The dyer said, in a surprisingly high tenor voice for one so large across the chest, “We are going right by, to dye a wedding north of Central Park. Lilac and lavender. Twenty shoes, ten gowns, ten shirts, ten cravats, and a heap of feathers for the table decorations.”
“Scented too,” said the driver, and yanked his steam horn to shoo a sluggish dray from his path. “Lavender and lilac for an autumn wedding. I ask you. No style, these new money types.”
Assured of safe passage, Maddie drifted into a doze to the accompaniment of the dyer and the driver arguing the merits of asters, calendula, and autumn roses. At some point she felt Emmeline’s head slump against her and heard the driver extolling the scent-fastness of star-gazer lily. The next time she roused, the dye-mobile was coasting to a stop.
“Here we are, right as rain,” said the driver. The dyer hopped down and offered a hand as the girls scrambled out, dishevelled and blinking from their unexpected nap. The footman came in answer to the driver’s ring, his eyes wide at the unorthodox vehicle. They were home, and safe, and the clock over the stair chimed just ten times. Still three hours to luncheon. Time yet for actual, blessed rest.
First, though, Emmeline had to reassure her mother. Maddie, still half-asleep, nodded when needed to support the story of their serving tea at an early-morning mending bee at the orphanage, put on by the neighbourhood women before they hurried to their factory jobs. It seemed a necessary lie; to tell any part of the truth might lead to questions that exposed the danger to Emmeline.
Upstairs and alone at last, Maddie set TD on the desk. The poor little sparrow’s eyes were milky white through the slits of his little brass eyelids. His beak opened halfway and stopped. Maddie had never seen him so drained. Fortunately, she knew what to do. She took out her travelling sewing kit and opened a concealed layer containing TD’s tiny toolkit. A miniature screwdriver with a star-shaped tip was specially designed to click into a matching slot under the sparrow’s chin. She turned, gently, widening the beak to its full extent and pushed one blue power pellet down his throat with the screwdriver’s handle. Now all she could do was wait while his complicated mechanisms woke up and tested themselves. She set out a second power pellet so he could fully recharge after his systems were restored and, casting her navy shirtwaist over a chair, crawled between her bluebell sheets with a sigh of heartfelt gratitude for the soft cuddle of her mattress.
Dora tapped at the door some time later, bringing in a tray with a combination breakfast and lunch laid out in the bluebell porcelain dishes. She drew open the drapes as Maddie sat up, and settled the tray over her knees in the bed. “Miss Emmeline’s having hers in bed too. It’s after noon, and the missus said you should be downstairs, ready to leave, by half past one. Shall I do you a bath, miss?”
Maddie agreed to this, and saw Dora out of sight before she looked at the desk. No TD. No power pellet either. He had recovered enough to eat, and was likely back in his hiding place atop the armoire. Well, she would leave him there for today. In light of Madame’s warning about the countess, taking him into the spy’s home seemed an unnecessary risk. It wasn’t as if the woman would leave the tools of her nefarious trade lying out in plain sight for him to image.
Indeed, Countess Olga did not. Her residence, on the far side of Central Park, occupied three floors of a grand building, and the public rooms contained nothing to excite the smallest suspicion. They were decorated in the blandest of New York opulence: marble floors, silk wallpaper, ormolu tables with gilded legs. This much Maddie gleaned as she followed a footman along a scarlet carpet to the back of the apartment. The benefit was held in a ballroom that ran up all three storeys to a trompe-l’oeil ceiling painted to resemble a celestial arch, where gilt airships vied with fat cherubs for landing places among the clouds. That was all Maddie managed to take in before the countess was upon them, beaming, with both hands outstretched as if Maddie, Emmeline, and Mrs. G-G—whom she had never, to Maddie’s knowledge, met—were her oldest and dearest friends.
“But welcome, my most cherished ones. And the mama too: be welcomed to my humble entertainment. Eat, drink, be joyful.” Today’s red gown whirled around her slender frame in a flurry of silk chiffon. One scarlet feather augmented the streaks in her white-blond hair. Countess Olga waved an arm to which her golden dragon clung like an exotic bracelet, and flitted away to the next guests. The creature had neither moved its head nor blinked; was it not a clockwork after all?
