The Curious Steambox Affair (14 page)

“Weapons expert!” I said, a little too loudly. Several people turned to look at me, but were instantly mesmerized by the fearful presence of the Indian. Sully, walking ahead, bestowed upon us a rich glare, and motioned for silence. I took a breath and then said, in a much softer tone, “Weapons expert for whom?”

“The Gentlemen,” Benge said with another shrug. “Ah. Here we are.”

Chapter Fifteen

The library was as splendidly appointed as expected.

Dark wood greeted my eyes as I was led across the threshold. There was a large bank of windows that completely filled the far wall, with rich brocade curtains pulled back. My gaze was inexplicably drawn there, and to my amazement I saw what appeared to be rich green foliage visible through the glass. That seemed amazing, considering the snow, but my attention was shifted as Sully called for the doors to be shut behind us.

The room was undeniably beautiful, and my literary passions were ignited as I gazed at the imposing bookshelves that lined most of the walls. Book after book was here, a far better selection than even Hay's offers. A delicate iron ladder was attached to lengthy expanses of pipe, which circumvented the shelves with ease. How easy to reach the upper shelves! How convenient to stand upon the ladder rungs, and glide from shelf to shelf!

A nice arrangement of comfortable-looking chairs was arranged before a very large fireplace. Another credenza, only this one offered an arrangement of various whiskies and glassware. There was a centermost table on the thick Persian carpet. This table reminded me of those I have seen at museums. I consider them study tables, because they lack the clutter of a man's desk, and provide ample room to open numerous tomes and arrange papers to one's liking.

This table, however, was covered in its entirety by the greatest assortment of weaponry that I have ever glimpsed.

“I said to keep the door shut,” Sully said, all traces of humor gone from his voice. He glared at a servant. “Do so, and then I wish for a selection of refreshments for our friend. A large selection, mind, and several bottles of champagne. Quickly! Quickly!”

His smile returned as the servant hurried to comply. The door shuddered closed, and then Sully turned to me.

“Trantham's staff is disastrous,” he said. “No use in discussing it with him, though. He does not seem to notice their ineptitude, or does not care. I thought you might like to see some of the weapons,” he said. His smile deepened as he regarded my rapt expression. “They are, indeed, glorious.”

And they were! I stared down at the pistols. The long swords. There were rifles and muskets! A blunderbuss! And more swords of wide variety!

I could feel both Sully's and Benge's gazes upon me as I took a step forward. The offering was so varied that I was unsure where to start. It was obvious that they were displaying them for me, for whatever odd and mysterious reason, and I knew that they were expecting some sort of reaction. I had the distinct feeling that, should I inquire what that reaction should be, I would not be granted a proper answer.

Best to have my honest reaction, which is what I expected they were looking for anyway.

There were so many weapons I did not understand. Some of the pistols possessed firing mechanisms that looked difficult and complex. The swords, too, were unlike any I have ever seen. Some had curved blades. Others had ornate hilts that quietly begged for my touch. I started to reach for one, a cavalry sword, but my attention was captured by the knives.

Immediately, my heart began pounding, my gaze full. So many of them! There were bejeweled hilts. Vicious blades, some delicately wrought, others with a dangerous curve. You know my passion for knives, and these . . . these were different. Such craftsmanship! Such beauty!

And then I saw one in particular. It lay in the midst of the gleaming offering in quiet splendor, not as fancy as others, nor as garishly lethal. It was the Indian's blade, the one I had previously admired in the Operating Theatre. Its simplicity was a far cry from the more extreme daggers and knives that surrounded it, and yet I suddenly had eyes for no other.

Beside me, Dog Benge laughed softly. I looked up, only to see Sully roll his eyes in dramatic exasperation.

“Oh, go on and take it,” he said with a long sigh. “Benge was correct. Again.”

“Take it?” I asked, feeling confused. “Sorry?”

“The knife,” Sully said. When I hesitated, he picked it up himself, then handed it to me. “It is yours, of course. It always was, but we wanted to see if you remembered it.”

“It is your knife,” I said, glancing toward Benge. “I admired it in the Theatre.”

Benge shrugged. “I have two. This is yours.”

