Kat on a Hot Tin Airship (Kat Lightfoot Mysteries)

by Sam Stone

  ‘Momma,’ said Orlando. ‘It is my absolute pleasure to present Mrs Lightfoot and her charming daughters, Miss Katherine and Miss Sally.’

  ‘How marvellous!’ said Mrs Pollitt as she swept down the stairs.

  She went straight to Mother and hugged her as though she were an old friend, then she moved onto me and Sally. She stood confused when she came face to face with Pepper.

  ‘Henry never said he had a brother …’ Mrs Pollitt said.

  Orlando took his mother’s arm and explained the situation with Pepper, who gallantly bent over her offered hand and kissed her bejewelled fingers.

  ‘Mr Pepper felt we needed an escort to travel this far from home …’ Mother said.

  ‘Well you are most welcome also Mr Pepper,’ she said smiling at him flirtatiously. ‘We hardly ever see a handsome face around here, that is … none that aren’t related to us!’

  ‘Mrs Pollitt,’ Mother said, ‘it is so kind of you to make us welcome.’

  ‘Call me Big Momma, dear … Everyone else does. But you Mr Pepper can call me Miss Cherie.’

  Big Momma, Cherie Pollitt, offered her arm to Pepper and she and Orlando led the way out through the hallway into a huge drawing room and then out into a large orangery, which had been set with comfortable chairs around a long table. The table was heavily laden with expensive crockery and platters of food. We had obviously arrived just as expected.

  ‘We always eat lunch and breakfast in here,’ Big Momma explained. ‘Dinner will be in the main dining room.’

  We all sat around the table and Orlando held my chair for me as I sat down. He was a perfect gentleman, but I continued to be aware of his peculiar origins. Even though no one around us had given any indication that he was anything other than a normal man.

  ‘You must be all in need of refreshment,’ Big Momma continued. When she sat at the head of the table, she lifted a small bell, rang it once and a scurry of servants appeared from behind a screen. I soon realised that the screen hid a door that led into the kitchens.

  ‘Fetch Big Daddy now will you, chile? Tell him our guests are here,’ she said to one of the servant girls, who curtsied and hurried away.

  Orlando seated himself next to me. Pepper, however, had anticipated this and hurried to the seat on the other side of me before anyone else could occupy it. This was an interesting development, because I had never noticed Pepper behave this way before. Something about Orlando upset him. It was peculiar to have two men vying for my attention like this. It made me feel embarrassed and pleased – even if one of them was just being a protective friend, while the other was a half-demon that under normal circumstances I would have killed on sight.

  ‘Miss Katherine, please let one of the servants take care of that for you,’ Big Momma said, observing how I looked around for a place to stow my reticule.

  I shook my head. ‘That’s fine thank you, Big Momma. I always keep this close.’

  Big Momma frowned and I saw her exchange a glance with Orlando, as though they already knew why I wouldn’t part with my reticule. At that moment a large man, dressed in a white cotton suit, came into the room. ‘It’s hotter than hell in here,’ he said dabbing at his sweaty face with a large handkerchief.

  We were introduced quickly to Big Daddy as he took his seat at the far end of the table and I observed him from the opposite side. Big Daddy conformed to his name in many ways. He appeared to be a jovial and benevolent soul, large in height, and happily overweight: he was a man who knew how to appreciate good food and wine. But his size suited him. He sported a well-groomed moustache, white like his thick head of hair, but he also had a pointed white beard that he smoothed down and massaged with his fingers as he spoke.

  ‘Well, it’s mighty fine to have you folks here. We will be feasting and partying for the next week. So please do enjoy our hospitality, and ask any of the servants for anything you might want.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you, Big Daddy,’ Mother said.

  We exchanged pleasantries with the family and answered questions about our journey, and our home: all polite enquiries that were designed to put us at our ease.

  ‘Where is Henry?’ Mother asked when there was a sufficient lull in the conversation. ‘I thought he would have been here to greet us.’

