The Midnight Dance, page 9
“What happened?” Ana raced to her side, several of the other girls right behind.
“I … my ankle … I hurt it again.” Penny spoke through fake shudders. She couldn’t seem to work up any tears, so she bit on her lip, hard, until her eyes watered.
Madame clomped her way across the room and stood over Penny. “Let me look.”
Penny slowly released her grasp and lifted her head. Madame squatted at her side. She pushed into Penny’s ankle with the tip of her index finger. Penny yelped and yanked her foot back.
Madame sighed. “And you were doing so well today.”
“Has Grandfather returned?” Penny asked, knowing full well that Beppe was nowhere on the estate grounds.
Madame shook her head.
“But what am I to do?” Penny wailed. “This is the second time I’ve hurt my ankle in the same number of days. If it happens again, I fear I won’t be able to dance at the gala!” She dared a glance in Maria’s direction, hoping her sorelle believed her lies. Based on the haunted expression pulling Maria’s face all inward on itself, it seemed Penny’s fake fall had worked.
“As I said before,” Madame said with a frown, “dancing through the pain is the best way—”
“No!” Penny interrupted, and then swallowed. “I mean, I really do think that rest is the best medicine, without Grandfather around to mend it, that is.”
Madame’s frown deepened.
Penny waved Ana over. “If Ana could help me to my room, I’ll keep my foot elevated for the rest of the day. Tomorrow it will most certainly be healed.”
“Since when are you the reigning physician?” Bianca asked with a sneer. “Your grandfather leaves and suddenly you’re dispensing advice?”
Penny’s eyes widened and she feigned dismay. “I didn’t mean to imply that I was an expert on such things.”
“Oh, leave her alone, Bianca.” Maria stepped forward, ever the defender. “She’s in pain and wants to rest.”
Penny flashed her a relieved smile.
Madame settled her fists on her hips, her stance wide as a bull. “We’re wasting time. Penelope, go back to your quarters and prop your ankle on some pillows. But as soon as you feel better, I want you back in this room to practice your performance.”
“Thank you.” Penny tried to hide a grin as she hobbled to standing and leaned on Ana’s arm. “I promise I’ll be better in the morning, at the very latest.”
Penny wanted to skip through the hallway, but instead she shuffled and stopped and moaned her way away from the studio. It took forever, but they finally reached the dark and dank corridor of their dormitory hall.
The door closest to them swung open and Master stepped out. Ana skidded to a stop and tilted her chin in deference while Penny tried to peer over his shoulder into the room. It was an unoccupied chamber, at least before today. Now furniture filled the space. Penny caught glimpses of a pale quilt draped over the footboard and a wardrobe stuffed with shades of pink.
With a gust of air, Master slammed the door shut.
He stood in front of them, his hair in disarray. The crisp white shirt he always wore was now a little rumpled, and his cuffs were rolled up at his wrists instead of clasped neatly with silver links. The top two buttons at his throat were open, revealing a thin black cord that hung around his neck and dipped beneath the shirt. It was disconcerting to see him this way. He seemed less austere and more human.
“Why are you girls not in class?” he asked them both but looked only at Penny.
“I hurt my ankle,” Penny said, her mind reeling. The girl. The one in Beppe’s workshop. The room must be meant for her. At least that meant she was okay, but Penny shivered, knowing what was in store for her.
The silence grew stifling, and Ana finally dared to lift her chin. “I was taking Penny to her room so she might rest.”
Master finally tore his gaze from Penny. “Thank you, Ana. Your assistance is much appreciated.” Ana blushed a faint peach color. “I will take it from here. You can get back to rehearsal.” He grasped Penny’s arm, and she had no choice but to lean against him as she had Ana. His shoulder was solid and firm beneath her fingers where she clutched it to hold some of her weight. He tucked an arm tight around her waist and escorted her farther down the hall.
Whispers of footsteps echoed behind her, the only sound of Ana’s departure.
