I half-fell down the steps to the cellar. Pausing only to shed my skirts, I set the crate carefully on its side with a single heave. The stout industrial lid stood no chance against my crowbar, and half a nerve-tingling minute later, there it was. A meticulously-engineered metal organism raising its twin horns at me, complete with all the nuts, bolts, copper piping, electrical leads and its own dinky little carburettor!
I knew that Mr Whybrow would be preoccupied with Mrs Beauregard’s work, to which he’d have given priority, so I saw no reason to delay mounting the engine. The instructions were as comprehensive as those for the new convenience, and in any case, there was only one place everything could go.
As I bolted it into its mountings, I could already see myself drifting down to land at Llyr, and dancing amongst the ancient stones, and Mr Whybrow’s wonderful surprise in the back yard gave me an added uplift while I worked; I felt a big, effusive happy angel watching over me. My own convenience – nay, a veritable powder-room! Even though I had yet to use it, I felt like a real lady of substance, although I had to see the funny side to it. Most gentlemen give ladies flowers, chocolates, jewellery – he had given me a toilet!
[Editor’s note – if you’re hoping for any pictures of the grand christening, you’re going to be disappointed. Sorry! VB]
But engines are not simple things like gondolas and flushable conveniences. They have “settings” to consider, and ancilliaries to connect up. These came with the engine, but the evening was well-advanced before it was all in place, with every bolt torqued to its correct tightness. There was a lot to deal with, and unless everything was set just right, it wouldn’t work. I’d heard many of the terms used by Mr Whybrow without actually understanding them myself, but once I saw how everything related to everything else – top dead centre, valve clearance, spark timing etc, it all became quite logical.
All right, I’ll admit it. I couldn’t wait to interrupt my engineering to inaugurate my new convenience. I felt like a queen enthroned as I sat, and gave the chain its ceremonial first pull to unleash two gallons of water with a mighty eight foot head.
[Editor’s note: I relented. A moment like that just had to be captured on glass plate. But did you ever try taking pictures with a tripod camera, in the days before auto-timers, by pulling a string attached to the shutter? VB]
When all the moving parts were correctly synchronised, bolting on manifolds and exhaust pipes was child’s play.
That just left the propeller. I had to saw a couple of feet from one of Mr Whybrow’s spares before it would clear the ground, but that was simple enough, and it was not long before the gondola was in all respects Ready.
I don’t know how long I spent standing admiring it. What I’d come to think of as a machine that just needed assembly was already an extension of myself, to transmute me into a flying creature, able to go anywhere at will in three dimensions, and with its own yet-to-be-discovered idiosyncracies that imparted it not only life, but personality. The engine had made all the difference; it now had a heart.
The next thing would be to test-run the engine for a few minutes, and then retighten any bolts that needed it. But it was late, and I knew better than to run an engine in the confined space of the cellar. Getting the gondola out wouldn’t be difficult; there was a goods ramp to ground level, and the Golden Grisset would drag it out easily. A few more instruments would also be useful, and these I’d already set aside from one of Mr Whybrow’s boxes of spares.
Looking forward to the leisurely soak in the tub which I’d earned, instead of the usual hasty scrub-down, I dressed and headed for home, swinging the cellar keys with a playful tinkle as I left the shop. The first snow had already fallen during my incarceration in the cellar (yes, and in that other room) but the cold bite to the air only invigorated me. I was beaming with triumph, almost drunkenly, as my feet crunched through that soft blanket. I realised how remarkable it was that I’d been allowed to work on the airship undisturbed for so long. But then, it wasn’t remarkable at all. Mr Whybrow must have known all the time and privately, been wishing me luck.
Adding to my happy-floaty sensation was the crisp snow. I noticed that Mr Gongfermer had wasted no time in supplementing his income by shovelling the pavements clear. Unlike the unpredictable London weather, snow in Caledon always presaged Christmas and although few had put out decorations as yet, the advent of that day infused the atmosphere with a scintillating, electrical thrill like laughing gas without so many laughs.
My euphoria must have blunted my senses. I was almost home when I detected a soft, heavy footfall behind me, and a bag of some sort descended over me as far as my elbows, where it tightened, paralysing me as fast as a manacle. A hint of gorilla armpits reached me, telling me instantly what had happened.
