Aether Rising

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Terminus, 11 March 1871

Henry Davidson hadn’t thought his day could get any worse, but his men returned empty-handed. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d doubted they would rescue Radcliffe.

“Another police coach joined the first, and once they reached the open road, they managed to weave around each other. Then one of them disappeared,” Lou explained. His hands shook, and Henry guessed he was craving another cigarette.

“How do two clunky police carriages weave around each other?” Henry asked. “Those things are designed to carry people securely, not for maneuverability.”

“There was something odd about those two,” Richard told him. “I’ve never seen one move like that.”

“And the one that vanished. That was just weird.” Lou spread his hands. “Just like that.”

“Where was it?”

“Close to the old Heron plantation,” Richard said. “I followed the other one, but when I caught up to it at a railroad crossing, I made the driver open the door, and it was empty, so Lou must’ve been following the one with our man.”

“Of course.” Henry put his head in his hands. The old Heron plantation was a shell of a mansion north of the city. Rumor had it that a Yankee spy had burned it in the mid-sixties, and then the Confederates had turned the storage tunnels into prisons.

He could guess where Chadwick Radcliffe would end up—somewhere Cobb could easily get to him in order to use him to manipulate O’Connell. And to keep Patrick working on the aether, which the British government, the one that had Henry’s closest allegiance, was very interested in. It seemed that Henry had once again underestimated his foe, and now he’d lost O’Connell, Radcliffe, and Claire McPhee. He should have focused his efforts on saving her from her aunt, if only to keep yet another pawn off of Cobb’s board.

“Sir?” Lou asked, his tone tinged with desperation. “We need to see to the horses.”

And to your addiction.

“Go.” Henry waved one hand. “All of you. I need to think.”

They left the space that had been the dining room in the townhouse’s former life and now served as their operations room. Diagrams of the area covered the large table along with the plan for how Henry and his team would handle the train and its passengers when they came in.

How had it gone wrong? It seemed that Cobb had known exactly what he would plan and how to thwart him.

Do I have a traitor on my team? My bosses swore they’d checked out every one of them. Henry flipped the map closest to him, and it slid across the table with a less-than-satisfying hiss. I told them I work best by myself. He couldn’t do much more with his aching leg propped up and stiff. That irked him even more. If his leg hadn’t been injured, he would ride to where the coach had disappeared and find out where the hell it had gone. But a glance out the window showed him the light already waned.

A knock on the door disturbed his frustration, and the ache in his fingertips told him he’d been drumming them on the table.

“What?”

Colin poked his head around the door. “Sir, a message just came for you.”

“From whom?” Henry tried to stand, but his leg wouldn’t allow it. “Bring it here.”

Colin entered holding an ivory-colored envelope in his right hand. Henry recognized it as being from the people he least wanted to hear from after a failure—his bosses. Colin handed him the envelope and stood back while Henry opened the missive.

“Dear Inspector Davidson,” the looping handwriting of a confident female read. “Need an update on the situation regarding Doctors Chadwick Radcliffe and Claire McPhee. Join us at Mary MacGovern’s Tea Room promptly at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Sincerely, Hobbes and Violet.”

“Great, just great,” Henry sighed. He struggled to his feet.

“You shouldn’t—” Colin started to say, but stopped when he saw Henry’s expression.

“I shouldn’t, but I am. I need to get cleaned up and then rest so I can think and prepare. Tell the men to stand by in case I need them. No, even better, I need you to go check out the place where the coach carrying Radcliffe disappeared. I need something to report.”

“Violet and Hobbes?” Colin asked.

Henry nodded. “The very same. You’re my second in command here. You may need to assume my position if they can me.”

“They wouldn’t do that. You’re too valuable.”

Henry leaned on Colin when his leg wobbled. “And I know too much. It’s just as likely that my tea will be poisoned. Please make sure there’s a pretty girl waiting for me when I return in case tomorrow is my last night on earth.”

