Imperial Clock (The Steam Clock Legacy) (31 page)

The empty suit, bespattered with blood, would haunt her forever.

It was late when Sonja telephoned, well after the last of the anti-conscription demonstrators had been carted away in irons from their last stand against the fence outside Vincey Park, not half a block from M
eredith’s apartment. They’d been dispersed from Downing Street, where Prime Minister Pinder had declared them “cowardly insurrectionists”. Then they’d rallied in their hundreds on Bond Street, in defiance of the proposed military draft to replenish the empire’s depleted troops in West Africa, where the Coalition had renewed its campaign to destabilise the Leviacrum’s stranglehold. A bloody confrontation with police on Bond Street had scattered the demonstrators, but pockets of protestors had set up camp in other public places across London. They had not lasted long. The extinguishing influence of the Leviacrum Council was akin to a loyal, ravenous dog unleashed upon command.

“
I wanted to ring you yesterday,” Meredith said, “but it got too late, and I didn’t want to upset you, you know, with things being so fragile with Derek.”

“
What do you mean, upset me?”

“
It’s about Aunt Lily—she’s in hospital.”

“
Why?”

“
I’m not quite sure how to say this, Sonja, but she’s not—” No, it wouldn’t do to say any more over the telephone. Someone might be listening in.
“She was stabbed.”

“
No! Is it serious?”

“
Not life-threatening. She’ll recover. But there’s more—Cathy was shot, during the same robbery, and she’s in worse shape. A number of other people were killed.”

“
How awful. Have you been to visit them?”

“
Not yet. The police are being rather tight-lipped about the whole thing. A detective came to see me yesterday, said Aunt Lily and Cathy are receiving the best of care, but he wouldn’t tell me
where
they’re being looked after.”

“
Damned odd. What reason did he give?”

“
That they’re the only living witnesses, and they might be able to identify the swine that did it. Their whereabouts need to be kept secret.”
To protect a bigger secret.

“
Yes, that’s good. Stash them out of harm’s way. Do you think I should come to London? You’ve no one there with you. I should really be there.”

“
I’m all right, really. Donnelly’s been a godsend, checks up on me every chance he gets. Let’s just wait and see what happens.”

“
All right. If you say so, Merry. But I still wish I was there.”

One of tho
se frustrating pauses took root, so Merry decided to change the subject. Ending the call so soon would be unthinkable. She’d felt so vulnerable in her empty apartment, so reclusive since the incident. Sonja’s voice smuggled in the safest tones of home. “Have you spoken to Derek yet?”

“
I
have.
” A blast of either rage or bonhomie echoed through the receiver. “The fool proposed. Can you believe that?”

Meredith let
out the last inkling of the breath she’d held, before slumping, chin-on-collar, into the abyss she’d teetered over for the past two days and nights. The tenterhooks had slipped, her last hold on the family she’d known was lost, and she was utterly, eternally on her own. “He did?” More than just on her own; she was unwanted, superfluous, obsolete.

Stop being so bloody
selfish.

“
His family were dead against it, told him so, the rotters. They even said it outright to
me,
to my face, in the most evil ambush you’ve ever heard of, at their house this morning.”

“
They sound monstrous.”

“
They are. Oh, they are. You’ve no idea. But the strangest thing happened just now, and I tell you what:
it’s all going ahead.
The engagement, the wedding, with the blessing of Derek’s family. I couldn’t believe it when Mrs. Auric showed up with Derek, not an hour ago, to give me the news. I’d given the whole thing up for dead this morning after the set-to I had with the old man. Oh, you’d have been so proud of me, Merry—they tried roughing me up, the lot of ‘em, but I bided my time and then gave ‘em hell, full triple-deck broadside, right where it hurt. Even booted an old heirloom into the fire. Ha! Ha! You’d have laughed till you wet yourself.”

“
You...really made an impression, then. How on earth did they come around after that?”

“
Mrs. Auric—Derek’s mother—said enough was enough when Derek vowed to never clap eyes on any of them again. The ruckus reached white heat, by the sounds of it. She’s not normally like that, though, never so much as raises her voice in anger, so it tells you how volcanic the whole scene must have got. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the old man came out with his big secret in the nick of time. He’s up for the draft soon, and rather than see his family split for good, he reluctantly gave his blessing to the engagement. It really
would
have been a scandal if Derek had cut the family loose altogether and we’d eloped on our own. At least this way the Aurics still have their successful son. The old man must really have thought he could talk Derek out of it. Tried his darnedest to pull it off, right to the bitter end, but it back-fired. I gather he hadn’t expected me to make such a passionate show of it, and it impressed him no end. Derek said that tipped his decision, but if you ask me the old man’s wife squaring up to him like that shook him to the core. I wish I’d have seen it.”

“
Me too.”

“
Yes. Oh and by the way, the School Board made its decision. They cleared Challender on all counts of misconduct. Can you believe that? The oaf got away scot free.”

“
Idiots. He wants shooting. And Derek?”

“
Cleared of misconduct, on account of he did keep everyone alive. But they objected strongly to his relationship with me. Hinted that it had been going on well before the Lake District. I don’t know where they got that idea from—Challender’s my guess, or Dorcas Henshall. Derek did kiss me once under the tarp that night. Apparently they would have suspended him for it but they didn’t have enough evidence, and anyway we’re both out of SHG for good. So it’s turned out well.”

“
Good news on all counts.”

