Kathleen Y'Barbo (23 page)

If she would shoot a flying machine for what she thought in the moment was a good reason, what damage could she do to that lying, no-good Sir William Trueck the next time she saw him?

“You’re nothing but trouble,” she said as she picked up the gun and removed the remaining bullets before putting it away.

By the time she climbed beneath her blankets, the clock in the hall was chiming half past two. When it chimed three, she was lying on her side with her eyes focused on the roses climbing the wallpaper. At a quarter after three, she rose to move to the window.

If only she could reach Kyle and set things right.

Of course. Millie got out of bed, hurried to her handbag, and retrieved the playing card he had given her. Slipping into her dressing gown and slippers, she went downstairs to Father’s library.

Even with the door closed, Millie worried the entire house would awaken at the sound of her talking to the operator, and yet they did not. When the call was finally put through, she relaxed, albeit only slightly.

“Yes?” was the simple answer when the ringing stopped. The voice was bland, neither deep nor high, and held no indication of any sort of accent. The only two things she could discern was that the person on the other end of the line was male and not Kyle.

“Hello?”

“Oh, yes! I...that is...” Millie paused to take a deep breath. She had only used the telephone a few times and never had quite got used to the gadget. “I am terribly sorry to telephone at such an hour, but I was given this number and told I could reach a certain person should I have need to contact him. And I wish to let him know that...”

That what? That she was sorry she shot his balloon? That she wished she hadn’t tried to help? That she wanted to make things right between them?

“That you have need to contact him?” the person supplied.

“Indeed,” Millie said. “That is exactly it. To apologize. He will know how to contact me.”

“And your name?”

“Millie.” She debated whether to add her last name and then decided not to. Telling him that much did not appeal unless she could do so in person.

Silence fell between them, and she wondered if perhaps the contrary device had disconnected itself. “Are you there?” she finally asked.

“Yes, one moment.”

Millie leaned against the wall and forced herself to breathe. If she got caught using Father’s phone, he would absolutely—

“Your message has been delivered.”

“It has?” Millie shook her head. “But you did not ask the name of the person I am trying to reach.”

“There was no need, miss.”

And then the line went dead.

Thirteen

January 17, 1889

Memphis

T
he call from Millie had come in after three a.m. Because the system of messages was arranged so that he had immediate information on any calls that came through, Kyle ended up spending the remainder of the wee hours of the morning trying to decide whether to respond or let the woman stew a while.

He was mad at her. Furious. Her reckless irresponsibility had nearly cost him an invaluable piece of scientific gadgetry, and along with that, the possibility of reaching the patent office before anyone else.

Almost, but not quite. For somehow the only damage was to the silk fabric. A lone bullet hole had downed the craft, and another strip of silk had been lost during the process of untangling it from the tree, but other than that, his invention was still in working order.

If he had any questions about whether God still performed miracles, they were answered when he returned to his room with the pieces of his machine and found them all still in working order. Silk was easily replaceable. The gears and levers of his steering mechanism were not.

Leaning back in his chair, Kyle studied the note as he’d received it. Coded to carefully prevent detection, the message was brief.

Caller No. 7343. Female. Name given: Millie. Message: Has need to contact you to apologize.

He smiled at that last part. Likely those were the exact words Millie had told the call taker. “Nothing like a man who can follow instructions exactly and to the letter.”

Unlike this woman he knew only as Millie. Discovering her last name would be tempting, and yet he would rather hear it from her if he saw her again. Which he knew he would.

He couldn’t help but find her again. It was as if he had to. Which was ridiculous because she was an engaged woman with a wedding just days away.

“What is it about you, Millie?”

Even as he said the words, he already knew the answer. He’d even told her himself. Millie, his society scientist, was unlike any woman he had ever met. And the Lord had sealed any question with the admission from her about her name. But still the situation seemed impossible to resolve.

Sighing, Kyle picked up the letter from Henry following up on the telegram that brought him back to Memphis.

He decoded the message twice to be certain of its contents.

“It has been finished for quite some time, Miss Cope,” the jeweler’s assistant told her the next morning when she arrived at Parker’s to inquire about her necklace and engagement ring. “We were beginning to wonder when someone was coming to fetch it.”

“So my fiancé, Sir William Trueck, did not happen by? He mentioned he would be coming in.”

The assistant shook his head. “I don’t think so. If he had, then I would not still have the item.”

“Well, that is true. But I actually have two items here: the gold chain and an emerald-and-diamond ring. Could you please check again?”

He returned with the news that there had been no such ring in their possession.

