The Marriage Machine (6 page)

Ramsay’s laughter broke off as he pivoted to stop her. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to a halt. “That is precisely what you are going to do,” he retorted, all humor dropped from his tone. His eyes flashed at her, cool as ice.

“Never!”

“I will return you to jail and make sure you are sentenced to life.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would.” He glared down at her, his color high. She could imagine that glare made his men quake in their boots. But she refused to back down.

She glared back at him. “Tell me you would personally choose to marry a woman like that.”

“A woman like what?”

“One whose edges have been smoothed by that machine.”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

“You don’t seem the type.”

His eyes changed, almost imperceptibly. But Elspeth noticed the way his pupils widened, darkening his eyes to navy.

“Listen, Shutterhouse,” he growled. “I don’t care if you plant a bomb in that machine. But not until after my great-grandfather passes away.”

“He’s still alive?” She sensed that she had begun to reach some sense in Ramsay and quit pulling from his grip.

“Yes, but barely. He’s 101 years old. And he’s damnably proud of that machine. For good reason.”

Elspeth was uncharacteristically lost for words.

“He vowed to stay in this realm until he saw one last marriage ceremony. He wants to go to the beyond knowing the Ramsay name will live on through my brother.”

“Your brother Thomas is getting married?”

“On C-Day.”

A chill raced down Elspeth’s spine.

“And as you know, the machine guarantees conception.”

Elspeth thought back to her cousin’s prediction—that she had been chosen to marry someone of the upper echelon of society. What if she were destined to wed a Ramsey? The chill spread through her, doubling her resolve to avoid her date with the Marriage Machine.

“My job is to see the ceremony goes off without a hitch.” Ramsay quirked one of his dry smiles. “Or
with
, as the case may be.”

He released her arm, and she backed away, her thoughts swirling.

“Why can’t you just keep the ruby out of the equation?” she sputtered. “It’s so well concealed within the casing of the machine. No one would ever know it was missing.”

“My great-grandfather might.”

“How?” she shrugged. “He’s 101 years old.”

“And he knows every inch of that machine.” Ramsay sighed. “As a matter of fact, he’s called for an inspection of the Marriage Machine. He’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning to conduct the inspection personally. If he finds one bolt out of place—one loose screw—I don’t know what it will do to him.”

Elspeth stared at Ramsay.

“I love my great-grandfather, Elspeth. And there is nothing on this Earth that I wouldn’t do for him. Nothing.”

“So how do I fit into this grand scheme of yours?”

“You and I are breaking into Boswellian Bower tonight. And you are going to replace the ruby.”

“But it will take hours to get to the heart of the machine.”

“You’ve done it before.” Ramsay pulled out his pocket watch and glanced down at it. “I estimate that you could complete the job in five.”

“You have no idea how complicated that machine is.”

“Perhaps. But you will have me to assist you.”

Elspeth gave him a scathing glance. She could imagine Ramsay with a gun. She could imagine him in a fistfight or brawl. But she could not imagine him with a screwdriver.

“I’m not completely unfamiliar with machines,” he added.

She would give him that. He’d built the simple heater. There was hope.

“And if I can’t do it?”

“There is no such thing as can’t.” He shot back.

“What do I get if I actually succeed?”

It was his turn to scald her with a glance. “Isn’t your freedom enough?”

“No.”

Ramsay tilted his head. “What then?”

“I want safe passage to the Outer Islands.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I want to leave Londo City. I don’t belong here.”

“You don’t want to go to the Outer Islands.” He scowled. “It’s no place for a woman.”

“You live there.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m not a woman. Or at least I wasn’t the last time I checked.”

“Your family lives there.”

“In a compound.” He swept the air with an impatient wave of his hand.

“Promise me safe passage, Ramsay.”

“Very well!” He sighed. “Replace the ruby without complication, and you shall be transported north.” He stuffed his watch into the pocket of his vest. “Now hurry up, Shutterhouse, and dress. We leave in ten minutes.”

Chapter Four

Elspeth was surprised at how cold it was when she jumped out of the Flying Horse and grabbed the tools Ramsay had procured for the job. It was what she supposed a winter night might have been like in the old days—without the snow. The air was crisp, ice covered the puddles in the alley, and frost crawled up the windows. She could see Ramsay’s breath when he told her to wait while he parked the vehicle around the corner and out of sight.

Wrapped in a long coat that belonged to a member of the Ramsay family, Elspeth waited for him to return. The coat was warm, so she wasn’t cold, but she shuddered all the same. At ten o’clock on a December evening, the alley behind Boswellian Bower was dark and deserted. Even the rats had taken cover on this cold night. Elspeth glanced up at the sky and searched for the moon she had spotted earlier that morning. There it was again, like a big eye, watching her--even clearer this time. She wondered if the WeatherWizards were right—that the fog lying over Londo City would finally lift after its century-long stay.

Ramsay trotted up, his winter coat flapping around his shins, his boats gleaming in the moonlight, and the many buttons of his coat glinting as he ran. His shirt, knotted at the throat, glowed above his vest and lit up his eyes.

“Why must we break into the Bower?” she asked, following him to the back door. “Why not just tell someone that the machine has to be repaired?”

“I can’t take the chance that my great-grandfather might discover his beloved contraption has been tampered with. Davies thinks everything is fine. I want to keep it that way.” He turned at the door and cupped his hands. “Come, Shutterhouse.”

Elspeth glanced at his linked fingers. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to hoist you up to that transom.”

