by Morris, Tee
“What did you see?” Charlotte barked, all the while cradling her own hands. “What happened to Hester, for God’s sake?”
Besty’s mouth worked a few times until she could manage to croak out anything like words. “I saw light. Blue it was. I heard Miss Hester cry out . . . and then . . . then she was just gone.” The woman’s fingers rose to her face and fluttered there as if she were too afraid to touch herself.
Eliza stayed her fingers. “Best if you don’t, pet. Believe me, it will heal, but better if you don’t look.”
Chandi, who had recovered herself, crawled over to the sofa. “Oh my God,” she whispered on seeing Betsy’s ravaged face, her own trembling fingers coming up to her own face. “Is that how I—”
Wellington touched the side of her face, and gently tipped it. “No, Miss Culpepper. It seems whatever radius this event has, you were luckily outside of it.”
“I . . . I was going to get the last of the year’s ledgers off the top shelf.” She sniffled.
“You were very lucky.” Eliza muttered, her eyes still somehow searching for Hester in the library.
Wellington too was conducting his own examination of the scene. “It appears that whatever happened was as sudden as what we observed on the train earlier.” He peered at the carpet, running his hands over the surface. “There is a distinct burning here, but not as if a fire were lit.” He glanced up, “Almost as if it were seared off with red-hot scissors.”
While Eliza clasped Betsy’s hands to prevent them from touching her face, she thought of all the things she’d seen and experienced in the Ministry. “Have you heard of such a thing, Wellington?” He was the Archivist, and if anyone had a chance of recognising what this was, it was he.
Yet when his colleague looked at her, she felt her heart sink. “I shall have to look in among the case files, run some searches with the analytical engine. This is all very new to me.”
They now heard Kate’s footsteps on the door outside, followed by the maid who gave a little shriek at the destruction of Mrs. Langston’s study.
“Alva,” Charlotte said to the maid, not even bothering to look at her. “Get Betsy out of here.” Charlotte then looked at her seared hand, and stared at Eliza. “Leave,” she hissed. “Leave now.”
Wellington leapt to his feet, to protest, but Eliza waved him away. Charlotte was in pain. She’d just had her charge taken, and one of her own badly injured. Eliza had been in similar situations before—she knew they stung. Chaz needed someone to blame.
Apparently, Chaz had found it. “I’ll bloody well tell the Council how useless you are.”
“Enough!” Chandi pushed her hair out of her eyes, and got to her feet. “It’s not your fault, Miss Braun. This was an ambush, and you would not have been able to stop it.” Her trembling hands came up to her mouth as she whispered, “No one can stop this.”
Wellington crossed over to her. “Did you see anything different from Betsy, Miss Culpepper?”
She passed a hand over her eyes. “Not really. Like she said, a light came . . . it was terrifying and extraordinary.” Chandi gave an odd laugh and said, “I think I need another cup of tea.”
“Of course,” Eliza said, shooting Wellington a pointed look. Just by where he and Chandi stood were ledgers. “Let me help you back to the parlour.”
With Kate flanking Chandi, they returned downstairs, Wellington trailing a few steps behind. Only Charlotte remained. She just silently took in the scene of this latest abduction.
“She’s not outside,” Mrs. Sheppard jerked her head slightly to the wrought-iron gate outside. It would have been even more unbearable to find Hester impaled on her own fence. The women went into the parlour and took a seat while Eliza fussed over the tea set.
Wellington had remained in the hallway, a good choice on his part. Women’s business.
The tea was probably colder than preferred but there was comfort to be found in that room. Eliza glanced up at the ceiling, wondering what Charlotte was expecting to accomplish up there alone.
Once Chandi had a cup of tea cradled in her hands, and Kate’s arm around her, Eliza felt safe to slip away. She exchanged a look with her mentor, who merely nodded a quiet understanding. The agent would do what she did, and Kate would hold the group together as best she could. Eliza returned to the corridor where the Archivist was waiting, a ledger—or what appeared to be half of one—in his hands.
“Should we not have questioned the ladies more thoroughly?” he asked in a hushed whisper.
“Welly, we’re already seen the event for ourselves. Twice. Whatever happened here is obviously the same thing. We gain nothing by tormenting women who have survived quite a shock.”
Her colleague was staring at her in some disbelief. “Is that something like diplomacy from you, Eliza?”
The smile his comment engendered was bright and brief. “Maybe I am learning something from you after all, Welly.”
They both cautiously returned upstairs. Chaz had taken leave to another room, and she sounded as if she were on some telephony device. Her voice could be heard behind the shut door, and Eliza knew the tone enough not to intrude. It also meant a pocket of time unobserved in the devastated library.
Eliza glanced at the half book in Wellington’s grasp. “I am guessing that Hester took some of the ledgers with her as well. That would be just our luck.”
Wellington motioned to a few of the scattered pages. Some were only half pages, where whatever had happened had cut ledgers in half. He laid the one he was holding out on the desk and ran a professional eye over them. “This is the most recent ledger, or at least what remains of it. So yes, Eliza, it would appear that is the way our luck runs tonight.”
