by Giles
Jerard watched her go still feeling the shame of the way he had treated her. It was not her fault that he woke up this morning. His pleasant dreams of being back aboard his command ship and flying the skies had given way to the rapping of the cold rain on the grimy window of his room in the boarding house. The bleak little space reminded him that the man he once was had gone and in its place stood a pathetic coward with no place to go and no means to get there. Jerard felt the anger rise again and did not stop it. He knew that it was easier to bear than his feelings of loss and failure. He reached out and grabbed the full mug of gin and raised it into the air as if to toast. But no toast would come to his lips as he recognized his only desire was to drown in the harsh liquid…and to forget. In moments the mug was emptied and the second was traveling to the angry man’s lips, the fingers of his left hand wrapped securely around the third in order to speed it along the same journey.
The gin burned down his throat and landed like a two-hundred pound bomb into his stomach. Jerard imagined that the destruction to his stomach would have been as complete as the destruction perpetrated to the little German town of Rührberg on that horrible day. Destruction and death he was held responsible for; the destruction and death of not only of innocent people but of his entire career. He could not keep the memory at bay...
It was an absolutely beautiful day. The skies were as clear as the bells of Westminster Abbey and Jerard was heady with excitement as he and his crew headed toward the final phase of the competition. Thus far this little show had been a feather in the cap of every Englishman and Jerard stood proud at the helm his beloved airship, showing off the superior knowledge and courage of the Royal Army Flying Corps.
The morning’s demonstrations had been difficult especially with the upper atmospheric headwinds. But Jerard and his crew had pulled together and brought the old girl through the proscribed maneuvers. Unlike the unfortunate French who found themselves suspended in the forest canopy below. Jerard had to remind himself not to gloat especially when he bothered to remember that it had taken the use of every skill and every intuition he and his crew had possessed just to keep their lady aloft.
Their hosts, the Germans had performed well also but at the last minute had opted not to brave the headwinds. Jerard was a little disappointed because he would have liked to see what the German captain would have done with the tricky winds. Instead the man had taken the safe route and lost his country valuable points in the competition. When the two ships had landed, the German airship captain had greeted Jerard with a hearty handshake and feral grin, saying: “Congratulations Herr Phillips, you are either the best pilot I have ever seen or you are completely insane.”
Jerard stood smiling on the deck of his airship a few hours later and thought about the German captain and wondered if the man had ever heard the phrase, “It is only mad dogs and Englishmen who go out in the midday sun.” Until this day Jerard himself had never really understood its meaning. Chuckling softly to himself he called down to the engine room to begin the descent toward the bombing range. He then called the ready to the bombardier who replied “on your mark Captain!” the bombardiers’ laughter echoed Jerard’s own. He and his crew had practiced this low-level maneuver many times since learning that their ship was selected to carry the pride of the Empire into this international competition. They could now hit a target dead on the mark in any weather and at anytime. Their experience with the odd air currents of the morning had caused some concern but Jerard and Fred, his navigator, had worked out the suitable course they now took.
The airship dropped through the layer of shearing winds perfectly as planned. In a laughing voice, Fred had only called a minor course correction to bring the lady to her target. Jerard felt the swell of pride as the crew held steady for the drop.
“Target in sight captain.” Frederick Randal called from the navigator’s station, “bear two degrees east to maintain target.”
Jerard opened his mouth to reply when he felt a great thud. “What the…? Bombardier!” He shouted into the tube. “Bombardier! Reply! Engineer! Get down there! Confirm bomb doors open!”
“Confirmed captain.” The bombardier replied through the tube. “The bomb doors are open and the bombs are away.”
“What? No! Come about! Engine Room! Come about!” Turning to the navigator, Jerard shouted “God Randal! What did we hit? Were we close enough to the target?”
Fred Randal swallowed and raised haunted eyes to his senior officer. The sounds of the two hundred and fifty pound bombs, all eight of them could be heard exploding below them. The ship had completed its turn and Jerard could now see great billows of smoke and bits of buildings that had been blown beyond the centers of the explosions.
