Lex T. Lindsay
The bar is the sort of place made for someone like Evy Wiles. Tucked into the alley behind the train station, it’s dirty and loud, the floor often vibrating from the movement of the steam locomotives entering and leaving St. Andrews.
Evy sits with her leather boots up on the table, a beer in her hand, the worn sleeves on her men’s shirt rolled up to show the deep black lines of tattoos crawling up her pale arms. She glances at the clock next to the bar and watches its gear-shaped pendulum swing back and forth behind cracked glass.
The governor’s man is late.
One table over, someone is loudly going on about the moral decay brought on by more women working outside of the home. By the time the gentleman in the too-nice suit arrives, Evy is quite literally elbows-deep in a bar fight. She’s bleeding a little. Her opponent, sprawled unconscious atop the remnants of a chair, is bleeding a lot. Panting, Evy runs her fingers back through her short, dark hair to right it.
“This is the second time I’ve found you in such a state, Miss Wiles.”
“This is the second time you’ve been late.” Evy re-takes her seat, throwing her boots back up on the table. The governor’s man, known only as J, sits across from her with his shiny black shoes firmly on the floor. J looks exactly the same as he had a week ago when they met in a different bar closer to the Governor’s Mansion. Jet-black hair cut and styled in the fashion of the day, deeply tan skin, and sharp brown eyes.
“Your message said you have the solution to Governor Winston’s family mystery.” J tilts his head to the side, and Evy sneers. “Is it true, Miss Wiles? Did you succeed where the others have failed?”
“I’ve done what was asked of me.”
“I hope for your sake that you have.” J leans across the table. “Do tell, Miss Wiles.”
Evy takes her feet down and leans in conspiratorially. “Shall we start at the beginning?”
***
Evy doesn’t go to the Governor’s Mansion in the dead of night. The dead of night is when creeping about is more suspicious, not less so. So she goes just around dinner, when men are still promenading with women in corsets and gowns with bustles. J lets her into a side door commonly used by staff.
“Governor Winston has offered you the study in the west wing to use until his daughters go to bed,” J says, leading her through long hallways lined with flickering gas lamps encased in glass. He nods at them. “The latest invention. The glass keeps them from starting a fire or blackening the walls. The supports hide tubes used for ventilation.”
“What will they think up next?” Evy asks absently, craning her neck to look up at a painting of a nude woman surrounded by blue fabric. Her body has been rendered in soft, feminine curves from her biceps to her belly and thighs. “Aren’t you far more interesting than a lamp, darling?” she asks the woman, who reclines in a pose that could be rapture or rest while behind her, Cupid floats and some manner of Tom peeps in.
“Luca Giordano,” J says. “The artist.”
“Yes, but who is she?” Evy tilts her head.
“Venus.”
“Naturally.”
There is dinner waiting in the study. She eats in silence and takes pleasure in slipping a few valuable items into her pockets while she waits. Never know when gold or silver could be useful.
“The three Misses Winston have gone to bed, ma’am.” There’s a hesitancy before the servant says ma’am, her wrinkle-lined eyes falling first on Evy’s vest, her leather-kneed trousers, and the inked vines and leaves wrapping around her arms.
“Thank you. I don’t care much for coconut if you’d like the cake.” Evy nods at her dinner plate.
“Do you need me to show you to their rooms?”
“No, I was very well-informed to their location but shall we pretend that you have while you work on that cake? A terrible thing to waste a good dessert.”
Evy slips past the servant, reviewing J’s directions. One turn to the left, two to the right, three doors.
“Miss?” the servant calls quietly, and Evy turns back around. In the light from the gas lamps, it’s hard to tell if her skin is white or tan, if her eyes are a rich brown or a pleasant green. They’re kind at any rate. She slips her hands into the pocket of her apron and steps closer, moonlight throwing into relief that her skin is indeed tan.
“Yes, love?” Evy asks.
“It true they’re blackmailing you?” The g drops away from ‘blackmailing,’ a Southern lilt taking hold of her voice. “I heard talk.”
“Perks of the job.” Evy shrugs, her jaw going tight for a moment. “But it’s true. I saw the original advertisement. It’s not the sort of thing I’d take on willingly.”
