The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1)

by Valentina S. Grub

  “As you can see,” Magnus popped his head under the table as well, “he is a canine of rather unsavoury origins and manners. And be careful- L.B. stands for Leaky Beaker.”

  “Well, I think he’s friendly and charming,” she replied as they both rose above the table top. Edwina and Sebastian could barely wipe the smiles off their faces fast enough.

  As they waited for dinner to be served, Minerva looked across the table at Sebastian and asked,

  “I saw you holding a magazine about animals earlier. Are you interested in them?”

  He smiled shyly at her, his face darkening to show off his freckles further. “Yes, Miss McFlynt. I would like to become a veterinarian someday.”

  “His affinity with animals is quite astounding, Minerva,” added Edwina. “He collects and rehabilitates strays with remarkable results.” As Sebastian turned an even deeper shade of scarlet, Magnus replied,

  “And he’s not the only one.”

  “Magnus!” scolded his mother, but he simply shrugged.

  “What do you mean?” Magnus turned to face Minerva fully.

  “Mother recruited Mrs. Bunsen and Steamins from a brothel.”

  Minerva smiled, but then realized that he wasn’t joking. She looked to her hostess for confirmation as Magnus added,

  “She was a madam and he was the head bouncer. I suppose there isn’t a very great difference between what they did then and now.”

  It was Edwina’s turn to flush, but she said as calmly as she could, “You know that’s quite untrue, dear. They both lead respectful and decent lives that they both find much more…palatable and secure.”

  “My brother, Erasmus,” he continued as if not hearing her, “he’s continued to provide a steady stream of maids, also sourced from East End bordellos. Of course, I’m sure his original interactions with them weren’t so altruistic.”

  Though she should have been scandalized, Minerva couldn’t stop from listening fascinated. It was like an accident that just kept on going.

  “Erasmus- he’s the doctor, correct?” she asked for clarification. Really, there were a lot of Cogspeare sons.

  Sebastian quickly jumped in.

  “Yes. He’s six years my senior. He studied here at St. Belichor’s, though we barely see him since he’s doing a residency up in Edinburgh. His twin, Amadeus, is finishing at Oxford later this year.”

  “And isn’t there another brother at Oxford too?”

  “Did mother tell you that as you were handcuffed together?” commented Magnus.

  “No. She told me that as we were marching outside the Prime Minister’s house.”

  “Heavens,” breathed Edwina, raising her eyes to the ceiling, hoping for divine intervention.

  “Yes!” interjected the pacifist Sebastian, trying valiantly to save the conversation. “Declan, the second eldest, is a don there as well. He does physical engineering. And Quintus, the brother just older than I, he’s there studying maths.”

  Magnus and Minerva had locked angry eyes with each other, but she finally pulled away to smile kindly at Edwina, who was taking a large gulp of wine.

  “It seems that you have some very learned sons, Edwina.”

  She smiled beatifically.

  “Indeed I do.” She looked first at one, then the other present and Magnus had the grace to look a tad shamefaced for his outburst. “They get that from their father.”

  “But you must have shared some part in that…” Edwina waved her hand dismissively.

  “Oh, no, dear. I just run the house and support my men.” But there was something about the gleam in her eye that, just for a moment, made Minerva suspect otherwise of the delicate Irishwoman.

  Just then, L.B. gave a short bark.

  “Oh good,” exclaimed Edwina, “dinner is served.”

  Steamins flung open the door with barely restrained theatricality, and announced, “Dinner is served!”

  He stepped aside to allow first Lily, and two other equally pretty maids carry in silver salvers heaped with steaming dishes. As they set them on the table in front of the four diners, Steamins explained,

  “Monsieur Bongout has realized that you have been through an ordeal, madam, and so has deemed that, though we have an esteemed…guest,” he barely blinked at Minerva, “you shall be served a la Russe. That is, from the table. And,” he swallowed and sniffed as though something putrid was filling the air instead of the heavenly scents that were making them salivate, “if you so deem, you may serve yourselves.”

