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

by Madeleine D'Este

  Evangeline and the Professor stepped through the glass front door and a frock-coated man with a chinstrap beard sidled straight up to them.

  "Professor Caldicott, I presume." The man bowed deeply and efficiently. "An absolute pleasure. On behalf of Mister Ingloss, we are thrilled you have chosen to visit our humble establishment. I am the Manager of Ingloss and Company. My name is Mister Snore."

  Evangeline stifled a giggle behind her gloved hand.

  "Thank you, Mister Snore. Most kind of you." The Professor nodded. "May I introduce my assistant, Miss Evangeline Caldicott?"

  Evangeline beamed each time her new title was mentioned. Although she was not entirely sure what being a Professor's assistant entailed.

  "Firstly, I must apologise to Mister Ingloss for my neglect." The Professor continued. "Terribly slack of me. Failing to visit Ingloss and Company until today. I've been rather distracted by other projects, you understand. Today is the first day I happen to have a few spare moments for a tour. I'm keen to see what your fine company is up to. Please lead the way to your maintenance workshop."

  "Absolutely, Professor." Mr. Snore nodded, his necktie as snug as a noose around his neck. "But as you can imagine, our workshops are quite busy and dangerous." Mr. Snore peered down his nose at Evangeline.

  "Don't worry about my assistant, Mister Snore. She is very familiar with working workshops."

  Evangeline held her chin high.

  A white-aproned young lad rushed across the foyer. "There's another one of them journalists here, Mister Snore, sir. 'E's askin' all kinds of questions, 'e is," the lad said, wringing his hands.

  "Send him away, boy," Mr. Snore barked. The young man cowered and scuttled away. "Useless."

  The Professor and Evangeline shared a knowing sideways glance.

  "The newspapers have gone quite mad. Did you see all the hoo-haa in the morning editions?" Mr. Snore gestured towards a door, and they followed him through the dirigible depot foyer. Past rows of bleary-eyed and plainly-dressed people yawning on hard wooden benches.

  "Yes, the lights. Quite peculiar."

  "I didn't see them myself. I was at evensong as all God-fearing Christians should be. If you ask me, it all sounds like the result of too many afternoon rums," Mr. Snore grumbled. "This way, sir."

  Exiting the main building, they followed a dirt road towards a vast wooden shed, the size of a railway station.

  Dirigible was the fastest way to get around the world in 1882. Evangeline travelled the many-legged journey from London by dirigible seven months earlier with Edmund and Augie, to start her new life in Melbourne. Her journey across the world in the latest technology kindled her interest in the possibilities of science. She quite fancied herself as a dirigible captain, living a life on the high skies and having adventures.

  Inside the shed, six dirigibles of different sizes and models were lined up under the corrugated iron roof. Some with rigid structured domes and some with deflated balloons but each airship crawling with maintenance men. The cloying scent of oil paint in the air. One group with brushes in hand, touching up the gondolas with the canary yellow company colours. Evangeline barely heard a word over the clang of metalwork, the revving of engines, and the whoosh of inflating balloons.

  "Splendid." The Professor hurried up to the first dirigible, a broad grin on his face. "I'm extremely pleased to see none of that silly faddish steam. Most people do not appreciate the dangers. Now, what's going on here?"

  "Our ships only travel short domestic distances. We stay local. Every ship comes in for maintenance at least once a week. Some repairs are routine. Replacing ropes and repainting. But every now and then, they need a complete overhaul, and we have to practically rebuild from the ground up."

  The Professor whispered to Evangeline. "Have a look around, I'll deal with Snore."

  "What am I looking for?"

  "Anything suspicious. These ships are all old and battered. Nothing which could travel at the speeds of the mystery lights. Perhaps they have some experimental ships somewhere. Look for something brand spanking new."

  Evangeline gave her father a little salute, somehow it seemed appropriate, and headed off.

  "So Snore, tell me about these Gnattington engines. I hear they can be a little temperamental when put into second gear?" the Professor said, steering him away.

  "Ah, yes. So refreshing to speak to a man of your intellectual stature, sir. The Gnattingtons are quite troublesome creatures..."

