by Sahara Kelly
“Lady Alwynne. How lovely you look, as always.” Smooth and sincere, the Baron dropped a kiss on the white fingers Alwynne had extended gracefully toward him. “And Mrs. Howell I believe? I have heard much of your gracious assistance to her Ladyship, but thus far have not had the pleasure. It is delightful to meet you at last.”
Charlotte rose and dropped a tiny curtsey. The man was titled, after all. “Baron, I’m honored. To be of help to Lady Harbury is a delight, and to see the Winter Ball take shape under her clever direction? Well, ‘tis exciting and breathtaking all at once.”
She smiled and gave him her best wide-eyed I’m-a-simple-countrywoman gaze.
He smiled back, but she got the distinct impression he wasn’t buying any of it. This was indeed a man with what could well be extraordinary perspicacity.
“So many times it has seemed as if the Baron could read my mind, Mrs. Howell.” Lady Alwynne chuckled as he turned to assist her to her chair. “You must be careful to guard your thoughts.”
“Oh my goodness.” Charlotte blinked.
“Never fear, ladies. Not only would it be completely unprofessional and improper for me to attempt such a feat, it would be a vain endeavor. For what man could ever begin to understand the complexities of a lady’s mind?”
They all laughed at this amusing sally and as the tea tray arrived, each settled themselves with refreshments, indulging in the light conversation considered acceptable for such an occasion.
Charlotte let her hostess carry the discussion; she seized the chance to evaluate the Baron, unknown quantity though he continued to be.
He handled Alwynne beautifully, that much was obvious. He complimented her in a way guaranteed to please without being overtly fulsome. He amused her, challenged her intelligence and respected her conversation, listening and responding as to an equal.
She realized that he did the same to her as well, on the few times that she joined in. He was smooth as silk, charming as any man had a right to be and yes, appealing in many ways that had nothing to do with looks or status.
The Baron was, Charlotte rapidly concluded, a brilliant observer and a skilled manipulator.
His voice was pitched at a perfect cadence to appeal to an audience, his eyes focused on whoever he was addressing and his smile seemed to be always lurking beneath that luxuriant moustache.
She put him between thirty and forty years old, but acknowledged he could have been outside that range. It was hard to tell.
“I must ask, Mrs. Howell. Your charming companion, Miss Jones.”
Charlotte’s brain snapped to attention. “Indeed. She is a joy to me. Not sure what I’d do without her help and her company.”
“A bright girl, it seems. The little conversation I have enjoyed with her reveals a mind that is quite forward for one of her class.”
Charlotte refrained from grinding her teeth, recalling that he was German. Perhaps they were less advanced over there than the British. Or at least herself. “How kind of you to say so. She would be most flattered by your compliment, Baron, I’m sure.” Right before she shot off both your ears.
“I would most like to assist in her project.” He turned to Lady Alwynne. “I learn that you have the wonderful idea of parchment lanterns, yes? Flying airships, I think I heard?”
The lady’s eyebrows rose. “Gerolf, you dear man. Do you know how to construct them?”
He smiled, his visage a perfect picture of delight and childish pleasure. How many hours must he have practiced that one in front of a mirror. Charlotte didn’t even feel guilty as the rather sarcastic thought crossed her mind.
“It so happens that yes I do.” He rose and stood beside Lady Alwynne with a thumb in his vest pocket, looking wise and benevolent. “A friend from the Orient, China, at meine schule…my school. Such a clever boy. He taught me a technique to create parchment lanterns. This cannot be different much?”
Charlotte noted the tiny lapses in his English as he grew more excited about the prospect. Was it deliberate? She couldn’t tell.
“How perfectly marvelous. Of course your girl will work with the Baron, won’t she, Mrs. Howell? They will produce wonders for our guests.” Thrilled at the prospect, Lady Alwynne gently clapped her hands together.
Charlotte, who liked this idea not one tiny bit, was trapped. Excuses flew through her thoughts like flashes of lightning, but not one struck her as viable. She had no choice.
