“I’m not sure if you’re interested, but I do have some stereographs for you.”
“You do?!”
“Oh, I was right. You don’t want to see them.”
“You know I do.”
“Well then. I left them in the sitting room.” He smiled before standing and leaving the room. She paused to look at her uncle. He gave her a nod, and she followed the professor out. He was in the sitting room setting the stereographs on a table. A large black box sat next to them. She went to open it.
“Just a moment, Mira. Remember our agreement?” He put a hand on hers.
“It’s the same drawings I always have, Professor.”
“Every time it is slightly different.”
“Alright…”
“I’m sure they are wonderful!”
He sat on the couch and she sat next to him, exchanging her sketchbook for the black box. She carefully removed the stereoscope from its velvet enclosure. The first time the professor had brought home stereographs, she was certain it was magic. From two similar images, a three-dimensional picture formed behind the lens of the stereoscope. In her opinion, stereographs were much better than regular photographs. Photography was still magic, but it wasn’t nearly as fun as the stereographs that teemed with life and energy. She remembered the only time her picture was taken. It was almost impossible to stand still, and it didn’t turn out that favorably. And yet, stereographs could take any pose, setting, or emotion and bring it to life. When she was ten, she tried to replicate them with paint and had failed miserably. After all, how could she properly imitate a photograph?
She eagerly picked up the first slide and examined the label. “Garden Party.” She slid it into the stereoscope and looked inside. The lens transported her to a Parisian garden party. Fabric from extravagant gowns flowed towards the viewer. Flowers seemed to burst out of the frame. She laughed and picked up the next. Here, she was transported to a large stone building. The carvings swirled in intricate patterns and the windows were covered in a lace-like tracery. Each slide brought an adventure, and she wished for more when she finished. She set it down with a click and looked over at the professor. He was still looking through her sketches and hadn’t flipped the page in some time. She leaned over to see what was so fascinating. Byron’s face stared back at her.
“This sketch seems more defined. Do you know who he is?” He looked up at her.
“He’s a frequent visitor of the cafe I’ve been going to. We’ve talked a few times.”
“I see…” He studied her face for a moment before looking back at the sketchbook. He stopped at a sketch of an airship, hesitated, then looked up at her.
“Mira what were you thinking during dinner?”
“What?”
“You know your uncle can’t stand the topic of airships and yet you deliberately brought it up.”
“I…yes. I did.”
“Why?”
“Promise not to tell him?”
“I promise.”
“I’m investigating my parents’ accident.”
“You…what?” His brow furrowed with worry.
“All my life I’ve been told the same story, and all my life I’ve wondered about it. Something doesn’t seem right.”
“Mira, it truly was an accident. You aren’t thinking someone is to blame, are you?”
“Yes. I am. I’ve gone to the newspaper and Scotland Yard and they couldn’t help me. I thought maybe—”
“It was an accident Mira. You’ve been told the same story because that is all there is to be had.”
“But—”
“I know it’s hard for you. It’s hard for all of us. I wish there were someone to blame, but there isn’t.”
“I can’t accept that answer, Professor.”
“It’s the only answer.” He closed her sketchbook. “I’m sorry, Mira.”
She took the sketchbook from him and fondled the cover. “And what if I prove that it isn’t?”
“Then I suppose I’ll be a liar.”
“Or just misinformed.” She placed the stereoscope back into its box. “I know there is more to this than meets the eye.”
“And what if there isn’t another explanation?”
“Then I’ll be the liar. Good evening, Professor. I hope to see you again soon.”
“Good evening, Mira.”
She found her uncle in his study, looking over some navigational charts.
“Uncle Cyrus?” She knocked on the doorframe.
“Hmm? Oh yes, come in, Mira.”
“I just wanted to say goodbye before I headed back home.”
“You’re leaving then?”
“It is getting late.”
“Before you go…” He hesitated for a moment. “I want to apologize. You’re right. If that airship you were talking of does get off the ground it could potentially change the shipping industry.”
“You don’t like the thought of it though, do you?”
“No. I don’t. They’re dangerous and—”
“Don’t worry uncle. I really was just curious.”
“I just don’t want to lose you ag…lose you as well.” He corrected himself. Mira knew full well that he was going to say “again.” All he ever saw when he looked at her was her mother. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I know.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re still alright living on your own?”
“More than capable. And the allowance you’re giving me is the perfect amount for my expenses.”
“You don’t feel the need to come back here?”
“No. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Is there anything else?”
“Just stay safe.” He smiled a bit, trying to reassure himself.
“I will. I’ll see you next week.”
“Yes. Next week.”
Landon was waiting for her in the hall with her coat.
“I hope seeing the professor again was a good surprise for you Miss.”
“It was, Landon. Of course, it’s great to see you and Uncle Cyrus too.” She smiled up at him as he helped her into her coat.
“Ah, but you see us much more frequently. Do you need me to call you a cab Miss?”
“No thank you. It isn’t dark just yet. I think I’ll walk.” She adjusted her hat.
“Of course. Have a safe walk home.”
Once again, her questions had come to nothing. No help from the newspaper, Scotland Yard, or her uncle. She stepped over a puddle. There had to be some other way to figure this out. The only other option would be to find some way of working for Scotland Yard. Officer Wensley said as much the day before. But how could she manage that? The setting sun made the houses look golden as she walked up the street to her home. She yawned as she took out her keys. Tomorrow she could make a new plan of action.
The sun rose in the sky over London, and there wasn’t a cloud to be found. The sunbeams weaved their way around the dozens of airships that dotted the blue. The cafe bustled with activity as Mira enjoyed her French toast. She had finished her sketch of Byron and decided that he did in fact have a kind face. Her gaze shifted up to him as he crossed the road towards her.