I hacked with my heel, but Jasper was prepared for the move and I connected only with air. An arm tightened around my midriff, and I was hoisted off the ground. I was jolted about as he ran; his arm ramming into my diaphragm with every step to make me feel like a human bagpipe bellows, but not for long. My spine twisted violently, his grip left me, and I met the ground.
Coarse fabric stung my ears as the sack was snatched off my head. Raising myself to my elbows, I recognised my surroundings instantly by the moonlight falling through the windows. I was in the schoolhouse – an astute move on Jasper’s part; nobody would be coming near this part of the harbour so late in the evening.
I forced a painful breath deep into my bruised lungs. In that instant a shaft of moonlight fell across me as he stepped away, revealing another silhouette slouching on a desk like the school bully. I discerned only her shape, but that was sufficient to confirm her as Jasper’s companion, still in her guise of a maid. Her knees underlined her sneer with their bold indecency; I don’t know where she’d worked as a maid, but it wasn’t in Caledon. She spoke smoothly and level, yet overladen with menace.
“I think it’s time for a settling of accounts, don’t you? And this time there’ll be no avenging angel with a frying pan to save you.”
Jasper leaned over me, treating me to a cloudburst of tobacco breath. “Norra chance this time, my gel. Once ol’ Missus B gets into ‘er cups, she sleeps like the dead until the following sun-up. And in a few minutes, that’s just wot you’ll be doing. Only you’ll be sleepin’ like the dead ‘cos you are dead!” He sniggered, overcome with his own mighty wit.
I stood up; they made no attempt to prevent me. But then, with Jasper’s bulk blocking the doorway, my options were limited. Positively constrained, in fact, since he made a show of stropping a long knife against his palm, savouring the glint of the blade in the moonlight.
“Thank God for corsets,” I told him. “It’s only thanks to mine that my sides haven’t split with laughter.” My freedom was beyond reach at that present moment, but I could still regain my dignity. With a deep breath to steady myself, I observed, “You’re remarkably ready to hazard your own lives. You can’t kill me without putting ropes around your own necks; everyone here knows about you two. You were that widow who tampered with my bike’s brakes, weren’t you?”
Jasper’s companion stepped forwards, her heels clacking on the tiles. She gave out a chesty chuckle. “I have many guises. And as for our own prospects, I think not.” She caressed my cheek with the backs of her fingers; suppressing a shudder, I suspected that under other circumstances, she could have taken a different sort of interest in me. “No-one will be finding you in anyone’s lifetime, Miss Bluebird. When you’re put to sleep, it won’t be in your own bed. It’ll be on the sea bed, with half a hundredweight of stone to keep you there.”
Even as she spoke, a noose flicked about my waist and grabbed tight, pinioning my arms. I damned my latest carelessness at having allowed her to distract me while Jasper threw the rope. He yanked yard, almost cutting me in two, holding me fast while his lady wrapped a couple more turns about me and tied a knot. I tried another kick, but she sidestepped easily. Blast!
There had to be a way out of this, but no skill would avail me, held immobile as I was. My mind raced, but Jasper wrenched my attention back to him with a leer which, in the poor light, made him resemble a disinterred corpse. “You and Mister Jeweller should have left alone fings wot don’t concern you. And now it’s personal, too. You cost me my job and took my mate ‘arry.”
What?
“Be glad that’s all I cost you,” I retorted, livid at his compounding evil with untruth. “And I didn’t take Harry; you poisoned him.”
That got him. Jasper took half a pace back. “You wot?”
“You poisoned my milk, didn’t you? Well, he drank it himself to warn me.”
Jasper astonished me by clutching at his eyes and doubling up in grief. But then, despite his appearance, Harry did have certain endearing qualities. “Oh, my Gawd! Wot’ve I done?”
“Shut up, you fool,” snarled the woman. “You want to wake up the whole neighbourhood?”
“I’ve killed ‘arry!” Jasper wailed.
Maybe I should have let him go on thinking that. It might have put a rift between them. But fool that I was, I had to give him the truth, even if it was to let him know that he couldn’t even murder a spider without making a hash of it. “He’s alive and recovering,” I told him. “I found him in time and managed to save him.”