Maddie had attended many such benefits with her mother and grandmother back in England. Food and beverages were served from long tables along one wall while the far wall was lined with tiny tables and spindly chairs already half filled with ladies chattering, sipping, and staring around. On each table would be envelopes soliciting donations to today’s cause. She shepherded the G-G ladies through the refreshments and toward a table. Settled there, she took in the rest of the ballroom.
Along the white-and-gold panelled wall through which they’d entered was a dais holding a clockwork orchestra. The life-sized automatons, all garbed in the lavish brocades and snowy wigs of early French aristocrats, tinkled on a harpsichord, bowed a real wooden violin, and plucked the strings of a golden harp. At either end of the dais dangled scarlet folds of silk. Following them up with her eyes, Maddie saw ironwork frames extending from third-storey balconies on which perched two tiny women, intricately costumed, surveying the audience below. When the automaton orchestra wound down, a human master of ceremonies welcomed everyone, reminded them to donate to the education of Hungarian orphans, and announced the afternoon’s entertainment: Russian rope-dancers Taisya and Tatyana, all the way from St. Petersburg.
As the tiny women stood on their balcony railings, arms upraised, the music began again. The two posed and danced along their separate rails and then, in unison, leapt toward the flowing silks. They swirled and spun, sank toward the floor and slung themselves upward in gravity-defying arabesques. Their glittering headdresses sent sparks of rainbow light dashing across the spectators below as they danced gracefully against the wall. For uncounted minutes Maddie and all her companions gazed upward in awe. The pair ended upside down, each clasping the other’s outstretched hand, revolving slowly above the bewigged musicians while the scarlet silk’s tails trailed from their extended legs, carving a perfect circle above the dais.
As the applause died down and the acrobatic performers vanished upward, a lady at the next table exclaimed, “Was that not wonderful? Such grace.”
It was impossible to tell to whom this remark was directed, but Maddie, mindful of Mrs. G-G’s purpose, smiled and agreed. Then she introduced herself and her companions, elicited the other ladies’ names, and set a conversation in motion between them all. Such were the uses of her English debutante training among the newly rich of New York City.
The afternoon passed without the countess paying any unusual attention to Maddie or Emmeline. She passed among the tables, chatting with all her guests in turn, encouraging them to fill envelopes with donations. Eventually, as guests began to depart, she stayed by the double doors to see them on their way. If she had an ulterior motive in extending the invitation, there was no sign of it yet. Mrs. G-G, still talking with her new friends, wandered toward the exit with the girls following. Along the way she was introduced to any number of ladies active in all sorts of good causes, and received several invitations to future benefits. She looked happier than Maddie had yet seen her. The afternoon had proved a success. Mrs. G-G looked over her shoulder.
“Oh, there you are, dears. Mrs. Handy invites me to drive in the park with her. Will you be all right to go home alone with Bryson?”
Before Emmeline or Maddie could reply, the countess appeared. “But of course they will be all right. I assure you, I will see them into your driver’s care myself. You will not mind if I show them around my apartment first? I have many treasures from Russia that will, I think, delight them.” She steered the older woman away, herding her new friends along with her, out of the ballroom
.
“Well,” said Emmeline, frowning. “What on earth does she want with us?”
“I don’t know. But we will not be waiting around to find out.” They followed the others toward the foyer, watching the countess flit from group to group.
As the ascender’s ornate brass cage opened to receive their party, Mrs. G-G turned. “Oh, dear. I’ve left my gloves on the table.”
“I’ll get them,” said Maddie.
“Thank you, dear. Just bring them home with you.” Mrs. G-G followed her new friend into the ascender. The gate slid shut with a discreet chime and the ladies’ hats disappeared below the floor.
“I’ll come with you,” Emmeline said.
“No. If it’s you the countess wants, you’ll be safer among the other people waiting to leave. If I’m not back here when the ascender returns, get yourself outside and wave to Obie. He’ll take it from there. Not that I think even a Romanova would dare anything this public.”
