Clarence snorted. “Finally, a sensible response. Now satisfy me with answers or I’ll tell.”
“Not tonight.” I licked my lips and searched for an excuse. “I-I’m so tired. In the morning. If you call in the morning, I’ll explain everything.”
“Why should I trust you?” He cocked his head and gestured to my gown. “You’re deceitful.”
“And you’re a corrupt, murdering bastard.”
“Ah.” His eyebrows rose high. “Back to your charming self, I see.”
I wrenched away from him and spat at his feet. It splattered on his patent leather shoes. If I could handle a dy***ite factory, then Clarence Wilcox should be nothing.
Clarence’s lip curled.
“Spare me, Eleanor. Truly, you only embarrass yourself. I’ll be here in the morning. Early. Until then, your little secrets are safe with me.”
I stared, suddenly tongue-tied. He held all the power. I had to do as he asked or he’d tell Mama. If she learned her only son was gone—possibly dead—and that our chances of redeeming our wealth were gone too... I couldn’t imagine the consequences. I had already lost one parent to devastated mourning and insanity.
With one hand Clarence twined his fingers in mine. With the other he brushed an errant curl from my face. I didn’t flinch, though I wanted to.
“You could be such a fine lady if you would only try.” He released me and backed away. “I shall see you tomorrow, then.”
As Clarence wandered into the night, I saw a figure detach itself from the shadows beside the gate. It crept after him.
One of the Pinkertons, I thought. So now at least two people know all my secrets. Can things get any worse?
When Mama discovered my late night with Mr. Wilcox, she was aghast. But that reaction lasted less than an hour. Then her mind realized it was actually what she’d wanted all along: Alone Time with an Eligible Bachelor.
Her mood flipped like a coin, and she bubbled with delight. She doted on me, all the while singing of betrothals, wedding gowns, and wealth. She even indulged my desire for a second helping of toast.
And I hated all of it. The serpent of guilt that lived in my chest now wound into my stomach. It writhed with something else too, something much darker.
Powerlessness. Dread. My whole life rested within Clarence’s hands, and with it laid Elijah’s. If Clarence decided to tell Mama about my time with the Spirit-Hunters, about Elijah’s disappearance—as far-fetched as it all sounded, I knew she would believe him. Her esteem of Clarence, of Junior, was too high. As was her suspicion of my “rebellion.”
I knew I would have to tell Clarence everything. I would lie with all my heart about Daniel’s part in the puzzle, though. If I had to, I’d say Nicholas Peger was the one who’d shared Clarence’s secrets with me. But I couldn’t hide the truth of Elijah and his letters. And perhaps the part of Clarence’s character that I liked—the young man with the fetching smile who loved his family—would find it in himself to help me.
With each passing minute of the day, my paranoid anxiety only worsened. I scrawled a note to Clarence after breakfast, but I received no reply, and by midafternoon he still hadn’t called.
To make matters worse, the explosion of the dy***ite factory was on the front page of the Sunday paper. I read the entire article four times, my chest growing blacker and heavier each time. There was no mention of Daniel or me—no description. Likely the guards feared we’d rat out their own wrongdoings. But that didn’t make me feel better. So much destruction because of me.
Daniel probably felt tenfold worse. He’d been forced to relive the worst night of his life, and yet I was so very glad I hadn’t left him to die.
And poor, poor Joseph. Had he recovered from his exhaustion? Could he recover from the loss of his lab?
I paced the parlor, my leg muscles screaming from overuse and my blisters still burning. The knickknacks, the flowered wallpaper, the velvet curtains all shouted at me, sucked the air from my lungs until I had to flee the house and walk in the yard. But once there I couldn’t stop staring at the bench, couldn’t stop replaying Clarence’s words.
And then Daniel would flash into my mind, his lips parted and pulling me to him. A strange ache would flare through my chest, and I would think of his lips, of his fingers. And then those thoughts would mix with the guilt and the darkness like some chemistry experiment gone wrong. My whole body would shake.
What was I doing? Truly, things could get no worse.
I gave a strangled cry and dashed back into the house, up to my bedroom. I desperately wanted to go to the Exhibition, but I couldn’t. I had to wait for Clarence. Wait to see if he meant what he’d said.
I burrowed myself in my sheets, and I let my emotions overtake me. Clarence didn’t come that day.