Aether Rising

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Boston, 11 March 1871

Louisa followed the streets to where she thought she remembered the local trolley station being. Due to the coal shortage, the trolleys were running a half-schedule with twice the length of time between cars, so there was a chance she could catch the woman. She hoped that whoever it was would give her a sign of recognition since Louisa wouldn’t be able to pick out anyone specific with the butler’s vague description.

Crowds milled about the Charles Street stop, and scowls dominated the expressions of the laborers gathered there. Louisa thought she heard the grumbling of stomachs below that of the working classes, hungry for both food and fairness. She thought with some guilt about the rooms at the townhouse, which always had low fires burning even when they were unoccupied.

Someone jostled her, and her high-heeled boot slipped in something she didn’t want to think about. A rough hand caught her arm before she fell.

“Careful, lass. If ye go down, they’ll pick your pockets an’ bag clean before they trample you.”

The man’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners, but his expression was serious below his round-lensed glasses. A trolley arrived, and he held Louisa steady against the crush of people who rushed toward the vehicle. The conductor had two guards with him, who brandished steam rifles at the crowd, first to allow passengers off and then after the vehicle was full almost to bursting and with men hanging on where they could. Louisa craned her neck to examine the women, but she could only see bonnets, not faces, of the ones in front of her, and none around and behind her would meet her eyes.

So much for that plan…

Once that vehicle had departed amid grumblings of how there was enough coal for the police weapons but not the trolleys, the press of the crowd eased, and the man released Louisa. He tipped his hat, and this time his smile reached from his eyes down into his salt-and-pepper bearded cheeks. He wore a well-cut suit under a cloak, and he seemed almost as out-of-place as she did among the rough crowd.

“Apologies for handling ye roughly, Miss, but I didn’t want you to be the station’s next fatality.”

Louisa nodded and straightened her shawl. “Thank you, sir.” Then she couldn’t resist asking, “People have been killed here?”

“Aye. These busy stations are the most dangerous.”

Then the woman who brought the locket must have really wanted to get it to me. Louisa clutched at it below her clothing and was relieved to find it was still there. However, her watch was missing, as were the few coins she’d had in her pocket. She sighed. So much for her plan to take a cab home. Even worse, the heavy clouds had come through with their ominous promise and had started spitting a mixture of snow and cold rain.

“It was stupid of me to come,” she told the man. “Thank you for your assistance, and I apologize if I made you miss the trolley.”

“Who are ye looking for?” he asked. “And ye did, so I may as well walk you back to where you belong.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’m fine on my own.”

“I doubt that. You look very much out of your element here. I’d hardly be a gentleman if I let you go back on your own.”

She would have frowned at his impertinence, but he was right, and he couldn’t lie to her anyway.

“So you’re a gentleman?” she challenged.

“Of an academic sort, engineering specifically.” He touched the brim of his hat again. “Professor Artemus Malloy at your service.” He crooked an elbow, and she took it.

“I’m Louisa,” she said and added to deflect him from asking her surname, “and it’s funny your last name rhymes with alloy since you’re an engineering professor.” She didn’t want to reveal her true identity, even once they left the station. She thought she’d heard Parnaby Cobb’s name mentioned in the grumbling about the coal.

But the man fixed her with a shrewd gaze. “I know who you are, Miss C.”

“What happened to your Irish accent?” she asked. She would have asked how he knew who she was, but most people of a certain class in Boston did.

“It’s still there, but I exaggerate it when I’m among the laboring class to deflect attention. I was on my way home from Harvard when I saw you walking unaccompanied and thought I’d follow you to ensure your safety.”

She tried to pull away in surprise, but he covered her hand with his. She should have felt panic, but instead, anger flashed through her.

“You presume too much, sir.” She tugged harder, but he still wouldn’t relinquish her hand. “I already have a father and don’t need another.”

“Indeed? It didn’t seem so to me.” His shoulders moved in a shrug under his suit, which the gap between her glove and sleeve told her was of a scratchy woolen material.

