A Gentleman and a Scholar

by Rebecca Diem

  “Captain? Clara said to come and fetch you quick.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Her brother is here!”

  The Captain Duke followed the boy through the manor to the ballroom they now used as a gathering hall. As they passed a dusty window, he paused to brush the soot from his long, blue coat. His hair was tangled and he smoothed it back with impatient fingers, wishing he had more time to prepare. He felt nervous, meeting one of Clara’s family for the first time. He’s here for Trick, the Captain Duke reminded himself. But he straightened his posture, lifting his chin as he entered the room.

  Clara was sitting on a sofa with a young man who could have been her twin—heart-shaped faces and identical dark brown curls, though his were cut short. The Captain was struck by their similarities as they both looked up at his entrance. Then, Clara rose and dashed across the room toward him, the long purple overskirt she favoured swirling around her legs, clad in slim black pants. She was smiling as she took him by the hand and led him into the room. She was radiant.

  “Archie is here, Captain! Captain, this is my brother, Archie Whittington. Archie, I am pleased to present the Captain Duke.”

  The young man rose, extending a hand. He had a pleasant smile and a firm handshake.

  “I’ve heard a few tales, but none that measure up to Clara’s glowing commendations,” said Archie.

  The Captain wanted to ask a thousand questions—firstly, whether he could actually help Trick. Instead, he did his best to quell his worries, and smiled at their new guest.

  “Welcome to the Haven.”

  Chapter 3: In which our heroine has high hopes

  Clara was seated on a bench on one side of a long table they had salvaged from an old storage room, with her brother by her side. It was a simple dinner, as the kitchens were somewhat worse for wear—but Cook was able to work wonders with even the simple galleys on board the airships. Tonight was a hearty roast with early autumn vegetables. Cat and Mouse were across the table, enthralled by Archie’s stories about his latest mechanical adventures and mishaps at the university.

  “Imagine my surprise when the door opened—my quiet corner of study was, in fact, a powder room!” he exclaimed, eyes twinkling. “They have facilities for the male scholars, of course, but there’s so few of us no one could be bothered to remember their location. Thankfully my peers took pity and permitted me to join their company. By the time I found the gentlemen’s lounge, I was already accustomed to the engaging debates of the after-dinner parlours. In fact, I prefer them. Professor Sewell’s laboratory is at the cutting edge of innovative discovery, filled with the brightest minds in the Empire.”

  Mouse was leaning so far forward, Clara thought he might tilt over into the potatoes, a forkful of beef forgotten in his hand.

  “Is that where you built your craft? How did you get the balance on the rotors?” he asked.

  “And what model did you use for the suspension? I’ve never seen such a set up,” added Cat.

  The two children had examined her brother’s flying machine, but only after receiving his express permission. Clara thought he might regret it; the siblings had been near to disassembling the aircraft just to see if they could put it back together themselves. They likely could, she thought.

  “Heavens, no. The Professor would murder me if I used her equipment for my little contraptions. I took a prototype glider I had started on the Isle and added a mechanical propulsion system using the Krebs method…”

  The three of them carried on their conversation, lost in the art of cogs and gears. Clara was happy to listen, though the subject was of little interest to her despite years of participation in her brother’s experiments. It was advantageous to have some basic knowledge of the mechanics of flight, but the details were of little concern to her as long as they kept the airship aloft. She sighed and tucked her hand under her chin. She missed her brother’s boundless enthusiasm and infectious delight, even if the memories of past dinners in their family home gave rise to small eddies of grief. But, they were together again, and that itself was a matter of celebration.

  Clara rose to retrieve a bottle of wine from the sideboard, and was startled as Archie rose beside her. The company stared, until the Captain Duke cleared his throat and rose at the head of the table. Suddenly, all the male pilots were standing sheepishly, even little Mouse. Clara realised, with complete dismay, that it was for her benefit. Blushing madly, she brought the wine round.

  “Now that we are here together, might I propose a toast?”

