License Notes
Copyright © 2017 Madeleine D'Este
Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design
Formatting by Deranged Doctor Design
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-9946042-4-8
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table Of Contents
Evangeline and the Alchemist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Evangeline and the Bunyip
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Evangeline and the Spiritualist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Evangeline and the Mysterious Lights
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Evangeline and the Alchemist
Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne
(The Antics of Evangeline Book 1)
Chapter 1
It all started with a rat-a-tat-tat on the Professor's laboratory-workshop door. Evangeline and the Professor looked up from their inventing to see Miss Plockton in the doorway.
"Chief Inspector Pensnett ta see you, sir?" she said.
Evangeline perked up on her stool. A policeman here at 56 Collins Street? Something exciting was surely about to happen.
"Ah, yes. I plum forgot."
Evangeline's father stopped adjusting his new, improved auto-chariot and walked over to the wooden bench, placing his trusty brass screwdriver with the ivory handle down beside neat stacks of brass cogs, wheels and pins. Her father, Professor Montague Caldicott, the pre-eminent horological-engineer in all the Colonies, smoothed down his humongous moustache with his real hand.
"Your lesson is over for today, m'dear. Follow Miss Plockton upstairs and continue with your embroidery."
"But Father..." Evangeline groaned. "I could be of some assistance."
"Police matters are not for the ears of impressionable young ladies. All those dead bodies and smugglers and swarthy criminals. Far too sordid."
"I never get to do anything interesting," Evangeline grumbled as she stowed away her rosewood-handled screwdriver in the pocket of her dress, along with a handful of brass pins. The smaller and more delicate screwdriver was a recent gift from her father, an encouragement to pursue her own inventions.
Evangeline's plain bottle-green day dress, buttoned to the neck, was not the latest fashion but it was better than she had ever imagined in her previous life on the grey foggy streets of London, when her toes poked through holes in her boots. Cold was something she had yet to worry about since she arrived three months ago on the dirigible from Singapore. She wondered whether Melbourne could be anything less than sweltering.
"Out. Out."
The Professor shooed Evangeline and Miss Plockton from the laboratory-workshop, before carefully locking the door behind him.
There was a time when a visit from the police would have frightened Evangeline. She would have hurried to hide her loot, but not today. Today she was a reformed character, setting aside her urchin ways and learning to be a proper young lady. But being good all the time was a bit dull.
Evangeline sulked all the way up the stairs, clumping her feet and dawdling. Her father passed her, continuing up the oriental carpeted hallway into his study, closing the door behind him. The conversation of men was muffled by the closed oak door.
Evangeline loitered in the hallway, waiting for Miss Plockton to drag her into the sitting room to complete her crudely stitched handkerchief. Whilst Evangeline was proficient in many skills, needlecraft was not one of them.
Rather than bustling Evangeline away, Miss Plockton did something curious. Her father's personal secretary produced a large brass key from her pocket and opened the small closet adjoining the Professor's study. The room where all the house linen was stored.
The house on Collins Street, where Evangeline now lived with her new extended family, had many secrets. Built by a gold prospector with some alleged unsavoury tastes, there were many hidden passages and nooks within the walls and floors. Evangeline was yet to be trusted with a set of keys, her attempts to explore the house thoroughly hindered.
Inside the small room smelling of lavender and camphor, Miss Plockton pushed aside a stack of damask curtains, revealing a pencil-sized hole in the wall. An audito-projector, one of the Professor's best-selling patented inventions, appeared from under another stack of bedsheets. Miss Plockton wound the key, placed the brass tube over the hole and the audito-projector sprung into action. The sounds of male voices emerged through the horn, as clear as the Melbourne summer sky outside.
"Eavesdropping, Miss Plockton?" Evangeline gasped.
"On occasion, a secretary needs ta take initiative," Miss Plockton said.
Impressed by Miss Plockton's rebellious act, Evangeline squeezed into the tiny room beside her. There was little room in the linen cupboard with the two women's fulsome skirts.
"Thank you for seeing me, Professor," Pensnett said. His voice was gruff with a tinge of the Black Country.
"My pleasure, Chief Inspector. Anything to help the Constabulary."
"I understand you are responsible for inventing the auto-chariot, sir?"
"Oh, yes. One of my many tinkerings."
"Actually, we've had a
few problems with auto chariots. Reckless young gentlemen racing along Flinders Street."
"Oh, I know nothing about that..."
