“Me too.”
“Yes. Oh and by the way, the School Board made its decision. They cleared Challender on all counts of misconduct. Can you believe that? The oaf got away scot free.”
“Idiots. He wants shooting. And Derek?”
“Cleared of misconduct, on account of he did keep everyone alive. But they objected strongly to his relationship with me. Hinted that it had been going on well before the Lake District. I don’t know where they got that idea from—Challender’s my guess, or Dorcas Henshall. Derek did kiss me once under the tarp that night. Apparently they would have suspended him for it but they didn’t have enough evidence, and anyway we’re both out of SHG for good. So it’s turned out well.”
“Good news on all counts.”
“Uh-huh. So, we’re on for the engagement, a full tarted-up party at Auric Manor, the works. It’s all happened so quickly I’m expecting whip-lash any second now. Check your neck too, Merry. That’s horrible what’s happened there, and so out-of-the-blue like that. Will the detective let you know when it’s safe to visit Aunt Lily? And Cathy?”
“He said someone will be in touch. And Donnelly will keep tabs on the investigation for me.”
“That’s good. He must come to the engagement party as well. He’s been a treasure.”
“Well, I’ll...I’ll ask him.”
“And you must tell me how your investigation is coming along. So much news, eh? All at once. We McEwans never do anything by halves, do we?”
“I’ll say.”
“Well, it’ll have to be good-night for now, Merry. Derek’s still here. I left him in the other room. We have rather a lot to talk about.”
“Of course. Hey, congratulations, you! We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Yes, let’s. Bye, Merry.”
Meredith waited until her sister had hung up, then whispered, “Farewell, Sonja.”
Over the following days, she saw little of her apartment. It tried to stifle her somehow. Its gloomy twilit funk threatened to slowly and inexorably turn her into a festering zombie spinster. A character in one of Sonja’s penny dreadfuls had ended up that way, unwed and undead, given to stalking and even eating the men who’d turned her down over the years. Well, Meredith was too young to resort to that, but her growing aversion to the domestic, fuelled by glorious hell-for-leather bicycle rides through Vincey Park, along the Thames Embankment, through Hyde Park, and once or twice into the boroughs, left her both exhausted and imbued at the end of each day.
It was also a time for making physical changes, anything that smacked of newness, reinvention. Having her hair cropped to a bob was the first, though the novelty quickly wore off because women weren’t supposed to venture outside without hats. Propriety. The more she observed the corset-centric fashions on parade in the parks, up and down shopping arcades, in every single women’s clothing store without fail, the more absurd it all seemed. It was as though choice itself, rammed down her throat by material society since she’d learned to walk, had been a placebo all along, an illusion. So she began to peruse foreign clothing brochures, not for the fashions, but for the items that caught her eye, made her feel...different...special.
She drew her weekly allowance and spent most of it the same day, on an ankle-length brown leather frock-coat from Germany, a black lace blouse and a pair of tan, tight-fitting, bell-bottom denim trousers from California, riding boots a la Lady Skyhawk, a half-size top hat with a large silver buckle, and the most exciting beige leather gloves with oversized sleeves she could find. Two of everything.
The first time Donnelly saw her in her full get-up, and specifically her denims from the rear when she modelled without her frock-coat, he spat his tobacco onto the grass, in complete shock. He then spent several amusing minutes trying to dissuade her from staying out in public dressed like that. All rather sarcastic and tongue-in-cheek.
The southeast corner of Vincey Park was the most exposed to prying eyes. Trees were scarce except for a line of silver birches accompanying the main path. But it was the flattest, and also the grassiest section, with a large open area popular with picnickers at weekends, perfect for what Donnelly had in mind. For today he was living up to a promise he’d made the first time they’d met, on board the Boadicea. Today he would teach her the art of fly-mech, a popular field sport across the Channel.
“It’s yet to catch on over here.” He unpacked a brass and leather harness from the kit, tested its various straps and spring mechanisms, then motioned it at her midriff. “May I?” Meredith assented, fighting back a hot flush as he delved inside her coat, almost cheek to cheek—his Eau de Cologne mixed with the smell of tobacco was an inspired combination, almost her undoing. He fastened the harness belt around her waist. “If that’s too tight, let me know.”
“No, it’s...just right.” No man had been this close to her before without receiving a smack, and she didn’t want him to move, unless it was to her lips, which she licked in anticipation, in vain. Donnelly was a married man, an honourable man. But damn it, how could a man this enticing and intoxicating be the exclusive property of one woman? It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t fair.
“There you are—all fixed—”
She kissed him as he rose—an unplanned peck on the lips she immediately apologized for. “Oh my God. I didn’t mean to—that was horrid of me. I’m so sorry.”
After a quick moment of surprise, he gave a polite, amused smile. “Not horrid, no. Quite the contrary. If I were ten years younger and didn’t have this...” He held up his wedding finger, caressed the ring, “...I might be a different story. But I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”
“No, of course not. I didn’t mean to—hell, I don’t know what I meant. Can’t we forget it ever happened?”
“Already forgotten.”