Eliza let out a long sigh. “Well, it was a good idea. Try and find out if any of these women were at the same meeting. I thought maybe they might have overheard something, maybe conspired together—I don’t know, eaten the same toffee apples as each other!” She picked up a turned over chair, and then flopped down on it. “Without some connection, then these disappearances are all merely random events, and we have absolutely no way of predicting who is next.”
For a moment they were silent. Then Wellington organised the papers into stacks, out of sheer reflex no doubt. “Well, Miss Braun, we most certainly do not give up. What does the Ministry say when a lead runs out?”
She glanced up, knowing perfectly well what her training had taught her. “You go back to the beginning again. Re-examine the evidence. Re-check your assumptions.”
“Then that is what we shall do.” Wellington sounded remarkably undeterred, despite what had just happened in this very room. “However,” he got to his feet and held out his elbow, “not until we get some food and a bit of a rest.”
“And Campbell,” Eliza stood too. “Do you think we should tell him about what happened here?”
Wellington cocked his head, “Do you really think it would matter if we did?”
That made Eliza smile even wider. She was having an influence on him after all.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then we go on as we have been.” He gestured to the door. “Now let’s go and get a spot of luncheon and start over. I am sure if we put our heads together we can come up with something.”
When he said it in that tone, Eliza quite believed him.
Chapter Six
Wherein Our Heroes Take a Moment To Breathe
Perhaps lunch was a preposterous notion following the events at Hester Langston’s estate, but Wellington needed a moment’s peace. Surrounding himself with the mundane and the routine reassured him he was not lost in some bizarre nightmare—though one appeared to be unfolding all about them. He glanced around the bustling tearooms, filled with ordinary folk going about their business completely unaware, and sighed.
Three women snatched from thin air, two in front of him and his partner. He recalled the jovial words of Doctor Sound as he said, “Chaos and mayhem tended to follow them wherever
they went.” Of course he knew there was no real substance to these words, but the comment still haunted him.
“Welly,” Eliza asked as she poured herself a cup of tea, “are you well?”
He forced a smile onto his face. “This is one of those times when I am reminded of how insulated from fieldwork I am.”
Her brow furrowed, she gave a soft “ah” and then poured him a fresh cup. “It’s one thing to see these items, read about them, and know what they do, but quite another altogether to experience them.”
“Indeed.” He shifted in his seat and changed the subject as best he could. “I’m trying to see the correlation between Lena Munroe, Kate Sheppard, and Hester Langston, apart from their involvement in the suffrage movement.” He took up his tea, sipped, glanced at the rather weak brew, and then set it down. “Perhaps we could at least take precautions so it doesn’t happen again?”
“How do we do that, Welly?” Eliza asked, dropping her fourth sugar cube into her tea. He swallowed back a groan of revulsion as she added cream. “Even if we know who is targeted, how can we stop them?”
“A fair question.” Wellington produced his journal and turned to a page dated from their walk to Speakers’ Corner. He fanned out the journal and used his pen as a pointer, tracing along the streets of his simple map. “So, exactly what we know: a device of some sort, producing an electrical field of immense power, grabs their quarry, and teleports them to a designated location. Something like our Atlantean æthergates.”
“Teleportation?” Eliza shrugged. “What makes you think the women are teleported to another location? They could just as easily have been incinerated on the spot.”
“If that were the case, we would have far more evidence to go on.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping as he continued. “To incinerate a body completely requires a heat source generating temperatures exceeding one thousand and seventeen degrees Farenheit.”
“You’re speaking ‘science’ to me again, Welly, and as we both know, we are certainly not dealing with the rules of everyday science.”
“Very well then, Miss Braun. Then consider, if there were any sort of incineration even of a kind wherein there was no residual heat generated, what about the lack of ash? Or perhaps a burn pattern? A body simply does not combust without leaving some sort of residue.
“Besides, in the case two days before, we had a body appear in an iron gate in Grosvenor Square.” He tapped his finger on the small X drawn on his map. “A body that disappeared in the same fashion as previous incidents.”
“A sound conclusion there.”
Wellington looked up from the map. Eliza took a sip of the milky concoction in her teacup and continued. “We also know that it can capture moving objects. On the train we were moving at speeds say fifty to sixty miles per hour, so the targeting system on this teleportation device can compensate for objects in motion.”
He blinked. “I hadn’t even considered that.”
“Welly, this is all conjecture at this point, but in the cases of Munroe and Langston, we have two women that are snatched from thin air—exactly the same as the other cases Bruce ignored.”
She stopped abruptly and his journal disappeared back into his coat pocket when their meal arrived. The first bite of his sandwich revealed exactly how hungry he was.
Dabbing at the corners of her lips, Eliza finished her own mouthful and then continued. “But with Kate at Speakers’ Corner, that has all the characteristics of a botched abduction; the electricity jumped to the closest object it could latch on to once I got Kate on the ground.”
“Poor Melinda holding the rhino stopper was nothing more than a lightning rod.”
“So it would seem, but her materialisation into that gate? That was not part of the plan.”
“How can you be so sure, Eliza?”
“Let’s say whomever these perpetrators are, they had got to Kate, and she found herself part of the ironworks of Grosvenor Gate. Kate would have been turned into a martyr, and the movement would have galvanised. The horror of it all could have even won sympathy in the government.”