  “We do indeed, Steamins,” Edwina quickly said. She knew that the fewer people in the room, the better it would be better for Magnus. She could tell that Minerva agitated him. She just couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.

  “Indeed, madam,” Steamins replied in icy tones. “Then, for your dinner Bongout has made:” he pointed to each dish as he listed, “turtle cutlets in a saffron and vermouth cream sauce; trout poached in white sherry with Brussel sprouts; and a beef Napoleon flambéed in Cognac.” He quickly beckoned Lily over with a small dish that was placed in front of Sebastian. “And for you,” he added, “a vegetable pie. Please enjoy your meal.” As he left and they began to serve themselves, Minerva leaned over to Edwina and asked quietly,

  “Is Steamins a man or a woman?”

  “Oh, we don’t ask, dear. Turtle cutlet?” she offered, but Minerva passed.

  The rest of the meal passed quietly, the only conversation being when Sebastian explained to Minerva that he didn’t eat meat or fish, or anything which came from harming an animal. Consequently, Bongout cooked small dishes for him and otherwise avoided him since he thought the particular young man diseased, a kind of culinary leper.

  Edwina then made one last attempt to steer the conversation into more salubrious channels.

  “Very oddly pleasant weather we are having for March, is it not? Quiet a pleasant change from the deluge of the last two weeks. Must be careful with the spesium when that weather comes in.”

  “Indeed! That company should have taken much more care with its miners down in Cornwall- the one that had the explosion a month ago.” Edwina began to nod in agreement to Minerva, but Magnus couldn’t help but cut in.

  “The workers knew the hazards, Miss McFlynt, and the company should hold no responsibility for what nature deems to mete out.” She turned in her chair and looked astonished.

  “It’s a spesium mining company in England,” she emphasized the two words, evidentially trying to appeal to his obligation as the son of spesium’s inventor and as an Englishman. “How can you possibly defend them?” The last word dripped with contempt.

  “Because,” he replied, calmly chewing a piece of trout, “those miners came up with the brilliant idea of suing that company, and I am defending the chairman.”

  “Really?” gasped Sebastian.

  “Magnus! What a wonderful opportunity for you!” but just as quickly as she began to smile at her son, Minerva cut her off.

  “No, Edwina, you don’t understand. That company, and the chairman as head of that company, is at fault. They have to provide protection for their employees or else there would be none left for this dangerous type of work.”

  “Again, Miss McFlynt: they are aware of the risks.”

  “Just because they are aware of the risks doesn’t mean they have the choice to reject them. Those people are in sore need of jobs!” She pushed away her plate.

  “And they have them, Miss McFlynt. And it’s not as though Lord Clinton, the chairman, can psychically predict the weather.”

  “Thank God!” sighed Edwina, bringing a halt to their heated discussion. “Here comes dessert.”

  Magnus and Minerva spent the rest of the meal in a sulky silence, and as they finished the pudding Magnus went to help his mother out of her chair. As they all wandered from the panelled dining room to the drawing room, Steamins came in.

  “Mr. Cogspeare sends his regrets, madam, but he will not be making an appearance until breakfast at the earliest.”

  �
��Oh, dear,” Edwina said, delicately sipping her tea, “And I’m sure that he so wanted to meet you, dear,” she nodded to Minerva. “But once he gets fixated on a project, he follows through immediately.”

  “And single-mindedly,” Magnus murmured. Minerva shot him a questioning look, but he instead finished large serving of Cognac from a cut crystal snifter and rose from his chair.

  “Well, I must be going. Mother,” he went over and bent, giving her hair the merest kiss, bowed to Minerva, and ruffled Sebastian’s hair as he walked out.

  Edwina and Sebastian both let out a sigh, partly of relief, partly of regret.

  “You really must excuse Magnus, Minerva.” Minerva looked over at her hostess with questions reflected in her dark eyes.

  “You see, he’s never been the same since he survived an explosion here at home. Aside from his physical injuries, he’s become much more…”

  “-nervous” Sebastian interjected.