“He’s gonna be awright?”
“Yes, and for that, you can thank Mister Jeweller. If he hadn’t had the remedy to hand, Harry would be buried in the park. But I’d write him off as lost, if I were you. He’s tired of your uncouth criminal ways. He’s switched sides, Jasper. He doesn’t want to see you any more.”
I let him soak it up as I stirred a dagger in the one thing that meant anything to him. It’s amazing the sort of bond that can arise between the most unlikely partners, but I was going to play on it.
His lady knew that,too. She punched him on the arm. “Put your personal feelings aside, damn you! She’s learned too much, so there’s an end of it - and her. But don’t worry, my dear.” She caressed my cheek again; a thin smile split her face in two. “You’ll soon be reunited with your darling jeweller. Once you’re out of the way, we’re going to do the same to him. I’m sure you’re quite used to him going on top, eh?” She gave me a jocular punch on the arm; Jasper snerked like a moron but I could only fume. Those two would never accept the truth, anyway.
She then forestalled any further attempts I might make to protract the proceedings, by flipping out a handkerchief and tying it tightly around my mouth. Starched linen, by the feel of it, which was no small mercy. I think I’d have passed out if she’d used one of Jasper’s hankies. His arms wound around me, almost making me retch as he held me still for his lady to tie another rope about my ankles. I tried kicking out at her, but Jasper gave a wrench to my diaphragm that bought her all the time she needed to lash me to a chunk of masonry which I recognised as having come from our own back yard.
Bundled up in my skirts, Jasper slung me over his shoulder like a palliasse. I wriggled, I twisted, I tried to kick out, but I could only seethe helplessly as he lugged me out to the quayside with his companion toting the ballast. Mr McKew was long in bed, and the police station was unmanned at that time of night. I tried to scream, but that woman had been too good with her gag, and I only made my throat sore.
At the quayside edge, Jasper stopped and started to unsling me.
“Not right here.” His woman’s snarl carried easily on the light but biting winter breeze. “It’s nothing like deep enough. Cross over the ships and put her in where it’s deeper.”
My breathing apparatus, already bruised, was knocked about by Jasper’s shoulder as the gangplank sprung and flexed beneath his step. I tried struggling again, but was held quite fast. Gawd, isn’t there anything I can do?
Then everything happened at once.
A green glare appeared – I imagined that some sort of cavorite bomb had exploded nearby. Jasper emitted a dreadful gargle of pain or panic, while his lady let rip with a scream that made my High C sound like a lullaby. I could not see what had terrified my captors, with my view limited to Jasper’s rump and his alternate feet as he walked, but I wasn’t given time to consider it. The uncomfortable obstruction left my diaphragm, I was in mid-air. But only for an instant; in the next, the gelid waters of the harbour closed over my head.
Christ I’m going to drown!
I’d swear that the coldness of the water stopped my heart as it cut at me like a huge razor blade, adding malicious impetus to the constriction that was already driving my remaining breath from my chest. It was desperate reflex rather than commonsense that led me to thrust my feet downwards into firm-ish mud. I lanced my body upwards, in the hope that maybe my nose would reach the surface, and found two feet of wintry air cutting at my sodden dress. The rest of me was in three feet of steely-cold water with my feet mired in several inches of thick sticky mud.
I blinked water from my eyes to find my captors fleeing for their lives. The green glow still hovered over the quayside, limning a figure I would never have expected to see. Had it not been for the ethereal radiance, I’d have believed that Spring Heeled Jack himself had come to my rescue, but my saviour wore no skin-tight mask, and the leather-suited figure of legend always spewed blue or white flame, not green. However, I was no less glad to see him. It was Uncle Arthur, the very epitome of demonic wrath.
He stood, presiding over the quayside, until my captors were lost to sight and hearing. I suppose he could have gone after them, but he couldn’t have frightened them any more than he already had.
I was completely unafraid of him as he remained for a moment, staring into the distance to reassure himself that their absence was guaranteed, and then turned to me and cut a bow. I was never so glad to see someone, although I’d hardly expected my saviour to be a ghost. A waft of breeze cut through my sodden dress, sparking an electric shiver. “Sir, can you help me – “
He held up a patient hand. Wait.
