“She’s in here,” Drummond said as he led Charles into a dimly lit drawing room. “Whitmore’s given her some fairly strong medicine.”
Sinclair entered, and Cordelia turned to offer a confused sort of smile. “Oh, hello, Charles. How nice of you to call on me.”
His uncle had explained the situation, and Charles sat beside the girl, taking her hand with great tenderness. “It’s always good to see you, Delia. My uncle is certainly happy to have you as a guest. How are you feeling this afternoon?”
“Not that well,” she answered sleepily. “Do forgive me for not standing. Will you have tea?”
“No, thank you. I’d hoped you might agree to come with me on a little trip, but we’ll need to depart soon. It’s already snowing, and the lines to Kent might close before long. Would you like to spend Christmas with us?”
A faint light entered her vacant eyes. “Christmas? Is it that time already? I’ll need to shop, won’t I?”
“Yes, but then so will I. Perhaps, you’d help me. There are some lovely little shops in Branham. Elizabeth is so looking forward to seeing you again. As is Della, of course. And Paul.”
“Paul,” she repeated wistfully. “He’s at Branham, isn’t he? Oh, wait. Do you think he’s finished his shopping?”
“One never knows with my cousin, but you can ask him yourself. Mrs. Dalborough will help you to pack, and then we’ll leave as soon as we’ve all eaten. How does that sound?”
“Yes, that sounds fine,” she answered, reaching up to touch his face. “You’re so very kind. Thank you, Paul.”
“I’m Charles, Delia.”
“Yes, I know. Paul.”
He kissed her forehead, leaving the housekeeper, Mavis Dalborough, to help the young woman prepare for the train trip.
Once he was far away from the drawing room, Sinclair flew apart, shouting as he paced. “Will Wychwright allowed this?”
“He encouraged it from what I can glean,” his uncle answered, equally angry.
“I’ll string that army rat up by his hind legs for this!” Charles bellowed. “I promise you, if what you tell me is true, I’ll haul mother, son, and that rotten little baronet in for questioning before the day is out! Did Whitmore examine her for signs of force?”
“He did, and thus far, Lady Cordelia’s maidenhood remains intact, but not for lack of someone trying very hard to alter that fact. Either Sir Richard, William, or both repeatedly tried to assault that girl, but she held her own.”
“Both?” echoed Sinclair. “William may have...? God bless the angels who helped her escape such treachery! Why would any man do such a reprehensible thing to his own sister?”
James stood at the foyer table, writing a telegram as they talked. “I’m sure it has to do with David Wychwright’s will. I called on the law firm this morning after I left Paul’s house. Abernathy is a friend, and when I mentioned a possible criminal action, he showed me the will and codicil. David left a great deal of money to Delia, as well as a new house, and you can bet her brother wants it all. She turns eighteen tomorrow, Charles, which means she’ll no longer require permission to marry. We’ve both seen how fond Paul’s become of the girl. He’s even talked to me about proposing to her.”
“Which is the last thing William wants, because Paul isn’t one of his whipping-boy cronies. If Cordelia marries Paul, he loses any chance at her money.”
“Precisely, which is why he tried to ruin her. With Delia turning eighteen tomorrow, William had very little time to enact his plan. I praise God for helping her escape! But she’ll need to wed soon, son; before the new baron has a chance to find her and try again. Honestly, I’ll marry her myself if Paul refuses, just to keep her away from that family. Nothing but guttersnipes, the lot of them!”
Charles wanted to smash something, and then he thought of Adele. What if someone treated her this way? Suddenly, he felt protective and righteously furious at the same time. But as a policeman, he had to look to the law for a remedy first.
“Can we put men on this?”
“Already done. Matthew Laurence is working with Hamish Granger.”
“What about Ned and the girls?” asked Charles. “Did they receive any large bequests? Should we protect them as well?”
“Only some jewellery, not worth more than a thousand pounds total.”
“Ned seems a good man. Do you think he’d testify against his brother?”