“The governor’s not a good man, but those girls…” The servant takes a deep breath. “One of them will offer you a drink. If you drink it, it’s lights out ’til morning.”
“What’s your name?” Evy asks.
“Natalia.”
“Natalia, why would you tell me something like this?”
“They’re good girls. So are you.”
“How do you know?”
“Perks of the job.” Natalia gives Evy a shrug of her own.
“Were you given yours in a similar fashion?”
“I’m here willingly. I have my own game to play,” Natalia says. “Best of luck playing yours.”
“And you.” Evy gives her a lazy salute. “You really should have that cake.”
“You know, I think I will. I have business in the study anyhow.”
They part ways there, Natalia slipping into the room vacated by Evy, Evy moving down the hall once more.
The goal, as per J’s instructions, is to get into the rooms of the governor’s three daughters without them knowing she has done so. This will make it easier to achieve her actual mission: determining why staff have reported scuffed and dirty shoes some mornings, despite none of the sisters having left the mansion according to a slew of hired guards and employees.
Very mysterious indeed.
Evy fails in the first goal when she picks the lock of the suites and slithers inside only to find one of the three Misses Winston sitting casually in a chair by the fireplace. She turns toward Evy, and oh, oh dear.
Evy gasps, and it’s not because she’s been caught.
This would be the eldest Winston, Evy would presume—a woman around Evy’s age mothered by the governor’s late first wife, Radhika. Even in the firelight, the dark brown of her skin is visible, her black hair hanging in a single braid over her left shoulder. She’s dressed in a nightgown, with a robe tied modestly over the top. Despite the loose clothing, some of her shape is still discernible. Fat around her middle and beneath the dimple of her chin, a darling little feature that someone should most definitely someday kiss.
“Venus, I presume,” Evy says, switching gears to lean casually on the wall by the door. “Or perhaps Aphrodite?”
The daughter’s lip quirks.
“Aditi Katherine Winston.”
“Oh heavens, are we being that formal? Very well. Evette Elizabeth Wiles. I’d much prefer Evy.”
“Would you like a drink, Miss Wiles?” Aditi looks down at the table where a pitcher sits next to a single glass.
“Will you be joining me?” Evy raises an eyebrow. Aditi presses her lips together and pours a glass, sliding it across the table and looking at Evy until she peels her body away from the wall and takes the seat opposite her. Evy picks it up and smells it. It smells sweet, like the iced tea they make down south. Evy toasts Aditi and brings it to her lips, then pulls it away.
“You know, I— Oh hell.” Evy kicks the table, sending the pitcher spilling across it and dripping onto what is likely a very expensive rug. Aditi jumps to her feet and quickly unties her robe, dropping it to the floor while Evy liberates the contents of her glass down the side of the chair cushion, where it hopefully will not be discovered until at least the morning. Aditi is still on the floor when she finishes. The newly revealed night gown is floor-length with a high neck and long sleeves, but given her current position, Evy can see the bottom half of Aditi’s shapely calves as well as the delicate bones of her ankles.
Evy swallows and forces her brain to catch up.
“I should help given that it’s my fault.”
“You should.”
“It’s just that I’m terribly…” Evy speaks slowly, then yawns, and Aditi’s head pops up from the other side of the table. A few strands of hair have come loose from her braid. Evy’s fingers twitch.
“You can rest over here if you like,” Aditi says, letting her robe fall from her hands with a dull, wet thud. “It is quite comfortable, Miss Wiles.”
“I…” Evy yawns again, her eyes drooping, the glass rolling out of her hand. Across from her, Aditi stands up. “S’far,” Evy slurs.
“I suppose it is.” A satisfied smile is the last thing Evy sees before she pretends to shut her eyes. Footsteps shuffle across the floor. A hand gently touches her shoulder, and Evy fears it may ruin the whole ruse for how fast it makes her heart hammer. Aditi gives her a gentle shake, then makes a satisfied noise. “Sleep well, Evette Elizabeth Wiles. Not that you deserve it, but I am at least a little sorry.”
