A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow (7 page)

CHAPTER 9

About an hour later, Elle had swapped her flying clothes for a demure gray skirt and white blouse with a brooch at the throat. She had even taken the time to pin her hair up in a rather fetching Gibson Girl knot. Ready to face them as the model of poised sensibility, she squared her shoulders as she strode downstairs. This time she was not going to let Marsh get under her skin like he had in the Superintendent’s offices at the airfield.

Marsh and Patrice were in the dining room. Mrs. Hinges had set the table on damask and was busy pouring tea into the good teacups.

“Ah, the aviatrix transforms into an elegant lady,” Patrice said with some appreciation as he and Marsh rose from the table.

“Please sit.” She waved them down. “Mrs. Hinges, may I see you for a moment?”

“Of course, dear.”

Elle followed the housekeeper through to the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked the moment she closed the door behind them.

“Why, I was busy pouring tea for his lordship before you dragged me away.” Mrs. Hinges set the teapot down on the kitchen table. “I’ve been saving a bit of ham for your father’s tea, but it seems like he’s not going to be needing it for the minute, so I thought I would let his lordship have it with a fried egg.”

“Mrs. Hinges, you must tell me everything about my father’s disappearance. I need to know what happened.” Elle glanced over her shoulder at the closed door that led to the dining room. “I’ve had nothing but trouble since I met Mr. Marsh. And he may have dragged Patrice into this mess too. I don’t want them to get too comfortable. Not until I know who is behind all this.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have thought it was as bad as that, dear. I’ve read about Lord Greychester in the society pages” She tapped the side of her nose. “They say his family is descended from old money. They say he has a touch of the old blood in him. Very well known in Shadow circles.”

“I don’t care how much money he has. Shadow or not, the man is nothing but trouble.”

Mrs. Hinges pressed her lips together in a firm line. “I think we are very lucky to have his lordship here to help us. You should be grateful that he is taking an interest in you. You won’t see many gentlemen of his caliber about these days. Especially not ones willing to help silly girls out of a pickle.” From the drying rack, she picked up the frying pan that had so recently made its acquaintance with the side of Patrice’s head and placed it on the stove. The fact that Elle had chosen a life of flying over the respectability of a good husband and children was a tender issue with the housekeeper.

“Please, Mrs. Hinges, don’t be like that,” Elle pleaded.

Mrs. Hinges looked at her sharply. “Your father hired me all those years ago to help him raise you after your mother died. I have known you all your life and I know what silly thoughts you have in that head of yours sometimes.” She waived the egg lifter at her. “The thought of someone like his lordship involved in a despicable crime like your father’s disappearance is just about one of the silliest ideas you’ve ever had. For every finger pointed forward there are usually three fingers pointed back.” The older woman let the accusation hang in the air between them.

“So what you’re saying is that this is all
my
fault?”

Mrs. Hinges tutted and broke an egg into the pan. It crackled and sizzled as it hit the hot fat. “I’m saying nothing of the sort. And don’t you go thinking that either. But there is nothing wrong with accepting a helping hand offered in friendship. You would do well to remember that instead of pointing a finger at anyone.”

“Let’s send a telegram to Uncle Geoffrey. He’ll know what to do.”

“You know how things are between them. If there is anyone powerful and influential enough to find your father quickly, then it is his lordship. Now go and sit down at the table and mind your manners.”

Elle sighed and went to the dining room.

Marsh and Patrice were busy helping themselves to a stack of freshly buttered toast from the bread-toaster apparatus perched on the sideboard. The toast-maker was a metal box fashioned in the shape of a castle, complete with turrets. It was fitted with a tiny spark reactor under the keep. A small conveyor belt fed the sliced bread into the machine, where it was toasted by the heat from the reactor before being dropped out from the portcullis and onto the recipient’s plate, amidst the whirring and ticking sound of tiny gears.