  Evangeline skipped behind the largest dirigible and began inspecting every inch of the gargantuan shed for any hint of advanced technology.

  She stopped to take a closer look at one of the smaller dirigibles. With long wooden benches and small portholes, this was a far cry from the luxurious sleeper dirigible Evangeline took from London to Melbourne, with its restaurant car and bunk bed compartments. No new technology in this basic model dirigible.

  "'Allo there, Miss." A young man swaggered towards her, doffing his cap. "Nice to see a pretty face around here. Makes a change from all these ugly mugs."

  She nodded demurely and continued on. His fellow gondola painters chuckling and elbowing the brash young man.

  "Get back to work," yelled another voice, hidden somewhere underneath a deflated balloon.

  Evangeline was not as inconspicuous as she hoped, more stealth required to be a proper undercover spy. But she continued on, wandering past all six dirigibles, looking for a secret door in the wall or a locked room. But there was nothing.

  Evangeline called up to a young man fastening wire supports. "Excuse me, sir."

  The dark haired man with a handsomely hooked nose jumped down to the ground and wiped his greasy hands on a rag.

  "Sorry to trouble you but I'm a bit lost," she said, batting her eyelashes. "I am looking for your newer ships. Where can I find them?"

  "New ships, Miss?" he said, his brow furrowed, a curious lilt to his voice. "I do not know of Mister Ingloss buying any new ships."

  "Nothing from Bavaria?"

  He shook his head and frowned. "Only the ones you see here. The others are in the sky."

  "I must be mistaken. Thank you, sir."

  The man bowed and Evangeline turned to walk away, but she paused. There was something strange about the way he spoke.

  It was his voice, his accent. He was not English or Irish or Scottish like everyone else. He was French.

  A Frenchman in a dirigible company?

  Chapter 6

  Evangeline squinted, inspecting the Frenchman top to toe. She gasped. His white shirt front smeared with a faint pink stain. The very same shade of pink as the vapour trail in the sky last night. The newspaper report was right. An invasion was imminent. Someone ought to do something.

  Evangeline glanced down the length of the shed towards her father. He was hundreds of yards away. He would not hear her voice over the ruckus of repairs. It appeared Evangeline was on her own, but luckily, she was a rather capable young lady.

  She spun around, parasol in hand and tripped the unsuspecting Frenchman. He tumbled to the ground in a heap, grunting.

  "Why did you do that?" He scowled up at her.

  "You know why," Evangeline said. "There's no point pretending. I know who you are."

  "Quoi?" He held out his hands.

  "Exactement." Evangeline nodded.

  "You are mad." He shook his head. Evangeline narrowed her eyes. The Frenchman's left hand was fumbling behind his back, groping for a weapon of some kind.

  "No, you don't." Evangeline lunged forward, striking him across the face with her gloved hand.

  "Help." The man cried, his hands above his head, a stripe of red blood on his bottom lip. "I'm being attacked by a madwoman!"

  "No one will help you. Especially when I tell them you are a spy and a traitor."

  "I don't know what you are talking about, Miss."

  Evangeline grabbed the Frenchman in a headlock and dragged him towards her father and Mr. Snore. She struggled for a few feet, but he w
as a good deal taller and heavier and it was a long way to the end of the shed.

  "On your feet," she ordered.

  "Non," he said, slumping to the ground. "Leave me alone."

  Evangeline swung her parasol from the crook of her elbow and clicked the button three times. This was no ordinary parasol, this was one of her very own inventions. Evangeline lost the original version of her vicious parasol in her battle with the Bunyip, but her new model was ruffled and in this season's colour: arctic blue.

  A bayonet blade extended from the ferrule and the man jumped up like a rabbit, hands in the air.

  "This way," she said, pointing the bayonet tip right at the young man's Adam's apple.

  "Why are you doing this?" he said, his head bowed as she marched the French traitor towards the other end of the shed. The shed grew unnaturally quiet as, one by one, the workers stopped and stared.

  "Evangeline!" her father exclaimed. "What is going on?"

  "This man is a spy. A French spy."

  "I am not. I do not know what..." the Frenchman said, his palms in the air.