“Madame Triolo said you injured yourself yesterday.” His fingers tightened slightly, pushing against the skin just above her hip bone. “Is it the same ankle?”
She nodded and tried not to lean in too close. It was intoxicating being near him, but she couldn’t let herself fall under his spell.
“You should have mentioned it yesterday afternoon. You keep hiding your distress from me, Penelope. There’s no reason for it.” He opened the door and ushered her into her room.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” she said quickly. “It wasn’t hurting much then anyway.”
“And how is the cut on your arm?”
Penny knew he was baiting her, seeing if she’d mention Cricket.
“It doesn’t hurt at all. Thank you for asking.”
With a fluid and unexpected movement, he tucked his arm below her knees and lifted her onto the bed. She couldn’t stop the flush of heat that flooded her cheeks. It felt too personal, him being so close and her sprawled on her quilt in her chamber.
His palm smoothed out a wrinkle on the blanket and he glanced at the open door. “I must go, but I will return later.” His lips lifted into a shy smile and his eyes, dark green and endless, caught hers. “I know a bit of rudimentary medicine, a way to ease your pain. You might forget you were even uncomfortable.”
Penny gulped. She focused on his fingers, still splayed on her quilt, unable to meet his gaze for fear he would see the terror in her eyes. “I thought I might try to get some rest first. Perhaps this evening would be a good time?” She had to stall him, prevent him from coming back to her room anytime soon.
He patted her leg, his hand lingering only a second past comfortable, and stood. “I will return after the dinner hour. I have a … some guests to attend to. Until then, rest well, Penelope. Call on me if you need anything.”
Master hesitated in the open doorway, his mouth parted as if he wished to say something more. Then he slipped off into the darkness of the corridor.
Penny counted to fifty until she was certain he would be gone. There was no time to spare. One of the girls might return to bring her some snacks or her schoolwork. She needed to find Cricket and get out of the manor.
And back again before Master discovered her missing.
Penny grabbed a bundle of sweaters from the wardrobe shelf and bunched them together under the quilt, hoping it looked enough like a body that someone peeking in might leave her alone. The more time she could buy, the better. After yanking off her practice skirt, she stepped into a riding dress and laced brown leather boots tight against her calf. She found her riding gloves in the drawer and pulled them on.
Silence greeted her as she edged along the length of the hall and dashed into the kitchen. She spotted the pasticcere and waved him over. He looked torn between wanting to help and not wishing to get in trouble. “Please?” she hissed, and he scooted over.
“If you see Cricket, can you let him know I’m waiting? He was tasked with accompanying me on a walk. Fresh air and all that.” She waved her hand, dismissing the notion as if it were something unnecessary. “I’ll…” The chef emerged from the arched entrance that led down to the cellar, a sour expression on his face. “I’ll wait for him at the servants’ exit.”
She backed out of the kitchen and waited.
And waited.
Her pulse hiccuped, and she distracted herself by removing her hair from its bun and braiding it over her shoulder.
Finally, Cricket appeared, apologizing profusely. Penny’s fears dissipated as she drank him in. Pale eyes, strong jaw, and the freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks. His broad shoulders stretched at the white shirt he’d tucked into his breeches. She wanted to curl into his chest and feel his arms wrap around her. He raised an eyebrow at her silent appraisal and nodded toward the door. “Shall we?”
She turned the handle and they spilled out into a day filled with dull, gray clouds and heavy air. By the time they arrived at the stable, sprinting the entire way, her dress clung tightly to her back and arms. The sweet scent of damp hay tickled her nose as they approached the stalls. The horses neighed softly, as if begging her for a treat.
Cricket made fast time saddling one of the mares. “We’ll ride together to Beppe’s home, and I will go to Ravinni from there.”