Wellington took another bite of his sandwich, turning his glance out of the window where they sat. At the street corner, he could see a suffragist passing out flyers. The movement continued on, even in light of events. How the women would have rallied if, all jealousy set aside, their symbol of success were to die such a horrific death.
“So you are suggesting Kate’s disappearance and maybe a ransom would have served our perpetrator better?”
“Looking at the world through the mind of a criminal is a simple task, Welly. It’s the truly unhinged ones that take us all by surprise.”
He sat up even taller in his chair. “By having a dead body appear so soon after it’s snatched, you tip your hand to what your intentions are.”
“Nicely played, Welly,” Eliza said, a twinkle appearing in her eyes. “You see firsthand with these abductions the panic that is spreading through the movement. By revealing a rather grim fate awaiting those who are stolen, the movement will only rally the troops harder.”
“So, staying with this line of thinking, what do you think happened with Melinda Carnes? Could they have aborted the abduction?”
She finished her bite, and then shook her head. “Again, tipping the hand. Also, that would mean an accomplice would have to’ve been within eyesight of Kate, or perhaps closer to her; and have been in constant contact with a controller at the other end.” She now saw the suffragist at the street corner and smiled. “No, I think the gruesome death of Melinda Carnes was an accident.”
“How so?”
“A feeling.” She held up a hand to hold back Wellington’s protestations. “Think about it, Welly. Why snatch Kate, as was the intention, only to have her materialise in an iron gate and make her into a martyr? And why reveal that you possess a teleportation device when you instill far more fear with a device that simply makes you disappear? This feels rather like a clankerton’s grand experiment, and something at Speakers’ Corner went wrong.”
“What, do you think?”
Eliza shook her head. “It could be a number of things. An interruption during the abduction. A miscalculation of some sort. A sudden loss of power. That is really open to speculation, isn’t it?”
He paused just before his next bite. “Between disappearances, there has been a large span of time, whereas now . . .” His voice trailed off. “But surely those behind such technology would have full working knowledge of what it can and can’t do.”
“Really?” Eliza asked, taking another long sip from her teacup, before asking, “Tell me, Wellington Thornhill Books”—the Archivist braced himself—“do you know everything there is to Lisa?”
“Lisa?” He tried to think of whom she was on about, until he blurted, “My analytical engine, you mean?”
“Welly, it needs a name.”
“It is a device. Not a pet.”
“Lisa is quite the associate at the Ministry.”
“It is an efficient machine, quite apt in the routines I programme into its memory.”
“And do you recall its backup battery in case a problem occurs in the intake valves?”
“Of course,” he grumbled, “I built the bloody thing.”
Eliza smiled warmly. “How long does your battery last?”
He went to answer, but his mouth remained open for what seemed far too long to be proper. Wellington felt a twinge of worry work through him. He had considered a contingency for any problems if the Thames failed to power his creation, but he had never run a test on battery power only.
“You see,” Eliza said, her victory displayed quite clearly on her face, “even Lisa has her secrets; and she has been by your side far longer than I.”
Wellington surrendered a reluctant smile. “You have me there, Miss Braun. Well played.” He dabbed at his mouth clean with a napkin, and sat back in his chair. “You’re thinking during the materialisation of Miss Carnes, the device suddenly stopped working
?”
“That is the field agent’s instinct in me, Welly. Whatever this device is, it has the ability to transport people through space, from one designated point to another. A machine like that is going to require a lot of power.” Wellington went to interject, but Eliza raised a finger. “As far as our technology at the Ministry, we have the Thames to power our operations. However, consider how you would manage if you didn’t have an inexhaustible power source such as a river? What if you wished to keep such a device self-contained?”
Again, he went to speak, but again his words never left his lips as movement caught his peripheral. The gentleman approaching was turning heads, in particular the ladies’, but the dapper gent didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on Eliza. Wellington immediately reached for his walking stick—just in case violence was in the air.
Eliza caught where the Archivist’s attention was directed, turned around, and called out, “Douglas! Whatever brings—”
“I expected you to guard Mother from harm, Eliza. Just what the hell happened at this morning’s meeting?”
She straightened up in her seat as she replied, “I would be more than happy to discuss with you this morning’s events, provided you lower your voice and soften your tone with me.”
“I will address you however I please, particularly when you are enjoying an afternoon’s repast and not watching over my mother as I assumed you were doing.”
“I did so this morning with my partner here,” Eliza replied tightly, motioning to Wellington. The newcomer rudely did not turn and acknowledge the Archivist. Her eyes narrowed as she continued, “We are here, reviewing conclusions and possibilities—”
“While Mother remains a target for whatever infernal device is at work here.”
Wellington had quite enough of this posturing. “So you would prefer to make both your mother and Miss Braun targets?”
Douglas turned on Wellington, his eyes sharp and dark as he took a good look at him. “Were you addressed, sir?”
Wellington took a sip of his tea just before his reply. “Well, as you are addressing my associate as one would a truculent child, a manner which I do take umbrage with, I feel social niceties have rather flown out the window.”