Then he was gone and with his departure, went all life from the harbour.
Grateful as I was regarding my rescue, and stunned with disbelief, I began to fret again. I couldn’t move the gag, the quayside was too high up to reach, and my already-numbing fingers were held beyond use by the bonds that were gripping tighter. I don’t know why those two had worried about being overheard; not a soul was in earshot. So there was nobody to get me out of the water before I succumbed to hypothermia. Above me, the snow clouds cast their frosty petals dispassionately over SouthEnd and over me; I couldn’t even blow away the cold tickly flakes that landed on my nose. I began to wonder if it was true that freezing to death was like falling asleep, but then most of those people weren’t standing upright in water – would I actually drown?
Then a fresh footfall clattered from the street. Urgent, and wonderfully familiar. Even in the sparse light, I recognised Mr Whybrow’s silhouette as he ran around the corner, paused to dart searching glances about the harbour, and bolted over to the quayside. I noticed a revolver in his hand; somehow he had learned about my predicament, as he had arrived expecting trouble. So that was why Uncle Arthur vanished so quickly; it was he who had summoned Mr Whybrow.
He wrestled the gag from my mouth and at my gasp,an icy girder transfixed my lungs. I tried to speak, but the words lacked the strength to emerge from my shuddering chest. Mr Whybrow thrust his revolver back inside his coat, and leapt into the water beside me. “Don’t move; I’ll soon have you out of here.”
He dropped below the surface and my deadened ankles felt some furtive activity about them; I remembered that he always carried a penknife. There was a brief tugging, and the rope fell away about my feet. Then strong, agile fingers probed about my waist – another tugging, and my arms were freed.
“Come on. Can you climb out?”
I tried to answer, but again, could not speak – I wasn’t even sure what I was trying to say. My whole body felt as though it belonged to someone else, it would no longer obey me at all.
Mr Whybrow muttered, “Of course she can’t, you daft ha’p’orth.” Then he scooped me up in his arms and carried me up the slipway, to the street. “I don’t know,” he chode, mirthfully. “Two dousings in a day, and the second one, you dragged me in with you. Thanks so much.”
I knew that he was not really angry; just trying to cheer me up, but I could not reply. The water, which had been a single frigid corset on my body, sucked up the gentle wintry breeze to penetrate to my very bones. Although he was as wet as I was, I snuggled my head into his waistcoat as he carried me through the snow to my house. The silly idea ran through my head that at that moment, I could have said absolutely anything I pleased, and even if he understood it, he’d just ascribe it to the feeble ravings of a half-expiring mind. As it was, I contented myself with calling down a thousand feverish blessings on the confident arms that were bearing me home, and the great heart warming my ear inside his sodden waistcoat.
He set me down at my front door; my quaking hand fumbled the door key from my blouse and passed it to him. He ushered me inside and made straight for my candle, which he lit with a hand which was nearly as unsteady as my own. “I think I can guess what happened. Some of it, anyway. Can you speak yet?” He was plainly fighting to keep his own voice steady against the frigid hands squeezing his lungs.
“Jasper and that woman,” I mumbled. Gawd, I sounded almost comatosely drunk!
Mr Whybrow took my candle to the fireplace and gave me a stern look up and down. “Get those things off – all of them. Just chuck ‘em into a corner for now. Then dry yourself thoroughly while I get this fire going.” He managed to look authoritative, even while dripping puddles all over my parqueting.
“What about you, sir? You’re as wet as I am.”
He shook his head. “You were in the water for longer. Don’t worry about me.”
Without the wind to play on the chilly wetness, my strength and control were already returning, but he was right. I stumbled into the kitchen and rubbed my hair briskly with a towel while he rustled old newspaper and clinked coal on top of it.
“Someone fired an empty tube up the Lamson,” he called out. “I thought you were in trouble, but finding you as I did, I’m a little curious as to who fired that thing.”
Wrestling free of my blouse, I drew a deep breath for strength, and gushed, “They were waiting for me outside the shop – took me before I was ready. They were going to drop me off Old Stumpy, but Uncle Arthur turned up and scared them away.”
