Chapter 19
They were met at the door by a large man in a mask. A torch was set up next to him, giving the impression that they were entering through a doorway to hell. “Interesting touch,” Edward murmured. “Everywhere I go, they use flowers to decorate a party. One doesn’t see nearly enough flames,” he murmured in that same lazily curious manner that always made her wonder if he were joking or serious. She assumed joking. Edward extended a gloved hand, proffering his invitation to the man at the door. The man nodded, and he stepped inside. Instantly, Helen went on alert, her breath coming faster as the moment to act neared. Edward was leading her through the entryway and towards the party when she stopped him.
“Where would his office be? Upstairs or down?”
“I don’t know. With this layout,” he looked around the entryway. “Morning room, dining room…I assume it’s down the hall.”
“Your Grace, welcome to my home. I was thrilled to hear you would be attending this evening,” Helen instantly went cold, fear raising gooseflesh all over her body. He’s as German as sauerkraut.
Edward turned around, a bland smile on his face. “Colchester. What can I say, I’m a man of many tastes. I’ve heard so much about your club, I just couldn’t stay away any longer. And please, call me Edward.”
Helen threw the Duke a glance. How come the evil Baron got to call him Edward so quickly?
“And who is your lady friend? I don’t believe we’ve met.” The Baron’s scrutiny was intense as he looked her clothing over, examining her as one would a bear in a tutu. “This is Mrs. Foster.”
He smiled coldly. “Ah, the American.”
Helen’s smile was made of cement. The Duke answered first, laughing casually. “You see, my dear, your beauty precedes you.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Foster.”
Helen extended a hand and looked down, trying to appear as demure as possible. The Baron took her gloved hand, giving her knuckles the lightest kiss.
“You must let me show you around and introduce you. Your attendance will be quite the coup. This way,” he said, extending a hand in the direction of the noise and people.
“Could you direct me to the ladies’ room, first of all? I’ll catch up with you.”
She saw fury leap in Edward’s gaze. “Stay, dear. Just for a moment.” He squeezed her hand warningly.
The Baron laughed. “A new relationship indeed if you can’t bear to let her out of your sight. Come along, Your Grace. She’ll catch up to us.”
Helen leaned forward, putting a chaste kiss on Edward’s cheek and murmured in his ear, “Keep him busy.”
Helen moved down the hallway in the direction he pointed, the heaviness of her dress making her gait unnaturally smooth. She turned back, just catching a glimpse of them as the Baron led Edward into the party. That’s one for my team. Her heart began to pound in excitement and nerves. She wouldn’t have long to search before Edward came looking for her.
She snuck down the hallway, bypassing the ladies’ room; the hallway lit up invitingly. The third door was the jackpot. Inside the room, a large desk stood before her, the surface abnormally bare. Helen had hoped that the plans would be there in plain sight—maybe even wrapped with a pretty bow or a sign that said ‛this is it!’
The room had a very masculine feel to it, the scent of tobacco lingering in the air. She shut the door quietly behind her. It didn’t have a lock. What kind of spy didn’t have a lock on their door?
The one who doesn’t keep anything valuable here. Or the one who isn’t expecting someone to steal from them. The top drawers were empty. Empty! Who the hell had empty drawers? Helen’s desk had been crammed full of crap. But the bottom had a thick stack of loose papers. She tried to make sense of what she was looking at. They were shipping manifestoes, lists of departure dates and accountings of what was being taken on, a list of passengers and the destination. The one on top was to Germany, and the cargo was listed as explosives. Helen grimaced. The ship was set to leave tomorrow.
Helen folded the paper, putting it in the pocket of her skirt. She quickly rifled through the other pages, not even sure what she was looking for. Rather oddly, none of the other ships went to Europe. Ireland, Scotland, even a few to the Outer Hebrides; islands near Scotland that were only inhabited by some cold sheep. Why would the Baron send cargo there? People living there would have to get food and goods somehow, she supposed.
Suddenly, a scream filled the air, the sound echoing through the walls, and Helen shoved the papers back into the desk and ran for the door, her skirts rustling like a pissed-off snake. The door opened, and Helen skidded to a halt. Edward stood there, face like thunder, his eyes scanning the room. “Do men spank unruly women in your time?”
Helen’s mouth opened and closed. She hadn’t expected him to say that. “Sounds…interesting. Although you probably don’t mean it in a kinky way, do you?”
“Roland Black is dead.”
Helen tried to make sense of the words. They seemed clear. But that was impossible. “What did you say?”
He didn’t repeat himself, simply waited.
Helen shook her head. “No, he’s not. He dies four years from now from syphilis.”
“Alas, that information didn’t help him.”
“How?” she asked.
“His throat was slit. One of the ladies just found him, hence the scream. Everyone is panicking. It’s time to leave. Did you get what you were looking for?”