She had to admit he was correct. She had acted foolishly. Louisa would have questioned her safety with him had they not been in public, which brought up another quandary. What if someone who mattered saw her on his arm? He seemed to be about ten years older than she, and academics, particularly those at Harvard, were respectable, but she didn’t want rumors to start. He had acted kindly, but there was something about his character she found unpleasant. Plus, she already dreaded what she would see when opening the gossip section of the newspaper on the morrow already. Although no one could possibly know what had transpired between her and O’Connell, she felt some part of it must be apparent to those with eyes shrewd enough to see. Would the papers be questioning her virtue?

With a shake of her head, she dismissed the irrational thought and the one behind it that perhaps she wanted her virtue to be questioned, but only by O’Connell, and only when she was in her night shift again.

Assuming he would ever speak to her. He still thought she had betrayed him.

They passed a newsboy, who held aloft a paper and called out, “Union hero’s arrival delayed! Inventor of La Reine disappears under mysterious circumstances.”

“Would you mind?” Professor Malloy asked. His expression had once again become somber.

“Not at all.” She was grateful to release his arm and rubbed her fingertips free of the sensation that they had been touching the arm of a strange being.

He bought a paper, and they stepped out of the flow of traffic to read the information on the front page. Louisa pretended to be interested in spite of knowing what had happened to “talented tinkerer and engineer Patrick O’Connell.” The reporter speculated he’d been kidnapped by a band of Confederates who wanted him to build a similar aether-powered weapon for them, but the former Confederate government denied any involvement. Most of the Confederate officials were in jail, anyway. Others wondered if the Union had orchestrated his disappearance in order to keep him out of the enemies’ hands until the Union had gotten full restitution from the Confederates for their insolence.

“That’s unfortunate,” Malloy said once they’d both scanned the article. “He was one of my best students. I hope he’s not in serious trouble.” He said the last sentence with his eyes on her face, not the paper.

He knows Patrick.

A strange combination of delight and anxiety spread through her middle. What did he know about Patrick? Could he help get her back in his good graces?

Or did Malloy suspect she or Cobb was involved in Patrick’s disappearance?

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Louisa tried to keep her tone hopeful and neutral. “He seems a very clever sort. At least what I’ve read of him,” she added quickly.

They joined the sidewalk traffic but Louisa couldn’t force herself to take his arm again.

Malloy stroked his beard. “He is, but he’s also good at getting into situations over his head. I only wish the article had mentioned what became of his friend, the doctor. From what I heard, they were stationed together at Fort Daniels.”

A shrewd glance from him made her hope the heat in her cheeks would be attributed to redness from the wind, not a blush.

“Oh?” She blinked and shrugged.

“Yes, you met them. You were at Claire McPhee’s birthday party the night of the accident, were you not?”

Louisa put together the pieces. Of course. Claire’s father, Allan, had been a tinkerer, so he would likely have known Malloy, who would have been a young professor at the time.

Which meant Malloy was at the party. Which meant he knew Louisa knew all the players. But would he figure out Cobb’s role in Patrick’s disappearance? Or was he searching for evidence of a different sort that Louisa was upset as a lover rather than a concerned citizen?

“Here we are,” Malloy said when they reached the townhouse. “It’s been a pleasure. May I call on you sometime?”

“I’m not sure why you would,” Louisa told him. “My stepfather is not currently allowing me to entertain suitors.”

“I’m not interested in being your suitor, Miss Cobb.” With that odd statement, he tipped his hat and walked away, leaving Louisa staring open-mouthed at him. She had no interest in him courting her—if she was to be with an Irish engineer, she’d prefer red to a black beard, and darn her betraying mind for making her remember O’Connell’s kisses.

But what did he want?

He must know Cobb has Patrick. And he’s not going to help me because he thinks I helped. She bit her lip. But I did, even if it was accidental.

