“The fresh air should help revive us.” Rafe spoke in low tones as he opened the retractable gate and peered around the gravel yard.
Some distance away, a man sat in a wagon, his back to them. His snores suggested their lookout might have had a wee too much drink. Rafe reached for Fanny’s hand and stepped out of the lift. They circumvented massive wheels and pulleys and exited the shaft house.
A steep incline covered in loose shale girded the mine entrance. They kept to the deeper shadows and made their way around a curve of foothill. Once they were shielded by a slope of knoll, they headed toward the setting sun. West, Glasgow way.
“Look here.” Rafe pointed to a boarded-up shed. A couple of two-wheeled contraptions were parked against the building.
Fanny’s eyes sparked with recognition. “Velocipedes!” Bicycles were often used to move about large mining operations.
“A couple of old Rovers.” Rafe rolled out one of the wobbly-wheeled bicycles and dusted off the seat.
“A bit drossy, don’t you think?” Fanny squinted at the rusty Rover.
“Maybe a bit worse for wear.” He held the metal frame upright and motioned her on. “Shall we have a go?”
Fanny gathered up her skirts and settled onto the seat. She tucked a bit of skirt under her bottom and away from the wheel spokes. “Ready?” She nodded and Rafe shoved her off.
On her first turn, the handlebars of the teetering two-wheeler proved loose and unworthy. Rafe frowned. “How’s the steerage?”
Fanny leaned forward and pedaled faster. “Improves some with speed.” At least the pedals worked fair enough. Fanny steered the bicycle in ever-widening, wobbly circles until she got a good bit of steam up. Passing Rafe, she made a turn down the country road and waved. “See you in Glasgow.”
Rafe jumped on the other bicycle and chased after. He rode close behind, keeping a lookout, as they quickly put a good bit of distance between themselves and the mining operation. Fanny silently gave thanks for long summer days. The luminous silver twilight would linger for some time to come. At least she would be able to see the road ahead.
Once they were well away and onto a good length of flat road, Rafe pulled abreast. “You’ve become quite the pedaler.”
“A machine can just as easily do the pedaling. A German inventor, Gottlieb Daimler, has attached a petroleum engine to a bicycle. He calls it a reitwagen.” She offered a smug little smile, and raised her chin in the air. “He based it on the four-stroke internal-combustion engine invented by an engineer, Nikolaus Otto, except Otto’s uses town gas. Petroleum is lighter.”
“Ah yes, more of your inventor chaps.”
Fanny inhaled a deep breath. The exercise had improved her mood even as a bit of heat flushed her cheeks. “I should like to manufacture motorized bicycles.”
Rafe checked the road behind them. “I will say that last batch of natty blokes were a sorry lot.”
“With heavy brogues as well.” She stopped her pedaling to coast around a gentle curve.
“Nefarious locals, recruited out of a pub.”
“Who are these vulgar anti-progressives, Rafe? They fancy themselves a Utopian Society or Empire or whatever, but machines won’t destroy us. This age of industry assures our advancement as a civilization. What used to take a man weeks to accomplish can be done by a machine in a few hours. Did those wires from London tell you anything more?”
“If they know anything, they’re not sharing it by wire. I forwarded on your insight regarding their cryptic symbol—as well as the initials BVM.”
For a time, Fanny chewed on her bottom lip and rode on in silence. Their escape from capture was just starting to sink in. “Why didn’t they kill us?”
“Waiting for orders, perhaps? I suspect they wanted me alive to find out what Scotland Yard knows. Torture me until I spill the beans.”
“You were rather grandly heroic back in the mine.” She managed a shy smile. “I fancy you’d stand up to torture rather well, Rafe.”
“After they yanked out the first fingernail, I’d tell them everything.” He answered her shiver with a grin. “Don’t worry, Fan. They won’t torture you. I wager you’ll be put through some sort of—” He hesitated.
“Flesh chopper of my father’s invention?” She giggled madly. “One way to press the wrinkles out of a girl’s skirt.”
Rafe barked a laugh before he could stop himself.
