Spy Games

by Jillian Boyd

  Now, ascending the stairs in the wake of her Ladyship’s pretty little maid, he wondered whether it had been wise to come today. Lady Isidore’s manner to him had warmed a little once he had discovered and publicly acknowledged the debt his grandfather owed her grandmother, but she remained reluctant to use Williams products in any capacity, often stating that she preferred the safety and consistency of the hydrogen fuels. Now that their failure on these grounds had taken place in front of so many witnesses, might she, however unreasonably, hold him responsible for what she must feel to be a public humiliation as well as a terrifying experience?

  Isidore was surprised at the mixture of emotions she felt on seeing Roger Williams. She had not expected him to be present on Spring Hill after his views on the challenge were made known to her; even though she believed she knew why he had declined to participate himself. She was entirely aware of his devotion to her, and quite consciously encouraging its growth in the slow and subtle ways she favoured. She knew that he appreciated her increasing favour, or he would never have ventured to see her after the accident. Even when, in former times, she had treated him with ostentatious disapproval, which had then been justified by her genuine belief that his family had dishonoured hers, there had been an underlying awareness that Roger Williams was precisely the type of young man whose attentions gave her the most pleasure.

  Now, the old quarrels of past generations mended, she foresaw a future in which he became ever more enmeshed in her life. She found herself wishing she had bidden Jessamine assist her into a more becoming nightgown and brush her hair before admitting the visitor - but no. She had no need to strive to make a good impression on young Williams.

  “My dear lady-” His voice trembled slightly. “I am glad to see you recovering. I was in the crowd that dreadful day and I feared - it was feared –”

  “Not as bad as it looked at the time, though damnably uncomfortable,” Isidore said. “But at least you have not come to gloat.” She had shocked him, even stung him a little, but he recovered admirably.

  “Not at all, madame - how could I, when the Williams craft made so poor a showing? My intentions, as I believe I conveyed, were to ascertain the progress of your recovery - and also to bring you some news.”

  “News?” Isidore sat up in bed, a little too hastily, causing her still unhealed burns and bruises to remind her of their existence with several diverse stabs of pain. “What news?”

  “Of Mr Theberton, Madame. Or, indeed, the news that there is no news, and that this news makes many of us more suspicious...”

  “Mr Williams, I warn you that my temper is not at its sweetest today.”

  “I - I would not try it further, Lady Isidore. However, we feel, that is... Mr Theberton has said little that anyone knows, regarding the incidents on Spring Hill. Mr Theberton is, not, in fact, to be found. Some say that this is curious; following what must be described as a triumph for his theories, which should have led to his seeking the limelight in order to advance his viewpoint further. Even though the accident record associated with hydrogen propulsion is somewhat higher than when Carnality Pulsation –”

  He paused, glancing at her with slight trepidation, and Isidore reflected that there was some reason for this - in the past, her open contempt for Williams power sources might indeed have led her to drive him from her presence immediately... She decided that his hesitation indicated he was not, yet, becoming over-confident regarding his place in her affections, and inclined her head in a way which invited him to continue, if carefully.

  Williams coughed and began again.

  “Theberton’s own invention appears, at least, to have advantages in terms of safety, though its reliability is as yet questionable. Surprise has been expressed, considerable surprise, at the results of the trial and there are many who are anxious to learn more of the refinements Theberton made - or the alterations. Certainly, in its current state of development, the Theberton balloon seems likely to prove too costly for general use and many suspect - it is said - I have heard...But Madame, I have tired you, or you are in more pain than I thought. May I call your maid to attend you?”

  Isidore had intended to press him to get to the point, but in trying to raise herself further on the pillows, she had inadvertently knocked her left arm, the site of the worst burn, and was unable to hold back a little gasp of pain.

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” she made herself say. “Perhaps you would be so good as to show yourself out. And I thank you for your courtesy in paying this visit.”

  “My pleasure, madame.” He bowed, and made to leave, and Isidore braced herself against the pain and said, “Mr Williams, I would like to hear more about this matter another time. I will send word to you when I am fully recovered.”

  He smiled then, a genuine smile, bowed once more and withdrew, leaving her to her thoughts, which were more pleasant than they had been. If she were not mistaken - and she liked to think that she was rarely mistaken about anything - her young admirer was hinting that the accident which had befallen her might have been less accidental than it appeared, a possibility far sweeter than the concept of her own incompetence or misjudgement having contributed to her sufferings.

  The pain in her arm was diminishing a little, and she turned her mind to a particular remedy she favoured for minor ailments and distress. Perhaps on the morrow she would be well enough to have herself carried to the great leather chair in the upper room, whereupon one of her more privileged young male admirers could be summoned to attend her. She allowed herself to imagine putting such a proposition to Roger Williams. She was entirely sure that, had she ventured to far as to request that he remove her bedcovers, raise the encumbering nightgown she could not, herself, adjust and minister with lips and tongue to the petals of her sex, he would have accepted with eager delight but she had not, so far allowed him such access to her charms. Nor could she be sure that his enthusiasm would not outstrip his skills, and though enthusiasm was a quality she generally enjoyed, she needed careful consideration at present.