Elspeth glanced up to the arched window at the top of the door.

“I’ll wager the transom is not locked. I’ll lift you, you will open it, crawl through, jump down and then let me in the door.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I am not.” He nodded his head toward his hands. “Come. Step into my hand.”

“You think I can get through that window and jump seven feet to the ground?”

“I’d do it myself if I thought you could lift me.” He cocked one of his expressive black brows.

There was no argument to be made. She could no more lift the giant in front of her than she could fly to the now visible moon. She would do her best to sabotage the machine, but with Ramsay breathing down her neck, she probably wouldn’t have a second chance to disable it. Her best recourse would be to look for an opportunity to escape—but only after she and Ramsay got off the street and out of sight. For now, she had to cooperate.

Elspeth deposited the satchel of tools on the pavement beside him, slipped out of her coat, and placed it on the bag. Then she lifted her foot. To steady herself, she was forced to plant her hand on Ramsay’s shoulder. The man was a rock of muscle. With a grunt, she shifted her weight onto her foot and propelled herself forward as he raised her upward. She braced herself against the wooden door as he straightened his legs and lifted her past the top of the door. When he grabbed her knees and lifted her higher, she wobbled but caught herself by clutching the sill of the transom. Then she pushed the stained glass with her right palm. The transom moved inward.

“Is it unlocked?” His voice was muffled by her clothing.

“Yes.”

“Can you get it open?”

As she struggled with the window, she felt him brace her feet on his shoulders. The cold soon took hold of her fingers, making her clumsy. But she managed to crack open the transom far enough to wiggle through. She looked down, worrying about how she was going to get through the window and position herself to jump without falling face first onto the floor below. But as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of the corridor, she had an idea.

“Hold my ankles,” she instructed.

She felt Ramsay’s big hands wrap around her boots.

Elspeth pushed through the opening and bent at the waist. Then, straining, she could just reach the inside handle of the door. As the blood raced to her head, and the transom sill cut into her midsection, she explored the latch with her nearly numb fingers. Then she found the locking mechanism. She shifted it open.

“Got it?” Ramsay asked.

“Try it.”

Still holding one of her feet, Ramsay turned the latch and pushed the door, just enough to make sure it was unlocked. Then Elspeth wriggled out of the transom, crouched, and slid down Ramsay’s back. When her feet hit the ground, he turned and clutched her elbows.

“Good work.” He gave her a brief survey. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just cold.”

She broke away to grab the coat and tools, and they slipped into Boswellian Bower.

Elspeth had been to a few weddings. Her acquaintances were slowly turning twenty-five, and the lucky ones received silver envelopes. Although Elspeth didn’t consider marriage the right choice for her, nonetheless she attended the nuptials of her friends to show moral support. But those weddings had been conducted in a much more modest bower. From what she could see in the shadows, Boswellian Bower was appointed in understated grandeur.

She followed Ramsay down a corridor comprised of marble floors, embossed wallpaper, and ornate brass lamps. He seemed to know where he was going, and led her into a large room, much like an auditorium, with gilt and plush chairs, and a thick carpet that ran from the entry doors to the stage. Squatting on the platform behind velvet curtains and stage lamps, was the Marriage Machine.

“There she is,” Ramsay remarked in a hushed tone beside her. “The Marriage Machine.”

Elspeth’s heart beat a bit faster. This was the place Fate waited for her. Here would begin the life the Overseers had calculated to suit her and her groom. She frowned and stuffed down her panic.
Not if she could help it.

“Is there a watchman?” Elspeth asked.

“I am not sure.” He motioned her toward the machine. “So try to be as quiet as possible.”

“But surely, a watchman will see our light.”

“Not if we keep the curtains well drawn.” Ramsay strode to the side of the stage and worked the ropes until the curtains swished closed. Elspeth stepped into the now-silent bower and pushed back the curtains that lined the interior, knowing that she must remove the carved walnut panels before she reached any machine parts.

Ramsay lit the lamp they had brought, and set it down in the middle of the bower, just as Elspeth turned for the tools. They straightened at the same time, their noses inches apart. Ramsay gazed down at her, his firm mouth accentuated by the light below. She could see his chest rise and fall with each breath, and wanted to reach out and touch him just below the vee at the top of his vest, to feel what she was sure was the center of the furnace that fired him. He seemed as dazed by the moment as she was. But unlike her, he made a move.

He caught her hands and pressed them between his blazing palms.

“You’re frozen,” he remarked.

“I’ll thaw,” she stuttered.

“And much lighter than I imagined.”

“My aunt says I’m scrawny.”

“Scrawny?” His mouth slanted upward in the sardonic smile that was beginning to have a physical affect on her, especially when he stood so close to her. A flush blossomed deep inside her. “I wouldn’t say scrawny. Lithe comes to mind.”

“Lithe?” She wondered if she had heard him correctly. She had always thought of herself as skinny. Unfeminine. Boyish, even. The word “lithe” cast her figure in an entirely new light. She blushed and hoped he couldn’t see her reaction in the darkness.

“Like a mink,” he added.

“What’s a mink?” She tried to pull away her hands, but he held fast.

“An animal I’ve seen in the north. They are as slender as you are. With a pelt as soft and sleek as your hair. Quick, smart, and damnably difficult to catch.”

His comparison shocked her. No one had ever paid her a higher compliment. She pulled at his grip again.

“Shouldn’t we be getting to work, Ramsay?”

He sighed. “You’re right.” He released her. “Just tell me what to do.”