There are several minutes of rustling, of things being put right after Evy’s little charade. Finally, a door on the opposite side of the room shuts with a quiet click and Evy dares to crack her eyes open. She is alone.
Opposite the entrance to the daughters’ suite, there are four rooms. In one of them, Evy hears voices. She creeps toward them.
“And it’s about time too. I thought you’d flirt all night.”
“I was not flirting. Hurry up.”
“No, Rose is right, you were flirting.”
“Jane, if you don’t mind.” A beat. “Yes, that’ll do. Shall we?”
Evy sinks into a careful squat to peer through the keyhole. All three of the sisters are dressed, not in the prim and proper wear of ladies of means, but in the ordinary dress of people like Evy. Corsets and blouses in earth tones and burgundy, large top hats with goggles wrapped around the rims. The youngest two daughters—undoubtedly mothered by the governor’s late second wife, Yin Cho—have on bustle skirts over tan trousers, but Aditi has foregone the skirt altogether, her brown corset worn under a black half-coat, with tight black pants. Brown leather boots go nearly up to her knees.
Evy is going to faint.
At the foot of the bed, one of the younger women moves to pull back a rug and raise a trapdoor. Then, all three of them disappear down it, their voices fading as soon as the wood thuds shut. Through some mechanization, the rug slides back over the top of it.
“A million hired men and not one thought to lift a damned rug.” Evy rolls her eyes, then picks the lock and slips inside. Kneeling on the floor, she pulls back the rug and presses her ear to the ground. Nothing. She takes her chances on opening it up.
At the bottom of a ladder, there is an earthen tunnel. That much she can tell by touch. She moves with her hands on either wall until she reaches a fork. Then, and only then, does she remove the tiny gas torch in her hip pouch and ignite it to life. She leaves it lit just long enough to find footprints in the earth, then kills it again. On it goes until she sees a light up ahead, orange slipping through the cracks around a door. Evy drops to look through its keyhole before pushing it open.
A store room.
“Girls, what are you up to?” Evy whispers, crawling over a few crates. None of them are labeled, but shelves on the wall hold beakers and flasks and things Evy couldn’t name if someone held a pistol to her head. There is only one obvious path out. That door has no keyhole.
Evy looks around, lighting her torch up to see if there’s a less conventional way to leave the room. She slowly shifts crates to peer behind them, then presses her ear to the door. Nothing. She could risk it. Even if she got caught, she knows where the sisters go. It’s probably enough.
Above her, a board creaks and sends dust raining down. Evy looks up, then smiles. There is a single hole in the floor, likely made from a knot in the tree that bore it. From there, it’s a simple matter of stacking boxes, then very carefully climbing to the top. Simple in theory anyhow. Evy has climbed a very many things in her life. Trellises. Ladders. Taller women. She is, inexplicably, nervous every single time, and this is no exception. It doesn’t help that the crates wobble more the higher she goes, glass clinking within them whenever they do.
“I just think that mixing these two compounds could—”
“Explode, Jane. It could explode.” A voice Evy doesn’t recognize. Atop the very last box, she manages to stick her eye to the hole. She can’t see much. Lights overhead that are much less orange than the standard gaslights. The edge of some kind of table. A foot coming down right over her peep hole.
Evy clenches her teeth together and says a very loud string of swears inside her head while she blinks dust and dirt away, her eye welling up and spilling drops down her cheek. She fists a hand in her hair, breathes deeply, internally swears some more.
“Oh come now, dear Georgie, aren’t all great scientific discoveries made by trying things to see if they explode or not?” That’ll be Rose, Evy supposes, rubbing her palm over her eyelid. The pain and irritation subsides enough for her to chance another look. She can just see the midnight skin of a hand before it reaches out and takes hold of another, much lighter in color.
“Debatable, but I do quite like my lab unexploded.”
“It won’t explode,” Jane says. “Watch.” The room above briefly glows a gentle yellow-green. Jane giggles and claps. “See, I told you. I told you! Now we’re much closer to understanding the bioluminescence of fireflies. Well done, Jane. One Academy of Steam and Power Award to Jane Winston. And to George Mason of course. For his wonderful teaching and generous use of lab equipment and supplies.”
