A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (8 page)

CHAPTER 11

“His lordship said for me to tell you that he had some business to attend to in town and that he’d be back later. The fishmonger’s been round this morning and I’ve got a nice bit of plaice for tonight’s dinner.” Mrs. Hinges said when Elle wandered into the kitchen shortly before noon. She was furiously scrubbing potatoes in a bowl of water. Elle felt a little sorry for the poor potatoes.

Elle sat down beside her. “Mrs. Hinges, are you all right?”

The older woman gave her a sad smile. “Busy hands make the time pass. There is no sense in sitting around feeling sorry for oneself, now is there? It won’t bring the professor back, now will it? One must carry on, no matter how hard it might be sometimes.” She picked up another potato and plunged it into the basin.

“Why do you think they took him?” she said.

Mrs. Hinges stopped working and looked at her. “I honestly don’t know, dear.” There was a slight tremor in the older woman’s voice. “There are many who would pay a lot of money to be privy to his work.”

Elle felt a profound sense of anxiety and dread as she considered this. There had to be more to it than that, and she didn’t like the direction her thoughts were taking.

She picked one of Mrs. Hinges’ excellent strawberry tarts off the plate before her and straightened. Sitting here at the kitchen table brooding wasn’t going to make matters better. “Mrs. Hinges, I will be in the workshop if you need me.”

“Oh, do be careful, my dear. His lordship said that we shouldn’t go wandering off by ourselves. He said to stay indoors, where it is safe. It’s best not to take any chances.” Mrs. Hinges sounded quite distressed at the thought.

“Blast what that man says. I have some business of my own to attend to,” Elle said as she left the kitchen.

The reassuring smell of engine grease and dust greeted her as she opened the doors of the workshop. She was keen to have a closer look at the flying machine, but the first order of business was to see if she could do something about the bracelet around her wrist. She picked up a pair of sturdy pliers. It seemed a pity ruining such a fine piece, but needs must. And the sooner she was rid of the creepy thing, the better. She tightened the pliers around the metal, close to the clasp, and pressed down with all her might. The bracelet started writhing and wriggling as if it were in pain. Startled, she let go of the pliers and examined it with her optic, but apart from a soft green glow of the diamonds, there was not a mark on it—not even a scratch.

She tried again to separate the clasp, this time by clamping the bracelet in the vice and hitting it with a hammer. Once again it started vibrating, and this time also let out a bolt of energy, which was so potent, it nearly knocked Elle off her feet.

“Ow!” She rubbed her wrist, where the skin was now red, and promptly dismissed the use of her father’s spark-welding torch . Clearly the bracelet had no intention of going anywhere for the foreseeable future. She sighed and stood up from the workbench. She was going to have to ask her father for help with this as soon as he was home safely. And finding him was her first priority now.

She glanced over to the other side of the workshop. The flying machine glowed brown and bronze under the light of the naked spark globes. Disturbed dust particles shimmered in the light around it.

Elle picked up a wrench and eyed the fuselage critically. The brass-smiths her father used to manufacture his inventions had done good work here. It was a beautifully crafted piece of machinery. She could hardly believe that her father had built the entire design without telling her about it.

The elegant lines of the machine reminded her of a dragonfly ready to take flight. It sat on four small wheels that could move independently from one another in order to maneuver the machine about on the ground. A glass-paned dome with red velvet seats inside rested on top of the wheels. At the back of the dome a metal cage held the spark reactor and water tanks. The cage tapered off into the tail. On top of the glass dome, with the seats, a large propeller drooped downward in a slight curve. Another smaller propeller sat the tail end.

“Let’s see what’s inside you,” she said to the machine. She opened the engine compartment and started tinkering with the reactor. The faint blue-green of a spark reactor under her hands always had a way of soothing her. This was the heart of the machine—its essence. And this one was particularly lovely. Her father had used a configuration she had not seen before.

Elle liked working on machines. They had specific rules, and best of all, they were predictable. Safe. Unlike people, who were just the opposite.

With her curiosity aroused, she started following the brass tubes and connectors to the various parts that made the engine work. Within minutes, she was under the spell that only a finely made machine could cast.

