Imperial Clock (The Steam Clock Legacy) (2 page)

The recollection
cut anew. Her gaze darting over the dark hedgerow, Meredith winced as she fought back the memories...

They
’d stood alone, away from the crowd one moment, sharing silly observations; the next, they’d fought to break free from their frocks pulled over their heads and tied with curtain cords. No warning given. It had happened so quick, supernatural quick. For Meredith’s part, the shock had left her truly panicked. Tears had streamed down her hot face undercover, the shame of her undergarments on full display for high society while she’d bumped into tables and walls and Sonja, desperately trying to free herself and put an end to the humiliation.

Lord, that endless laughing, whooping
, cackling.

No one had helped her
, not until she’d crashed into the punch bowl and the contents had spilled all over her. Even when Father and Professor Sorensen and a few other gentlemen had finally put an end to the spectacle, freeing her and Sonja, the evil cousins had celebrated long into the night, taunting them at every opportunity, bragging to other interested young parties about how they’d “struck a blow for justice.” They’d said “the McEwan girls are obnoxious little sows” and “fraud spawn,” referencing Father’s rumoured illegal practices.

But all of that might have been at least surmountable had she seen, or even come to learn who
’d actually performed the malicious prank. For God’s sake, the Sorensen cousins had not been anywhere near them. No one had, unless that person had been hiding under the drinks table. But even so, how had neither she nor Sonja felt their frocks being pulled up, let alone tied overhead?

It was as if the prankster had slid in through a nick of time, done the deed in the
blink of an eye and then sneaked out again unseen. Father had questioned the witnesses afterwards, and not one of them confessed to having seen the culprit.

In the intervening years, that last part had haunted Meredith
more than any other. She knew the Sorensens had orchestrated it, but
how—
and with whom—had they deceived a room full of guests? Only one thing was for certain: her payback would not disappoint. No, she and Sonja would have the last laugh tonight.

“
Are you sure your friend understands the signal?”

“
Aye, he’s watching us right now.” Sonja glanced to the pavilion roof behind them, gave her mysterious young acquaintance a discreet wave. “For ten bob, there’s no way he’ll let us down.”

“
Ten bob? We both owe him a big sloppy kiss if this works.”

“
Yuck! You can if you like,” Sonja replied. “He rather fancies you anyway, poor bloke.”

Meredith didn
’t pay her sister’s comment much mind. “I’ll have to meet him later.”

“
You’ve already met him, Merry—three years ago, remember? Sorensen’s English ward, the little urchin from up north. Lancashire, I think. Could hardly tell what he said back then. He’s, um, changed somewhat since.”

“
I remember,” she lied. The only thing she recalled from three years ago laid siege to her defiance once again. It screamed in the deep, private chasms of her being, summoning forth hate and blasts of molten shame. She ground her teeth, gripped her parasol in a moist lace glove patterned with the
fleur-de-lis
motif. “All right, here we go.”

Sonja g
ave her sister’s arm a quick soft punch for luck. “Let’s do it. It’s our turn now.”

The eldest, Brigitte,
cast a dark shawl over her trim shoulders. All three cousins turned to greet Meredith and Sonja. But something wasn’t right. They smiled—uncommonly warm and genuine smiles that lit their pale, chiselled faces.

Meredith swallowed,
didn’t know what to do next.
She
had
agonised over the awful events from three years ago, nary a day free from stomach-twisting pangs of shame;
she
had
dwelt on this moment of revenge for endless nights; but had they, for all love, given the matter so much as an idle thought during that time?

Th
e notion wrung her insides bitterly.

“
Miss McEwan, Sonja, how do you do?” Brigitte extended her arm, inviting them to join the group. Either an expert lure or sickeningly sincere. “Lady Catarina just remarked on how handsomely you’ve grown. Not that we ever doubted it—your mother outshone all of Niflheim when she visited.”

Um, w
here is Brigitte Sorensen, and what does this automaton run on? Butter milk?

“
Thank you, Miss Sorensen. And Lady Catarina, very kind.”
Two can play at this.
“Did you find Father’s presentation agreeable? We’ve never seen him happier. How he loves sharing his triumphs with eager listeners. And you must thank your uncle for us when you see him. It’s such a vindication for Father’s achievements, don’t you think?”

Let them choke on that.

“He was pleased as punch when your parliamentary whatsits announced he was to be honoured.” Venom was brewing in Sonja’s words. “I dare say a few people will be eating crow about now. Nice buffet earlier, hmm?”

The younger cousin snorted
, then engaged in an ill-advised staring contest with Sonja. Now
this
was more like it—both sides testing their strengths, flying their true colours. The game was afoot. Or was it?

“
Helga! Manners.” The middle cousin, Freya, closest of the three to strawberry blonde, slapped her younger cousin’s shoulder, then turned to Meredith. “Pay no mind to my sister. She was born a pest.”

“
Shut it, sow.” The smallest received a clip to the ear for that retort, and Meredith lost her bearings again. Divided enemy forces? Not fighting back? This wasn’t at all how things were supposed to happen. What next—exchanging Christmas cards?

If any of them
use the word
sorry
, I’ll throw up.

“
How is your Aunt Lily?” Lady Catarina stepped forward, adjusted the ribbon on her wide-brimmed touring hat, while the buns in her ebony hair shimmered in the light from several blue-tinted oil lamps. There was nothing subtle about the woman’s beauty: high rounded cheekbones; a scaled-down voluptuous figure, generous in hips and breasts yet a long way from plump; and big hazel eyes that seemed to reflect the best of everything else but the worst of you. Yes, all women were jealous of her. One could clock her appeal in a single glimpse from across the fullest room.

