“Sorry, but I just thought that he would be working for the miners. I thought that he was different from all those money-grubbing toffs, that he would see the world and try to fix it from inside the establishment.” He shook his head, weighed down with disappointment and sadness.
“He is different,” Minerva said, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “He just doesn’t know it. After all, how can he not be, with a family like that?” Glyndwr then gave her a shadow of a smile.
“I promise that I will get him to see the light. I’ll even get him to go to Port Prudence and talk with the miners. If nothing else will convince him that he’s defending the wrong party, that will.”
Glyndwr took her hand off his shoulder and pressed the ticket stub into her warm palm. As she turned to go back in the house, he called out,
“But how will you get him to go?” She turned and smiled.
“I’ll just force him to come with me. And I think his mother might be a help with that.”
Chapter 21:
It turned out that it was Cornelius, and not Edwina, who finally pushed Magnus into going to Cornwall.
After Minerva had left the room, a disappointed gloom had fallen over the room like a deflated dirigible. Sebastian, who had been sitting in the window seat, began to idly walk about, while Quintus lit another cigarillo. Magnus kept combing his hair. Finally, he burst out,
“But this is my job! I was hired to defend the SWSMC, not the miners. Doesn’t Clinton deserve a defence just as much as anyone?”
“Yes, dear,” Edwina went to her son, “but you must admit, Clinton could ask for anyone in the firm.” Though it wasn’t something he hadn’t thought of before, hearing his mother question his appointment to the case made his face harden.
“You think they’re using me. You think I’m not as good as I should be, and that they’re manipulating me, dangling a partnership in front of me like a carrot!” He nearly shouted.
“You said it, brother, not us,” Quintus held up his hands.
“Damn you!” just as he was going to lunge for his silly little brother, a large, firm hand grasped his shoulder.
“Magnus,” said Cornelius, his thoughtful eyes boring into his son’s, “will you be able to sleep soundly if you don’t know the full truth of what is going on? How will you be able to do your best in court if you’re in the dark?”
Magnus swallowed. How could he admit to anyone, let alone his famous father, that he lived in the shadows, mostly his own, and that the dark was a rather soothing place in comparison with harsh, messy reality?
“And if I find something that might cause me to have…objections?” Cornelius tilted his head, acknowledging the possibility.
“Then you’ll find a solution, perhaps one equally as beneficial to each side.” Some tension seemed to ease out of his son as he latched onto that possibility.
“And what should I be looking for in Port Prudence, specifically?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Minerva returned, looking determined, “We’ll figure that out on the STEAMer tomorrow.”
“We? Tomorrow?” Sputtered Magnus.
“Yes. There’s a daily train to Cornwall at nine in the morning, and a returning one at five in the afternoon.” She held up the ticket, with the Port Prudence station circled on it. “And I’ll be joining you, just to make sure that you stay on track, so to speak,” she and Quintus shared a smile at her pun.
“Capitol idea,” Cornelius nodded.
“Indeed! I’ll have Monsieur Bongout make up a basket for you two. It will be a veritable picnic,” Edwina quickly hurried away to make the preparations, leaving a trail of fringe in her bustled wake.
The room seemed to re-start, everyone moving, as though this were some quest for Magnus to redeem himself in their meritocratic eyes. Which, of course, it was.
“But isn’t anyone worried about her reputation? Traveling with me? Alone?” To his eternal mortification, Magnus’s voice cracked on the last word.
Quintus clapped him around the shoulders, and despite his brother’s attempts to shake him off, leered, “Only if you promise to be naughty!”
He backed off, going into the dining room to see if Mrs. Bunsen was close to declaring dinner fit to eat, and to ogle to newest maid, Lily.
“Don’t worry, Magnus,” Minerva said kindly, “I’ve already been to jail. There’s no reputation to worry about anymore, except perhaps your own.”
Chapter 22:
A secret he would share with no one was that, in all his twenty-seven years, he had never been out with a woman. Between his unconventional upbringing, his intense years at Steele College and his career, there had just been no time…and Magnus was just a little wary of them, even his mother.
