31. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
S ylvia had never felt so short as when she walked under the thousand-foot-tall Eiffel Tower, providing one of the entrances to the Exposition. From afar, the tower looked odd; from this close, the intricate construction was awe-inspiring.
“You said you wanted to go to the top?” Sylvia raised her eyes past the arc connecting the legs, and the two platforms, each hosting a viewing gallery.
“I don’t think I knew what I was talking about,” Will said.
She laughed.
“I would still like to go up to the first platform. Would you?”
“Yes. But maybe after we’d explored more.”
“Well, in that case, mademoiselle …” Will gently held her shoulder and steered her so she overlooked the entire Champs de Mars. “The world is at your feet.”
The site of the Exhibition spread for hundreds and hundreds of yards through the park. A long pool ran through the middle, the still waters reflecting the blue of the midday sky. It was bordered by a belt of green grass and a pathway lined with poles with tricolor flags, gently stirring in the breeze. Bright white, red, and striped pavilions dotted each side of the field. At the end stood a long building of reflective glass, its very center a large golden dome that shone like a jewel, leading a weary traveler home.
“The Galerie des Machines is over at the dome,” Will said. “Shall we?”
Sylvia took his hand, and together, they entered an amazing new world. The walkways were crowded just enough to make Sylvia feel like she was a part of something grand and exciting, but didn’t feel too stifling. People laughed and ooh -ed and aah -ed; groups of loudly discussing men and parasol-twirling ladies passed them; an occasional photographer sat at the side of the lawn, fiddling with his contraption. Every now and then, the breeze would bring a few refreshing drops of water from the fountains lining the pool.
Galerie des Machines was a long building shaped like a pointed arch, with an iron skeleton filled with glass. The space inside was light and bustling with activity. Smooth, polished beige-tiled pathways led between metallic forests of machines. Standing at the entrance, all Sylvia could see were endless rows of black spikes, shards, wheels, and pulleys. The building was two floors high but open, offering a few galleries on top, where people already crowded.
“Oh, look! That’s Benz’ internal combustion engine!” Will dragged her off to one side, and so it began. Typewriters and mechanical calculators; a live demonstration of creating vulcanized rubber; electric bulbs and new telephone models—all the inventions Sylvia could ever imagine, and plenty she hadn’t even thought of. Will was ecstatic, jumping from one stall to the next, waving his arms around as he explained certain concepts to her, each time giving her a wide smile she held no resistance to. Sylvia understood perhaps half of what was explained to her, but it was impossible to stay immune to Will’s enthusiasm, and before long, she’d found herself having a very fine time.
“There’s Edison’s pavilion.” Will pointed up front—at this point, they were almost to the other side of the building. “He has two exhibitions—the electric light and the phonograph.”
It was easy to recognize the first—dozens of lights in all shapes and sizes were spread throughout the pavilion, suspended on wires, set on tables, blinking and buzzing, bringing to mind a forest of giant fireflies. On the other side, a group of twenty or so people crowded by a table holding a square wooden box with a cylinder at the top; from it ran several sets of white strings the nearest people put into their ears—they reminded Sylvia of Dr. Deniau’s stethoscope.
“That’s the phonograph,” Will said. “It can record voices and play them back. Shall we give it a try?”
Sylvia was processing the meaning of a yet another invention when Will suddenly grabbed her by the hand. “There he is.”
“Who? What?” Sylvia scanned the crowd, her heartbeat picking up. Ralkin? Sir Richard? Had they found them?
But when she saw no one familiar and looked back at Will, the expression on his face was not one of panic—at least not one induced by fear.
“Edison,” he whispered, eyes wide. “That’s Thomas Edison himself.”
Sylvia scanned the crowd again, stopping at a dark-haired, well-dressed man in the company of a woman and a teenage girl; judging by how the crowd parted around him, that had to be Edison.
And Will was absolutely, positively star-struck.
“He’s been my idol since I was little,” he said, still in a half-whisper. “Father bought me one of his electric pens for my tenth birthday. I’d dreamed of working for him ever since. ”
“Why don’t you go greet him?”
“What? Him?” Will shook his head, rooted to the floor.
Sylvia had to try hard not to laugh. “Very well. Then I’ll go.”