Helen blinked and looked at his face, the earnest question there making her stomach plummet. Roland Black should not be dead. He was supposed to have two children. Now what? Those children would never be born. The timeline had changed again. She licked her lips. “Did the Baron kill him?”
“I don’t know. In my personal opinion, it seems like bad taste to kill someone at one’s own party,” he deadpanned.
“Be serious!”
“I am. He’s the obvious suspect. But, he’d be an idiot to kill him here.”
A muscle ticked at the corner of his jaw. He took a step closer, his voice lowering dangerously. “Answer my question. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No,” she said, lying to him. It felt as if the shipping information was burning a hole in her pocket. “We have to go. I’ll figure out something else once we’re free.”
Edward grabbed her by the hand, and they headed towards the door. Then he stopped and turned back to her. He looked at her dispassionately. “Take your hair down. Or at least disarrange it quite severely.”
“Why?”
“In case anyone wonders what we were doing in here.”
“Good idea.” Helen reached up, pulling pins out so that her hair fell down around her shoulders. He scowled at her appearance and turned away from her, staring at the door.
“What about you?” she asked. Helen reached out to his cravat, grabbing the material and pulling it free, exposing his neck. The contrast of his perfect and handsome self with the disheveled necktie was vaguely amusing. And unreasonably attractive.
He began to retie the cloth in a simpler style, the fabric creasing at odd points. “I suspect that I will remember this as the most dissatisfying night of debauchery in my entire life,” he said. Then he opened the door, pushing her behind him so that he could go out first. Edward stopped abruptly, and Helen bumped into him.
“This is my office,” she heard Colchester say. His accent made him easily identifiable. Helen peered around Edward’s shoulder, adrenaline coursing through her at the idea of them getting into a fight. She’d kill him. That would have to solve some problems.
“My apologies, every room was…occupied.”
The Baron’s hard expression roamed over them, hesitating on Helen’s disheveled hair. “The party is over, I’m afraid. Perhaps you heard the screaming?” His lips twisted in a parody of a smile.
Edward shifted back, blocking her with his body, as though he wanted to keep her identity a secret or shield her. “Has something happened? I confess
I’d just assumed the screams were prompted by the entertainment. One hears such amazing things about Ms. Wells,” Edward said.
The Baron tilted his head so that he could see into the room, scanning it, undoubtedly to see if anything were out of place.
“There has been an…incident. Very upsetting. Undoubtedly, you will read all about it in the papers tomorrow. If you wish to avoid being in there yourself, I suggest you leave immediately.”
Edward put his arm around Helen, pulling her flush against his coiled body. Her hand landed on his chest, the heat of him radiating through his clothing. “We’ll be on our way then.”
The babble of excited voices was loud, the sound of weeping women making Helen want to roll her eyes. They hadn’t been murdered, why were they so upset?
Helen felt jittery but oddly calm. A weird contradiction. She was glad she had a lead for the plans, but couldn’t believe that Black was dead. How could the Germans risk changing the timeline?
“My carriage will be out front,” Edward said, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close as they shuffled out the door, protecting her from bumps and the press of people. He still thinks he can protect me. He won’t stop protecting me, even if it kills him. And it might. The heavy truth settled in her stomach like a brick.
If the Germans were willing to change the timeline, who was to say they wouldn’t kill Edward for helping her? Hell, if the Baron thought Edward was helping the Allies, he might kill him just to prove a point. They spilled out into the night, her breath fogging in front of her from the cold. To Helen, all the coaches looked the same, but Edward pulled her along behind him with purpose, handing her into the third one they passed. Helen blinked in the dark.
Edward settled across from her, his words oddly quiet. “Now what?”
Her voice came out steady. “Now…Nothing. We go home. Well, I go home. That wasn’t an invitation or anything…” Helen cleared her throat. His face was cast in shadow, the lamp low. One superior brow rose, displaying all of his irritation in one simple gesture.
“Not an invitation,” he repeated slowly. “Do not lie to me. Where are you going now?”
“What makes you think I’m lying?” Awareness shimmered between them, as though they were in the middle of a lightning storm.
“I think you found whatever you were looking for, and that the moment you get rid of me, you’re going to go do something foolish. Something one person cannot accomplish on their own.”
She shook her head, her hands twisting in her lap. “You can’t help me.”
“There is no one else to help you. You told me you were here to save millions of lives. You would jeopardize all of that in order to protect mine?” The words were ruthlessly precise, his tone conveying how stupid she was being.
Helen’s throat closed up, and she swallowed hard. “I don’t know…I genuinely am not sure what to do. You have to do things in the future, and I can’t risk you not doing them…” I can’t worry about getting you killed.
He made a tsking sound. “Surely I’m not quite so important to the future.”
Helen couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat. “I can’t think. Just give me a minute to process everything.” Helen looked longingly at the door.