“Getting to know any of you was a mistake,” George says, but his thumb never stops moving back and forth over Rose’s knuckles.
“No, it wasn’t.” Rose squeezes his hand tighter. “Now, uh, replicate the results? That’s what comes next? Aditi, you’re being very quiet about Jane’s impending award.”
“She’s too busy thinking about her new girlfriend,” Jane says, her voice accompanied by the soft tinkling of glass from above.
“Oh?” George asks.
“Father’s latest hire to figure out our nighttime wanderings,” Aditi says. “She’ll be gone like all the others in a few days.”
“Do you hear that?” Rose asks. “That little hint of disappointment in her voice? Don’t you hear it, Jane?”
“Oh yes.”
“I am not—” Aditi sighs. “One night down. Two to go. That… tattooed rogue spilled the tea everywhere though, so our Most Awarded Jane will need to mix up more sleeping draught before we go home.”
Tattooed rogue. Evy has certainly been called worse by women who made her heart stop.
“Oh, ‘tattooed rogue’ now is it?” Jane asks. “Listen to her swoon. Pass me that beaker, Rosie.”
“I am not swooning. I do not swoon.”
“Sure, sure. You sound like Rosie the first night we met George. Only a matter of time before you start to insufferably pine for her. Taste this.”
A scoff followed by a quiet hum of appreciation.
“Jane, no eating out of the lab equipment,” George says. “But let me give it a try.”
Below the action, Evy feels a sharp pain in her left knee, the thick padded patches on her trousers no longer enough protection for her current position. She shifts, then bites her lip when the whole stack of crates starts to wobble. Her right knee joins the left.
With her lip pulled between her teeth, she climbs down the stack. On the floor, so far from the action, it’s quiet save the occasional laugh or exclamation that’s loud enough to reach her. Evy reviews the information in her head, contemplates going back up, then ultimately puts the crates back to rights. She has enough. She knows everything she needs to know to make a report, to satisfy J and therefore Winston, and to get out of St. Andrews for good.
She glances at the hole, then heads back down the earthen tunnel. Back in the rooms, she removes her shoes and carefully cleans the mud off by using the back of the soaked chair cushion. They’ll have to burn the damn thing at this rate. Or reupholster it at the very least.
Satisfied she’s hidden her trail, Evy sinks down onto the cushion. This time, she really does fall asleep. In the morning, she finds breakfast on the table in front of her and a note in messy, looping letters.
Miss Wiles,
I do hope you slept well!
Warmest wishes,
Aditi Katherine Winston
Evy tucks the note into her hip pouch, stuffs a piece of buttered toast in her mouth, and slips out of the mansion. Back in her rented quarters next to the airship station, she starts five different letters to J. She reads the note from Aditi twice as many times and swears she can hear the spark of Aditi’s voice in every sarcastic word.
The air around her wobbles from the force of giant propeller blades while Evy reads through the letter yet again. She should finish her report, collect her agreed-upon price, and get out of town while she can.
But…
But.
Evy is more prepared the second night. She has rags stuffed in her hip pouch, a horn for better listening, and her own pair of goggles atop her head to avoid any more unfortunate shoe-eye incidents.
As predicted (and hoped), Aditi is waiting for her when she arrives. Somehow, even expecting it, it’s worse the second time around. Instead of a braid, Aditi has her hair hanging in loose, long waves. Evy nearly collapses under the weight of her own wobbly knees.
“I see you have decided to try again,” Aditi says.
“Yes well, I see your rug has made a full recovery and I simply cannot abide that.” Evy winks and watches Aditi’s mouth twitch, her brown eyes flashing bright.
“Did a rug do something terrible to you in childhood, Miss Wiles?”
“Well, actually a woman I once deeply loved left me over a rug,” Evy says with mock forlorn. “Or was it that she took mine when we parted? Oh dear, now I can’t even remember why rugs are my sworn enemies.”
“You must not have loved her too much if you’ve already forgotten.”
“I love every woman a little too much, darling.” Evy says. “But perhaps I’ve forgotten the details of our parting because of how overwhelmingly deep my affections were. Of course, that supposes that I’m not making this whole thing up simply to see you laugh.”
