Chapter Ten
“Right! No, Right!” Alex yelped grabbing the lever and yanking it to the right. The machine made a groaning noise and then swung right, narrowly avoiding the stables. The young officer standing next to her turned a shade of green she had never seen before and spewed at her feet. With a sigh she pulled back on the lever that stopped the forward movement and the contraption slowly clanked to a halt. A hiss of steam sailed into the air from the spout and clouded her view of the barracks for a moment before it dissipated.
The general clapped his hands in delight like a child who had been given a packet of sugar sticks. “Splendid, just splendid! Those savages will not know what hit them!”
His cackles of glee made the hair on the back of Alex’s neck stand up. “Well, we still have some fine tuning to do.” She grimaced at the weak-kneed soldier, “And of course we must find some officers who have the stomach for operating the machine.”
“Minor hurdles. You will teach the men how to operate this machine, but first I want the outside covered in iron to repel ammunition.”
“I can’t work iron, General.”
He scowled at her. “Then tell me who can.”
She sighed. “The blacksmith, Freeman, has always helped my father and I with any molding of materials.”
The general snapped his fingers. “Private Nim, find this Freeman and bring him to me. I want this machine ready to kill by the week’s end.”
“So soon?” Alex wondered out loud. “But it will take my machine weeks to travel across country to the war front.”
“British ships have been spotted two days off the coast, and I want this magnificent contraption ready to make them defile their breeches when they try to take Washington!”
Alex regarded him with suspicion. Why would the British want to wage war on a small hamlet like Washington when England was closer to Boston and the east coast of America? Savages... Had the general really meant the redskins? The English weren’t savages... Something wasn’t right. Frowning, she followed General Madden and the two privates down the ladder. She had to get to the bottom of what was really going on here.
Shielding her eyes from the setting sun she made her way back to her tent. Pausing inside the tent flap she let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The huge mass of canvas seemed so impossibly huge now without the war machine inside. In just a few short days she would be free. A slight breeze made her skin prickle with goose bumps. Turning around she spied Weston standing in the entrance.
He looked over his shoulder at the storm clouds brewing on the horizon. “It looks like rain is coming.”
She nodded and turned back to the emptiness. It hadn’t rained since she moved into the tent. Somehow the idea of sitting alone in the tent during the storm terrified her. “Are you going home now?”
“Yes, I thought maybe you would like to celebrate your success with a glass of champagne first.”
“I don’t know.” She eyed the bottle in his hand, remembering the last time.
An easy grin softened his features. “Just one glass, perhaps?”
“All right, but only one.” She grinned back and made her way to the desk. She sat on one side, he on the other and he popped the cork on the bottle.
After pouring some in each of the two tin cups he set down the bottle and raised his. “To a wonderful invention.”
She raised her cup in return and then took a sip. “Tell me Weston, what exactly is it the general isn’t telling me?” Was she imagining it or did Weston pale at her question? It was hard to tell for sure in the dimness of the tent’s only lantern.
He cleared his throat. “I have no idea what you are referring to.”
“Come on, you and I both know the idea of the British attacking Washington from the sea before a large city like Boston or Philadelphia is absurd.”
Weston set down his glass. “Of course you would think that. That is why women do not fight wars.” He looked down at his fingers and flicked an invisible piece of lint off his sleeve.
Alex smothered a gasp of outrage. Something definitely was sour here and it wasn’t the glass of milk she had with her breakfast. The man she had come to know so well would not have said that, yet he just had. “More champagne, my lord?” He slid his cup across the table and she filled it to the rim. There was one thing she knew, if one plied a man with enough liquor he would eventually tell all his secrets.
* * * *
Two hours and a whole bottle of champagne later, Weston was well in his cups and chirping merry as he regaled her with story after story of his childhood. “And the cook was so fur-furious she banned me from the kitchen fer a ‘ole month.” He hiccupped and then grinned.
Alex forced herself to laugh at his tale. “You were a little devil weren’t you?” He nodded as she favored him with a sweet smile. “So, Weston, tell me about the general’s war strategy against the British.”
“The British?” He let out a loud snort. “The British r’ no threat to the general. It’s the redskins he’s after.”
She leaned closer. “The redskins? What is he up to?”
Weston blinked, his head bobbing drunkenly. “He plans t’ wipe out the redskins and then help the British take over the country.”
Alex gasped. The general had windmills in the head. “How can General Madden think the British are no threat?”
“Cause he’s one of them. An English swine. He figures t’ help ‘em an’ set himself up in a comfortable position in government, live out the rest of ‘is days in comfort.”
The traitorous swine! Alex bit her tongue lest she say what she was thinking out loud. It would serve no purpose to let Weston know her true feelings, even if he was drunk and would most likely not even remember their conversation on the morrow.
Weston sobered momentarily. “The man’s clearly a ha’penny short of a dollar. I’ve been racking my brains trying to think of a way t’ stop ‘em, but he holds all the cards.” He shook his head. “I’d be dead before I made it t’ Philadelphia if I tried to put a stop t’ his plans.”