So it was little wonder that he got next to no sleep that night. He paced his room for hours, first clockwise, then counter clockwise. He lost count of how many times he locked his door, readjusted his bedclothes, and reordered his immaculate bookshelves. Finally, he took the bucket of coals and vial of spesium next to the fireplace, put them outside his door, and watched the sun rise sitting in front of a cold fireplace.
“Master Magnus!” exclaimed Lily as she came in to restart the fire. “Whatever is the matter, sir?”
“Nothing,” he replied as he got out of the chair, trying not to let his teeth chatter. “Just thinking.” Lily looked at him warily, fiddling with a stray blond curl that had come undone from her lace cap.
“Can I get you anything?” He shook his head, and she knew well enough to back out of the room, leaving him to dress in a sober grey traveling suit. All too soon he left the sanctuary of his room and went down to breakfast, compulsively combing his hair.
Entering the dining room, he saw that he was not the first to arrive.
“Magnus!” Edwina was at the sideboard, but made to rush to his side when she saw how haggard he looked. He held up his hand, waving her off, and sat down next to Minerva. If they were going to be together for the entire day, he should at least start out by sitting next to her. Then maybe they would talk, and it would be alright. He didn’t feel quite so nervous when they were talking.
“Long night?” she asked, spearing a piece of sausage and delicately nibbling on it.
“Long day ahead of us. Do you really want to come? Each segment of the journey will be two hours, with bad food and provincials.”
“Why, Magnus, I had no idea you were such a snob!” she teased. “And besides, I spent twelve years at a boarding school followed by three years at a women’s hall at Oxford; I am inured to the effects of bad food. In fact,” she put down her napkin and stood, “all the delicious food over the past few days has made me positively indolent.” As she left the room, Quintus came over and shoved a cup of steaming coffee into his brother’s hand.
“Makes one wonder what she would be like on a diet of bread and water, doesn’t it?” He gave a playful shudder. Magnus downed his coffee quickly and automatically stuffed half a piece of toast in his mouth, ready to get on with the day ahead.
As he was putting on his outer clothes in the foyer, Mrs. Bunsen handed Magnus a large basket.
“When Monsieur Bongout heard that you were venturing into the wilds of Cornwall, he began to have palpitations, saying that there’d be no food except seaweed and gin! Or at least, I think that’s what he said. Anyway, he’s made a good hamper for you, dears.”
“Mrs. Bunsen, we’re not going to deepest Africa. It’s just a day trip to the seaside. I’ve even heard that people go there for vacation. I’m sure that they have some fine eating establishments there,” replied Minerva.
“You never know, dears, and if you don’t take the basket, Monsieur Bongout will burn the soup for a week!”
“But that’s blackmail!”
“That’s Bongout,” Magnus interjected as he heaved the hefty hamper.
“That takes care of the bad food then,” Minerva grinned.
“Now, do be careful and make sure to thoroughly interview every
one. And take care of Minerva!” Edwina called out as they stepped outside.
“Try to do something I would do!” Quintus called out, lighting up one of his cigarillos.
Despite the fact that it was well into April, there was still a wet chill in the air. And yet, the breeze also pushed the dirty red smog out of the city, leaving the metropolis clear and its inhabitants invigorated.
Magnus had decided to take a hansom to the train station, making a quick stop at Grimsby and Associates to check in and gather up some papers. Magnus opened the hansom door for Minerva, and gave the grizzled driver perched on top their destination.
“Why are you coming along again?” Magnus wondered aloud as he handed Minerva up into the waiting carriage.
“Think of me as your conscience incarnate,” she replied sweetly, taking the hamper from him as he leveraged himself into the dirty depths of the compartment. He restrained himself from wiping down the grime.
“I had no idea that my conscious was an interfering suffragette in a fetching hat, with a penchant for the law.”
“You have unplumbed depths, Mr. Cogspeare, and a marked eye for millinery.”