  Lady Isidore closed her eyes. She would sleep, and awake refreshed and further recovered.

  ***

  The newspapers had, over the past few days, appeared to grow tired of the aeronautical challenge and its unfortunate outcome, and their pages were mostly filled with the latest Court gossip, the new spring fashions and the likelihood that the government would make a further increase in property taxes before Midsummer Day. The directors of Williams Incorporated Engineering, the firm Roger’s grandfather had founded following his - or rather, Eileen O Brien’s - discovery of what would come to be known as Carnality Pulsation power, reported no loss of business following the Williams craft failing to triumph at Spring Hill. George Calf, the senior director, informed Roger that most people’s satisfaction with Williams cells suitability for domestic heating and lighting was undiminished. This was, of course, unsurprising: the beauty of Williams Carnality Pulsation Technology was that much of a household’s energy requirements could be supplied by a weekly charging session, should a member of the household possess CP potential. If there was no one willing or able to undertake the charging, then fully-charged cells were available for purchase at very low cost: WIE made its profits from supplying the devices that harvested and stored the power source, and from adapting and inventing devices which utilised the power.

  The Board of Directors had collectively refused to regard Theberton’s challenge as anything more than an amusing diversion and, despite its outcome, had no more interest in Theberton than the newspapers. It was only among his social circle that Roger found anyone other than indifferent to the whole business. At supper clubs and card parties, conversations still turned with surprising ease to Theberton, his whereabouts and the likelihood that the success of his aeronautical craft on that particular day had owed less to superior technology and more to dishonourable conduct. Roger was not unaware that several young me
n of his acquaintance had wagered substantial sums of money on the race, and lost it, and that this might explain their continued interest in the matter. Carefully, painstakingly, as days turned to weeks, Roger pursued any promising lines of enquiry he could find. Few, however, seemed to lead towards any conclusive prove that Theberton had arranged for both the Williams craft and that piloted by Lady Isidore O’Brien to be rendered incapable of winning. Then came the day he was visited by Anthony Goffer, the aeronaut who had taken up the challenge with his own Carnality Pulsation craft. Mr Goffer had, it seemed, been troubled by his own conscience of late.

  It was exactly six weeks since the accident, and Lady Isidore was luxuriating in the pleasure of being fully in company again. She had healed from her injuries with no trace apart from a little scarring on her left arm which, she believed, lent her a rakish glamour that was not displeasing. The occasion was a relatively intimate ball held at the townhouse occupied by her favourite cousin, and she had spent the earlier part of the evening assuring her many friends that she was entirely well again. Some among the guests had ventured to suggest that she abandon her aeronautical pursuits due to the risk of further harm coming to her, but Isidore had dismissed their concerns, according each well-wisher the degree of courtesy the tone of the proposition merited. A young man, one she believed to be acquainted with Roger Williams, brought her a plate of dainties from the buffet and appeared disposed to sit by her while she ate. Isidore found his conversation acceptable enough at first. Shortly, however, he began to discourse on Williams technology and the percentage of people who were and were not capable of charging the CP crystals themselves. Isidore lowered her fork, the morsel of chicken in wine sauce upon it untasted. Did this foolish young man have so little understanding of the lady he was addressing, her long-proclaimed antipathy to the Williams family? She had made no public acknowledgement that her attitude was beginning to soften, and therefore the young man’s choice of conversational topic could almost be seen as a deliberate insult. She was about to send him about his business in a manner he would doubtless find humiliating when she glimpsed Roger Williams himself, just entering the room. He looked a little harried, and she wondered at the cause. Word had reached her of his enquiries into Theberton’s conduct, but what she had heard, from those of her intimates who had condescended to visit her sickbed, had been frustratingly incomplete.

  She returned her attention to her supper: the chicken was delicious but the rice salad over-seasoned and she pushed the plate away before it was entirely empty. She was sipping the last of her wine when young Williams came into view again and was greeted cheerfully by her companion.

  “What ho, Roger! Tracked the villain down yet, have you?”

  Isidore said nothing herself, merely watched to see what might occur. Williams glanced from her companion to Isidore herself, appearing to consider his words quite carefully before speaking.

  “I do in fact believe that I have made certain discoveries,” He set down the glass of wine he had been holding and addressed himself directly to Isidore.

  “Madame, I am glad to see you well and out in society. I had hoped... particularly when I became privy to certain information, as it became clear that time would be of the essence... I wished to inform you, before it became common knowledge...” He stopped, and cleared his throat and Isidore, who normally revelled in her own ability to render young men of his type almost tongue-tied merely by raising an eyebrow, turned on him a look of patient understanding she had rarely employed in public.

  “Mr Williams, has evidence come to light which incriminates that wretched man?” she asked. “And have the constabulary been made aware of this?”

  His cheeks reddened, but he appeared to be sufficiently confident in the importance of the information he possessed not to allow embarrassment to deflect him.