  Clara shot Nessa a look of gratitude as she and the rest of the women stood as well. The bottle was passed and glasses were filled. Clara turned to the Captain, but he merely nodded in her direction. Clara took a breath and straightened her shoulders.

  “There’s no doubt we’ve had a rough haul these past weeks. But I could not ask for a better crew to share these trials and tribulations with. Because of you, we’re on track for our best season yet. We’ve made our way through the storm—and I’ll not pretend there are clear skies ahead—but I can see marvels on the horizon.”

  She turned first to her brother, “To Archie; may the future yield to your innovations. I wish you luck and commend you for joining us in helping a dear friend.”

  Then she raised her glass to the head of the table: “…and to the Captain Duke, our leader through the good times and the bad, for bringing our enterprise together. May you ever find friends in your time of need.”

  “And to Clara,” said the Captain, before she could finish, “for your courage and ingenuity. You’ve shone the light on a new path forward, and for that we are ever at your service.”

  Clara blushed again as the assembled pilots cheered. She could feel her brother’s curious look, but took the Captain’s compliment with pride. She had worked hard to earn her place in this crew, and she raised her voice along with theirs:

  To the winds, to the clouds, to a life lived well,

  Take me up to the sky!

  To the heavens above and the land far below,

  Pilot, keep to the sky!

  To the sun on your face and the stars in your eyes,

  Captain! Give me the sky!

  She met the Captain’s eye as they finished the toast, and smiled before drinking deeply.

  After dinner, they retired to the library with Archie to fill in the details of their situation. Nessa and the Captain Duke interjected only when needed to elaborate on the messier details of Trick’s circumstances. Clara could see how it pained them, and did her best to inject some optimism into the situation. After all, her brother had studied alongside the very best. Surely he could help Trick.

  Archie paused in his note-taking to lean back in his chair.

  “Well, it sounds like a simple enough case. We’ll certainly be able to restore basic functionality to the subject.”

  “To Trick,” said Nessa, eyes narrowing.

  “Yes, of course,” he replied quickly.

  “Well, that’s wonderful news,” said Clara. “Isn’t it, Captain? Trick will have the best treatment in the country. He’ll get better now.”

  “I think we should pay our patient a visit first,” the Captain said.

  The lines of worry seemed permanently etched on his brow. Clara had a moment’s thought of reaching up to smooth them away, entirely inappropriate in present company. But she laid a hand on his arm and he gave her a grateful look.

  “Excellent idea. Shall we?”

  She lifted the bag of Archie’s tools from the settee and set off for the door.

  “Oh, Clara, really. You mustn’t exert yourself so,” Archie called, intercepting her and retrieving his equipment. “Allow us,” he said, handing the satchel to the Captain Duke.

  She felt her temper rising. Clara turned on her heel and led the way from the room, but not before witnessing the smirk exchanged between the Captain and Nessa. Face burning, she guided their group upstairs to the room designated for Trick’s convalescence. As she walked,
Clara forced herself to take deep breaths. Archie was here to help, she reminded herself; this was for Trick.

  By the time they reached his chambers, Clara was feeling far more forgiving about the situation. She knocked lightly on the door before calling out,

  “Trick? There’s company here to see you.”

  Nessa and the Captain Duke entered the room with her, while Archie hung back, allowing them space. Trick was sitting by the window, the room lit by a single lamp. The Captain Duke set about lighting more lamps and stoking the fire against the evening chill. Clara approached to sit in the chair across from him, reaching out to take his good hand. His eyes turned to her, but they held no emotion. It was as though he had been hollowed out from within. But, after a moment, he squeezed her hand back. Clara smiled,

  “Trick, I’d like you to meet my brother, Archie. I think he might be able to help. Do you remember him from my stories? He put me on the airship you found me on, ball gown and all.”

  She caught a hint of a smile. It was a good sign. Clara waited until Trick nodded, then gestured to Archie to come forward.

