Chapter Text
“Leave it to you to play the fool, Pendleton.” Sir Carlisle held up a small mechanized clock and watched the gears turn within. “I can see it’s more complicated than you say. Lady Crofton wants five. Five! You’re making me a killing, boy. I don’t quite care how you accomplish it, just that you keep doing so!”
“I’m glad, Sir,” Pen looked at the ground, “Very glad.”
“Sir Carlisle’s Famous Machines. Imagine! We’ll be in every intellectual salon from here to the Orient, I say. Oh, don’t look so glum. Buck up!”
“Yes, Sir.” Pen rolled his shoulders back and looked his master in the eye. Albert Carlisle was nearly popping out of his waistcoat. His watch chain glimmered in the oil lamps shine. Pen could smell brandy on his breath.
“We should do another exhibition stall in Portobello. Some of your clocks and music boxes. Next Tuesday?”
Pen envisioned the long nights, hands worn black from polishing, cheek red from sleeping at his desk.
“Very well.”
“Oh, and do find a girl to amuse you. You look as wan as a consumptive. It won't do.”
Pen flushed and stared at the ground, listening as Sir Carlisle’s walking stick struck the creaky board on his way out. There would be no time to repair it for weeks yet with the new orders.
The letter from Simon was still crumpled on his desk next to an abandoned meal of brown bread and butter.
Dear Pendleton,
You should be happy with your circumstances. Good skill, employ, and a roof over your head. Respectability. Invitations to fêtes and a good introduction to polite society.
Amelia and I have enough work running the estate. We cannot finance your venture, nor should we. Your current state is enviable for fourth sons. Be glad you weren’t resigned to the army like dear Reginald, God rest his soul.
Have peace, brother. Find a wife if you can support one on your stipend.
Simon Mott, Lord Sunderby
It crumpled in his hand as he looked it over once more. The ink blended in his vision.
Have peace, have peace, have peace.
With a sigh, he popped open a compartment on his drafting table and withdrew a sheath of paper. Dipping his quill into ink, he started sketching plans for his war machine. A hot air balloon that could be steered and armed with canons—to devastating effect, he imagined. Swipes of black passed over the page as he nibbled at his lip.
Clink!
Pen looked up, sharp noise catching him off guard. Clink! It happened again!
He rushed to the window and threw both panes open. The air was cool and scented with tobacco. Twilight disguised the street below.
“H-hello?”
“My, my! A gentlemen!” Her bawdy voice rang out. Pen’s heart started racing. “Care to come sample my wares, good sir?”
“Angelica!” He squeaked, rushing from the room like a shot. His boot almost caught the creaky board, alerting the whole house to his business if she hadn’t already. When he burst through the front door, she was there. Blonde curls piled atop her head, hands on her hips. The shawl over her shoulders was thin crochet, and the bustle of her skirt was a poor imitation of the ladies Sir Carlisle liked to introduce, but her smile was radiant. There was a small gap between her front teeth. She was perfect.
And who could name a sex worker in this part of London who still had all of her teeth? Or an actress, as Angelica St. Vitalis liked to call herself.
“Pen!” She grabbed him by the cheeks and he felt himself nearly swoon into her arms. “I’ve got gossip for you, my dear. I do hope you haven’t come empty handed?”
But he had! In his haste to be by her side, he had left his gift for her in his desk. “I’ll fetch it for you later.”
“Good. The girls loved the last one. A bracelet with a hidden pin to stick a John that’s not behaving Christian enough? Genius. Fantastic. Love that big brain of yours.” She ran a hand through his long hair, admiration in her eyes, and he let out an unbecoming sound.
“So, what’s the news?” He couldn’t look at the ground. Her generous bosom was between his eyeline and the cobblestones. It made him get lost in her eyes.
“You know Edith is Captain Perry’s girl, and, well, she heard from Mary Elizabeth that General Harrowfield had his eyes on me.” Her grin was infectious, and Pen found himself mirroring it. “He first saw me at the theater when I was just an orange girl selling sweets. I hadn’t even let down my hems yet. Apparently, he’s keen on me.”
Pen’s stomach flipped. “You were that young when he first saw you?”
“Well he waited, didn’t he?”
“He went to battle and came back. I’m not sure that’s the same.”
Angelica gripped him tight and he could feel his trousers grow uncomfortable. It was impossible to escape her embrace.
“It’s entirely different. He’s a war hero now, Pen! Blood on his sword, reformer of the army, Empire-maker—everything.” She was flushed with emotion as she continued, barrelling to the point, “What if he makes me his wife?”
“What?”
“What if he makes me a General’s wife?”
Pen was speechless, holding onto her elbows in the alley. It all felt surreal. “Angelica…”
There were things he couldn’t say. Things about class and respectability and society that would have broken her heart to hear—all of which she damn well knew.
