12. Chapter 12
Elektra hesitated just outside her front door. Home. The exterior did not stand out from the others on this block. Fine houses, gone a bit less fine over time, yet still mostly respectable. The interior, however …
As if she’d run through the house at full speed, flashing through her mind came the vision of what lay on each floor … room after room of cluttered creative madness and random odds and bits of whatever someone had picked up and put down with no discernible rhyme or reason. Piles of books lay everywhere, even infesting the front entry hall, here and there, in the corners and on the lower shelf of the side table, creeping in like unwanted dogs vying for a bit of human attention. On the wall above that table hung a mirror, gone dotted and grainy with time and damp and hanging very obviously askew because that best covered the gaping hole in the plaster caused from someone leaving a Chinese rocket where six-year-old Attie could reach it. The resulting fire hadn’t been much ado, but the crack in the wall ran vertically above the mirror like a sapling, branching out when it reached the ceiling.
Just like the manor, Worthington House in London was a ruin. Still standing, but battle-scarred and tattered by the endless, eternal, explosive Worthington search for amusement.
Searing self-consciousness flooded her belly.
How we must look to him!Her throat was tight. On the outside, however, Elektra knew she had not so much as flinched. Her chin remained high, for though she cringed inwardly she would not show it for an instant. Worthingtons might not be able to lay claim to much, but they did have their pride.
Belatedly, she also wondered what Bliss would think of it all. Of course, Bliss was allegedly a Worthington, so perhaps she would think nothing of it at all.
Then the door opened and the Worthingtons flowed out. Amid the babble, they were all three swept back in, pulled by the tide of family ties.
Aaron had never seen the like of Worthington House in his life. At first it seemed cluttered. Upon closer observation, it seemed insanely cluttered.
There were books, upon stacks of which stood works of art from thirty different cultures, strange bits of machinery, books, a few taxidermy animals whose moth-eaten fur had seen better decades … and then there were some more books.
The only thing missing was possibly a little more clutter.
He turned to his companions in astonishment. Bliss smiled serenely at him, then stepped confidently into the hall. “Greetings, cousins.”
Elektra brushed past him to embrace the woman standing to greet them. Aaron had not even spotted her in the chaos, but he could now see clearly see that she had once been a great beauty herself. Elektra swept the silver-haired woman into her arms and kissed her on the forehead.
“Oh, Mama,” she said with a laugh.
The woman definitely resembled Elektra — an older, shorter, rounder version of Elektra with hair of the finest silver instead of the finest gold.
Miss Elektra Worthington would age beautifully. Some lucky man was going to have a real beauty to look at for the rest of his natural life. Perhaps it would make up for living with a madwoman.
Bliss floated forward serenely and held her hands out to the older woman who must be Mrs. Worthington.
“Auntie Iris,” Bliss smiled and bent to give her aunt a kiss.
The entry hall began to fill up. There were a bewildering number of Worthingtons. There were tall ones, and short ones, and dark ones, and light ones. There were young ones and old ones, and strange, ethereal elfin ones.
A stout, grizzled man stepped forward to take Bliss’s hand. He bowed deeply and formally, as if to royalty. “And with her breath she did perfume the air: Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.” He straightened, then grinned and smacked a kiss upon the back of her hand. “Hello, Bunny!”
Mrs. Worthington looked on benignly. “The Taming of the Shrew, Act One, Scene One,” she informed Aaron in a confidential tone. “Isn’t he marvelous?”
Aaron was careful not to betray any sign of a classical education. “Them’s pretty words, right enough, missus.”
Then Mr. Worthington turned to his missing daughter. With a big smile, he took her by the shoulders. “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!” Then he pulled her close for a bear hug.
Mrs. Worthington sighed in delight. “Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene Five!”
Aaron nearly choked. Fiery Elektra was no sweet Juliet!
In the meantime, more and more Worthingtons were popping up. One by one they dashed into the room, from the hallway, down the stairs, one even coming in the front door — magically appearing as if on command. Elektra was beaming, and exasperated, at the chaos and the noise and the shouted questions and the way her little sister was dangling on her skirts as if she were half her size.
Aaron could not take his eyes from her shining face. He’d seen her by lamplight and daylight, prim as a schoolteacher and muddy as a farmer.
Now, at home, laughing aloud, surrounded by the madness of her silly, crazy family, she was truly alight.
“You are a tall piece of handsome.”
Aaron looked down at the stately but odd Mrs. Worthington. She gazed at Aaron coyly and whacked him on the arm with the fringe of the trailing shawl she wore. Without taking her eyes from him, she waved a beckoning hand over her shoulder.
A tall, dark bloke approached. He attended his mother’s call without objection, but with a look of distant tolerance that said he’d rather be somewhere else.
