"Excuse me," she said demurely as she rose from her seat.
She moved around the table to embrace the gruff Professor, his wiry whiskers grating against her cheek.
"No need for all that." He flustered. "Don't get any ideas about this alchemist."
"Oh no, Father. I wouldn't dare."
The three men beamed as she closed the door behind her.
Safely in the hallway, Evangeline opened her palm to reveal the key to the Professor's laboratory-workshop. Some of her less than ladylike skills were not easily forgotten.
Chapter 3
Rather than seeking out Miss Plockton for her lesson, Evangeline slipped out of the servant's entrance, through the courtyard and into the laneway behind the house. Holding her nose against the stench, she leapt over pools of rubbish and night soil. The Colonies were upside down, and, although it was January, the air was as hot as an oven. There was an unseemly dampness spreading under Evangeline's arms and down her back, reminding her of the old days.
She landed on the opposite side of the laneway and waltzed through the back gate, where neat rows of white linen blew in the hot wind and a man in a conical bamboo hat squatted beside a pail of water. The man called out something indecipherable and Mei appeared.
"Here she is," Mei said. "Gracin' us with your presence?"
"The Professor is keen on lessons at the moment." Evangeline flopped down on a basket filled with linen, her skirts puffing around her. "He seems obsessed with useless topics like needlecraft this week."
"You could come work 'ere for me and darn some socks."
"Not likely."
Mei tossed a bundle at Evangeline. She caught the package and hid behind a billowing white sheet to remove her heavy skirts.
Out of her frock and into a red Chinese jacket and trousers, Evangeline was ready for her own lesson with Mei.
A few weeks after her arrival at 56 Collins Street, Evangeline escaped into the laneway to practice her cartwheels, unobserved. After a few twirls on the cobblestones, Evangeline saw a petite Oriental girl her own age, leaning against the back fence with a smirk. Without a word, the girl sprung into the air, landing on the fence like a cat. Evangeline stared open mouthed with admiration. Tumbling was her forte, she always struggled with aerial feats.
"Teach me," she said.
Mei and Evangeline had been friends ever since.
On occasion, the Professor could be quite modern. He approved of Evangeline's friendship with Mei.
"Admirable race, the Chinese," he would say. "Extremely advanced in their science. Just got a bit lost in recent times but some remarkable inventions. I am positive, they will get back on their feet soon."
The Professor approved of matters which broadened Evangeline's horizons in the sciences and the arts. Evangeline failed to mention her lessons from her friend down the lane were in the fighting arts.
Evangeline made the first move.
Her bare foot thrust outwards on an angle, destined for Mei's solar plexus. Mei swiftly blocked the kick with a swiping elbow and followed through with a punch at Evangeline's delicate jawline.
Evangeline ducked with a deep curtsey, avoiding Mei's fist and retaliating with a sweeping kick.
"You've got to be quicker than that," Mei said as she leapt in the air, her waist length black plait swinging like a whip behind her.
The man in the courtyard stopped scrubbing to admire the two young ladies pirouetting and exchanging blows across the cobblestones.
Evangeline narrowed her eyes.
Mei advanced.
A flurry of left and right strikes followed by uppercut jabs pushed Evangeline backwards.
Evangeline flipped into the air, cartwheeling three times before landing behind Mei and finishing with a sharp kick to the back of her knee.
Mei groaned as her knee gave way.
"Who's too slow now?" Evangeline said with a smirk, before steadying back into a defensive stance.
Mei said nothing. Her face was calm. Evangeline should have known she was in trouble.
Suddenly, Mei flew through the air like a gust of hot wind. Both feet ramming Evangeline in the stomach, shoving her backwards onto the linen-filled wicker basket.
"Don't get too cocky," Mei said, smoothing a stray hair from her face.
"Bloody 'ell," Evangeline wheezed.
"Oh, my," Mei said. "What language from a cultured young lady."
Like an overturned turtle, Evangeline struggled to her feet with an unrefined grunt.
