Violet had lived so much in cities, with cobblestones beneath her boots, that she’d never experienced a country spring. In the cities, spring happened only in gardens. If those gardens were open to the public, Violet saw the spring. If not, she kept to gray streets and gray skies. “I look forward to seeing it.”
Daniel pressed his cheek to hers. “I’m looking forward to showing it to you. London first, though. For a few days.”
Violet jerked. “London? I thought we were only changing trains there and going on.”
“Ainsley said at breakfast that we needed to stop, and she’s right. If we go racing through without pausing to pass the time of day with my Aunt Isabella, our life won’t be worth living. She’s queen of the London Season, she is. Uncle Mac takes it all in his stride, jollies her along. He’s good at turning people up sweet, Isabella likes to say.”
“I thought that was you.” Violet strove not to smile.
“Cheeky lass. I learned it from a master. We’ll have to pay a call, which means Isabella will snare us into attending one of her soirees, which means you’ll be wanting to shop for a frock. I know ladies.”
“I can’t stay in London, Daniel. And I can’t go to a soiree. We ran off owing Mortimer back rent. We’ll be arrested as soon as we’re seen.”
“You’re afraid of Mortimer? Don’t be daft. I took care of Mortimer—ye owe him nothing. I bought the house, as a matter of fact. You’re welcome to stay in it if you like. It has all the hidey-holes already for your gadgets. Madame and Mademoiselle Bastien can be back in business.”
Violet turned around fully to stare at him. “What do you mean, you took care of Mortimer? And you bought the house?”
Daniel shrugged. “Property is a good investment, so they say, and I wanted Mortimer to leave you the devil alone. He’s a bloody hypocrite, you know. He owed half the bookmakers and moneylenders in London, not to mention me. Probably still does. No one should gamble who doesn’t have a head for it.”
Violet’s mouth went dry. Daniel was telling her that instead of going to the police after Violet had assaulted him, he’d decided to buy a house from Mortimer, pay her debts, and look for Violet himself. “You’re a madman.”
“Not really. Mortimer’s an ass, and you’re a beautiful woman with more bravery and spirit than he ever will have. He wanted to use you to pay off his debt, and I’m sick to death of people doing that. Never again.”
Daniel’s determination was palpable, as though he were erecting a wall of it between Violet and the world. Comforting, and a little terrifying. Violet didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever tried to protect her before.
“I was surprised you didn’t want to stop in Paris,” she said. “To find Jacobi.”
“To run up and down the streets of a huge city looking for one man? By myself? Not likely. I have agents to do that for me while I sit comfortably in Berkshire. Or maybe not comfortably. Dad expects me to work, not lounge about, and I have plenty to do.”
Violet wondered what she would do, and what Daniel would expect her to do. And did that frighten her? Or excite her?
Daniel closed his arms all the way around her, pulling her into warmth. His lips touched her cheek, then her ear, her hair. Though her thick coat and his kept them apart, Violet felt the beating of his heart, the heat of his body, Daniel’s strength. In the swirling vortex of her life, Daniel was becoming the only solid pillar.
In London, Violet’s uncertainty began to return. She’d supposed she and her mother would arrange some kind of rent with Daniel and move into Mortimer’s former house—although with all that had happened there, Violet would prefer to find a boardinghouse.
Ainsley, on the other hand, assumed they’d stay with the Duke of Kilmorgan.
Violet wanted to jump out of the coach carrying them to the heart of Mayfair and run back to the train station. Ainsley continued explaining as the carriage rolled along, seeing nothing amiss. The duke had a very large house on Grosvenor Square, which had room for everyone for a few days. Of course the guests would stay there.
Celine thought it a fine idea. “A duke,” she said, her eyes alight. “Just imagine, Violet, how very grand. And how kind. I’ll do a reading for him, and the duchess. Gratis, of course.”
“Mama, you will do nothing of the sort,” Violet said hastily.
“Nonsense. Even dukes like to know the news from the other side. And a duke’s house on Grosvenor Square sounds ever so comfortable.”
