by Anne Renwick
“More,” she gasped. “Again.”
“No,” he said, quickly tugging her corset into place and popping one pearly button after another back through its slot. “Not here.”
He gripped her waist, swinging her onto the floor where her unsteady knees threatened to buckle. She caught at his arm. “That was most informative, but perhaps you ought to have initiated your exploration in a more private location.”
His sultry laugh promised that there was much more to come. “And leave you thinking ship technology dull?”
Heavy footsteps echoed in the room. “Dr. McCullough? Isa?”
~~~
Alec was certain Mr. Guthrie wished to toss him overboard. Truth was, the cold water would have done him good, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions, not a bit. When she’d shrieked in pleasure, the surprise of her unexpected innocence had thrown him off balance, sending rampant need rushing through his veins.
But she was right, they needed a private location. Perhaps aboard a small, turquoise houseboat moored far from civilization. He pushed aside the thought for later as Mr. Guthrie led them to the ship’s wardroom, his back stiff.
Isa’s brother stepped aside, waving his sister inside. He caught Alec’s arm. “She is not for you. Do I make myself clear?”
His affair with Isa was no one’s business but their own. But as Alec didn’t intend to propose marriage, he nodded. Satisfied, Mr. Guthrie released him, then led him into what was—when under Naval command—the officer’s wardroom.
The young man inside took one look at him and snapped his heels together and saluted. “Captain McCullough.”
Alec suppressed a sigh. “Lieutenant Dunnet.” Though he had hoped he wouldn’t be recognized, he’d known it was a possibility.
“You know each other?” Isa’s mouth fell open. “You’re a Naval surgeon?”
Dunnet cleared his throat. “Royal Marines, ma’am.”
“I am,” Alec said. Close enough. Dunnet gave him slight nod, acknowledging that the details of their time spent along the Irish coast were confidential. “Lieutenant Dunnet is an exceptional engineer.”
Lieutenant Dunnet stood a bit taller. “Thank you, Captain McCullough.”
Isa’s brother narrowed his eyes. “Captain McCullough and my sister, Mrs. McQuiston, are investigating a handful of unexplained deaths. Though they specifically asked about disappearances of reliable seamen, their question brought to mind the experience you had when visiting your family this past winter in Ullapool. I wonder if you’d mind sharing?”
“Not at all, sir.” He looked to Alec. “I was out at sea with my father and his men, helping to bring in the daily catch when we spotted a shark’s fin. Common enough except for its size and for the way the sun glinted off its dorsal fin. It circled the boat a few times. We turned for home, but a deckhand jumped into the water.”
“Jumped?” Alec asked, incredulous. To do so in the North Atlantic in the winter months without preparation and equipment was to court death.
Mr. Guthrie gave a curt shake of his head, and Isa dropped her gaze to the floor. Interesting. There was that feeling again. That there was something more she—her brother and now Dunnet—concealed from him.
“Fell, I mean.” Dunnet swallowed, doing his best not to break eye contact. “Caught in the trawling net. We pulled him out, but the experience… unhinged him. Took a couple of fingers of whisky before we could get anything intelligible out of him, and even then he was raving about how the face of a man looked straight out at him from inside the shark’s eye.”
“Inside,” Alec repeated. “As if from a window?”
Dunnet nodded. “I reported the incident to the Department of Cryptobiology. They promised to look into it, but I’m afraid no one took me seriously, sir.”
“I’d like to talk to this man. His name?” Ullapool could be reached by airship within the day.
“I’m afraid you can’t, sir. That night he went missing.”
“Missing?”
“Not just him, but his whole family. Wife and a young daughter. Left everything they owned behind and… disappeared without a trace.”
Chapter Twelve
WHEN IT BECAME CLEAR Mr. Guthrie had no intention of letting Isa leave the shipyard unchaperoned, Alec had taken his leave, promising to call on her later. From the look on her brother’s face, he half-expected the man to post a guard outside the front door of her townhome.