“Well, I must see how our schedules might allow for this, my Lady, but I foresee no great obstacles?” She managed a smile. “But I must take my leave if we are to make progress in our great adventure.” She stood. “If you will permit me to enjoy tea with you at another time?” She dropped a brief curtsey to both Lady Alwynne and von Landau. “There are matters I must see to immediately.”
“Of course, of course. We shall converse more very soon.” Her Ladyship rose slowly, assisted by the strong arm of the Baron, something she’d not needed before.
“Thank so you much. Good day to you.”
Charlotte left the room rapidly, desperate to find Portia. The afternoon had left her with a very bad feeling deep in her gut. She needed James, and Devon to tell her she was being silly.
She knew she was being no such thing.
Chapter Eight
“I can manage all this. I do wish you all would stop fussing. I’m not made of glass.”
Portia frowned at the three faces frowning back at her. It was the fourth such discussion in as many days and not one of them had effectively changed her mind at all. “If working with the Baron gets us entrée into Harbury without question, then I will work with the Baron. And that’s an end to it.” She nodded decisively.
“Portia.” Devon moved toward her.
“Stop.” She held up her hand, palm facing him. “I love you, Devon, and I know this is motived by concern for me. I appreciate that. I’m grateful for that. But…you must give me some credit here. I am sensible, aware and able to defend myself.”
“Oh really?” Devon lifted an eyebrow. “Where’s your Jallai?”
Portia’s hand flew to her forearm. “Um.” She felt a blush heat her cheeks. “I…I think I left it in my room.”
“And what good will it do you in there, young lady?” Inspector Burke hadn’t moved, but his stern gaze pierced her like a well-thrown spear.
“Very well.” She looked away. “I will not leave the house from now on without it.” She moved to Burke’s chair and rested a hand on his arm. “But please.” She looked around. “All of you. Let me do this. I could not save my sister Miranda. James, you know this. You know as well as I that somebody at Harbury is responsible for her loss. At least let me help in getting the man I love his rightful inheritance back. Please. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, Devon.” She lifted her chin. “I won’t be able to enjoy it half as much if I can’t be as much use as everyone else right now.”
There was silence, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the leather chair creaking a little as James lifted his hand and placed it gently over Portia’s.
“I understand.”
Charlotte’s head jerked. “James. You do?”
He nodded. “I do. She knows we all want to protect her and she knows we all love and respect her. These are not incompatible emotions, but we cannot let one override the others. She is part of us. In fact, she is the reason we are all here. Had it not been for her determined and tenacious pursuit of her missing sister, none of us would be in this room. We owe her that.”
Devon sighed. “You’re right, dammit.”
“Devon.” Portia released Burke’s arm and went to her beloved. “You can still protect me. I promise not to be foolish. But we have come so far. You are the rightful master of Harbury Hall. I need to see you there, where you belong.”
“Where we belong.” He hugged her close. “Never forget that.”
“Well, since it seems settled…” Charlotte pursed her lips, “and not to say I like this at all, I suppose we shall have to let
you go and work with the Baron on these lights, Portia.”
The idea of jumping up and down and giving a whoop of excitement crossed Portia’s mind. But in a moment of unusual maturity, she merely nodded. “Thank you for your faith in me. I won’t be stupid, and from now on I never leave the house without my Jallai. You all know what it can do. And that I will not hesitate to use it.”
“Good.” Burke nodded. “So tomorrow you and Charlotte will go to Harbury and while you’re there, Devon and I are going to visit the laboratories.”
“What?”
Both women quickly turned to stare at him.
Burke grinned. “If you two could see your faces right now.”
“James…” Charlotte sounded quite threatening.
“It’s all right.” Devon chuckled. “We really are going to visit the laboratories. From what Portia and James have learned over the past few weeks, there’s only the Baron working down there. The patients are down in the lower level and God only know what sort of condition they’re in. So I pulled a few strings with Lord Southfield and behold.” He waved his hand at Devon. “This is Mr. Hatfield, the health inspector dispatched from Whitehall to review the facilities.”