She was so deeply engrossed in the inner workings that she did not hear Marsh approach.

“Now, that’s something one doesn’t see every day,” he said behind her.

Elle froze. She was bent over with her head inside the spark reactor, trying to reach a connection at the bottom of it. In a pang of acute mortification she realized that her bottom was, at that very moment, raised up and poking out of the cage. The gentle curves of her
derrière
would be quite clearly visible through her coveralls that were drawn tight from stretching for the connection she was inspecting.

She clipped the connection into place and dragged herself out of the machine with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Lord Greychester. Good afternoon to you,” she said, tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear.

“Ah, now it’s ‘Lord Greychester.’ ” He adjusted the angle of his head to meet her gaze. “What happened to ‘Marsh’?”

He was enjoying the moment far more than was appropriate, Elle thought. She crossed her arms across her chest and raised her chin. “And how may I assist you?” she said, cooling her tone. It was all she could do to hide her embarrassment.

His smile faded and he shrugged. “I am pleased to see that you have recovered from last night’s ordeal. Mrs. Hinges was most concerned about you. She asked me to tell you that it is time for you to dress for dinner. I felt like a bit of a walk, so here I am. I find that fresh air does wonders for the constitution. It has been lovely weather we’ve been having of late.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “Most unusual for this time of year, don’t you think?”

“Is it that late already?” She glanced at the clock on the other side of the workshop, ignoring his strange comment about the weather.

He walked up to the machine and ran his hand over the gleaming brass-work, not unlike one would when inspecting a finely bred horse. Elle found herself distracted by the elegant taper of his fingers as they glided over the gleaming wood.

“Any news?” she said.

“The police know very little.”

“So where do we start?” She put down the rag she’d used to wipe the grease from her hands.

“I have a few suspicions, but I honestly don’t know. I suspect we will have to wait until we hear from the kidnappers.” He looked troubled.

Elle ran her hand over her forehead. “Surely there must be more we can do?”

Marsh sighed. “At least we know that they want him alive. They wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of taking him if they didn’t. So all we can do for the moment is wait.”

To distract herself, Elle picked up the wrench and screwdrivers she’d been using and put them back into the toolbox.

“That really is a fascinating-looking machine,” Marsh said, pointing at the contraption.

Elle nodded. “I’ve decided I shall name this machine a gyrocopter.”

“A gyrocopter,” he said. “Nice name. How far do you think you would be able to fly this thing?”

She turned her head to one side and contemplated the question. “I think I might need to practice, but if the mechanics are sound and there is enough water for steam, I see no reason why we couldn’t fly as far as we wished. And look,” she pointed at the wheels. “It’s designed to be maneuverable. It can go and land wherever one wants. No more time tables or delays.”

“Miss Chance, you are truly a most surprising woman.” He touched the rim of his hat. “Mrs. Hinges says dinner is in half an hour and I shall leave you to finish your examination of the mechanics in private.” He turned away and left the workshop.

She watched him walk away with the strange sense that there was something more to that invitation. As if she needed his approval.

CHAPTER 12

Dinner that evening, as promised was fish followed by a large roast hen that Mrs. Hinges had procured from her friend at the butcher’s. Normally roast chicken was reserved for Sunday luncheon, but the housekeeper would hear nothing of Elle’s protestations.

“I don’t know why you are making such a fuss,” Elle scoffed.

“There’s nothing wrong with putting one’s best foot forward. Whatever would people say if we did not look after our guests properly?” Mrs. Hinges hoisted a roasting tray out of the oven and shuffled the potatoes about. They sizzled in reply.

“Oh, tosh. Viscount or not, he’s quite the confidence trickster when it suits him.” Elle popped a piece of carrot into her mouth. “Besides,” she said between crunches of carrot, “We can’t be certain he’s not the one who’s behind all of this. All this is far too much of a coincidence for my liking. Mr. Marsh might be charming, but mark my words, the man is not be trusted.”

Mrs. Hinges gave her a dubious look. “I haven’t exactly seen anyone else rush forth to aid us. If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a thousand times: I think we are very lucky that his lordship has taken an interest in us.”

“I don’t see why we should wait around for some hero on a white horse to help us. I’m perfectly capable of finding my father on my own.”

