Magnificent Devices 07 - A Lady of Integrity

“Great fun, extremely feel-good reads that make you share all of the protagonists’ journeys and victories … an excellent steampunk series.” —
Fangs for the Fantasy
: The latest in urban fantasy from a social justice perspective

“A brave and talented author who looks at the darkness as well as the light.” —
Mary Jo Putney

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Summary

Book 7 in the Magnificent Devices steampunk series!

Will a daring rescue put a wedding and a future at risk?

Lady Claire Trevelyan and renowned scientist Andrew Malvern are looking forward to domestic felicity in London when they are surprised by an unexpected visitor. A desperate and fugitive Alice Chalmers seeks their help—her ship has been seized in the Duchy of Venice and worse, her navigator Jake has been thrown into the dreaded underwater prison from which no one ever escapes. Even the innocent.

Lady Claire is about to embark on her career in Munich at the Zeppelin Airship Works. The Mopsies are beginning their final year at school. Andrew Malvern begins to despair of his fiancée ever choosing a wedding gown … but when help is denied from official quarters, the close bonds of friendship and shared adventure trump all these considerations with an urgency that cannot be ignored.

But there is a brooding evil waiting for them in Venice … an evil that would just as soon put an end to the flock’s interference once and for all. With an innocent friend’s unexpected return and a pair of secret agents who would prefer that women not become involved … the situation clearly calls for the inner resources of a lady of integrity.

“An immensely fun series with some excellent anti-sexist messages, a wonderful main character (one of my favourites in the genre) and a great sense of Victorian style and language that’s both fun and beautiful to read.” —Fangs for the Fantasy: The latest in urban fantasy from a social justice perspective

London, October 1894

“I absolutely, positively forbid it,” Lady Claire Trevelyan said with the firmness that came of complete conviction. “There will be no pink of any kind at my wedding—and that includes flowers and your dress, Maggie.”

“But Lady—”

“Of
any
kind.”

Maggie Polgarth gazed longingly at the illustration of the latest creation by Madame du Barry, its roseate glory taking up the entire center spread of
London Home and Hearth
magazine, that popular glossy publication that came in the Sunday edition of the
Evening Standard
. Having remembered her travails at the hands of that same modiste, Claire was seriously reconsidering the renewal of her subscription.

“Don’t you think you are being somewhat harsh, dearest?” Andrew Malvern inquired from his chair by the fire, where he was engaged in a lively hand of cowboy poker with Snouts McTavish, Lewis Protheroe, and Lizzie Seacombe, none of whom were showing any respect whatsoever for his age and consequence.

“Pink is far more harsh to me than I am to it,” Claire informed him, her heart warming at the contented if keenly competitive picture they made. “On this point I will not be moved. The Mopsies will precede me down the aisle in cream
peau de soie
with emerald-green and sapphire-blue velvet sashes, and Snouts will escort me wearing a green waistcoat with as much embroidery upon it as he pleases.”

“Peacocks won’t have anything on me,” Snouts said absently. “I’ll see your toothpick and raise you a thimble, Mr. Andrew—though it will do me no good. Lizzie is going to trounce us all and you’ll be wishing you’d folded five minutes ago.”

And so it proved to be. With a cry of aggravation, Andrew threw down his unsuccessful hand, congratulated Lizzie on her victory, and came to join Claire on the sofa, where she was curled up with her engineering notebook and several sharp pencils she’d barely managed to keep the boys from tossing into the pot as bets.

“Is it time to order more toothpicks?” Claire asked, raising her face and receiving a kiss that was not quite proper considering they were in front of the children.

“We can get another night out of this lot.” Andrew folded himself next to her and had a look at her drawing. “It’s a lucky thing no one actually uses them for picking teeth. What are you working on? A wedding gown?”

She poked him in the ribs with the eraser end of the pencil. “This is an airship, sir, and if you are implying I ate one too many Yorkshire puddings at dinner, then you had best watch out for the business end of this pencil.”

“I would never imply any such thing. You are perfection, and would be even if I were Jack Spratt and you his legendary wife.”

Claire narrowed her eyes at him and hastily, he returned his attention to the drawing. “Ah, the automaton intelligence system.”