“Orion,” Mrs. Worthington stated. “He will pen great works in science. Mr. Hastings brought your sister and cousin home.”
The fellow shook Aaron’s hand, then slipped away as another young man approached, this one accompanied by a lovely dark-haired lady who seemed to be expecting. “Hullo, I’m Cas, this is Miranda. Thanks for hauling Ellie back.” He rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe what we thought she’d gotten up to!”
His pretty wife smiled at Aaron even while planting an elbow in her husband’s midriff. “You are most welcome, Mr. Hastings.”
Aaron figured he was in for more introductions, although it seemed that no one meant to introduce him to a certain familiar-looking fellow who kept to the background. That would be Lysander, of the thudding fist and poor judgment. Aaron shot the man a narrow glance, but Elektra had mentioned that her brother spoke little. It seemed that his Hastings fa?ade would hold up well enough in this household.
“This is our youngest.” Mrs. Worthington waved a long, lacy handkerchief, and a little girl stepped forward.
Aaron gazed down at the scrawny creature that stood before him. She had amber hair that coiled in ringlets like her father’s where it wasn’t braided into strange random locks. He was pretty sure there were feathers woven into the braids, and he only hoped they were not still attached to the birds. She was oddly garbed in a too-large dress, a too-small cape, and giant horseman’s boots as well, not to mention the arresting impression of freckles covering her nose, the chip in her front tooth, huge green eyes, and a set of cheekbones that would someday rival the greatest beauty in the land.
“I am Atalanta,” the strange being stated flatly. “I’m dreadfully brilliant, but socially backward.”
It was the final touch of madness. Through a giddy sense of unreality rising within him, Aaron didn’t smile … barely. He bowed. “Hastings, miss. I’m roguishly likable, but vastly underestimated.” He was talking about the real Hastings … wasn’t he?
The odd child smiled darkly. “So am I. The underestimated part. I find it comes in very handily, don’t you?”
Aaron gave her roguish Hastings smile. “To be sure, miss.”
The child turned to the tall fellow who had been introduced by the unlikely name of Daedalus. “I like him, Dade.”
Dade — thank heaven for nicknames! — only gazed sourly at Aaron. “That’s what worries me.”
I truly ought to get out of here.
“Mr. Hastings has some post, missus.” A stout, graying woman who looked to be a housekeeper by her voluminous apron handed Mrs. Worthington a letter.
“Already? Aren’t you clever, Mr. Hastings!” Mrs. Worthington handed Aaron the letter without a glance at it, although Dade craned his neck slightly to see. Suspicious fellow — but since he was currently lying through his teeth, Aaron couldn’t justifiably take offense.
Enfolded within a scrawled and essentially unreadable note on the Green Donkey’s paper from Hastings was a sheet of rich vellum. Signed by Aaron’s cousin, Serena, who watched over the Earl of Arbodean’s sickbed. Aaron stepped away from the crowd for a moment to open Serena’s letter.
The earl’s health has improved. He is sitting up and taking nourishment. It is such a relief to hear him speak again! The physician is cautiously hopeful, but warns that Grandpapa is still fragile. Any upset could set him back. I reluctantly must suggest that you postpone your visit, just for a few days. Please, Aaron. For me?
In eternal gratitude,
Serena.
Aaron folded the letter thoughtfully. A few days? After the great urgency of the past weeks journeying home, he felt oddly as if he’d stepped down a stair that wasn’t there.
Having gotten the young ladies safely to London, Aaron knew he would be justified in being on his merry way. After all, none of this was his affair. However, his curiosity outweighed that drive toward his grandfather’s estate — not to mention his niggling sense of responsibility toward Miss Elektra Worthington’s honor.
He looked around him. This house was chaos and madness and everything he hated — everything he never wanted to experience again.
And yet he couldn’t leave. Until he had made sure that Elektra suffered no ill effects from her strange moment of complete madness, he was obligated to stay and watch over her.
At least, for as long as he was able. If he got word that his grandfather was growing worse again, he would have to journey up north once more. However, a few days ought to be long enough to assure himself of her clear reputation, that no trace of scandal followed Elektra. If, say, a week went by without Society being alerted to her stumble, it was likely that it would never come to light. There would be new and fascinating scandals for the gossips to chew upon, and then Aaron would feel much better about leaving the outrageous female to her own devices.
Elektra found a room had been made ready for Bliss not far from her own. It had been very nearly cleared out, although the stacks of items in the hallway before it had simply grown. Bliss’s trunks — and trunks and trunks! — fit against one wall. It was hardly the gracious reception that Elektra would have liked for guests, but it was the best that Worthington House had to offer. At least, Bliss’s things had not ended up in Elektra’s precious sanctuary!
