A Society official, Amelia thought, here to assess me. She imagined disappointing the man enough to overturn the Society's resolution and withdraw the offer of the inheritance. Her own disappointment and shame at the imaginary failure wounded so much she feared them inevitable. She took Alexander's hand.
Before opening the drawing room door, the colonel took a deep breath. The Brinkleys shared a look. If Colonel Pell found what waited inside to require such resolve and internal fortitude, what dread awaited them?
"I believe you know Mister Gavin Graves," Pell said, leading them in.
Gavin quickly masked his confusion and offered his congratulations to the newlyweds with unusual gallantry that Amelia could once again smell on his breath. "But what business could divert you from your honeymoon floatabout?" he asked. "If you hope to be Historiographer, I have some damnable news for you."
"We might as well come to business, then," the colonel said, severing their conversation, "since we're all gathered."
Gavin settled back in his seat with an air of triumph that set Amelia's nerves on edge.
"As we are well aware," Pell began, "Captain Merriday left us rather suddenly. On the night of the gala, he made significant alterations to his will prior to his departure and left the documents in my care. The amended will names Miss Stodge - Mrs. Brinkley, now – as his heir in entirety," Pell said, clearly weary. "Including his title of Captain of the Argonauts."
Gavin laughed with scorn until he noticed the gravity of the room. His good humor turned sour in an instant. "Impossible,” he spat. He leaned forward toward Amelia, resting his forearms on his knees, his usually handsome face demonic with malice. "I've been training and waiting for this opportunity for years. Years. The Councilmen chose me to succeed Merriday," he said to Pell. "I shouldn't need to remind you of this. I don’t care what this upstart socialite has convinced you of."
"The Councilmen relied upon the Code to form their decision,” the colonel continued, ignoring Gavin’s intimation. “We as the Society could not dishonor ourselves or our friend by ignoring his last wishes, no matter how inexplicable."
“So you’re giving the Argo to her?” Gavin sat still for a moment, then exploded to his feet and filled his glass with whiskey. "Merriday couldn't have been in his right mind!" he shouted. "He knew me for years, trained and groomed me for the position. You’re telling me he spoke with her for an hour and determined she qualifies to lead expeditions and negotiate treaties? And the Councilmen concur? It’s preposterous!"
"On that we all can agree," Amelia said, attempting to quell his anger. "I'm as astonished by his choice as you are, and fear myself entirely inadequate for the task."
"Then how did you convince him?" Gavin hissed, an expression of sudden clarity crossing his face. "You bedded him! Does your husband know you’re a whore?"
In her mind, she slapped Gavin Graves hard enough to send him reeling over his armchair, a string of imprecations streaming from her mouth. Fatigue and breeding took the helm, instead. She laughed. “Really, Mr. Graves, you have an imagination to rival penny dreadfuls, especially when drunk. If I recall, you spent quite a bit of time in the Green Room before you assaulted an elderly man and rounded on Merriday himself, in front of hundreds of witnesses. But of course, I must have seduced the captain for him to think you unqualified for his position.”
"Gavin, with me," the colonel growled.
"Fine." Gavin gulped the last of his drink, pretended to honor Lady Pell with a curt bow, and stormed out of the room.
"There was absolutely no excuse for his behavior," Lady Pell said, refilling teacups. Occasional shouts from down the hall punctuated the silence. “Obviously, the Councilmen had more to consider than simply complying with the will," Lady Pell said. "They and many others in the Society have become increasingly wary of Mr. Graves' antics."
A door slammed down the hall. Moments later, Colonel Pell returned to the drawing room, his face cracking with fatigue and anger.
"Argo captains interact with monarchs, ambassadors, generals," Lady Pell continued, drawing attention away from her husband. "These relationships are complex, and built on trust. Volatility is a flaw easily manipulated in our line of work. Imagine what would happen if Mr. Graves were to lash out so during a treaty negotiation. He could jeopardize the meetings, even start a war. The Terra already finds its territorials backward and brutish; we would rather not prove them right in an official capacity."
Pell took a seat with a heavy sigh and brushed aside suggestions of postponing discussion until the following day. "The Captain of the Argo must possess an even temper and stores of patience and fortitude in extremis. Navigation, weapons, self-defense, strategy, those skills come with training and practice. No one can teach a person to have a quick, steady mind, and an adventurous spirit," Pell said. "Those come from the marrow. And if you did not have them, you would not have come here today."
