The Antics of Evangeline: Collection 1: Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne

by Madeleine D'Este

  Evangeline snapped the piece of toast she was buttering in two. No trace of a body? Could Lady Breckenridge-Rice have possibly escaped?

  She looked up. Her father, Miss Plockton and her two Uncles were eying her with odd expressions.

  "Something wrong, m'dear?" the Professor asked.

  "Can you pass the marmalade?" Evangeline said sheepishly. "I am rather hungry this morning."

  Evangeline sat, crunching her toast thoughtfully, as her family continued talking about last night's storm. Yet again, she underestimated Lady Violetta Breckenridge-Rice. Evangeline had a hunch, the Lady Alchemist would return to take revenge, but next time Evangeline would be ready.

  But for now, Evangeline looked forward to a quiet day at 56 Collins Street. Her thirst for excitement appeared to be quenched. For a few days, at least.

  "Oh my stars. Did you see this?" said Edmund, flapping the pages of The Argus. "The Bunyip has struck again. Another poor dead boy."

  "How terrifying. A murderous beast roaming the parks of Melbourne," said Augie with a shiver. "Someone should do something."

  Evangeline smiled to herself. She had another idea.

  Evangeline and the Bunyip

  Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne

  (The Antics of Evangeline Book 2)

  Chapter 1

  "And another thing, Evangeline. You mustn't eat too much. There'll be ample food and I know you have a... healthy... appetite," Uncle Augie said.

  Evangeline glanced at the buttery shortbread in her hand. What could Uncle Augie possibly mean? It was only her third.

  "It's rather unseemly for a lady to eat heartily in public," Augie continued.

  Miss Plockton nodded vigorously.

  "Aye. Overeating in corsetry is very dangerous," she said. "You dinnae want an attack of the vapours."

  "Or worse." Uncle Augie curled up his nose. "I heard a terrible story of a young lady who was forced to 'evacuate' in the nearest potted palm. She didn't see the Duke of Windsor standing on the other side. One too many blancmanges. Let that be a lesson to you, Evangeline."

  Evangeline sighed into her cup of coffee, then shoved the shortbread into her mouth whole.

  Miss Plockton and Augie recoiled with a gasp, their hands fluttering to their chests.

  "I'll need my strength for tonight's Ball," Evangeline replied, but only after the delicious buttery treat was gone from her mouth. Evangeline would never win an award for deportment but she knew not to speak with her mouth full.

  Uncle Augie, Miss Plockton and Evangeline had been shopping all morning, finalising the last minute details for Evangeline's Easter Ball ensemble. Now they were resting their weary feet at the Royal Coffee Palace, with a restorative brew and a biscuit. Or four.

  "Excuse me." A white aproned waiter leaned across their table, turning down the blue flame on the tabletop percolator. As the coffee erupted like brown lava into a glass jug, Evangeline inspected the device closely, the latest advancement in coffee technology from Zurich.

  The Coffee Palace stood near the corner of Swanston and Flinders Streets where hansom cabs and steam trams rattled by, overlooking the gothic facade of St. Paul's Cathedral. The Coffee Palace bustled with lady shoppers piled with purchases and respectable families enjoying a Saturday morning outing, the rich aroma of freshly brewing coffee wafting up to the high vaulted ceilings.

  "Now, don't be nervous," Uncle Augie said, once their cups were replenished and the waiter glided away. "But you are ever so lucky. Not everyone is invited to the Easter Ball. It is the exclusive ticket in Melbourne this season. I whispered in the ears of all the right people to get you an invitation. But there's no need to thank me."

  Tall and rotund Uncle Augie was not Evangeline's real uncle. August Beauchamp was the constant companion of her father's brother Edmund. They all resided under one roof at 56 Collins Street with her father and his personal secretary, Miss Plockton.

  "Only last week, at that appalling performance of the 'Reanimator of Rouen', I put in another good word for you with Mr. Dolwyddelan and Miss Kircubben-Jones. All about how delightful you are and how they couldn't possibly have a Ball without you. And taa-daa, an invitation arrives."

  While Augie's business was in the theatre, his main pastime was instilling etiquette into Evangeline.

  "This is a great opportunity for you, Miss Evangeline. Mr. Beauchamp has been very kind," Miss Plockton said, adding another layer of guilt before sipping her coffee, black with no sugar of course.

