The Odin Inheritance (The Pessarine Chronicles Book 1)

by Victoria L. Scott

  Cora dropped a quick curtsey. “Your ladyship,” she said, her delight obvious. “I am very happy to see you.”

  Aunt Miranda looked from Cora to me, and back to Cora. “Miss Allerton, I believe?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I am pleased to see you as well though I find your joy at my arrival here somewhat unexpected.”

  Cora curtseyed again. “Begging your pardon, your ladyship,” Cora said smoothly, “but I know how Ari enjoys spending time with you. If you don’t mind, I’ll excuse myself to put away our conveyances and head back to my studies so the two of you can have a proper visit.”

  Aunt Miranda inclined her head. “As you wish, child,” she said and watched as Cora skipped back into the house, shutting the door behind her.

  “These modern females,” she tutted, “always in such a hurry.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Quite.”

  Aunt Miranda looked me up and down. I had on my brown bicycling outfit that doubled as my work togs, the high-necked and long-sleeved jacket being perfectly respectable for someone of my age and standing, even if it was a trifle last season. I’d repaired my ripped stockings so the stitching remained hidden in my boots, not wanting to spend money on anything new if I could avoid it. The bloomers, which allowed my calves and boot-clad feet to show, were perhaps not as appropriate. I’d pinned my hair tightly to my head with only one stray curl bouncing on the back of my neck. I never seemed to catch them all when I did my hair myself. I even had a hat—a small brown fascinator with a feather. I wore my riding gloves as well.

  “Ariana, what in the blue blazes are you wearing?” she asked. It was her turn to be surprised. She looked down. “Good Lord – are those your legs?”

  “I was about to take a bicycle ride with Cora,” I said defensively. “I tried that once in full skirts with unpleasant results.” I frowned, remembering. My petticoats stopped the bike’s chain mechanism unexpectedly and I’d flown over the handlebars, tearing the damned skirt. I’d landed face-first in a hedge and it had taken a week for the scrapes on my face to heal.

  “As a result,” I continued, “I wear bloomers and boots so I don’t end up in a heap in a bush.”

  Aunt Miranda, silver-haired and regal, took that information in, her blue eyes sparkling. “Hmmm… yes,” she admitted, “I can see how Newton’s laws and petticoats are somewhat at odds on a bicycle.”

  She indicated her own ensemble, a navy blue silk affair with an impeccably tailored bodice and French bustle skirt, topped off with a matching fascinator, reticule and kid gloves dyed to match. “I dare say this outfit will never do for riding one of those two-wheeled contraptions. Perhaps if I had informed you of my arrival, I could’ve dressed for that sort of riding. Ah, well.”

  It was my turn to raise an eyebrow, imagining my nearly eighty-year-old Great Aunt riding a bicycle. “I do know how to ride one of those things, you know,” she said. “Don’t you give me that look.” I dropped the eyebrow.

  “We will, therefore,” she declared, “have to take a hansom cab.”

  “Hansom cab?” I asked. “Where? Why?”

  “Indeed. You do know what they are and how we can find one?” she asked pragmatically.

  “Well, yes, but—“

  “Capital,” she said and took me by the elbow in a surprisingly strong grip, leading me down the front stairs of my Cambridge women’s residence. “It’s tea time. Let’s go someplace pleasant for tea and you can fill me in on all your college activities.”

  “Oh?” I asked, suspicious. “You came all the way down from Aberdeenshire just to have tea?”

  She stopped our forward progress at the bottom of the stairs. “I came all the way from Aberdeenshire to see you and do a few other things – but that part isn’t important right now. Tea is merely the civilized liquid we shall consume as you explain why you’ve been lying to your parents, Mrs. Guildersleeve and me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I felt my cheeks warm with a blush. It had been a necessary, and I believed successful, deception. Apparently I’d been wrong. How had she found out? I wondered. I knew I hadn’t written her anything in my letters that would reveal what I’d been up to.

  “Ah,” I said, trying to sound unconcerned, hoping it would put my aunt off the scent. “That.”