He held out a hand to help her up. Penny glanced down at her gloves and then grasped his fingers tight. She settled into the saddle while Cricket closed the stall door and led the horse outside. He pulled himself up behind her. His thighs gripped the outside of her legs, and his chest rested against her back. His arms reached around her to grab the reins. Every nerve tingled, and her entire body was on alert as he shifted and brushed up against her. He couldn’t be touching more of her if he tried.
They wound out along the main lane and Cricket urged the horse into a trot. A cool breeze pulled at Penny’s braid. The clopping of hooves was the only sound for several minutes, and Penny found herself leaning farther into Cricket. Only a few minutes passed before they came upon the smaller drive that opened up to the left, winding off into the woods, leading to Beppe’s home.
Before they turned, Penny’s gaze settled on the horizon, her eyes squinting to detect any movement, any flicker of sunlight or shifting of shadow. A low wooden fence lined both sides of the street and tall, dry grass spread out to either side. She bit her lip and fought back a shudder, wondering at what point the wolves were set to attack.
They slipped onto the narrow path and the trees closed in around them. Shadows built, and the temperature cooled by several degrees.
The cottage came into view, dark and empty, the front door open. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Cricket said as he slid one leg away from hers and prepared to dismount. Penny missed his touch as soon as it was gone.
“They won’t return. They’ve already taken everything they needed.” Beppe. The girl. “I’ll be safe.” She reached out a hand and gripped his tightly. “I promise, at the first sign of danger I’ll head back to the manor via the trail.”
He helped her down from the mare and they walked to the porch. Silence descended, deep and heavy as they crossed the threshold. The parlor was undisturbed, other than the layer of dirt and dried leaves coating the floor and furniture like bits of potpourri.
“Stay inside. Lock the door. I’ll be back shortly.” With a half smile and a blush that dotted his cheeks, Cricket shut the door between them.
CHAPTER
15
1866
Cirillo stood at the edge of his desk, staring down at the notes he’d meticulously taken earlier that day. He couldn’t sit. The skin on his right calf still stretched tight and itched like mad. The third, and final, surgery had lengthened the rods to match his left leg, but it bothered him frequently. He tried to ignore the distraction and focus.
Today, he and Beppe had met with a world-renowned physicist, who had taken the train in from Germany. They had talked at length about electricity, wavelengths, and energy pulses. The physicist thought they were working with magnets.
In actuality, they were working with brains.
But they’d never let the scientist know that. Just as the surgeon they’d spoken to the week before thought Cirillo was interested in curing diseases. It was all a ruse. They sought out key professionals in each industry, asked specific questions, and then manipulated the knowledge to suit their own needs. They’d been slowly gathering clients, helping an equestrian accident victim with a severe limp, a burn victim with visible scarring—the list went on.
Cirillo dropped the fountain pen on the desk. With a slow stride, he paced the room, flexing his knee and then his ankle with each step.
Beppe walked through the door, his hair a mass of unruly curls. Cirillo was struck at how white it had turned.
“Is Röntgen gone?” Cirillo glanced out the window. A coach kicked up a cloud of dust as it traveled on the long path around the lake.
With a nod, Beppe collapsed into a chair, one leg hooked over the arm. Cirillo grabbed the cane leaning against his desk and knocked at Beppe’s foot. No longer needed as a walking device, the cane could at least be used to teach his friend some manners. Beppe straightened and sighed, his palm reaching to his lower back like an old man.
Cirillo shook his head. “You need to stop experimenting on yourself. You’re aging faster by the minute.”
Beppe shrugged, the movement tight in his shoulders. “I prefer to be the test subject before inflicting new procedures on others.”
“Have you looked in the mirror, though? You could be my father.”
Beppe laughed, the light in his eyes the only indication of his youth. “I will never be your father. God rest his soul. And don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine.”
Cirillo continued his pacing, stopping only to grab the journal from his desk. He placed the open page on the table in front of Beppe. “Do you think it will work?”
