Echoes of Aether

by Gail B Williams

  Once she had stabilised the back, Amethyst pulled out additional wings to the left and right, these were each only three inches wide, but about an inch thick of boxed brass. Between where these two would have lain when closed was an empty frame, and under that a keyboard. Amethyst tipped up the frame. It had two small rod arms no more than a finger’s width wide, which rested in small grooves in the brass on the wings. When set, this frame sat at a slight inclination to the two box wings, then the keyboard pulled forward to lay more flat then any typewriter keyboard he had ever seen.

  “Quick work.”

  She frowned up at him. “Setting it up?”

  “Making.”

  A small shake of the head sent waves of chestnut cascading through her hair. “I’ve been working on it for over a year, Professor Richards helped with the design and the calibration techniques to ensure that it all worked properly. The only thing I’ve done recently is modify some of the display functionality to work with this, rather than a treated linen sheet.” She caressed the glass tablet.

  Pulling the bow that held the tool wallet closed she spread it on the desk and selected a fine screwdriver, which she put into the workings and rotated.

  “This, by the way, is DMAC, my Desktop Memory and Computational devise.”

  “What happened to the end ‘d’?”

  Her eyes sparkled as she glanced up at him. “To awkward to say.”

  The moment felt so intimate and yet she easily looked away to concentrate again on her work.

  “If you want to help me, could you get one of the aether lamps from those boxes and put on the desk. It’s rather dark in here.”

  He spoke as he moved. “No direct sun.”

  “Well that’s always best with working with unprotected aether.”

  He frowned and looked back at her even as he pried a lid off. “Why?”

  “Well, raw aether can be quite volatile, especially in sunlight.”

  Which didn’t make sense since they harvested aether from the skies. “But-”

  “Before you point out that aether is harvested from the skies and there’s plenty of sun up there, that’s not raw aether, that’s aether ore. Which is why the airships have diesel engines to refine it, which is done in the belly of the refining mechanism, in the dark.”

  He was frowning even as he placed and switched on the lamp. “Conservatory?”

  The lab in 7 Belgravia Square was technically a well-ventilated glass conservatory. Amethyst smiled back, clearly not caught out.

  “That was for letting light in, but don’t forget it’s basically surrounded by the walls of numbers five and nine, so it lets in lots of sunlight, but not much of it is direct. Besides, most of the Professor’s experiments were with refined and power-packed aether, and I think he used that hidden room for any raw aether experiments too.” She shrugged. “There are always ways and means.”

  In a few heartbeats she had the frame out of the mechanism, which was itself hinged so the front of the four sides simply flicked up. With great care, she placed the glass tablet inside the frame and then started working on the several hundred tiny white metal screws to open each and trap one of the wires inside.

  “This is going to take me ages,” she said without looking up. “You’re welcome to stay and watch, but I’m sure you’ll find it really rather boring.”

  Could he get bored watching her? “Never.”

  She stopped, looked up and smiled. Her eyes were an invitation. He swallowed, only the desk between them stopped him stepping towards her.

  “Maker. Go.”

  Chapter 20

  Jenson came down from the rear of the building. At this hour, it seemed unlikely anyone would be up, so he intended to skip breakfast, head straight out and avoid all confrontations. Instead, he was surprised to see Maker leaving the workroom and in one glance catch him out.

  “Jenson.”

  “Maker.” It was odd this, whatever this was, with the two of them. Most people Jenson knew were colleagues, family, suspects, or victims. Of course, there were a few friends in the mix, a very few. But he wasn’t at all sure where Maker sat in that spectrum. Maker had never been a suspect, well, not for more than a split second. He wasn’t a victim, at least not in a way Jenson could do anything about. They didn’t work together, and they certainly weren’t enemies. They weren’t close enough to be friends. Were they? He was sure he had the man’s respect and Maker had his. Did that constitute friendship, or at least the start of one?

  “Breakfast?”

  The invitation was the exact opposite to Jenson’s had planned, yet he found himself agreeing and walking beside Maker to the breakfast room. Places had been set, but the hot plates had yet to be put out. Barrows the butler was overseeing everything, and he stiffly apologised for not being ready.

