His Clockwork Canary (23 page)

Willie grasped his forearm, licked her lips. “It will be strange returning to London
as a woman, let alone a Freak. I’m grappling with the notion of revealing my Freak
nature just now. I do not wish to deny my race, Simon. I am beyond that. But I fear
it would hinder the progress of this investigation, so to speak. Once my true race
is known to Dawson, to my coworkers, to anyone who looks me in my kaleidoscope eyes,
I will become a source of fascination and ridicule. I will lose certain freedoms,
which will hinder my ability to interact or converse with Vics on an effective level.
And,” she said, meeting his gaze with her heart in her eyes, “our existence as a married
couple will be under fervent fire.”

Simon smiled a little. “Are you saying you’d appreciate a few days of anonymity in
order to fully enjoy our union as man and wife?”

Overwhelmed by their daunting expedition and future, Willie rested her head against
Simon’s strong shoulder. “And to acclimate to the challenges of resuming my life in
London as a woman.”

“So be it,” Simon said, smoothing his fingers over her cheek. “One revelation at a
time.”

S
OUTHEAST OF
L
ONDON
P
ICKFORD
F
IELD

The flight from Canterbury to the outskirts of London did not take long; however,
given the winter season, they were already well under the cloak of night. The moon
sat full and bright in the sky and the city of London glittered on the horizon almost
as keenly as the stars above.

Although Queen Victoria was not a fan of the twentieth century and thereby anachronistic
technology, she could not ignore, dismiss, or halt the natural progress of science.
Candles had given way to oil lamps and then to gas lighting, and now, because Peace
Rebels had inspired (or infected—the distinction depending on whether you were a New
or Old Worlder) and educated nineteenth-century innovators, electricity was “ahead
of its time” and fast becoming the most popular source of lighting in the home.

Simon’s own town house was wired for the modern convenience, although Fletcher still
seemed inclined to fall back on old ways. How Simon, a forward thinker, had ended
up with a valet who deplored change had always been a source of amusement and frustration
on both sides. This morning, after Teletyping Ashford, Simon had placed a long-distance
telephone call to Fletcher. The connection had been poor, but Simon had been able
to prepare the man for a change of monumental proportions.

“I do not know precisely when I’ll be returning home,”
he’d said.
“But when I do, it will be with a wife.”

To which Fletcher replied,
“Whose wife would that be, sir? Should I start preparing for the invasion of an angry
husband?”

“My previous indiscretions are just that, Fletcher. In the past. I refer to my own
wife.”

“Are you snockered, Master Simon?”

“No, Fletcher. I am not snockered. I am married.”

“Were you forced by gunpoint, sir? An irate father or brother perhaps? I could alert
your solicitor. Perhaps he could find a loophole.”

“This marriage is of my design, Fletcher, and I expect you to welcome Mrs. Darcy with
an open mind and heart.”

“I see, sir.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. Should I prepare a bedchamber for Mrs. Darcy?”

“We won’t be sleeping in separate rooms.”

“Ah. It is quite serious, then.”

“Most serious,”
Simon had said, his chest aching as he’d fought against the notion of love. A fruitless
effort, it would seem. As the day had played out, he was most certain he was unequivocally
in love with Wilhelmina Darcy. The realization was as invigorating and chilling as
the frigid night air.

Restless, Simon joined Phin in the cockpit as the superb aviator began their descent
into Pickford Field. “When I last made this trek two weeks ago, I was at the wheel,
and the
Flying Cloud
handled like a flying death trap.”

“She was in dire need of upgrades and fine-tuning, true,” Phin said. “Although I’m
sure it didn’t help that you’re a shite pilot,” he said with a teasing grin.

“Be that as it may,” Simon said, adjusting his goggles. “Thank you for all you’ve
done. And thank you for being so kind to Willie.”

“Not a hardship. Trust me.” He glanced toward the stairwell. “She still below?”

“Putting the galley to rights and resting her eyes.”

“And lovely eyes they are,” Phin said. “A man could get lost in those swirls of color.”

“Yes, well, I’ll thank you to keep your wits.”

Phin laughed. “Good God, man. You are arse over teakettle in love. In the words of
Mr. Goodenough,” he said with a wink, “bully for you.”

Simon shook off the green-eyed monster and smiled a bit. “You don’t need to meet us
at Lambert’s tomorrow.”

“And miss out on the rest of the adventure?”

“Surely you must have duties here at Pickford. Unfinished repairs. Booked charters.”