He stopped briefly at home. Long enough to snag a few papers from his brother’s not-so-secret stash, launch another skeet pigeon in his assumed direction and drop in on the tea his mother served her guests. His mistake. Perfect Patsy was among them, her eyelashes batting fast enough to circulate a light breeze about the parlor.
“Are you available this evening?” his mother asked without preamble, looking quite irritated. “There’s a small matter concerning your brother I’d like to discuss.”
Pressing a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek, he snagged a scone. “Quinn?” Had the apple of her eye finally done something to earn her displeasure?
“No, the other one.”
Ah. The other one. Telling, that phrase. Mother only spoke of Logan when it became absolutely unavoidable.
Cait shifted, her back rigid.
Wonderful. That decided it. A conspiracy orchestrated by Cait and Logan was the last thing he wished to become involved in.
He took a step backward. “I’m afraid I’ve a prior commitment.”
“Might I speak with you a moment, brother dearest?” Cait rose from her chair, her eyes narrow. “I’ve been reading the most fascinating monograph about how nematocyst venom degrades the cellular membrane. I have questions.”
The room froze in horror. A woman discussing science. How dare she? It wasn’t the science that bothered Alec, but rather the bloodthirsty methods his sister devised for its use.
“Must run. Meeting with Shaw. But I’ll be certain to answer all of them later.”
Cait’s stare burned twin holes in his back as he made his escape. Was it any wonder he worked such long hours when his home life was fraught with matrimonial traps, conspiracies and poisons?
When he arrived at the Glaister Institute, Shaw waited outside the Department of Cryptobiology. “What’s this about a mysterious fishing expedition you wish to launch?” he asked. “Find something in Davis’s blood?”
“Not yet,” Alec answered. “But I don’t hold all the cards. The minute Logan reappears, I’ll run the program.”
He’d hoped to find a message waiting for him at home, but Logan still hadn’t responded to his many missives. His brother had dragged him into this mess, dropped all kinds of difficulties in his path, then disappeared. As always. It warmed Alec’s heart to envision an entire flock of skeet pigeons swarming Logan when he reappeared.
“In the meantime, I’ve word of a mysterious shark-like creature swimming off our shores.” And as this was not officially linked to the biomech octopus creature, it didn’t yet fall under the umbrella of confidentiality Logan had imposed.
“A megalodon?”
“Could be.” Alec yanked open the door. “At twice the length of a fishing boat, whatever it is could be some two hundred feet long.”
Five feet inside the room, a bored-looking woman wearing dark spectacles in the already dim room looked up from the piles of paperwork stacked chin-high upon her desk and sighed. “Authorized personnel only. If you don’t have a requisition order—”
Alec slapped down the paperwork. Stolen and forged, but he’d been scrawling his brother’s signature for years. “As ordered by Mr. Logan Black.”
“Mr. Black?” The corners of her mouth twitched. “I’ll be right back.”
A certain spring to her step made him wonder— No. He didn’t want to know.
Shaw snickered. “And not one of his women ever talk. What is his trick?”
Tipping his head backward to study the brick arches that spanned the
width of the ceiling, Alec said, “Not a topic we discuss.”
“Oh? Maybe you should. That nurse back in the Fifth Ward—”
“Shut it.”
Shaw only laughed.
The secretary returned a moment later, holding a thick paper folder. Alec reached for it. “Thank—”
She snatched it away, holding it against her chest, a sly grin upon her face. “Will you let Mr. Black know the item he requested has been located?”
Ignoring the awful sounds Shaw made as he choked back his laughter, Alec pulled a punch card from his pocket. Logan would box his ears for this, but anything to make him surface. “Tell him yourself.”
“Thank you,” she purred, tucking the card inside her bodice before at last handing over the file he’d requested.
Across the room, out of earshot, he flipped open the folder and thumbed through a dull record of shark sightings off the western coast. Dull until January. There, it was, an unusual sighting buried among the standard notations.