Violet sent Daniel an appealing look. He had taken the seat next to Ainsley, across from Violet and Celine. Cameron and Gavina had taken a second conveyance, Lord Cameron declaring they’d be fools to all try to fit into one coach. Mary had been given a seat next to the coachman on the first carriage, Cameron and Ainsley’s servants piling onto the second.
Daniel seemed to understand Violet’s dismay. “Ainsley,” he said. “You know Uncle Hart is a frightening thing to spring upon a guest, especially after a long journey. Ian and Beth’s home is very comfortable and much less intimidating. Better for Violet. Mac and Isabella are always full up, and they’re not exactly restful either. If Dad would keep a regular house in London, life would be more convenient, but there it is.”
Ainsley’s brow puckered. “But Ian . . .”
She looked worried. “I’ll speak to Beth,” Daniel said reassuringly. “All will be well.” He turned back to Violet. “Ian and Beth have three rather noisy children, though, Vi. Do you mind?”
If the children were anything like Gavina, who’d included Violet in every one of her rather entertaining conversations, Violet wouldn’t mind at all. “I like children,” she said.
Celine hesitated. “I’m not certain . . . My nerves . . . And a duke is so very civilized.”
“Then it’s settled,” Daniel broke in. “Violet will bed down at Ian and Beth’s, while her mum goes to Uncle Hart’s.”
Celine’s eyes widened. “Me, stay without Violet? I’ve never done without Violet before.”
Ainsley leaned forward and patted Celine’s knee. “No need to worry. The duke has plenty of servants to do every little thing for you. There’s even a servant who will ring a bell to summon another servant if you wish. You’ll feel like a queen.”
“Well.” Celine looked less fearful. “I suppose I can try. Violet will be nearby, will she?”
“Not far,” Ainsley said. “Good. This will resolve things nicely.”
Daniel tipped Violet a wink. They were conspiring—Daniel and his stepmother. About what, Violet wasn’t certain, but Daniel looked triumphant.
Chapter 24
“Ye anxious to rest and sleep?” Daniel asked Violet when they rolled away from the ducal mansion, where the remainder of the party had disembarked.
The tall house on Grosvenor Square had poured servants in black and white who’d descended on the first coach, then the second. The air had been full of voices—greetings, questions, orders.
The duke’s servants hadn’t behaved as Violet assumed they would. They were neither cowed nor fearful, scurrying or resentful. They welcomed Lord and Lady Cameron with energy, and one of the footmen swung Gavina up onto his shoulders. A maid came down the stairs leading a small boy by the hand. Ainsley exclaimed in joy and swept him up, never minding that his little boots were dirty.
Stuart, Violet surmised, Daniel’s half-brother. Cameron took his son from Ainsley after Stuart had finished kissing his mother, and swung him high.
When Daniel stepped down, Stuart sang out to him, and Daniel paused to take his hand and give him a loud kiss on the forehead. The footmen then surrounded Daniel, talking excitedly, asking him questions about the balloon crash in France, about what he’d do now.
Of the frightening duke, there was no sign. He and the duchess were out taking tea with a cabinet minister and his wife, the majordomo reported, and their young lordships were riding in the park with thei
r riding master. They’d all be home soon.
A horde of maids surrounded Celine with a solicitation that pleased her. Violet had been a bit apprehensive about leaving her mother with strangers, but the servants were giving her every deference. Ainsley and Cameron would be staying here too. Celine liked Ainsley, and Mary agreed to remain to look after her instead of going with Violet.
And so Violet drove off alone with Daniel.
Ye anxious to rest and sleep? he’d asked. Not really. Everything was too new, too nerve-racking to let her calm. And now Violet had another household to meet, that of the elusive Lord Ian.
“I’m not tired at all,” Violet said.
“Then we’ll make a stop first before I get you settled. Bertram,” he called up to the coachman. “Just drop us at my house, will you? You can take Violet’s things on to Uncle Ian’s.”