“What a clever machine!” Patrice pulled a perfectly toasted slice of bread from the conveyor belt with a pair of silver tongs and added it to the growing pile of toast on his plate.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? No more burnt fingers from holding toasting forks in front of the fire. Or cold toast arriving on a tray.” Elle helped herself to two slices from Patrice’s stack and sat down at the table.

Mrs. Hinges was right. What she really wanted to know was if this business with her father had been her fault. The possibility was almost too much to bear thinking about. Her poor father. Where was he? What was she going to do?

“Miss Chance, are you quite well?” Marsh said asked.

Elle blinked. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Mrs. Hinges bustled into the dining room and set plates of fried eggs and ham in front of them. The eggs looked and smelled ravishing. Elle’s insides gurgled at the smell of the food. She realized that the queasy feeling in her stomach was hunger. She picked up a piece of toast and dipped it into her egg.

Marsh sat next to her, eating and making notes in a notebook with a pencil, oblivious to the offense he was causing.

She bit into her toast in resentful silence.

Eventually, Patrice set his fork down. “My head hurts like the devil is dancing upon it,” he muttered. He explored the angry purple lump on the side of his head in the reflection of the silver milk jug.

Marsh looked up and smiled. “Looks like Mrs. Hinges got the better of you, old chap.”

“Mr. Chevalier, perhaps you should lie down and rest for a while. I think a cold compress might take that swelling down, hmm?” Mrs. Hinges said.

“The prospect of a nice long nap does sound appealing. It’s been a long night,” Patrice said.

“Well, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down. I will bring you a compress and some headache powders in a minute,” Mrs. Hinges said.

Patrice allowed himself to be led away while Hinges fussed over him.

“Patrice appears to have had a lucky escape this morning. Some parts of Oxford are more perilous than the backstreets of Paris, it seems.” Marsh gave Elle an amused look.

Elle set her fork down. “Mrs. Hinges is a good woman and she was only trying to defend herself. I would have done exactly the same if it were me. In fact, I’m minded to fetch that frying pan right now.”

Marsh looked at her with surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Marsh, you may sit here at your leisure, having your tea and eggs as it pleases you, but I cannot. Not while I know that my father is out there somewhere. Alone.”

Marsh set his fork down. “You are quite correct. Forgive me for considering your comfort and welfare before launching into a major search operation.” He set his mouth in a grim line.

“My comfort and welfare?” she snapped. “My father could be dying or worse as we speak!”

“That may be so, but there is much we need to consider before we proceed.”

Her temper flared. “Consider? There is nothing to consider.” She pointed at him. “You, sir, have been nothing but trouble since we met. I’ve been attacked, nearly killed, you’ve stolen my ship and my father has gone missing. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me your real name and title!” She paused to draw a little exasperated breath. “If I were a betting woman, I would wager that none of this is a coincidence, so why on earth should I believe anything you say?”

“Are you quite finished?”

“I am not. I would very much like to know the real reason you are here. What do you want with us? I will need this information for the police constable when I go to see him later.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Attacks on my character, Miss Chance, do not sit well with me.” His voice held that dangerous edge again. “And I’ll not have you blundering into this matter, only to destroy all hope of rescuing the professor alive. If your father’s abductors are who I suspect they are, then they’re not men one should wish to trifle with. Their network spreads everywhere. They operate with calculated force and precision. I, for one, have no wish to run after these men unprepared. Now oblige me and finish your breakfast. Please.”

Elle picked up her fork and spooned some egg into her mouth with as much nonchalance as she could muster. She hated to admit it, but he was right. He always seemed to be right—something that was becoming most annoying. “Well then, what do you propose we do?”

“
We
are not going to do anything.
I
am going to make sure that
you
are safe, and once that is accomplished, Patrice and I will find these men. We have ways to make them tell us what they’ve done with your father. And once I have established your father’s whereabouts, then he and I will rescue him.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“I don’t know. Staying alive might be a good start.”