A large shark-like creature totaling approximately one hundred fifty feet in length, not inconsistent with a hypothetical megalodon. Displays many features suggesting a classification among the elasmobranchii. Unable to determine order. First observation noted 16 January 1885, since spotted repeatedly off the western coast of Scotland. Retreats when approached, making any unique markings impossible to observe. As yet unable to confirm number of individual members of this new species. Investigation ongoing.
He flipped through more pages. The small handful of sightings—none of which contributed additional information—had been made along the western coast of Scotland—from Portree to Ullapool. But Water Skimmers rarely patrolled the outer Hebridean islands.
“You think they finally found a megalodon?” Shaw asked, reading over Alec’s shoulder. He scratched his jaw. “Seems like overexcited cryptozoologists to me. They can’t even decide if the fish is male or female.”
“What if it’s neither?”
“Neither?” Shaw tipped his head. “Explain.”
“Remember the Irish coast and Lieutenant Dunnet?”
“Impossible to forget.” Shaw grinned. “A good man, keen to work with us, but couldn’t handle dirigible work worth a damn.”
“True.” The man had spent the better part of the mission bent over a bucket. “Our paths crossed again today. He sighted the dorsal fin himself and reports another man went overboard. This individual, when fished out of the drink, claims a man was staring out of the creature’s eye.” He snapped the folder shut. “The next day, this man disappears along with his entire family. Rather convenient, is it not, that the only witness can’t tell his tale?”
Shaw stroked his chin, then nodded. “You think there’s only one creature because it’s a submersible, not a living beast, that someone from its crew was sent ashore to kidnap this man?”
“I do.”
“You’re right. I don’t like it,” Shaw said. “But it’s rather thin evidence to launch a fishing expedition.”
Alec ran his fingers through his hair and swore. Was it a long shot, connecting this megalodon with the biomech octopus? A group of people with scars upon their fingers, unique blood characteristics, members of their community disappearing… one returning anemic, with most of the blood drained from his body. Isa was hiding something, and gut instinct told him this was tied to her husband’s research, Roideach and maybe even Davis’s death.
“Going to share, Mac?” Shaw stood with his arms crossed, giving him a look of growing annoyance.
He needed help. Professional, trustworthy help. And he could trust Shaw, trust his team. “What I’m going to tell you goes no further than the team. I’ve been commissioned by the Queen’s agents.”
Hours later, they left Fernsby’s office. It had been a difficult task, convincing Fernsby to bypass standard protocol, especially given Dr. Morgan had yet to clear Alec’s return to the team. In the end, the tenuous link to Davis’s death tipped the argument in their favor. They stepped into the BURR operations room and the team, bent over a nautical chart, looked up with interest.
“Drop everything and pay close attention. I’ve got a fish tale to tell.”
~~~
Loyal to the Finn people but clearly unwilling to elaborate on his connection with a captain in the Royal Marines, Lieutenant Dunnet made himself scarce the moment Captain McCullough left the wardroom.
“He is not a man you should involve yourself with, Isa.” Her brother tugged at his collar. “A Scot investigating Finn deaths brings nothing but trouble.”
“Trouble is already here,” she countered, planting her hands on her hips. “You met him. Do you think he’ll drop this investigation? Not a chance. Better that I’m at his side to inform and guide him, lest he reach absurd conclusions.” He was a man of science, not one to believe humans could alter their form at will.
“You can’t, Isa.” He frowned. “No one knows about us.”
“Please,” she huffed. “They only just pretend.”
“Perhaps on the islands,” he said. “Here in Glasgow, Scottish men are happy to work for me and among our people. Here skill counts above all. Scars are ignored, and it’s a rare Finn who would invite commentary by falling into the water. We’re happy here. We’ve won a place here. But shove our people into the limelight, Isa, and we’re sure to suffer repercussions.”
“Better to let Finn fishermen disappear?” she shot back. “To wash up on shore, their blood drained by some kind of vampiric octopus?” She held back the details, as she’d promised. “You would ignore that to save your business?”