  "Be quiet, traitor." Evangeline thrust the blade closer to his face.

  "Evangeline, put that thing down. Let the man speak."

  "Father." She frowned.

  "This is Jean-Pierre," said Mr. Snore, shaking his head. "He's no spy. He is one of my best workmen. And he's Belgian."

  "How well do you know him?" Evangeline said with hands on hips. "He could be here gathering intelligence to start an invasion."

  Jean-Pierre and Mr. Snore burst out laughing. Evangeline narrowed her eyes.

  "Father, look at his shirt. Pink smudges."

  The Professor leaned forward, grabbing his pince-nez from his pocket. "So, it is..."

  Jean-Pierre looked down, his cheeks reddening. "I can explain."

  The Professor reached out his hand and touched the pink stain, sniffing the residue on his fingers cautiously. His brow crumpled. "Roses?"

  Jean-Pierre dropped his chin to his chest. "My wife."

  "Jean-Pierre is a newlywed," Mr. Snore said, his mouth pinched. "And perfectly respectable."

  "Right." The Professor cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. "I think we need to leave, Evangeline."

  "I agree, Professor. Otherwise I will be forced to call the police. And we wouldn't want a scene. Would we?" Mr. Snore sneered. "You can show yourselves out. Good luck with your assistant. Quite a handful, you have there."

  The Professor grumbled under his breath and gripped Evangeline by the elbow. She frantically pressed the button on her parasol, retracting the blade as her father dragged her away.

  "What were you thinking?" the Professor hissed as they marched through the main building and back out to the road.

  "You said look for anything suspicious. His accent. It was French. And the pink?"

  "Belgian. Where did you get that implement?" The Professor pointed with wide eyes.

  "Isn't it magnificent? I made it myself. I call it the vicious parasol." Evangeline thrust out her chest. "It's awfully handy. For all manner of difficult situations."

  "Aptly named. Don't use it again." He frowned.

  "But, Father."

  "Ever. Give me your word?" He pointed a brass finger.

  "I promise." Evangeline pouted and her father shook his head.

  "Where did you learn such behaviour? Man-handling that poor fellow? What did I say earlier about your probationary period? Trouble already and it's not even time for elevenses."

  Chapter 7

  Evangeline slouched sulkily behind the Professor as they continued down the road to the next dirigible service company, Egmere Brothers.

  The Egmere Brothers premises was a two-storey sandstone building with gleaming curved windows, moulded arches and eaves, flanked by precisely clipped hedges. A uniformed man with white gloves opened the door as they approached.

  "Welcome to Egmere Brothers, sir. May I take your luggage? Oh, no luggage. Travelling on a whim, sir? How spontaneous."

  "I'm Professor Caldicott. I'm here to speak with the man in charge," the Professor said, sweeping straight into the foyer. The doors opened up into a waiting room with lofty cathedral-height ceilings. Tasteful chamber music played softly, and fashionably dressed passengers sat on upholstered chairs sipping tea. The waiting rooms should have been familiar to Evangeline, the Egmere Brothers depot was her first stop on Australian soil. But on that momentous day, her head was so clouded with fear and excitement, she could barely recall a thing.

  "Do you have an appointment, sir." The man with the white gloves scurried after them.

  "I sent a telegraph but didn't receive a reply. But I'm sure he will make time to see me." The Professor drew up to his full height, shoulders back.

  "I'm afraid Mister Clumber is not available, sir." The man bent so low his white gloves almost graced the floor. "He is extremely busy managing the maintenance of our ships. Ensuring our passengers have the best and safest possible voyage."

  "Please tell him I am here. Professor Montague Caldicott. He'll know who I am."

  The white-gloved man bowed and darted away.

  "I can't stand impertinence," the Professor grumbled. "Where can I get a cup of tea? I'm simply desiccated."

  "Attention, please. Ladies and gentlemen," a calm voice announced. "The half-past-ten dirigible bound for Shanghai is now ready for boarding. Please assemble at Door Two with your tickets ready. We hope you have a pleasant journey and thank you for travelling with Egmere Brothers."

  The white-gloved man returned with another deep genuflection.