One thing was certain—she had no interest in any further contact with Artemus Malloy.

Louisa once again regretted her rash decision to join O’Connell in the escape compartment of the Blooming Senator, not only because it caused him to be captured, but also because she knew she didn’t have the gumption to go against Cobb. If someone were to confront her about O’Connell’s whereabouts, she would lie to protect her stepfather, as bitter as the words would taste on her lips.

The sensation of a feather tickling her right temple made her look up, and she saw Cobb watching her from his study. He gestured for her to join him.

Her spirit deflated like a hot air balloon shot through with a shell, and she walked slowly up the stairs and into the house. Once she was out of sight of Cobb, her thoughts snapped back to their usual acuity. She just needed to come up with a plausible explanation for keeping company with a Harvard professor and keep her thoughts from fogging with panic when she was with her stepfather.

Or maybe Malloy would give her the perfect excuse for having left the house, and she could keep the significance of the visit from the woman with the locket to herself.

Now the game felt familiar. Louisa smiled, thankful that Cobb didn’t have her talent, and she had no difficulty lying to him, or at least not giving him half-truths. And maybe someday she would have the courage to ask the truth of him.

“This is the closest I can get you,” Armand told Iris, Edward, Marie, and Johann, who had been chased into the Richmond airship station commissary to warm up while the Skycatcher refueled. “I know I promised Boston, but they’re diverting all small traffic due to a late-season snowstorm. The tower just got the telegram and informed me when I landed.”

Iris looked around the sunny airfield and sighed. “What are our options?” she asked.

“There’s a passenger dirigible scheduled to stop here for fuel, and if their weight will allow, they can take you on. That will get you to your destination.”

“We’ll do that, then,” Edward said.

“Yes,” Iris agreed and reminded herself not to show surprise at her husband’s making the decision for the group. “We need to get there while Patrick’s trail is still fresh.” She only hoped that with the combination of her and Marie’s talents, they could find him. Iris knew the chances dwindled from slim to nonexistent the longer it took them to get to Boston, but they had to try.

Johann and Marie were in agreement with the plan. Armand unloaded the few belongings they’d brought with them, and as promised, the sky soon darkened with the shadow of the descending airship. While the coal stewards refilled the fuel stores, the captain confirmed there was room for them. They hugged Armand goodbye, and Iris said a little prayer for safe travels for him back to the Ottoman Empire.

“So that will be four first-class tickets?” the clerk asked.

“No, second class,” Iris said.

“The captain says their only room is in the first-class lounge. I can take a little off since you’re being inconvenienced by the weather, but the lowest I can go is…” He tapped on his adding machine and showed them the slip.

Iris’s heart fell when she read the ticket price. “I don’t think we have money for first-class fare,” she said. Edward, the best among them with numbers, shook his head.

Johann stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “I am renowned violinist Johann Bledsoe,” he told the clerk. “If you allow me and my friends passage to Boston, I’ll be happy to entertain the first-class passengers.”

Iris and Marie clasped hands. It was risky for Johann to put himself forward like that, but what else could they do?

The clerk sent the message to the captain through the pneumatic message tube and soon received a reply.

“You’re in luck,” the clerk said. “The captain has been wanting to hear you play after the reviews of your performance in Light Fantastique in Paris leaked out. He’s French,” he offered as an explanation with what Iris considered to be a classic French shrug. “Here are your tickets.”

“What were you thinking?” Marie asked Johann as they walked to the large airship followed by a porter with their bags. Her tone was no less intense for its low volume.

“We need to get to Boston,” Johann told her.

“And you can’t resist the stage for that long.” Marie’s lips tightened into a straight line, and her eyes dared him to retort.

“We are who we are, love,” he said and squeezed her hand. “And Cobb doesn’t know we’re together. He won’t even know about me performing on the airship. It’s a good chance for me to work this out of my system.”

“You are, as always, the gambler,” Marie huffed, but the tension around her lips had disappeared.