“
She is well and in good spirits, ma’am. Thank you. And you?”

“
I am enjoying my Arctic trip immensely. An airship took us far north last week, and such a thing you never saw—flat white as far as the eye could see, and uncommonly still, not a quiver of a breeze. Now I understand why your father insists on his explorations. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of being somewhere man has not yet trod. I envy him deeply.”

Something dis
tracted her, and she threw a wave across the garden.
“If you’ll excuse me, ladies. I’m needed elsewhere. Promise I shan’t be long.” She climbed the shallow slope toward a group of elderly women near the slow-moving buffet tables on circular tracks.

Which l
eft Meredith and Sonja with their enemies, unsupervised, for the first time.

Sonja glanced over her shoulder to the pavilion roof. She would give her signal to the boy very soon
—phase two of their revenge would be the showstopper all right, and no one would ever forget it, least of all the Sorensens. So what if it marred Father’s big night. He’d already delivered his presentation, received his great honour, and the visit had been a resounding success. His star shone brightly tonight and would continue to do so. They’d strategically waited till the final hours to get even. And anyway, no one could
prove
they were to blame for phase two, not unless the boy talked, and he would be implicating himself.

No, this would only destroy t
hree reputations. Just as they’d inflicted unforgettable wounds three years ago, the Sorensens had to suffer. And the time was now.

“
Meredith, Sonja, on behalf of my cousins and I,” Brigitte opened her shawl in surrender, “we would like to offer our sincerest apologies for how we treated you on your last visit. It was unforgivable.”

Wait. What?

Meredith and Sonja shared a quizzical glance. The bitterness froze in her chest. She lost all recollection of where she was, what she was doing. Then she remembered, and cringed.
Hell,
what if they went through with this and the Sorensens were genuinely contrite? Their apology was an honest one?

“
Yes, it was unforgivable.” Sonja set her fists on her hips.

“
Truly it was.” A grave bow by the eldest cousin softened the tension a fraction, and she looked up at Sonja with doe eyes, the vulnerability a little overdone. The V of her eyebrows lifted suddenly...

There!
Brigitte sneaked a hand behind her back, as if to take something from her cousin standing behind.

“
Move—” Meredith opened her parasol and jabbed it in front of Sonja. A split-second later, dark liquid exploded on it, peppering the side of Meredith’s face and the shoulder of her gown. She instinctively sidestepped a second ink bomb thrown by Freya. That one burst on the lawn behind her, its rubber balloon pieces gurgling in a dark frothy streak.

For a moment, seagull cries and the rumble of distant waves were the only sounds in
Niflheim.

Sonja balled her right fist
, fingered the cap off the point of her bracelet, and darted for Brigitte Sorensen. “Have some of this!” She struck in precisely the right place, the side of her neck, injecting a dose of the paralytic solution. Instant drowsiness.

The plan had been to prick the cousins
’ hands, one by one, surreptitiously, as they ventured close during the heated argument, but there wasn’t time for that now. Meredith sprang at Freya, ignoring her scream, and pricked her jugular. Lastly, Sonja ducked Helga’s wild slap and injected her cheek—a reckoning for the personal humiliation heaped upon her by the youngest troll three years ago.

A giddy flush of triumph overcame Meredith as she stalked around her
sluggish prey. She gave a whoop of delight, then she and Sonja skipped away together, pretending to curious partygoers that they were batting away a swarm of angry mosquitoes. A nice touch—Sonja’s, invented the night before. It would spread a faux explanation for the Sorensens’...strange reaction.

Dozens of g
uests flocked to the now-mute trio, whose drunken stumbling elicited a glorious smattering of laughter from around the garden. Positively glorious.

Ah, sweet, sweet revenge.

Phase one was a resounding success.

Meredith rubbed her hands together. “
All right, now we hammer the nail in. Give the signal.”

***

A stunned silence gripped the garden party. It was by now several score strong—almost everyone had ventured outside to witness the commotion. A large white projection screen unfurled from the upper balcony of the manor house. It droned and then
whumped
taut, its stiff frame patting the gothic stone balcony.

Sonja blanked out the voice in her head telling her this
was cruel overkill, that they’d had their revenge on the Sorensens. She’d almost said as much when Merry had first floated this plan, but tonight was not as clear-cut as the dictates of her own conscience. No, only she knew Merry’s pain. Only she’d had to endure those long, fractured nights, looking helplessly on, pretending not to notice the endless tossing and turning, the tormented groans, the sickly odour of sweat-soaked sheets. For months, years now. That awful humiliation of three years ago had traumatized Merry more than anyone knew.

Perhaps Sonja
’s youth—thirteen at the time—and her lack of social awareness had made her more resilient to the shock, whereas Merry, who’d been on the threshold of romance and courtship and that raw self-consciousness all teenaged girls are cursed with, had had nowhere to retreat to. The dashing young Viking men whose attentions she’d caught, even commanded, had watched on as she’d been exposed, helpless and humiliated.

Sonja looked across at her
big sister. That same torment broiled inside Merry now, pursing her lips to the size of a halfpenny. It blazed with anticipation from her wide eyes as she fixed on the moonlit projection screen. Her balled fists trembled at her sides.

Sonja sucked in a
breath, let the vicarious venom flush through her, and gave William the wave.

This was not for her, it was for Merry.

The beam from the pavilion roof brightened until the projection screen shone brilliantly silver-white. Borrowing the screen and the steam-powered moving image projector from Professor Sorensen’s conference hall had been a nice coup—William had helped. A strange lad, shy but determined. He was the professor’s ward, an orphan from Northwest England, and didn’t seem to fit in here or anywhere else for that matter. But he’d taken their part admirably this past week.