  “-delicate,” Edwina finished.

  Minerva slowly nodded, but then paused. “But why does he practice law if he’s so…nervous, and he won’t work for what’s right?”

  “But he sees the law as right. He can’t seem to differentiate justice from the law, much to my disappointment,” she sighed, this time sadly. “But I also believe that the law gives him some form of structure and order to his life, without which we might lose him entirely.”

  After that, the ladies turned to more friendly forms of conversation, namely clothing, while Sebastian further perused his magazine, absently stroking L.B.

  As they said goodnight sometime later, Edwina impulsively embraced Minerva. Minerva tensed, but then quickly relaxed into the delicate floral scent that enveloped her.

  “I don’t know why Magnus wouldn’t want to come home more often, Edwina. It’s so lovely, comfortable and unusual here!” When she pulled away, Edwina had tears in her eyes.

  “Yes, dear- but that’s the very thing he hates. You see, he blames our eccentricities for his accident- for ruining his life.” Minerva was momentarily taken aback, but then took a hard look into her eyes.

  “He is in control of his own life, Edwina, so he is the only one able to ruin, or save it.” Edwina gave a wan smile, but quietly replied,

  “If only that were true.”

  Chapter 11:

  Magnus arrived back at his rooms in record time. But when he entered the darkened foyer, he remembered that instead of his evening libation of 200 ml of milk and cognac, he was valet-less.

  And as he stood there, contemplating the misery that caring for himself meant, his feet began to feel a little damp.

  Magnus looked down and to his horror, saw that the beautiful carpets covering the hardwood floors of his rooms had become soggy lumps. He waded through the puddles, trying to find source. After a few more paces, his hearing enhancer picked up the sound of gushing water, and he quickly went into the bedroom.

  Here the situation was much worse.

  The water was lapping a good three inches up the sides of the armoire and a few of his cravats floated sinuously around the foot of the bed. He clomped through the water and finally made it into the bathroom.

  The taps on the bathtub were fully open, letting forth a gush of water. He frantically turned them off, and then leaned against the side of the tub.

  “Mr. Cogspeare?” Magnus looked up. A liveried doorman, the night watchman, had followed him in.

  “It looks pretty bad, sir. I shouldn’t recommend staying here tonight.” He took a look around. “And it might take a few more days to set this place to rights. Do you have somewhere else to go, or should I call a hotel?”

  Magnus ran his hand over his hair, taking out his comb and brushing it again, though it was still carved in place from the gel applied earlier. For a moment he entertained the idea of going to a hotel, but the reality of a bed that others had slept in mad him nauseous.

  “No, I have somewhere else to go. Was there any damage to the other rooms below mine?”

  “Don’t think so, sir.” He saw that Magnus was beginning to get emotional, so he began to make a sharpish exit, when he turned around and said,

  “I just checked your spesium supply, sir. All locked up, nice and tight. Thank heavens, because if it weren’t, we’d all be blown to kingdom come.”

  All Magnus could do was nod.

  Chapter 12:

  Driving back to the Cogspeare mansion, Magnus got tangled in the post-theatre and -soiree traffic, which allowed him time to get further tangled in his own thoughts.

  He could, of course, have checked into a fine hotel as the doorman had suggested. And, despite his phobia, he almost jerked the steering shaft in the direction of Brown’s Hotel.

  But then he thought about his mother, his youngest brother, and his absentee father, all under the influence of a very appealing, very confrontational suffragette to keep them company. He quickly steered his steamer towards Mayfair.

  Besides, it was a free room, at least for a few nights. Hopefully his father wouldn’t emerge until he was done with his case. Cornelius had a bad habit of wanting to help his son, mostly on the basis of chemical analogies that confused everyone more than helped.

  Once he drove up the short gravel driveway, he wasn’t terribly surprised to see Steamins, still fully clothed, open the door and grab his bags before he even lowered his goggles.

  “Steamins, are you clairvoyant or do you just hover by the door every hour of the day?”

