my own funeral.”
“A customer gave us tickets, and you need to get that working mind off things for a while. Life’s too short.”
He referred to Elizabeth. Zachary had learned that it didn’t pay to care about anyone or anything. The scene at Merriweather’s ball had brought to a standstill any further relationships. O’Reilly had been informed of the fiasco from Fiona.
Zachary’s talent was not a gift…it was a curse. Spurned by a society that feared he’d rise and use his powers against them? To escape the targeted loathing of Spencer and Dyer? Impossible. For their society, scorn was hatred’s nectar. Men like that duo were the mold that grew on other men’s corpses.
He wasn’t certain how Elizabeth was judging him. Would she eventually turn in favor of her family’s way of thinking. Wasn’t she one of their ilk? He sloshed through a pothole, muddying his boots. She possessed a power over him. He moved in a mist, halfway between reality and illusions of her. He was stirred by the elegant, straight line of her back, from her modest collar down to the curve of her hips. Knowing the real shape underneath the gathered lavishness of fabric and padding stirred him; a hint of shared scent or the radiance of the tiny, delicate wisps of hair at the nape of her neck when she bowed her head in contemplation remained captivating.
He scrubbed his face. And sleep, God help him was nonexistent. He kept behind everyone free to loiter unobserved. He felt hot and restless.
For Zachary, love was not a tradeable commodity. He’d learned the hard way. A vein pulsed in his neck. How Martha and Elias Johnson laughed at him at the ball. The bitch who had conned him. To discover love was a scam. Hadn’t he vowed never to get involved with another woman? The fates taunted him.