Edward leaned forward, picked up her hands from her lap, sliding his fingers through hers so that they were twined together, the gesture intimate. Tears blurred her vision, making her pissed. Don’t start crying, moron.
He spoke to her quietly, and she couldn’t help but listen to each soft word, becoming befuddled by his nearness and the utter confidence he radiated. “There are many advantages to being me. For example, everyone I meet wants to prove how important they are. Everyone has a business venture and wants my money to help them. Did you know that the Baron is heavily invested in shipping? In fact, he has a boat leaving in the morning.” He squeezed her fingers gently. “I can stop that boat. A word to the harbormaster and it’s done. You need me.”
“I’m not going to the docks,” Helen said, hearing the lack of conviction.
“The hell you aren’t.”
She pulled away from him, scooting across the carriage, surprised just how much colder and lonelier it was with the extra inches between them. He knocked on the carriage wall lightly and they lurched into motion.
“Where are we going?”
“Canary Wharf.”
He was so fucking high-handed and egotistical. It’s really hot. No, it’s not! A small kernel of anger bloomed inside of her and she tried to make it grow, shifting her anger at herself to him. “This isn’t your problem. Why do you even want to help me?”
He settled back against the black leather seat. The silence was lengthy. “Consider it an apology.”
She frowned. “Apology for what?”
He shook his head, saying nothing. He watched her in the dark, and she looked back, the anger evaporating. The moment stretched, became awkward as neither of them looked away. She wanted to climb across the carriage and kiss him. Sit in his lap and have him raise her skirts and sheathe himself in her body. She would never know what it was like to be with him. After tonight, she would never see him again. She couldn’t let him involve himself any further with her mission. He went blurry again and Helen blinked rapidly, taking in a deep breath.
“Come here,” he said with dark authority, and he reached out a hand towards her.
She couldn’t speak. Every muscle in her body locked with indecision. How many times had she wanted to go to bed with him? Crap, she’d thought about it two minutes ago. She saw it in his gaze—heat and desire. He wanted her. All she had to do was take his hand. So why was she hesitating?
Because I’m falling in love with him, and I can never see him again. No matter what. And how much worse would the temptation be if she went to him? He dropped his hand and she bit her lip, on the verge of asking him to take what he wanted. So she didn’t have to make a move, couldn’t say no.
He sighed. “Then let me tell you how sorry I am…I hit you. I can’t believe I did it, I can’t apologize enough. It must ache. I wanted to kiss it better. To apologize…” He laughed, the sound dark and unhappy. “Undoubtedly the way most men apologize when they hit a woman.”
Was that what this was about? His remorse for knocking her out? She’d left him no choice. In fact, she’d hit him first. Surely, he knew that. His face was drawn, as though he were reliving a terrible memory in his mind.
“You hit like a girl. You were lucky. If it weren’t for this stupid dress, I’d have kneed you in the family jewels, and you’d be at home icing it for a week.”
“I do not hit like a girl,” he said, voice a low rumble.
“You do, it was pathetic,” Helen said, smiling at him gently. “You held back. You got lucky.”
Helen moved, shifting seats so that she was next to him. He turned to face her, and her body leapt in awareness. He looked at her cheek, the mark he’d left there, and she was surprised when his fingers touched her jaw, turning her head slightly. He leaned in, the warm heat of his skin invading her body and making her feel drunk as if champagne bubbles were fizzling up her body. His lips were warm and dry, the faintest press of them against her swollen cheek. Apology and remorse radiated from him.
His lips moved down her face slowly, lightly placing kisses upon every inch of her jaw as he reached her mouth. The first kiss was chaste and light. The next had the barest touch of his tongue to the seam of her lips. Helen opened her mouth willingly, turning her head so that he could kiss her deeply. With a feral sound, he reached for her, pulling her onto his lap and kissing her hard. She kissed him harder, desperate to feel him long after this night was over. She could taste the alcohol he’d drunk as his tongue slid along hers. Her legs were trapped under her skirts, and she broke the kiss, the sound of his heavy breathing making her nipples press hard against her corset.
“Let me,” he said, and he reached beneath her dress, shifting the fabric from under her, his hands brushing her
calves and then her thighs. He slouched down in his seat slightly, a wicked glint in his eyes. He gripped her thighs, pulling her forward and settling her over him. The hard press of his erection against her core made her arch forward, his lips finding hers as he kissed her hungrily.
Helen gasped into his mouth and kissed him back, finally sinking her hands into his hair, taking an unreasonable amount of pleasure in disheveling the dark locks. He pressed against her, adjusting his hips so that his cock bumped her clitoris. Her eyes flew open at the snap of pleasure.
Their gazes locked and Helen breathed deep, wanting to take every piece of him into her that she could, not just his cock but his breath, his heartbeat, every inch of him.
“Not a monk,” she whispered and bit his lower lip.