Aditi looks away and clears her throat.
“Well, Miss Wiles, was there or was there not a rug involved at some point in your relationship with a woman you once loved? That seems a good place to start if one were trying to figure it all out.” Aditi looks at the pitcher on the table, and reaches for the glass, her thumb tracing the patterns painted onto its surface.
“I suppose with any luck, Miss Winston, we’ll both someday find out.”
Aditi’s eyes snap to hers, and Evy wonders if Aditi can see it, the way Evy’s pulse is fluttering wildly beneath the skin of her throat. She wishes very much that she could see Aditi’s neck in return, that she could slip her fingers beneath the collar of her nightgown and feel her heartbeat thumping away at whatever speed it happens to be traveling.
Aditi takes a deep breath. “Tea, Miss Wiles?”
“Yes, it was wonderful last night.”
Evy sits down and takes the glass, bringing it to her lips and pretending to sip.
“Will you tell me about the art above your fireplace, Miss Winston?” Evy asks. Aditi, as hoped, turns her whole body around to look at it, providing Evy with the perfect window to further ruin the chair.
“Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene,” Aditi says, standing up to walk over to it. “A reproduction of a painting by Simeon Solomon.” She reaches up and touches the gilded frame, letting her fingers run down the edge. “I could tell you it was painted just a few years ago or how it came to be here. Or would you rather hear about why I love it so? See, I recognize the importance of Sappho as a historical figure to women like us. But ultimately, this painting could be any two people in love. Look at Sappho, how tightly she’s embracing Erinna, not with her arms but with her whole body. The love on her face is so strong, if I stare long enough, my own heart aches with it.”
A pause. Aditi looks back to Evy where she’s pretending to yawn in her chair.
“You see, a lot of paintings of women are beautiful because women themselves are beautiful. But this one. They are not beautiful simply because they are women. They are beautiful because they are in love. Do you understand, Miss Wiles?”
Evy understands. She would very much like the opportunity to learn to understand it all over again very soon. But when Aditi starts to turn, she closes her eyes.
“Ah.”
This time, before she goes, Aditi drapes a blanket over her and tucks it in around her body. She gently removes the goggles from Evy’s head and sets them on the table.
“I do wish…” Aditi takes a deep breath, exhales, then goes.
There is more teasing in the other room while they change. Evy waits patiently, tells her heart to calm itself every time Aditi unconvincingly laughs off another accusation about being smitten. She doesn’t look through the keyhole this time, instead waiting for the room to go quiet.
On the other end of the tunnel, she stacks her crates back up high and carefully climbs up.
“She went on about Sappho for at least twenty minutes. If that isn’t flirting for women who like other women, I dare say I don’t know what is,” Jane says.
“If at any time, either of you want to give it a rest, I would most appreciate it,” Aditi says. “At the end of the day, she still took the job and I cannot… You saw Father’s advertisement when this all started. You know what they all really want.”
A long beat of silence. Through the hole, Evy watches another foot pass over, then catches a glimpse of a brown leather boot before its mate comes to a rest half on the hole, half not. She could reach up. She could ruin everything and…
And what, Evy? Touch a shoe? For the love of God, get a hold of yourself.
Evy’s chest heaves beneath her vest like a tempest sea. She wills it to slow.
“So I’ve been thinking more about firefly bioluminescence and how replicating it could be put to use in lighting, particularly in personal torches,” Jane says, but she never finishes the thought. Aditi moves, and just so happens to glance down at the floor, her eyes locking on Evy’s where they’ve gone wide within Evy’s goggles.
Fight, flight, or freeze.
Apparently Evy is going with the third. She inhales one sharp breath while Aditi stares down at her.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Aditi says, and Evy can’t move. Evy has run from shop clerks and police and disreputable men, but she can’t seem to run now. The door to the upstairs flies open to Aditi with her hands on her wide hips, and for one brief moment, Evy is free to just admire her in her tight trousers and corset, in her little black jacket and high boots. And then the crates rock beneath her, wobbling to the right and then much too far to the left.