"Not to worry, sir. I am here for your assistance with another matter entirely. I have rather a curious case on my hands."
Evangeline's skin tingled. She knew there was something exciting in the wind today.
"We have reports of new unusual shipments of gold hitting the market of Melbourne."
"I am a humble horological-engineer, sir. Although I occasionally branch out into other experimentations, I know nothing of rocks and minerals from the ground. Why is this gold 'unusual'?"
"There have been reports of strange activity. It does not behave as gold should. Apparently gold purchased from a reputable merchant in Goldsmiths Lane has blackened. Overnight."
Evangeline heard a familiar clicking sound. It was the brass fingers of her father's clockwork hand. He was probably stroking his proud whiskers as he often did when he pondered.
"Allegedly, on Monday, the gold was bright and yellow, and yesterday, the nuggets looked more like iron. Dull and grey."
"Of course. Alchemy. Fool’s gold."
From her hiding place in the cupboard, Evangeline's eyes widened. But before a gasp of surprise could emerge, Miss Plockton deftly placed a ladylike hand over her mouth. On first inspection, with her tight steely bun and pinched face, Miss Plockton appeared pure hell or high-water Highland Presbyterian, but Evangeline wondered whether she owed some of her efficiency to a touch of the fey.
"We understand you dealt with similar occurrences in London, Professor."
"I assisted the Goldsmiths Guild by developing a device to identify the offending alchemical material. I can't remember whether I brought it with me. I'll have to rummage through my trunks."
"Was the perpetrator apprehended?"
"The device was a success...But alas, we were too late to catch the fiend on that occasion."
Evangeline listened greedily to the details of the Professor's colourful past. Perhaps he was not as boring as he appeared. They had only been reunited for three months, and there was so much she did not know about her long-lost father. She had not even heard the full story of his missing arm. She vowed to grill him at the next available moment.
"Do you have any clues to the identity of this scoundrel, Chief Inspector?"
"Unfortunately not. The heights of the gold rush are over but Melbourne is still a transitory town. It is hard to keep up with all the comings and goings."
"And there is still plenty of money to be made by unscrupulous characters."
"Indeed. I thought I'd come out to the Colonies for a quiet life."
The Chief Inspector and the Professor chuckled.
"Clues are scarce, I'm afraid," Pensnett continued. "When we spoke with the goldsmith in question, he claimed he could not remember the person who sold it to him. The poor fellow was very flustered by his shoddy memory."
"As though his mind had been erased?"
"Quite. He blamed some type of phantasm."
"A ghost? And you believe him?"
"I'm not a man of science. It might sound ridiculous to you..."
"Not entirely..."
"But I have seen enough unexplainable things in my time to keep an open mind. The goldsmith is a reputable businessman."
"Hmm...intriguing."
"And the case gets even more peculiar."
"Do tell."
"The goldsmith surrendered the remaining gold, but when my Constables checked the evidence again this morning, the whole lot had turned grey. Not a speck of gold left."
"Transitory augmentation. How devious."
The linen cupboard door burst open.
"Hallo. What is going on here?"
It was Uncle Augie.
Evangeline and Miss Plockton both blushed red, caught in the ungenteel act of eavesdropping.
"A game of sardines? How fun. Move over." Augie's voice boomed as he pressed his generous frame into the cupboard. Evangeline cried out as a heeled boot squished her delicate toes.
"Uncle Augie. You do have big clod-hoppers."
"Miss Evangeline." Miss Plockton scowled. "Language, please. This is not a fish market."
"Ssh," Augie hissed. "You are both terrible at this game. I would have expected better from you, Miss Plockton."
The door swung open again.
The Professor and Inspector Pensnett stood in the doorway, frowns etched into their foreheads.
"Oh drat. They found us. Squeeze on over, Miss Plockton. We must make room," Augie said.
"What is going on here?" The Professor stood with hands on hips.
"Sardines, my old chum. Join in."
The Professor spied the audito-projector clamped against the wall and roared.
"You have been spying on me."
"Please forgive me, Father..." was all Evangeline could say. Miss Plockton was white as the damask sheets beside her. "I only wanted to..."
"Why is everyone in the linen cupboard?" Uncle Edmund appeared in the hallway, dabbing a handkerchief at his damp forehead, glistening from the outdoor heat. "Is it time for tea?"
"I must be off, Professor," Chief Inspector Pensnett said. "I am grateful for your time and advice."
"Yes. Yes. Let me show you out. Please excuse my impertinent daughter and my secretary. I shall dismiss her at once."