Drummond sealed the note and handed it to his butler. “Get that to the palace right away. Use the code word Guinevere. The chamberlain will see it gets to the queen.” He turned to his nephew. “They sent poor Ned and his girls packing as soon as the will was read. I’m sure he’d have stood up for his sister, which is why they needed him gone. I might offer him a job here, if he wants. I could use a man with management skills.”
“James, we should take her away as soon as possible. I’m sure William’s scouring the city, looking for her. If we’re to arrange protection, then we have to get her out of London, but travel might prove difficult. I’d like to take her back to Branham, but someone ordered Paul’s train put into the rail shed.”
James grinned, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously. “Ah, yes. Well, I’m responsible for that. Did I tell you that I’ve prepared a wee Christmas gift for you, son?”
Charles stared. “No, sir. Did you tamper with the train’s brakes?”
Laughing, the Scottish duke slapped his nephew’s back. “No, son, I didn’t have to. I ordered the engineer to leave you stranded. It’ll all make sense soon. I’ve just sent a telegram to the queen, informing her we’re leaving at three, not four. With the snow coming faster by the hour, we cannot risk getting trapped on the line. I’m fetching Her Majesty myself at half two. You collect our Mr. Baxter and meet me at Victoria at quarter to three. Shed number seven. Now, let’s go have a bite to eat. Mrs. Carson’s made lamb stew and soda bread.”
“Simple fare, sir?” laughed Charles.
“You know me well, son. We’ll fill our bellies and then make plans.
Sinclair and Baxter arrived at Victoria Station’s shed seven, met by a man named Gabberfield. Charles noticed the Drummond coat of arms on the shed door and wondered just what surprise the duke had in store. Gabberfield wore a large ring of keys on his belt, and he took his time finding the one that fit the lock.
“I ain’t been in here since October, sir, but I understand it’s all done ta your taste and special needs. The duke—well, sir, I mean your uncle o’ course—well, he’s been round ‘ere nigh on ta every day o’ late. Is it true ‘bout yer blood, sir?” he asked Sinclair.
Charles had grown used to this sort of question, and he nodded. “It’s true, but I’m happy to serve England as a policeman. Might we enter some time this month, Mr. Gabberfield?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Yer ‘ighness. There she is! Got it.” He turned the brass key, and opened the workmen’s door. The interior was dark, but Gabberfield threw a switch near the entry, which sent electricity coursing through wires above, illuminating a hundred bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Suddenly, the shed seemed bright as day, revealing its special secret: a magnificent steam-driven train.
“This ‘ere’s one of a kind, sir. Real unique like. It’s got seven cars, all kitted out to Duke James’s specifications. I’m to say the train is part of yer Christmas present, Yer Grace. Only a part, that is.”
Charles wondered if he’d stepped into a dream. The idea of owning his own train struck him as the height of fancy, yet here it was. The exterior was of gleaming black, trimmed with red and gold stripes; each car emblazoned with the Haimsbury coat of arms, featuring a rampant lion facing a dragon, surmounted by a golden crown and gartered in blue with the words ‘Commit thy Way unto the Lord’.
“How very appropriate, sir,” Baxter observed as he ran a hand along the first car’s crest. “Only the queen may authorise the inclusion of a
crown, sir.”
“Yes, well. It’s a magnificent gift. Mr. Gabberfield, how did the duke produce this customised train in so short a time? We’ve all been quite busy of late. When did my uncle have time to build it?”
“Well, sir,” Hiram explained, “it’s my understandin’ the train was originally intended for Duke James’s personal use, but two months ago, the order come down to finish it out fer you. Aside from the crests, the train’s been given a new name, sir. It’s just here, on the engine door.”
Charles stepped forward. Within a red box, gold script spelled out: The Captain Nemo Special.
The duke laughed heartily at the reference to Beth’s nickname for him, for the surprise gift served to remind him just how much his life had changed since October.
“What do you think, Inspector Baxter? A perfect name, no?”
Cornelius’s smile could have lit the sun. “It is indeed, my lord.”
Gabberfield found the name puzzling. “I don’ know who this Nemo fellow is, sir, but that’s how the duke wrote it out for the painter. I hope it’s all right, Yer Grace.”