Even from the next room, with a wall between us, I could see the respectful roll of his eyes. “Well, well. Someone’s watching over you, then.”
It certainly looked like there was more to being dead than startling the occasional shopgirl in her own home. Then I remembered the rest of it. I leaned out and told him, “Yes, but sir – they know we’ve discovered their racket. They were going to drop you in the water after me, and they’re after Mrs Boltclyster, too.”
“Christ.” He steadied himself. “Have you got your revolver?”
“It’s in the shop, sir.”
“A fat lot of bloody use it is there. All right – I’d better check on Mrs Boltclyster. Lock the door after me and don’t answer it until I’m back.”
With that, he bolted out, although I think we both knew that those two had been too badly rattled to bother with Mrs Boltclyster for a few days. At least he was considerate enough to shut the door behind him.
My fire was a merry blaze of newspaper; the coal was just starting to catch. I gave it a few puffs of bellows for encouragement, and returned my attention to myself. I peeled off my horribly clammy underthings and stockings; it was like shedding a layer of malaria. The growing flames played over me as I briskly towelled myself down, and wormed into my nighty.
My clothes having been in the harbour, I squished the lot into a bucket and filled it from the kitchen pump, adding a tablespoon of Jeyes’ fluid to be on the safe side, and then collapsed gratefully into my chair to watch the flames grow. I remembered from my workhouse days that if someone had frozen near to death for any reason, one of the best ways of restoring their body heat was “shared warmth” which in our case, meant somebody particularly close climbing into bed with them when the lights were out – in living memory, it had been common to use the servants as bedwarmers, so nobody condemned the practice. But that option was not available to me for two reasons. One was that it only worked if you were unclothed, otherwise your clothes would insulate your warmth from each other. What was more to the point, were I to suggest such a thing to Mr Whybrow, I would get warmth a-plenty from his volcanic eruption.
I began to take stock of my situation, wondering if Jasper had really been frightened off for good, but a brisk knock came at the door.
“Miss Bluebird? It’s only me.”
I admitted Mr Whybrow; he ambled over to the fire and warmed his hands. He had dried himself and changed; there was nothing to show that he had been in the harbour. “Mrs Boltclyster’s all right, and she keeps pretty good precautions of her own. Bucket of horse manure over the door. If I hadn’t known how her mind works and checked, I’d have got it all over me. Here – “ He delved into his pocket and produced a bottle of brandy. “The best medicine known to man. Park yer bum a moment, will you?”
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later with two glasses with an inch and a half of amber promise in each. “No soda, no water, just the pure stuff. But sip, don’t gulp.”
Some control restored, I lowered myself into the chair and did as he suggested. The liquid soaked into my bloodstream quickly, coursing through my system like a gentle liquid fire.
“So Mrs Boltclyster’s well?” I nudged.
“As well as someone’s likely to be when they’re aroused at this hour and have the disposition of a hung-over lioness,” Mr Whybrow grunted into his glass. I guessed that he had not been received with any gratitude, even though he might have saved her life. “I’m tempted to put the authorities onto those two, but they’ll have vanished by now. That’ll only make it more difficult to get any response from officialdom when it is in a position to do some good. So they know that their cache has been discovered?”
“Yes, sir. We hadn’t disturbed anything, they must have left something to warn them that someone had been there.”
“Probably a thread crossing the threshold. The oldest trick in the book.”
Cupping my glass to warm the brandy, I leaned forwards urgently. “Sir, who is that woman?”
“Her name?” Mr Whybrow gave me a curious squint, as though I’d confronted him with an intractable crossword clue. “I know of several. She changes names like underwear. Tell you what is puzzling me, though.” He swirled his brandy about the glass and studied the clavichord, as though the answer to his quandary was written on the lid. “I’m impressed that Uncle Arthur could fire the Lamson. All right, we know little about spirits, but – well, he is one, isn’t he? I wonder how he managed it?”
That point should have occurred to me. “I don’t know, sir. Maybe desperation gives them the strength they need?”