  Aunt Miranda propelled me forward again. “Yes, child, THAT.” She looked up and down the street. “Which direction is the cab station?”

  “Didn’t you come here in a cab?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” she said. “I walked. More stealthy and healthy that way. Can’t stand fat old ladies. Cab station?”

  I pointed to the left. She steered me in that direction. “Please tell me how is it I hosted you at Brentwood Close twice and in London three times in the past fifteen months, yet I have no memory of these happy encounters?”

  “Erm…” I bleated, “I… um…”

  “You’ll need to do better than that, my dear,” she said sharply. “Always have some sort of reasonable answer prepared when you’re engaged in covert activities. How do you think I’ve managed all these years?”

  “Covert activities?” I asked. “What covert activities?”

  She saw a cab at a distance and waved, managing to get the driver’s attention. He nodded to indicate he understood and urged the horse into a walk toward us.

  “If you needed an alibi, you should have asked me for one,” she continued, slowing our brisk walk to a more leisurely stroll.

  I blinked in surprise. “If I needed a… what?”

  “Keep up, child,” she chided. “An alibi. I am quite capable of creating convincing ones, and I’ve reached such an advanced age that no one dares to contradict or question me.” She sniffed. “It’s one of the few advantages to being an ancient personage. I do like to be useful.”

  The hansom cab reached us. It was well-kept and clean, drawn by a bay horse that was equally well cared for. The driver, a young man with an impressive mustache, tipped his hat at us politely. “Afternoon, yer ladyship,” he said genially. “Where can I take you two young ladies this fine afternoon?”

  Aunt Miranda smiled pleasantly at him. “Where is the best place in Cambridge for tea, my good man?” she asked.

  “My Mary does the afternoon tea at the Old Vicar, m’lady. I find it’s the best to be had for fifty miles or more.”

  “Then the Old Vicar it is,” she responded jovially, “and you are?”

  “They call me Aylmer, m’lady,” he said, then indicated the horse. “This here’s Pip, like in Mr. Dicken’s story, at yer service.”

  “I am Lady Miranda Brentwood,” she said. “What’s the fee to hire you and Pip as my personal conveyance for the next few days?”

  It was Aylmer’s turn to be surprised. “I don’t rightly know, yer ladyship,” he said, “seein’ as you’re the first one who’s asked. I’m new to the cabbie business. Just bought it off me uncle.”

  “Would a pound a day to be at my beck and call serve as appropriate remuneration?”

  That surprised both Aylmer and me. A pound was a remarkable sum for a cabbie’s services, and she was offering him the chance to earn a few in as many days.

  Aylmer, earnest and honest but not a fool, climbed down from the driver’s seat to speak to us on the pavement. “It’s far too much, if I’m honest,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Half that amount would do for each day, yer ladyship, and no mistake.”

  Aunt Miranda looked at me. “He thinks I’m senile for offering him so much,” she whispered. Then she turned her attention back to Aylmer.

  “I can assure you, Aylmer, I’m not off my head and I’m quite able to afford the fee I’ve offered.” She reached into her reticule and pulled out a gold sovereign. “You seem an upstanding fellow with important knowledge of this municipality, and I didn’t bring my own coach for the visit. Therefore, you shall have a pound a day to be at my disposal, and I’ll not pay you a penny less.” She leaned over a bit. “Are those terms acceptable to you?”
r />   He smiled. “If you insist, m’lady. It’d be rude for me to refuse.”

  “A wise man,” Aunt Miranda said. “I trust you’ll use some of your windfall to buy something nice for Mary? A new hat, perhaps?”

  Aylmer beamed. “Oh yes, yer ladyship. My Mary sure does like hats.”

  She stepped closer to the cab and Aylmer smoothly opened the door of the cab for us. We climbed in and sat down. The cab’s interior was a little worn, but clean and well-maintained.

  “Now, Aylmer,” Aunt Miranda said, handing him the money, “that’s for today. I’ll give you another one tomorrow. Take us to the Old Vicar. I’m famished.”