He smiled. “The paperwork authenticating his visit should have been delivered this afternoon to the Hall.” He sipped his ever-present glass of Scotch whiskey. “I’ll bet that put more than one cat amongst the pigeons.”
“Well, Mr. ‘Enry will have tea for you. And his biscuits. They are good biscuits, Burke.” Portia smiled.
“We won’t be there for biscuits, my dear. Devon and I need to get down to those men still on level four. If they haven’t been moved back to level seven, that is.”
“How, James?” Puzzled, Charlotte tipped her head to one side. “Isn’t that all very secret? Can you ask for them without showing your hand? How are you supposed to just appear and ask for men who have been locked away for years now? Won’t it arouse suspicion?”
“Aha.” Burke looked smug. “It would have done, my dear, had it not been for the groundwork I have been laying so subtly over the last month or two.”
Portia snapped her fingers. “Robertandarthur.”
“Sharp girl.” Burke nodded. “I have been nurturing that relationship to the point where I’m not exactly a close friend, but am I regarded as a non-threatening entity, which is enough to guarantee that if I bring in a health inspector, they will know it won’t amount to any kind of problem for Harbury.”
“You are very clever, James, and quite secretive. I knew nothing about this.” Charlotte looked reproving. “Shouldn’t you be sharing things like this with your affianced wife?”
Burke rolled his eyes. “Yes dear.”
The laugh was general, but all knew that the plans had now been formalized. Portia would arrive at Harbury Hall tomorrow and encounter the Baron as she worked on the ball decorations.
Inspector Burke would lead Devon back into his nightmare under the guise of a close examination of the living conditions in the laboratories.
And both would be walking a risky line between the ordinary and the possibly dangerous.
Portia clasped her hand to her other wrist again. Yes, she needed to feel the security of her Jallai, the delicate and unusual jeweled weapon that had proved invaluable in the past. She didn’t want to have to use it, but she would if she had to. Everyone she cared about most in the world was in this room. Whatever it took, she would protect them.
*~~*~~*
The next afternoon, Burke and Devon walked to the entrance of the Harbury Laboratories through a miserable mix of sleet and a very cold rain. However, the door was open and Robert awaited them.
“Afternoon, Inspector Burke. Terrible day.”
“Indeed.” Burke shook his shoulders like a dog, letting the droplets fall where they might. “Robert, this is Mr. Hatfield, from the Royal Investigative Services Health Department.”
“Mr. Hatfield.”
Devon simply nodded.
“If we might begin the tour? I’m guessing we all would rather be in front of a roaring fire today.”
“Of course, sir. This way, gentlemen.”
Burke looked around, trying not to reveal the tension that was rippling through his body. He knew, or at least had a damn good idea, of some of the horrors that had occurred within these walls. As they passed darkened laboratory after darkened laboratory, he could only rejoice that there were so few experiments now underway.
His concern that Devon might be recognized—one shared by the ladies as well—failed to materialize. The Devon who had been imprisoned here was a far cry from the man now standing at James’s side. Nothing like a good diet and some healthy exercise, not to mention a full growth of moustache, to change a man’s appearance.
One large door revealed light behind it. “And here is Baron von Landau’s laboratory. He is the only scientist here at present. He studies the human mind, I’m told.” Robert opened the door.
Burke walked in and glanced around. There were papers and books littered across the large table, a collection of big glass jars on one shelf and several china figurines of the human head with drawings on the scalp. One had the top half removed and what must be the brain showing within. A large blackboard full of odd notations, in what appeared to be a mix of German, English and Latin, defeated him, but nothing seemed to catch his eye as a recipe for drilling holes in heads.
There were no strange machines or half-rotted corpses. For which Burke was very grateful.