  “Archie, this is Patrick Kilarney, first officer to the Captain Duke. Trick, my brother, Lord Archibald Whittington. He is a scholar at Lovelace, and an assistant to Professor Georgina Jameson Sewell.”

  Archie’s manner changed as he approached the injured man. His face was open, his expression sincere and respectful.

  “It’s an honour to meet you, sir. I am ever so grateful for your kindness towards my sister. Let me assure you,” he said, kneeling. “I will do everything in my power to aid in your recovery. Everything. Now, may I see?”

  It felt as though everyone in the room was holding their breath. It was a long, long moment as Archie knelt with a hand extended, patiently, expectantly, but radiating a sense of calm authority. Finally, Trick sought the Captain’s eyes. Arms crossed, expression stern, he gave his affirmation, and Trick stretched out his injured limb. Clara let out a sigh of relief as she watched the care with which her brother examined her friend, asking questions in a quiet, professional manner, nodding as he received the barest response. He did not flinch at the sight of the injury, moving the limb this way and that, assessing the range of motion as Trick grew more comfortable. In whispers, he confessed his fears.

  “Pardon, sir?” Archie asked.

  “I can’t—I don’t think I’ll be able to—it’s hopeless, is it not?”

  “Hardly, sir. I’ve seen many cases like yours at the university. Some are worse off, some better. But all our patients have been able to recover some of their function — in several cases they have exceeded their original abilities. Professor Sewell’s work is a wonder to behold. But first, we must make sure you’re strong enough to endure the treatment. Your injury is healing well; the surgeon did fair work on this graft, though I would recommend a salve to aid in the process. I also have exercises we can work through to build up your strength again. Does that sound agreeable to you, sir?”

  “Call me Trick,” he said.

  Clara smiled, and began to relax. Everything would be okay.

  Chapter 4: In which our heroine addresses a matter of courtesy

  A week later, nothing was okay.

  *ping* *ping *ping*

  Clara focused her aim and steadied her breath as she shot each bottle off the remnants of the wall in front of her. The corner of her mouth twisted into a smile as the fourth and fifth bottles shattered. But with the sixth, the bullet grazed the neck, tipping it over to lay there intact, mocking her. She resisted the urge to employ one of the curse words in her expanding vocabulary and gathered her focus once more. Clara raised the pistol and slowly squeezed the trigger—

  “Clara!”

  She let out her breath in a huff, “What?”

  “Apologies, ma’am, the airships are returning,” said Peg, standing in the doorframe of the Haven, arms akimbo.

  Clara took a breath and shook her head, “Peg, I’ve told you. I’m not an officer. Please don’t call me ma’am.”

  “Not yet. Best to get in your good books early. Especially considering your chosen methods of dealing with those who cross you,” said Peg with a significant look at glass littering the ground.

  “If only it was the real thing. Is there word?”

  “Sighted near Manchester yesterday, headed south, but nothing since then. We have our contacts on the alert; we’ll find Robbie eventually.”

  Clara felt her mouth tighten at the cursed name. The traitor had landed on the beach right before her eyes. He had started the mutiny. He had stabbed Anderssen, who died in her arms. He had set fire to the gunpowder ship, aimed it directly for their home. He had stood there, terrified, as she aimed her pistol for his heart. And Clara had let him get away. It did not matter what the crew thought or how many times the Captain Duke reassured her. She had allowed her own weakness to prevail. Clara said nothing, but turned back to her task. She pictured Robbie’s head on each of the bottles. With a steady hand, she shot the last three clean through. She lifted her chin and turned back to Peg, holstering her weapon.

  “There. I’m finished.”

  She kicked aside a piece of burnt molding, the layers of white ash sifting softly beneath her boots. Peg walked out from the main part of the manor, and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Clara, you mustn’t blame yourself. I was half-dead and lying on the beach, useless to all. I might not have taken the shot either. Robbie’s a master manipulator. And an explosion like that shocks your brain, it messes with your mind after.”