“Nothing I can’t put off or reschedule.”

Simon braced for landing and narrowed his eyes on the former militiaman. “Did Jules
ask you to look after me?”

“I’m no man’s keeper, Simon.”

“He knew about my run-in with a Houdinian. Knew that Willie had been injured and that
I was determined to pursue the engine, no matter the danger. It’s no secret that I’m
inexperienced when it comes to facing a deadly opponent. You, however, are a professional.”

Phin spared him a glance as he steered the airship toward the moonlit landing strip.
“Don’t get all pissy about it.”

“I’m not,” Simon said honestly. He appreciated Phin’s multiple areas of expertise
and he’d be a fool to turn away a man who could help in protecting Willie from harm.
Especially since Phin was a man both he and Jules trusted implicitly. “That means
Jules has been in communication with you since he left for Australia. Have you heard
from him recently?”

“Not since last week.” The
Flying Cloud
skimmed over the snow-dusted field, the whirling blades slowing, the engines quieting.
“Considering his expedition,” Phin said, “I did not anticipate hearing from Jules
anytime soon.”

“So you know what he’s after.”

“Same as you. The jubilee prize.”

“Yes, but are you aware of his destination?”

“I am.”

“Then you must understand my concern.”

“You think he’s risking a journey into the future for nothing.” Phin cast him an enigmatic
glance. “What if he’s not after the clockwork propulsion engine?”

“What else?” Simon frowned. “Briscoe?”

“He
is
family and he is in quite the pickle,” Phin said as he finessed the airship to a
smooth and full stop.

“But that was thirty-six years ago. Given my infamous cousin’s
pickle
, he’s probably dead by now.”

Phin shrugged. “Not if Jules arrives in the future close to the same day Briscoe did.”

“You mean before the Peace Rebels even left there?” Simon massaged his temples. “I
cannot begin to fathom the effect and impact that could have on
our
time. Surely Jules is aware.”

“Of course he’s aware. He writes science fiction, for God’s sake. I’m sure he’s considered
the paradoxes and ramifications. Look, good man. Jules didn’t inform me of specifics
and I didn’t ask. I know my boundaries and I know his limitations.”

Meaning his brother’s mission was top secret? An official assignment? Who better to
infiltrate and pinch something or someone from Her Majesty’s Mechanics than another
Mechanic? “What do you know of Jules’s . . . extracurricular activities?” he asked
as Phin cut the engines.

“Probably as much as you do.”

“I only know that he is a Mechanic,” Simon admitted, trusting he wasn’t betraying
Jules’s confidence.

“Then we’re on even ground.” Phin pushed his goggles to the top of his head. “Here
comes your lovely bride,” he said with a nod toward Willie, who’d just breached the
upper deck. “Listen, Simon,” he continued in a low voice. “Jules trusted you with
a covert tip about the Houdinians. Let us trust that he knows what he’s doing. Aside
from being quite brilliant, he’s the most cunning bastard I’ve ever known.”

“But his bum leg—”

“Won’t slow him down.” Phin rapped Simon on the shoulder. “See you at Lambert’s on
the morrow,” he said, then moved forward to bid Willie a temporary farewell.

•   •   •

By the time they took the short train ride into London and then an automocab to Covent
Garden, Willie felt as though she had been awake for three days. Her brain was as
exhausted as her body and she was emotionally drained. She wanted to fall into bed
and to sleep for a week. But first she had to get past Simon’s valet and cook, the
meticulous caretaker who had been in Simon’s employ for five years—Fletcher.

“You’re sure he is expecting us,” Willie whispered as Simon guided her from the automocab
to the stone steps of his Georgian townhome.

“As I said before, I not only spoke with Fletcher this morning, but I telephoned again
from Phin’s office. Yes, he is expecting us.” Simon paid and tipped the driver, who’d
carried their bags to the stoop just as the front door swung open, and they were greeted
by a stiff-backed gentleman with slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and astonishingly
kind brown eyes.

“Welcome home, Master Simon. I assume the lovely woman upon your arm is Mrs. Darcy,”
he said whilst retrieving their bags.

“Please call me Willie,” she managed, feeling more flustered than she had anticipated.
She had never employed a domestic and felt extraordinarily uncomfortable at the thought
of someone attending to her needs.

“As you wish, Mrs. Darcy.”