“No,” he growled as he cupped her face in his hands. “And I’m beginning to feel peculiarly emasculated every time you mention it.” A heavy hand settled on her hip, pressing her damp heat against him.” Her eyes closed in pleasure. “Jesus, I want to be inside you. You make me crazy. Do you understand that?” His hand sank into her hair, holding her still as if he would possess her by sheer force of will. He plundered her mouth, and she wished he was inside of her, the fabric between them a torture. Helen reached between them, her hands lost in the fabric of her damned dress as she fumbled for the opening of his trousers with desperate urgency.
He grabbed her hand in his, his grip tight but trembling in need. “I’m not doing this here,” he said, the words almost a growl. She didn’t know what expression he saw on her face, but he grimaced in response.
“Are you sure? It won’t take long.”
“Never have truer words been spoken,” he joked.
Helen kissed him, rubbing against him sinuously, hoping to change his mind. His hands settled on her hips, stilling her. “I don’t do things like this. I’m not going to treat you like a whore and defile you in a carriage.”
“I think you can only be defiled once. I’ve been defiled. A carriage suits me—”
He shifted her backwards by the hips, moving her back a crucial few inches, so she rested on his upper thighs. He winced. “I want to have a discussion about provisions first.”
“Is that a fancy term for some sort of deviant sex act?”
His brows slashed down, but he didn’t speak until she met his searching gaze. “If you get with child, I want you to be taken care of. I’ll provide for both you and the babe.” He seemed so sincere that Helen felt like an ass. Having a child out of wedlock, not having the protection of a father’s name, was social suicide in Victorian times. Birth control was unreliable at best. But, talking about it was a bit of a buzz kill for lots of reasons.
“You want me to be your mistress?”
“Yes.”
Not a wife. She knew how society worked; it shouldn’t upset her that she was firmly in the mistress category, but it was clear it didn’t even occur to him that he might marry her. He would fuck her, and if she had a child he would take care of it. That was what he was offering. You’re not having children. You’re not seeing him after this. It doesn’t matter!
She pasted a smile on her face and moved off him, back to the opposite seat. “You’re right. This isn’t the place. We’ll talk about everything later.”
He scrubbed his jaw with his hand. “Do you ever make a decision and know, instantly, that it was a mistake?”
“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” she said.
“That was the goal,” he said, sincerity and a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “But I don’t think that my offer had quite the effect I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
He crossed his arms over his chest loosely. “That you would be flattered.”
Helen laughed. “I’d be flattered that you would offer to make me a whore?”
“No, you would be flattered to know that one of the most powerful men in the land is so enthralled with you that he would risk shaming his fiancée a few months before his wedding. You would go from being no one to someone.”
“I would go from being somebody that nobody knew, to being your personal prostitute.”
“Good God! What do you want? Marriage?”
He sounded so horrified she couldn’t help but throw him a glare. “I barely know you, of course I don’t want to marry you. But it’s no one’s fantasy to be a man’s dirty secret. To be his weakness and someone he’d skulk around with only in the dark. But you know what, it doesn’t matter. There is nothing between us. After this—“
After this I’ll never see you again.
The carriage was stopped. Edward swore. “This conversation is not over. I’m going to find the harbormaster. You’re going to stay in the carriage. Once the departure is delayed, we can consider the options. We’ll get your blasted plans, and then we’ll finish this discussion.”
“You want me to stay in the carriage?” she asked with disbelief.
“This is my mission.”
He adjusted his cravat and the cuffs of his shirt. “You’ll get nowhere without me. Stay here,” he commanded. As if she were a dog.
Edward got out, giving her a ‛stay put’ glare, and told the coachman to keep an eye on her. “She’ll sneak away given half a chance. Whatever you do, don’t leave her alone.”
Helen peered out of the carriage, watching as Edward walked towards a shabby house near the docks. The thick decaying smell of dead fish and water invaded her nostrils. Helen smiled at the coachman. The coachman squinted back at her suspiciously.
Within two minutes, he was unconscious; his hulking form sprawled on the carriage floor.
Helen looked around at the bustling docks. Even at night there were people everywhere. The logistics of what she was about to do were a little intimidating. She would have to get different clothes since a woman couldn’t just wander onto a ship. Then she would have to sneak on board, then—
“A Victorian lady would never be here, and she especially wouldn’t be here in the dead of night.” Colchester said, his words heavily accented. Something hard poked Helen in the back. “Don’t move or I will kill you.”
“Sauerkraut,” Helen said with a scowl. “Shouldn’t you be at your home cleaning up Roland Black’s blood and waiting for the police?”
“Walk.” The gun pressed hard against her.
Helen jerked into motion, calmly walking towards the ships. Baron Colchester took her right elbow, holding her in a vice-like grip with one hand, while the other was steady on the gun digging into her side. A belly wound was fatal here. No doubt about it.
“You killed Roland Black! What the hell were you thinking? I thought we weren’t supposed to mess with the timeline. Colchester kept walking, forcing her closer to the ships.