  “I have had Mrs. Bunsen ready your room, sir, and there is some hot milk waiting for you on your bedside table. Exactly 200 millilitres, if I remember correctly.”

  Magnus nodded, noting that Steamins didn’t bother to reply about his psychic powers.

  As they reached the first floor landing, one of the guest room doors cracked open and Minerva peered out.

  “Back so soon?”

  “Curiosity killed the cat, Miss McFlynt.”

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing my spirit animal is an owl.” With that, she slammed, the door, though quietly, shut.

  Magnus sighed.

  “Was that..?”

  “One of Mrs. Bunsen’s nightgowns, sir. It was deemed that one of Mrs. Cogspeare’s negligees would have been inappropriate.” Magnus shuddered.

  “She needs something decent to wear tomorrow, Steamins. See to it?”

  Steamins nodded; slightly affronted that Magnus would have thought he hadn’t looked into the matter already. “Mrs. Cogspeare instructed me to do so. I believe her trunk is with her great-aunt. It will be delivered first thing.”

  “Breakfast is at the usual time, I trust?” Magnus turned to the butler when they reached his doorway.

  “Indeed, sir. Have a goodnight, and remember to drink your milk while it’s still warm.”

  What was he, five years old?

  Magnus entered his former lair. It was still as impeccably neat as it had always been, from the alphabetized books on the shelves to the pens and pencils arranged by height on the desk. There were no pictures on the walls or any other clutter. It was almost as if he had been a guest in his own room. He finally relaxed.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he downed the milk in one gulp, smacking his lips on the unique taste that evening milk had in Cogspeare household.

  He didn’t even have time to change before he fell limply into the three firm pillows lining the polished headboard. His last thoughts before he slipped into a deep, restful slumber were that, I knew it: Mondays should be obliterated from the week.

  Chapter 13:

  The next day, Magnus rose early, hoping that breakfast would be an exercise in monosyllabic greetings and hearty appetites. But as usual, he was doomed to be disappointed. His father was already there.

  Looking at Cornelius Cogspeare, it was evident where Magnus got his tall, lithe physique. But unlike his son, Cornelius had ruddy skin, unusual in someone who spent most of his days inside a laboratory.

  He was just helping himself to huge portions of bacon,
beans, sausages, tomatoes, potatoes, toast, and five eggs, when he looked up and saw his eldest son.

  “Magnus!” he exclaimed in his friendly, hearty voice, “how are you, my boy?” he smiled widely. His eyes crinkled in the middle of circles left by his goggles, while the rest of his being was caked in soot.

  “Fine, Father, thank you,” Magnus replied primly, reaching around him for two pieces of toast, which he then proceeded to cut evenly and dollop preserves on each piece.

  Cornelius tried not to stare at this newest fad of his son’s, and was rescued from further comment by the entrance of his wife and her young friend, trailed by Sebastian and L.B.

  “Oh, Cornelius! I wanted you to be presentable when you met Minerva, and instead you still have your apron and work clothes on! And your goggles are still on your head too!” she scolded, though without any true vehemence. Cornelius grabbed the smeared goggles off his frazzled blond hair and hid them behind his back self-consciously.

  “Sorry, m’dear. And who might you be?” he quickly turned his focus to Minerva.

  “Minerva McFlynt, sir,” she replied, holding her hand out boldly and already liking the scientist who reminded her of a dirty and rather absentminded Viking.

  “A pleasure, miss. I would shake your hand, but I just emerged from my laboratory, and am rather the worse for wear, don’t you know.” He returned to his plate of food and sat down at the head of the table.

  Magnus had stood up for the ladies’ entrance, but now resumed his seat, sipping tea and concentrating on eating as fast as possible.

  “What are you plans today, dear?” his mother asked as she sat opposite him.

  “Going to the office.”

  “Will you work on the SWSMC case?” Minerva piped up. If any of them had been raised religious, Magnus would then probably have prayed for patience. As it was, he was fresh out of it.