“We should be at home anyway,” said Emmeline. “I was so tired I forgot to tell you, but last night, while you were out being Emmy, I heard a noise in Papa’s study. I went down the hidden stair that comes out right across from it, and saw Mr. Gnave confronting that slippery German secretary, Herr Gehirn. Papa came along and asked what the devil they were doing there, and Herr Gehirn apologized and went away. Mr. Gnave told Papa that he’d come upon the fellow staring at the gauge on the wall, and thought it should be hidden away until the Germans left. Papa said he couldn’t do that, as it would show distrust. They shut off the lights and closed the door, and that was the end of it. I stayed in the stair for an hour but Herr Gehirn didn’t come back.”
“That fits with the message I got earlier, about Herr Gehirn not being entirely above board.” At once Maddie feared she had said too much, for surely Emmeline would wonder when she’d had a chance to receive a message by any ordinary means. “I’ll be right behind you, as soon as I get the gloves and make our excuses to our hostess.” Maddie hurried back to the ballroom, where servants were already clearing away the food and drink. She snatched up Mrs. G-G’s gloves and headed toward the door, pausing for a last, cautious glance for anyone sneaking up.
A trailing end of scarlet silk slithered over Maddie’s shoulder. She looked up. One of the tiny rope-dancers dangled above her, upside down, her glittering mask almost touching Maddie’s piled-up hair. Maddie glared. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“No. Shh. Listen.” The girl had a faint lisp that might have been a French accent. “La comtesse slipped her hand into the older lady’s coat pocket, the woman you arrived with. I’m not sure but I think she planted something. You need to find out, in case she’s going to claim something was stolen. I don’t know why she choose your friend, but she likes to get power over people.”
“Thank you. Why would you warn us? Don’t you work for her?”
“For today I do. But never in my heart.” The tiny acrobat touched her finger to Maddie’s hair, smoothing a lock. “Your bronze was showing. You really should dye it completely.”
“You know me?”
“We share a mentor,” said the girl. “Ask Madame about Aurelia. La comtesse will return soon. I must not be seen here. Tell TD that TA sends regards.” She flipped herself upright and, taking the silk away with her, vanished upward.
Maddie hurried along the marble hallway, trying to control her face lest it show shock from the unexpected encounter. What was the most startling thing? That the countess had planted something on Mrs. G-G or that one of Madame Taxus-Hemlock’s clockwork sparrows was in the hands of a pretend Russian rope-dancer? Or that the acrobat knew Maddie’s real name. Maddie sucked in a deep, calming breath and started along the hall. If Madame had told Aurelia to watch for Maddie, she must have thought it both safe and necessary. And . . . if there was a Tweetle-A, there was most likely a Tweetle-B out there too. Would she someday meet TB’s owner too?
Emmeline was waiting in the foyer, looking quite realistically ill. The long night and short sleep were catching up with both of them. The excuses were quickly made. The countess did not attempt to delay them, only suggested they should come back for tea another day and admire her Faberge clockwork coach-and-four, that travelled under its own power and debouched a tiny clockwork dog that ran in circles, barking.
“Another day,” Maddie agreed, and guided Emmeline into the ascender for the trip back to the lobby. As soon as they were alone in the rocket-car’s passenger compartment, she relayed the rope-dancer’s warning about the countess. “She didn’t know what, or even whether, Countess Olga had left something in your mother’s pocket, but we must check as soon as we return home.”
“Of all the conniving creatures!” Emmeline’s chin firmed, and her flush now was due to displeasure. “First she tries to stab you with her parasol, and then she tries to frame my mother for theft. I very much regret accepting her invitation.”
“Your mother did meet some new friends,” Maddie reminded her. “If she gains more social connections, she will surely be happier, and grow more confident again.”
On reaching the mansion, they found Mrs. G-G entertaining her new friend in the parlour. “My dears,” she said as they entered. “Mrs. Handy and I are discussing plans for a library benefit. We could host it here, don’t you think, Maddie?”
“I’m sure you could, and I would be happy to help in arranging it. If you will excuse us for a moment, we will tidy ourselves and come right back.” Maddie hurried herself and Emmeline out of the room. “Find out where the coat went.”
