Her father pulled her towards the door, and Evangeline spied the tantalising sight of a table laden with golden pineapple jellies, chocolate eclairs and custard tarts. With the excitement of the mummy gone, Evangeline's hunger returned with a vengeance.
"But..." she said, trying to steer her father towards the sweets table.
"Come on, dear. I cannot spend another minute in this house."
"Just a little taste. Something small?" Evangeline pleaded. "A meringue?"
"Professor Caldicott. So good to see you again." Madame Zsoldas appeared with a wry smile, holding out her gloved hand. "When was the last time we met? Was it the lecture?"
The Professor pursed his lips, taking her hand as though he was handling a snake. "Madame Zsoldas. I am surprised you are still in Melbourne."
"It is a lovely city. Quite quaint. And so many interesting people."
With her father distracted by the spiritualist, Evangeline grabbed a coconut macaroon and shoved it in her mouth. Her shoulders shuddered with delight and she took two more.
"I must be going, Madame Zsoldas. I have work to do."
"Don't we all?" Madame Zsoldas said with a raised eyebrow, then turned to Evangeline. "And this is our little heroine. You are related? How interesting."
Evangeline felt the intense stare of the spiritualist again and smiled with closed lips, her mouth full of macaroon.
"Yes, my daughter Evangeline."
But before Evangeline could finish her mouthful and reply, the Professor was marching towards the door. "Come along, Evangeline."
"You know Madame Zsoldas too?" Evangeline said as she scurried behind him. "What lecture?"
"It was hardly a lecture. Some silly public debate." The Professor shook his head.
"What happened?"
"Never mind. Where's my brother and his halfwit friend?"
"I don't think they are coming."
"Deserters. Typical." The Professor grumbled as he led Evangeline through the front door and back home.
Chapter 4
The scraping of cutlery on plates was the only noise in the dining room at supper. There was a chill in the air and the biting winds from the South Pole were not responsible. The Professor and Augie had not exchanged a fully formed word since the scene at Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe's. The Professor kept his nose inside The Herald and Augie entered the room with an overly polite 'good evening' before focusing on his own post. Evangeline watched the two men out of the corner of her eye as she nibbled on her lamb. It was amusing to watch grown men behave so childishly.
"Another glass of cordial, Miss Evangeline?"
Miss Plockton hovered around the table, even more attentive than usual. Evangeline could tell she was burning with curiosity, desperate for any details on the mummy party. Apparently Miss Plockton's super-sensitive hearing did not extend beyond the house. Evangeline ignored her for the moment, she had her own business to attend to.
"Father? Do you have any spare hands?"
The Professor only had one real hand. His other hand was made entirely from brass, a fine example of his own clockwork engineering. To date, he had not been completely forthcoming about the events leading up to the loss of his hand. It somehow involved Big Ben.
"Have you been snooping around in my laboratory-workshop again?" he blustered.
"No, Father," she said. For once, Evangeline had not been ferreting around his laboratory-workshop. She learned her lesson last time when the Professor accidentally locked her inside, and his secret project at the dark end of the cellar began to move. The nightmares had stopped but she was still unsure whether there was something alive under 56 Collins Street. Her father held so many secrets.
"I had the most splendid idea last night for a new invention. I thought you may have some replacement spares for your own hand. Or old prototypes you no longer need?"
"Perhaps," he muttered.
"Sorry, I'm late." Edmund rushed to his seat at the table, Miss Plockton instantly producing a steaming plate of rosy lamb with brown gravy, peas and carrots.
The Professor and Augie grunted in greeting.
"You'll never believe what I saw outside. Across the road at Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe's."
"Well, it couldn't have been the mummy," said the Professor. "Foolish woman. Ruined my entire afternoon."
"It was the Zsoldas woman and her two companions."
"Leeching around again? 'I can feel a presence'," the Professor said in a heavily accented falsetto.
"She appeared to be moving in. She was standing on the footpath, giving orders and the footmen were unloading trunks from a carriage."