Iris shook her head at them. She and Edward didn’t quibble like her friends did, but at least Johann and Marie had passionate discussions, after which they became even closer. Sometimes Iris wondered if she was still suppressing her own emotional reactions for fear of setting off Edward’s anxiety or the melancholia that had gripped and almost destroyed him in Paris.

A flash from the side of the field caught her eye, and she turned to see something brass-colored flit away. A clockwork butterfly! It hadn’t been close enough to hear them, had it? Or was it just doing random reconnaissance in case it recorded something interesting? Neither Cobb nor the Clockwork Guild, the inventors of the creatures, did anything randomly. Did it know they were there?

“Hurry,” she murmured to the others and made a fluttering motion with thumb-linked hands to indicate what she had seen.

Marie blanched, her hazel eyes wide, and she glanced around. “Where?”

Iris indicated the side of the field. “We’ll have to watch out for them on the ship.”

The entrance to the passenger dirigible welcomed them with relief from the sun, although the stuffy air made sweat break out on Iris’s back and beneath her arms. A steward greeted them, looked at their tickets, and indicated that they should follow him. When they reached the airy first-class tearoom, Johann went to talk to the staff musicians, and the rest of them found a table. The porter gave Edward a claim ticket for their luggage.

“I’m going to explore a bit,” Edward said with a delighted grin. “I’ll find you back here.”

“Be careful,” Iris told him and kissed him on the cheek.

The steward who had given Edward the claim ticket had brought a ticket to another table nearby and walked over to them.

“If this is your first time on a commercial passenger ship, the captain may allow you to observe takeoff from the bridge.”

“Oh, that would be grand.” Edward waved at Iris and followed the man out.

Iris watched Edward go with an indulgent smile. He had always been fascinated by airships, and his childish glee whenever he was on one never failed to warm Iris’s heart. Then came the inevitable pang of regret—she wanted to imagine him sharing his delight in all things mechanical with a little boy or girl with his blue eyes and maybe her blonde curls, but she didn’t know if that would ever happen.

There’s no point dwelling in the past I can’t change or a future I can’t control. The long past is more comfortable.

With a shake of her head to dislodge the unhappy thoughts, Iris brought her attention back to the present. Large windows lined both sides of the huge room the width of the ship. The ones on the sunny side had blinds drawn, and gaslight supplemented the indirect sunlight with a soft glow that flattered every complexion. Iris noticed the light fixtures were the patented three-tube Cobb design.

“We just can’t escape from his influence,” Marie murmured. “And here we go into the lion’s den.”

“Remember Patrick,” Iris urged her.

“I do,” Marie snapped. “But you can’t blame me for being anxious, can you? My talent will only get me so far.”

Iris drew back, stung by Marie’s irritable reply. “All we have to do is go to Boston and meet up with Chadwick, and then you can hide while we take care of things.”

“But how?” Marie shook her head and wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hands. “You don’t understand how powerful Cobb is. I don’t want to lose everything.”

“And you won’t. You have us this time if you need to face him.”

“Thank you.” Marie squeezed Iris’s hand. “I know I do. I didn’t expect to have this reaction, but being there in Boston with him was horrible.” She looked up, and her eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Iris followed Marie’s frightened glance to a large woman at a table by the window. She frowned at the musicians as if their warming up disturbed her. Marie rose.

“I have to get off this airship.”

“Why?” Iris tugged her back down. “Don’t draw attention to yourself by making a scene.”

“That’s Eliza Adams. She’s a close friend of Cobb’s. She may recognize me.”

Before Marie could leave the room, an officer spoke to Eliza Adams, and they went to a small room off the lounge. Iris watched the woman from behind the tea menu a steward had brought and envied her confident carriage. What would it be like to know one’s place in the world so assuredly?

The scenery outside dropped away, and a glance at the window along with the increased engine activity told Iris they were taking off.

“We’ll just have to do the best we can,” she told Marie. “It’s too late to get off the ship.”