“I didn’t want to kill him.”
Helen stopped abruptly, the hard metal digging into her corseted waist. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t want to do it. You did do it.”
“The Allies cannot have the plans. I took steps to ensure that didn’t happen. I’m simply following orders. Onto the boat,” he said, his German accent making each word sound harsh.
Helen stalled before the boat ramp, keenly aware that when she was on that ship—she was fucked.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“I’m going to take you to Germany. To my superiors; who will have many questions for you. Now get on the boat.” He shoved her forward. She walked up the ramp, uncertain what to do. If she screamed, would he kill her and leave with the plans? The only thing that mattered was stopping Colchester from taking the plans out of the country.
“Tie her up,” he told one of the sailors as they stepped onto the boat. The sailor nodded sharply and dashed off, coming back with a length of rope that he wound around Helen’s wrists. And the bastard tied a mean knot.
“Do you really think you can get away with this? Taking the plans out of the country, changing history?” You sound like you’re in a bad movie.
“Do you want to see them?” he asked with a wolfish smile.
“The plans?”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. “This is it. The future of the world is right here.” He smiled smugly and even opened the envelope, pulling out the pages and showing her the schematics. Drawings and mathematical formulas, detailed instructions in almost illegible handwriting covered every page. He looked at the pages fondly, touched them almost reverently.
“Why are you showing them to me?”
“Because this is the reason you will die, and the means of our triumph. Here on these pages. It is a phenomenal thing to hold history in one’s hand. Who, but you and I can appreciate the importance of these papers? Every German boy is taught that there was only one great war and a period of intermission. Those years between World War I and World War II were a break; a chance the Allies used to their advantage to keep the Germans weak. We will change history so that there will never be World War II. The Germans will crush Europe and end the first world war in victory, changing the landscape of time forever.” Helen felt sick. The sheer audacity of the plan was mind-boggling. If the Germans were able to start World War I with superior weapons and conquer Europe quickly, the US wouldn’t get involved.
The Germans could solidify their hold on Europe, and set out to take over the rest of the world. This boat couldn’t make it to Germany. She had to destroy it. Even if she were on it too. Crap.
“Where do you want her?” the sailor asked, looking her up and down as if she were food, and he’d been on a diet forever. He stank to high heaven, and Helen tried not to gag. Colchester folded the pages up and put them back in the envelope, tucking it inside of his jacket and patting it gently. “Keep her on deck where we can keep an eye on her. I will take no chances.”
The sailor gave her bound wrists a tug, leading her to the rail and out of the way of the busy crew. Commands were being called, the ship was beginning to move, and Helen tried to squash the frantic wish that this was a nightmare rather than reality.
“Stay here and be quiet. You move so much as an inch, and you’ll regret it. There are over fifty men on this ship. And they will all want their turn.”
An added dollop of fear made Helen’s mouth go dry. It felt as if her heart was in her throat, like she might throw it up at any moment. Her head was pounding with nerves as she sat down next to one of several barrels. The smell of alcohol hit her.
“What’s this?” she asked the sailor.
“Gin. You be good, and you might even get a drop or two.”
Helen nodded and tried to look afraid. She probably just looked depressed. Helen could see the shore getting farther and farther away, becoming blurry through the incoming fog. The sailor left, the Baron watching her like a hawk from twenty feet away. Time crawled by, stress making her want to scream. A man came up to the Baron, asking him questions, and the Baron finally turned and walked away, giving Helen the opportunity she needed.
The moment he was out of sight, Helen shifted around slightly, making it look as if she were trying to get comfortable on her seat of canvas, moving it closer to the flammable barrel. When the cloth was bunched up against the barrel, she closed her eyes, bringing forth her power, feeling the heat slide up from her core and into her arms like molten lava. It poured into her fingertips and onto the canvas, the smell of smoke instantly rising. She used all of her energy, exerting herself as if it were the last ten yards of a sprint, opening herself wide and pouring all of her strength into making the canvas burn. A single flame suddenly appeared on the canvas, and Helen moved away, watching as the dry material was quickly consumed; the fire growing rapidly. It licked at the edges of the barrel and erupted. Pandemonium broke out, sailors shouting as they rushed towards the fire, desperate to put out the flames. Colchester was suddenly next to her, dragging her to her feet by her bound hands. He steadied her with one hand and swung with the other, pain exploding outwards from her cheek, her teeth rattling as he punched her hard. She fell back down to the ground and he kicked her in the stomach, the breath rushing out of her.
The barrel of gin exploded, shards of wood and liquid, drops of fire raining down on them. Colchester blinked, a look of confusion on his face. His mouth opened, and a heavy trickle of blood came out. He turned his back on her, seeking the source of the injury, and Helen felt a surge of cold-blooded triumph as she saw a large piece of metal embedded in his back from the explosion.