“I believe that was Rührberg Sir,” Randal said quietly into the shocked silence of the bridge….
“Sir? Sir? You a'right?” Daisy’s course voice intruded on Jerard’s bitter memory.
“I am fine.” Jerard replied wearily. “Bring me three more, dear girl, for the ghosts are not satisfied and I will not grant them any more of my soul today.”
Daisy’s eyes widened, she had not a clue as to what the gentleman was talking about but she could certainly bring him more gin. After all, most who came in here were looking for something, and gin usually provided it. Who knows? She shrugged, maybe there were haunts flying about the ceiling, at least she did not have to serve them too.
The house was filling quickly with its normal complement of patrons. Jerard could smell the soot and dirt and grease of the great unwashed mass that descended to join his private hell. He normally heard the factory’s whistle that signaled the arrival of this noisy lot but today he had completely missed it, “Damned memories,” he muttered. He placed his back against the wall and put his booted feet up on bench to prevent any from sitting too close. He needn’t have bothered, the regulars had grown used to the ‘gentleman’ who sat in the corner and kept to himself. In fact they were quite happy to leave him to it and carry on in their own ways of forgetting.
It took Jerard a moment or two to become aware of the stranger that had entered the squalid gin house. He was so out of place as to appear comical. It was obvious that the man was trying desperately to avoid contact with the bar’s other patrons. And yet he scanned the crowd with determination and purpose. Unfortunately it seemed that the man’s purpose might be him. Dear god, Jerard thought, he looks like either a solicitor or an undertaker, all dressed in black with his beaver-hair top hat. Jerard sighed as he realized that indeed this little raven was making his way toward Jerard’s table. What now, he thought, haven’t I been through enough?
“Mister Jerard Phillips?” The dour little man inquired politely.
“Maybe, Sir. However, I am neither dead nor in need of a solicitor; be gone man before you contract a disease.”
Jerard nearly laughed out loud at the black clad man’s reaction to his words. If possible he shrank even tighter into his fine wool coat and he paled as if he had looked into the eyes of the plague itself. Jerard watched as the man’s emotions played across his face and for the briefest moment Jerard had to admit, the fellow had courage.
“May I sit Sir? I have several things to discuss with you that I believe you will find of great benefit.”
“Really?” Jerard said, not bothering to keep the amusement and bitter sarcasm out of his voice. “So you are prepared to buy a round of drinks? You know, share a cup with your newest old friend?” Watching the little raven, it was obvious that his barb had struck some kind of mark. Although the quiet realization that the man would rather do anything than have a drink with me echoed at the back of his mind. Oh how the mighty have fallen, he mourned.
“Ah, well…yes of course. I feel that a spot of refreshment might be just the thing right now.” The man drew himself up, “My name is Lovelace Sir, William Bennett Lovelace, at your service.”
The little man bowed and preened so much that Jerard could not help himself; an unfriendly laugh escaped. “Mr. Lovelac
e, I sincerely doubt that you have been at anyone’s service save your own since you became a solicitor or would that be undertaker? I am still not clear on this point.” Phillips sighed. “Go on man, sit down if you dare and have a drink with me.”
Lovelace stood sputtering at the coarse rudeness of this blackguard before braving the rough wooden bench. “Now Mr. Phillips, I want…”
“I care not what you want Mr. Lovelace, at least not until you have drunk with me. Hold a moment in your obviously rehearsed diatribe while I order a fresh round.” Jerard caught Daisy’s eye and signaled for two gins before turning back to coldly study the man sitting across the table from him.
It was obvious that Lovelace was of the over-bread London minor nobility, the weak chin, watery eyes, beak of a nose and pasty skin clearly marked him so. Jerard immediately hated him all the more for it. Paper pushers had become the very bane of Jerard’s existence and he decided that to play with this puppet might be amusing. After all, weren’t we all just puppets, playthings of authority? He turned his head and, in a most un-gentlemanly gesture, spat on the floor in disgust.