"Tea?" Mei said, reaching out her hand to her friend.
"Giving in?" Evangeline replied.
"Not likely, circus girl," Mei said. "I thought you might be fryin' in this 'eat."
"I am perfectly comfortable," Evangeline said as a drip of perspiration rolled down her nose.
"I could kill a cup of tea, meself."
"Well, if you are surrendering. I shall join you."
Evangeline grinned and followed Mei into the back of the Chinese laundry, which doubled as both shop and Mei's home. Like many of his countrymen, Mei's father came to Australia for the gold rush but never went home again. Mei was Melbourne born and bred.
The narrow hallways were piled with clean white sheets, smelling of soap and starch. The dust storms of recent weeks turned every sheet across Melbourne a reddish brown, and had been a boon for the Fang family. Evangeline followed Mei through the house to the boiling room.
Mei poured a boiling kettle into a white teapot, decorated with exotic Chinese script, spooning heaped teaspoons of fragrant brown leaves inside. Evangeline grabbed two cups without handles and the two girls headed further inside the house to escape the heat. The house was plain, without the flourishes of the Professor's home. Uncarpeted floors and plain walls, bare apart from a golden shrine in the corner of the sitting room
"I have an idea," Evangeline said.
Mei rolled her eyes as she poured tea into a cup with a sweeping arc.
"A policeman came to visit my father. Apparently there's a magician causing havoc in Melbourne. Making fake gold and swindling people."
Mei raised a black eyebrow and nodded appreciatively.
Evangeline took a ladylike sip from the tea cup, remembering to hold up her pinkie finger. Uncle Augie would be proud.
"Alchemy?" Mei asked.
"You know about alchemy?"
"We invented it."
Evangeline screwed up her face in disbelief.
"You say that about everything."
"We did invent everything."
"If I remember correctly, you have some goldsmiths as customers?"
"The Harts." Mei nodded.
"Will you introduce me?"
"And ask if they have been visited by a magician?" Mei pulled an unbecoming face.
"You doubt my abilities to charm men? I am quite the conversationalist. I can talk all about watercolours and how to do a Double Algerian Stitch. Or even about how to keep a ledger of your accounts with the general store."
"Your fingers are quicker than your tongue."
Mei was right. Evangeline's years as a pickpocket on the streets of London had trained her fingers but her stepfather had the honeyed words. But there was no need for persuasion when Evangeline slipped her hand inside a lady's purse or a gentleman's jacket.
"Please? Take me to the Harts," Evangeline said with big eyes. "You know them already. They will be caught off-guard and tell us everything that happened. I am sure of it."
Mei rolled her eyes again before slurping heartily from her cup.
"What's in it for me?"
"A sense of community pride? Assisting with a police investigation and bringing criminals to justice?"
"Pfft."
"Doing good for your fellow man?"
Mei shrugged.
"I'll take you to Faversham's House of Tea afterwards for cake."
"You're on."
"But you will need to dress appropriately."
Mei groaned.
"I know. I hate bustles
as much as you do. But we must look the part of trustworthy young ladies. It is all part of the plan."
There was a knock at the door and a rustle of activity, Miss Plockton appeared in the doorway with her parasol folded in her hand.
"Good afternoon Miss Fang. Sorry to interrupt your tea," she said, her face crimson from the heat. "Evangeline Caldicott! What are you wearing? Come home right this instant. The Professor is in quite a state. He has misplaced the key to his laboratory-workshop."
The key was, of course, carefully squirrelled away in Evangeline's pocket. She scolded herself, she should have headed downstairs immediately rather than taking a detour to visit Mei. Now where would Evangeline locate the last remaining materials she needed for her secret invention?
"I'll help him look," Evangeline said, ducking aside to change back into her cumbersome day dress.
As she fastened the buttons on her bodice and planned tomorrow's visit to the goldsmith, Evangeline grinned with excitement.