“There is no shame in sometimes asking for help, my dear. Pride cometh before the fall. In time you will come to see that.” Mrs. Hinges shook her head in disapproval. “And stop eating off the counter and speaking with your mouth full. Where are your manners?” She spooned basting juices over the chicken and a cloud of thyme-flavored steam rose from the pan.

Elle stood away from the counter and folded her arms. It was so much easier being a man sometimes.

“Why don’t you do something useful, like go upstairs and dress for dinner?” Mrs. Hinges stoked the coals in the cooker. “His lordship is upstairs in the guest room and said he would be down soon. And I’ve set the boiler heating, so there should be a nice hot bath waiting for you.” She closed the oven and gave Elle a friendly pat. “Now off you go.”

“All right, I’m going.” She stomped up the servants’ staircase that ran upstairs from the kitchen. It was the shortcut she had used to get to her to her room for years.

The house was not stately or particularly grand, but it was eminently comfortable and well appointed. Most houses employed brownies or house-goblins to assist in the cleaning and housework, but her father had always felt strongly about the abuse of creatures of Shadow and so theirs was entirely devoid of magic.

However, in what had been one of the guest rooms, they did install one of the new modern bathrooms that were becoming fashionable. A good long soak in the cast-iron tub was an indulgence Elle relished.

Back in her bedroom, Elle stared at the contents of her wardrobe. They didn’t socialize much, which was a good thing, because dressing for dinner was such a bore. Her uncle and aunt, in London, were far better at attending society. She shuddered when she thought about her coming out season a few years before. It had been an unmitigated disaster. Her well-meaning aunt had taken her under her wing, had done her best to give Elle a proper debut, but all those parties and balls … It was enough to drive anyone mad. Most of her suitors had been either dull or stupid or both, and she’d been quite forthright in her opinions. Until she made friends with Ducky Richardson, that is.

Ducky was enrolled in the Royal Flight Academy and had been drafted into the Dirigible Flying Corps. He was training to pilot one of the giant war dirigibles that made up the Royal fleet. It was good old Ducks who had filled Elle’s head with tales of dashing adventure high up in the sky. And Elle was sold. She’d wanted to be the pilot of her own airship more than anything, and all thoughts of suitors and proposals of marriage promptly flew out of the window.

Eventually her aunt had caught her smoking cigars with Ducky and some of his fellow flight recruits under the stairs at a ball. That was the last straw, for her long-suffering aunt, and Elle was returned to Oxford in short order, along with the news that a well-brokered marriage was most unlikely Her father was so caught up in his work that he barely registered she was home. It was only after she’d sold some of her mother’s jewelry to pay for flight school that things became bothersome.

He had ranted and despaired, shouted at her for days. But Elle had dug in her heels. In the end, mostly because it was less of an effort to agree with Elle than it was to fight with her, her father had relented. Strings were pulled and favors were asked and so she went off to train as a pilot. These days, she was either flying or too tired to bother going out. The professor was generally so engrossed in whatever he was working on that he hardly noticed her and it was not long after that that she had stopped bothering to dress for dinner when it was only the two of them

She flicked through her wardrobe. She had better make an effort to honor the roast chicken or else Mrs. Hinges would never let her hear the end of it. She pulled out a blue dinner gown and held it before her, looking at herself in the cheval mirror. She had bought it on impulse straight from a shop window in Paris and, much to the dismay of the shopkeeper, without a proper fitting. But Elle hadn’t cared. She liked the neckline and the way the dress draped around her. It reminded her of one of the Mucha posters that were all around Paris. And for Elle, that was good enough.

She towel-dried her hair and pinned it into a knot that made her neck look long and elegant. The dress was a little bit showy for dinner at home, but it would have to do. She only hoped they didn’t think that she was trying too hard.

As she worked at taming her hair, the diamonds around her wrist caught the light and she stopped to examine them. “I promise that if you behave, I will find you a lovely bottle of absinthe to bathe in tomorrow. Only please don’t hex me so I become insane, or turn me into something hideous,” she whispered at the bracelet. There was no answer. Fairies were strange creatures that lived by their own code. No one could make a fairy do anything it didn’t want to do.