“You’re a dreamer,” He smiled shyly at her. “And I sorely hope you get what you’re after.”
“My darling friend.” The way she looked at him took his breath away. Her eyes were nearly black, bewitching. “I knew you’d be on my side. I knew it.”
“I’ll always be on your side,” He said nervously, totally earnest. “Whatever you do.”
“He’s coming to my show this Saturday. I’ll see if he really does remember me. Oh, what shall I say?”
The rocking wheels of a carriage sounded up the lane and he let her pull him under the eaves of the next house, tucked into the alley. He blushed at her forwardness, but she didn’t back down or even seem to notice.
“Come on, Pendleton! Give me something to work with.” She pressed.
“Be coy, as only you can. Make him know he’s not alone in his admiration for you.” Pen bit his lip. “Make him feel very important.”
“You never fail me, pet. When I’m his very respectable wife, I’ll tell him about my brave tinkerer who should be designing all of the Queen’s machines de guerre.”
“Do you really think I’m good enough?” He asked.
“I’ve seen your sketches. I know you can do it. All those trebuchets contraptions, and flying carriages, and sky cannons—”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d call them—”
“Believe in my friend Pendleton Edgar Mott, you devil.” She grinned. “I sure do.”
“Angelica…”
She put a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Now I will make the introduction—for myself and for you—and we shall improve our lot in life. Together, or not at all, Pen.”
With her other hand, she made him shake on it.
In a small voice, he said it like a vow, “Together, or not at all.”
XXX
Angelica warmed her hands around her teacup backstage. Honey soothed her throat. A borrowed script was draped over her knees where she was curled up in an armchair. Softly she mouthed the words, trying to commit them to memory. A knock broke her concentration.
“Come in,” She set her cup aside.
“For some reason,” Angelica bolted upright when she heard a deep voice. “I thought you’d have a maid or something. No one stopped me or even gave me a queer look coming back here.”
The General gave her a soft smile from where he stood in the doorway, and she dropped into a curtsy as if she were quite overcome.
“Please stand, Miss de Vitalis.”
“General Harrowfield, to what do I owe the honor?”
Goodness, he was even more handsome than Edith had described. His uniform only highlighted the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms and the narrow quality of his waist. The spotlessness of his white pants and his boots drew her eye. A valet dressed him, surely, or one of his men at camp. He was well-groomed, well-kept—almost luxuriously hale and healthy. A little color came to her face as she realized how long she’d been staring.
“Miss,” A gloved hand reached for her and she realized she hadn’t risen. She accepted it and stood, holding her composure. “I saw you in tonight’s production and had to pay my compliments. You were…”
“Yes?”
“Radiant.” His brown eyes locked onto hers with intensity. “Witty. Engaging.”
“Oh,” She smiled. “You’re a charmer.”
“Only because I am charmed by you. I have seen you before—I’ve taken in a few of your productions and I find myself helpless but to return.”
She cupped a hand over her mouth and looked askance.
“I don’t mean to embarrass you.”
“No, no,” Angelica crossed the room and busied her hands rearranging a few roses in the bouquets she had received that night. As intended, he was watching her—noticing that he was not alone in his attention. Excellent. “You haven’t.”
“Good.”
“How long will you and your men remain in London?” She asked, looking back at him. Her shawl fell off her shoulders to her elbows, exposing her nape to his gaze.
“Our affairs should keep us here a few months before we return abroad.” He walked towards her, but didn’t touch her. Angelica could feel his presence, and let her shawl drop to the floor entirely. A rose still remained in her hand as she let out a sound of surprise. She pretended to be embarrassed. “Though many men long to remain at a warm hearth over the fires of camp. But conquest is conquest. The wheels roll on.”
“So, the Empire demands it?” Angelica continued, a genuine flush coming to her face when the General took a knee to hand her back her shawl. His eyes were kind, lingering. Angelica could practically see her fish hook in his full bottom lip, tugging him along. That just made him more endearing—which was rather dangerous.
“The Empire demands the body and soul of every humble solider and officer, Miss.”
“Then I shouldn’t keep you,” She accepted it and replaced the rose in the vase, retreating to her chair. “Because you’ve just told me I very well can’t.”
The barbed remark left her mouth before she could stop it, but he just chuckled. “Good to see that wit is real.”
Angelica bit her bottom lip, thinking, but he gave her a small bow. She blinked.
“Allow me to call on you again?” His jacket was red as blood in the lamplight. She wanted to keep him in her dressing room until the sun rose in the east.
“Enchanté, Monsieur Général.” She demurred. “Bon nuit.”
“You’re quite accomplished, aren’t you?” He was smiling.
“Oh, sir,” Her accent came peeking out behind the sophisticated tone she had worked so hard to maintain, but she smiled right back. “You have no idea.”