  “A signed confession from a mechanic in his employ has been handed in to Bow Street,” he said. “However, I received some further intelligence from Mr Goffer, who came in person to inform me of his latest discoveries not two minutes ago. I confess I am concerned that, should Theberton discover his man has betrayed him, he may attempt to leave the country. I believe it may be necessary for a private citizen to apprehend and secure the scoundrel.”

  Isidore was impressed, and barely able to conceal the fact. Was Williams really suggesting some form of vigilante adventure? She would not have considered him capable of showing such initiative - or would she?

  “Mr Williams,” she said. “Do you propose to pursue this matter immediately?”

  He took a deep breath; she saw his shoulders rise and fall.

  “Madame,” he said. “I believe it is imperative to do so. I intend to set out at once, And I thought I should inform you of my intentions –”

  “Mr Williams, I believe I should accompany you.” Isidore stated.

  And now she had succeeded in dumbfounding him. She took an instant’s pleasure in the fact that, despite his confusion, he was too well bred to stand there, mouth agape in an unattractive fashion, but he was clearly lost for words. The other young man, who Isidore had all but forgotten about, attempted to fill the conversational gap by offering to join in the expedition in her place, but Isidore instructed him to be so good as to fetch her wrap from the cloakroom. As soon as he departed, Roger Williams said, most carefully, “Madame, I would be most honoured if you were to do so, but please understand that my mode of conveyance is equipped with Williams cells.”

  “I would have imagined nothing less,” Isidore declared, rising from her seat. “I have been considering the matter of late, Mr Williams, and I do believe that I should begin to extend my knowledge of the discovery my great aunt was so proud of.”

  Roger Williams found it hard to believe that this was not some feverish dream born of longing. Lady Isidore said nothing as they left the house and made their short way to where his roadcar was parked. He thought briefly of offering her an explanation of the Carnality Pulsation apparatus which was housed at the rear of the vehicle, but decided that this might take up more time than he dared spare. He contented himself with the dizzying pleasure it gave him to assist her into the passenger seat and advise her to be sure that her wrap was securely tucked in place, as the car would be travelling at considerable speed. It was a relatively warm night, and dry, for which he was grateful. While he was confident of his own ability to drive this new model, it was as likely as its predecessors to be difficult to handle in rainy conditions, and he utterly dreaded the possibility of involving the lady in another accident when she had only just recovered from the injuries caused in the balloon crash - injuries which could be directly attributed to Theberton’s malice and recklessness. He gripped the steering wheel more firmly: Theberton would pay for what he had done and Roger Williams would bring him to justice. He risked a glance at the proud and lovely woman sitting beside him. Her expression was composed, her hands folded in her lap, and he wondered what she was thinking.

  Isidore was, in fact, contemplating matters which might well have caused her devoted admirer to lose control of the vehicle had he known the direction in which her thoughts were tending. They had rapidly left the city behind them and were bowling along a straight but entirely empty rural road, and she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of travelling faster than she had been accustomed to anywhere other than in the skies. Her great-aunt’s diary, which Roger Williams had handed over to her as proof, not only that his grandfather was not so dishonourable as she had thought, but that his own intentions towards Isidore were wholly sincere, had been much on her mind. Eileen O’Brien had, herself, developed a profound understanding of the relationship between pleasure and pain and how this intermingling could increase the potency of those with Carnality Pulsation aptitudes. Isidore noted that this aspect of the procedure had been, in fact, somewhat neglected and considered that she might discuss this with Roger to the benefit of them both. It would be as well to embark on
her explorations of the procedures with knowledge or at least suggestions to impart, rather than placing herself in a position of novice or supplicant to one who clearly desired to worship rather than instruct.

  Just as these thoughts were once again crossing her mind, the Williams car made an odd whining noise and stuttered to a halt. The face that Roger turned to her expressed such abject horror that Isidore almost laughed aloud.

  “There appears to be something amiss with our conveyance,” she said lightly. “I do hope it won’t hold us up for too long.”

  His response, which she might later inform him was discourteous, was to fling open the door, leap from the vehicle and run round behind it. There was a side-opening hatch which evidently gave upon the roadcar’s propulsion mechanisms: he threw this wide and subsequently uttered an expletive that even Isidore was not accustomed to hearing. She alighted more cautiously and made her way to where he stood staring into the open boot. Isidore, presented with a perfect opportunity to indulge her curiosity about the mechanics of Carnality Pulsation, looked down at the strange array of devices which filled the compartment. She strove to identify the different items from her memory of her great aunt’s detailed notes, but realised almost immediately that Eileen O’Brien had been describing only the most primitive assemblies and that the construction of contemporary Williams cells was significantly more advanced. However, she believed she understood that the material stored within each of the small glass tubes encased on metal cages should be illuminated rather than grey and lifeless, and understood that the roadcar had run out of power.

  “This is a pretty pickle, Mr Williams, is it not?” she said as her companion continued to stare at the machinery.