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

by Madeleine D'Este

  Albion smirked.

  "You?" Percy Sharpthorne and Basil Mawdesley scoffed. "A girl?"

  "Absolutely, Miss Caldicott. We'd been honoured." Albion elbowed his friends and bowed to Evangeline. "If this little incident is anything to go by, the Bunyip doesn't stand a chance."

  "Young lady. Look at your gown. We are leaving right now." Augie humphed, pulling her away from Albion and the others toward the row of waiting hansom cabs. Edmund removed his jacket and handed it to his niece.

  "I was only trying to help," Evangeline said.

  "Wait until your father hears about your high jinks," Augie said, with quivering jowls. "You've ruined the whole night and embarrassed us all."

  Evangeline's cheeks blazed red.

  "Uncle Edmund, I was doing the right thing."

  "Oh, Evangeline." Edmund shook his head with a tired smile. "What will we do with you?"

  "How will I live this down?" Augie sulked as they boarded the cab and the horse clip-clopped towards 56 Collins Street.

  "What were you saying to Albion Middlehall?" Edmund said, narrowing his eyes and sucking on his self-combusting pipe.

  "Nothing, Uncle Edmund."

  Evangeline was in enough trouble already. She dared not mention the Bunyip.

  "No more scrapes," Edmund said firmly. "Twice today, you've put yourself in danger. Your luck must be wearing thin."

  Uncle Edmund did not understand, Evangeline could not possibly stop now. She must design the perfect contraption for capturing the Bunyip and rid the blight from Melbourne. Edmund would be proud of her. Eventually.

  She kept quiet all the way home, plotting out her new invention.

  Balls, blancmange, Bunyips and Barnaby. It had been quite the busy day. And with a Bunyip to catch, tomorrow would be busier still.

  Chapter 6

  Banished to her room after last night's incident, Evangeline put her imprisonment time to good use.

  She lay on her feather bed with her eyes firmly closed. She screwed her eyes up tight and focused her mind, gathering all her determination. Evangeline concentrated as hard as she could, gritting her teeth with effort. Ever since the night in the Lady Alchemist's cellar, Evangeline had tried to recreate the strange power she'd conjured to free herself from the cage. The mysterious magic which broke the Alchemist's spell.

  After a few minutes of intense fixation, Evangeline gasped. She felt a faint tickle. It was weak but she swore there was something there. The power was back.

  With a grin, she opened her eyes and stared down at her outstretched hands, ready to admire her handiwork. But there was nothing, only a perfectly ordinary pair of hands. No amber glow, no tingling sensation, only a dull ache behind her right eye.

  "Knickers," she sighed. The power she conjured at the Lady Alchemist's mansion remained elusive.

  There was a sharp rap on her bedroom door and Evangeline quickly shoved her new contraption sketch under her pillow.

  It was her father, the Professor. He opened the door cautiously, rarely venturing into his new daughter's room. Evangeline produced a wan smile. Her ears still stinging after a tongue-lashing from both Uncle Augie and Miss Plockton.

  Her father cleared his throat, pursed his lips and tugged his waistcoat over his belly with his real hand.

  "When I granted you permission to attend the Ball," he began with a deep breath. "I pictured a refined, but dull, affair. Polite chit-chat and a little light waltzing. I did not expect ruffian wrangling."

  "I am sorry, Father," she said, perching on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped at her chest. "I saw the footmen stealing and someone had to stop them. I suppose I got a little carried away."

  Her father sat down, the lady-sized chair groaning under his weight.

  "I know you want to help, m'dear. But you must be more careful." He sighed. "I probably should've made you stay at home after the morning's terrible incident. The shock obviously affected your judgment."

  "I called out for help but no one stopped them. I couldn't let them get away."

  "It was very reckless of you. Who knows what could have happened to you if the other men had not arrived."

  "I was fine, Father." She folded her arms. "I had already apprehended him. I am not like other young ladies. I know how to conduct myself."

  "Perhaps in the past. But you are away from all that wickedness now. You do not need to take matters into your own hands. A quiet word and it would have been sorted out without such a scene."