“I would let the elders of our community handle it as they see fit.” His eyes narrowed. “Time to go. My wife is preparing a noon meal to celebrate your return, and you’ll not miss it.”
Danel employed the entire duration of the carriage ride to fill her ears with ominous predictions should she continue her liaison with Captain McCullough.
As if she could so easily walk away from either the burning pleasures of his touch or the fascinating mysteries he presented, both on a personal and academic level. All she wanted to do was to hurry back to her townhome to scour Anton’s study, to hunt for the missing laboratory notebooks. But until she made an appearance among the Finnfolk of the Glasgow community, she would know no peace.
Passing the afternoon with her sister-in-law Livli was not at all a trial for it had been too long. But even as she laughed at the antics of her adorable nieces and nephews as they attempted to keep a feather aloft with puffs of air, an unwelcome knock came at her brother’s door.
Matchmakers. Three of them.
“It’s been too long,” one woman said, shaking her head. “All this nonsense about mourning an entire year. Three months is sufficient, particularly when you’ve yet to fulfill your obligation to have children.” Tongues clucking, they presented Isa with lists and schedules and instructions as to how she must appear and behave when introduced to the next man she would marry.
Livli beamed at Isa, as if she did her widowed sister-in-law a great favor. Most Finn women would have been grateful, and Isa did her best to swallow her ire, if only for Livli’s sake, but she soon made her excuses.
Isa slammed the door behind her and fell backward against it, looking up at the glow of the gently rocking Lucifer lamp. Aether, they’d have her married by next Friday. This was why she’d fled Glasgow. Without a husband, would she be able to reestablish a medical practice here among the Finn? Certainly not while conducting an affair right beneath their very noses. It was becoming harder and harder to imagine a future in Scotland, at least one in which she controlled her own fate. If the University of Glasgow denied her admission once more, she might need to travel to London—or abroad—to train as a physician. Could she bring herself to take such a step?
Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift to thoughts of Alec. In less than five minutes behind the boiler, he’d managed to bring her to an intense state of ar
ousal. She flushed at the memory. Keening at a man’s touch? A few days ago she’d have rolled her eyes at such a suggestion. What could he manage with no interruptions?
Anton had not been an unkind man, but never had their lovemaking—conducted quickly beneath the covers in the dark—ever elicited more than a warm satisfaction. If that. Over time, they’d drifted ever farther apart, his absences from home growing longer, until—their marriage in tatters—she’d finally confronted him. About her failed applications to medical school, his refusal to confide his research discoveries, and her assumption that he’d taken a mistress. Like an exploding boiler, he’d vented what must have been a long-simmering anger.
“Three years!” he’d ranted. “And not the slightest hope of a child.” He’d paced back and forth, stabbing his hands into his hair, tugging at the roots. “I should have followed my instincts. All that garish red hair proclaims your ancestry. Finn and Scot aren’t meant to mix. Damn your uncle and his promises.” Amidst tears and further accusations, he’d stormed from their home.
All that time Isa had believed her husband knew there was no possibility of children, that—during marriage negotiations with her uncle—he had agreed to the temporary use of contraceptives while the newlyweds established their careers. Lies had been told to them both.
The very next day he was dead, his words left behind to forever echo in her mind.
A cold shiver ran down her spine. Anton’s death had been unexpected, but she’d never suspected it was anything but an unfortunate incident. Not until now. Alec had mentioned missing laboratory notebooks, assuming someone at the Glaister Institute had stolen them from his laboratory. Because of Anton’s refusal to share his findings with her, she’d also assumed he kept his notes there. But if he were worried about a colleague stealing his work, might he have brought them home? If his work—their work—was linked to the recent rash of Finn deaths, she needed to know.
Where would he have secreted his laboratory notebooks? Somewhere his wife was unlikely to look but, charged with nearly all the domestic duties, where could that possibly be? The basement. He’d been in charge of maintaining the coal supply, shoveling deliveries from the coal chute into the furnace.