Then she snorted. Good God! One laugh led to another and as fast as her legs could pedal, she pulled ahead of Rafe. A sudden memory catapulted her back to a moment in their youth. She was riding Jewel, her gray hunter. She had galloped over a bluff ahead of Rafe. They were both laughing, but she could not recall why.
Fanny glanced over her shoulder and there he was, right behind her—pedaling his rickety Rover. She smiled at him. How brave as well as resourceful he’d been these last days . . . and nights. She shook off indecent thoughts.
“What shall it be, Rafe, death by meat grinder?” They both let loose another belly laugh, but thoughts of her father torn apart by that bloody thresher sobered her quickly. “What wretched creatures we are.”
“A bit of gallows humor, Fan.”
“No doubt common in your profession, Detective Lewis.” She broke off conversation to cycle up an incline. After cresting the hill, she yelled out a challenge. “Race you to the bottom!”
Pumping furiously, Fanny set the pace and held her lead until they neared the bottom of the slope. Just as Rafe was about to pass her by, something happened to his bicycle. A high-pitched clinking and an awful grinding noise, metal upon metal. Rafe swerved into her, pushing her front wheel toward the ditch. She tried to brake.
No brakes.
Fanny skidded off the road and stopped with such a lurch that she went flying over the handlebars. “Ouch!” She felt the scratch and sting of brambly thistle. “Ooof!” She landed with a thud in patch of weeds by the roadside.
She suffered a faint buzzing in her ears. “Fanny! Are you all right?” Her eyes opened in a flutter of lashes. A fuzzy-looking Rafe danced overhead. Had he any idea how many times he had asked her that question over the last two days? She narrowed her gaze into slits. “No, Rafe. I am not all right.”
“What happened?”
She gritted her teeth. “You knocked me over into the ditch and now you steal my question?” Her speech was calm, if more than a bit clipped, given her inner turmoil.
Rafe enveloped her in his arms. “The sprocket must have seized—then the drive chain broke—I’m so sorry.” He cradled her head against his shoulder. Absently, she picked a few burrs from her hose and examined a tear in her dress.
Rafe dipped his head to look into her eyes. “Fanny? Talk to me.”
She finally met his gaze and sighed. “I give up. I am going home to Edinburgh. You can follow me if you want, but I am done with this nightmarish little sojourn.” She pushed away and stood up on her own. “I have enough money to hire my own private army, if need be, and I am quite sure they will be more effective than one rather inept inspector from Scotland Yard.”
She wobbled and Rafe leaped to his feet to steady her. “You blokes are always five steps behind the culprits, aren’t you?” She shrugged off his grip and climbed back onto the shoulder. Disoriented in the darkness, she looked up and down the roadway.
“To your right, Fanny.”
“Shut up, Rafe.” She purposely turned in the opposite direction and began heading up the grade. He trailed behind.
“We just raced down this hill. You’re headed back toward the mine.”
She whirled around and released an ear-piercing scream that went on interminably.
He jogged up the road. “Stop, Fanny!”
RAFE GRIPPED HER shoulders and shook until the screams stopped. He could just make out the burn of fury on her cheeks. She was breathless, angry, and unbelievably tempting. More than anything he had ever wanted in his life, at this moment, he wanted to kiss her. Savagely. And then he would toss up those sk
irts and take her right here on the road.
She met his gaze and seemed to sense his frustration—his raw lust, which likely subdued her hysteria. She continued to gasp for air. “I don’t believe . . . you have enough imagination . . . to conceive of how much I’d like to . . . to . . .” She shoved him off.
He swept back a lock of her hair and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “To what?”
In the twilight, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Box your ears.”
“Well, I for one would like to kiss yours.” He dipped his head, but at the last second she pushed him away.
“I bet you would, you, you—” she sputtered.
“No objections last night, if my recall is correct.”
With a sharp intake of breath, she said, “How quickly sentiments can change, Detective Lewis.”
Rafe studied a few bright stars in the evening sky. He placed his hands on his hips and nodded. “All right, Fan. If it will do you good, have at me.”
She punched him in the jaw and his head snapped back.
He rubbed his cheek. “A lefty. I’d quite forgotten what a wallop you pack in that dainty little—” Fists flying, she let loose a flurry of punishment, which he tolerated until a jab to his nose drew blood.
