The Gaslight Girl: A Decisive Devices Novella (Decisive Devices Steampunk Series Book 1)

by Hargrove Perth

  “How so?” Halloran asked as she stepped onto the sidewalk alongside Jonathan, who leaned in quickly and kissed her on the neck then whispered in her ear.

  “Because the same two men are still across the street that were here when we arrived.”

  The kiss was more than a bold showing of affection in the middle of the street. It was a signal to both Harry and Will to alert them of the danger present and to get Halloran to safety. As the men pushed through the afternoon crowds toward Halloran, Jonathan drew his gun from beneath his coat and pushed Halloran to the ground.

  Halloran pulled the small telescoping iron wick trimmer from inside her coat and snapped her wrist quickly, extending the rod by three feet. As soon as the first man was within range, she swung the trimmer with all her strength, breaking his leg just below the knee.

  Will rushed into the mix of it, snatched Halloran around the waist, and pulled her from the crowd. Before she knew what was happening, Halloran was on the back of Jonathan’s steamhorse as it stood with the carriage disconnected in the street, with Will behind her. He slipped his feet into the stirrups, pulled them back and took the beast to a full on gallop, maneuvering the horse through the crowded streets as steam poured out its nostrils in heavy thick plumes.

  “Bletherskite!” Halloran cursed. “What in the blazes are you doing? You just left Jonathan in the middle of that mess to die!”

  “Harry is there, so are the rest of the boys. You didn’t believe ole Jonny would have you in a position to get hurt the way he feels about you, did you Frost?”

  Halloran nearly screamed in frustration as she leaned into the thick neck of the horse and wound her fingers into the blue mane.

  “Where to, Frost?” Will asked once they were clear of the Carnaby Street and were making their way to White Chapel- a place where he knew they could hide and not be found.

  “We must go to Sir Edwards.”

  “We will take a boat out of the Chapel after dark, when it’s safe.”

  Halloran held fast to the steamhorse, praying they would not arrive too late to save Sir Edwards before any contrived fate befell him the same as it had befallen her father.

  They dashed through the outskirts toward the Borough of Tower Hamlet, and through the narrow streets to the southwest of London and into White Chapel. Halloran leaned against the neck of the steamhorse with her arms wrapped around it tightly. Once they reached the old cobblestone way leading to Lionhead Tavern, a favorite hangout of the gang, Will pulled back on the lever alongside his thigh and slowed the mechanical creature to a slow trot.

  Gem stepped out of the tavern and caught Halloran in his arms as she slid down from the steed and ushered her inside, up the old creaking staircase, and into what amounted to their hideout.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, our Winter girl,” Gem said, wrapping his burly arms around her and hugging her tightly. Gem and the gang sometimes referred to Frost as Winter, a nickname of sorts. All the members of the gang had a code name to keep their identities hidden from the Bobbies and the Yard.

  Gem’s name was Collin Snidewell, not the name you would associate with a brute who could muscle his way into just about any situation, toss a gal over his shoulder, and walk out of the room without a single attempt to stop him. He was the protector of the gang and looked out for everyone.

  Before Frost could ask Gem to put her down, Nimble barged in after having seen Jonathan’s steamhorse being led into the back alley way and inside the stockroom by Will. “Winter!” he shouted with exuberance, happy to see Frost.

  As quickly as her feet touched the dirty floor of their hideout, Nimble’s arms were around her waist, twirling Frost about the room in some unknown waltz, which caused her to laugh, something Halloran hadn’t done in a long time. Nimble was just as light on his feet as his fingertips were to any safe, and Carl Gentry as the rest of the world knew him, wasn’t about to let a moment like this slip from his fingers as he smiled at Halloran.

  “What’s this,” she asked as Nimble put her down and she stroked his blonde sideburns, “a new trend amongst thieves?”

  “We are gentlemen thieves, thank you.” Nimble lifted off the old stovepipe hat he was wearing and bowed deeply to Halloran as Gem push an old wingbacked chair with a wool blanket into the center of the room so she could sit down.