Beppe leaned forward, taking in the sketches and notations. “It will take a while. I’ll need to build the control system first. But Röntgen gave me an idea for mapping the pulses to specific brain functions.…” He continued on, but Cirillo tuned him out. He trusted Beppe implicitly. And Beppe trusted him.
Perhaps he shouldn’t. Beppe didn’t know yet how Cirillo planned to use the completed engineering. In their earlier discussions, Cirillo had alluded to eradicating disease. Helping others.
That was what they’d been doing all this time. Creating. Fixing.
Now Cirillo wanted to add one final element.
Controlling.
He already had his test subject in mind.
As if on cue, there was a loud rap on the door.
Primo, his valet, stood on the other side. “Sir, your sister and her husband have arrived.”
“Very well.” Cirillo crooked his finger, inviting Beppe to join him. “We shall be right down.”
CHAPTER
16
1879
Cricket’s absence felt heavy, weighing down Penny’s shoulders.
She paced the main living room of Beppe’s cottage. Her fingers danced along the back of the sofa, the knotted wooden table, and the stack of books piled high in the corner. She brushed off dust with her thumb. A series of shelves lined one wall, full of bits of mechanical odds and ends. Gears and windup toys that weren’t really toys, more like misshapen metal people. Most likely devices he’d worked with in the past. While certainly interesting, none of them provided her with answers and a way past the estate borders.
She pulled open the drawers in the kitchen and glanced through the cupboards, unsurprised to find nothing more than utensils, silverware, pots, and pans.
Upstairs, Penny stepped into the first bedroom, the one she’d once considered hers. She knew its every nook and cranny, so, after a cursory glance, she moved on to Beppe’s chamber. There was nothing much to distinguish it from the first. The size and furniture were the same, although masculine clothes filled the armoire. A large book rested on the nightstand, its pages open to a drawing of a heart. Charcoal notes, in Beppe’s handwriting, lined the margins. She sat on the edge of the hard mattress and pulled the book onto her lap. Each page contained a detailed anatomical illustration. She spent at least thirty minutes poring over the notes, hoping Beppe had made any comments that would clue her in to the manipulations he had conducted. Words like neuron and electrotherapy and bimetallic energy filled the pages, but nothing made sense in terms of helping her escape.
Frustrated at the waste of time, Penny carried the book downstairs and dropped it on the table. She took a deep breath and turned toward the hallway that led to the secret chamber, the place she least wanted to visit.
The corridor was thick with shadows. She paused briefly in the guest room. The bed was neatly made, a quilt tucked in at the corners. The armoire doors were flung open and clothing—pink skirts, white chemises, a pale nightgown—spilled out of the sides. A vanity held a mirror, pitcher, and basin. Penny ran her hands down the inside of the armoire, hoping for a letter or something of note.
Nothing.
Back in the hall, she stopped at the false wall and traced her fingers along the corner seam to unlock the door. It swung open and she stepped just inside the workshop. Nearly all the equipment had been removed. The shelves were bare, except for a few errant jars tipped on their sides. Broken glass dotted the floor. She walked along the perimeter to the desk. The surface was empty save for an overturned inkwell and pen. The drawers were cleared out as well. The bottom one stuck, and she yanked twice before it came tumbling open. Papers were stacked in a haphazard pile. She pulled them out and laid them on the desktop. The pages were of a similar format, labeled with a subject number and then two columns below. One held dates. One held notes.
SUBJECT #2
10 DECEMBER
Childhood memories tied to holidays removed.
5 milliliters serum.
12 DECEMBER
Docile behavior continues. Suggestion to wean off serum.
Penny riffled to another page.
SUBJECT #4
8 JANUARY
Combative with C. Increased electrotherapy.
10 JANUARY
Thought waves indicate desire to leave estate.
Selective neuro pulses.
Complains of headache.
10 milliliters serum.
11 JANUARY
Combative again.
The words were scratched through. Dark slashes of lines.
Dozens of papers lay underneath. Multiple pages for some of the subjects. And the final one, Subject #14. It was blank.