  "My apologies, sir." He cowered. "Unfortunately, Mister Clumber is not taking any visitors this morning."

  "There must be some mistake, boy. Are you sure you pronounced my name correctly? Cal-di-cott."

  "Quite sure, sir. He mentioned you were an eminent engineer, but unfortunately, his schedule does not allow any interruptions."

  "Poppycock," the Professor said and barged through the side door. Evangeline followed closely behind, smirking.

  "Sir! Sir!" the man called after him.

  Through the door, the Professor and Evangeline arrived in a large open office. Hat-less women sat in rows like a school room, their fingers moving swiftly over typewriters in a symphony of clattering keys.

  "Where is this Clumber fellow?" the Professor said loudly, scouting up and down the room, frowning. The typists did not look up or miss a single keystroke. Evangeline shrugged. The Professor pursed his lips and pushed through another door into a corridor.

  "I'm looking for Clumber." The Professor poked his head into a small office, startling a whiskered man at an abacus.

  "Probably out in the maintenance sheds," the man said, blinking. "The door on the right."

  The Professor harrumphed, and without breaking stride, marched through the door and across the gravel towards a row of warehouses. The stiff breeze flapping his moustache like a hairy bird.

  The Egmere Brothers sheds were built from the same creamy sandstone as the main terminal building but twice as large. Inside, a row of identical spotless airships sparkled in the gaslight.

  "Who are you?" said a worker with blackened hands. "You can't just come in here."

  "Are these Dinkelsbuhl? Fantastic." The Professor rushed at the nearest airship with the enthusiasm of a small boy, flipping the lenses on his pince-nez.

  "Oi, mate. Get out." Another man stepped forward, towering over the Professor like an oak tree.

  "I am looking for Mister Clumber."

  "Well, he ain't here. So sod off."

  The Professor gasped and covered Evangeline's ears. Evangeline sharply inhaled, pretending to take offence, but she'd heard worse insults from children barely out of nappies.

  "Sir. There are ladies present."

  The oak-sized man shrugged his shoulders and walked off, leaving the Professor standing with his hands on his hips. "More impertinence."

  Evangeline glanced around the warehouse while her father upset more pe
ople. In the corner, a man carefully padlocked a small shed.

  "Look. Over there, Father." She pointed.

  "Exactly the type of suspicious behaviour we're looking for. Come along."

  The Professor made a beeline for the suspect shed, but before Evangeline and the Professor were half way there, three men came running, blocking their path.

  "You are trespassing, sir," said one of the men. His words were polite but his pale blue eyes were hard. "We must ask you to leave."

  "I have a simple request. I only want to speak with Clumber. I don't understand why it is so difficult."

  "You've been told repeatedly, he is not available, sir. We must insist you leave our property at once." The three men stood in a row with their arms folded.

  "What has he got to hide?" The Professor thrust his chin in the air.

  While the men were distracted, Evangeline took a stealthy side-step towards the shed. With all the arguing and name-calling, no one noticed Evangeline yanking at the padlock. It was locked firm. But unperturbed, she grabbed her hat pin.

  "Nothing, sir. Mister Clumber is a busy man. If you will not leave willingly..."

  Evangeline glanced down as she tussled with the lock, spying a puddle on the brick floor. The liquid was pink. Her eyes widened.

  "Then what?" The Professor glared. "Are you threatening me, sir? I'll have you know I'm a..."

  The oak tree man reappeared, grabbing the Professor in a bear hug and lifting him from his feet.

  "Get your hands off me, you thug." The Professor kicked as the man carried him across the gravel.

  Evangeline gasped, abandoning the lock and hurrying towards her hamstrung father. "Put him down."

  Evangeline scuttled along beside him. "Can I use the parasol now, Father?"

  "No, I can handle this." The Professor wheezed and writhed. "This is outrageous. I have never been so insulted in all my life."

  The big man said nothing, depositing the Professor onto his feet on the street outside the Egmere Brothers property line.

  "I shall speak with the Governor! And the police!" The Professor shook his fist, his face post-box red. Newly arriving passengers heading into the terminal building averted their eyes and quickened their pace.