  ‘You know what newly-weds are like,’ Big Momma said. ‘Henry and Maggie went out earlier for a drive, but just haven’t come back yet. I suspect they will be here by this evening for dinner though. Maggie knows we like our formal dinners here, and of course they are expecting you to have arrived.’

  I was a little disappointed to find Henry absent when he knew we were coming. I had even expected him to meet us at the station and Mother and Sally were so looking forward to seeing him that the delay felt a little cruel and somewhat thoughtless of him. Of course it had been a long time since I had seen my brother. I had always thought him considerate and caring. Now I was beginning to wonder if I would find him much changed. Of course it was likely that he had just become lost in the happiness of being with his new bride, and who could blame him really?

  The servants moved around us in a claustrophobic and confusing bustle as they poured cold wine and fresh water into crystal goblets on the table. Then they filled our plates with cold salmon and crunchy vegetables.

  Mother reached over to Sally and, taking the wine goblet out of her hands before she could drain its contents in one go, pushed a glass of water into her fingers instead. Sally sulked after that, but at least she was quiet while we ate the delicious, fresh food.

  After the somewhat informal lunch we were shown to our rooms by a silent servant girl. She was around fifteen years old, not as tall as Sally, and she was wearing a black dress with white pinafore over the top. Her skin was paler than the other black servants I had seen, if it hadn’t been for the dark, wiry hair peeking out from underneath her hat, I might have taken her for white. Particularly because she also had pale blue eyes.

  We walked up the large staircase and were led to the right side of the house, down into a quiet wing. Windows were opened in the rooms as they aired. I surmised that this part of the house had been used very little in recent years.

  ‘Big Momma and Big Daddy’s rooms are in the opposite wing. But Misser Henry and Miss Maggie are down there,’ said the girl. ‘Miss Sally is to have Miss Maggie’s old room, and Mrs Lightfoot, you is in the room next door. Miss Katherine you is here …’

  The girl, who we learnt was called Milly, opened up a door and showed me into a beautiful room that was decorated in pastel shades. There was a four-poster double bed in the centre against the far right wall. A row of doors ran along the opposite wall, and Milly pointed out that this was all fitted wardrobe space. The drapes were open, and so were the double doors that lead out onto a wide balcony.

  I went outside, only to discover that the balcony passed all the way along the side of house joining up all of the bedrooms.

  ‘This is wonderful,’ Mother said coming out onto the balcony, as a male servant came into my room and placed my bags down on the floor.

  ‘I’ll unpack for you, Miss Katherine,’ said Milly.

  ‘That’s all right, I can manage,’ I said.

  Milly looked at me confused. ‘But Big Momma says I’m to be your personal maid while you here, Miss Katherine.’

  ‘But I don’t need anyone to … wait on me …’ I protested. It was one of those things that the South and the North still disagreed on. But also, I felt to ask Milly to do things for me would make her like a slave again.

  ‘But it’s my job to take care of you,’ Milly said.

  ‘Let her do it, dear,’ Mother said from outside. ‘Like she says, it’s her job.’

  Another two maids appeared leading more male servants with Mother’s, Sally’s and Pepper’s bags which were taken to their allocated rooms and I soon realised that everything in the Pollitt Plantation, despite the initial feeling of informality, all had a routine and a rhythm that each of the servants, and the occupant
s lived by. But I had to remind myself that the servants were employed, and not slaves, which meant then that I could accept Milly’s help. Even so, it felt awkward for me. My family had never been excessively wealthy and we had never had slaves or employed servants to do anything for us. We were used to tending to our own needs.

  I realised though that I might offend Milly more if I rejected her help and so I allowed her to unpack my clothing trunk.

  ‘I’ll take care of this myself,’ I said when Milly offered to take my reticule.

  Milly nodded and returned to the trunk, pulling out the few dresses I had brought, she hung them up in the wardrobe so that the creases would drop out. When she finished she opened another small door that was hidden behind a dressing screen and showed me a large bath tub.

  ‘Would you like this filling, Miss Katherine?’ she asked.

  ‘Now that would be wonderful,’ I said. ‘But Milly, can you just call me Kat? That’s what everyone calls me.’