“Yes, sir, Young Master Daniel,” Bertram said, and the coach swung around a corner.
“They’ll be calling me Young Master Daniel when I’m eighty.” Daniel sat back—next to Violet now. “Ah, well, I don’t really mind.”
Violet had met plenty of families in her travels. Because of her line of work, most of them had been torn by grief—wives losing husbands; mothers, sons; sisters, brothers. She’d also seen families like the Laniers, where one member believed in the spirit world and was tormented for that belief.
She’d rarely seen a family with as much camaraderie and acceptance as the Mackenzies. Violet hadn’t met the duke yet, or Lord Cameron’s other brothers or wives, but the way Ainsley and Daniel spoke of them made her know there was no envy or hatred between the Mackenzies. She’d seen families filled with jealousy, or bare tolerance of one another, or absolute sorrow. She rarely encountered families comfortable and at peace.
Daniel was lucky, so very lucky. Violet loved her mother, but she wasn’t easy friends with her. Violet was more like a lady’s companion, taking care of Celine, making decisions for her, living life for Celine’s comfort.
Not looking after Celine while they stayed in London, however long that might be, felt strange to Violet. Like an emptiness, a feeling she should be doing something but not quite putting her finger on what.
Daniel’s house wasn’t far from the duke’s. Violet knew London well, and she watched their progress south through darkening Mayfair, down Davies Street to Berkeley Square and around it to Hill Street.
The house the carriage halted in front of was tall like its neighbors, with a gray façade and white corner bricks. The door was black, with no knocker, indicating its owners were not in Town. There were no lights in the windows, no curtains in most of them either.
No servants came out the door to greet Daniel or welcome him home. Daniel climbed down by himself and reached up to hand out Violet. He pulled his valises from the back and told Bertram to drive on to Uncle Ian’s then return for them later.
Daniel unlocked the door with a key while the carriage rattled away, and he led Violet into a quiet, dusty interior.
“I promise you, my aunt Beth keeps a better house than this.” Daniel dropped his cases at the base of the stairs. A match scratched and flared, and Daniel lit candles that had been left ready on a hall table. “Had the gas turned off while I was gone, because I don’t have anyone to keep the place. One day I’ll fit it out with a proper staff, add speaking tubes to the kitchen and lifts to carry things up and down the stairs. But I’m never home long enough to put my plans in motion. So I make do.”
The house was narrow, two rooms deep on the right side, the left side taken up with the staircase. Violet looked up the dark stairs, black shadows flickering in candlelight.
“I imagined you’d have a dozen people to rush down and take your coat,” she said. “And another dozen on hand to give you brandy, cigars, coffee, and stand by to hold things for you because you have only two hands.” Violet craned her head to look around again, taking in the sumptuous paneling and cornice molding, the elegant chandelier that adorned the front hall. She let out a sigh. “If I had such a house, I’d live like a princess. Servants to bring me tea and cakes, and hot water for my bath.”
Daniel shrugged. “I got used to living rough on my travels. I’ve traveled with Bedouin tribes and explorers who lived on the edge of savagery. But it taught me to fend for myself. Took me a while after I returned to remember to ask servants to do anything at all. My dad’s cook was forever running me out of her kitchen.”
Violet wanted to laugh. “Good heavens. A man who cooks for himself?”
“Don’t make fun of me, sweetheart. I make a mean omelet and chips.”
“I’m not making fun. I’m envious. How wonderful to go where you please, live how you please.” Violet turned in a circle, taking in the enormous hall. “Did you see the temple at Karnak?”
“Yes. You’d love it. I also went to Petra, which is astonishing. I’ll take you someday.”
Violet turned around again, not answering. She longed to travel, to see the world that existed outside cramped parlors of European towns and small theatres smelling of gas. She wanted to fly on Daniel’s balloon across a dry desert while camels ran beneath her. She wanted to know how colossal was the Colossus, climb the pyramid at Giza, see the tombs in the Valley of Kings.