“You—no. No!” But thanks to his worshipping paralysis, he still couldn’t move—and therefore, could not stop her from squeezing in through the crowd and approaching the man.
“ Excusez-moi. ” She smiled apologetically at an older gentleman she’d brushed aside, and finally, she stood before the man himself. “Mr. Edison? I’m so sorry to bother you. I have a friend over there …”
Sylvia returned to Will—currently in the waning phase of a wild blush—with a smug smile and a piece of paper in her hand.
“What did you do?” Will whispered.
“Nothing. I talked to him. I told him how he is your great idol and that you are an amazing engineer—”
“Oh, no.”
“And he told me he might have a few openings in his laboratories and that you should contact this man—uh—Johnson?” She confirmed the name on the paper. “Yes, him, to see if you have the needed skills, and perhaps something can be arranged.”
Will snatched the paper from her. His eyes were filled with wonder as he lifted his gaze, smiling widely. “Thank you.”
How was it possible for one smile to bring her so much joy and make her all giddy? “You’re welcome. Now, what do we see next?”
Will let out a deep breath. “I suppose we should locate Dr. Deniau’s colleague. A Monsieur Thibault.”
That section of their trip was less successful, for it turned out Monsieur Thibault was not at his stall, hiring an assistant instead. But Will was still reluctant to hand the almonite over, so the disappointment was not too big. He brushed it off with a suggestion they visit the Palace of Fine Arts, and Sylvia happily complied.
Under the glass roof, they walked past rows of statues of winged angels and scantily clad women; they paused at the exhibition of jewels and reached the couture department, where Sylvia stopped in her tracks and stared at a robe lifted on the pedestal above the other samples. She had to have been gaping the way Will had at Edison earlier. The splendid dress was made of black silk with a large weaving of red, orange, and yellow tulips and a delicate bordering of black lace along the high neckline. A plaque proclaimed it as an awarded design of the House of Worth.
She used to own Worth dresses. One of them remained in Richling Creek—hopefully, someone had made use of it. The others were left, what felt like an age ago, in her ship cabin when she ran from her husband.
“Not that I’m any kind of expert,” Will said, stopping beside her, “but it looks nice.”
“Oh, it looks beyond nice.” She imagined the cool silk slipping between her fingers, rustling as she whirled. If her mother were here, she’d probably already be making arrangements for purchase. If this had been the before, when Sir Richard was an amicable family friend and later a fiancé, he might make an offer himself.
Will could never do it. Not because the dress cost an arm and a leg but because he wasn’t in a position to do so. She may have spent the day joyful and carefree, but when the Exposition would shut down and she’d be back in—well, wherever she’d go—and her Parisian nights would become but a fond memory, Will would still be in a world apart from hers, pursuing dreams that had nothing to do with her path. She may have given in to a few fancies, understandable after the ordeal of the past days, but one particular daydream, in which he called her rightfully his, in which she stood in the middle of a blooming summer garden with a brood of red- and black-haired children under her feet, would never come true.
“Shall we move on?” Will asked.
Sylvia twitched, flinging herself back into reality. “Yes, please. What do we do next?”
“I remember there being a discussion about the Eiffel Tower …”
“Then the Eiffel Tower it shall be.” She forced a happy smile and followed him along.
The crowd on the first platform was thinning by the time an elevator delivered Will and Sylvia to it. The viewing gallery was designed with an articulate fence, coming up to Sylvia’s hips, and rounded arches, spreading between the columns that intercepted the fence every few feet. Trapped in her circle of upsetting thoughts, Sylvia only briefly enjoyed the splendid view of the Champs de Mars, the Seine, and the blueish-gray and green roofs of the city buildings, fading into the distance.
“Are you afraid?” Will asked.
She winced. “What?”
“Of heights. You look tense.”
“No, it’s not …” She clutched the fence. “The view is spectacular. It’s just … where are we going?”
“After this? We’ll have to return to the hotel. The Exposition is closing for the day. But if you want to see something else—”
“Not the Exposition. We. ” She swallowed a nervous lump in her throat. It felt odd, forbidden somehow, to speak about this out loud. “Where are we going? What are we doing?”
Will gazed at her with a wary expression that spoke of the same struggle on his end. “I don’t know. ”
“I wish I’d never married him.”
“Then we’d never have met, either.”