  ‘Miss Kat, I surely will,’ Milly said.

  ‘No … I meant … just Kat,’ I explained.

  Milly looked at me confused … ‘Yes, Miss Kat. Whatever you like.’

  I realised she didn’t understand I was asking her to treat me as an equal but decided to leave it alone. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and you couldn’t walk into someone else’s house and change how they lived either. I decided it was best to go along with the way things were at Pollitt Plantation for now. After all I didn’t want the family to think we were criticising the way they lived.

  I left Milly to sort out the bath for me and walked down the corridor to see Mother and Sally’s rooms. It turned out they were joined by a door between the rooms and so Sally didn’t feel too worried about sleeping in this huge house alone.

  ‘If only I had a room like this at home,’ Sally said.

  She was sitting at an ornate dressing table while Mother unbraided her hair and began to brush it. Another servant girl was unpacking their cases and Mother now had all of her creams, perfume, brushes and combs laid out on top of the dresser.

  ‘I’d have to work very hard indeed to afford something like this …’ I said.

  ‘Or you could just get married …’ Sally said. ‘To someone like Orlando …’

  ‘Married?’ I laughed. ‘Me?’

  I turned away from Sally and Mother hoping to hide the slight colour that rose again in my cheeks at the mention of Orlando. I explored my feelings. Orlando was nice, but surely I couldn’t feel anything like that about him. Especially with his strange demon heritage. such an interest would go completely against the grain.

  ‘Kat, why is that so funny?’ asked Mother. ‘You’ll have to do it someday …’

  I shook my head and walked away. I was getting a little tired of Mother assuming I was going to be left on the shelf, because I still wasn’t engaged and I was nearly twenty four.

  ‘I had you by the time I was your age,’ she had been fond of pointing out recently.

  But I didn’t agree that I had to get married in order to be happy. In fact most of the marriages I had seen in the last few years appeared to be anything but contented. They all seemed to be about convenience. Or money.

  I wasn’t the sort of girl who romanticised about love, though it was all fine and nice for others to feel that way. I wasn’t romantic at all by nature. Life was too dark, too sinister for me to even consider the possibility of ‘settling down’ to domesticity. Besides, love wasn’t fashionable when it came to commitment. Henry, it seemed, was the exception on that score. Or so his letter had led us to believe.

  I went back to my room, and walked out onto the balcony. Milly and a few other servants were still filling the bath for me and I wanted to stay out of their way because the whole ‘servant’ thing made me feel extremely uncomfortable. Of course, I knew I was an unusual girl for my time, in every way. But generally the society I came from, although service driven, didn’t really need people to cook and clean for them. These were things we did for ourselves, and we were proud of it too. The use of servants was only a status symbol in New York. It applied to those with excessive amounts of money, who could afford bigger houses, gas lighting, and their own stables of horses and carriages.

  I mulled over our differences as I stood on the balcony overlooking the grounds of the plantation. In the distance I could make out the rows of small houses we had passed on the way in. The servants’ homes didn’t seem so bad, and they had what appeared to be their own town on the outskirts of the plantation. I tried to accept the environment for what it was. The Pollitts seemed decent people. I didn’t think there would be any abuse of their staff, because they were, as Isaac had said, all free. Even so, as I looked over the land I felt that prickle in the back of my head that was a sensation I had often respected and responded to. Something wasn’t right here.

  I tried to push away the thought as I enjoyed the warm breeze that floated across the balcony. I had no right to make any assumptions about the place or the people. To the casual observer this was a positive and happy household. The only fly in the ointment was Orlando and this was probably enough to set my nerves on edge. Nephilims were rare. They could also be extremely dangerous. Anything connected to the Darkness could not be trusted.

  ‘I don’t understand what’s wrong?’ a female voice said. ‘I thought you loved me.’

  ‘So did I, once …’ said a male voice and I realised with surprise that it was my brother Henry who was speaking. ‘That was before … Now, I can barely look at you …’

  ‘Henry … why won’t you listen? Why won’t you let me explain?’