  Aylmer tucked his fee in an interior jacket pocket. “Right away, yer ladyship,” he said, shutting the door. He hopped aboard himself and within four seconds the cab was in motion.

  “You paid him all that money in advance,” I said, settling into my seat and removing my gloves. “He could drop us off at the Old Vicar and not come back.”

  “True, but considering the excellent condition of this cab, Aylmer is a man who’s proud of what he does and very good at it, for all that he’s new to the business. Such a fellow will fulfill his end of the bargain today and come back tomorrow, and the next day and so on until the job is done.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Great Aunt Miranda smiled. “I have a good eye for honest men. Trust me – he’ll not let us down if only because Mary likes hats.” She put her hands primly in her lap. “Now,” she said, focusing her considerable attention on me, “for what nefarious activities do you require an alibi, precisely? It doesn’t involve some fellow your parents would disapprove of, does it? Going out without a chaperone, perhaps? I do like a good ‘clandestine paramour’ story.”

  Shock at the suggestion struck me like a physical blow. “Of course not,” I said, wide-eyed with astonishment. “Why ever would you think something like that?”

  “I wouldn’t,” she said with a shrug, “but I thought I’d better ask, just in case. Obviously I’ve been reading too many lurid novels recently. Bother.” She smiled. “So, if it isn’t an inappropriate gentleman friend, what is it?”

  I chewed a fingernail, uncertain about whether to tell Aunt Miranda the whole truth.

  She smacked my hand from my mouth, and then pulled it toward her so she could get a closer look at my fingers. “Your mother would be the first to point out that ladies do not chew their fingernails, and they certainly don’t have dirt and oil underneath them.”

  “I am a mathematics and sciences student,” I pointed out. “I do… experiments. I just neglected to clean my nails as well as I usually do.”

  My aunt looked decidedly unconvinced as she allowed me to take back possession of my hand. “Mmmm hmmmm…?”

  I stared at my lap. “I’ve been working on some new mechanicals,” I said carefully, feeling my way along. I really wasn’t sure what Aunt Miranda would say if she knew the truth.

  “Like your little dragonflies and Ladies’ Helpers?” she asked. “I hardly think you need to lie about those – even your mother has one of your dragonflies.”

  I was amazed. “She does?”

  “Of course she does. I gave her one. She doesn’t know you made it, of course. Too much like being in trade – she’d never approve.”

  “And you do approve?” I asked, curling my fingers in to hide my dirty nails.

  “I appreciate fine workmanship and devastating cleverness,” she said sharply. “Now, stop hedging. What are these new mechanicals of which you speak?”

  “Navigational instruments.”

  Aunt Miranda furrowed her brow. “Navigation? But Cambridge is essentially land-locked. Are you telling me punts on the Cam need compasses and such like? How odd. Seems to me river navigation is rather straightforward.” She leaned forward and pointed a finger. “You follow the river… or at least that’s what I did on the Yangtze.”

  I shrugged.

  “I see,” she muttered, eyes narrowed as she considered my silence, pulling back her finger and leaning back on the seat. She settled her elegant hands in her lap. “So… your instruments must be for something else. Is it some sort of new device for bicyclists? You are dressed for it.”

  I remained silent.

  “Come now,” my aunt chided. “It’s my intent to be a help, not a hindrance.”

  In for a penny, I thought. “The navigational instruments are for an airship,” I said.

  A pause. “Ah. Is this a functional airship? It flies? In Cambridge?”

  I nodded. “It does.”

  “So when you take off in this airship, you claim to be staying with me? Why?” Aunt Miranda asked.

  I looked at my hands for a moment. “It isn’t exactly an appropriate activity for the daughter of a duke,” I admitted.

  Aunt Miranda leaned back. “Ah. Yes, I can see how your mother would disapprove. ‘Life at risk’ and all that.”

  “Actually, no. It isn’t terribly dangerous. After all, these sorts of technological advancements are for the good of the Empire, even if the people involved are—“

  She held up a hand to stop me. “You protest too much, child. I take it your airship companions are not of the peerage, then?” Aunt Miranda asked.