The men were screaming, some in pain, others shouting orders as the fire spread and a wall of heat seared her skin. There was another explosion as the next barrel of alcohol caught fire. Colchester sank to his knees, and Helen surged forward, the first hint of air seeping into her lungs. Blood was pooling in front of him steadily, making a large irregular circle. She shoved her hands into his jacket, getting a grip on the envelope, his own hands wrapping around her wrists as he tried to stop her. He said something, but it was no more than a gurgle, his grip weak.
She let go of the envelope and reached for the gun at his side, cocking it and firing into his chest without hesitation. His body jerked, his hands falling down lifelessly. Her hands shook as she reached back into his jacket and pulled the plans free. The ship groaned ominously, the wood cracking and buckling. Helen stood quickly, the ship reeling around her. One of the crewmen was screaming, his legs sheared off in the explosion. Nobody was paying any attention; everyone engaged in trying to put out the fire before the entire ship exploded. He had a knife on his belt, and Helen grabbed it, ignoring his cry for help as she moved to the rail. She didn’t have much time to cut her hands free before the ship would blow, barrels of explosives beneath her feet.
She slammed the knife into the deck and put her hands around it, sawing through the ropes as fast as she could. Every second was too long, and she knew it was only a matter of moments before the ship exploded. The rope gave, and her hands came free. She grabbed the envelope in one hand and ran to the rail, climbing on top and jumping out, feet first, as far as she was able.
The breath exploded out of her on impact, icy cold seawater swallowing her whole. Helen kicked frantically, breaking the surface and beginning to swim, the envelope awkward and slowing her down. Why was she holding it? It seemed bizarre that she would let it go. That she traveled through time, and gone to such great lengths to get these plans, and now suddenly she could let them sink to the bottom of the ocean.
She swam another few strokes before a flash of orange exploded above her, illuminating the night around her as the ship exploded. Helen dove under the water, the explosions oddly muffled underwater. Something struck her shoulder, a piece of wood no doubt, and she let go of the envelope, frantically trying to grab it even as her body bobbed back up to the surface.
It was gone. The plans were gone, and Colchester was dead. Debris was everywhere, bodies and pieces of bodies floating all around her. She took in the destruction surrounding her, the surface of the ocean still aglow with small fires that the waves hadn’t yet extinguished. Helen grabbed onto a floating plank and draped her arms over it, breathing heavily.
She stopped kicking and instantly began to sink; her skirt heavy as though it were lined with bricks. The material billowed out below her, so she looked like a peculiar jellyfish. Her fingers were clumsy from the cold and shock of survival, as she sifted through the material looking for the ties to her petticoats. She pulled the knot free, and the material slid off her body, tangling her feet for a moment before she was free. Her teeth began to chatter as she floated in the middle of the ocean. Between one blink and the next, the ocean was dark and quiet. Helen looked for land, the fog thick enough that she couldn’t see more than a few hundred feet in any direction. And she couldn’t see where the shore was.
Fuck. She was going to die out here after all. Unless she had the luck of Rasputin, she’d freeze to death before morning. The stars whirled above her, and she thought about what it would be like to die. Dying from the cold was supposed to be pretty good in the hie
rarchy of death. She’d go numb and go to sleep. Better than a gas chamber or being shot in the gut. For better or worse, it would take her longer to die than anyone else. If any of the crewmen had managed to survive the explosion, the cold would quickly kill them. Thanks to her genetic modifications, she could survive a couple of hours, maybe more. It was just possible she’d survive till morning; survive long enough to see the shore and know just how far away safety was. Although I might die by drowning, Helen thought morbidly. Which was also apparently a pretty good way to die.
She chose a direction at random and started kicking lazily, willing to do anything to try to save herself; even if the odds of choosing the right direction were minuscule.
The full enormity of what she’d done sunk in. She’d stopped the Nazis from getting Roland Black’s plans. She’d killed Colchester. I did it. Go me. She suddenly remembered a line from one of her favorite books: It’s hell being a hero. Wasn’t that the truth.
And it wasn’t over; the Germans were here. Colchester said he had superiors in Germany, men who were already working towards inventing weapons that could change the course of history and secure Germany’s victory.
What would happen now? What would the Germans do next?
She couldn’t help but think of Edward, and didn’t even try to stop herself. She could just imagine him on the wharf, staring out at the burning ship and knowing she was on board. Was he sad that she was dead? He must have felt something for her. After all, he offered to make her his mistress. That’s because I made him horny, nothing more than that.
Still, it seemed cruel that she didn’t get to sleep with him. That she’d never gotten a chance to see him lose control. To see him in the throes of passion.
God dammit, she didn’t want to die! The injustice of it all made her furious, and she screamed in anger. Why not? It wasn’t like anybody could hear her. Her voice carried over the water, coming back to her and sounding different.
Very different. She strained to listen.