  “Early.” Maker waved the subject away. “Coffee and toast for us both. Thank you.”

  It always surprised Jenson how generous and easy Maker was with servants. Not that it was surprising treatment from the man, Jenson was just used to seeing the higher born treat servants as worthy of little more than contempt. There again, he tended to get to view their lives at the worst possible moments, so his view was unlikely to be the most rounded.

  Maker took the head of the table, and Jenson sat to his right. Coffee was poured and cream provided. Maker took the cream and offered it once done, but Jenson preferred his first cup of the day black. The rich aromatic liquid was strong and warm and welcome. It had an undisguised bitterness that helped start any day.

  “What was in Russell’s workroom?” Jenson asked.

  “Amethyst.”

  Every time he said that name, Maker gave himself away to those who cared to see it. Jenson wondered if Violet saw it. He didn’t care to dwell on those ideas. “Did Dickens and Blanchard return with her things?”

  Maker nodded.

  “She’ll be happy then.”

  That was very nearly a smile. “Squealed.”

  Jenson didn’t hold back his grin, he could imagine her doing so. Sometimes Amethyst’s youthful exuberance was bound to show through. “She’ll probably bury herself in the work of interpreting those notebooks now.”

  “Probably.”

  It was what she did. Jenson admired the dedication, but sometimes wondered where it came from.

  “Investigations?”

  Jogged out of his thoughts, Jenson took a second to answer. “Good.” He nodded. “The locals clearly had a great deal of respect for Stephen Russell. I only found one grumbler, but I also discovered that he was released from service here on the estate, and lost his tied home because he was, and I quote, ‘a feckless waster who wouldn’t know what a hard day’s work was.’ A lot of them would like to know what really happened to Stephen. There are some wild theories doing the rounds and some of them are not so very pleasant. The local constable did his best to investigate at the time and he’s allowed me to see all the notes and statements he took.”

  “So, you have been well received?”

  “Generally, yes.”

  Maker’s lips twitched as he took a sip of his coffee. “Except?”

  “It would be impolitic of me to answer that.”

  Maker’s eyes shifted to the young man who brought toast and toppings to the table. He thanked the footman and waited until he’d moved away to speak more quietly. “Montgomery?”

  Jenson shrugged. “For a man who agreed to my coming and investigating, he’s not exactly forthcoming. He has a habit of trying to tell me what I can and can’t investigate.”

  “Counterproductive?”

  Jenson smiled. “Usually. I don’t let him divert me. Wild goose chases aren’t my thing.”

  Moving only his eyes, Maker checked the room before he spoke. “Montgomery is keeping secrets.”

  Everyone kept secrets, and lots of them lied, especially to him or people like him, to police officers. Maker kept secrets, though Jenson was beginning to understand some of them. But he wasn’t here to investi
gate Maker’s choices. “Such as?”

  “Still investigating.”

  Jenson controlled his own smile. He could imagine Maker would make a very good inspector if he were able to give himself the chance. “Let me know if you find anything.”

  Even with the lack of an actual smile, Jenson could interpret Maker’s look as happy. Or at least content. Perhaps they were friends after all.

    

  “The Inspector’s taking a very long time to come to an inevitable conclusion.”

  Amethyst took a deep breath and tried not to be annoyed by Violet’s statement.

  “He’s clearly not very good.”

  “This is only his third day here.” Fine bone china couldn’t take too much pressure, so Amethyst put her cup and saucer on a nearby occasional table. That had the added bonus of being one less projectile she was tempted to throw.

  “More than enough time to know that dear Monty is correct.” She waved any objection away as if there could be none.

  “Dear Monty?” Amethyst asked.

  Tipping her chin slightly, Violet tried to look down her nose, but since it wasn’t a big nose, it didn’t have a great impact on Amethyst. “It’s called loyalty.”

  Amethyst hid her hands beneath her skirt to hide the way her fingers were curling as they itched to scratch out the woman’s eyes. She forced her voice to as neutral a tone as she could. “Maker is open to a full and thorough investigation. You’re showing more loyalty to a friend than you are your husband. Seems odd to me.”

