Annabelle looked at the two papers—one amounting to a death sentence and the other a reprieve for all—and she felt both a choking fear and a burning sense of outrage, the two struggling for control of her mind.
“If the government thinks me innocent,” she said, “why bring the charges? Or if they believe me guilty of this heinous crime, why let me go? And if this is simply blackmail to force my hand, what sort of people would—or could—harness so much of the machinery of a government to such base purpose? And why would they risk so much simply for two patents?”
Major Gordon looked away thoughtfully for a moment and when he looked back his eyes narrowed. Annabelle had considerable experience with dangerous men, far more than she cared to. She had never considered Gordon a dangerous man—cold perhaps, and calculating, but that was a different matter. As his eyes narrowed, though, she thought…perhaps. But she did not believe him dangerous to her, which was quite interesting.
“I cannot answer those questions, Miss Somerset, but I can tell you this: Were I in your position, I would do everything in my power to find out.”
Yes. It would be hard to do that while standing trial for treason, though, wouldn’t it? She took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.
“I shall require a pen, Major Gordon.”
Chapter Six
“A Taste of Freedom”
1.
“IF YOU HAD told me this two weeks ago, I would hardly have believed it. As it now stands, in conjunction with Miss Annabelle’s own situation, I find it very credible.”
Folkard studied his former first officer with caution. He had been most certain that Bedford would be the ally he needed in the unofficial task Cavor had set him—the fact that seeking out help from someone like Bedford would most certainly be considered ill-advised by Cavor was by the by. He had known Bedford, on and off, for twenty years, having met him when he was a young midshipman on HMS Saratoga under then-Captain Herbert Cavor, and had grown to trust his sense of duty and loyalty to the Crown. It was not only those attributes which Folkard was dependent on now, however, but rather Bedford’s relationship with Miss Somerset.
“In conjunction. Very well put, Bedford, for I feel sure that both Professor Stone’s and Miss Somerset’s situations are intricately linked. There is something very big going on, and we need to discover what.” Folkard glanced around the busy public house. He had chosen a pub in Lambeth as it was unlikely to be a place one would expect to see two naval officers. Neither he nor Bedford were in uniform, and he had sent word that Bedford should find clothes that would enable him to blend in with the locals. Bedford had done just that, even gone so far as to dirty his face with soot. “If I were to mention Project ‘G’, what would that imply to you?”
Bedford gave this some thought. “On its own, nothing, but clearly there is something secretive about it.” He stopped for a moment, while his mind caught up with his words. “The gravity on Sovereign?”
Folkard nodded. “Quite so, and as you know every man who served aboard Sovereign was required to sign the Official Secrets Act after it was passed last August, ensuring that the event of gravity on ship was not ever to be discussed.”
“Of course, they were ordered not to discuss it before the Act was passed.”
“Agreed, but now the penalty is much harsher. Regardless, as captain, I knew a little more about its origins, but even my knowledge had its limits. Until five days ago.”
Bedford listened intently as Folkard explained what he knew of Project “G”. It did not cover a great deal, but it was enough to make Bedford settle into a ruminative silence for a short while after Folkard had finished.
“This is incredible, and surely a complete violation of certain terms of agreement.”
Folkard raised any eyebrow. “Since when did that stop the government, Bedford? All you need do is look to Luna. The government was quite content to defy the Luna Treaty when it became inconvenient, although it is only now that they’re beginning to realise the consequences of such disregard for the other nations who signed the treaty. Possibly not the most enviable time to be a naval officer.”
“Although I have entertained such thoughts from time to time, I am surprised to hear them from you, sir. But as to the desirability of service in such times I must disagree. When are officers with an eye to the protection of the Crown more needed?”
“But who are we protecting it from, Commander?” Folkard asked, pronouncing Bedford’s new rank with genuine pleasure. He was still young, and was about to become responsible for the finest ship in Her Majesty’s Navy—they both knew that the appointment of Captain Theobald was pure politics, and it was Bedford who would really be in charge of Sovereign—but he was capable, more so than most officers of the same rank. Before that, though, he had an equally big task to undertake. “From greedy and corrupt politicians, from admirals who have risen to power through sheer political manoeuvring.”
Bedford smiled. “Is that not always the way of things?”
“Perhaps, but that does not make it right. There are still honourable men in the government and Admiralty. There is a conspiracy rotting the heart of the Empire, and we’ve been tasked to expose it.”
“But I still do not understand what this has to do with Annabelle, or Professor Stone. Certainly they have been aboard Sovereign, but…” Bedford shook his head. “The treason charge was related to the destruction of Peregrine Station.”
“There is a link here, Bedford, and that link is Project ‘G’. We must uncover the truth behind Project ‘G’, and expose these men. But let me warn you, George, we are treading a very dangerous path. It could very well cost us our careers, if not our very lives.”