“Helen! Helen, where the hell are you?” Now I know I’m dying. It sounded exactly like Mary. Maybe the hypothermia was making her hallucinate. A lump of grief filled her throat as she listened to that voice call again and again. Her pronunciation was strange, so different from the way the people spoke here. So much brasher and honest. God, she missed her friend.
“Helen! Where the fuck are you?” Mary shouted. Helen looked around her wildly. It did seem a little strange that she would imagine Mary right now. If anything, her rescue fantasy would have Edward in it. He’d apologize and kiss her back to warmth. Maybe even offer to make her his Duchess.
“I’m here,” she called out weakly. Because, what the hell? Who cared if she wanted to die talking to imaginary people?
Her limbs moved sluggishly, the heat inside of her beginning to fade. Helen saw a light in the dark, close, only a few hundred feet away, and a small dinghy. Mary was sitting in the boat by herself, hunched forward against the cold; the lantern held at arm’s length as her head craned around, searching the dark ocean for Helen. Helen tried to smile, but her teeth were chattering so hard she couldn’t do it.
“Mary?” Her voice was so faint she could barely hear it herself. She said it again, her voice a little louder this time but not loud enough. Her teeth chattered violently, cutting the word Mary in half as she repeated it over and over again, louder and louder each time until finally her voice carried along the frigid water and reached her friend.
Mary gave a little cry of delight, her face illuminated by the lantern as she rowed the oars. “There you are! Keep talking. I’m coming for you.” Mary put the lantern down, the splash of oars cutting through the water peculiarly loud, as if the sound were bouncing back to her in a cave. That can’t be good.
Helen kicked, trying to get a little closer to Mary, feeling an hysterical urge to laugh. And then, suddenly, and as if it had taken forever, Mary was speaking from directly above her, looking down at Helen with a disgusted expression. “You look like shit. And pale. Here, take my arm.” Tears streamed down her face, taking the sting out of her words.
Helen reached up, hand shaking. It was hard to grip because she was so cold.
“Oh fuck, if you capsize this boat and kill us both, I’m going to be pissed,” Mary said and grunted with the exertion of hauling Helen into the boat.
Mary pulled her over the side, and Helen lay there, stunned, feeling like a fish pulled from the deep and smashed on the head. Was that it? Was she actually safe? Helen had been so convinced she was going to die that it seemed impossible that any of this could be real. “What are you…” She had to swallow and a shiver racked her. “What are you doing here?”
She could see the flash of Mary’s white smile in the dark. “Saving your ass. Let’s get you out of those clothes and wrapped in a blanket. I brought you food too. It’s a meat pasty. Whatever that is. And I wouldn’t ask what kind of meat,” she said and started to undo the back of Helen’s dress.
“How…why…are you here though?” Helen asked around a mouthful of food.
“How what? How did I get here? Time machine. Why? Because you died. In our time period, you never made it back to shore.” Mary tugged hard on the fabric of her sleeves, the boat rocking as she did so.
Helen swallowed. “Then…and don’t think I’m not grateful, but couldn’t you have come a bit sooner?”
Mary shuddered. “I’ve been here for two days. Kind of. They thought I was dead. You don’t want to know what they do to dead homeless people in this time,” she said, her voice curiously hollow. “I made it, that’s the important thing.” It was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. With a final tug, the dress came off, and Helen squeaked in surprise when Mary huddled close to her and draped blankets over them. Her body was warm; almost burning in contrast to Helen’s iced flesh.
“The Germans! They’re here,” Helen said, softly.
“Yeah. We know.”
“At least the plans are gone. Did it work? Have you ever heard of the Warmaker?” If Helen had managed to change history, preventing the Warmaker from ever reaching the Germans, then Mary would have no idea what Helen was talking about.
Mary paused mid-stroke. “No, Helen, you didn’t. The Warmaker Offensive went ahead just like before.”
“How?” she exploded. “The plans were on that boat!”
“We don’t know. Maybe it was on another boat?” Mary asked.
Her voice was low with conviction. “No, it was this one. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, then, maybe somebody else survived too. Maybe they had two sets.”
“I failed,” Helen said, her voice breaking.
“Failed, shmailed We’ve got a new mission. Give you a chance to get yourself into the history books as a hero, after—Oh shit!” Mary exclaimed in a harsh whisper. She reached for the lantern, opening the door and blowing out the candle, plunging them into the dark. “Quiet, I can hear him.”
Helen stilled, straining to listen. Several seconds later she heard it, Edward’s voice, loud and hoarse as he called for her. She turned to look, seeing another boat moving slowly through the water, brightly lit, illuminating the dark. Was he close enough to see her?
Grief overwhelmed her, and she bit her lip to keep herself from responding, from telling him that she was alright. Mary’s hand clasped her arm, sliding down to squeeze her hand in the dark.