“Very well, then, I shall go back to work and ask for a new assignment. I am taking my ship back.”

His face grew stern. “Absolutely not. I forbid it.” He placed his palm on the table.

Elle’s temper raged. “How dare you forbid me to do anything? You are not my father or my husband!” So much for the model of poise and sensibility.

“I might not be, yet here I find myself in charge of you. Again.” He gestured in exasperation. “What will you have me do? Shall I marry you so I can force you to listen to me?”

“I’d rather eat my own foot than marry a man like you.”

He leaned toward her. “I should propose to you right now, just to see you try.”

She leaned forward to reply, but realized her mistake almost immediately. Her face was suddenly only inches away from his.

His eyes darkened. The reaction was animalistic, almost predatory. Very gently he reached over to trace the line of her jaw, lifting her face even closer. His touch made little tremors sift through her. She closed her eyes, lost in the sensation.

The sound of Mrs. Hinges thumping down the stairs, humming loudly, tore the moment apart.

Marsh let go of Elle and sat back in his chair. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Please forgive me. That was entirely inappropriate. It has been two days since I’ve slept properly and my patience is worn somewhat thin.”

She stared at him, too mesmerized to speak.

“I am not a man who was blessed with deep reserves of patience. You would do well not to provoke me like that again.”

Elle blinked, breaking out of her trance. “Right, then. We will rest a while and then set out to find my father. But I am still coming with you, Mr. Marsh, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

A shuffling sound preceded Mrs. Hinges as she made her way toward the dining room. “Let’s not upset Mrs. Hinges any further by fighting. She’s had quite enough shocks for one day, don’t you think?” Elle said.

“Agreed.” His voice was soft, intimate.

Elle turned back to her now cool eggs and toast just as Mrs. Hinges entered the room.

“My lord, I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Chevalier is resting. He says he should be back on his feet in an hour or two.”

Marsh smiled. “That’s wonderful, Mrs. Hinges. But let him rest. I think we are all a little tired.” He cast a quick look at Elle.

Mrs. Hinges nodded. “Indeed so, my lord. Indeed so.”

“And, Mrs. Hinges …”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Thank you for taking us in. That was very kind of you.” He gave her one of his special smiles.

A red flush crept up over the housekeeper’s cheeks. “Oh, no need to thank me, my lord. It’s the least we can do. But I did think that once your lordship is finished with breakfast, we should take a look at the professor’s study to look for clues. The police have already been , but I insisted the constable leave everything the way he found it. I read that this is what one should do in the papers.”

“Excellent work, Mrs. Hinges. That is exactly what I intend to do, as soon as Miss Chance has finished her toast.”

Elle swallowed the bite of toast she had been chewing. Did he have to sound so assured? It really was most annoying.

CHAPTER 10

Elle’s father’s study was on the other side of the house—away from the
domesticity,
as he liked to call it. It was a well-proportioned room, dominated by a large drawing table that stood in the middle of the parquet floor. The tabletop was littered with rolled-up bits of wax paper and drawings. Schematics were pinned open on it, held down by brass gear disks or hunks of metal that looked had once been part of a machine at some point. A morose fern sat in a brass bucket on a pedestal in the corner.

Someone had picked up the overturned chair, but papers were still strewn all over the floor. But then again, the professor was so messy, it would have been entirely possible to ransack the place without anyone noticing.

Elle watched Marsh survey the professor’s clutter. He made a note in his pocketbook as he examined the rows of leather-bound books neatly lined up along the shelves. He looked over at the plans on the table. “Interesting,” he murmured.

“Oh, he’s been working on those for years.” Elle ran her fingers over the papers with affection.” He has this theory that it is possible to build aerodyne flying machines. You know, ones that propel themselves and don’t require a float like the dirigibles do. He keeps his research secret though. There are many who want to know his ideas.”