  Halloran sat and folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking toward the window as she wondered where Harry and Jonathan were, and if they were safe.

  “He is fine, Winter, don’t worry,” Gem offered and gave a light pat on her shoulder. “Jonathan can take care of himself. He’s a tough bloke, even though you wouldn’t know just by gandering.”

  A forced smile graced her lips as she continued to stare through the dirt covered window as the street below filled with factory workers pouring into White Chapel for lunch. Halloran had forgotten the change of shifts at the Ironworks was early in the afternoon on Saturdays when three shifts worked instead of one.

  Gem was standing behind the bar when they heard footsteps approaching and placed his hand on the large blunderbuss beneath the counter, his finger light on the trigger and ready to draw. They all sighed in relief as Harry entered with Jonathan close in tow. Halloran leapt from the chair and threw her arms around Jonathan’s neck before he could even close the door.

  Halloran kissed Jonathan without thinking as the gang looked on, all with smiles. She rested her head on Jonathan’s shoulder before sighing deeply.

  “Well, if I had known a spot of trouble was all it took to get a kiss out of you, Halloran Frost, I would have invented some a long time ago.”

  Harry and Will laughed then took to being stoic as Halloran shot them a quick disapproving glance.

  “Gem can get the skiff ready, and as soon as darkness falls, we’ll set down the Thames. I will head down river now and have aerostat prepped for flight,” Harry said and rested his hand on the doorknob, pausing to face Halloran. “No leaving this place, Frost, no matter what anyone says about it being safe and all. Trust me, it isn’t. Whoever those brutes were, they mean business.”

  Harry slipped into the corridor and closed the door behind him as Halloran listened to his footsteps slowly fade as he descended the stairs.

  “What could my father have possibly found in Egypt with Sir Edwards?” Halloran posed, shaking her head. “And of what great value is it that it could take the lives of both my parents?”

  “I don’t know, Frost,” Jonathan whispered, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. “But until we know the truth, you are not to be out of my sight at any time, which means until this is solved, you are my everyday girl, like it or not.”

  Six hours later, with the hood of her heavy wool cloak pulled over her head to conceal her easily identifiable red hair, Halloran Frost was being led through the narrow alleyways by Jonathan to the waiting skiff with Gem and Nimble as an escort. Will followed behind at a distance, keeping an eye peeled for the men who attacked Halloran on the corner outside Carnaby Bank and Trust.

  Halloran shook her head as the name on the side of the skiff was barely legible but knew it had once said East India Trading Company by the interlocking letters of each word branded into the side.

  “Still living dangerously by tangling with those unscrupulous bastards I see. Between them and Parliament, I don’t know who’s worse for England. You could have christened it better than this.”

  Halloran shook her head as Harry smiled, offered her hand, and helped her into the skiff wondering why they had not gone to greater lengths to remove the distinct marking.

  “We do a bit of work for them,” Harry whispered, “and they could very well be your transport to Egypt.”

  The furrows in her forehead grew deeper as Halloran stared at Harry in the dark as Jonathan climbed aboard and shoved them off shore.

  “Jonathan, how could you get involved with racketeers the likes of East India? Even my father refused to allow them on the gaslight stream due to their hedoni
stic behavior and illicit trade of human flesh.”

  “That is the only reason we have taken an interest, Halloran. Nimble has it on good authority they’ve taken a shine to crafting aerostats specifically for the transport of slaves due to the accelerated rate of travel. He’s built a device that will render their airships inoperable, but only if we can get close enough to implant them.”

  The putrid smell of the sewage and factory waste flowing into the Thames wafted into the air with a nearly overwhelming pungent odor as they passed the Ironworks. Halloran drew her cloak over her nose to block the smell.

  “At least it’s a dark moon tonight,” Harry said and slipped the oars into the water. “Keeps us from drawing an unwanted eye.”

  Halloran leaned back onto Jonathan’s legs as she sat in the bottom of the boat and closed her eyes, allowing him to wrap his arms around her. There was no doubt he provided her with a sense of security, a safeness Halloran Frost had not felt since the death of her beloved father. As she laid in his arms, Halloran wondered how long it would be before her stepmother called an Inquiry Agent to investigate if she had befallen some oddity of mishap resulting in her death, so she could lay claim to the Willoughby Frost Gas Company.