  “I just—I can’t shake this feeling. He’s out there. I had a chance to stop him, and I failed. We’re still in danger because of me.”

  “No, we’re in danger because Robbie Codswaddle betrayed us. And he’ll need time to recover, to regroup. He’s impetuous and petty, but he is not a stupid man, and he was counting on more of us turning on the Captain Duke to follow him. He won’t attack so soon, not since Nessa cast a black mark on his name at every airbour in the Empire.”

  Clara sighed, “I suppose you’re right. And if anyone can root him out, it would be Ness.”

  “That’s the spirit! And your aim is certainly top-notch. He ought to be quivering in his boots for the day he crosses your path again.”

  Clara surveyed the damage around her. They had worked hard to restore the central part of the manor, but the north wing was ruined beyond repair. It would need to be completely rebuilt, and there was no time before the storm season. They needed to find a solution, and soon.

  Peg threw an arm around her in reassurance, “Look, you’ve certainly done more than your fair share of fixing. The crew has purpose again. We’re bringing in a better haul than ever. And Trick is eating again! Real food. Hearty stuff.”

  “It’s true,” said the Captain Duke, appearing in the doorframe.

  Clara noticed his reluctance to step beyond the threshold into the ruins. And yet, he often came to this spot to look upon the cremated remains of the Haven. So much had changed. There was little to be gained by staying, and yet, they stayed. There were times when she felt as though they were caught in a maelstrom, twisting and whirling in place with no way to see a path through to calmer skies. But, in spite of the weariness that showed around his eyes, the Captain was smiling.

  “I swear I even heard him make a joke yesterday morn. I think those exercises your brother has him doing are making a real difference.”

  Clara rolled her eyes.

  Peg lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yes, Archie’s a miracle-worker. Satisfied?” Clara huffed.

  “I hate to remind you at such a delicate time, but it was your idea to bring him,” the Captain smirked. “The crew is certainly enamoured.”

  It had been her idea, and Clara did not regret it, seeing the improvement in Trick’s condition. But all week it had been the same. Archie pulling out a chair for her at the table. Archie intervening anytime she attempted to carry anything heavier than a pincushion. And it wasn’t just him—the cre
w had begun to treat her differently. No more jostling at the bench for supper or teasing humour. They had reacted with surprise when she joined in the work unloading a large haul of shearling until she gave them a look that spoke to their imminent peril if they were to comment. Clara missed the camaraderie she had previously enjoyed.

  “It’s fine. I just hate to be treated with such… courtesy,” she said, scowling.

  “Oh, is that it?” Peg laughed, “Don’t think we haven’t noticed. You’ve the patience of a saint, ma’am, but you’ll need to have a talk with dear Archie ere long.”

  “And what can I say? Apologies, dear brother, you’re being far too polite?”

  She narrowed her eyes as the Captain wisely stifled a chuckle.

  Peg crossed her arms, “It’s not the politeness. It’s a matter of respect.”

  “My brother does respect me,” she protested.

  “It’s a different matter, being respected as a lady. Not the same as being respected as yourself.”

  “It is different,” echoed the Captain. “You earned the admiration and respect of the crew not by means of your name or sex, but through cleverness, hard work, determination. You’ve saved our lives over and again with your ideas.”

  Clara fought the blush that rose in her cheeks at such a compliment. She’d changed in the weeks since she’d flown away from the Isle of Wight and joined the crew of the Captain Duke.

  “He’s treating me like a debutante.”

  “And what will you do about it?” asked the Captain.

  He hesitated, then stepped through the door, the ash puffing up in soft clouds around his dark boots. Clara hardly noticed Peg taking her leave as the Captain crossed the distance between them, heartbeat jumping as he stood close to her. And then they were alone. They had not yet discussed that kiss on the beach, but it was always at the forefront of her mind when she found herself near to him.

  “You’re outside,” she said.

  “We both are.”