Bedford nodded slowly. “Annabelle also warned me of such, but as I told her so I will tell you, I will stand by Annabelle to the ends of the Earth, and beyond. She has been forced to sign documents that give the patents of both Grant’s aether propeller governor, and that designed by Stone, to the British government. This in itself is curious, but in doing so she has been forced into, at least unofficially, admitting to the charge of treason, even though on the surface she appears to be a free woman once more, we both know she is not. I will do whatever must be done to ensure she is released from all such charges.”
Folkard ran a hand over his beard. “The British government now owns the patents to the only aether propeller governor designs? Most interesting, since without such no ship can hope to navigate Luna.”
“Except the Russians, who have access to Tereshkov’s own modulation device.”
Folkard nodded. “Whoever is behind this conspiracy is certainly well connected.” For a moment he was silent, allowing all the new information a chance to circulate through his brain, while he quaffed some of the ale from the tankard in his hands. “Very well. If I know Miss Somerset at all, even now she will be thinking of ways to investigate why she’s been accused of treason. Assist her in any way you must. For more my own part I shall continue to make discreet enquiries about Project ‘G’, and locate Professor Stone.”
“We will need to move carefully.” Bedford considered. “How will you contact me? I am still an officer in the Navy, after all, and our association may draw some interest the deeper we dig.”
Folkard smiled. “The guttersnipe, Mister Bedford, of course.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“London, full of children, many homeless. Street urchins who will do almost anything for a scrap of bread. They move throughout the city largely unseen, privy to things the city’s best bobbies would have trouble learning. I shall contact you through them.”
Bedford blinked at this, clearly surprised by his former captain’s audacity. “Well, then… Mister Lincoln has secured lodgings for Annabelle, for she is moving out of Dorset House today. You can get word to me through her, at Number Seventeen Chapel Street, run by a Mrs Collingwood.”
“Capital.” Folkard stood, and finished the dregs of his ale. “You remain for a while, so we are not seen to lea
ve together.” He took Bedford’s hand in his and shook it, smiling grimly. He retrieved his respirator mask and hat from the table, “good morning to you,” he said, and departed.
2.
THE COLD WIND blew the pollution out from the City, and Nathanial found himself having to rely on a respirator mask to keep his breath in check. He had never been to Perivale before, and now he understood why. There was not much of it, not even a village blacksmith. This, at least, made finding the house easy. He rang on the bell and waited on the door step, glancing over at the carriage which had brought him from London. Lécuyer sat warmly within, and waved somewhat flamboyantly when he noticed Nathanial looking over.
He had been living in the Russell Square rooms provided by Lécuyer for a couple of days, and had spent most of his time engaged in making contact with several gentlemen at the Savile Club, known for their government connections. Thus far he had learned nothing about Annabelle, although Sir Eleias promised to have something for him within a week. With thoughts of Annabelle still occupying his mind, and unable to focus on any work, Nathanial set to work on locating the one person he knew would help him.
The door opened and a young man stood there. Nathanial had not seen him for some weeks, and when they had last laid eyes on each other, the young man had been resting up in Sovereign’s sickbay being administered to by Doctor Beverly. At that time the young man was ill, recovering, and only then just barely, from treacherous treatment at the hands of the Drobates, the dwellers of the lunar City of Light and Science. Now, as he stood before Nathanial, the young man seemed to be of a stronger bearing. Not as well as when he and Nathanial had first met some eight months ago, but still, as Doctor Beverly would no doubt say, “on the mend”.
“Nath… Professor Stone, what are you doing here?” asked Ordinary Seaman Erasmus Stevenson.
Nathanial almost stepped back in shock. To hear such formality from Erasmus’ mouth. He had expected Erasmus to be surprised, but this was the not the surprise of a happy reunion. “Erasmus, for the first I have come to ask for your help, and in the second instance I have come to see how well you fair, now you are home. I imagine your sister is most happy to finally meet her big brother?”
Erasmus’ eyes darted about. “You should not be here. I… I cannot speak to you.”
Abruptly the door closed on Nathanial’s shocked countenance. For a few moments he lingered on the doorstep, his mind awash with feelings of confusion and betrayal. When they had been on the run from the Drobates, secreted in the underground railroad of Luna, Nathanial had felt sure that he and Erasmus had come to an understanding. That something deep and personal had passed between them. But now…
Nathanial turned and retreated to the carriage. He did not look at Lécuyer, instead his eyes continued to rest on the house, and the lit window in which the silhouette of a man could be seen. It was Erasmus, Nathanial was certain, but for what was he watching? To make sure Nathanial left forthwith, or did he watch with longing in his heart?
Lécuyer signalled the driver, and with the crack of a whip the carriage moved on.
“Nathanial, I think you need some cheering up. It is a Sunday, is it not? As is my custom I must visit my friends, and I believe you will enjoy them.” Lécuyer leaned forward and placed a hand on Nathanial’s knee. “For they will certainly enjoy you!”
Nathanial barely noticed Lécuyer’s hand, instead as the carriage continued on into the night, away from Perivale village, he continued to watch as the house sank into the distance.
He had been certain he could have counted on Stevenson.
3.