The sudden clanging sound of a hammer against metal emanating from downstairs caught her attention. For the first time in years, Mrs. Hinges was actually ringing the dinner gong in the dining room. Elle suppressed a giggle. Soon they would be hosting polo tournaments in the back garden if things carried on this way.

Marsh and Patrice rose as she walked into the drawing room. They looked as if they had been in deep in conversation before she arrived. She felt Marsh’s gaze flick over her as he took in her dress. “Lord Greychester, Patrice. Good evening,” she said formally.

“Miss Chance, you look lovely,” Marsh said as he led her to her seat. He handed her a glass of sherry.

“Thank you.” She took a sip from her glass and felt the wine warm her throat. His stare was making her nervous, which was rather silly.

Mrs. Hinges rang the bell again. Marsh and Patrice were both looking at her expectantly. Marsh had an odd little smile on his face as he inclined his head to the door. It took Elle a moment to remember that with her father absent, she was the host. Her cheeks flushed and she rose quickly from her seat. “Um, gentlemen, shall we go in to dinner?” she said quickly.

“We would be delighted,” Patrice said. He fell in step next to her and escorted her into the dining room, leaving Marsh to follow behind, unaccompanied.

Dinner commenced with a bowl of fine leek and potato soup. With a pang of regret, Elle listened to Mrs. Hinges fuss and clatter in the kitchen. Their home was too modest for footmen, and Mrs. Hinges hired maids and knife boys only when needed. The rest of the time she did all the work herself. And so, instead of sitting in the kitchen all by herself, years ago, the professor had insisted that Mrs. Hinges take her meals with them. It was quite tonight it odd to see her so formally in service. Tonight, Eric from down the road had been roped in to carry platters. He looked freshly scrubbed and slightly anxious as he entered the dining room.

“How are you feeling this evening, Patrice?” Elle asked once the first course had been cleared away.

“I am much better, thank you, little one. A good rest does wonders for the body. And madame’s poultices worked wonders.” He bit into a chunk of Mrs. Hinges’ excellent bread and chewed with gusto. “We French are much tougher than you believe us to be.”

The chicken arrived in all its roasted and glorious splendor. Eric shuffled off to fetch the platters of roast potatoes and vegetables, while Mrs. Hinges served. Normally this was the task of the butler, but as they had no butler to command, the housekeeper took it upon herself to step in.

“I wouldn’t dare trifle with Mrs. Hinges,” Marsh winked at the housekeeper as she set about carving the meat. Mrs. Hinges looked at him sternly, but Elle could tell as the meal progressed that the older woman was completely in his thrall.

“I must tell you about my latest discovery.” Patrice looked up from his pudding of apple sponge baked with sugar, cinnamon and sultanas. He pulled a newspaper clipping from his waistcoat and spread it open on the table before him, all manners and decorum forgotten. “It is a new machine that can emulate the workings of the human heart. The machine has a tiny spark core and runs on clockwork gears. Within this generation, people from the Light side will have employed science to achieve immortality,” he announced.

And how would they go about inserting said mechanical heart?” Marsh made a face.

“Actually, I don’t think I want to know. Especially not at the dinner table.,” Elle said. She wasn’t usually this squeamish, but this evening, she found herself feeling tired and hollow. A soft throbbing just inside her temple was threatening to erupt into an almighty headache. She did her best to smile and maintain the conversation, but her mood sank and dwindled as dinner wore on. It was as if an oppressive weight was bearing down on her and nothing she did seemed to make it go away.

Eventually she sighed and set down her spoon. “I fear that I am terribly tired. It has been a very long day and I am quite exhausted. If you’ll excuse me, I think I shall retire for the night. In my absence, please make yourselves at home with brandies and cigars in the drawing room.” She rose and they stood in response. Marsh frowned but he said nothing.

“If you need anything, please ask Mrs. Hinges,” Elle continued. “She will see to your needs.”

She took herself back to her room before anyone made a fuss. Mrs. Hinges would have words with her tomorrow for being rude and abandoning their guests, but the overwhelming urge to run away as fast as she could was so strong, she could not fight it any longer