That stung more than it reassured, but he was being a gentleman about it, and that had to be that. “So, about this fly-mech...”
“Yes, about the fly-mech. Okay, maybe not quite as disarming as a kiss, but you have to exercise caution whenever you use this apparatus. It’s already been banned in several schools in France because students aren’t just using it for sport, they’re fighting duels, Joute du Cuivre, honest-to-God duels, like in the old days. You see, the greater the spring tension, the faster the projectile will fly—it can get very dangerous.” And he went on to demonstrate, with his own rig, how to use the contraption for the various sports.
In essence it was a kind of spring-loaded catapult for firing different projectiles. When more than one person took part, playing catch with light cork balls worked best, but you had to be fearless as the fly-mech could fling the ball harder than a batsman could hit a six.
First you loaded the projectile into the grooved accelerating barrel, which curved in a rapid S shape around the front of your waist and then onto the length of your arm. You held the end of the barrel in place at arm’s length by gripping a sort of cushioned stock handle.
Cranking the hydraulic spring mechanism on your belt panel decided how much velocity you could generate. To aim, you adjusted the telemetry by raising or lowering your fly arm before you began the cranking. Then the S shape was locked. The rest was about body position. When you were ready to shoot, you gripped the handle located at your hip and pressed the trigger. The jolt of release knocked her off balance until she learned to widen her stance.
You caught the ball with padded leather glove. Donnelly was a good catcher. Meredith? Not so good. But her strength lay in her aim. Straight-shot duelling involved a kind of cat and mouse battle of wits, using obstacles such as trees or bushes to sneak up your opponent and fire at him. The first hit won. Ideally duellists were supposed to wear padded jackets, and use balls that left an undeniable mark—coated with dye, say—but Donnelly had only brought soft balls. He won the first three duels, whereafter Meredith beat him every time, her aim improving dramatically with each shot. She suspected he let her win, but she milked the victories nonetheless.
When it was time
for him to leave, he collapsed her harness and belt and packed them, along with all her fly-mech accessories, into a special wooden valise he’d had inscribed with her initials.
“Thank you. That’s lovely.”
He kissed her cheek with such simple honesty it almost made her cry. She knew it was a farewell kiss, and she couldn’t face losing another treasured person from her life today. “Just remember, safety first,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Good, good. Well then, I’m off. I’ve a new client pestering me six ways from Sunday—the sooner I crack the case, the sooner she stops cracking the whip. Take care of yourself, Meredith.”
“Donnelly?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you call on me sometime? Just to see how I’m getting on? I’d hate for us to be strangers.”
The contents of his own bag clattered as he slung it over his shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that. It’s not every day a private investigator gets out-meddled by his own client, even if she did go and stir up a bleedin’ hornet’s nest. If there’s any further word from Scotland Yard about you-know-what, I’ll be sure to pass that along. And if you ever need my help, for anything, I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
“Look after yourself, Lady Skyhawk. Give my regards to Swanny when you see her.”
“I will. And my best to your family.”
With that they parted. Meredith’s vision misted as she watched him leave.
After wiping her eyes, she went straight back to her apartment to drink as much sherry as she could until she passed out or her world was set to rights again, whichever came first.
She didn’t get that chance. Another gentleman caller was waiting on the front step outside her apartment. He spun a letter in his hands, and leapt to his feet, startled, when he recognised her in her new attire. He’d grown rather dashing since the last time she’d seen him, and was well-groomed to boot.
The gentleman was William Elgin. The letter was from her father.
My dearest Meredith,
Forgive me for not writing to you directly. The official courier channels are being watched, and I would not have my whereabouts known to anyone outside the expedition, save Messrs Sorensen, Elgin, and Tangeni, whom you will by now have guessed I hold in the highest regard. I trust no other to deliver this letter to you, and nor have I disclosed any geographical names in it. Suffice it to say my fellow travellers and I have arrived at our remote destination, though not without considerable hardships—two of our number were killed by natives en route, and a further five have contracted a wicked, though thankfully curable, fever.
There is every indication that our way into Subterranea remains unchanged since the last expedition. If all goes as planned, we shall have begun our descent by the time you read this. It is a most remarkable thing, to be faced by the ancient perils of this vast, unexplored underworld and yet, even as I look upon our light-starved point of ingress, to feel somehow at home. As it was the last time, the closer I venture to the secret I am certain lies deep within, the closer I feel to your mother, whose very essence exists all around me here. If I should find a civilisation in Subterranea, she will have led me there. And if not, I will return until I find it. This I have sworn.
How are you, Meredith? Word has reached me that you’ve moved to London for a spell. I’m glad you’re spreading your wings, my dear, and hope you find it exciting there. But I worry for your safety when the inevitable civil unrest spills on to the streets as a result of several radical political reforms the Leviacrum is said to be pushing through Parliament. You may have heard of them by now. The first is a mandate for military conscription to be effected whenever the powers-that-be deem it warranted, and not, as was previously the case, only during wartime.