  "But didn't I do the right thing, Father?" Evangeline said, staring directly into his eyes. "Should I have stood by and let the thieves get away?"

  The Professor stroked his ferocious black moustache with his clockwork fingers.

  "Yes. No." He sighed again. "Your antics will be all over Melbourne by elevenses."

  "I thought you deplored idle gossip, Father?"

  "I don't care a whit. Generally. But I care about people speaking ill of my daughter. A lady has to be careful of her reputation."

  "I thought of all people, you would be proud of my initiative," she said, holding her chin high.

  "Unfortunately this is the way of the world, whether we agree or not. People are illogical these days, with their ridiculous manners and useless protocol. You don't want to end up an old maid, like Miss Plockton."

  "I wouldn't mind," Evangeline said with a half-shrug. The world of beaus and bairns sounded awfully dreary. But obviously she would dress more fashionably than Miss Plain Old Plockton.

  "You don't want to live the rest of your life with a stuffy old duffer like me."

  "Father, I don't have time for courting silly young men and such nonsense. I'd much rather spend my time learning from you."

  "And you shall. But one day, you will leave me. If you manage to stay in one piece and don't go running after robbers or get eaten by the Bunyip. You were lucky this time. But you never know what might be around the corner. Foolish acts can have consequences. I know...."

  Her father took a fleeting glance down at his clockwork hand. Evangeline's eyes widened, finally the opportunity to ask the question.

  "Is that what happened to you? A foolish act? Is that how you lost your arm, Father?"

  "To a degree..."

  "How can I possibly learn from your experience, if you won't tell me the story?"

  "Very well," the Professor sighed in defeat. "It all began shortly after my twenty-fifth birthday...."

  Chapter 7

  The Professor continued.

  "It was a gloomy London day, back in the days of proper pea-soupers. I had recently completed my examinations and was finally a fully accredited horological-engineer."

  "I was brash in those days, as young men often are. I thought I knew everything. I was going to build the best clocks in the world and quash those Swiss fellows at their own game. Make Britain strong again in the horological arts!"

  The Professor slammed his brass fist against his thigh.

  Evangeline looked at her father's full moustache, round belly and ruddy cheeks. She could not imagine her father as a young whippersnapper. He gave the impression of being born middle-aged.

  "I devoured every piece of information I could find. Spending months memorising the positioning of each individual pin and cog in every great clock in Europe. From the astronomical clock of Strasberg to De Lucia's rebuilding of the Venetian St. Mark's Clock. Nothing else existed. I was relentless."

  Her Father’s eyes were glassy and faraway, a smile curling on his lips.

  "Not even my mother?" Evangeline asked.

  Her father did not reply. Mentioning her mother was a bold move. It had taken over five months for her father to divulge the details of his missing hand, let alone the story of how he met her mother. He continued, as though Evangeline had not said a word. She shuffled her position, laying on the bed on her belly with her ankles crossed and her chin resting in her hands.

  "I was voracious. I wanted to know everything there was about clocks. And what was the biggest clock in L
ondon?"

  "Big Ben?" Evangeline lifted a hesitant eyebrow.

  "Of course. Or to be precise. The Great Westminster Clock. Big Ben is the name of the bell."

  "One of my fellow students from Horological School had secured a respectable position with the master watchmakers firm, Dents. Fergus was a funny-looking chap. Beady little rat eyes but awfully nimble fingers and sharp as a whip."

  "Dents had the maintenance contract for The Great Westminster Clock and I pleaded with Fergus to let me come on his rounds. After months of pestering, he agreed to let me accompany him on his next maintenance round. I was excited beyond belief. Here was my chance to inspect the largest mechanism in London up close. I was convinced I would learn all its secrets and perfect them myself. But life does not always unfold as we plan."

  The Professor chuckled to himself, his eyes bright.

  "The mechanism room was up inside the Tower near the clock face. We had to climb up hundreds of winding steps into the clock room. As I said, I was a foolish young man. I imbibed a few cleansing ales before meeting Fergus. Perhaps one too many. The steps were a little slippery under foot but I pressed on, buoyed by the excitement of seeing the clock."