She’d been constantly told that her lot was to stay home and take care of others, and to be content with that. But Violet was far from content. She felt like a wild bird confined to a cage for another’s pleasure.
I’ll take you someday, Daniel said offhand. He said everything offhandedly, but he’d made clear when he’d grown angry at her on the train, that he meant every word he said. And expected her to believe him.
Daniel took her hand, squeezed it, and led her down the hall to the rear door on the ground floor. “I’ve brought you here to show you my pride and joy,” he said.
He opened the door, lit more candles, and stood back to usher her inside.
Candlelight gleamed on a roomful of metal, from what looked like every foundry in England. Tools of every shape and many Violet had never seen before lay scattered across tables along with cast metal parts of all sizes. Carriage wheels leaned against a wall, and long rods were stored in one corner. Tubes, coils of wires, nails, studs, screws, and bolts were everywhere, some neatly tucked into boxes, others strewn haphazardly.
In the middle of the room, mounted on a bed of bricks, was an engine—a large engine, sitting proudly alone. A long shaft ran back from it, attached to axels with no wheels. Parts of the body of the vehicle were welded together over the long driveshaft, with a stool behind the engine, a tiller and pedals in front of the stool.
Daniel waved at the machine with a proud flourish. “You, Violet, are gazing upon what will be the fastest motorcar in all of Europe. When it’s finished.”
The most complete part was the engine. Violet walked around the car, taking in the gears and chains, the crankshaft, and various other pieces she couldn’t identify. She hadn’t seen many motorcars, let alone had the chance to examine the engines, but she’d read about them. She’d once contemplated buying or building a combustion engine to somehow help in their acts, then discarded the idea as too expensive. But she’d grown interested in the machines for their own sake.
“The cylinders are in there?” Violet pointed to a vertical metal container. “This is different from what I’ve seen.”
“Because I wanted more cylinders, more power. So far, Daimler and his partner, Maybach—bloody geniuses with engines—are using two cylinders that meet in a V shape. My cylinders are in a straight line, and because I want this beast to move faster than any other motorcar has so far, I’ve got four of them. But then there’s the weight to consider. Herr Benz has got it right on body design for lightness, but his engines are small and slow. Herr Daimler is better on power, but his cars are getting gigantic. The problem both men have is that they’re still thinking about how to make a carriage g
o without horses. I’m thinking more of a motorcar built for its own sake, the body to fit the engine, not the other way around. I think I’ve solved the weight issue and streamlined the body all right. The bugger is keeping it cool.”
“Won’t four cylinders going at once make the car shake apart?” Violet asked, interested. “Or take an enormous amount of fuel?”
“Not necessarily. If I can get a fuel pump efficient enough, I can make it go with the same amount as the smaller engines.” Daniel patted the cylinder block. “And if I can make a powerful enough engine, I can build the fastest motorcar in the world.”
Violet didn’t ask him why he’d want to. She knew. To speed along at a breathless pace, to feel the wind on her face, to laugh at people’s astonishment as the motorcar flew on by . . .
“I do have a few problems, though.” Daniel rubbed his forehead. “Besides how to keep it cool, I mean. I need to redesign the wheels—a simple rubber strip on carriage wheels won’t work at these speeds. I have a man at a rubber factory doing some ideas for me now—I want to use air pressure to create a cushion. Plus I’m not happy with the tiller as a steering mechanism.”
“You have another problem,” Violet said.
Daniel looked the motorcar over again. “Don’t think so. I’ve thought it through pretty thoroughly, love.”
“That problem is—how are you going to get it out of your parlor once it’s built?”
The engine was already too wide, the shaft too long, to maneuver the car out the door and down the hallway.
Daniel slanted her an amused look. “I did think of that, my sweet. I’ll be taking it apart again, won’t I? While you’re buying new frocks with my stepmother, I’ll pack all this up and have it hauled down to Berkshire. Dad’s fixed up one of the large outbuildings for it. Dad has no interest at all in engines, but he indulges me in space to tinker.”
Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie Page 28
