Illusion (Asylum for the Mechanically Insane Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  Then she remembered the locket tucked into her chemise—and burst into tears.

  Miranda was gone. She didn’t know how, or who, but she was sure she’d never see her sister again.

  There was an emptiness in her heart that had never been there before. A space that was cold and silent, whereas for Portia’s entire life up to now, there’d been a sense of sharing, belonging, a feeling of inclusion in something greater than herself.

  She could call it a psychic link, or a mental connection. She could call it any number of things, but she didn’t. To her it just was.

  Now, it wasn’t.

  The tears flowed from that thought, bitter and painful, catching in her throat then overflowing in harsh mewling sobs.

  “I say, Miss? Are you all right? Can I help?”

  Portia literally left the ground, jumping with her heart in her mouth as she cried out in surprise.

  “Easy now.”

  A firm hand caught her elbow as she staggered, and she all but fell into an ever more firm chest. She fought for some semblance of control. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sshhh. It’s no matter. Are you hurt?”

  “No, no…just…”

  “Sad. I did realize that. The weeping gave you away.” He fished in his pocket and removed a pristine, crisply folded handkerchief. “Here. This might help.”

  “Oh, thank you. I do apologize again. I’m not given to maudlin outpourings, I can assure you.” She wiped her eyes.

  “I can tell.” He stepped back and guided her to a small stone bench overhung by roses, and with their rich scent surrounding them, he seated her. “I am also guessing that you’re not a housemaid by birth.”

  “Hell and devil confound it.” The exclamation burst from her, making the man smile.

  “I see I was right.”

  “Sir…please. Don’t give me away.”

  He frowned, silent for a few moments, staring at her. “You’re a Fielding. Portia, I would suppose. What on earth are you doing here, dressed like that?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but he forestalled her, holding up his hand. “No, let me guess. You’re looking for your sister.”

  She dropped her gaze to her hands, working at the handkerchief twisted in her lap. And nodded.

  “So am I.”

  Portia quickly shot him a look. He was sober, calm and—she realized at once—completely honest.

  “My name is James Burke. I’m an Inspector, and I’m part of a group of people who investigate various cases when the local authorities summon us. This time it was Lord Southfield.”

  “Of course. The Lord Lieutenant of the county.” She nodded again, this time holding his gaze. “Makes sense.”

  “At least I can ask questions, Miss Portia. You’ve taken a much more dangerous route.”

  “Please.” She put a hand on his arm. “Don’t try to dissuade me. My sister was…the most important person in my life. I can’t sit to one side and do nothing but worry. It would literally destroy me.”

  The Inspector bit his lip, the indecision clear upon his face. “I should tell you to go home immediately. Any respectable investigator would find a young woman to be a liability.”

  “Truly, I won’t be. Already I’ve discovered…”

  She bit off the words. Should she tell the Inspector about Devon? If she did, and he accidently betrayed that knowledge, she could well be signing a death warrant on the two of them. And she knew instantly that she couldn’t take that risk.

  It was the right choice, but it was made more difficult when he laid a fatherly hand on hers and said kindly, “Tell me…what did you find, Portia?”

  She wanted to lean against him and confess everything. But instead, she just turned away a little, unbuttoned her blouse and reached inside to untie the little ribbon around her neck.

  “I found this.” She held out her hand and when he turned his over, dropped a tiny gold locket into his palm. “It’s Miranda’s.”

  He peered closely at it. “Are you sure?”

  “Completely. She always wore it for special occasions and I watched her put it on for this one. It was Mama’s gift to her on her eighteenth birthday, and my Grandmama gave it to Mama on her eighteenth birthday. It was passed down, Mother to daughter. Yes, Inspector, it’s Miranda’s.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In the dust catcher unit of the sweeper I was assigned to use when I got here yesterday.” She sighed. Had it been only twenty-four hours? It felt like a lifetime.

  “Didn’t look like anyone had cleaned it lately, so I did. And that was caught in one of the vent flaps.”

  He looked serious, more serious than before. “Portia…”

  “I know. Before you say anything, Inspector Burke, I know. Miranda is no longer with us. That’s why I was crying. She’s gone. I don’t know where or how or who, but this tells me that the feeling I have deep inside…well, it’s true.”

  She felt her tears sting the backs of her eyes, but resolutely ignored them. “I also know that other than verifying that fact, this locket gives us nothing. No clue as to what happened. No clue as to who might have been behind her death. Nothing.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

  She blinked. “Really?”

  “It tells us one very important thing.”

  “What?”

  “That whatever happened to Miss Miranda, happened here at Harbury Hall.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “No buts, my dear. You have just narrowed the field of my investigation by at least three counties and two country estates. And I’m relieved to be able to eliminate Coralfield from my inquiries.”

  “You’re right, I suppose. But I never really had any doubt that she’d gone missing here. Nobody ever saw her at the Mechanical Ball. But everyone remembered her being at dinner.”

  “I had to cover a lot more bases. But now…”

  “What can we do?”

  He looked hesitant. “There shouldn’t be a we, Portia. I should send you right home this minute.”

