“Ahem … We are fortunate that his lordship happened to be waiting at the airfield for his charter when we needed him,” Briggs said.
“Yes, fortunate indeed.” Elle felt slightly faint. Marsh was the viscount. She should have realized it the moment she laid eyes on that fancy waistcoat of his.
He folded his arms. “Airfield Superintendent Briggs has just informed me that he received a rather disturbing cross-Channel message from Paris. Something about difficulties with the Water Lily?”
Briggs coughed and motioned at the spectrogram telegraph box that was perched on a bracket attached to the wall behind his desk. The ribbed rubber tubes that stuck out of the box were tangled, as if the machine had been answered in a hurry. “The French air authorities say your ship took off without proper clearance and that you were carrying contraband goods and passengers on board. They want to charge you for breach of the Aeronautical Treaty. I’m afraid that they have threatened to notify the British Flying Company of this. But I am sure it must all be a misunderstanding?”
Elle felt her insides grow cold. “They can’t be serious. I had a valid departure permit.”
“I’m afraid they are serious.” Briggs started wringing his hands. “They say you fled from Luxembourg Airfield, resisting arrest.”
“But I’m innocent. They attacked me!” Elle said.
Marsh interjected. “This is precisely the reason I have come to meet with you this morning, sir. I too was made aware of the matter in the course of last night and it is imperative that I intervene.” He straightened to his full height. “You see, this was my charter flight. Miss Chance and my Paris man, Mr. Chevalier, acted on my express instructions. This is official business, the nature of which I am not at liberty to disclose at this point in time.”
Briggs patted his forehead with his handkerchief. “The French authorities are seeking the immediate suspension of Miss Chance’s license and I don’t see how we would be able to refuse their request. At least not without creating a rather unpleasant international incident, that is.”
“But that is ridiculous! I had to take off. They were shooting at my ship!” She gave Marsh a sharp look, not sure if she should say more. He shook his head ever so slightly and looked away.
“I’m sorry, I can see their point entirely,” Briggs said, suddenly officious. “We can’t have airships taking off and flying about at will. It would give rise to chaos and anarchy. The rules must be obeyed.”
Marsh was silent.
Elle closed her eyes in despair. There was no way she could charm her way out of this mess. She was completely on her own. And her father and uncle would find out that she was flying bootleg freight on the quiet. There would be long lectures. There would be “I told you so’s and a lot of “flying is no business for a woman’s. She’d have to give up the lease on the Water Lily. Everything she had worked for would be lost.
She was suddenly very angry. But despite herself, her throat thickened with the urge to cry. Tears would only confirm everything these men already thought. And she was not going to let them have that pleasure. She swallowed hard at the lump of humiliation that was threatening to choke her.
Marsh cleared his throat. “Mr. Briggs, if you would perhaps be so kind as to hand over the communication from Paris. I shall see that it is sent straight to the ministry so we may resolve this matter along diplomatic channels.” He motioned to Elle. “And if you’ll allow us a moment. Perhaps a cup of tea for the lady might be appropriate?”
“Yes, of course.” Briggs nodded. He shuffled off, looking distinctly grateful for Marsh’s intervention in the matter.
As soon as Briggs was out the door, Marsh put his hand on her arm. “I am so sorry for putting you through this charade. I didn’t think the French authorities would move so fast. I had hoped that my contacts would resolve any difficulties before there were problems.” His voice was low and conspiratorial.
Elle swatted his hand away. “I am not taking the fall for this, Mr. Marsh. You dragged me into this mess and you had better get me out of it.” She poked at his chest with her forefinger. “That is what Patrice promised, and a deal is a deal. So you better start by telling me the truth, or we are both going to end up in jail before the sun rises.”
He leaned closer to her. “It’s not safe to speak here. I will explain more later, but the truth is that we needed someone anonymous to transport us back to London. Patrice was in charge of the arrangements, which is why I think he recruited you. We were going to meet you at the airfield and I was to travel on your cargo flight, but Patrice deviated from the plan. He disappeared shortly before lunch yesterday afternoon and I spent far too long looking for him. I was rather fortunate to have found him in that café when I did. I’d thought it best to leave you ignorant about matters for your own protection. You really shouldn’t have run off like that when we landed, before I had a chance to explain things. When we overheard the attendant telling you that Briggs wanted to see you, I slipped round the back while you were clearing customs. He was ready to take you into custody a few minutes ago.”
She paled. “I told Patrice that I am just the pilot. He promised me there would be no trouble.”
“We will resolve this. I give you my word,” Marsh said.
She sat back in her seat. “And how are you planning to do that? Send a telegram to the prime minister? Petition the King?”
“If I have to. But for now, we need to keep what happened in Paris between us. Until I have spoken with my contacts. Would you mind terribly if we did that?”
Elle’s despair turned to anger. “Which part would you like to keep between us, Mr. Marsh? The bit about how you lied to me, tricked me, and then almost got me killed? Or is it perhaps that the criminals and cab drivers who frequent the streets of Paris now have command of illegal alchemy that allows them to disappear in plumes of smoke? All I did was try to help you, and look where it has got me. I should have known all this was too good to be true. And besides, who exactly are you? Are you a spy or something?”