"What?" said the Professor. "That woman? In our street?"
"How modern." Augie rubbed his ample chins. "A bohemian element comes to Collins Street."
"Crooks more like it! She can smell Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe's money from a mile off. What respectable person moves house at suppertime?" The Professor shook his head. "Deplorable."
"I don't understand, Monty. Why this vehement disliking for Madame Zsoldas? Are you still vexed by that debate?" Augie replied. "She is a woman of service, providing comfort to the grieving. Relieving the suffering of the mourning. Assisting people to contact their lost loved ones."
"Pish posh. Don't be a goose, Augie. You really are a ninny sometimes. Can't you see through her facade?"
"How dare you speak to me like that? Edmund. Are you going to let your brother talk to me that way?"
Edmund, enjoying his lamb and minding his own business, put down his fork with a sigh.
"Monty. Mind what you say."
"This is my house, little brother. I'll do as I please."
The Professor glared at Edmund. Augie glared at the Professor. Evangeline's heart climbed into her throat.
"Please don't fight," Evangeline said softly.
The three men turned their eyes to Evangeline, their harsh expressions softening.
"You are right, m'dear. The supper table is not the place for this type of conversation. I'll have no more discussion of that woman in my house," the Professor declared. Edmund elbowed Augie and Augie reluctantly grunted in agreement.
"May I be excused, Father?" she said.
Her father nodded and shooed her away with a flick of his clockwork fingers. Evangeline picked up her skirts and ran to the parlour. With the men preoccupied on finishing their supper and hopefully reconciling, Evangeline had a chance to peek out of the lace curtains and investigate the activity across the road for herself.
She was just in the nick of time. The footmen were carrying the last trunk off the carriage and into the house, while Madame Zsoldas stood on the footpath. Under the street light in a scarlet turban and long flowing robes, she looked like an Arabian princess. Evangeline wished she could see into the travelling trunks, she wondered what exotic spiritualist apparatus lay inside. She didn't entirely know what a spiritualist did, but she imagined it involved shrunken heads and runes.
Madame Zsoldas started to follow the footmen inside the grand house. But before she stepped through the gate, she paused, turning her head and looking directly at Evangeline. She gasped and ducked her head below the window sill. How could Madame Zsoldas have possibly seen her? From that distance? In the dark? Through the window?
"What are you doing down there, Miss Evangeline?"
She jumped.
Chapter 5
"It's not polite to snoop, Miss Evangeline," Miss Plockton said.
"It's not really snooping. Merely confirming Uncle Edmund's story. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."
"You must abide by your father's orders. He is most unimpressed with the whole situation and I must agree with him. It's all rather unsavoury. Spiritual healers taking advantage of a poor widow."
"She's very rich," Evangeline replied.
"Her soul is poor. As is often the case with the very wealthy," Miss Plockton said with pity. "I imagine her home is very extravagant."
"Enormous chandeliers and mountains of food. Although I
barely got to taste any of it." Evangeline sighed, dreaming of the chocolate eclairs.
"Whyever not?"
"It turned out to be quite a strange afternoon. Not at all what I expected."
"In what way?" Miss Plockton leaned forward, her hands clutching at her chest.
Evangeline stifled a grin. It was a rare situation when she knew more than Miss Plockton about anything.
"There was a little kerfuffle."
"The spiritualist woman?" Miss Plockton's eyes were as round as saucers. "What did she do?"
Evangeline had Miss Plockton in the palm of her hand.
"I am so forgetful, Miss Plockton. In all the commotion and arguments, I left the supper table without any dessert." She rubbed her slim belly.
"I'm still a little peckish. Is there any chance I may have some pudding?" she said, with the innocence of a newborn. "If you've already tidied away the supper things, I'm happy to eat in the kitchen. I don't mind one bit."
Miss Plockton hesitated, raising a thin eyebrow.
"That's a shame." Evangeline sighed. "If there is no pudding left, I shall retire to my room for the evening. I do have some reading to continue with."