  The cold superior air around Violet hardened into a sharp sneer. “Seems odd to me that someone who can’t even get a husband would think they have a right to comment.”

  “Just because you trapped a man into marrying you ‒” She had to ignore the stab on her foot from Great-Aunt Flora’s cane. “‒ doesn’t mean you’re worthy of him.”

  “Dressing a man in finery doesn’t make him a gentleman.”

  Her hands clenched to fists beneath her skirts. “Marrying a gentleman hasn’t made you a lady.”

  “At your age you’d be lucky to get a performing ape you can dress up to marry you.”

  “Not seeing that Jenson’s a good man is just more evidence of your own inadequacies.” This time she had to swallow the grunt of pain at the power of Great-Aunt Flora’s cane.

  “Did you know?” Lady Garrington-Smythe’s voice sliced through the artic atmosphere in the drawing room. She waited until all attention was on her. “We are expecting more guests to join us tomorrow.”

  “No, Mother, I did not know that.”

  Amethyst realised that Bobbie was lying, but she was doing so to keep the conversation running and divert the strain that had exploded between herself and Violet. She forced her shoulders down and released some of the tension. The pain was still reverberating through her foot. She’d love another sip of tea to relieve the dryness of her throat, but she feared her hands were still shaking with the desire to ring Violet’s neck.

  “Who is to join us?” Bobbie asked.

  Chapter 21

  The corset wasn’t that tight – Dickens had been gentle with the ties, so it shaped without constricting to the point of breathlessness. Amethyst shook out the sheer lavender cotton and Dickens made sure that the draped tulle floated exactly as it was meant to, and the gold made the whole dress appear to glow. After a day of endless note input to the DMAC, Amethyst really needed a good, relaxing evening. It was unlikely given that she’d spent the day, as much as anything, avoiding another confrontation with Violet, but that wouldn’t be possible tonight. With the new guests having arrived, Amethyst felt her nervousness was best covered by appearing at the same time as Great-Aunt Flora. She went to the other woman’s door and knocked.

  Denby answered and Amethyst stepped in. Great-Aunt Flora was leaning on her walking cane as she rose from the seat before her mirror. The needlepoint on her black satin gown shimmered as she moved. Onyx beadwork reflected the faceted light and hinted at the intricacies of the design, a walking demonstration of the true craftsman’s art. Or more likely, craftswoman.

  “That gown is breath-taking,” Amethyst sighed. “Truly beautiful. Is it new?”

  “Actually, yes,” Great-Aunt Flora said as she took the younger woman’s offered arm. “First wearing tonight.”

  “Well, you’ll out-do us all.”

  With eyebrows raised, Great-Aunt Flora looked Amethyst up and down. “Seems unlikely. You stay close tonight. My stick doesn’t reach that far.”

  “Far enough.” In truth, far too far, far too often.

  They moved around the balcony over the inner quadrant, towards the top of the stairs. She was proud to be with her Great-Aunt and left safer in the knowledge of the older woman’s protection. A man in full tailored evening dress stepped out of the corridor from where her appointed room was, and it took her a moment to realise that this was Jenson. He looked very suave and sophisticated in the amended attire. It looked like a whole new suit.

  “Seems someone else has a new outfit too.”

  Jenson turned at Great-Aunt Flora’s remark and saw the two ladies. He smiled and offered a rather formal bow.

  “Good evening ladies, you both look marvellous,” he said as they stopped before him, Amethyst offering a small returning curtsy.

  “As do you.” She couldn’t help by smile.

  “Arthur did a wonderful job on the alterations.”

  And not just on the suit. Jenson’s normal centre parting had been brushed to one side. The asymmetry hid some of the grey in his hair and helped make him look younger. She liked the way his moustache curled up over a smile she couldn’t see.

  Great-Aunt Flora cleared her throat. “Well, don’t you think we should be heading down?”

  Jenson blinked, gave a tiny head shake as he offered his arm. “Of course.”

  Amethyst thought for one second that he was offering it to her, but Great-Aunt Flora took the elbow instead. Just as well, she decided as she followed the pair down the stairs. Much better to give Great-Aunt Flora attention and avoid the bite of the cane.

