Miss Slight, Mr. Frampton, and Alice continued to consult with one another about the best way to create the magic lantern and install it in the Jacquard head. Maddie let them; once they’d worked out the structure, she could make the punch cards to fit. Or even use an existing pattern, which would save time and trouble.
Sophie had retreated to the small chair by the nightstand. At Maddie’s approach, her lips curved softly. “Crime is a more exhausting business than I anticipated.”
Maddie sat on the floor and draped one arm over Sophie’s knees. “Like anything, it gets easier with practice. Though this is by far the most ambitious thievery I’ve ever been party to. Normally it’s more a question of nicking and running. You really only need one or two brave souls for that.”
Sophie reached out and tucked an errant lock of hair behind Maddie’s ear. “So this is like a concerto, when you’re used to playing duets or solo pieces.”
Maddie leaned into Sophie’s caress. “I’m sure you’re right.” She tipped her head backward until their eyes met. “And if I ever attempt a symphony, I’ll know just who to ask.”
Sophie’s blush was just as delightful upside-down as right side up. “I like your friends,” she said.
“They’re more than friends,” Maddie said. Sophie’s eyes cut sharply, making Maddie laugh. “Jealous, love?”
“Should I be?” The words were tart, but her touch stayed soft, fingers smoothing along Maddie’s temple.
Maddie snuggled closer. “Alice and I had a bit of a fling years ago—but that’s long past. She’s much happier with Judith, let me tell you.” Sophie’s hands stroked down on the back of her neck, making Maddie shiver pleasurably. It felt like approval. “Really it’s more like... You know how they say soldiers bond in wartime?”
Sophie murmured acknowledgment.
“It felt like a war for a while. After Peterloo. When my mother died. When we still called ourselves the Weavers’ Library and Reform Society, and it felt like nearly everyone was being arrested or imprisoned or harassed by the law. Printers, weavers, tailors, shoemakers—anyone who so much as whispered the wordreformcame in for harsh punishments. They wanted to beat us down. So we bent, rather than break.” She smiled softly, seeing Cat and Emma giggling over something wry Judith Wegg had said. “These people are my family. They’ve been aunts and sisters and cousins to me—they’re why I stayed after my mother’s death, when my father ran away out of desperate grief.” She craned her neck and looked up to meet Sophie’s gaze. “I would do anything for them, anything at all.”
“Sounds like family to me.” Sophie’s dark eyes gleamed with understanding. “What about Mary Slight? How’d she end up helping you with all this?”
Maddie grinned. “Mr. Giles has a habit of fiddling with the clocks in his shop. He moves the hands forward in the morning so his employees have to start early or have their wages docked, and puts them back in the evening so they work past time. The clock’s in his office, you see, so it’s easy for him to do on the quiet.” She rested her cheek against Sophie’s knee, feeling the muscles shift beneath the layers of skirt and petticoat. “Miss Slight is a clock maker. She rather objects to people who muck about with the steadiness of time. Especially using clocks that she made.”
Sophie’s laugh rumbled through her whole body, even the thigh beneath Maddie’s cheek. She rubbed her face against it like a pleased cat.
Even the best parties had to come to a close, however. At length the lamps were extinguished and the bright decorations folded away. The guests trooped down the stairs, trying and failing to be quiet. On the landing they passed Mrs. Crewe, who watched them with the avid gaze of someone looking to find fault. The soft voices of her daughters sounded from behind her bedroom door, half-open.
Mr. Frampton paused to bow as he passed with Miss Slight on his arm, who curtsied. Judith nodded and Alice, tipsy, waved hard until Judith guided her down the stairs with a sigh half amused, half exasperated.
Mrs. Crewe turned back to Maddie and said in tones of strong approval: “That was easily thepolitestorgy I could have imagined.”
Maddie’s jaw dropped.
Mrs. Crewe turned sharply with her cane and shut the door of her room behind her, cutting off any reply Maddie could have made. Sophie peered up at her expression and giggled softly.
The teasing sound warmed Maddie’s heart, and a few other places. “Can you stay the night? There’s still a glass of the good beer left.”
Sophie ducked her head as though the invitation surprised and overwhelmed her. “I’d like that very much.”
She removed her shoes and stockings as Maddie poured the last of the liquor into a single mug for sharing, then they helped one another out of gowns and stays. The beer was some of Cat’s finest home brew, strong and tart-sweet. They kissed languorously, cozying up in the darkness, waiting for the bedclothes to warm enough so they could take off chemises and be properly—or improperly—skin to skin again.
Sophie stretched out on her back with her arms flung happily over her head. “You are a marvelous hostess, Miss Crewe.”
“Oh, this was nothing.” Maddie leaned beside her, stroking the line of her collarbone. Tracing over the rising swell of her bosom. Skating down the side of a breast and into the soft dip of her waist, the warm roll of her belly. “You should have seen the dinners we used to throw when we were the Reform Society. There were so many reform societies around, back then.” Her mouth tilted upward, remembering. “Once, I saw Mrs. Buckhurst speak at the Crown and Anchor in London. You’ve never seen so much food devoured while people discussed who was starving on account of the price of bread.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it feels as though all we can do is talk—and sometimes not even that. Hopefully we’ll be able to actuallydosomething soon. It’s like being slowly poisoned, to know something’s unjust and not be able to do anything to correct it.” She looked down into Sophie’s eyes, so earnest and understanding. “What about you?”
Sophie blinked. “What about me?”
“You’re a musician—and a composer,” Maddie said. She tapped her fingers one by one over Sophie’s collarbone, repeating the melody from the duet Sophie’d taught her.
Sophie breathed out a laugh of surprise, recognizing the rhythm.
Maddie grinned. “When do the good people of Carrisford get to see you perform?”
Sophie squirmed uncomfortably. “You sound like my parents.”
Maddie groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “Justwhat a girl wants her lover to say in bed.”