Daisy deposited the mugs on the table and looked expectantly at Lovelace. Oh good girl! Jerard silently applauded and managed a wink at her when Lovelace finally realized what she was waiting for. Nonplussed, Lovelace fished a shilling out of his pocket and dropped it into the waiting girl’s hand. Daisy returned Jerard’s wink and flounced off.
“Bottom’s up my new, old, friend!” Jerard declared as he toasted Lovelace and downed the brew in one swift motion; his hazel eyes never leaving the finicky solicitor/undertaker sitting across from him.
Recognizing the challenge, Lovelace picked up the mug and attempted to imitate Jerard’s gesture but instead wound up sputtering and coughing and nearly spilling the awful contents of the mug. It was obvious to Jerard that all of Lovelace’s training had not prepared him for the Piston’s unholy gin.
Lovelace narrowed his eyes and regained his determined expression. “Now then Mr. Phillips,” Lovelace’s voice was strong despite the beating his throat had taken. “I bring to you a proposition.”
“Really now?” Jerard rudely interrupted.
“Yes really Sir, if you would just take a moment to listen I believe that this will benefit you greatly.”
“And why, Mr. Lovelace, should I listen to you? And furthermore why should I care? I only have your word that this would benefit me, it’s more the like that it will benefit you. You still have not made clear as to whether or not you are a solicitor or an undertaker or something far more nefarious. I must warn you now that I am not my father’s heir and therefore I have no money to invest in any scheme, additionally I am not about to die and I am NOT a criminal, I may be a bit down on my luck at the moment but that does not mean that I am willing to stoop to base perfidy.”
Lovelace leaped to his feet. “Now see here Sirrah! You go too far! I am William Bennett Lovelace of Lovelace, Binder and Morcombe, London Solicitors. I would never have thought to attend this establishment seeking investors much less involve my valued clients in “schemes”. And Sirrah, I know of your past. I can only surmise that your lack of recognition of my name and the name of my firm is the result of your being far too occupied with being cashiered out of Her Majesty’s service. You don’t seem to be able to notice anything aside from yourself and your own ‘above board’ behavior!”
This last was said quite loudly and with so much acid that heads turned from several tables over to stare at the two men. In fact the entire room had grown quite quiet; so much so that a little snap could be heard when Lovelace whipped out a white card from the breast pocket of his coat.
“My card Sir, should you ever gain the status of a reasonable man!” The solicitor flung the card at Phillips and turned on his heel. The crowd parted quietly to let the enraged man through.
Jerard broke the silence and the stares by lifting the gin mug to his lips. He listened carefully as the conversation volume slowly rose from whispers to outright laughter and gossip. So glad that I have amused you he thought bitterly.
“Sir?” Daisy inquired tentatively waving Lovelace’s card.
“Yes?”
“Well Sir, this is a nice bit of card here. I was wondering, if you’d not be wanting it, could I have it? I’ve not seen anything so fancy in me life! All black and gold it is.”
Jerard rescued the card from Daisy’s dirty hand before the girl could drool on it. “Let’s have a look at it before I say yes or no.” He replied kindly. Jerard looked at the card, and raised an elegant eyebrow. The girl was right it was a nice card; printed on the finest linen in crisp black ink, the firm’s name picked out in gold. Jerard felt the color drain from his face as he read the name of the solicitor’s firm over and over again: Lovelace, Binder & Morcombe.
John Morcombe was his father’s oldest and dearest friend, not to mention the family’s solicitor. Jerard rubbed his hand over his face several times and tried to recall exactly what the little raven had said. It was something about benefiting me greatly, and yet the man seemed to know the sordid details about his dishonorable dismissal from Her Majesty’s Service. Oh dear god! This was probably a summons from his father. He had carefully avoided seeing the old man since he left the Service. Mostly because he was embarrassed and ashamed of the black mark he had brought on his family’s name. This must be serious if his father sent the solicitors to find him. What if something had happened to his father? Or his mother?
“Sir?” Daisy inquired softly as she tentatively held out her hand for the card.