Simon just smiled as they followed Fletcher into the entryway and Willie got her first
peek inside Simon’s home. The interior, for all its spaciousness, was not overly extravagant.
Whilst moving toward the stairway that would take them to the first floor, Willie
peeked into the ground-level drawing room, adjacent dining area, and a small parlor.
The decor and furnishings were simple and quaint, and even though this residence was
far grander than her rented rooms, she did not feel overly intimidated. On the other
hand, she did not feel entirely at home either. Each room was extraordinarily tidy
and free of clutter. And for that matter was absent of anything that spoke of Simon’s
adventurous and technology-savvy persona.

“I’ve never been much of a homebody,” Simon said as if reading her mind. “When I am
here, I spend most of my time in the library. I’ll give you the grand tour later.”

“Please, sir, allow me to tidy up in there before—”

“Move one pencil and I shall have to sack you, Fletcher.”

“You should be ashamed, sir.”

“Of threatening you?”

“Of that library,” the valet said with a sniff, then continued up the steps.

Willie blinked.

Simon squeezed her waist and spoke close to her ear. “I told you he was a fussbudget
and a stick-in-the-mud. I did not say he was conventional.”

“I heard that,” Fletcher said, halfway up the stairs.

“He also has excellent hearing.”

Now Willie smiled. She found the casual relationship between this particular employer
and domestic most endearing. Perhaps it would not be as difficult to acclimate to
this new environment as she had feared. Breaching the landing, she noted the first
floor seemed to be composed of two large rooms. Since the door was open, it was clear
that the room at the front of the house was the principal bedchamber. She glanced
over her shoulder at the closed double doors to the rear. “The library?”

“In all its mortifying disarray,” Fletcher said. “Do have you have a headache, Mrs.
Darcy? Should I fetch some medicine?”

“What? Oh. Oh, no,” she said, realizing she was wearing her sunshades in order to
conceal her race.

“Willie’s sensitive to bright light,” Simon said as Fletcher carried their valises
into his bedchamber.

“I see,” Fletcher said.

“No, you don’t,” Simon said.

“No, I don’t.” Probably because it had been dark outside and Fletcher had illuminated
each room with only minimal lighting.
Bright
did not apply. “However, it is not my place to question.”

“But you will.”

“Not at this precise moment, sir. Would you like some tea, Mrs. Darcy?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“No trouble,” he said as he glided toward the hallway. “Dinner?”

“It’s been a long day,” Simon said. “We’ll be retiring early.”

“Very well. Welcome to our humble home, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, turning on the threshold
and affording her a slight bow. “I warn you, Master Simon is most incorrigible to
live with, although he does have a good heart. Should you need anything at all, do
not hesitate to ring.”

Simon rolled his eyes.

“I like him,” Willie said when the door closed.

“I heard that,” Fletcher called even though it sounded as though he had already reached
the landing.

She laughed then, a welcome feeling after being so tense and anxious throughout the
day.

“Music to my ears. You should laugh more often, Willie. We’ll have to do something
about that.” Simon smiled whilst dragging off his paisley scarf. “What do you think
of this room? Will it do? I know the decor is quite masculine but—”

“You forget I lived as a male for the past ten years,” she said whilst shedding her
sunshades and outerwear. “I’m not accustomed to frilly things.”

“Not even in the privacy of your flat?”

“I couldn’t afford the slightest chance of giving myself away.” She swept off her
derby, admiring the whimsical mechanical bird and lace as well as the charmed chain
around her waist. Small considerations, yet they made her heart swell with immense
pleasure. They made her feel pretty. “It’s astonishing to me that I denied my true
self for so long.”

“Yes, well that’s over now.”

She shook her head. “I cannot move on entirely until we have solved the mystery. Until
I understand what happened to my mother. Until we have—”

“Hush now.” Simon moved forward and took her into his arms. “We’ve been at this all
day. Time to rest our minds. We’ll have another brain buster in front of us tomorrow
whilst we try to narrow down and pinpoint which underground passages to explore. Good
thing the Golden Jubilee and hence the announcement for the Triple R prize is a few
months away. Realistically it could take a while to locate that vault. Especially
if Filmore opted for the New York City rather than the London safe house.”

Willie stiffened in his arms. “We cannot afford months, Simon. We need to find the
engine before it falls into dangerous hands.”

“The Houdinians have successfully protected the time-traveling engine for over thirty
years.”

“Aye, but the Houdinians are quite possibly down to one, and the Triple R Tourney
has inspired thousands of adventurers and explorers to set off in search of a technological
invention of historical significance.”