“Or something,” he said. “But you have to believe this is not what you think. I have very good reasons for doing what I did.”
“I don’t very much care for your reasons, Mr. Marsh … or Lord Greychester … or whoever you are. I have absolutely no reason to trust you.”
A look of exasperation crossed his face and he pressed his lips together. “As I see it, your options are rather limited at present. You can either trust me to get you out of this situation discreetly, or I can walk out of here and leave you to face our ruddy-cheeked friend on your own. The latter option will, more likely than not, end in your incarceration.”
Elle felt her argument crumble away. She didn’t want to go to jail. And she definitely did not want her father or uncle to find out about this.
“So what’s it going to be?” He drew his lips in a thin line.
“Very well, I will keep your secret,” she said. “I don’t see how I have any choice in the matter. And right now I just want to go home, so if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll do that.” Her words sounded more petulant than she had intended. Still, he pushed herself out of her seat and made for the door. She yanked at the brass doorknob just as Mr. Briggs came into the office with a cup of tea.
“Oh, Miss Chance. So close to the door,!” Mr. Briggs said. He sloshed the tea into the saucer as he handed her the cup of grayish brew. “Here you go, my dear. That’ll perk you right up. Such a terrible shock you’ve had this evening.”
“Mr. Briggs, I have a motor with a driver waiting. You may release Miss Chance into my care as soon as she has finished her tea,” Marsh announced. He picked up his gloves. “Until this misunderstanding has been resolved, I am taking the lady into my custody.”
Elle spluttered into her tea. “Excuse me? You are going to do what?”
“I am taking you into my custody until the matter is settled with the authorities. You are not to leave my sight until then.”
Mr. Briggs was nodding in agreemen
t. “I will make a note in the records, my lord.”
“B-but you can’t do that. Can you?” Elle said.
Marsh looked at her and his well-formed mouth curled up into a triumphant little smile. “Oh, but I can and I just did. And it’s a task I take very seriously.”
“Ahem, there is also the matter of your ship’s repair and mooring fees,” Mr. Briggs said.
“I am taking charge of the Water Lily as well. I will send someone to attend to the repairs tomorrow. She can be stored in one of the hangars here in the short term. Please arrange to have the accounts sent to my secretary,” Marsh said. He held up his hand to stop Elle before she could speak. “And I’ll not hear another word on the matter. The mooring fees are for my account too. I insist. It’s the least I can do.” There was a little gleam in his eye warning her to not to push the point.
Elle felt the urge to smack him. The man was unbelievable, but now was not the time to fight that battle. She would do much better if she bided her time. Enemies kept close are enemies known.
Elle set the cup in its swampy saucer down on the desk, where it would leave a mark on the wood; a gift for Mr. Briggs to find later. She straightened her coat and lifted her chin “Very well, then, Lord Greychester. We had better be off. We have quite a way to travel yet.”
He held the door for her and they walked down the corridor in silence.
Outside, Patrice had collected Marsh’s car from one of the private stables at the airfield. The motor gleamed in the light of the airfield terminus, in all its white paint and silver-riveted loveliness.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Marsh said. “It’s a Stanley.”
She turned on him. “I don’t know who you think you are, Mr. Marsh, but if you think you are going to use this situation to get your hands on my ship, you are very seriously mistaken. Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing her while we were in the air.”
“Ah yes, the little airship. I give you my word that it will be safe. As long as you do what I say.”
“Your word? How am I supposed to accept that?”
He sighed and took her by the elbow. “Well, as I see it, my word is the best you are going to get for now.” He swiveled her round to face the doors they had just left. “But we could always go back to the Superintendent’s office if you prefer.”
Elle clenched her molars together so tightly she felt her jaw creak. “Fine.” She turned back so she faced the car again. His body moved in time with hers as if they were dancing. “I will go with you, but don’t think for one moment that this discussion is over.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. But in time you will come to see that I am quite an honorable fellow. Isn’t that right, Patrice?”
Patrice just shook his head and chuckled at them from where he was sitting in the driver’s seat.
Marsh opened the door for her. “After you, madam.”
Elle glared at him as she got into the machine. Grudgingly, she had to admit that the motor really was a thing of beauty. The outside gleamed with white paintwork and brass tubing. Dual reactors, by the looks of it.
She allowed herself to sink into the plush seat. And though she would never admit it, she was secretly relieved to be going straight home. The bunks in the pilot quarters at the airfield were not always that pleasant, and it would be hours before the first trains to London started running. Home was where she wanted to be right now. The edge of the bracelet slipped from beneath her sleeve as she sat down. Quickly she tucked it away. Hopefully the fairy would stay asleep until then.
Marsh sat beside her. He ran his hand over the seat. “I quite like the new shape, don’t you? Six-point-five horsepower. Fast as a bullet, she is. With the dual reactor and new patented micro-condensers, we get about twenty miles to a gallon of water. It helps that the canals are close by though.”
“If you like that kind of thing,” Elle said. She had no intention of paying his stupid motor compliments.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he said to Patrice, “Shall we, old man?”