“You little devil.” He picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She continued her drubbing, with blows to his back and kicks to his shin. Then her toe slammed into his balls.
His testicles smashed into his intestines. His stomach pressed on his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Rafe staggered a bit and fell to his knees. Fanny rolled out of his hold.
On the ground with his knees drawn to his chest, he released a groan that sounded more like a howl or a bellow. Vaguely, he was aware she watched him writhe in agony. Time passed. He couldn’t be sure how many seconds or minutes. He covered his groin with his hands, unsure where his balls had gone or if they might one day venture outside his body again. He glanced at Fanny. “Just checking on the manly parts.”
Sprawled out beside him, Fanny brushed hair from her face. “Rafe, I’m tired of being chased like a wanted criminal by a gang of . . . criminals! Why are they picking on me?” She exhaled. “What’s going on?”
Rafe stared at a black sky sprinkled with pinpoints of light and traced a pattern of stars. He raised his head and turned his body toward her. “I wish I knew, Fanny.” He threw a leg over her body and watched storm clouds form in her eyes.
Brows knit. Lips pouted. She was ready for battle. “Is this how you Yard inspectors subdue your prisoners?”
“Only the most dangerous ones.” His voice a gruff whisper.
“Let me up.”
Rafe groaned. “You may have finally succeeded in emasculating me.”
She brushed hair from her face. “The Women’s Franchise League would be proud.”
“Why, you incorrigible—You’re not the least bit sorry.” He grabbed both of her hands and pressed her arms to her sides. How he wanted to kiss her again. He must be hallucinating. She smiled. Even in the dark, her face smudged by road dust, Fanny was irrepressibly Fanny, doing her best to drive him mad.
“After two days on the run, you’ve left me bruised from head to toe, Rafe.”
“Shall we have a contest? We’ll remove our clothing and count up the black-and-blue marks.” He grinned. “Bruises are good. They remind us we are alive.” His groin still throbbed and his throat was dry. “However, I would sell you to a white slaver for a drink of water.”
She added a nod. “And I’m ravenous beyond words.”
Rafe’s gaze traveled up and down her body. “As am I.”
“Such a brute.” She pushed him off, angling her body away. Her stomach growled loudly.
He leaned back on his elbows. “My word, you are hungry.” Over Fanny’s shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a dark, odd-shaped . . . mechanical . . . something shambling down the road. He instantly forgot about his aching balls and scrambled to his feet.
“What do you make of that?” He clapped road dust off his hands. “Fight or flight, Fan?”
Eyes glazed from fatigue, she twisted to look down the road. “Good God.” She sat up straight. “Rafe, I’m too tired to run.”
“Then we hide.” He pulled her to her feet. “Behind those shrubs.”
Off the road, they hunkered down behind a clump of brush. The night air remained balmy and comfortable, yet her body trembled. Instinctively, his arm went around her waist and he tucked her in close. “We’re going to be all right, Fan.”
“At least one of us believes that.” She peered through a crisscross of branches and studied the ominous contraption rolling toward them. “I’ve seen plans in my father’s study for machinery on wheels. All of it rather hush-hush. Most of the devices were designed for farm use or mining. But there were others. Great machines designed for battles—‘engines of war,’ Father called them.”
The rumbling behemoth moved steadily closer. The chug and hiss of the engine suggested the vehicle was steam-driven. Fanny turned to him. “Have you ever heard of a pedrail wheel?”
Rafe shook his head.
She frowned. “I don’t suppose anyone has. It hasn’t been invented yet.” She sighed.
“Fanny, you’re speaking in riddles.” The ironclad machine rolled along on large wheels with a number of podded feet attached to their circumference. As each wheel turned, a rubberized foot swung into place with a hiss and hit the ground with a ker-clunk. Hiss, ker-clunk, hiss, ker-clunk.
“It’s an armored landship, designed to transport artillery and troops over rough terrain—break through enemy trenches.” A gleam returned to her eyes. “I’ve only seen sketches on paper. I had no idea anyone had built one.”