Cake and capturing a magician. What could be more delightful?
Chapter 4
Miss Plockton marched Evangeline home. The sun was dipping low in the sky yet the heat was intensifying. One of Melbourne's many quirks was the heat peaking at the end of the day.
An auto-chariot roared down Exhibition Street and the traffic bustled with penny farthings, hansom cabs and a rattling modern steam tram. A telegraph kiosk sat on the corner, a top-hatted man tapped away furiously in Morse code. Evangeline strained her ears towards the kiosk, making out the words 'pudding' and 'elbow'. Morse Code was a skill Evangeline picked up on the dull dirigible journeys from London to Melbourne. The Captain, a rather modern gentleman, had taken a liking to Evangeline. He said Morse Code was a necessary element in the education of any practical minded young person. It had turned out to be quite the handy skill.
"You mustn't walk around by yourself, Miss Evangeline," Miss Plockton scolded. "It's not becoming for a young lady."
"No one saw me," Evangeline replied, as two young men strolled past and tipped their hats. One of the men had the most magnificently manicured moustache and dancing blue eyes. Evangeline hid her smile under her hand and worried about the state of her coiffure.
Miss Plockton tutted loudly.
"Yes, Miss Evangeline. You are practically invisible."
"I am only being polite, Miss Plockton. Would you prefer I was rude to the gentlemen?"
Miss Plockton continued to simmer with disapproval until they reached the iron railings of 56 Collins Street and opened the large oak door.
"There you are." The Professor was pacing up and down the hallway. "What took you so long?"
"Apologies, Professor," Miss Plockton said meekly.
"Are there any scones left?" Evangeline felt a little peckish after her bout with Mei. Kung fu was hungry work.
"Have you seen my laboratory-workshop key, Evangeline my dear?"
"Did you try your study? I remember watching you lock the door when Inspector Pensnett arrived."
"I can't locate it anywhere. It's useless, I'll have to break the door down."
Evangeline moved closer to her father.
"Are you sure it's not in your jacket?"
"I've checked everywhere, I tell you!" he blustered.
Evangeline stepped forward, opening her father's jacket. The Professor floundered, unsure how to behave when touched by his new seventeen-year-old daughter.
She reached into his inside pocket and extracted the brass key.
"Is this the key you were looking for?" she said innocently.
"But. But. But. It was not there before. I'm positive." He grabbed the key from her hand. "I'm absolutely positive."
The Professor stomped down the stairs to the laboratory-workshop, muttering to himself.
"It wasn't there before."
Miss Plockton shot a dubious look at Evangeline but said nothing. Evangeline smiled back sweetly and skipped off downstairs to join her father.
"Are we looking for your alchemist device, Professor?"
Evangeline was not quite used to calling him Father. She shuddered when she thought of Charlie Drigg, the man she thought was her father until the true story of her heritage was revealed.
The Professor rifled through a stack of suitcases at the back of the laboratory-workshop. The thick bluestone walls protected the room from the summer heat outside and the temperature was deliciously cool. A long bench ran down one side of the windowless room, topped with neatly arranged brass scales, clamps and drills. A selection of different sized wrenches, set squares and screwdrivers were attached to the wall, each in their right place. A row of green glass gas lamps blazed overhead.
The Professor's current project was splayed out in the middle of the room. Cogs, like intestines, spread out along the floor. The Professor was refining the next generation of his clockwork auto chariots, the latest personal travel device for one.
In the far corner was the Professor's secret project, covered in a dusty beige sheet. So secret he would not speak of it to anyone. Not even Miss Plockton, his personal secretary, knew what it was. Evangeline knew this secret project had brought the Professor to Melbourne from London, under the insistence of Governor Normanby himself. The sheet was fastened tight around the invention and secured with locks even Evangeline could not pick. She itched with curiosity. One day her father would confide in her but patience had never been one of her virtues.
The Professor grunted in reply as he flicked open the locks on another suitcase with his thumbs.