Quickly, Elektra set Lysander and Orion to shuffling things about in the farthest small room on the floor below. Orion had been using it to store past projects, but Elektra ordered him to throw half on the trash heap and to put the other half in his study down the hall! She was surprised that her brothers followed her wishes with so little protest.
I scared them. They were afraid for me.
It was a gratifying thought. She knew this agreeable compliance would not last, but it touched her nonetheless. They were all a bunch of sweet lummoxes sometimes!
It did not take long for her to gain the use of the small room for Mr. Hastings.
“You wish me to stay?” He blinked at her. “In the house?”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, you can hardly stay in the mews!”
Bliss joined in her plea. “Of course, you must stay, Mr. Hastings! Your poor horse is so tired and we must feed and entertain you in reward for your kindness.”
Aaron gazed at the two young ladies helplessly. He’d meant to keep an eye on Elektra — but not under the same roof! Not sleeping on the floor below hers, knowing how she dressed as she slept —
Knowing that that door wouldn’t be locked, either!
Oh, his kindness just kept paying him off, that was for certain!
“I —” Green-blue eyes and sky-blue eyes fluttered beseechingly at him. He was no Greek hero to resist that siren call. He was just a man with a brand-new careful set of ethics and the need to look after those who asked it of him. “That’s mighty kind of you, miss.” He bowed his head in defeat. “I am grateful.”
I am doomed.
From the look in Daedalus’s eyes when he learned of the plan, he was indeed not long for this world. Seized by a sudden fey death wish, probably due to the imaginary Hastings infecting his mind, Aaron grinned mischievously at the sour eldest Worthington brother.
Poor bloke is as helpless as I am against the combined beauty of “the other twins.”Let him sulk!
Dade glowered more darkly. Avoidance seemed to be the best course. So it was that Aaron spent half an hour seeing to Lard-Arse and Bianca in the family stables behind the house — which consisted of a few rickety stalls remaining in a space that had been overtaken by a great cluttered workshop filled with bits and bobs and strange machinery.
“It belongs to the twins.”
Aaron turned to see the strange Atalanta shadowing him. She leaned against the stable door and twined her fingers through her mad braids.
“Poll went away, so when I want to see him, I squint at Cas and pretend.”
Aaron blinked. “Does that work?” If he looked at Bliss and squinted, it wouldn’t make up for not seeing Elektra.
She gazed at him silently for a long moment. Then, “No. It doesn’t work at all.”
Then Lard-Arse stepped on Aaron’s foot — on purpose, by God! — and when he stopped hopping about and diligently not-cursing, the girl was gone.
Dinner was surely to come soon, and Aaron still looked and smelled as if he’d taken a swim in a river and then slept on an inn floor. Good manners compelled him to try to do something about it, so he decided to find that room Miss Elektra Worthington had directed him to.
There were a great many doors in the hallway where Aaron’s room was located. He’d tried to pay attention to the path and landmarks through the stacks of books and strange assemblages of gears and pulleys and one strangely plaited sculpture made from strips of copper plating that reminded Aaron queasily of a man-eating plant.
At last, he made it to the room halfway down the hall on the left that he could have sworn was his cluttered but comfortable room.
He opened the door and stepped inside with a backward glance to be sure he’d lost that eerie child’s pursuit.
His first clue that he’d chosen badly was the harsh squawk of something large and most definitely not native to the British lowlands.
He swung about to get a mad jumbled impression of a room filled with skeletons and rigidly stuffed creatures. What concerned him the most was the whirling dervish of white wings and red, burning eyes that dived at him with vicious three-inch dagger talons extended —
The door was just behind him, thankfully, and his hand found the latch on the first try, thankfully, and he managed to shut the door on the demonic winged beast —
Unfortunately, that was where his luck ended.
Stumbling backward, he tripped over the pile of books on his right. The falling volumes drove him spinning off to his left to avoid the heavy wooden blows upon his skull — and he rolled directly into another, higher arrangement that teetered over his head —
Aaron shouted out in alarm, hoping for succor before he was buried in books and dust and mad, disturbing sculptures that had no place in a family home —
He flung both arms over his head and went helplessly down before the onslaught.
At last, it ended. Only the sound of more books falling, on and on down the hallway, like a string of slithering dominoes, until the very last pile of books thumped into the very last doorway and the thrumming, twanging sound of fraught metal finally stilled.
Unbelievably, he found himself still alive.
Aaron breathed in a slow lungful of dust and bitter, molding paper. A great weight of books and machinery pressed him hard into the floor, and something sharp was poking him rather disrespectfully close to his groin, but he could not reach his own crotch, for his arms were pressure-locked about his own head.
Therefore, he did what any brave, self-respecting bloke might do in such a situation.
He inhaled and began to yell for help.