As the metal-on-metal noises grated ever louder, a porthole cover slid back in the vehicle’s front end. A powerful ray of light poured onto the road. The beam swept over potholes and ruts searching for . . . Rafe swallowed. “Fanny? Back at the farmhouse last night—”
“Was it last night?” A bit dazed, she stifled a laugh. “Seems like a year ago.”
“The batty dwarf woman prattled on about a strange vehicle. A steam-powered machine that had rumbled into her yard, growling and puffing.”
Wide-eyed, Fanny turned to him. “She called it a locomotive on large metal wheels.”
“And whoever was driving the blasted contraption was looking for us.” While they studied each other, the hiss and ker-clunk rumbled closer. “What do you think, Fan? Shall we raise the white flag?”
Chapter Seventeen
Fanny stood beside Rafe in the middle of the road and waved her arms. Her flailing about became a good deal more frantic the closer the armored monstrosity loomed. Rafe, as well, swept his arms up and down. “Ahoy there, landship!” His only answer, the steady hiss and ker-clunk of the behemoth.
She shaded her eyes. “Can’t you see us here in the road?” A bright beam of light passed over them, hesitated, and swung back.
“Best step away.” Rafe grabbed her by the arm and tugged. They shuffled outside the circle of light. The glaring beam followed them.
“And get that blasted light out of our eyes!” Rafe blinked and pulled her farther to the side of the road. He cupped his mouth. “Stop this contraption before you run us down!” The giant wheel’s podded feet took a step and then one more before grinding to a halt.
S-s-s-s-s-s-s. The machine exhaled a huge belch of steam.
High atop the odd parallelogram-shaped vehicle, a wheel rotated and the hatch opened. This time, Fanny reached out for Rafe’s hand. In the darkness it was hard to make out much more than the head and shoulders of a man. Fanny squinted. Bearded with a wild crop of unkempt hair, partially pulled off his face. Broad—almost burly—by the look of his shoulders.
The shadowed figure pulled a whiskey bottle out and took a long slurp. He wiped his mouth on his shoulder sleeve. “Well now, lass, ye wouldn’t be Francine Greyville-Nugent by any chance?”
Fanny squinted at the unkempt man. “
And what kind of straggly, disheveled, reprobate wants to know?”
“Hoo-hoo!” The man drained the bottle and tossed it into the field. “Feisty one, ain’t she, Detective Lewis?” The drunken sot rested his chin in the palm of his hand.
“She asked a simple enough question.” Rafe placed his hands on his hips. “Who are you?”
The stranger stared at Rafe for a moment and then focused his woozy gaze on Fanny. “Ye probably don’t remember me, lass, but yer father and I, bless his dear departed soul, were fast friends for a time.” The man disappeared down inside the belly of the beast and popped up a moment later with a new bottle. He popped the cork. “Where was I? Ah yes, fast friends—before we were rivals.”
“Bloody tippler.” Rafe cursed under his breath. “Mister—?”
“Professor Hamish Mulvaney Minnow.” The man tipped an imaginary hat. “At your service. Or should I say—to your rescue?”
Rafe nearly choked. “Minnow?” He pulled the wire from a jacket pocket and checked the name. “Bollocks.” He rolled his eyes and raised his voice. “Professor Minnow, Scotland Yard has ordered me to place you under protection.”
“You . . . are going to protect me?” A perpetual grin broadened. “Well now, that remains to seen, Detective.” The burly man tossed down a crumpled paper.
Rafe unfolded the note. “It appears we both received a cablegram from Scotland Yard.”
“Been searching for the two of you since yesterday.” Minnow took a hefty swig. “Meantime that throat o’ yers sounds a mite scratchy.” He learned out of the hatch and offered the bottle. “Better yet, why don’t you and the lass join me inside? We’re headed for Glasgow, are we not?”
With a bit of guidance from the professor and Rafe behind to catch her, Fanny climbed the machine and dropped down into the hold. She stood in a narrow corridor surrounded by endless tubes and levers and switches. The steerage cabin was lit by a single arc lamp in the ceiling. A long tubular steam engine compartment appeared to take up the rest of the craft, with some kind of lookout post in the rear.
A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis Page 15