"How did you identify the alchemist? The one in London?"
"There are two types of alchemists."
The Professor pulled out a stuffed crow from the suitcase.
"Oh, I had plum forgotten about you." He placed the crow on the workbench. "Granville. You poor neglected fellow."
The Professor smoothed down the bird's feathers before returning to the enormous suitcase, large enough to hide two bodies.
"Go on, Father," Evangeline said, eyeing the crow suspiciously. Granville's beady black eyes seemed somehow perceptive and spooky.
"Two types. The type who run with those mountebanks like Madame Zsoldas with all their mesmer mumbo-jumbo."
"Charlatans?"
Evangeline was familiar with the ways of charlatans. In one of Evangeline's circus troupes, Agnesa the fortune teller promised to teach her the tricks of the mystic trade. But before she had a chance, her stepfather had been kicked out of the troupe for drunkenness and frightening the monkeys.
"Absolutely. They string fools along and claim magical powers to turn iron into gold and quadruple their money."
"And the others?"
"Proper men of science misunderstood by superstitious people. Wrongly accused and tainted by charlatans. Ah, here it is."
The Professor cried out in triumph, holding up a polished wooden box. He immediately followed with a hefty sigh.
"But where is the probe? It must have snapped clean off."
He dove into the deep suitcase, only his legs protruding from the top. Evangeline picked up and inspected the curious box with two small brass cylinders fixed on either side, a turnkey underneath and a swivelling broken brass rod at the front.
"Bother," said a muffled voice coming from the bottom of the suitcase, as the Professor tossed a fez, a glove stretcher and a bird scarer out onto the floor. "Must be here somewhere."
"What equipment do they use?"
From what the policeman had described, Evangeline knew she was looking for the first type of alchemist; but one capable of performing some type of glamour spell.
"Some ordinary equipment like a still and a mortar and pestle. And a pear-shaped device called an aludel. And of course, chemicals."
"Special chemicals? Could you find them here in Melbourne?"
"Oh, easily. From a farm supplier like Snodgrass & Sons."
Evangeline was tickled with anticipation. Tomorrow would be quite the busy day, with a visit to the Jewish goldsmiths and now Snodgrass
& Sons, as well as tea and cake.
The Professor poked his head up out from the suitcase.
"Why so many questions? This is a matter for the police. Not something you should be concerning yourself with. You have many other matters to fill your time. Like your mathematics instruction and completing your miniature auto omnibus over there. This alchemy is dangerous business and not something to be trifled with."
"Yes, Father," she said meekly, looking over to her half-built wind-up car. The Professor was unaware of her more ingenious and useful invention hidden inside her bedroom. "You are right, Father. I should go upstairs and complete my lessons. If you don't need my help any further..."
"Of course. Of course. Don't let this folly keep you from your books. Retire to your room, young lady. And ask Miss Plockton to bring your supper up to you."
"Thank you, Father." Evangeline reached forward and planted a peck on his bristled cheek. He smelled of pipe tobacco, dust and tea.
Evangeline found Miss Plockton sitting at the kitchen table, hard at work writing tomorrow's list for the butcher boy.
"I'll bring up your supper soon," Miss Plockton said, without looking up. Evangeline had not said a word.
"No pressed tongue, please," Evangeline requested, before climbing the stairs to her own small but perfectly appointed room.
Evangeline loved the company of her new family, but each night she cherished the moment when she closed her bedroom door. A room of her own. After years sleeping in caravans, crammed into squats or doss houses with rats, damp and cold draughts, she now lived the highlife with a four poster feather bed, a rug, a bookshelf with books and a desk and chair. Even her own gas lamp.
There was a discreet knock on the door. Miss Plockton presented her supper on a tray, a brown boiled egg, two slices of bread with anchovy paste and a glass of lemonade. And in a small crystal bowl, a sight so lovely, she was inspired to cry out with delight.
The Antics of Evangeline: Collection 1: Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne Page 2