“
Uh-huh. So, we’re on for the engagement, a full tarted-up party at Auric Manor, the works. It’s all happened so quickly I’m expecting whip-lash any second now. Check
your
neck too, Merry. That’s horrible what’s happened there, and so out-of-the-blue like that. Will the detective let you know when it’s safe to visit Aunt Lily? And Cathy?”

“
He said someone will be in touch. And Donnelly will keep tabs on the investigation for me.”

“
That’s good. He must come to the engagement party as well. He’s been a treasure.”

“
Well, I’ll...I’ll ask him.”

“
And you must tell me how your
investigation is coming along. So much news, eh? All at once. We McEwans never do anything by halves, do we?”

“
I’ll say.”

“
Well, it’ll have to be good-night for now, Merry. Derek’s still here. I left him in the other room. We have rather a lot to talk about.”

“
Of course. Hey, congratulations, you! We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“
Yes, let’s. Bye, Merry.”

Meredith waited until her sister had hung up, then whispered, “
Farewell, Sonja.”

Over the following days, she saw little of her apartment. It tried to stifle her somehow. Its gloomy twilit funk threatened to slowly and inexorably turn her into a festering zombie spinster. A character in one of Sonja’s penny dreadfuls had ended up that way, unwed and undead, given to stalking and even eating the men who’d turned her down over the years. Well, Meredith was too young to resort to
that,
but her growing aversion to the domestic, fuelled by glorious hell-for-leather bicycle rides through Vincey Park, along the Thames Embankment, through Hyde Park, and once or twice into the boroughs, left her both exhausted and imbued at the end of each day.

It was also a ti
me for making physical changes, anything that smacked of newness, reinvention. Having her hair cropped to a bob was the first, though the novelty quickly wore off because women weren’t supposed to venture outside without hats. Propriety.
The more she observed the corset-centric fashions on parade in the parks, up and down shopping arcades, in every single women’s clothing store without fail, the more absurd it all seemed. It was as though choice itself, rammed down her throat by material society since she’d learned to walk, had been a placebo all along, an illusion. So she began to peruse foreign clothing brochures, not for the fashions, but for the items that caught her eye, made her feel...different...special.

She drew her weekly allowance and spent most of it the same day, on
an ankle-length brown leather frock-coat from Germany, a black lace blouse and a pair of tan, tight-fitting, bell-bottom denim trousers from California, riding boots a la Lady Skyhawk, a half-size top hat with a large silver buckle, and the most exciting beige leather gloves with oversized sleeves she could find. Two of everything.

The fi
rst time Donnelly saw her in her full get-up, and specifically her denims from the rear when she modelled without her frock-coat, he spat his tobacco onto the grass, in complete shock. He then spent several amusing minutes trying to dissuade her from staying out in public dressed like that. All rather sarcastic and tongue-in-cheek.

The southeast corner of Vincey Park was th
e most exposed to prying eyes. Trees were scarce except for a line of silver birches accompanying the main path. But it was the flattest, and also the grassiest section, with a large open area popular with picnickers at weekends, perfect for what Donnelly had in mind. For today he was living up to a promise he’d made the first time they’d met, on board the
Boadicea
. Today he would teach her the art of fly-mech, a popular field sport across the Channel.

“
It’s yet to catch on over here.” He unpacked a brass and leather harness from the kit, tested its various straps and spring mechanisms, then motioned it at her midriff. “May I?” Meredith assented, fighting back a hot flush as he delved inside her coat, almost cheek to cheek—his
Eau de Cologne
mixed with the smell of tobacco was an inspired combination, almost her undoing. He fastened the harness belt around her waist. “If that’s too tight, let me know.”

“
No, it’s...just right.” No man had been this close to her before without receiving a smack, and she didn’t want him to move, unless it was to her lips, which she licked in anticipation, in vain. Donnelly was a married man, an honourable man. But damn it, how could a man this enticing and intoxicating be the exclusive property of one woman? It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t
fair.

“
There you are—all fixed—”

She kissed him as he rose
—an unplanned peck on the lips she immediately apologized for. “Oh my God. I didn’t mean to—that was horrid of me. I’m so sorry.”

After a quick moment of
surprise, he gave a polite, amused smile. “Not horrid, no. Quite the contrary. If I were ten years younger and didn’t have this...” He held up his wedding finger, caressed the ring, “...I might be a different story. But I wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“
No, of course not. I didn’t mean to—hell, I don’t know what I meant. Can’t we forget it ever happened?”

“
Already forgotten.”

That stung more than it reassured, but he was being a gentleman about it, and that
had
to be that. “So, about this fly-mech...”

“
Yes, about the fly-mech. Okay, maybe not quite as disarming as a kiss, but you have to exercise caution whenever you use this apparatus. It’s already been banned in several schools in France because students aren’t just using it for sport, they’re fighting duels,
Joute du Cuivre
, honest-to-God duels, like in the old days. You see, the greater the spring tension, the faster the projectile will fly—it can get very dangerous.” And he went on to demonstrate, with his own rig, how to use the contraption for the various sports.

In essen
ce it was a kind of spring-loaded catapult for firing different projectiles. When more than one person took part, playing catch with light cork balls worked best, but you had to be fearless as the fly-mech could fling the ball harder than a batsman could hit a six.

First you
loaded the projectile into the grooved accelerating barrel, which curved in a rapid S shape around the front of your waist and then onto the length of your arm. You held the end of the barrel in place at arm’s length by gripping a sort of cushioned stock handle.