He recognized that look. He’d fought the same nausea several hours past.
As it had with him, the wave quickly dissipated, and she straightened up and let go of the wall. She reached beneath her skirts and began fussing with her petticoats.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
“My petticoats. I could use a weapon as well.”
He had the odd feeling she was avoiding his gaze, but then the whole situation was exceedingly odd, he had to admit.
Shadows cut through the light from beneath the door just as Edison caught the sound of shoe leather scuffing across a smooth surface.
He put a finger to his lips. Ada nodded, and moved to the other side of the tiny room, ready to spring forward on his mark. She tightened the makeshift rope around her hands and held it up, at shoulder height.
Focussed. Intent. And so very brave, she waited for his signal.
Edison’s heart did a funny little flutter.
There were no tears. No hysterics. No swooning. Just a determined glitter in her dark eyes. Whatever awaited them, she’d face it like a hero.
“We’ve got several weapons pointed at you now, Mr. Sweet,” a plummy, unctuous voice called out. “We’re about to open the door. I’d suggest the two of you step to the back of the closet.”
He knew that voice.
Not well, but he knew it. Edison squeezed his eyes shut, chasing the snippet of memory that niggled at him, but it skittered away. No time to bother about it now. Every fiber of his being was focussed on the door, ready to spring the instant an opportunity presented itself.
Ada seemed puzzled as well. Her nose wrinkled up in that way she had when she was thinking.
“Open it slowly,” the man commanded the guards.
“Holy Christ.” Edison couldn’t help the curse that exploded from his lips at the sight of their jailer.
And then he remembered.
The figure in the shadows. The chloroform must have erased the memory.
He cut a glance at Ada. She’d given up any pretense of a fight. Hands at her sides, the mangled petticoat dangled in a loose arc across her thighs. Face slack with disbelief, she stared. Simply stared.
“Stanton,” she whispered. “Why?”
*
Anger and disgust and hatred collided, distorting her old friend’s face until he was all but unrecognizable. He glared at her, his eyes small and glittering. “You don’t deserve that device. Mine’ll be completed by Christmastide. You only beat me by weeks. Just a few damned weeks.” His voice rose as he spat out the words until the last few were hard to make out.
Ada staggered back, stunned. He was Stanton, yet not. She’d never seen that anger, that ugly twist to his mouth, the red flush of rage that mottled his face.
“You and Harrison were friends,” she said, her voice thinned by shock. “We were friends.”
Stanton reared back as if she stank. “You’re an abomination.” Spittle flew from his thick lips. “An abomination. You have no business claiming the mantle of womanhood.”
The venom in his tone bit into her. Who was this man? What had happened to the kind, gentle friend who shared so many of her dreams, so many spirited scientific discussions?
A low roar rumbled up from deep in Edison’s chest. Makeshift rope taut, he lunged at the portly man.
Stanton scrambled backwards, hampered by age and thick, fat legs. Just as Edison wrapped the cloth around his neck and began to twist, something cold and hard pressed into the side of Ada’s temple.
She gasped, but forced herself to remain still.
“Stop!” Stanton’s voice gurgling from his throat as Edison tightened the rope. “Let go or she dies.”
Hands still around the cloth, Edison looked back over his shoulder and quickly released his prey. As he did, the guard took the gun away from Ada’s head.
Stanton yanked the twisted shirt from Edison’s grasp. Fury—and loss of air—turned his face a shade closer to purple than red.
Ada sensed he was teetering on the edge of sanity. She wondered why he didn’t order them shot on the spot.
Edison moved back to her, closing in until they were shoulder to should, hip to hip. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Ada felt his strength, his anger and confidence flow through her. Like Caldwell Nance’s magnificent hero, Edison would retreat and wait for a better time.
Small eyes blazing with hatred, Stanton snapped his fingers. “Toss them the clothes,” he ordered the guard closest to him.
The man grabbed a bundle of what looked like unwashed laundry. He threw the wrinkled wad straight at Edison.
“Your evening attire.” Stanton snickered. “Put them on. All of them. And then we’ll have your things.” Braver now that he had three men holding guns on Edison, he stepped closer. “Straight down to the unmentionables.”
He snapped his fingers again, and the guards closed in, forcing them backwards into the closet.
“As I’m a gentleman, I’ll allow you some privacy.” He nodded at the closest guard, who slammed the door shut.
The bundle reeked. It reeked of old sweat and coal smoke and any number of other human scents Ada had no wish to consider.
Edison dropped the bundle and set about untying the knot that held it together. “Might be something useful in here.” He pawed through the pile.
“What does he mean, ‘all of it?’” Ada asked.
Edison held up a wrinkled pair of ladies' drawers. They were plain and dingy from years of use, the fabric worn almost through at the knees.
The sort of garment only the poorest would own.
Ada grabbed the unmentionables from Edison’s hand. Still reeling from Stanton’s betrayal, she couldn’t think. “What’s he about?”
Edison looked up at her. The kindness—the regret—in his expression stopped her breath.
He rose to his feet, studying her the entire time, as if thinking through a great decision. Then he gathered her in his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, she laid her cheek against his chest, allowing herself to savor the intimacy.
He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was a long moment before he spoke. “You know he wants you dead.”
Ada could only nod. If this was to be the end, she wanted to spend it touching him and breathing in his clean, spicy scent. She wanted to revel in the feel of his bare skin beneath her palms as she pressed them against his chest.
“My guess is he’s going to leave us here, dressed in these rags,” Edison said. “Make it appear a couple vagrants snuck in to keep warm.”
“But then he’ll have to destroy the…” Her voice trailed off as the implications hit her, making her head spin.
“Exactly.” Edison set her aside and began pulling clothing out of the bundle. “He’ll use the chloroform again.”
“How can you—?”
“He hasn’t tied us up.” Edison frowned at a soiled pair of trousers, and stepped into them, lip curled in disgust. “He wants it to look like an accident. Like we broke in to find shelter and set something on fire.”
“The battery.”
Edison threw her a confused look. “It’s in the safe. At the league.”