Evy manages to swear softly before everything comes crashing down, muscle memory somehow taking over to help her roll her body and avoid severe injury. She still ends up swiping a long piece of splintered wood somewhere, gashing open the sleeve of her shirt and, subsequently, her arm.
By the time it’s all over, there are three more people standing behind Aditi, all of them looking at Evy with varying degrees of shock and apprehension. Aditi moves first, kneeling beside Evy with her brow furrowed and her jaw clenching tight.
“Are you dying, Miss Wiles?” she asks through her teeth.
“From this? No. From embarrassment? Quite possibly.” Evy rips off her goggles. Her arm is on fire, and she’s fairly sure there’s a splinter embedded in her right buttock, but she’s had worse. Maybe.
“Well-deserved, if you do.” Aditi pulls a handkerchief from the pocket of her half jacket and gently presses it to Evy’s arm. “You are a very good actress, Miss Wiles.”
“So are you, love.”
A staring contest. Evy turns away first, looking to the place where Aditi is gently holding her wounded bicep, applying firm pressure.
“I suppose you’ll tell our father what you’ve learned and collect your winnings.” Aditi’s hand twitches. Evy looks back into her eyes, then at the precious dimple on her chin, then over at her sisters and the man who is presumably George. It’s the first time Evy has properly looked at Jane and Rose. Jane is plump where Rose is thin, but they’re both pale with dark hair and brown eyes. It’s the first time Evy has seen George as well. He’s short and skinny, with a hairless chin and eyes a shade darker than his skin. He’s holding onto Rose tightly, as though she might float away if he lets go. In return she’s gripping his arm with both hands, her knuckles white.
“It’s more complicated than that, darling,” Evy says softly.
“We’ve all seen the advertisement. We know what he was offering.” Aditi loosens her grip, checking to see if the bleeding has stopped. Her hand tightens around Evy’s arm once more. “Five thousand, a parcel of land, and one of his daughters. Quite a lot, isn’t it?”
Evy reaches across her chest, wrapping her hand around Aditi’s wrist.
“Two weeks ago, I was hired to steal information from the statehouse that would prove the governor and certain state senators are taking bribes and engaging in speculation, embezzlement, a host of illegal activities, really.” Evy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Beneath her fingertips, she can feel Aditi’s pulse dancing to a steady beat. “I was caught. And because I was caught by the kinds of people who do all of those things, they really had no desire to see me go to a public trial, where I might then share why I was trying to rob them, potentially leading to more eyes looking in their direction.”
Aditi checks the wound again, then lets her hand fall away, Evy’s fingertips trailing across her wrist when she does so. “I think you will avoid the hospital, Miss Wiles,” she says softly.
“I was given one other option. To solve the mystery of the wayward daughters.”
“I don’t understand,” Rose says. “Are you saying…”
“She had to do this or Father would’ve had her killed,” Jane confirms, and Rose frowns deeply. George nuzzles against the side of Rose’s head.
“It’s not about the money or the land, darling,” Evy says. “And if I’m to have any of you, well”—Evy reaches out and wraps her hand around Aditi’s booted ankle—”where’s the beauty in embracing Erinna if she does not love you?”
Above her, Aditi shakes, her face stony.
“Well,” Jane says. “I think it might be a good idea for us all to go back upstairs now.”
“What?”
“We have a problem.” Jane turns toward the stairs. “And all the best solutions to problems are found in a lab, are they not?”
Aditi gets to her feet, looking down at Evy for several long seconds.
***
Evy finishes laying out the bare bones of the story, giving J many details while omitting many more. And then a lie.
“They asked me to withhold all of this, of course,” Evy mutters.
“Tunnels?” J asks.
“Jane had a few hypotheses, naturally. Most of the other branches could be explained as emergency escapes based on where they end, but George’s lab did time as a gambler’s den, a brothel, and a doctor’s office in the past. At any rate, the tunnels were clearly forgotten since they were created. The Misses Winston said they had to do quite a bit of cleaning to make them usable again.”
“Well, Miss Wiles, you certainly did deliver.” J sits back in his seat, shaking his head. “Tunnels. Countless money and resources, and the explanation is tunnels.”