Marsh leafed through the plans. “I believe this is not dissimilar to the work of Mr. Wright and his brother in America.”

“My father corresponds with them. I think the current topic of debate is steering mechanisms.”

She sat down in her father’s battered high-back leather chair. The professor had modified the seat at some stage so it could swivel round. Little brass pistons could be manipulated to achieve the correct height and pitch of the chair. He had also replaced the feet with brass wheels so he could move across the room without getting up. The chair wobbled and skidded as it adjusted to Elle’s body. The leather smelled like her father, a mixture of engine grease and tobacco. She felt very lonely and small.

Marsh was staring down at her. “Are you all right?” He looked concerned.

“I’m so worried about him. Do you think his abductor might have been someone who wanted the designs for the flight machines?”

“I don’t know. But we will find the professor. I promise.”

She nodded and bit her lip. It was proving to be quite difficult to hate Mr. Marsh when he was being this kind to her. Her eyes prickled with the urge to cry again.

“Do you think he’ll mind if we go through his papers?” Marsh opened one of the drawers in the professor’s writing desk.

“I’m sure he won’t, given his current plight.”

“You take that side. I’ll take this one. We might find something among all this stuff.” He swiveled her chair around so she faced the desk.

The desk was crammed with bits of paper. Old accounts and invoices and scraps of paper with mathematical equations scribbled over them were shoved into every conceivable crevice.

“This is like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Elle said after a few minutes of rifling.

He nodded and pulled out another wad of papers from one of the cubbyholes. “I think your father might need an assistant.” He leafed through the sheets.

“The state of this study is a lost cause. Trust me, we’ve tried.” She sat back in the chair. “It’s always been like this. I remember, when I was little he used to pull out the side panels of the desk so I could sit next to him. We would do sums together for hours.” Those had been the days when her father could ignore the fact that she was a girl. “Look. It opens up if you undo this latch.” She reached over and unhitched the latch that held the wood panel of the desk in place and slid it out. An envelope fell out and onto the floor.

Marsh picked it up. “I believe this might be for you.” He handed her the envelope.

Her name was scrawled on the face of it in her father’s eccentric copperplate handwriting, along with the words
In case they come
. She stuck her finger into the corner and ripped the paper open.

“Bravo, professor,” Marsh said.

Inside was a key. She held it up and examined it. “I know what this opens!” she said with a sudden wave of inspiration. She jumped out of the chair. It wobbled dangerously, but stayed upright.

“Come with me. It’s this way.” She opened the French doors that led from the study into the garden. At the bottom of the garden was a stone wall with a gate. In the middle of the field that lay behind the gate was a barn. Elle ran across the garden and opened the gate. Marsh caught up with her outside the wooden doors of the barn.

“This is my father’s other workshop.” She was out of breath from running in her skirts and stays. She slid the key into the padlock and swung the doors open.

Elle and Marsh blinked into the windowless gloom. “There is a switch over here somewhere.” She fumbled around until she found the lever that activated the spark lights. “Ta-daa!” she said with a flourish. The barn filled with dusty light. To one side were a workbench and a lathe. Rows of tools and instruments lined the lime-washed walls.

“What on earth is that?” Marsh pointed at a contraption that was partly covered by a large piece of canvas. It took up more than half of the workshop.

Elle pulled away the canvas. “He’s built it! He’s actually finished one of his flying machines,” she said as the canvas slid off to reveal a set of sleek brass brass-and-steel rotor blades that drooped ever so slightly as they hung from the cockpit.

“Do you know how to fly one of these things?” Marsh said.

“I’m not sure, I don’t think anyone has ever flown one before, but I am familiar with its dynamics. I’d certainly love to try.” She walked round the machine and stared at the exposed engine, situated between the tail and the cockpit. “Just look at those spark reactors!”

“And how far do you think it could fly?”

“Oh, I don’t know. As far as we want it to.” Elle ran her hand over the polished surface and smiled to herself. She had a plan.