“It seems in order.” He turned with a half grin. “If you can call this mess order?”
Robert allowed his lips to crinkle. “Quite, sir.” He moved on down the hallway. “This is the third level. As you saw, the second has living quarters but only for the staff at the moment. Below us, on the fourth level, are our remaining patients. You’ll be wanting to see them?”
At last Devon spoke. “Yes. They are the ones that I need to review. I have a list of names…” He withdrew a small notebook and opened it, reciting names as Robert led them to the end of the passage and a stone stairwell leading down.
“Um your information is a bit out of date, sir. Sadly, two of those men passed months ago. We now have only four left.”
Burke caught the hitch in Devon’s stride at this news. When he had escaped, scarcely more than two or three months before, there had been eleven men entrapped with him.
But he managed to control any overt reaction, merely nodding and saying “I see.”
Level Four was clean, well-lit and there were four doors closed, each of which Robert tapped upon in turn. And in each room the same thing could be observed.
The men—they were all men—were warmly dressed, one sat reading, one rested on his bed, another seemed to be writing, and the last one was asleep. The rooms themselves seemed to possess all the facilities necessary for a comfortable existence, and they were lit by lamps high up on the walls. There were no windows, of course, but several thick hangings added to the snug feel of the environment.
Devon busily took notes, chatted a little with one of the men, and then nodded at Burke. “All seems in order here, Mr. Burke.”
“Very well, Mr. Hatfield. As you say, it seems these men are well tended.”
They followed Robert back along the passage and ascended the stairs, following them back up to daylight and the second level.
“There’s tea in the kitchen, gentlemen. Our cook has also baked some biscuits.”
“Excellent.” Burke nodded. “That’s very kind. I could use a cuppa right about now.”
“This way please.”
They entered the bright and toasty kitchen where tea did indeed await. Devon poured as Burke took a seat at the spotless table and helped himself to a biscuit.
“Those four men down there, Robert. They’re ill?”
“They were, sir. When I first got here they were in sad shape. As were the others in residence.” He sat at the far end and nodded at Devon who was passing out teacups. “Thank you si
r.” He took a sip. “We had several doctors at the time, and thanks to their efforts, these poor lads were able to manage their illnesses. You can’t believe how far they’ve come.”
“And yet more than a few have passed.” Devon finally spoke, his voice even, his words betraying no more than a casual interest in the facts.
“Indeed ‘tis sad, sir. But you must understand these poor chaps were all a bit touched, like. You know.” He tapped his head. “Sick in here. Some were slow, others couldn’t care for themselves. Some were raving wild at times. The doctors did some pretty incredible stuff. But some were just too far gone, or too weak to handle the treatments.” He managed to look saddened. “Now we have the medicines worked out for our remaining patients and as you can see they’re doing well. A doctor comes down to visit occasionally—“ he looked over at Devon, “I expect your office gets them reports he writes, sir.”
“Indeed yes. I have read them.”
Satisfied with that answer, Robert continued. “The last gentleman who passed caught a chill early in the winter. We did our best for him, but you must know that these patients are in a weakened condition. They are cared for, and nursed and we do our best to keep them happy. But nobody, including the doctors, can say when their time on earth will cease. God calls us all on his time, not ours.”
“Sad but true.” Burke nodded over his tea. “By the way, excellent biscuits.” He took two more.
*~~*~~*
While Burke was munching on Mr. ‘Enry’s excellent biscuits, Portia was awaiting her work crew in a small salon in Harbury Hall. She was surrounded by greenery—enough to cover several walls if one cared to do so—more ribbons than she’d ever seen before and several pairs of sharp shears. There were buckets off to one side that would be filled with water and “flowers” as Portia and the others made the unusual winter blooms for the ball decorations.
On another table were the rolls of parchment, willow fronds and tiny pieces of thread that would comprise the piece de resistance —the airship lanterns.
They were now only two days away from the event and Charlotte was closeted with Lady Harbury, going over final arrangements.