THE WATER FELT so good on his face. Nathanial stood up and dried himself with the towel resting by the basin. After leaving Stevenson he had not been himself, that was the only excuse he could find for his behaviour afterwards. He had seen much, and engaged in much else besides, that would be considered unconventional, and he had always known that in some ways he had been made wrong, but last night redefined his perception of such things.
He walked across to the table on which lay the cluttered mess of gears and pistons, levers and switches. He knew he would never discuss the events of last night with anyone, as Lécuyer had discovered when they had returned to their house in the early hours of the morning, but to himself he could at least admit that he very much enjoyed himself.
He sat at the table. His first task, he had decided upon awakening, was to perfect the mechanical leg he had started designing during his journey across Mars. He turned to his schematics and unrolled the paper upon which they were drawn. Looking around for two paperweights, he found a large book and the silver pocket watch. He picked up the watch and looked at it curiously.
He did not remember putting the watch on the table. The last time he had seen it was when he’d first moved into the rooms on Friday, and then he had placed it for safe keeping in a small drawer located under the table.
He must have removed it when he’d returned from that den six hours ago. It did not matter; it would serve sufficiently as a paperweight. He placed the watch at one end of the schematics. It was time to get to work.
4.
“OH, IS THAT so?” her uncle demanded of Annabelle for perhaps the tenth time. “Is that so? Is that so?”
“Yes, Uncle Cyrus, it is so!” she exclaimed in frustration. “These are good people we share these walls with and you must—well, you ought to show them the same courtesy they have extended to us.” She held her hands over her face and took a breath to steady herself. What was the point of growing angry at him? It was as sensible as berating a man with malaria for perspiring. Her mind carried her back over the past three days which had begun so hopefully.
Saturday morning had been consumed with travel to and from the magistrate court building and waiting for the competency hearing, although the hearing itself had taken less than a quarter of an hour. A wigged and silk-robed Queen’s Counsel had presented the petition to the magistrate, the supporting documentation had already been filed, and after Annabelle answered a few routine questions under oath the petition had been granted. The only real point of concern centred not on her uncle’s competency but rather her own, considering her age and gender, and the questioning had determined that she was, indeed, his only living relative and in any case the only United States citizen in the United Kingdom to whom the courts could reasonably entrust another American. The ease with which Uncle Cyrus had been declared incompetent disturbed Annabelle. It was true, of course, he was incompetent, but would it have been any harder had he not been?
Annabelle spent Saturday afternoon making arrangements for their move from Dorset House, as they were no longer “guests” of the Crown, but had received a cash advance against their pensions with which to secure lodgings. Mister Lincoln, again by anonymous courier, had recommended a boarding house north of the Thames and on the near west side of the city just off Edward Road, and they made the actual move on Sunday. Two sailors from HMAS Sovereign rode on the back of the carriage George hired and carried their bags in and up, although one could have managed them without difficulty, so destitute were they of material possessions. George accompanied her and Uncle Cyrus, and he also gave her a brief orientation as they rode to the place.
“I made some inquiries. This is a respectable boarding house and Mrs Collingwood is said to set a good table. The house and neighbourhood itself is safe enough although I would not recommend you walk at night. When you walk in the day, walk south and then return north before dusk. This is Edward Road,” George said, meaning the broad boulevard the carriage made its way along. “We are heading nor’ by nor’west. You see those roofs to the west? Those are the homes on Norfolk Circle, all of them quite fine.”
Annabelle saw well-maintained tile and shingle roofs rising above the shops and brownstones which lined Edward Road. Everything she saw here looked prosperous and the people moved with an easy confidence which bespoke gainful occupation.
“This neighbourhood is safe, as you can see, as are tho
se in the two of three streets north of here to Chapel Street. I would say the houses on the north side of Chapel Street mark the limit of the genuinely middle class neighbourhood. North of there the people are working class, generally good people, but economic want always threatens them, while north of Bell Street the neighbourhoods become quite desperate, and hence dangerous.”
“I don’t know that I will remember all of that,” Annabelle said.
“You will witness it and it will all become clear. Mrs Collingwood’s house is one of those on the north side of Chapel, between Edward Road and where Carlisle broadens out into Hyde Park Street.”
Mrs Collingwood greeted them at the door with a polite but not fulsome welcome. She struck Annabelle as a sensible woman of early middle age, plump and plain, with a natural dignity but no evidence of snobbery or self-righteousness. There was no Mister Collingwood, he having perished in the army overseas some years earlier. This was, Mrs Collingwood explained, a gentleman’s boarding house, but as their rooms would be let to her uncle, Annabelle could certainly board here with him. If her landlady thought to elaborate as to the sort of proper behaviour she expected from Annabelle, she must have changed her mind and left her explanation at that. Perhaps the sight of Annabelle’s cane and obvious physical infirmity, or Uncle Cyrus’s bewildered look, influenced her.
Annabelle introduced George as a friend of both hers and her uncle’s. Mrs Collingwood accepted that after first spending a moment in frank appraisal of the tall naval officer at Annabelle’s side, an appraisal which ended on a satisfactory note to judge from the slight nod she gave.
series 02 01 Conspiracy of Silence Page 9