Evangeline started for the door. Miss Plockton grimaced. Under her frown, Evangeline could see Miss Plockton wrestling between her curiosity and her dislike of gluttony.
"Come with me," Miss Plockton said with an air of defeat.
She led the way down the corridor and into the kitchen.
"Cook. Please bring out the pudding for Miss Evangeline."
Evangeline sat at the wooden table as Miss Plockton spooned out a small serving of golden brown Baroness Pudding.
Evangeline narrowed her eyes. Miss Plockton tightened her lips and dolloped out another spoonful.
"Is there any custard?"
Cook produced a jug and poured generously. Evangeline picked up a spoon and tucked in.
"So you were saying, Miss Evangeline. There was a scene?" Miss Plockton said eagerly, sitting at the table alongside her. "Did you see the mummy?"
Evangeline started to speak but then remembered her manners. A lady does not speak with a mouthful of pudding. She shook her head instead. Uncle Augie would be proud.
"No? Was the coffin empty?"
Evangeline kept her mouth shut, savouring the delicious sweet raisins hidden inside the pudding. She held out her hands, as though she was sleepwalking.
"Hypnotism?"
Evangeline waggled her hand from side to side. This was turning into a game of charades. How fun. Evangeline pointed out to the parlour.
"Madame Zsoldas?"
Evangeline nodded. Miss Plockton was rather good at this game. Evangeline finished her mouthful and spoke.
"Madame Zsoldas said there was 'a strange presence in the air' and Mrs. Picklescott-Thingamie got all spooked and put a stop to the whole thing."
"Presence? What rot!" Miss Plockton said, her hand gracing the small gold cross around her neck. "But why is the Professor vexed with Mr. Beauchamp?"
"You must have some of this pudding, Miss Plockton. It's awfully good." Evangeline scraped her spoon along the bottom of the bowl. "Is there any more?"
Miss Plockton sighed and nodded reluctantly. Cook gave Evangeline a sly wink before loading up her bowl again.
"Father was very vocal in his scepticism about Madame Zsoldas. You could say he was a little insulting. Mrs. Picklescott-Macallit did not like it one bit."
"Heavens," Miss Plockton said with a flush in her cheeks. "A public altercation. And Mr. Beauchamp?"
"Father stormed out and Uncle Augie stayed behind."
"Oh dear," said Miss Plockton. "There has been some tension between the two of them recently. Ever since..."
As soon as the words left her mouth, Miss Plockton clamped her hand over her face. Evangeline buried a smirk by spooning more pudding into her mouth. It was funny to see Miss Plockton with her drawbridge down, ordinarily she was like the Tower of London.
"Oh, there you are," the Professor said, loitering in the doorway. A typical Victorian gentleman, he never entered the kitchen.
"Sorry, Professor. I was..." Miss Plockton blushed as red as a strawberry. How long had the Professor been standing there?
"Not you, Miss Plockton. Carry on. Evangeline? I found a spare arm for you. And by the way, have you seen my atervis detector?"
Evangeline popped another spoonful in her mouth and shook her head. It was her turn to blush red. The atervis detector was another of the Professor's clever inventions, a device for monitoring dark energy. It was a long brass tube like a telescope, but when you looked through the lens you could see dark energy: anything magical glowed with a silvery aura.
"Hmmm... I'm sure I saw it recently. It's just the device I need to prove what a charlatan that Zsoldas woman is."
The last time Evangeline saw the atervis detector, she had converted it into a more practical monocle and lost it in the Alchemist's mansion. It probably fell off somewhere, as she bounced about on her spring heeled boots. She had hoped the Professor had forgotten all about it.
"Botheration. I'll have to build another. Miss Plockton. Please go through my sketch archives and find the schematic. Right away. Before that woman fleeces Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe out of house and home. Someone needs to help that blasted foolish woman."
Evangeline scarfed down the last of the pudding and skipped after her father down to the laboratory-workshop. She headed straight for the battered wooden workbench where her father's spare hand lay.