“It’s perfect,” Sinclair answered. “Absolutely fitting. May we come aboard?”
“Oh, yes, sir! O’ course! You men follow me. Each car ‘as a purpose, ya know. This first one ‘ere’s fer guests,” he explained as they climbed up the steps. “It’s got spring-loaded leather seats, o’ course, and all the finery of yer fancy, luxury trains. But it’s open, so folks can talk to each other. And these little tables are ‘ere so you can serve meals or play cards, if you want, sir. But they fold away to conserve space.”
“Quite efficient,” Baxter noted as he examined the mechanism. “I see there’s storage inside the tables as well. I’m sure His Grace will find that useful.”
They continued through the beautifully finished first car, and then passed through a connecting door and into the second. This car looked nothing like the first—in fact, it looked like no rail car Charles had ever seen.
“It’s an office!” Haimsbury exclaimed, admiring the efficiently arranged interior. Two chandeliers with electric bulbs hovered from a painted ceiling, decorated in scenes from Scotland.
“Are those electric, Mr. Gabberfield? How are they powered?” Sinclair asked their guide.
“That big car just behind the engine, sir. It’s the generator. You’ve electrics all through the train, in every car. And there’s a wireless message machine as well. A transceiver, I think Mr. Kepelheim calls it. Just like in Lord Aubrey’s trains.”
“We’ve stepped into the future, Inspector Baxter.”
“Indeed we have, Commissioner,” answered his friend. “You even have a desk, sir.”
“And leather chairs. Paul’s going to be very jealous.”
The mahogany roll-top desk was inscribed on the side with the coat of arms, and Haimsbury’s stationery lay waiting upon the top. Several, comfortable leather club chairs provided seating for guests, and an efficient but small fireplace occupied the centre of the end wall. In place of windows, the car held a variety of locked cabinets. On the wall opposite the desk, the cabinet doors were painted as a unit showing a detailed map of England and Scotland’s rail system.
“And here we can follow our journey or plan a route,” Baxter remarked. “Mr. Gabberfield, I see these closets have locks. What is their purpose? Are they luggage compartments?”
Gabberfield’s fleshy face widened with pride as he unlocked one of the doors, showing hooks and shelves. “These can be customised for clothing, weapons, anythin’ you wish, sir. That one on the far left contains a dial safe. I’m ta tell you the combination is the day you met the little duchess.”
Charles smiled. “Open it.”
The porter used a small key to unlock the door, revealing a tall safe. Charles dialed in the sequence: 31-3-79. The handle clicked, and the safe opened. “It’s a lovely sentiment. My uncle thinks of everything.”
“He does, my lord. Now, the next car down is equipped in like fashion ta this. Duke James mentioned that Lord Aubrey sometimes works with you, sir, and might require his own office, so it’s done up the same, though with different colours. I was told the Haimsbury colours are red and gold, which is how we done it up in here, but the earl’s are green and gold. So his office is decorated in those colours. Car number three contains medical and scientific equipment. Four and five are fer special guests. Cars six and seven are sleepers with room for six persons apiece and include water closet accommodations. You’ve a water closet of yer own, sir; just there, to the left of the connecting doors to Lord Aubrey’s office. There’s also a comfortable caboose with more chairs and somethin’ the duke calls ‘lookout windows’ for keeping watch from three sides. His Grace even had a kitchen installed back there, along with another water closet. Oh yes, sir, one more thing. In there,” he said, pointing to the last of the painted cabinets, “you’ll find libations.”
“Libations?” asked the duke. “Where my uncle’s concerned, that can only mean one thing.”
Gabberfield opened the door to reveal an array of shelves containing filled decanters, wine bottles, and all the appropriate glassware—even a matched pair of silver-topped soda syphons.
“Very well organised. I assume all the contents come from your cellars, sir,” noted Baxter. “If you’ll recall, Duke James sought permission to make an inventory. I noticed his men removed several crates once they’d finished.”
“I remember,” laughed Sinclair as he sat at the desk. “He said it was for a party. Some days, Cornelius, I think I must be dreaming. The only thing this train lacks is a place for my wife.”