Consider the implications of that. Anyone, man or woman, can be called into service at any time, answerable only to whomever is pulling the strings of power. It is the most radical move yet by the Leviacrum Council, which there can be no doubt now controls the empire itself. It will make slaves of us all before it is finished, and its scientific “utopia” will spread to all corners of the globe. I fear Subterranea may soon be the last free realm anywhere, and therefore when the time is right, should I find a hidden civilisation, I will have no choice but to warn it of the danger of intercourse with the world above.
I would not tell you any of this in a letter were my concerns for your safety not urgent. My advice is to return to Southsea as soon as you are able. From there at least you will be able to gauge the happenings in London from a place of safe remove, and take whatever action is necessary to avoid the shockwaves that will surely spread.
Listen to your Aunt Lily; she speaks for me on all matters. Learn from Lady Catarina, who has been a good friend to your mother and I for years, and who knows a great deal more than I about London and its politics. And finally, be supportive of your sister during this important time for her. I like Derek Auric very much from what I’ve seen and heard of him, and whatever happens between them, they have my deepest blessings.
Have you found anyone in London, Meredith? I think of it often, and I’m confident you will find happiness when you least expect it. Somewhere out there is a young man worthy of my lovely eldest daughter. Will he have the courage to declare himself, I wonder?
The sun is starting to set here, and we have to see to the camp’s defences before nightfall. So I must leave you here, with the promise to return home sometime next year. Whatever the outcome of my expedition, seeing my two brave daughters again will have made it all worthwhile.
With love, always—
From Subterranea,
Father
P.S. It is probably best that you destroy this letter after reading, lest unsavoury eyes discover it.
Their taxi made its turn onto Cromwell Road as she refolded the letter after reading it for the third time. She stuffed it in the inside pocket of her coat. London’s Natural History Museum loomed ahead. Though dwarfed by the more popular and newly expanded Science Museum, the NHM held Britain’s most famous exhibit, the giant baryonyx, which was the focus of this month’s gala exhibition. A red carpet laid over the stone steps up to the NHM’s entrance was packed with ticket holders, a few hundred at least, while massive red and brown banners flapping from the upper balcony read, A PREHISTORIC JOURNEY—Brave the Real Perils of the Age of the Dinosaurs. Ticket Holders Only. Parental Caution Advised.
William paid the driver and escorted Meredith to the back of the queue. Wherever she turned, quizzical gazes leeched her rebellious glow until she’d rather they look elsewhere and ignore her bold new apparel altogether. But they didn’t stop looking, and after a while she stopped looking to see who was looking. She engaged William instead, who hadn’t said much since inviting her here from her front step. “Did you know my sister’s engaged to be married?”
“No. No, I didn’t.” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Is it to her teacher—the one from the Steam Fair?”
“It is. Derek Auric’s his name. He recently won a prestigious apprenticeship in the Leviacrum tower.”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
The queue started advancing, so tightly packed that everyone had to take penguin steps or else clip the heels of the person in front. Meredith and William relinquished their tickets at the door and he led her inside, following the course of the carpet but at an appreciable distance from the crowd. He stopped under the windows, where he finally answered her question at a whisper: “I know all about you and Sonja, and what happened to you in the Atlas tunnels the other night.”
She considered him for a moment, his acquaintances, the fact that Father had entrusted him with her letter. “You’re Coalition, aren’t you.”
He disguised his affirmation by nodding up at the flying reptile exhibits, enormous monsters with elongated beaks and wing-spans of about forty feet. A flash of recognition seemed to make him shudder. He looked away. “Welcome aboard, Miss McEwan.”
/> “Don’t be glib. I know very well I was to blame for what happened, and I know they can never forgive me. But are they truly all right—Aunt Lily and Cathy?”
“Safe and both on the mend. They’re both important players in the social scene in London, so the Leviacrum Council has gone to great lengths to look after them. Your aunt’s an absolute master at recruiting new talent, and so is Lady Catarina. They can sniff out a person’s loyalties from across the room, or so I’m told. Which is why they’re never away from social functions.”
“I see. And while they’re ostensibly recruiting talent for the Leviacrum, they’re really creating Coalition agents, spies?”
“Exactly,” he said. “And those agents might not even know they’re Coalition agents. They go about their Leviacrum business, maybe working their way up the hierarchy, and all the while their every move is followed, their telephone conversations recorded, their contacts put under surveillance, etcetera.”
“A grubby little business.”
“Yes, and it works both ways, of course. The Leviacrum has infiltrated the Coalition from the beginning as well. We don’t know how high up they’ve reached. But it’s doubtful they have anyone as successful as your aunt, or Cathy. When you turned up that night, they were guests of the first eight of that particular sect, invited to sit in on the monthly meeting, to discuss recruitment. People like Connorwyle Denton, Sybil Aames, John Patrick Smythe, Ardet Ibn Zishan: all noted high-ups in the Atlas organisation, almost members of Council itself. Now they’re all dead, and Cathy and your aunt had a narrow escape. Your little stunt has had the rats investigating their own maze, trying to figure out how the raiders got in, who told them how to get in. You’re certain no one saw your face?”
Imperial Clock (The Steam Clock Legacy) Page 22