  “But you won’t.” Dear God, he couldn’t. What about Devon?

  “But I won’t. And may I be forgiven for this decision because I’m in no way certain it’s the right one to make. However, your presence here, under these new circumstances…well, it’s crucial. You will be in a position to see and hear things long before I do.”

  “That’s true.” She agreed.

  “So here’s what we’ll do. I will assure your family you are well and somewhere safe. Then we’ll work out a way for you to communicate with me and you can let me know if anything interesting happens.”

  “I told them I was going to my aunt’s, so that will do nicely for Papa and Mama. And I will be your spy.”

  “No, you will not,” he answered sharply. “You are simply to observe and report. Do you understand?” He grasped her chin. “Portia, I’m serious. Tell me you understand or I’ll take you back to the Chase right now and turn you over to your Father.”

  She swallowed, and then nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good. So let’s work out a way for us to get in touch with each other, and then I must leave. I’m due to meet Lady Harbury for a tour of the laboratory facilities at five.”

  “And I must go. I’m probably over my tea time as it is.”

  They parted, agreeing to a mutually acceptable time for another “chance” meeting to firm up details of their association.

  For the first time since she’d donned her maid’s disguise, Portia felt an iota of hope. Now all she had to do was free Devon and everything would be perfect.

  She rolled her eyes at herself and hurried back to work.

  Chapter 11

  Lady Harbury strolled elegantly into her parlor and closed the door behind her. Then dropped her nonchalant mien, threw a hurried look at the clock and dashed for her access to the laboratories.

  She had little time to set her schemes in motion. The plan itself was risky, and depended entirely upon a se
quence of events taking place to the second. It also depended on one of her newer acquisitions, Dr. Merrill Ringwood.

  She was heading for his workplace on the Level Five, but it was a longer journey than one might expect, which frustrated her given her time constraints.

  The fifth level had been expanded at some time in the past, possibly with an eye to creating a fully-fledged wine cellar. It had stretched away from beneath the main buildings toward a slight hill that lead away from the Hall and its gardens. There was nothing on top of, or under, for the expansion had begun and ended abruptly. Given the Harbury history, Alwynne was pretty certain they’d run out of money.

  Whatever the reason, these chambers were isolated and lined with thick slabs of granite. They were a bit medieval, a far cry from the black and white shining marble of some of the other laboratories. But they were perfect for the man now working in them.

  His name was Ringwood. Professor Merrill Ringwood. He was a scholar, a scientist and dabbled in a little medical work, hence the title “Doctor” was actually applicable, not just the general form of address for any of the scientists at Harbury.

  At this moment, Alwynne couldn’t give a damn about what he preferred to be called. She was only concerned with his ability to blow things up.

  She arrived, breathless, outside his door where a large sign suggested that knocking was a good and healthy idea. She wasn’t about to disagree and gave two sharp raps to the thick wood.

  Within moments, Ringwood peered through the iron grill set into the upper panel. “Yes?”

  “May I enter, Professor?”

  “Good heavens. Lady Harbury. Of course.”

  Grinding and scraping followed, until at last the door swung open.

  “I need your help and I need it now.” Alwynne pushed past him, the time for niceties long gone.

  “Anything at all. You know that, my lady.”

  She paced for a moment, and then turned. “What I am about to ask you to do will probably shock and disturb you. I can only tell you it is vital to the continuation of work here at the Harbury facility. Your work included.”

  Ringwood blinked behind his pince-nez, his red hair shooting out at odd angles where he’d obviously run his hands through it. “My work?”

  “Yes. If this plan of mine fails, and you are the nexus of it, I might add—then Harbury Hall will probably be shut down within the quarter.”

  He squared his shoulders and sucked in his expanding paunch. “How may I contribute to your plan?”

  “I need a very carefully controlled explosion, Doctor. And I need it in no more than an hour and a half.” She stared at him. “Can you do it?”

  He lifted his chin. “Of course.”

  *~~*~~*

  Portia knew that fate had played into her hands to a certain extent. The knowledge that an Inspector from the Lord Lieutenant’s office was going to visit the laboratories sent a wave of excited expectancy over the staff.

  There was much primping, polishing and cleaning, of course, and she was kept busy most of the afternoon. But by a little after four o’clock, she and her peers were told to make themselves scarce while the visitor toured the facility.

  And this was just what Portia had hoped for.

  She was more than willing to bet her anonymity on the supposition that nobody would go down to the seventh level. That no visitor or official or anyone who didn’t have business there, would be encouraged to venture that deep. She’d even heard that some people were told that floor held only storage items and disused equipment.

  Thus she could—with a huge dollop of sheer luck—get down there and see Devon again, in the hopes that together they could conceive of a way to free him. Inspector Burke had told her he was meeting Lady Harbury at five. So she gave herself some leeway and at about a quarter past four she headed for the stairwell and crept down, hoping her assumptions were correct and that she’d be unobserved.

  Luck was with her. And even more fortunate…there was nobody on the seventh level at all. The lights were dimmed again, the doors locked tight and it was eerily silent.

  Again she felt that sense of awareness drawing her to Devon’s door.