  "Half way up, I started feeling a little woozy. Fergus, in his rat-like manner, had no trouble with the steps and raced up ahead. I dismissed my malaise as a general lack of physical fitness, my studies had been my singular focus for months. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and promised to take more exercise. In those days I rather fancied myself as a pugilist."

  The Professor threw a few punches in the air and Evangeline sniggered, imagining her portly father in a boxing ring stripped to the waist.

  "When I finally arrived at the clock room, I was extremely warm and a trifle dizzy. I remember mopping my brow despite the chilly November night."

  "Fergus was already at work. His supervisor was known for his fierce temper and Fergus could not waste a moment. But I didn't mind, I only wanted to see the room for myself. And what a beauty she was. I stood back in awe, admiring the magnificent steel creature with her enormous interlacing cogwheels, some over six feet tall. I started sketching, creating my own schematic. I circled the mechanism from all angles, taking notes from each point."

  The Professor leapt from the chair, flailing his hands and painting a picture of the mechanism in the air.

  "Denison's design was truly top notch. Fergus ignored me, oiling the individual cogs and checking the time against his own pocket watch."

  "I was particularly fascinated by one component, set right inside the large wheels, barely visible through the moving parts. I was not sure whether my eyes were deceiving me but it appeared to be a white gemstone, the size of my fist. A stone inside a clock? This was like nothing I'd seen before in all my horological studies. I leaned in to get a better view."

  Evangeline switched to a cross-legged position, she leaned forward, her eyes never leaving her Father.

  "I've thought about this moment many times over the years. I am still not certain what happened next." The Professor flopped back down on the small chair. "Did I slip? Did I lean too close? Did I take my eyes off the moving parts while I tried to take notes? Even Fergus couldn't understand how or why it happened. But for some reason, The Great Westminster Clock didn't like the look of my right arm. Or she liked the look of my new Saville Row coat, a graduation present from my father and step-mother."

  "Before I comprehended what was happening, my sleeve was caught and I was dragged towards the crushing metal cogwheels. How I screamed as my coat was pulled further and further inside. "

  "'Help,' I cried."

  "'I'll get you out.' Fergus grabbed my shoulders, pulling me back but the clock was strong. I tried to tear off my coat but the jacket was of exceptional quality and the stitches would not tear. I was being dragged closer and closer into the machine."

  Evangeline’s eyes were as wide as dials, her mouth open.

  "I cannot describe the pain as my fingers met the cold steel..."

  There was a knock on the door, Miss Plockton poked her head inside.

  "Apologies for interrupting, sir," she cooed, in the calm voice she used for the Professor. She used quite a different voice for Evangeline. "But there is a Mr. Wilberfoss here to see you."

  "What? Old Wilby here? By Jove." The Professor heartily slapped his knee and jumped to his feet with a smirk. "Bring him into the parlour. And find Edmund. And rustle up some tea. It's a little early for whiskey, I suppose."

  The Professor walked towards the door, muttering and chuckling to himself.

  "Old Wilby, eh? What are the chances?"

  "But, Father. You haven't finished the story. Big Ben tore your arm off?" Evangeline pleaded.

  "Not quite. It was far worse than that. But I'll finish the story another time. Wilby is here!"

  The Professor waved with a jerky flick of his brass fingers and closed her bedroom door.

  Evangeline collapsed into her pillow with an exasperated sigh.

  Chapter 8

  "The Professor insisted you join them," Miss Plockton said through tightly held lips and led Evangeline downstairs to the parlour. Evangeline skipped along the hallway, not caring why, only glad to be released from her exile.

  Miss Plockton opened the parlour door to peals of raucous laughter and clouds of tobacco smoke. Uncle Edmund, her father and a fair-haired stranger stopped sucking on their self-combusting pipes and smiled up at her.

  "So, this is the new addition to the family," boomed the unfamiliar man, leaping to his feet. "This is the secret you've been keeping, Monty you old dog."

  Evangeline smiled shyly. The man was tall and broad with a thick blonde moustache and khaki tweed knickerbockers.