Gabberfield cleared his throat. “No, sir, it don’ lack that at all. Like I said, cars four and five are for special guests. Each is furnished in gilded, royal style with a canopied double bed, mirrored bureau, a fireplace, and a water closet.”
“Then, my uncle has thought of everything.”
“Of course, I have!” bellowed Drummond, who’d quietly joined their group. “Gabberfield, tell your men they’ve done a splendid job. I’ll commission another just like it for myself—with Drummond heraldry, of course. Tell your manager, will you?”
Gabberfield bowed. “Trumble and Hope are honoured to serve all your family’s needs, Yer Grace. Shall I ‘ave the porters load up the luggage?”
“Yes, Lady Stuart is riding with my nephew, but several other passengers are boarding Aubrey’s train.” He turned to Charles. “Paul’s Christmas gift is in the shed next door. It’s similar to this one, but with two cars just for weapons and various devices, which we’ll demonstrate on Boxing Day. Now, as soon as our passengers board, we can head to Branham.”
“And the Castle Company?” asked Sinclair.
“Riding on Paul’s new train with Merrick. Drina’s below saying goodbye to Reggie Parsons. Oh, and Treves asked to speak to you before we depart. He’s in shed eight.”
“Baxter, if you’d see to Lady Stuart’s comfort?” Charles asked before leaving.
“My pleasure, sir.”
Shed eight was also owned by Drummond and housed the Haimsbury train’s twin. The engine and cars bore the Aubrey crest, but upon the engine door, painted in green and gold Charles read ‘The Scottish Knight’.
“Perfect,” he said to himself. “Treves?” he called to a dark-haired man with a thick moustache. Frederick stepped off the train to shake Sinclair’s hand. Snow had already begun to drift into high mounds near the sides of the long shed, and the wind howled in their ears.
“Afternoon, Charles. I pray you can make it through this snow.”
“I’ve no fear, Fred. The Lord will plow the way,” the duke told his friend. “Has Joseph boarded?”
“He’s settled in with Blinkmire and Riga. They’re already playing chess, if you can imagine it. And the count is tuning up his cello to offer a concert as they ride. I’ve never seen so luxurious a t
rain in my life!”
“If it’s anything like mine, it’s magnificent,” answered Haimsbury. “My uncle spared no expense this Christmas. James is far more generous than I deserve, but I’m glad it provides comfortable accommodations to our guests. I wish you could come along with us. Perhaps, bring your wife and children.”
“It sounds lovely, but the London’s jammed with patients. Losing Gehlen right now is difficult, but the governors have allowed me to hire the Jewish doctors as temporary consultants. I thank the Lord for those men! They’re like angels in a crisis. How is Anthony doing, Charles? Have you heard anything from Henry?”
“Henry was called to Branham to look after a patient, but he left a well-respected colleague in his place, Bruce Hepplewhite.”
“Hepplewhite’s a fine man. Brilliant mind and a pleasant bedside manner. I’d love to hire him as well, but I hear he’s planning to retire. Look, I’ll try to visit Gehlen later today. Don’t worry about him for the present. Enjoy Christmas with your family, Charles; and your maiden voyage on your new train! I’m sure the Lord will act as guardian, but I noticed the duke has men stationed throughout the cars.”
“James is always cautious. See you next week, then?”
“Yes. Send a wire with the details, and I’ll come meet you.” They shook hands once more and Treves trudged off through the snow.
Sinclair stepped briefly into the first car and waved to the happy passengers. “Where’s Miss Kilmeade?” he asked Riga, who was holding his cello to examine the strings.
“Measles,” replied the count. “I fear our brave Brona has succumbed. But Mrs. Meyer is tending to her with the affections of a mother. Ida’s already had the disease and chose to remain and learn nursing.”
“She’ll be a great help, I’m sure. I’m very sorry to hear of Brona’s illness. We’ll keep both ladies in our prayers. Good morning, Mr. Blinkmire, Stanley, Anderson. Joseph, it’s a pleasure as always,” he told Merrick, who was setting up a chess board.
Realms of Fire Page 40