  Her eyes closed, content in the arms of Jonathan Pennywise for the first time in a very long time.

  Chapter Five

  Carl Gentry and the Aerostat

  The skiff slipped along the murky water of the Thames for nearly an hour before Jonathan gently shook Halloran, who had fallen asleep in his arms.

  “Frost, the aerostat is waiting.”

  Frost sat forward, stretched the stiffness from her arms, and kissed Jonathan on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said and exited the boat.

  “You are not going without me,” Jonathan said upon standing.

  “Your family will send a search party if you are gone for more than two days, Jonathan. You know that just as well as I do.”

  “The ship doesn’t leave without me.”

  “Or me,” Nimble said as he walked up behind the arguing lovers. “Carl Gentry does not allow anyone, not even ole Jonny here, to pilot the HHS Nimble.”

  Halloran burst out laughing and shook her head before offering her hand to Jonathan. “It appears you are my partner in crime.”

  They walked to the loading platform where Jonathan steadied the rope ladder as Halloran ascended. Once Jonathan and Carl were on board, she sat in one of the many window seats, she looked at the moonless night, and thought about her father.

  Carl walked to the front of the ship and readied the steam powered coal fed engine for ignition. An autonomous covered in highly polished copper rolled up the center aisle, tray in hand, carrying a variety of cocktails, and leaned forward offering Jonathan a glass of Scotch.

  “Hold onto your hats,” Carl shouted as he programmed the coordinates of Sir Edwards’s estate into the difference engine, released, the tie downs, and edged the HHS Nimble into the air. The roar of the engines quieted as the aerostat took flight.

  “I hope the HHS Nimble isn’t held together by a lick and a promise,” Halloran mumbled, her hands stiffly gripping the arms of her chair.

  Once air born, she calmed slightly and motioned to the autonomous to bring her a drink. Halloran felled the glass of whiskey in a single swoop and exhaled slowly.

  “That’s my girl,” Jonathan said. “Why don’t you sleep till we reach Sir Edwards’s estate? I’ll keep a watchful eye.”

  Her eyes closed with a bit of uneasiness as Halloran prayed Sir Edwards Taggert had not the same fate as her mother and father.

  Halloran awoke with a start as the aerostat touched down, jolting the cabin. She immediately stood, grabbed her cloak off the seat alongside her, and met Jonathan at the door.

  She stood at the open door, peering at the two- story Tudor estate, gated and secluded in the English countryside. Gaslight lamps stood the length of the cobblestone way.

  They walked in silence toward the darkened estate, a house without visible light, which Halloran considered was not a good sign at all.

  Jonathan pulled the rope alongside the door, striking the chime, and waited patiently. When servants did not answer the door, Halloran pulled a betty from her corset and began picking the lock. Jonathan flipped his coat to the side, revealing two barkers lodged in their holsters and ready for action if needed.

  Halloran glanced at Jonathan, cast the door open, and they entered barkers drawn. “Sir Edwards,” Halloran called out.

  An enormous grandfather clock sat just inside the door as the centerpiece of the restrained entranceway. The elaborate face of the timepiece was nearly two feet in width with delicate filigree hands and dials that showed the date, time, temperature, and moon phases. On either side of the clock sat two familiar old friends – a pair of enameled mallards with their brilliant tail feathers in hues of rich blues and greens calling Halloran back to a simpler time in her life when she was a young girl coming with her mother on holiday to the Taggert Estate.

  Jonathan cleared his throat to attract Halloran’s attention as he nodded toward the study, where the musty smell of old cigars drifted into the corridor. The door to the room set slightly ajar, allowing a scant amount of light from the rising sun to creep through.

  “I’ll go first,” Jonathan said, stepping ahead of Halloran. His hand rested on the ajar door for just a moment before pushing it slowly open. “Sir Edwards, it’s Jonathan Pennywise. I have Halloran with me. We’ve come to speak with you on a matter of grave importance.”