“It will have been sent to her dressing room already.”
They walked sedately but quickly to the staircase. Before they set foot upon it, Maddie heard TD’s unmistakeable warble from the direction of Mr. G-G’s study. What was he doing out of her bedroom? Why was he exposing his voice in public? She ran down the corridor and found the study door open with, most fortunately, no sign of Mr. G-G, the secretary, or any of the other Steamlords or their secretaries. The golden gauge hung from its platinum brackets on the panel behind the desk. No intruder was here to steal it.
In the grey light of the overcast afternoon, TD fluttered around a heavy wooden chair in one corner, darting at its legs. He moved so fast there seemed to be two of him. Maddie blinked. Obie’s TC was also circling and darting. Both birds’ eyes were black, bright, and blinking as they snapped images of their target.
“TD, stop that. Come here at once.”
Neither sparrow paused. Was something moving in the shadow under the chair? She turned the electrical dial as high as it would go, flooding the room with light. Yes, indeed—something twitched under there. She crouched right down, shielding her eyes from the harsh overhead glare. At first she thought the brown thing was a large rat. But no. Protruding from its shoulders were small wings. She grabbed the chair and yanked it to the side as hard as she could. Cowering against the wall was Countess Olga Romanova’s wrist-dragon, and as she had suspected from the first, it was able to move on its own
The clockwork creature crept toward the chair’s shadow. TD settled onto the floor, cutting off its route. Its head swung around, seeking another path, but TC darted at it. Seen in bright light, it stretched as long as Maddie’s forearm from its snout to its barbed tail. The jewelled eyes were dimmed by a translucent lid, and the golden scales had subtly altered to a matte brown finish that blurred its outline against the wall panelling. This little clockwork had camouflage ability. Had the countess smuggled it into the house merely to gain a hold over Mrs. G-G, or had it come to the study in search of the Gatsby gauge?
From the doorway Emmeline said, “Is that what she planted on my mother? How did it get to this room?” After a pause she added, “And why is the bird from your hat here? I didn’t know it could chirp. Or move. It’s never done that before. Or that you had two of them.”
Maddie thought fast. “My bird is actually my personal security alarm. It sends an aethernet signal if I get into trouble. That’s how Obie knew to come looking
for me—gosh, was that only this morning? The other bird is his, no doubt come to see why another alarm is being sent.” Of course, Obie had followed them home from the benefit. He would be outside right now. TC must have flown in right over their heads when the front door was open. “This little clockwork dragon is clearly a threat to security, if both birds went after it. We need to capture it. Can you find a box or sturdy bag?”
Emmeline rummaged around, and then, with a suddenness that recalled Emmy Gat’s sure-footed leaps during the midnight duel, pounced. The dragon was neatly trapped under a wooden file box from Mr. G-G’s credenza. TD and TC stopped their fussing and sat still, like the decorations they so often pretended to be.
“Now what?” Emmeline pressed down on the box. “We need to get it out of there without it running off.”
Before Maddie could come up with an idea for that, the countess herself swept into the room, with Woodrow at her back. “What are you doing to my bracelet? Lift that box at once. If it is damaged I will be most upset.”
Maddie stood up, meeting the Russian’s eyes. “Your clockwork infiltrated a private home. We are calling our security team to investigate it.” Whether she had the authority to bring in Sneero Fawkes, she didn’t know. But this very unwelcome visitor must not be allowed to believe she could infiltrate the mansion with impunity.
The countess paused, calculation in her icy eyes. After a moment she said, “There is no need for that. Obviously its claws got caught in someone’s coat when you all were leaving my home. It has a self-protective mode that engaged to keep it unnoticed, and send it to a hiding place.”
“And how is it that you knew exactly where to look for it?” The look Maddie received would have frozen boiling water, but no answer was forthcoming. “Woodrow. Send for Mr. Fawkes at once.”
The countess curled her lip, but she lifted a fine gold chain that was attached to her corset. A tiny golden egg rose from a hidden pocket. “This pendant is connected to it by aethernet. The bracelet is too valuable to risk loss. Or theft.”
Maddie Hatter and the Gilded Guage Page 12