  I bristled. “They’re good men and women—“

  “I never said they were bad people,” she said, “I just asked if they had titles, which clearly they do not. It isn’t like that matters to me. If they’re friends of yours, I’m sure they’re fine. I’ve never known you to befriend people who were… how shall we say… unworthy of your regard.”

  “But Mother— “

  “—is less understanding of such things. I know. As some people get older, they become more set in their thinking, and that’s certainly the case with your mother. She pays far too much attention to rank, though being a duchess, I suppose that’s understandable.” Aunt Miranda looked out the window as the cab drew to a stop. “My thinking has always been infinitely malleable, so I, thankfully, don’t suffer from that particular affliction of the aged. If only that were true of rheumatism.” She sighed.

  “Let’s go in, get our tea, and you can tell me all about this airship business.” She patted my knee. “All right?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Old Vicar Tea Room, situated in an old vicarage on the Cam, was indeed one of the best tea shops in Cambridge by reputation though I’d not been there before. Mary seated us in a windowed alcove with lace curtains and a view of the garden. After complimenting Mary on her fine choice of husband, Aunt Miranda ordered afternoon tea. We made small talk until the waitress brought the tray with the teapot, teacups and tiered tray with the cucumber sandwiches and scones, complete with butter, clotted cream, and jam.

  I poured the tea, and once we had everything distributed and settled, Aunt Miranda continued her interrogation.

  “So,” she began, her blue eyes dark with interest, “with whom are you engaged in this airship adventuring?”

  I told her about Max, Needle, Griff and Lizzie, my fellow crewmen of the Bosch, how I’d come to know them and eventually join them on the ship. She listened with great interest, not interrupting me even though I talked for a long time. When I finished, she poured herself another cup of tea, clearly thinking about what I’d said.

  “Bosch, eh? Sounds a bit like ‘bosh’ to me. So you fly about in this ship with these people. Where do you go?”

  “Oh, it depends,” I hedged. “Max chooses the destinations.”

  My aunt took a sip of her tea. “What criteria does he use to make his choices? The weather? Access to a landing field?”

  Do I tell her we go to places with pubs where I throw darts to earn extra money? I wondered, thoughts whirling. She might be open to my being friends with common folk—even with floating about in an airship—but gambling in pubs? What would I do if she told Mother?

  “Are you sure your life isn’t in some sort of danger?” she asked, seeing the turmoil of my thoughts echoed on my f
ace.

  “No, Aunt Miranda,” I said, “I’m just afraid you won’t approve, and then you’ll tell Mother.”

  She rolled her eyes. “When have you ever known me to do that?”

  “Never, but—“

  “Young lady, unless you’re hurting yourself or others, or you’re knowingly putting yourself in some sort of danger, I see no reason to tell your mother what you’ve been up to. Besides, if you’re using me to hide your activities from your parents, I deserve the truth.”

  “Erm…”

  Aunt Miranda frowned.

  Best to just plunge right in, I thought. “We fly to different cities and go to pubs,” I said, imagining Mother’s response if she were to find out.

  Miranda’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Oh? I didn’t take you for an ale drinker. How interesting. Seems a bit much for a trip down the pub, but—“

  “I throw darts at the pubs we visit, and we,” I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, “…we encourage the other patrons to make bets on how well I throw.”

  There was a flash in her eyes then: something venerable and crafty with the hint of menace in it, and then it was gone. She set down her cup and looked out at the garden for a full minute before she spoke. I spent that minute convinced she’d tell Mother despite her assurances to the contrary. My heart sank.

  “How do you do,” she asked, “throwing the darts in pubs?”

  “Very well,” I said carefully. “We use the money to help with the upkeep of the airship.” I shrugged. “I never miss.”

  She nodded as if my accuracy was not a surprise to her. “It takes a lot of money to maintain an airship, then?” she asked absently. “I should imagine so. If your clothes are any indication, you’re spending your dress allowance to help fund the endeavor. Your mother will have a fit if she finds out.”