"I thank you, sir, for your kind words, but I'm afraid I am not here without," she hesitated, "limitations. Namely, my family."
"They would not approve," Lady Pell stated.
"Were their approval the only factor, I could easily dismiss it. I've become rather resigned to disappointing kith and kin. No, the difficulty lies in my mother's declining health. Our physician can find no explanation for it, but he warned us her death is likely. I could not abandon her under such circumstances."
Colonel and Lady Pell shared a look. "Would you find your decision easier were she in better care?" the Colonel asked.
"I confess, I would."
Lady Pell produced a small notebook from her writing desk and flipped the pages quickly, musing. "Senna Bridger, perhaps?" she suggested, to which the Colonel nodded his approval.
"We do not mean to pressure you in any way, only to address your concerns. Through our involvement with the Society, my wife and I have had the good fortune of making the acquaintance of many Sens and Sennas of the Imperial Academy. One in particular, Senna Bridger, is one of the foremost medical experts and physicians in the Terra, and treated the dowager regenta of the New Amsterdam city state. If she is amenable, I would like to offer her services in formally diagnosing and treating your mother."
Amelia's jaw slackened in shock for a moment before dignity and pessimism reasserted themselves. "You are truly gracious, I thank you. But should I suppose this offer depends upon my accepting the captain's inheritance?"
"It does not," the Colonel said. "I am merely removing the obstacles from a decision you very clearly desire to make."
"I'm afraid understanding eludes me," she said. "You seem anxious to have me installed as captain despite my lack of qualifications. And I desire to accept, despite the same. Your motivations are less opaque than mine - I cannot understand myself at all."
"Perhaps you recognize where you belong, as I did," Lady Pell said, returning to her seat. "We're not all made to negotiate marriages and navigate salons. Some of us are made to navigate airships and negotiate treaties. I'll send the telegram immediately. We should have Senna Bridger's reply in the morning."
***
"A regenta's personal physician?" Mrs. Stodge asked, sitting up in bed with some difficulty. "To treat me?"
Amelia nodded. "She can be here within the week, if you approve. If all goes well, you may have the means and endurance to attend next Season's Regent's Ball."
Though weak and pale, Mrs. Stodge smiled with a warmth Amelia hadn't seen in years. "I'll settle for not dying. Or going mad."
"Then, we need only to secure your consent before the deal is struck," Amelia said, not bothering to hide her tears.
"This doesn't make up for your vagrancy into journalism, you know. And don't speak in trade terms. It's common," Francine chided.
Holding up her left hand to display the ring, Amelia waggled her fingers as she had at the wedding. "I'm married now, sister dearest. I need no more of your lessons."
"I agree," Mrs. Stodge said. "To your proposal. I agree."
"But who are your benefactors?" Francine pressed. "We mustn't rush into an agreement with charlatans."
"Our benefactors have sterling reputations in the territories and in the Terra, but request anonymity," Amelia replied after a settling breath. "To mutual benefit, I assure you."
"Then they're in trade," Francine said with a sneer of disdain. "Someone you met during your Bohemian phase, no doubt. And why would they do this for you?" Francine added.
Amelia swallowed a retort. Her mother dashed the argument away with a weary wave of her hand.
"I see no harm in benefiting from a relationship with the lesser classes, as long as they don't demand recognition in public. To be rid of this infernal illness, and at the hand of no less than a regenta's personal physician...please express our deepest gratitude."
"I see no harm in benefiting from a relationship with the lesser classes, as long as they don't demand recognition in public. To be rid of this infernal illness, and at the hand of no less than a regenta's personal physician...please express our deepest gratitude."
"Papa won't approve," Francine snipped.
"Leave your Papa to me," Mrs. Stodge said.
Francine stopped in the hallway as she accompanied Amelia to the door. "This arrangement concerns me. No one bestows such attention without a price. I expect we shall find something to regret in the bargain."
"If you look for the bane in the blessing," Amelia said with a sigh. "Mamma will be well, able to play with her grandchildren and entertain every night if she desires. Isn't this worth any disadvantage, should one exist?"
"And if this new physician determines Mamma is, indeed, dying? What then? You'll have got her hopes up for nothing and Papa and I will be left to console her while you are worlds away in your flying machine. Isn't that your way? Selfish girl!"
Amelia lay a hand on her sister's arm. "Take your tonic, darling."