Colin shook his head at Henry’s attempted joke. They all knew he didn’t drink or engage in debauchery.

The problem was that he wasn’t joking about the possibility of being terminated the literal way. Due to the utmost secrecy of their organization, there was no retirement, only disappearance. They all understood that when they signed on.

Colin left, and Henry hobbled into his washroom, which thankfully had running hot and cold water. He filled the sink with warm water and closed his eyes as he leaned on the porcelain, trying to anchor himself with the feel of its cold biting into his palms and warming with the water. Even that small effort had exhausted him.

When he opened his eyes, he found a scrawled message that emerged when the mirror steamed—“If you value your life and that of the good doctor, talk to the cloaked figure in the alley tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”

When Louisa arrived in Parnaby Cobb’s study, she avoided looking at the artifacts on the walls and shelves. The various statues, masks, and pictures leered at her or at the very least stared rudely. When she’d asked him once why he’d chosen those particular items to display out of his vast collection, he’d said they protected the study from prying eyes and ears. His own facial expression when he answered hadn’t leered or mocked, but had a deadly earnestness that kept Louisa from inquiring further. She’d avoided the study since that time, and today a new addition glared at her from the corner, a large metal man. While its metal eyes lacked irises or expression, it still emanated a menacing air.

“Is that a present from your pet inventor?” she asked and gestured to it.

“From Paul? Oh, that. Don’t worry about it, and close the door.” Cobb didn’t look up from his new toy, a wax cylinder player that produced music of such a fine quality that if Louisa stood in front of it and closed her eyes, she could imagine she was at the symphony.

Louisa complied with his request and stood in front of his desk.

“I just got a new shipment of cylinders,” he said. “What would you like to hear?”

“Do you have anything French?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” he muttered, but then added, “No, but there’s a German gentleman who’s taking the world by storm. Or sturm, if you will.”

“That’s fine.” She wondered at his aside and wished she hadn’t reminded him about Marie that morning. They both missed her in their own ways, but as Louisa grew older, she wanted less and less to think about what had happened between the maid and her stepfather. She’d never asked Cobb about it, all part of their careful dance. He never told her things that would make her enquire further about what he did or thought, and she never asked questions that may start such conversations.

“Sit,” he waved his hand. “This will only take a moment.”

She perched on the red velvet-upholstered Louis XIV chair he kept on the far side of the desk and watched him. He removed a cylinder from its casing and, careful only to touch the areas that lacked etchings for the music, inserted it in the open player and closed the lid. Louisa’s eyelids drifted closed as the opening violin strains evoked the image of a forest at twilight, when the dark creatures that lurked in daytime shadows emerge to snare the unwary traveler. The sound of Cobb settling into his chair across from hers made her open her eyes.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, quite.”

“It’s important to be careful with beautiful things like that,” he said. “One stray print from a too-warm finger could ruin the whole experience.”

Louisa stiffened and decided not to play Cobb’s favorite game, at least with her, of indirect communication. “If you’re talking about this morning, I can assure you, nothing of import happened between me and Mister O’Connell.”

“I had thought so, and I had moved on from the incident.” He steepled his fingers. “However, I just observed you in the company of a strange man returning from gods know where. What were you doing?”

“Trying to help you,” Louisa said with her most charming smile. She tried to put together half-truths to sound convincing. “That was a Harvard engineering professor. We just took a walk, and he told me about his ideas.”

“Ideas of…?”

“He didn’t give me any details, but he taught O’Connell. I thought he might be able to fill in the blanks of what O’Connell doesn’t know.”

Cobb drew his gray eyebrows, thin for a man’s, together. They gave him a sinister rather than grandfatherly appearance like some older men’s expressions. Not that it mattered—Louisa didn’t trust any of them, and she could tell Cobb didn’t believe her.

He finally sighed and said, “As much as I appreciate your efforts to help, I would prefer that you don’t endanger your reputation. You’re well beyond the age that most girls of your station marry, and I’ve perhaps given you the wrong idea of my expectations for your future by keeping you by my side for so long.”