"That arm got me through a lot of years," he said chuckling. His mood improved when he was in his favourite place, tinkering with his clockwork.
Evangeline splayed out the brass fingers and inspected the spare hand from every angle, testing the movement of each joint. This would do very nicely for her new invention and Evangeline got straight to work.
"Here you are, Professor." Miss Plockton appeared with a sheet of paper. Her cheeks still pink, her tone even more deferential than usual.
"Splendid," the Professor said and Miss Plockton scurried back upstairs. She knew when to make herself scarce. "Luckily, I have some leftover nuummite from the last device. Never throw anything away, Evangeline. You never know when it will come in handy."
Her father's mention of nuummite reminded Evangeline of her altercation with the Lady Alchemist. In order to escape, Evangeline had conjured up some type of energy of her own, but, ever since that incident, Evangeline had failed to recreate the power. It was a curious circumstance and then there was the vague feeling from the mummy this afternoon. She wondered whether her father had any experience with such matters.
"Do you ever get strange feelings, Father?"
"Sorry?" The Professor barely looked up from his schematic.
"Like a tingling sensation."
"I'm not sure what you mean, m'dear," the Professor stammered, looking up with a scared look on his face.
"A kind of warmth in your body."
"Err. Um."
"A tingling glow running through your limbs."
The Professor coughed. "Perhaps you need to talk to Miss Plockton about this type of question."
"Do you think Miss Plockton would understand? I thought she was far too religious for this type of thing."
"She may be prim but underneath she's still a woman."
"I'm rather confused, Father..."
"This is not a matter for fathers. I have no experience of being a young lady."
Her father stood up, his face a bright fuchsia and walked to the far end of the workshop. Evangeline wondered if she'd said something wrong, her father was acting rather strange all of a sudden. Perhaps he was tired. With the mummy unwrapping soiree this afternoon, the fuss with Madame Zsoldas and his battles with Augie, it had been quite an eventful and exhausting day.
She shrugged her shoulders and continued on with her invention.
Chapter 6
Evangeline tossed and turned in her bed, her tummy rather queasy, probably the result of
too much pudding and the lingering scent of rotting Egyptian. She padded downstairs in her stockinged feet, in search of a soothing glass of milk.
The house was quiet, it was past midnight but a light blazed under the sitting room door. Evangeline poked her head in, finding Uncle Edmund in an armchair with a glass in his hand.
"Keep me company, little niece," Edmund said with a slight slur in his voice.
Evangeline gladly took a seat beside him. She rarely got any time alone with her Uncle Edmund.
"What a strange day," he said.
"I was rather disappointed about the mummy."
"What do you think about this business with Madame Zsoldas? Does the supernatural interest you at all?"
"Only from a scientific perspective," Evangeline said, trying to sound convincing.
"Very practical of you, my dear. Because there's a reason why you might be interested in it." Edmund took a long sip from his crystal glass. "The same reason why I might enjoy this little drink so much."
He held the glass up to the light, staring through the amber liquid.
"Has Monty told you about his mother? Our mother."
Evangeline's family history was unknown to her, she had only been reunited with the Caldicotts for six months and her father was not the divulging type. He had only made a couple of brief, unflattering comments about his mother, Lady Caroline Caldicott. Evangeline had the impression she was a stern cold woman, with little time for anything except for her horses.
"He has mentioned Grandmama once or twice."
"Never anything nice I suppose. Well, she is the wicked stepmother."
"Step?" Evangeline's mouth dropped open.
"Not our real mother."
"What happened to your real mother?"
"My knowledge is scant. Papa never speaks of her. And Monty rarely. All I know I've gathered from family gossip and Nanny Meaburn."
Evangeline leaned in, ears wide open.
"Our parents' marriage was quite scandalous. They met on the streets in London. My mother was singing and selling cut primroses. He was struck by her beauty, some say she cast a spell, and it was love at first sight. They were married within the week.
The Antics of Evangeline: Collection 1: Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne Page 16