  He knew she was there. Of that, she was certain.

  Portia.

  “Yes, I’m here.” She whispered in response to the sound of her name in her mind somewhere. “How are you talking to me? I can hear you but there is no sound. It’s like you’re talking inside my head.”

  Wait.

  She waited.

  Now come to the door.

  She saw him rise like a disembodied head behind the glass, and shivered at the sight. “I’m here. I promised. But I don’t know if I can free you.”

  He leaned his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes.

  I know. But this is the first time in so long I’ve been able to communicate with anyone at all. Even if you can’t help me escape, you’ve given me a gift.

  “I have?”

  He nodded and beckoned. She understood and went on tiptoe to lean her forehead against the place where he touched the window.

  She gasped as her mind filled with thoughts and memories that weren’t her own. She held on to the door handle as scenes, visions, snatches of conversation, people…all flitted through her head like someone turning the handles of those strange kinetoscopes she’d heard about. The ones that made pictures move.

  How long she stood there, she didn’t know, but at the end of whatever it was that happened, she had a pretty good idea of Devon’s current situation, how he got there, and who was to blame.

  She also sensed his burgeoning joy at being able to talk with another human being on a civilized level. That delight made her smile even as the cold glass flattened the skin of her forehead.

  She raised her face and saw the answering warmth in his eyes.

  And lost her heart in that moment.

  But it was the wrong time for such girlish fancies, she knew. First, she had to find some way to free him.

  She leaned against the door again. “How can I disengage that light alarm? Is there any way at all?”

  I don’t know. Not from here. I believe all the doors are linked, and all the lights deactivate together. But where the master control is located, I don’t know.

  Portia immediately felt his frustration. “Hush. I will do my best to find it, Devon. There are only so many places that could house such a powerful central system.”

  He blinked and then widened his eyes at her. You are a scientist?

  She grinned. “Not really. I just keep my eyes and ears open. And I love new things, new devices. Always have.”

  What an amazing young woman. I’m glad your horse decided to run away with you on his back.

  That he should remember made her laugh outright. “Well, I suppose I am as well. Now. Back then I was terrified.”

  I can imagine…

  There was silence, an empty silence, and Portia looked up at Devon, suddenly afraid. “What is it?”

  Something is happening. Portia. Go to the staircase. Get out. Now.

  The extreme urgency of his mental command made her crouch, instinctively reacting to some threat as yet unknown. Then a low rumble began, as if the earth around them was groaning.

  Dust puffed from the ceiling of the passageway in grimy clouds and Portia ran, diving for the stairwell just as a large piece of stone dropped to the floor.

  She hung on to the iron banister, praying that the rivets holding it to the wall would hold, and that the stairwell itself would remain intact.

  All around her the rumbling took its toll and then, as the noise began to subside, she heard the awful sound of men screaming.

  There were a dozen cells and all the doors were locked. Dear God, they could be crushed or even dead.

  Her skin chilled and then she felt the armband, her Jallai, throb violently, reminding her that its power fed on her body’s responses. And right now she was responding to a point that was probably way off the scale.

 
Gritting her teeth, she held out her arm, ripped the sleeve away from the shining bracer and flexed her muscle the way her father had shown her.

  The result was astounding. A small but brilliant beam of red light shot from the tiny gem at the wrist end, and disintegrated a sizeable chunk of debris. Holding back a yip of excitement, Portia carefully made her way to Devon’s cell, blasting any large boulders into breadcrumb sized gravel. When she got there, she rubbed on the window and yelled at the top of her voice, “Devon, stand away from the door if you can.”

  Then she blew out the lock and prayed the alarm system was damaged.

  Miracle of miracles, the door crashed inward and the alarm chirped then died.

  She sucked in an enormous breath filled with dust and grit, then sneezed loudly.

  “God bless you.”

  He was there. In front of her, filthy, grey with powdered stone, but alive and unharmed.

  “Oh my God.” She flew at him and nearly knocked him down. “You’re all right. Oh my God.”

  “Easy there, Portia.” He staggered. “I’m not quite the man I used to be. Your horse could take me with three legs tied behind him.” He held her hand out at arm’s length and looked at the Jallai. “You must tell me of this. It’s amazing.”

  She began to answer, but stopped as a faint rumble reminded her of where they were. “Later. We have to get out of here right now.”

  “I’ll second that.”

  He picked his way over the rubble and followed her as he headed for the stairwell, but then he caught her elbow and stayed her progress. “The others. Can you blow their doors open as well?”

  “Devon,” she glanced around nervously. “I don’t know if there’s time. I have no idea when your gaolers will appear and find you gone. If we’re down here too long…”

  “I can’t leave them, Portia. I just can’t. You don’t know what we’ve been through…”

  The agony in his voice touched her as much as his plea. He’d put his own safety behind those of his fellow prisoners. That told her much about the kind of man she’d rescued.

  She could do no less. With a brief nod, she motioned him behind her and blew out another door. Within five minutes of the initial catastrophe, Portia was leading a trail of seven men up the stairwell to the surface. Four had not survived the collapse of their cells.