“Why Philadelphia?”
He shook his head. “General Madden has some dirt on my father.”
Alex leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he found documents provin’ my father was a spy for the English government. He threatened t’ expose the truth. My mother and poor crippled sister would lose everything, including their dignity.” He shook his head. “I cannot do that t’ them, especially t’ little Annie. With her being sickly and confined to a bed, she’ll never find a man t’ look after her.”
Alex gasped out loud.
“That’s not the worst part.” He paused, his eyes clouding with anguish. “He means t’ dispose of you, Alex. As soon as the weapon is ready. I’m going t’ get you out of here though. I ‘ave a plan.” His eyes glossed over just before his head slumped onto the table. His loud drunken snores reverberated in the quiet of the late hour.
Chapter Eleven
Alex paced the tent the whole night, unable to sleep and by morning had still found no solution to her problem. The sun had been up a full hour before Weston stirred from his spot where he had flopped over the desk. The smell of stale liquor hung heavy in the stuffy tent.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes and frowned. “What the devil happened last night?”
“You got drunk, and shamefully so I might add.” Alex cast him a disapproving frown in case he suspected that she had deliberately gotten him soused.
“Really? That is not like me,” he groused looking annoyed and disgruntled.
“I’ll have to take your word for that.”
He pinned her with a miserable stare and rubbed his head making his sleep-tousled salt and pepper hair even messier. “Good Lord, I must have drunk a lot.”
She pointed to the empty bottle lying on its side on the desk. “The whole bottle.”
With a groan he lurched to his feet and rubbed a hand across the shadow of stubble that graced his chin. “I hope I was not a b
lubbering fool.”
“You told me enough.”
His eyes narrowed. “Like?”
She stepped around him and sat in the chair behind the desk. “About your mother, General Madden and his blackmail.”
“Damn!” His explosive denunciation caused them both to cringe.
“There has to be something we can do, but I’ve wracked my brain all night and haven’t come up with a plausible solution yet.”
He was silent for a moment, an unnervingly sorrowful look on his face. “What else did I tell you?”
“Not much other than the fact that Madden is going to get rid of me once the machine is ready and the officers are trained to operate it.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Were you going to tell me that part, or leave me blissfully in the dark until the bullet split my skull?”
“I did not want to frighten you. I would have told you once we got away.” The look of guilt that crossed his face made her unsure whether or not to believe his claim.
Alex sighed. “Yes, about that, you never got to the part about your plan to escape. You passed out before you could enlighten me.”
With a heavy sigh he sat back down. “The only way I can see to get out of this mess is to kidnap the general and steal the war machine. Then we get it to Philadelphia before the rest of the general’s army catches up to us, and force him to confess to his dastardly deeds.”
“Just how do you plan to get him to confess?”
“I do not know.” A small grin rode his lips. “Your plan to get me drunk worked, perhaps we could try that?”
“And then what? Keep him drunk the whole journey to Philadelphia? I hardly think that would work, even if it didn’t kill the man.” She rubbed her temples. “We could always sabotage the machine so it doesn’t work.”
A glimmer of hope lit up Weston’s eyes, but then he shook his head. “No, Madden would just kill you and find someone else to fix the machine.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts trying to think of a solution to their problem. A glimmer of a remembrance sparked in Alex’s mind. She jumped to her feet and hurried over to the stack of crates that held her father’s smaller inventions and notes. After lifting off the lid she rummaged around until she found the file she was looking for and pulled it out. “This might be the answer to our problem.”
Weston frowned. “A piece of paper?”
She set the folder on the desk and flipped it open. “No, but there is something I remember seeing when I was packing up my father’s things that might be the solution we need.” She leafed through the journal of sorts, scanning each entry until she found the one she was looking for toward the back. With a triumphant grin she pulled it out. “This is the design for a mind controlling device my father was working on before he died.”
“A what?”
She sighed. “My father wanted to invent a hat of sorts that could be put on someone’s head and would allow one to control another person’s thoughts, a hypnosis type thing.”
Weston’s brow rose in puzzlement. “Hypnosis? Do you mean like the man who put on the demonstration at the fair last spring, with the watch he swung back and forth and made the woman think she was a chicken each time he clapped his hands?”
“Exactly.” She grinned at him.
He threw up his hands. “You are as simpleminded as Madden.”
Arms akimbo she glared at him. “I am not. My father almost had it working.”
“Almost?” He shook his head.
“He got it to read thoughts, but just never was able to determine how to get it to implant them in the wearer’s head.” She studied the notes sucking her lower lip between her teeth. “I think...if I re-wire this connection... then splice this wire directly to the helmet it will ground it enough to work.”
“Are you actually saying it could work?”
Alex looked up into his shocked gaze. “Yes...at least I think so.”
“How long will it take you to rebuild it?”
“Two, maybe three days.” She frowned, “That is without distraction.”
Weston leaned back in his chair. “We do not have that kind of time.”