Louisa clasped her hands tighter. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re going to be reckless with others’ impressions of you, then it’s time for me to find you a suitable husband before you damage others’ regard irreparably and I have to send you to a convent.”

“I’m not Catholic.” Louisa tried to sound calm, but her heart had picked up the tympani line of the music with its frenzied march.

“No, but with a large enough donation, most convents would take you. It would be interesting to put you in the middle of a nest of women, especially with your abilities. I imagine you would be isolated fairly quickly.”

Louisa, as much as she had lamented the games other women played and had been grateful to be spared from them, didn’t want to be stuck in a place where others would be brutally honest with her. But wouldn’t that be a marriage, too? She’d watched her few friends in their relationships and observed the careful balance between husband and wife and how they sometimes gave each other half-truths in order to keep harmony.

Will harmony and honesty never coexist? It certainly isn’t the case now.

“I would not like a convent.” She lifted her chin. “Very well, I will consider a husband.”

Cobb chuckled. “It’s not up to you, girl. Remember—you’re dependent on me. And this conversation comes at a less than ideal time since I do need your help with something.”

“Oh?” A match-flame of hope appeared in Louisa’s chest. If she could remain useful to him, perhaps he wouldn’t marry her off quite yet.

“Yes, I deposited O’Connell in his dungeon this afternoon, and I can tell he is not going to be cooperative. Since he has an affinity for you, I need for you to tell me what I need to do to convince him to continue working on the aether project.”

The feather-touch of someone looking at her made Louisa smooth the hair under her swept-up curls, and she glanced behind her to see the only eyes that could have produced such a sensation belonged to the metal man in the corner to the left of the door. It stared at her with its blank glass orbs, but a flash of light from outside gave them momentary life.

“Why do you look at my automaton?” Cobb asked.

“Because it looked at me.”

“That’s not possible. Don’t let your feminine nerves get in the way of what I need you to consider. Can you tell me anything of use about O’Connell and not let your own feelings get in the way?”

“I don’t have any feelings for him.” The lie tasted of unripe blueberries, but Louisa ignored the unpleasant sensation. It’s all part of the game.

“Then you should be able to offer me objective observation. What motivates him, beyond the usual wiles of a beautiful woman?”

“He is a man of integrity. He loves his friends—but you knew that. What more do you need?”

“More information. Very well, I shall have to observe him myself, and you shall assist me in manipulating the situation so he reveals what I need—his core weakness.”

Louisa nodded, and the downward shift of her chin made her feel her pulse at her throat. Was Cobb offering what she thought he was? And would she have to betray Patrick again—this time intentionally—to stay in her stepfather’s good graces?

But what was the alternative? A convent? She wouldn’t put it beyond Cobb to punish her like that.

“Good.” Cobb stood. “I shall invite him to dinner this weekend as a show of goodwill and let you work your womanly charms on him. Carefully, Louisa.”

She played with the lace at one wrist. “Of course. I will do what I can within reason.”

“Very well, now go and rest before supper. I imagine you must be exhausted, and I need you fresh for the rally tomorrow.”

“So I’m still going?” The station where the woman had bought the ticket was located near the rally site. Could Louisa get away to find the address?

“Yes, nothing gains a crowd’s sympathy like a young woman who cares about their cause and is able to manipulate a grumpy old man to help them.” He put a hand to his breast and sighed as though he was helpless against her. She wished his gesture wasn’t an act.

“I’ll do my best, then.” She stood. “And I am tired. I’ll take my supper in my room.”

“Fine, tell the housekeeper.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her.

His motion, again like that of a master to his dog, would have freshly offended Louisa, but her mind buzzed with what to do with the opportunities he was giving her, both intentionally and inadvertently.

She gave the metal figure one more glance before she left the room. With a chill, she noticed it seemed to have tilted its head slightly as though to follow her progress when she rose from the chair.