  "This is my daughter, Evangeline," the Professor said.

  Evangeline offered her hand and Wilby pushed past a spindly-legged table to her side. He bowed low and graciously.

  "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Evangeline. I am Willoughby Wilberfoss. But you must call me Wilby. You're part of the family after all."

  Evangeline could not help but smile.

  "Sit, sit, my dear. Your father was telling me all about your arrival and how you've started to follow in his footsteps. I simply had to meet you for myself." Wilby gestured to the settee as though the house was his own. "Miss Plockton, my Scottish heather. Bring Miss Evangeline a cup of tea and more cakes, if you have them."

  "Of course, sir," Miss Plockton said in a girlish manner.

  "Miss Plockton. What did we agree earlier?" Wilby chided, pointing a playful finger at Miss Plockton

  "Of course, Wilby."

  "That's better." Wilby nodded with a big toothy grin.

  As Miss Plockton scuttled off with cheeks as red as the velvet settee, the Professor leaned over to Evangeline.

  "Wilby is an old family friend. He lived on the neighbouring estate and Wilby, Edmund and I grew up together."

  "Remember the scrapes we used to get into," Wilby guffawed. "The time you fell into the pond mid-winter. I had to jump in and rescue you."

  "It was not all that funny."

  It was the Professor's turn to blush as Edmund joined in with Wilby's laughter.

  "What brings you to Melbourne, Mr. Wilberfoss?" Evangeline said.

  Wilby held up a finger and stared her in the eye.

  "Wilby," she corrected.

  "I like a lady who speaks her mind. We shall get on famously."

  "Wilby is a professional hunter. He is here to catch the Bunyip," Edmund said with a gush and big eyes on Wilby.

  "I heard you were having a little trouble with beasts here in the Colonies. So I thought I'd pop down and sort it out. A good excuse to visit my old chums, the Caldicotts, while I was here."

  A professional game hunter here in 56 Collins Street. Evangeline was immediately all ears. She could learn so much from Wilby and refine her own Bunyip-catching device.

  Miss Plockton arrived with a fresh pot of tea and a tiered cake stand, piled with jam
tarts. Uncle Augie entered the parlour, close behind Miss Plockton.

  "Oh, everyone is in here," Augie said with a touch of umbrage. "Edmund, I have been looking everywhere for you."

  "Oh, Augie, you must meet Wilby." Edmund beamed.

  "So, this is the famous Wilby I have heard so much about," Augie said flatly, glancing Wilby up and down. "A pleasure to meet you, sir."

  "Wilby was just telling us about his tiger-catching in the Malay," Edmund said. "Sit, Augie."

  Augie eased himself down onto the settee with a pout. Evangeline popped a tart into her mouth and writhed happily as raspberry jam burst onto her tongue.

  "Came face to face with a large female." Wilby jumped to his feet and tiptoed around the back of the settee, acting out his latest adventure like a game of Charades. "Nothing more ferocious than a mother protecting her kittens. The sharpest teeth you've ever seen. She tore a great hole in one of the local guides. Could have done with one of your inventions, Monty. When are you going to build me a gun?"

  Wilby slapped the Professor across the shoulder. The Professor was mid-sip and spluttered tea out his nostrils.

  "Wilby, you know how I feel about guns. After what happened."

  "How could I forget? But this new pipe invention of yours is capital. You always were a clever clogs. I lost my favourite full bent apple while hunting Old Shuck in Littleport."

  "Just one piece of advice. Don't store it in your pocket."

  Wilby and Edmund grimaced and nodded solemnly. The room was quiet for a moment and Evangeline seized her chance to steer the conversation in a more helpful direction. This was an invaluable opportunity to gather information for her own hunt.

  "How do you capture the beasts, Wilby?" Evangeline said.

  "Far too dangerous for capturing. I don't want to lose an arm like old Monty here. A big gun sorts them out, quick sticks. I quite fancy a Bunyip head mounted on the drawing room wall of Wilberfoss Manor."

  "I hear there is a sizeable reward," Evangeline said.