I started to protest, tried to deny the gift, protested the generosity, but my words fell on deaf ears. Benge merely handed me a soft leather scabbard and instructed me to hide the blade in polite society.

“What else do you require?” Sully asked. “What else is needed to keep you safe?”

“I . . .” I started to form the necessary questions, but was interrupted by the opening of the library door.

The servant had returned with the ordered refreshments, but it was the sight of Simon Trantham, standing behind him, that centered my attention.

Trantham was scowling as he walked into the library. He quickly ordered for the servant to set the tray of food and drink down, and then barked for him to leave.

The look on his face was so similar to Hyde's that for a moment it was as if Hyde himself was furiously standing in the middle of the library. Save for the spectacles, they could have been the same, but Trantham did not feel the need to berate the poor servant as he hastily set the tray on the surface of another library table. When the servant nervously insisted that he should open the bottle of champagne for us, I winced, expecting rude retribution.

Instead, Trantham agreed, which meant that he was nothing at all like Hyde. Silence descended upon the library, broken only by the loud pop of champagne cork. Our silence continued until the servant left, shutting the library door firmly behind him.

“Hello, Simon,” Sully said to Trantham. “I was wondering when you would make an appearance.”

“A weapons display?” Trantham murmured, approaching the table in quick, efficient steps. “At a party? Hardly wise.”

“I only wished for Mr. Purefoy to be adequately protected,” Sully answered.

“You intended to frighten our new friend,” Trantham answered. “Or show off your dubious haul.”

“Purefoy is obviously not frightened,” Sully retorted. “And he appreciates the haul. Correct, sir?”

“I have never seen its equal,” I admitted, hoping said fright and concern were not displayed upon my expression. Adequately protected! My heart pounded.

“And you never will,” Sully said. His grin deepened. “Thank you for the compliment. These are only a fraction of the weaponry I have available. I am glad that you appreciate it as much as I do.”

For lack of anything better to do, I sheathed the magnificent knife, then slipped it into my coat pocket. Benge nodded his approval.

“Well, I am glad to see you armed,” Trantham said drily. “But I intended for that to happen in a more normal process. You were to come tonight as my guest. To a party. This,” he said, tapping a long forefinger against the table and staring at Sully, “this is ostentatious.”

“It is what it is,” Sully replied cheerfully. “Champagne, Simon. I think our new friend deserves another drink.”

I had yet to finish the flute of champagne, but that did not stop any of them from procuring me a fresh glass. I was also given a very large plate of food, which was set on the table before me. The sight of it made me realize how hungry I was, how little I had eaten. They glanced at me, saw my hesitation, and then all three began to fill plates of their own.

It seemed a strange location for a meal, surrounded by an arsenal, but the food was sublime. Soft tarts, filled with cream! A selection of dainty sandwiches. Shortbread fingers (which paled in comparison to yours), amid several chocolate-filled pastries. There were slices of cold cuts and pickles, and such a vast array that it was difficult to not overindulge.

The champagne was delicious and did wonders to ease my anxieties at being found in yet another odd and even mysterious situation. A good meal can help keep concern at bay, or so I have realized. The silence was companionable, and they seemed as appreciative of the food and drink as I felt.

“She is looking for you,” Trantham said quietly, and I realized that he was speaking to Dog Benge.

“Is she?” Benge queried with another enigmatic shrug. He did, however, down the last of his champagne, and dusting his hands together, he took a step away from the table.

“I would suggest you proceed cautiously,” Trantham murmured. “That would be best, considering.”

Benge ignored him, and neither Sully nor Trantham seemed interested in further explanation. Although my curiosity was certainly piqued, it would have been rude to inquire further. Instead, I remained quiet as Benge opened the library door and disappeared beyond.

“Idiot,” Trantham muttered, once the door was shut. He took a deep draught of champagne, which seemed to cause his tense expression to clear.

“Mr. Purefoy, please, you must accept my apologies about such an odd reception to my home. I intended for you to enjoy yourself, and to not be troubled with any of this.”

“I actually am enjoying myself,” I said honestly. “Although I cannot pretend to understand anything. I do think that I have gotten quite adept at confusion.”