She sat down. “Well if I work nights I can still have it done in two days. I’ll need a lot of coffee though.”
“I will try to buy you some time with Madden.” He stood. “We had better get to the dining tent before all the seats are taken.”
“You go ahead. Perhaps you can trick the general into thinking that it was I who overindulged in champagne last night and thereby get me the morning at least free from training the officers to run the machine.” She gave him a slight smile.
His eyes twinkled. “Good idea.”
When he left the tent she returned to reading her father’s notes. Could she trust Weston? She hoped so, because it didn’t seem she had any other choice if she wanted to make it out of here alive. A sliver of doubt worked its way under her skin. Could she get her father’s failed invention to work? She sighed. All she could do was try.
Chapter Twelve
Alex rubbed her sleep deprived eyes and yawned. Blinking she tried to focus on the small wires attached to the helmet. Yawning again she wished she could sleep, even for a few minutes, but there wasn’t time. The general was already annoyed by her failure to emerge from the tent two days earlier, and by his troops’ apparent ineptitude in operating the war machine yesterday. She had to finish this before the sun came up. Glancing out the tent flap she grimaced as she noted the horizon already lightening to a paler shade of blue.
“Anything I can do?” Weston asked holding the lantern closer for better light.
“No.” She turned her attention back to attaching the last two wires. Lord, she prayed, please let this work. It is our only hope.
The sun had cleared the horizon by the time she sat up and stretched her back, stiff from hunching over.
Weston smiled at her. “Is it done?”
She nodded, too tired to speak.
“Will it work?” The desperation in his eyes was not lost on her.
“There’s only one way to find out.” She looked to the open tent flap. “Oh, Private Nim, could you come help me with something for a moment?”
Within seconds the private poked his head into the tent. “Yes, Miss Evans?”
“Would you be a darling and try on this special helmet for me?” Alex asked in a honeyed voice, adding a small eyelash bat to seal the request.
The young man cleared his throat, his face turning an adorable pink. “I was instructed not to enter your tent, miss.”
Weston cleared his throat. “I will vouch for you lad, with me standing here I am sure you will not be accused of anything of a sordid nature.”
Alex stifled her laughter at the idea of anything sordid ever happening with the pimply-faced young private with anyone, especially her.
Nim hesitated for a moment before he stepped cautiously into the tent as if wary of an ambush of lusting ladies. “Yes, Miss Evans.”
“Sit just there and I will put the helmet on for you.” She pointed to the empty chair in front of the desk.
He sat glancing with interest at the odd looking helmet covered in wires, sprockets and other paraphernalia. “What’s it for?”
Frantically Alex searched her mind for a believable explanation. “The men have had such a difficult time learning to control the war machine that I thought perhaps I could invent a helmet the general could use to tell them what to do and when.”
The private’s eyes widened in awe. “So, you will talk and the helmet will relay the words to my ears?”
“Something like that,” Weston said with a sly wink at Alex.
“All right.” The private grinned, obviously pleased to be asked to be the first to try out the piece of equipment.
Alex settled the hat on his head and adjusted the angle so it sat firmly against his temples. “All right, turn it on.”
Weston cranked the hand winder until a small glass orb on
the top of the control box lit up and then pulled out both the knobs. With a whirl the machine vibrated and hummed gently.
The private’s eyes grew wide and he darted an anxious look at Alex. “Is it working? I don’t hear anything.”
She patted his hand. “Don’t worry, everything is fine. Just relax.” When he leaned back in the chair with an uneasy half smile she nodded to Weston. Weston pushed the two knobs back in.
After a few minutes the private’s eyes became glassy and a small trail of drool oozed from his slackened lips. Alex waved a hand in front of his face. Private Nim didn’t even blink. “Can you hear me, Nim?”
Ever so slowly his head moved up and down.
“Stand up,” she commanded.
He rose to his feet, swaying slightly.
“Sit down.”
He sat.
Alex grinned over her shoulder at Weston who stood slack-jawed in awe. “Now write on this piece of paper that Weston here is the handsomest man you have ever seen and sign your name to it.”
He picked up a quill, dripped it in the ink and wrote on the paper for a moment before signing his name with a flourish.
She leaned over, read what he had written and passed it to Weston. Her grin stretched from ear to ear.
Weston looked down at the paper and chuckled as he read, “Lord Weston here is the handsomest man I have ever seen, signed Private Ryan Nim.” “It worked! I cannot believe it actually worked.”
“Shh,” Alex put her fingers to her lips. She motioned for Weston to turn off the machine.
He pulled the knobs back out and the machine’s humming slowly faded away. The private’s eyes cleared as he blinked and wiped his lip on his sleeve. “I still don’t hear nothing, Miss Evans. Maybe your machine is broken.”
“Maybe.” Alex hid her amusement behind her hand with the guise of a sudden coughing fit.
The private lifted the helmet from his head and handed it gingerly back to Alex. “I’m sorry your machine didn’t work, Miss Evans.”
Inventing Love Page 6