Of course not. That was just another lie told by the man she had very nearly married.

“How very odd,” she said to cover her feelings as she pulled the reassembled cypher and the locket from her pocket. “Then might I trouble you to attach these?”

The assistant brought the pieces back to Mr. Parker, who came out with a smile. “Miss Cope, so good to see you,” he said as he shook her hand with vigor. “You need these attached?”

“Yes, please. I will wait for them.”

The old jeweler shook his head “I hate to keep you waiting. If you will allow me to deliver the necklace when I go home for lunch, I will give you my word I will not delay.”

Her skepticism must have shown, for he grinned. “You young people. What if I have Hiram polish these before they are attached? You have not been diligent in keeping them up.”

That was the truth, and she knew it. “All right, but I truly must have the necklace by this afternoon.”

“I promise. And, child, I do not give my promise lightly.”

“One more thing,” she said, as she decided to make absolutely certain there was no misunderstanding regarding the claims Sir William had made. “Have you seen my fiancé here? Sir William mentioned he would be stopping by.”

“A handsome couple you two are. I saw your picture in the paper. And that ring. Now, speaking professionally, that was certainly something of value. I do hope you will have it insured.”

“As a matter of fact, it’s supposed to be here getting sized, but your assistant says he hasn’t seen it.”

Mr. Parker frowned. “We definitely do not have that ring here for sizing, of that I am certain. Perhaps your fellow has forgotten. You might want to give his memory a little jab.”

“More than just his memory that needs jabbing,” she muttered as she left the necklace in Mr. Parker’s capable hands and went on to complete her day’s shopping.

Millie’s next destination took her past the Peabody Hotel. Pausing across the street, she debated whether to go in and make an attempt to find
the aviator. But what would she say? How would she, Silas Cope’s daughter, explain that she was looking for a stranger named Kyle in one of the town’s most prominent hotels?

Better to wait for him to respond to her telephone call than to take the risk. She walked on past the hotel to turn into her favorite bookstore. An hour later, she left with her purchases tucked in her handbag lest Father happen to see her on the street.

At the neighbor’s tree, Millie paused. Looking closely, she spied a patch of black silk fabric dangling from a limb near the top of the stately poplar. Other than that small reminder of last night, it appeared Kyle had been able to retrieve his flying machine and, she hoped, could make the repairs it needed. If not, she would be responsible. Either way, she hoped he would contact her soon so she could make her apologies.

Oh, how she wished she could go back in time and redo the whole evening. But where would she start? Logic and prudence would say she should never have left to go moon watching. Her heart, however, told her she only wished she had allowed him to handle the problem of the fleeing balloon without her assistance.

“Hindsight,” she muttered as she trudged home and headed upstairs to the safety of her bedchamber, her brand-new copy of
The Black Arrow
by Robert Louis Stevenson securely hidden in her handbag along with several pencils and a lovely sketchbook.

To her surprise, the door to her room stood open and her bedcovers were a mess. The drapes had been drawn, and someone had moved her bedside table, knocking over a vase of fresh peonies from Father’s greenhouse in the process.

Placing her handbag on the chair by the window, she threw open the drapes and then turned around. Brilliant rays of afternoon sunlight illuminated shards of what looked to be broken glass now glittering on the rug. A check of her hiding place told Millie the Remington was gone.

“She done it.”

Her attention jerked to the doorway where Maeve, the younger of the Irish maids, stood with broom and dustpan in hand. Without invitation, the girl stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“The new missus. She done all this.”

Shaking her head, Millie asked, “Who?”

“That woman who is after your father. Mrs. Wilson or something.”

“Mrs. Ward-Wiggins?” When Maeve nodded, Millie allowed her attention to sweep the room. “But why?”

“Cook says she was looking for something.”

“My revolver?”

If the girl had any idea the gun was gone, she did not show it. “I don’t think so.”

Millie moved to the chair, picked up her handbag, and sat down. The weight of the novel and sketchbook shifted as she tucked the bag under her arm. “Then what does Cook think she was looking for?”

“She doesn’t know, but she said the lady was as mad as a wet hen when she didn’t find it.” Maeve paused as she appeared to be studying the edge of the dustpan, and then she lifted her eyes. “Cook thinks maybe there was something she had took from her on New Year’s Eve that she thinks you have. Me, I think she wanted that heart charm you used to wear before the necklace got broke.”

“Oh, no!” Millie said. “The necklace. Mr. Parker was supposed to deliver it.”

The maid reached into her pocket to pull out the item in question. True to his word, Mr. Parker had attached the charms and delivered the necklace during his lunch hour.