“Like a seven-stone mother can lift a half-ton cart off her infant? I have to admit the possibility, but – “ He turned it over again, unconvinced. Then he looked at me sharply, but with kindness in his eyes. “Miss Bluebird, you are quite obviously in immediate peril of your life. Are you quite sure you won’t accept my offer to retire to a different part of the world, at least until the danger is past?”
His words, and the sincerity behind his eyes, gave me the strength which the brandy had yet to impart. I stood and took his hand in mine, fixing his stare sternly with my own. “I’m in no more danger than you are, sir. I won’t be driven away from y – “ I caught myself and hastily resumed. “ - everything you’ve given me; nor will I leave you to face them alone. Unless you fire me, we’re going to see this through together.”
I think he’d picked up on my hesitation, although I suspect he’d have behaved no differently had he not. To my surprise, he responded by doing something that he’d never done before.
He clamped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. My automatic reaction was to pull back, but I stifled it instantly, lest he react to my reflexive panic and drop his hold. To make sure that my true wish had been understood correctly, I nuzzled into his cravat. He, too, tensed a little, but relaxed. I guessed that he’d been prepared for either reaction from me, but had been hoping for the positive one.
Softly, as though he had not meant me to hear him, he murmured, “Good. If any harm came to you, I wouldn’t rest until I’d killed him. And if he succeeded in driving you out, I’d shoot him anyway, however I find him at the time.”
I don’t think he noticed my slight tensing as I caught my breath. The law would look leniently on someone who shot a danger to life, but only when that danger was immediate. I’d seen the depth of his care exhibited in numerous little ways, but I knew from his dreadful stillness as he spoke, that it went right to the very core of his being. He would carry out his promise as surely as night follows day, and I had never thought that any man would risk a visit to Mr Billington over me. But then, a man who single-handedly builds his shopgirl her own convenience tends to keep his promises.
[Editor’s note: James Billington served as executioner in the United Kingdom from 1884 until his death in 1901. I hope the reader will understand the difficulty in recreating Mr Billington, when the only remotely reliable pictorial record of that individual is a drawing of middling quality. The execution chamber, however, IS a fairly faithful reproduction of a standardised British facility which was in use in the 1890s. Forget the multiple-coiled knot; the UK had long abandoned those by this time. VB.]
I took advantage of Mr Whybrow’s cravat to hide the awe which, unbidden, froze my face. He must have read it from my stillness, as he changed the subject.
“How’s your patient, by the way?”
I flew back, almost stepping into the fireplace. “Oh, my God! I’ve been sitting – “
I looked back to the chair, but there was no appalling travesty to haunt me for the rest of my life; just a few crumbs of charcoal biscuit, for which I thanked God. It had taken that mortifying shock to show me just how much I cared for something that I was too scared to pick up.
Mr Whybrow spoke for me. “Good Lord; he’s gone.”
“So I see.” I hoped that I didn’t sound as horrified as I felt. It could have happened so easily.
“Jasper couldn’t have got him, your door was still locked. You did say he was recovering; he’s probably scuttled off somewhere.”
“Of course, that must be it,” I sighed. I knew then how the Lamson tube had come to be fired. And it wasn’t by Uncle Arthur.
Mr Whybrow made a point of checking his watch. “Well, life has to go on. If you want a lie-in, I shan’t object, but I reserve the right to call for you if I get too worried.” He sounded slightly awkward, as though looking for an excuse to be elsewhere. Twitching a sheepish smile, he added, “If you have any trouble getting to sleep, think about your airship. Oh, and don’t leave this behind again.”
Fishing my revolver from his belt, he handed it over and was gone.
He was right. Jasper wouldn’t try for me in my bed again after what had happened the last time, and there was no point in dwelling on my latest escape, narrow though it was. I did, however, notice that Mr Whybrow had not repeated his previous offer of sanctuary in his own home. I suppose I had been somewhat careless with his pride, in the way I’d handled that.
The room suddenly felt dead, as though something was missing. Well, it was. I’d got used to my little eight-legged patient, although cold commonsense told me to be more realistic. I addressed the empty room. “Sorry, Harry; you’re as much a victim as the rest of us, but don’t think of settling down here. You and I just wouldn’t make good bedfellows.”
To be sure, I tore the sheets from my bed and searched thoroughly before settling down to what remained of the night.
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