  ‘Hush now. We have to play this charade for your family, but that’s all I’ll do.’

  It was later that evening and I slid along the balcony to the room on my right from which the voices issued. The doors were open, and I could hear the sounds of weeping. My heart beat so fast in my chest that I was certain it could be heard. Henry was sitting on a four-poster bed, much like mine, while his wife stood by the door, a silk handkerchief pressed to her eyes as she tried to suppress the quiet sobs that issued from her lips. I had never seen anyone so distraught and I suddenly had to know why.

  My mind cast back to the letter we had received from Henry. It told of his elopement with Margaret Pollitt, and of his great love for her. What on Earth had happened in such a short time to change his feelings towards her?

  I waited for a while listening to her quiet pleading until I could bear it no longer. The last straw was when Maggie sat beside him on the bed and tried to put her arms around him. Henry pushed her away, though it wasn’t rough or cruel, more of a disentangling of himself from her. His face said so much though. There was this strange longing, mingled with disgust as though he was fighting with himself not to give in and hold her.

  I hurried away, back to my own room for fear of being found eavesdropping outside of their door. My heart hurt for Henry, but more for Maggie, who I didn’t even know. I’d never seen such a strange expression on Henry’s face before. It wasn’t like him at all. Something terrible had happened to ruin their happiness, and although I knew it had nothing to do with me, I felt compelled to discover what it was.

  5

  By the time Milly had finished curling my hair and dressing it in a style more suited to a Southern belle than a native New Yorker, nearly everyone else had gathered for pre-dinner drinks in the expansive drawing room. Bathed and now dressed in one of my new ball gowns – a turquoise blue with black lace trim around the low décolletage and short sleeves, especially purchased for the trip to Pollitt Plantation – I followed Milly downstairs.

  The drawing room was full of people. I spotted Big Momma and Big Daddy, over in the farthest corner. Big Daddy was deep in conversation with a beautiful young woman with dark auburn hair, who was wearing a deep purple silk dress with ostentatious jewels draped around her neck. I was wearing a simple paste necklace, which made me feel slightly underdressed, despite the expensive dress I was wearing.

&nb
sp; Big Momma broke away from the small grouping and hurried to greet me.

  ‘Miss Katherine, don’t you just look a picture,’ she said. Then she kissed me on both cheeks. ‘I know someone who is quite taken with you already.’

  She turned me around to face Orlando and I knew that what she said was completely true. Orlando’s face lit up when he saw me, and he put down the glass of sherry he was holding and came forward to take my hand. I briefly wondered if he would find me so intriguing if he knew that I regularly killed demons like him.

  ‘Miss Katherine. You are breathtaking,’ he said.

  ‘Please, I should have said this before, but can you all just call me Kat? That’s what I prefer.’

  ‘Kat?’ Orlando said. ‘I don’t know why, but that does indeed suit you. You are like a cat, with your soft, silent tread. One might even believe you were not of this world.’

  I studied Orlando for a moment, wondering if this charming veneer hid the knowledge of who and what I was.

  ‘Who’s this then?’ said the beautiful brunette appearing at my side. Her expression was serious, and she seemed more than a little put out by Orlando’s flowery praise of what he considered to be my virtues.

  ‘I’m Kat,’ I said bluntly because I didn’t appreciate her scrutiny or the rudeness of her question. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘This is my sister,’ Orlando explained. ‘She can be rather straight speaking sometimes. You’ll learn to excuse her, like the rest of us do.’

  ‘Amelia Pollitt-Beaugard,’ Big Momma explained. ‘Amelia is married to that handsome gentleman right over there. He is Michel Beaugard, of the French Beaugards from Missouri.’

  I looked around to see Amelia’s husband and discovered that he was indeed a handsome man, though some fifteen years or more older than her. He was sophisticated, with dark hair that was going grey just above his ears and his dark brown eyes, one hidden by a monocle, held a warmth that I did not see in the eyes of his wife. The man came over and politely bowed over my hand and whispered a greeting in a deep French accent. His moustache and pointy beard tickled my hand as he pressed his lips to my fingers.