The hansom rattled through the morning traffic, through Mayfair and into the City, and allowed its passengers to slowly become accustomed to each other’s close presence. Within half an hour, the driver pulled his horse up before the imposing, modern structure of Grimsby & Associates.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Magnus explained, already half out of the carriage.
He walked up the stairs, rather more quickly than was his usual gait, and barged into his office. Jim jumped out of his chair, so shocked at the rude entrance that his spilled his tea all over the racing section of the Daily Pulse.
“Sir! Good morning! You’re late!” His tea was obviously a chaser for about five cups of coffee.
“Yes, Addison. Now look, I tried to get more information about the SWSMC yesterday and....” he stroked back his hair, “let’s just say that it was unsuccessful. In light of that, I’ll be going to Cornwall to interview the foreman of the mine. What was his name?”
Jim grabbed the one file on his desk and flipped through it quickly.
“Craggs, sir, John Craggs. Here is his address,” he quickly scribbled it down with the pencil that lived behind his ear. Handing the scrap to Magnus, his eyes suddenly became as wide as a pair of personal steamer headlamps.
“Sir..?”
“What? Oh, yes; make sure that all the files from the Ballaster case have been filed downstairs, and tell George Keeling that I won’t be able to meet him for lunch. Ask him if he’ll take notes for me at the von Harper’s case this afternoon because I’m quite interested to see how Fribbstone handles his defence and- oh what is it, Addison?” he bellowed. By this time, Jim was nearly apoplectic, each of his adolescent pimples vying for nervous prominence.
“Sir!” he pointed and Magnus turned around.
Minerva had begun to wander around the room, examining a book here, an open file cabinet there, all with great interest and a penetrating gaze.
“Miss McFlynt, what the devil are you doing up here? I told you to stay in the hansom.” She looked up and smiled ever so sweetly at him.
“That was your first mistake, Mr. Cogspeare. Would you ever command one of your colleagues to stay in a hansom? Never! Then consider me one of your fellow barristers and treat me as such, and the day will go much more smoothly.” She then turned to Jim.
“Since Mr. Cogspeare seems too preoccupied with his temper tantrum, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Minerva McFlynt, and I’ll be accompanying him to Cornwall today. And you are?” she held out her lace gloved hand.
“J-Jim Ad-Addison,” he stuttered, shaking her hand and blushing furiously. “Cornwall?” he gasped. “You and Mr. Cogspeare?!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Magnus muttered, “alright, let’s be off,” he practically had to drag Minerva out the door, tearing her from her first glimpses inside a real barrister’s office.
“But sir!” Addison managed to get out before his boss was out of earshot. “What if Lord Grimsby asks for you? What should I tell him?” Magnus poked his head around the edge of the doorjamb.
“Tell him I’m out doing research and strengthening our case.”
Magnus pulled Minerva down the corridor, and proceeded to chastise her.
“Oh do stop being such a bother, Magnus. I paid the cabbie extra to wait for us, and I was curious to see the interior of a law firm’s offices.”
“Well, let’s just get out of here and-” but just as they began to descend the stairs, Magnus saw Grimsby begin to ascend. He looked up directly at Magnus, and then there was assuredly no escape.
“Ah, Magnus!” said the barrister in a booming voice. “Good morning, good morning. And who is this pretty young thing?” He came up close to them, only a step below, and took Minerva’s hand, kissing it. She was going to pull away when Magnus squeezed her other hand, hard.
“This is, um, Miss McFlynt, Sir Nicodemus. Miss McFlynt, this is Sir Nicodemus Grimsby, the head of the firm.”
“A pleasure, madam. And to what do we owe your visit to us today? Or should I specify to Magnus. I thought, young man, that you were working exclusively on that special case of ours, hmm?”
“I- I am,” he began, but just as he pulled his comb through his hair, Minerva interrupted,
“Indeed, he was just showing me out after introducing me to another one of your brilliant associates.”
“Is this a case I should look into, my dear?” he leered.