  The crest of Sir Edwards’ head peered above the back of his gold baroque chair, his silver mane glistening. Jonathan gestured for Halloran to stay behind him as he approached.

  “He’s dead,” Jonathan said, lowering his barker and dropping it back into the holster on his hip.

  “We’re too late,” Halloran said, defeated, and fell backward into the rolled back divan and closed her eyes.

  “Who’s dead,” a deep voice said and Halloran screamed as Sir Edwards sat forward. “I suppose you whippersnappers never heard the term sleeps like the dead,” Sir Edwards said as he removed the steel privacy domes from his ears. “Best item I ever invented - can’t hear a blessed thing with them in my ears.”

  “You scared the daylights out of us,” she said, hugging her old family friend.

  “It pleases my heart to see you again, Hally, though it has been far too long. What brings you so far from home?”

  “My father left a box for me in the vault at Carnaby Bank. I was hoping you might be able to offer an explanation.”

  Before Sir Edwards could offer any insight, Jonathan interjected, “Where are your servants?”

  “I sent them away, they have all been released from service. I am rather surprised you did not trip the traps when you entered. I’ve been expecting their arrival for some time now. It’s only a matter of time before the same fate that befell your beloved mother and father is my fate as well.”

  “Sir Edwards, we can protect you if only you allow us.” She reached for the elderly man’s hand, taking it in his.

  “You must protect yourself, Halloran, from that horrid dollymop living in your home that can’t hold a candle to the devil.” Sir Edwards sighed, looking out the window of his estate. “It all began in Egypt, a rare artifact that has the potential to change the lives of many, some for the better, some for the worse. An artifact your stepmother and the East India Trading Company would do anything to have in their possession, one your father and I hid away from the rest of the world.

  “What is it?” Halloran asked, her interest now piqued by his cryptic answer.

  Her hand still clutched his. She didn’t want to bore Sir Edwards with the lurid details of her and the gang’s assumptions regarding the death of her mother and father. She was tempted to stand and leave, to walk away from whatever this secret was forever, and resume her dreadful life as a near servant to her strumpet of a stepmother and the uglies. Yet Halloran knew she owed it to her parents to stay.
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  “Your father loved three things in his life: you, your mother, and collecting antiquities. The last of which was his undoing.”

  Halloran stared blindly at the taupe paint and brocade green flocked wallpaper covering the walls. Her eyes drifted toward the ceiling and the smoke stains from the fireplace that clung to the carved molding. Something was amiss, but she didn’t know what it was. She stared at his hand as it rested in hers, the bluntly cut fingernails, which had tiny bits of dirt clinging to them. She pulled her hand away and slipped it beneath her cloak, then grasped the dagger in the side of her corset. Sir Edwards was a meticulous man down to smallest detail. He would never have dirt beneath his nails.

  “He told me that the artifact would be safe with you and its co-ordinates would be encoded for you to bring to me to decipher. Did you bring them along?”

  Halloran lifted her hand slowly and tugged on her earlobe, a signal amongst the gang that something was amiss. Jonathan stood immediately, loosening his tie with a quick tug.

  “It’s hotter than a strumpet house on nickel night in here, Sir Edwards. Do you mind if I toss open the shutters?”

  When he passed Sir Edwards, he quickly drew his barker and struck the imposter on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

  “Tie him up, Halloran, and when he wakes, we’ll find out who exactly he is and what he has done with Sir Edwards.”

  “Where is she?” Ellen bellowed, frightening the worthless uglies, as Halloran called them, causing them to run from the room.

  The man, dressed in rather ordinary clothing, raised one brow at the woman’s display. “She had assistance, my lady, perchance are you familiar with her acquaintances?”

  “That shadow of a child has no friends to which I am aware. She is nothing but a cinderwench and will never be anything more than that despite her grandiose aspirations to attain a higher lot in life.”

  The man looked to the floor and knew Ellen held her position strictly through marriage and had it not been for Lord Willoughby, Ellen would still be nothing more than the chambermaid life meant her to remain.