“Damn, damn and thrice damn!” Jerard exploded. He jumped to his feet and shoved the card into Daisy’s hand. “I have to go, I will return to settle my bill. I’ve got to find out what that man had to say and I’ve got to apologize! On my honor or what is now left of it I hope I can fix this!” Jerard shoved his way to the door, leaving a confused Daisy gaping at his back.
The street outside was empty and the rain seemed to have abated for the moment. Jerard took off at a run down the street. He knew he could find a hansom three blocks over, he only hoped he could arrive at the offices of Lovelace, Binder and Morcombe in time to repair this disaster. You idiot, he berated himself, it is not enough you embarrass yourself, now you’ve gone and blackened your family’s name again! Oh god, please let my family be well, I can deal with anything but that.
4:30 pm
Starblower Residence
London, England
By the time Gopal had the carriage brought around it had finally stopped raining. Tash noted that Gopal had changed his jacket and she wondered for the first time if she should have changed as well. Fortunately the serviceable dove gray wool did not wrinkle much, even after an entire morning of sitting and the matching hat was already to hand. She did stop for a peek in the hall mirror to be sure the ribbons were tied straight and to tuck up a stray lock of dark auburn hair. Tash had never been much for fashion and was used to relying heavily on her friends Millie and Constance to keep her wardrobe in line. Despite the distress her friend must be under at the moment Tash could picture her dear friends admonishing her for leaving the house in the afternoon in a “morning” dress. Millie! Dear god! I am coming and we will fix this! Tash mentally straightened her resolve much like she straightened her hat ribbons.
“Gopal, we are going to Lovelace’s office first and then we shall proceed to the hangar on the Isle of Dogs and tell the crew to make ready. We depart for Scotland tomorrow morning. If Lovelace does not have a captain for us I will have to rely on Beardmore & Co, they have never let us down before. I feel certain that they will have someone we can at least borrow.”
Gopal held the door for Tash and nodded in acknowledgement. He handed her into the carriage and paused to inform the driver of their destination before joining her inside the luxuriously appointed cab.
Tash waited for the vehicle to begin moving before she spoke. “So, I know you heard all that Lord Mansfield had to say. What are your thoughts?”
“What?” Tash was yanked out of the mass of lists and plans she was busily forming in her head. She turned to Gopal and focused on him for the first time since Mansfield had left.
Gopal smiled. “You have forgotten your rain cloak Tash, I sincerely doubt that the rain has ceased for the evening.”
Tash rolled her eyes. “Alright, I shall calm down, I suppose what you are trying to say is that if I have forgotten my cloak what else have I forgotten?”
“That is precisely correct. Tash, you used the term “we” shall I remind you that Lord Mansfield demanded your presence in his office tomorrow morning? It sounds to me like you are planning on being in attendance on this expedition.” Gopal offered up a slight smile before continuing.
“As for my thoughts, I found Lord Mansfield’s behavior deplorable, he did not so much as ask for your and Mr. Starblower’s assistance as he demanded it. The very notion that an airship, worth thousands of pounds, be turned over to a complete stranger “to be used as he saw fit” is completely outrageous. However I understand that you were not in a position to refuse nor would you have as it sounds as if Dr. Nordstrom may well be in danger.”
Tash fidgeted and opened her mouth to speak but Gopal held up his hand. “Another point of consideration here is that Lord Mansfield seemed intent on contacting Mr. Starblower and I am afraid that he will not give up until he speaks to our honored gentleman; despite the fact that Mr. Starblower is completely unreachable at the moment. How are you going to get out of this one?”
“I am not going to “get out” of it Gopal. I will be on board the Soul of Discretion as Mr. Starblower’s mouthpiece. It will not be the first time I have acted as such. I plan to send a man from Lovelace to Lord Mansfield’s office and tell him exactly that. If he can’t understand then, tomorrow after we depart will be a little too late to stop me!” Tash grinned, “Besides when I tell William the story, I am betting that he will enjoy going himself to meet with Lord Mansfield.”