  There had been far too much fuss already associated with this Ball. Evangeline knew the Ball was important to Uncle Augie but she took after her father, she was more interested in clockwork than quadrilles. Her father was the famous horological-engineer Professor Montague Caldicott, inventor of many patented best-selling devices including the audito-hearing device and the auto-chariot.

  "I am ever so grateful for the invitation, but..."

  Miss Plockton issued a scalding glare and Evangeline closed her mouth. In all honesty, she was a little grateful. Her morning embroidery lesson had been cancelled for today's preparations. The day was not a complete loss.

  "There is one last errand." Miss Plockton crossed an item off her list with an efficient stroke of violet ink. "Collecting your gown from Madame Brisbois. Then we can return to the house."

  The revolver pen was a bespoke invention and Miss Plockton's pride and joy. A gift from the Professor with four different coloured inks, the revolver pen was acknowledgement for Miss Plockton's ten years of service as his personal secretary.

  "Then I can go back to the laboratory-workshop?" Evangeline brightened. "I want to finish my new mechanical fly-swatter. It's ever so clever, I got the idea from the Venus..."

  "Of course not, Miss Evangeline," Miss Plockton tutted.

  "There’ll be no time for inventing today, my dear girl." Augie smiled condescendingly. "The day has barely begun."

  "There is far too much to do," Miss Plockton added. "We must wash your hair."

  "And style it." Uncle Augie nodded.

  "Put the finishing touches on your dress trim."

  "Practice your Grande Chaine."

  "Fasten your corsetry."

  "And test you on the right curtseys. Today will be a very busy day." Augie clapped.

  Evangeline turned away and grimaced. How dull. She stared out of the large windows, ignoring the talk about Balls and noticed a young boy running up the street. A boy running was nothing out of the ordinary. Like London, Evangeline's home until five months ago, the streets of Melbourne were filled with young ragamuffins. Then a woman ran past with her child bundled close to her chest, her eyes fearful, followed by a well-dressed family; wife and husband and three crying children in tow. The mobile cog-grinder, known for his off-colour songs, frantically pushed his cart through the crowds without a sound. Like a change in the tide, more and more people started rushing up Swanston Street away from the edge of the Yarra River.

  The hum of conversation in the Coffee House hushed, as the patrons turned to watch the waves of people outside. Some leaving their seats to crowd around the windows for a better view. Finally, something exciting was happening.

  "What's all this commotion?" Uncle Augie said.

  "I'll find out." Evangeline was quick on her feet, squeezing past the other customers towards the front door.

  "Where is she going? Evangeline!" Uncle Augie said. "I can't chase after her. I've already laced my stays."

  "Pardon, sir?" Miss Plockton cocked her head with a frown.

  "Never mind. Stop her!"

  "Come back, Miss Evangeline!" Miss Plockton called, but Evangeline pretended not to hear and slipped out the doors.

  She skipped down the sandstone Coffee Palace steps and ran out into the street. Police whistles pierced the air. Shutters clattered as the barrow girls and boys scrambled to close their stalls. A woman screamed. Spooked horses neighed and bucked. People pushed and shoved, arguing and yelling as they fled the river with fear on their faces.
Evangeline's heart raced. What could be frightening the people of Melbourne on this fine March Saturday?

  "What's happening?" Evangeline said.

  "Oh it's 'orrible," said a voice in the crowd.

  "Is it a fire?" She questioned each person as they hurried past but no one met her eyes. "An escaped lunatic?"

  There was a firm grip on her arm.

  "You're going the wrong way, Miss," said a gap-toothed young man.

  "What is going on?" Evangeline tugged away from his grip, resisting the urge to throw him to the ground. Evangeline may look like any other respectable young lady but if circumstances required, she was more than capable of looking after herself.

  Before the young man could answer her, a loud bellow roared up from the river. A screech so horrid, so unnatural, goosebumps rippled up Evangeline's spine. A sound she had heard once before and never forgotten.

  "No. It can't be?" she whispered to herself. "In broad daylight?"

  Chapter 2

  "The Bunyip." Evangeline gasped.

  The bellow of the beast incited a fresh round of screams from the fleeing crowds. Somewhere, a gun fired into the air.

  "Run!" shouted the gappy-mouthed man.