“Alas,” she cringed, but made it look as though she were searching for a handkerchief, “it is so delicate and disturbing of a nature that this visit has simply worn me out, and I must be going. I’m sure a gentleman such as yourself will understand,” she practically tittered.
“Of course, of course,” he nodded, and moved aside. Magnus gripped Minerva’s elbow, but just as they reached the bottom of the staircase, Grimsby called out,
“McFlynt…the name rings a bell. Yes, a bell…” Magnus thought that his boss emphasized bell rather sinisterly, but was too preoccupied with their exit to care. Minerva, though, blanched.
“Ah, well, I’m sure that it will come to me. Good day, Miss McFlynt.” He raised his hat and turned.
“I had no idea you were such a good actress, hiding you true pluck from Grimsby like that” Magnus whispered as he continued to pull his now unresisting companion past the reception, out the front door, down the steps, and nearly shoved her up into the hack. He jumped in, knocking on the ceiling to get the cabbie moving, and leaned back, sighing.
“But thank you,” he murmured, opening his eyes. “Somehow, I don’t think that Grimsby would appreciate knowing I was following your hunch all the way to Cornwall today.”
Minerva blinked, forcibly retracting herself from painful memories.
“Acting the twitutant has its advantages, the foremost being that people tend to dismiss one’s actions rather quickly.”
“Twitutant?” Magnus asked.
“What my friends and I call girls who are just out, debutants, and who have barely two thoughts in their perfectly coiffed heads.”
Magnus merely shook his head and smiled as they continued the rest of the journey to the station in silence.
Racketing along Oxford Street, and continuing onto Bayswater, Paddington Station finally came into view. Through swirls of residual smog, sunlight glinted off the tall and elongated glass dome rising between the darkened stone blocks. Having been built in a time that had valued the simplicity of Grecian design some thirty years ago, it stood in stark contrast to its New Brass Movement neighbours.
Their carriage drew up amongst the crowd of other hackneys in front of the station, and, after disembarking and paying, Magnus, with hamper, briefcase and Minerva in tow, entered one of the valves that connected the railway arteries of the city to the rest of the country.
Passing under archways and pushing through crowds of people, they f
inally arrived at the main hub of the station. Above them soared a glass dome, keeping the billowing clouds of steam trapped within. And below, just a few feet away, stood the main platform.
“All aboard!” called a willowy station official in a baggy blue inform with a high collar that held up his oddly round head.
Magnus quickly went forward, but Minerva paused, staring at the STEAMer.
It was one of the newest railcars, one designed to hover over the tracts. Older cars still hung on the rails for dear life, but, with the invention of Issy Rhealm’s magnetic rails, new cars hovered a good two feet off the tracks. Made only possible through the hotter, spesium-enhanced coals, they were officially named Spesium-enhanced Transport Elevated and Accelerated by Magnets, and known as STEAMers.
“Miss McFlynt!” Magnus shouted above the dim from the crowds and trains, “it’s about to leave!” His words jolted her out of her frozen stance, and propelled her next to him as he handed over their tickets.
“Up the stairs and to the right, please,” directed the conductor. Magnus preceded Minerva, who hiked her snowy skirts up to mid-calf and followed him up the steep stairs and into the carriage.
All of the passenger cars were located on the second story, while the engines pumped out the blistering steam beneath them, allowing the cars to hover, as if traveling on a cloud of smoke.
Though the third class cars were dark and only had hard wood benches, Magnus led Minerva into the nearly empty first class carriage. Mirroring the design of the station, the engineers had encased the entire first class carriage in a glass dome so that the views were interrupted only by the steel rods separating the panes of glass. The seats were plush maroon velvet and brass, with intermittent tables made of steel inlaid with copper.
Magnus chose a table, set down the hefty hamper and briefcase with a huff, and lowered himself into a chair, smoothing his hair.
“Is this your first time in a STEAMer?” he inquired politely, wondering at Minerva’s hesitation in the station. She grimaced.
The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