Patrice took a last puff of his little black cigar and flicked the glowing ember into the night. He eased the accelerator lever forward and the steam car slid onto motion. They were going to Oxford.
The car prattled and huffed as it sped along the dark country lanes. Elle watched Marsh surreptitiously from her corner of the backseat. His eyes were closed as he rested his head against the leather. Lord Greychester. She was sure she’d heard that name before.
“It’s not polite to stare, you know,” he drawled after a few minutes.
Elle bit her lip. He’d caught her. Again. To hide her embarrassment, she pulled the travel rug on her lap around her and closed her eyes, quietly grateful that her glowing cheeks would not be that obvious in the dark.
He chuckled softly.
He would need watching. She would have to keep her eye on him every step of the way, she thought as the rocking of the car lulled her into an exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Marsh watched Elle sleep, wrapped up in a mohair travel rug. Vivienne Chance’s daughter. He only made the connection once they were in the air. And with her surname as plain as it was before him.
She was a difficult woman, monstrously stubborn, with a tongue as sharp to match. But he had to admit there was something about her.
He studied the fine curve of her nose. She was very pretty. He bristled at the thought. He’d learned his lessons on the subject of beautiful women well enough. And bitter lessons they were; bitter enough for him to know better.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to drive away the tiredness that was threatening to swallow him whole. The loss of the box was a blow to their cause. He should never have allowed Patrice to deviate from their plan. And now he had to deal with the added complication of this woman.
Elle shifted position and nestled her head against the leather of the seat in search of a more comfortable spot. A few strands of her hair had worked their way out of the low knot at the base of her neck. They were draped across her cheek as she slept, gently moving in the breeze that the motor stirred up. Marsh resisted the urge to lift them out of the way.
Careful not to wake her, he placed his bare fingers against her temple and focused his energies on her. As a general rule, he had serious moral objections to using his abilities on people. It was not the way of the Brotherhood, but he needed to make sure this was really Vivienne’s daughter. And this was the quickest way. He felt the tiny facial muscles under her skin relax beneath his fingertips. Then he closed his own eyes and allowed himself to drift away as he synchronized his mind with the velvety luxury of her sleep patterns.
He felt a sudden shift. He drew back in surprise and stared at his fingers. They were tingling. He reached out and touched her temple again. A jolt of energy crackled under his fingertips. She was pushing him away. In her sleep.
Marsh blinked in the dark. Was it even possible? After all these years? He sat back in his seat and stared out before him; his mind reeling with the implications of what he had discovered. Forget the Ministry. They were a bunch of impotent bureaucrats. He needed to speak to the Council about this. But first he needed more proof. And extracting it was going to be a delicate task, if today was anything to go by.
He rubbed his eyes again. This mess was becoming more complicated by the minute.
When they reached the outskirts of the town of Windsor, they stopped to refill the water tanks.
“She all right?” Patrice asked. He had a smoldering cigar clasped between his lips as he helped Marsh haul the hoses and the hand pump out from the hatch behind the boot.
“Fine. She’s asleep. It’s been a long day.”
They dragged the hoses to the canal.
“You picked her for more than her flying skills, didn’t you? What are you not telling me, Patrice?”
His companion just shrugged as he puffed at his ubiquitous little black cigar, in a very Gallic, “I have no idea what you are on about” gesture. Patrice
could be a stubborn bugger when he wanted to be. “Word on the street is that she has talents other than flying freight. I thought it might be fun if we used her. And she has a pretty face. I thought you might like that. It’s not my fault she didn’t take to you.”
“We both know that’s not what this is about.”
Patrice’s eyes glittered sharp for a moment in the light of the lantern. “Why? Have you found something?” Somewhere in the distance an owl called out in the black night.
“I’m not certain,” Marsh said.
“So you did find something in her.”
“Perhaps. I can’t tell for sure.”
“Then we should find out. This could be important.”
“All in good time. I’m not about to wake our young lady on the suspicion that she might be special. I think I have faced her temper enough times for one day. There is always tomorrow.”
“If you say so.” Patrice shrugged and they cranked water into the tank in silence for a few moments.
“You think he’s home?” He inclined his chin in the direction of looming shape of Windsor Castle, darker against the night sky in the distance.
“He, mon ami, should be referred to as his majesty, the King of England. And no, I believe the King has already left for his annual visit to his favorite spa in Switzerland. His majesty adheres to a very regular routine.” Marsh closed the water tank with more force than was strictly necessary. “That should do it, don’t you think?”
Patrice puffed at the last of his cigarette and flicked it aside. The butt glowed orange where it fell in the wet grass.
They rolled up the dripping hoses and stored them in the compartment under the steam car.
“Here, let me have a go. You’ve been driving for hours and I’m bored in the back,” Marsh said.
Patrice shrugged and settled in the front passenger seat, next to Marsh. He pulled his hat over his eyes and flipped his coat collar up against the crisp night air. Marsh took hold of the steering lever, engaged the gears and eased the accelerator lever forward. The spark reactor glowed and the automobile trundled off into the night.
A Conspiracy of Alchemists Page 5