Evangeline gasped again.
"Don't worry, Miss Evangeline. He gives me my notice at least once a week. Usually on Thursdays," Miss Plockton said as she bustled away to fetch the tea.
Evangeline's stomach rumbled loudly. Augie glanced at her, horrified.
"What a beastly noise from a young lady. How can I present you to the Normanbys if your bodily functions speak so loudly?"
"I can't help it," Evangeline retorted.
"You take after your Uncle. Always hungry."
Augie looked fondly over at his best friend. Edmund and Augie had accompanied Evangeline to Melbourne on the long dirigible journey from London to Rome, Rome to Delhi, Delhi to Singapore and then finally Singapore to Melbourne. The Professor's younger brother, Edmund, was an accomplished architect. He was called to Melbourne to design many of the modern sandstone buildings springing up on every street corner, in preparation for the World Exhibition in 1888. Edmund and Augie were constant companions, they shared a room on the dirigible and even had adjoining rooms here in the house.
Augie, or August Beauchamp, wasn't Evangeline's real uncle. He had recently taken over the Prince Albert Theatre on Lonsdale Street and knew all the fashionable people in town. When he wasn't managing the theatrical types of Melbourne, he was Evangeline's strict etiquette master.
A triangle chimed down the wooden hallway.
"Goody. Tea. I'm famished," said Edmund as they all emptied the linen cupboard and traipsed down the hall to the conservatory.
Evangeline smiled to herself. She hoped there would be more talk of the mysterious alchemist over tea. It would be awfully exciting if the Professor would let her help.
Or perhaps she could catch this rascal on her own.
Chapter 2
After three scones with apricot jam and cream, a wedge of seed cake, a raspberry tart and a disdainful look from Augie, Evangeline recalled her table manners. She easily forgot. For the first seventeen years of her life, using the right fish knife had not been a high priority. She sipped on her tea in a manner she hoped was elegant, her little finger extended gracefully.
"So we have an alchemist in our midst? Melbourne is becoming quite the bohemian town," Augie trilled, as he caressed butter and golden apricot jam on a sliver of white bread. As plump as an overstuffed armchair, Augie had the appetite of a bird. "You have a contraption to catch this naughty man?"
"Somewhere in my trunks."
"I shall help you look, Father." Evangeline piped up, excited by the opportunity to rifle through the locked trunks in the laboratory-workshop. Who knew what treasures were hidden amongst her father's discarded wheels and dia
ls, cogs and engines? Perhaps she might find a daguerreotype of her mother as a young lady or a letter from the woman she barely remembered.
"This is not a matter for young ladies. I have not forgotten my disappointment at finding you spying on me. I am considering a suitable punishment."
"It was Miss..." Evangeline started, before Miss Plockton gave her an icy glare over the teapot.
"Spying is frightfully common," Augie said. "It is not at all becoming."
"Leave the poor child alone, Augie. You of all people," Edmund scolded. "Now, tell me more of this alchemist, Monty. How will the police find him?"
Augie cried out.
"Oh Augie, have you bitten your tongue?" Edmund leaned forward, gently touching his friend's arm.
"I heard a tale at the coffee house only this morning. Apparently, there was a particularly powerful session at Madame Zsoldas's salon last week. There was a flurry of wind in the room, like a tornado, completely messing up all the ladies’ coiffures. Mrs Flookburgh-Storth was livid. Then a spirit-presence appeared, clear as day and warned everyone in the room about the arrival of a dark stranger. By all accounts, it was absolutely spine-chilling."
"Poppycock," said Edmund through an ungentrified mouth filled with raspberry tart. "That Zsoldas woman is the presence and everyone's coin purse is a present to her."
Evangeline soaked up every word of gossip and scandal across the table. If she remained quiet, they usually forgot she was in the room and continued talking.
"Ghosts and magic. Who would have thought it under these blue Antipodean skies?" the Professor said. "Now Evangeline. It is time you returned to your lessons with Miss Plockton. You have many years of learning to catch up on. Household management is a mandatory skill for any eligible young lady in the Colonies."
"You are seventeen now, Miss Evangeline," Uncle Augie said. "We need to prepare you to be presented to society."
Evangeline nodded dutifully while grimacing inside. She did not want to be an eligible young lady. Being married off to some bore, or some Boer, was the last thing on her mind. Especially when there were swindling alchemists on the loose. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin.
The Antics of Evangeline: Collection 1: Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne Page 1