“And that would be worse?” Unable to bear his look, she turned around, mild nausea washing over her as she stared far below. “Then you’d have gone your way, and I mine, and my family would be well and untouched by another scandal, and we could both live our lives without …” Each other.
For a long time, Will stayed silent. Just as she was about to check if he was still there, he spoke. “My mother, while not bothered by technology, is still less enthusiastic about it than my father and I. So every once in a while, when I’d show her a new thing, she’d grumble—teasingly, as she does—about how we used to live fine without it. It’s true, in a way. The electric pen I got—it’s neat, but before it existed, the human race still lived and thrived with no knowledge of what we could’ve had. But once you’ve had it … once you know there’s something in your life that makes it infinitely better, makes you feel alive, and gives you a whole new meaning …”
“Please, stop.” She heaved in a few heavy breaths. Will’s light steps, echoing away, signaled he’d moved to the inner wall of the gallery. “I will not abandon my vows.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to,” he said.
“And I will not abandon my family. I will not leave them to another scandal. I can’t afford …” In the corner of her eye, she sensed another visitor approaching, and she paused to wait until the tourist would pass. Why, of all the places, did she have to pick this one for a debate?
At least the man walked quickly. When he was but a few feet away, something metallic shone under his open jacket. Sylvia had a split second to recognize a pistol and look up, straight into the silvery eyes of her nightmares, before her husband grabbed her and pressed the gun to her temple. Will, who’d been facing away, turned at the scuffle but was too late to react.
“Stay there,” Sir Richard ordered him. “Don’t move, don’t yell. Hands away from your jacket.”
Will’s eyes met hers.
“I’m all right,” Sylvia said.
Will slowly spread his hands.
“I beg your pardon for interrupting … well, whatever,” Sir Richard spoke. “Did you miss me, darling? You don’t look overly excited.”
“What do you want, Ross?” Will kept his voice under control, calm and collected.
“I think you have something for me. I’ve been to the lab already, seen the good doctor …” Sir Richard moved behind Sylvia, pressing his body to her back as if to secure her, while keeping the pistol pointed at her head. With his free hand, he dug through his jacket pocket, waved with a vial of almonite, and put it back. “But I didn’t get all of it. And I believe you have it.”
Will made no response.
“The almonite, if you will, Mr. Marshall.”
Sylvia shuddered as her husband’s breath tickled the sensible hair around her ear.
“Or I blow her brains out. We all know she’s of no more use to me since you’d sucked her dry.”
Sylvia began to tremble, harder and harder. “There, there, darling,” Sir Richard cooed, his voice anything but comforting.
Slowly, Will reached into his jacket and pulled out the slim box of syringes.
A breathless, tense moment passed .
Will extended the hand.
“Will, no!” Sylvia yelled.
“Oh, ‘Will’, is it?” Sir Richard hissed. “Now I understand why you weren’t happy to see me. Have I interrupted a lovers’ tryst?”
“Take the box and go,” Will ground out.
Sir Richard chuckled and reached for the box. With the redirected attention, his grip on the gun loosened.
He took the box and opened it.
“No, you won’t!” Sylvia kicked the gun-holding hand. Sir Richard screamed, but more in anger than pain, and grabbed her waist. Sylvia reached for the box, and they danced in an awkward rustle. He’d restrain her; she’d bite his arm. Somehow, she got a hold of one of the syringes; he grabbed her wrist and lifted it. Mere seconds passed, but Sylvia’s strength drained fast.
In her peripheral vision, she caught Will standing there as if struck by lightning. What was happening to him?
Sir Richard pushed her hand down until the syringe was caught between them. “Stop … resisting,” he panted. “Sylvia, stop!”
In a fit of rage, he twisted her wrist. Sylvia yelped in pain, then screamed in anger and pushed the needle of the syringe deep into her husband’s chest.
Sir Richard staggered back, clutching the emptying syringe. From underneath his collar, blue veins spread under his skin, progressing up to his face.
Sylvia stood frozen in shock as the momentum from their scuffle carried him back until he stumbled to the fence, swung his arms, and tumbled over.
Sylvia turned, glancing at Will’s surprised and panicked face just as something yanked her back .
And then she, too, was stumbling, and her body was in the air, and all she could see was the spire of the tower piercing the bright blue sky as she fell toward the earth.