  Losing their nerve, the last remaining people bolted away from the river. But not Evangeline. She pushed through the throng, unwilling to miss a chance to see the monstrous Bunyip with her own eyes.

  Evangeline had heard the screech of the Bunyip once before. A few months earlier, while on one of their midnight raids, Evangeline and her best friend Mei heard the creature's ungodly yowls in Fitzroy Gardens. That night they'd run in the opposite direction, but Evangeline would not run today.

  The swarm of people knocked over an old woman. Sprawled on the ground, she cried out as a stampede of boots squashed her fingers. Evangeline fought through the crowd with her pointy elbows, helping the bewildered woman back to her feet.

  "Lord save us... demon... a devil," the woman babbled. "Deliver us from evil."

  Evangeline deposited the old woman safely by a shop front, before turning back to the Yarra. She shoved and jostled through the crowds, until the numbers dwindled and the cobblestones met the wooden wharf.

  "Get away, Miss."

  A pair of hands grabbed at her arm but Evangeline pushed closer to get a better glimpse. Then she saw it, the cause of the commotion, a mere twenty feet away, and her heart stopped. Her eyes widening like full moons as her mind struggled to comprehend what she was seeing before her.

  The Bunyip was like no animal Evangeline had seen before. Standing on four feet and bigger than four men, its muscular shoulders rippled as it lunged forward with gnashing teeth, its pewter-grey skin shimmering in the sunlight. Part animal, part fish with webbed toes and an elongated eel-like neck, it surveyed the crowd, splattering saliva in all directions. His cannonball eyes rested on Evangeline and her blood ran cold.

  The beast paced up and down the wooden jetty, growling. Six helmeted bobbies rushed towards the creature, their old-fashioned muskets at the ready and determined fear on their faces.

  "Ready! Aim!"

  Shots rang out with a cloud of gunpowder haze.

  The beast roared and pounced from its haunches, the policemen surging back out of reach. All except one, a lone bobby slipped, losing his footing in the commotion.

  Evangeline gasped.

  He was alone on the ground, scrambling backwards on hands and heels.

  "Someone help him," Evangeline shouted, but no one moved.

  The Bunyip surged forward, snatching the man by the foot. His blood curdling screams echoing along the wharf.

  "Help! Help!" The man yelled, flailing his arms uselessly as the beast dragged him towards the river.

  "Do something," Evangeline glared at the crowd of trembling men. "Cowards."

  She lunged forward, grabbing hold of the man's collar but the Bunyip easily yanked him from her grasp. Her grip was no match for the creature.

  The beast backed away towards the water, his eyes fixed on the crowd, growling with a deep rumble. The man's body lolled like a rag doll, his head bouncing on the wooden platform.

  "We must help him," Evangeline said with a choke, but the Bunyip was already at the edge of the jetty, slipping into the murky brown water of the Yarra and taking his prey with him.

  For a few moments, the man's boot trailed along the surface of the water, the last trace of the policeman as the creature pulled him under.

  Evangeline's heart thumped like a brass band, barely believing the scene before her eyes.

  "The Bunyip is real," she said to no one in particular.

  "Aye, Miss. And another poor dead lad," the same gap-toothed man replied. "The bobbies are useless. Someone needs to do somethin'. Or they'll be more deaths. Mark my words."

  Evangeline's family tried to shield her from the horrible tales of the Bunyip, Uncle Augie claiming the stories were not suitable reading material for eligible young ladies. Her overprotective family were a mystery, conveniently forgetting she spent the first seventeen years of her life in less refined circumstances. Evangeline had resorted to stealing the discarded newspapers from the kitchen to read the latest accounts. Evangeline knew the Bunyip was a monster native to Australia, living in swamps and billabongs and feared by the local Aboriginal tribes since time immemorial.

  The creature was gone and the wharf was deathly quiet. Evangeline drifted back to the Coffee Palace in a daze. When Miss Plockton and Uncle Augie found her, she was sitting on the stone steps of the Cathedral.

  "Thank heavens, Miss Evangeline." Miss Plockton said breathlessly, a tightly twisted white handkerchief in her hands. "Are you hurt?"

  "You gave us quite a fright, young lady. Miss Plockton practically wore out the Lord's Prayer and I was all prepared to throw myself at the mercy of the Royal Artillery." Uncle Augie watched a pair of smartly dressed soldiers marching towards the wharf.