“Indirectly,” she said, her pencil once again busy on the paper. “Of course Count von Zeppelin has already adapted Alice’s and my design for the long-distance ships that fly to the Antipodes, though they are so much larger than
Athena
. But efficient flight is more than simply increasing the number of automatons built into the hull. It is also a matter of engines. There simply must be a better way to power these great Daimler engines. Half the holds are filled with coal, and water condensers are heavy. I will find it, Andrew. Before I arrive next week, I want to have a design firmly in my mind, so as to waste no time once I actually take up my work in the laboratory.”

“And you have settled this with Count von Zeppelin?”

“No,” Claire said with some reluctance. “We have not actually discussed my duties in detail yet. But I am quite sure he will allow me to work on this project. It can only benefit the Zeppelin Airship Works in the long run.”

She spoke as though it were a foregone conclusion, when in fact she did not know exactly what the count had in mind for her when she took up her position at the greatest manufactory of airships in the world. Their correspondence had not gone into detail, and their many conversations during her university career had been directed more toward philosophy and mechanics than specifics such as where her laboratory would be or whom she would hire to assist her.

“I wish Alice would write again,” she said, following that thought. “She and I would make a marvelous team, and I have heard nothing since I answered that peculiar letter.”

“At least she says she and Jake are all right,” Maggie put in, now engaged in doing the crossword puzzle in the back of the newspaper with Lizzie while Lewis diagrammed the hand they had just invented. He sent the spreads in once a month for the paper’s back page. No one had yet discovered that the mysterious poker player who provided the most maddeningly clever variations on the popular game was actually the owner of the Gaius Club, membership to which was so sought after among the young and wealthy that there was a waiting list a year long.

“I am dying to hear the story,” Claire admitted, “but I confess I am a little worried about what could have made her flee the Duchy of Venice in such a fashion, and why she asked for my help when she is safely in Bavaria. It does not add up.”

“I hope Claude is all right.” Lizzie looked up from the crossword. “He’s still in Venice, you know, so I wrote after we heard from Alice. All I got back was a postcard from that big exhibition they’re all attending. He sounded his usual self … though there’s no room to say much more than ‘Having a grand rumble’ on those little bits of cardboard. The picture was lovely, though.”

“I’m glad he is out of France for the time being, at any rate, and unlikely to be used any longer as a means of blackmail,” Andrew said. “It has been a number of weeks, and yet I am still wondering if it is safe to assume that Gerald Meriwether-Astor perished in the Channel when Maggie scuttled his great undersea dirigible.”

Maggie abandoned the crossword altogether and stood in front of the fire, as though she had suddenly become chilled. “I hope so,” she said fiercely. “I hope he got exactly what he deserved for trying to mount an invasion and make himself a king—killing all those poor bathynauts in the process.”

“Maggie,” Claire said softly. “Do not make yourself distressed. You have just managed to sleep through the night without nightmares, and neither Polgarth nor I wish you to lose the ground you have gained.”

At the mention of her grandfather’s name, some of the tension eased out of Maggie’s lovely young face. “Must I go back to Bavaria?” she pleaded, flinging herself on the rug at Claire’s feet. “Can’t I go down to Gwynn Place and stay with him and Michael and my aunts while you and Lizzie are gone?”

“And not finish your education?” Lewis looked up from his spreads in astonishment. “If I had half your advantages, Mags, you can bet I wouldn’t be throwing them away.”

“You’ve done pretty well for yourself under your own steam, I’d say,” Snouts told him, “but it’s different for girls. Don’t you think about quitting, Mags,” he told her, a hint of their old gang leader’s authority flashing through the façade of the fashionable young businessman. “We see a job through, and always have, innit?”

Claire fought the temptation to marshal her arguments, and instead let the boys do the job she hadn’t exactly been prepared for. Was this how Maggie really felt? That she didn’t want to finish her studies and graduate? The prospect horrified Claire—but at the same time, Maggie had always been of a gentler persuasion than her cousin Lizzie, more inclined to value home and hearth than either Lizzie or Claire herself.

Not that Claire didn’t value her home. She did, deeply—both here at Carrick House in London, and the little cottage in Vauxhall Gardens where they had created their first refuge. But her deep-seated need to secure her own engineering degree had driven her actions since the age of fifteen—and led her into such adventures that she had been changed forever.

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