Page 50 of A Slipper in the Smoke
“All right,” he said, offering his arm once more.
Elena clung to it as they climbed, slow and steady, her body shaking. He wished he could come inside with her, get her something to eat and drink, help her into a seat, be perfectly assured that she was safe. But surely her stepfamily would take care of her. Maybe that’s why she didn’t want him to come in. She didn’t want too many people fussing over her.
Eventually, they reached Elena’s apartment.
“This is me,” Elena said, pausing at a mahogany door with a little brass number plate reading ‘28’. She did not move to open it.
Pip turned to face her, his hand sliding from her arm to her fingers. He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to grab her hand and run away with her to somewhere quiet and safe and peaceful, and even though he was sure such a place didn’t exist, it might be possible to find it if he could just hold onto her hand a little longer.
“Elena,” he started.
Her eyes shone, almost level with his. There was no trace of her tears now. Her lashes fanned shut, her face gliding towards his. Pip moved unconsciously towards her, noses brushing—
The door opened with a bang. A gaunt, pale-faced woman stood behind it, black hair scraped into a harsh, elegant bun on the top of her head. Her lips and nails were bright red. She glared at Elena, although her expression softened slightly on Pip after she took in his uniform.
“Dome above, child!” she said, looking back at Elena. “You’re even more filthy than usual!”
Elena said nothing, staring at the floor.
Pip bit back a gathering retort. Was it possible that Elena’s stepmother somehow hadn’t heard about the riots on her doorstep, that she didn’t know Elena had been caught up in them? Perhaps she thought Elena had been at work at the palace and had escaped the whole incident. That would make sense, given his uniform—
“Elena was caught up in the riots this morning,” he said. “I came down from the palace when she didn’t report for work, to ensure that she was all right.”
Beside him, Elena froze.
Her stepmother’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t go to work today?”
“I couldn’t—”
“The rioting stopped hours ago,” her stepmother snapped. “What have you been doing all of that time?”
“I—”
“Mother,” said a tall, black-haired girl behind her, around the same age as Elena but with nothing else in common, “I’m sure Elena was just getting on with other commissions at her workshop whilst she waited for the streets to clear—”
“Whatother commissions?” she hissed. “I know every commission she undertakes. Her logbook is clear whilst she’s working at the palace.”
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Elena whispered. “I couldn’t—”
“None of your excuses! We’ll have lost a day’s wages because of your ineptitude—”
“I am sure that Elena, being so gifted, will have no problem catching up tomorrow,” Pip interjected. “I’ve scarcely seen such a hardworking or skilled mechanic. I am sure the Crown will be very understanding as to her absence, given that the riots werenot her fault.”
Her stepmother’s attention finally focused on him. “And who mightyoube, exactly?”
“I’m—Pip,” he said, stopping himself from using his title at the last moment. He’d never been more tempted to use it in his life. It was almost certain to shut her up. “I’m a servant from the palace.”
“Toulousian?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you speak for the Crown?”
“I assure you,” said Pip through gritted teeth, “you will be no worse off for Elena having missed a day. Now, perhaps we better let her get inside? She’s not eaten all day and is looking rather pale.”
Elena’s stepmother glared, her eyes two steely shards. Her face softened; her eyes did not. “Of course,” she said. “What were we thinking? Come along, Elena. Let’s get you inside.”
A claw-like hand slid along her shoulders. Elena bristled under it, as if the contact hurt her. She cast a final, almost desperate look at Pip—