  "Why did you run off like that?" Miss Plockton frowned. "It was very foolish."

  "I saw the Bunyip."

  Miss Plockton clasped at her throat and Uncle Augie placed a large comforting paw on Evangeline’s shoulder

  "It took a poor man," Evangeline muttered. "I couldn't help him."

  Her mind whirling, Evangeline trailed after Miss Plockton and Uncle Augie as they collected her gown and returned home for an afternoon of cinching, primping and rouging.

  After a few hours and strong cups of Darjeeling, Evangeline's pluck was gradually restored. Yet the Easter Ball was far from her mind. The young man was right, someone must do something to stop the Bunyip. And naturally, Miss Evangeline Caldicott was the perfect young lady for the job.

  It was only a question of how.

  Chapter 3

  "Oh my word. Look at Lavinia Armitage's gown," Jemima snickered. "How could her mother allow her to leave the house in such a state? Reminds me of a sausage stuffed in silk."

  Jemima's own ensemble was an explosion of pale pink rosebuds, from the top of her golden head, across her shoulders and over her bustle to the floor.

  "And the colour." Albertine wrinkled her nose, another one of Evangeline's classmates from her weekly watercolours class at the Royal Academy of Art. "If I had her sallow skin, I would never dream of wearing such a washed out green. She looks positively pestilent."

  Albertine was as dark as Jemima was fair. Her own gown, in the finest ruby-red satin, was puffy and ruffled like a washerwoman's mob cap. The girls stood at the edge of the dance floor, strategically positioned to see and be seen, yet close enough for the orchestra to drown out their barbed observations.

  "Don't look now," Jemima said with a smirk. "Caroline Casellton is wearing the most obscene neckline. I never knew she was one of those actresses."

  The two girls cackled into their gloved hands while Evangeline disguised a yawn behind her fan. Uncle Augie and Miss Plockton put hours and hours of effort into her deportment and accoutrements, in preparation for her first formal Ball. Now Evangeline stood in the largest ballro
om in the Antipodes, with her hair coiled and pinned, in an arctic-blue gown of silk and duchess lace, with her manners in check and she was bored beyond belief. After seeing a real live monster this morning, the Easter Ball was quite an anti-climax.

  The newly renovated Royal Exhibition Building was filled with all the fashionable people of Melbourne. According to Uncle Augie. Evangeline spotted her not-real uncle across the room, flirting with a group of fleshy older ladies.

  "And then I said, 'I didn't mean two cans. I meant toucans.'" Augie's voice boomed across the floor. "But her boorish husband still challenged me to a duel. Can you imagine me? Pistols at dawn and all that palaver? Anyway you won't believe the scar. It's uncanny. An exact replica of Michaelangelo's David but on my..."

  The ladies hooted and snorted, slapping Augie playfully with their fans. Evangeline and Augie's eyes met and he made a flicking gesture with his fingers. He wanted her to mingle. She sighed.

  Evangeline stepped away from the malicious watercolour girls, towards a tall palm by the wall with perfect fronds for unobtrusive people watching. Less than an hour into the Ball and yet to take a single step on the dance floor, Evangeline's feet already hurt. Why did her beautifully ruffled ball slippers have to be so impractical?

  The centre of the room was filled with couples. The gentlemen standing tall and straight with finely groomed moustaches, in their black or burgundy tails or golden braided Royal Artillery uniforms. The ladies in a myriad of pale pinks, greens and blues, cinched waists and flowing skirts, twinkled with jewels.

  As the couples bowed and curtseyed, commencing the quadrille, Evangeline smirked. Their mannered movements reminding her of her own martial arts lessons, only with less punching and grunting. Evangeline wished Mei, her best friend and kung-fu instructress, could be here to share the joke.

  The music swelled, the orchestra was half man, half steam-organ. Men played violins and cellos, while another solitary man replaced the whole woodwind and brass section. He rushed madly from pedal to key, commanding the wheezing organ like the bridge on a dirigible. The steam-organ man lifted his head and waved frantically in the air, as the music and the dancers began to sag. A footman hurried over, throwing a pail of coal into the organ's under-chamber, restoring the orchestra's tempo with a feisty blast of steam.