Miss Campbell, on this I must be very clear. I have already admitted to a great appreciation of all things, with regard to weaponry. To pretend otherwise would be a lie, and as I have said, I rarely lie. However, it would also be a lie to pretend that this entire reception was not worrisome. The murders are never far from my thoughts, both those of my subterranean friends, and those I have seen advertised. The fact that these men, these Gentlemen, were concerned over my adequate protection was hardly comforting. I hoped the smile on my face remained pleasant, even though my thoughts were anything but.

“Oh, I like him,” Sully said, his gaze finally twinkling with humor. “Trantham, you were correct. This one is an asset. Here,” he said, and picked up a small pistol. “Perhaps you should have this as well. Benge told me that you are a knife man, but I have never underestimated the power of a well-placed shot. Give it a grasp,” he said, pressing it into my hand. “See what you think.”

It was an undeniably beautiful pistol with an intricately carved ivory handle, which fit into my hand to perfection. It shone beneath the lamplight as I turned it carefully to and fro. My murmured appreciation caused Sully to beam happily.

“Take it. It is yours. A gift from one aficionado to another,” he said.

“I would have gone with the dirk,” Trantham added. He picked up a slim Scottish-made blade, and at Sully's nod, he handed it to me. “Good for your inner coat pocket, and lethal when needed.”

“Another knife man,” Sully said, sighing. “Cannot be helped, I suppose. You are what you are.”

“Will someone please tell me what is going on?” I managed, finding it necessary to finally ask. “Why have I been brought here? Why am I being equipped for battle?”

Sully's laughter echoed through the library. “Correct me if I am wrong, Purefoy, but you were recently threatened by a murderer.”

“I was not threatened by him,” I argued. “Two of my friends were killed.”

“And subsequently, you were threatened,” Sully pressed. “Do you truly think that a change of address can thwart a madman? Our vigilance alone cannot protect you, so we thought it best if you had some things on hand. Some weapons.”

“Hyde has given me a pistol,” I said. “And I have my butchery knives.”

“And no doubt you could utilize both, given the unfortunate opportunity,” Sully said soothingly. “But we wish the best for you, Mr. Purefoy, so we have decided to equip you properly. Is there anything else you require? Fill your pockets, sir, and I have a few sheaths that can hide weapons beneath your coat. We shall see to the provision of boxes of bullets.”

“We like you,” Trantham said, refilling all three of our champagne flutes. “And we never like anyone, Mr. Purefoy. I suggest that you take advantage of that.”

“Smithson wished for you to have this,” Sully said, his hands lifting a beautifully carved mahogany cane. A pearly orb decorated the top, and as I watched, Sully twisted it with a deft turn of his wrist. Silently, a long blade was extracted from the middle of the cane, the orb serving as an odd hilt. He slid it back into the protective wood covering, and twisting the orb once more, he secured it.

I was silent as he handed it to me. I had seen an identical cane in the possession of Benge. To think there was a weapon hidden within! And I was to have one now as well? Already, my coat pockets bulged with the Indian's knife. The pistol. The dirk. And now this?

The excitement of possessing such treasures filled me, as did my lingering concern that they felt the need for such provisions. Why were they taking such interest in me? What had gotten me here, beneath the Gentlemen's magnifying glare? My connection with Hyde, brother to Simon Trantham? My growing kinship with Dog Benge? Could I trust such friendships being offered?

“Have another pastry, Mr. Purefoy,” Trantham said. “And remove your coat, sir, if you do not mind.”

I did mind, and said as much, but my protests fell on deaf ears. I found myself coatless, and soon, a leather harness was secured over my shoulders, resting against my back. Several knives were attached, as was a set of strange iron stars. In response to my arguments, Trantham himself removed his coat, and I could see that he, too, wore the same sort of contraption, fitted with such a vast array of knives that I wondered how he walked properly at all.

“We all have them,” Sully said as he fastened on yet another set of blades. “Of course, the Venetian has more, but then he would.”

“Who are
we
?” I asked, but the answer did not surprise me.

“The Gentlemen.”

“And what do
we
do?”

“We stay alive,” Sully said with another deep chuckle. He finished outfitting the harness to his liking, taking the pistol out of my coat pocket and affixing it against my side. He then waited while Trantham inspected his handiwork. Once Trantham had given his approval, my coat was returned to me.