“If that’s how you choose to look at it.”
“And how do you choose to look at it, Miss Wiles?”
“I think the real explanation is love, J.” Evy smiles. “You see, the youngest sister is in love with science. The middle sister is in love with the scientist.”
“And the eldest?”
Evy smiles wider. She reaches for her beer and finishes it. “Loves her sisters dearly, of course.”
J hums, then scoffs. “Well.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, putting it on the table between them. “That’s settled then. One ticket from St. Andrews to New York City, leaving—” J checks his watch. “You’d better hurry actually, Miss Wiles. And do know if you ever come back to St. Andrews, well, they’ll never find you in the tunnels, will they?”
Evy scowls at him, then reaches for the ticket, tucking it into the inner pocket of her vest, her fingers touching a note written in a messy, looping scrawl. A snarky breakfast letter. Or is it really just another poem from Sappho? Perhaps both.
“Have a good afternoon, Mr. J,” she says, standing up. “Can I ask one thing?”
“You can try.”
“I understand there are certain expectations for the daughters of governors, but please be as gentle as possible in setting things to rights. We’ve all been made fools by love once or twice, haven’t we?”
J tips his hat. “The girls will be dealt with as Governor Winston sees fit.”
Grinding her teeth, Evy nods at him, then exits the bar.
The steam whistle is already blowing when she reaches the station. Evy steps aboard quickly, handing her ticket to the automaton next to the door. Heartbeat hammering in her throat, she moves down the aisle and between cars, not stopping until she reaches the very end, taking a seat next to a plump woman in a top hat and dark, round shades. Evy’s chest is heaving, adrenaline spiking through her veins.
Beneath them, the pistons on the wheels start to pump. The train lurches forward. Slow at first, then picking up speed.
“Stop! Stop that train!” someone yells from outside of the window. The head next to hers swivels.
“It’s him,” Aditi says. “They know.”
Evy reaches over and takes Aditi’s hand. Outside, several men are running alongside the train, hitting it with their hands. Evy watches one reach for the handhold next to the door. He misses, then grabs hold, attempting to swing his body into the doorway. Aditi’s hand gets tighter and tighter, until Evy’s bones creak beneath her skin.
“Fall,” Aditi whispers. “Please fall.”
He doesn’t, holding on and kicking wildly. Until he can’t anymore. In the distance, a tunnel looms. A loud, relieved laugh bursts forth from Aditi’s lungs. The man drops away, and both she and Evy exhale as though they’ve been holding their breath for several minutes.
When Evy turns her head, Aditi removes her sunglasses and gives her a wet-eyed smile before looking behind them to where Rose sits with her head on George’s shoulder, his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist. Across from them, Jane has two seats to herself, her feet pulled up next to her, a newspaper spread across her lap. She looks up at Aditi and Evy and smiles.
“Best plan anyone has ever had,” Jane says. “One Academy of Steam and Power Award for Plotting to Jane Winston.”
“I’ll say.” Evy settles back in her seat, letting her head fall against the headrest.
“You really should peruse this most excellent article,” Jane says, tossing the newspaper over to Evy. The headline on the front page reads, “Governor, Senators Implicated in Scandal” with the secondary headline below referring to hundreds of thousands in bribes and kickbacks.
“By Natalia Ferraez,” Evy reads, a laugh bubbling up in her chest. Outside the windows, the hub of St. Andrews is already giving way to factories and mills. Soon they’ll be in the countryside proper, moving on to somewhere new. The hand twined with hers feels so warm. She turns to Aditi again, reaching up to fit her thumb into the dimple in her chin.
And then, with no one except her sisters and George to see the impropriety of it all, Evy kisses it. And then her.
***
Lex T. Lindsay is a fat queer writer who can be found roaming the woods of Northeast Texas when she’s not in her garden willing the tomatoes to ripen. Her interests include cats, tats, and fun hats. She read “The Twelve Dancing Princesses” and thought, “Well that kind of sucks for the princesses,” and so “Sappho and Erinna” came to be. You can read more of her work in Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Winters (also by World Weaver Press), or follow her occasional tweets @LexTLindsay.