  There was sufficient sound from the drawing room to assure them that that was the place to go. The new arrivals had been noisy from the start, Amethyst had heard them in the workroom, at least until she’d made DMAC do some work. Clearly the noise level was not an aberration. Jenson and Great-Aunt Flora led the way and Amethyst was happy to be out of the immediate firing line as conversation stopped when they appeared.

  Over Great-Aunt Flora’s head, she could see them. There were four additions to the party, and Montgomery introduced each.

  Sir Giles Chalmers. He was of average height and might once have been good looking. His jowls were covered in generous sideburns, though the moustache was nothing to Jenson’s. There was not a grey hair on his head, but the run mark she could still detect on his right temple told Amethyst why. His belly, rounded by age and good food, gave him the look of a large onion on two sticks, with a mouldy silver skin for a head.

  Lady Cynthia Chalmers was quite twice the width of her husband, and shorter even than Great-Aunt Flora. More of a potato and just as stodgy. Wrapped in green velvet she might have been mistaken for an over-ripe savoy cabbage with a radish plonked on top. The red of her hair was no more natural than the brown of her husband’s, though whoever dyed hers hadn’t run the risk of discovery. Her mouth was wide and thickly-lipped, lined with a deep red that would have looked better on a younger woman but made her look like a hyena just out from the feast. The fact that she was already stuffing sweets into that fat mouth only completed the impression.

  Amethyst felt the weight of a gaze on her, and it wasn’t comfortable. It was the gaze of Willemina Chalmers. Amethyst thought that she couldn’t be more than twenty years old, but she was as tall as a reed, and hairier than her father. The shadow showed on the girl’s top lip. Her hair, of natural red, was wild and curly, and there was dark hair even under the red chiffon of the sleeves she was smoothing down, probably as mu
ch to show off the massive diamond ring she wore as anything else. For a moment Amethyst wondered who the girl was engaged to, then she realised the ring was on her right hand.

  At her side was a willow of a girl, younger, eighteen perhaps. This was Charlotte Chalmers. The name, like her sister’s, bothered Amethyst, it wasn’t easy to say why, but neither felt right somehow. As if it was implying something that wasn’t there. Amethyst shook off the feeling, she was being foolish again. Everything about the young woman looked overstretched. Her long face was horse-like, her eyes dark and haughty. Her hair was dull brown and though styled for volume and curl, it just looked like a wig, like what it wanted was to hang limp and straight. Her gown was a clean simple white with a sash of tartan across in rich blues and reds, the tartan fixed by the deep royal blue belt cinched to demonstrate the narrowness of her waist. She was everything her mother wasn’t, and she made Amethyst feel positively fat in comparison.

  They all greeted Great-Aunt Flora, introduced by her full title with grace and favour. ‘Miss’ Forester and ‘Mr’ Jenson didn’t seem to warrant such attention. The family turned back to Lord Montgomery, effectively cutting them out of their understanding of the world. There was chatter, but the only thing Amethyst picked up was a question as to Peterson’s absence.

  Oh, how she hoped no more would be joining them.

  Great-Aunt Flora directed Jenson towards Lady Garrington-Smythe and Edwina. He waited while she sat, then moved away to the side of the room, on hand if needed, but separate. Amethyst went to step that way, but the tap of Great-Aunt Flora’s cane reminded her of her promise, so instead she stood by the arm of the sofa next to her aunt.

  Edwina was partnered by Lovesey, if a couple had limited space, he had squeezed her out of any with his size. He spoke grandly of his own home, his business, his wealth. These were not things that had attracted Edwina to Stephen, and they wouldn’t attract her to Lovesey. It was hard to see what would attract any woman to Lovesey. No, she was being unfair. Lovesey was seeking to impress, and yes, he was arrogant and brusque, but he was a man who had worked hard, he hadn’t come from nowhere, his family had always been middle class, but he had increased their fortune by hard work and clever choices. Take away the bluster and there would still be a man of capability under there. Perhaps she had been unfair to him. She would try harder.