And then there was silence. 30 seconds, then 40. “Helen!” he shouted again, this one desperate and final, carrying across the water. She could hear the anguish in it. She covered her mouth with her arm, a noisy sob escaping her despite herself. It was muffled, not nearly loud enough to get his attention, but she wished….
There was no point in wishing.
She was not someone who had the luxury of want. But maybe it was because she had almost died, or because she could almost feel Edward out there in the ocean with her, searching for her. His grief at her loss was a terrible comfort. Even though she wasn’t sup
posed to dream, she imagined what it would be like to respond to him. Could almost hear his shout of joy and the stern way he’d scold her. Maybe she’d even get that spanking he’d threatened. He would pull her into his arms and warm her. Kiss her and hold her close. And then what? Would he be so shaken that he would finally put aside his morals and make love to her?
Would he break off his engagement, not marry his heiress, and stay with her as she and Mary tried to kill the Nazis who’d come back in time? Would he try and involve himself, putting himself in front of her and into danger at every opportunity?
He’d get himself killed.
My powers of fantasy suck. She should’ve dwelled on the sex and cut out the end where reality intruded. The Germans were here. Mary was here, and they apparently had a new mission. She was a soldier. She’d survived this mission, but that didn’t mean she would survive the next. Wasn’t it best for him to think that she was dead?
They sat in silence for what felt like forever, listening as he called and called until his voice gave out. The boat disappeared into the fog, and still they sat there. He’d probably given up by now. Back to shore and his fancy carriage, going back to his townhouse in Mayfair and his fiancée.
Which was exactly what he was supposed to do. She wished it didn’t hurt so much.
She couldn’t stand not knowing. “What about him? Does he…live for a long time? Is he happy?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Mary said quietly.
Helen closed her eyes, wishing she could take the memory of Edward away. Love sucked.
“But what the hell. You had a bad day. He’s the reason we know what happened to you,” she said softly. “He had a journal. It was the last entry. The name of the boat, the time, description of the fire and a newspaper clipping.”
“The last entry?” Helen asked, feeling muddled and frozen.
“He never wrote again. He’d kept one for years. Seems a bit of a problem for these people, writing down stuff,” Mary said, trying to make a feeble joke, and referencing why she’d become involved with him in the first place. “But Helen, he even wrote your name. If he hadn’t left that for us, we wouldn’t have been able to find you. He kind of saved your life.”
Helen choked down a sob and pressed her forehead hard against her folded arms. “His life doesn’t change, Helen. He gets married and has children. He sponsors inventors and becomes a big philanthropist. When he gets married, he goes from being rich, to making-a-difference rich. But you’re under orders never to see him again.
Tears spilled down her cheeks and her heart felt as if it were breaking. “Why do I feel like I’m making a huge mistake by letting him think I’m dead?”
“Because you love him,” Mary paused, “and it’s made you an idiot.”
Mary moved away from her and picked up the oars, beginning to row them back to shore. It didn’t take very long, but Mary kept checking her compass, and when they hit shore, it was a rocky beach and not the docks. “Now what?” Helen asked as they pulled the boat onto the shore.
“We enjoy the English seaside for the night, try not to die from the cold, and in the morning we find the Germans and kill them all. After I get clothes.”
“I know a good seamstress.”
Mary frowned. “I thought I was supposed to find a haberdasher?”
“Did Daniel tell you that? He doesn’t know what the hell he's talking about.”
“I'm just messing with you.”
Helen grabbed Mary, wrapping her tight in a naked hug. “I’ve missed you!”
Mary squeaked. “You’re cold! Get the hell off me!”
Helen sniffed and pulled back. “You stink. What is that?”
“Cemetery. Don’t…ask,” she gritted out.
Helen laughed. “Oh. Wait, they really thought you were dead? I think I thought that was a bad joke or something.”
“Sadly, no. And if you think that’s a bad joke, you just wait until I tell you what we’re supposed to do next.”
“What?” she asked, pulling the blanket tighter around her.
“What do you know about gaming halls and brothels?”
“Oh fuck.”
“I don’t think we have to do that. But I’m not sure.” She waved a hand at Helen airily. “Don’t worry it’ll be fine. We’ll play some cards, drink some booze, uncover a secret society that’s gathering money for the Germans; it’ll be fun. We’ve got to track down a woman. Ms. Wells she’s called.”
“She was Colchester’s mistress.”
“Nooo, she was Colchester’s boss. We think. That’s one of the many things we get to figure out.”
“I almost met her earlier tonight. Edward and I went to a party she had at Colchester’s house.”
“Does Edward know her? Because you kind of need to be involved in this.”
“No. He was there because of me. There’s no way I’d run into him at a brothel.”
“Great. Problem solved. Now it’ll be easy.”
“How can you say that? You just cursed us. You can’t say stuff like that out loud.”
“I take it back. I’ll throw salt over my shoulder at the first opportunity. Now let’s go find some Nazis.”
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