“Good day, Miss.” He took a seat across from her and reached for the note in the bush.
“Good day, Mr. Constantine.”
“Please, it’s Byron.”
“Isn’t that a bit informal, as we are just acquaintances?”
“I find that sometimes formalities waste valuable time. If you don’t make the most of the time you have, it will be lost to you.”
“What a fascinating philosophy.”
“I think so. Usually.” He smiled and read the note, putting it back into the bush. She stifled a laugh.
“Well then Byron, you may call me Samira.”
“Hmm. You don’t happen to go by something shorter, do you?” Then he took out a journal and wrote something down. She cocked her head.
“Why do you ask that?”
“S
amira is quite beautiful, but so is Mira. Or Sam. And they are shorter. Easier to remember.” His gaze deepened as he trailed off, deep in thought.
“My family does call me Mira. And Sam is…” She grimaced. “I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”
“Well then, Mira it is, and Mira it shall be.” He grinned up at her with a wink and picked up his pen to make note of something else. Mira couldn’t help but smile.
“You like to write, then?” She gestured to his journal. He swallowed.
“Yes. You could say that.”
She studied his face. He seemed a bit nervous. She glanced at the church clock. If she was right, he’d be leaving at noon. It was quarter ‘til now. He put his pen down and flipped back a few pages in his journal, beginning to read. She opened to a fresh page in her sketchbook and nibbled on the end of her pencil. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“You are well, then?” He looked up at her. She glanced up at him and continued to draw.
“Indeed I am. Are you?”
“I believe so, Miss Mira, of course one can never be sure.”
She furrowed her brow and brought her full attention away from her sketch. “Why not?”
“All sorts of reasons. I’m glad to hear you are well.”
“Your routine seems rather rigid. You won’t be late again, will you?”
“Late for what?
“Yesterday you said you were late for a crime. Or something.”
“Did I?”
“That is what you said.”
“Ah. Well thank you for remembering.”
“Is it the same every day?”
“Is what?”
“Everything you do?”
He laughed a bit. “Well of course it is impossible for every part of my day to be the same, however, I do try to stick to a routine. It’s easier that way.”
“Oh, I see. Then with the notes…aren’t you worried that the wind will blow them away, or the rain ruin them, or someone take them?”
“I’ve never had that problem before meeting you, Mira.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Quite alright. Now, if I did in fact say I would be late, I probably ought to go.” He took the paper from the bush and slipped it in his pocket as he stood.
“Good day, Mr. Constantine.” She nodded to him.
“Good day, Mira.” He gave her a kind smile and a bow, then he meandered away from the cafe. Big Ben struck twelve, and he picked his pace up to a sprint.
Her eyes followed him until he disappeared around a corner. Then she looked through the bush to ensure that he had taken the note. Her hands turned up empty. What if he didn’t come back? She packed up her sketchbook and turned herself towards home.
As she approached her house, the postman made his way to the next abode. With a grin, she rushed to the post box and pulled out the one letter she had received. Humming to herself, she entered her rooms and set the newspaper down on a side table as Nero mewed at her feet. She gave him a scratch, and he wormed around her legs purring. “Well Nero, I saw him again!” She smiled down at him. The cat meowed in response. She laughed and brought the letter and newspaper into her sitting room to peruse them.
My Dear Mira,
It is unfortunate that the newspaper couldn’t give you any further information, but I’m certain you’ll find something. Especially if you’ve made the acquaintance of Byron Constantine! If I’m not mistaken, he’s a detective that works with Scotland Yard. I may be wrong in the name, but either way it might be wise for you to consult a private detective. They might have resources you don’t currently have access to.
Nothing much has changed on my end, other than the fact that there is a possibility that I can start an apprenticeship under Henri Giffard. You might not recognize the name, but he is the man that started the whole airship business! Father worked under him as an apprentice and then went on to perfect the technology. One of my professors mentioned Giffard, and that he is from this area of France. Isn’t that marvelous? Tomorrow, I’m going to do my own investigating to see if I can’t meet him. I feel as if I’m in the beginning of some Jules Verne novel. Soon enough I’ll be inventing things others have only dreamed about, just like father.
In other news, it’s been raining for over a week now. I know I usually refrain from speaking of the weather, but it is starting to get ridiculous.
Much Love,
Walker
She read over the first paragraph several times, thoughts swirling in her mind. Byron made sense now. Or at least he made partial sense. She still couldn’t explain his notes or lack of remembrance, but if he truly was a private detective, it meant she had another way to investigate. Or rather, have someone else investigate the mystery for her. She groaned. She would much rather solve the whole thing on her own. Perhaps he would allow her to help. She determined to ask Byron about it the next morning. Except he had taken the note! How would she find him if he didn’t return to the café? She set the letter to the side. Anxious questions weren’t going to help. Not until she found out for certain that Byron wouldn’t return to the cafe. She took a few deep breaths and picked up the newspaper.
The headlines were littered with all sorts of different stories. One detailed a new factory opening. Another documented the biggest airship that had ever been built. She had read that story the week before. One story outlining all the facts of a series of incidents in the Whitechapel district. They were gruesome things that she could do without. Still another spoke of a series of burglaries that had been happening in North London. She skimmed over a few more articles before an advertisement caught her eye.
The Central News September 17, 1888
Something troubling you? Are people following you in the street? Sounds that can’t be explained? Mysterious letters in your postbox? Perhaps a loved one gone missing? Look no further. Come to 27 Palace Court, London. Can’t miss it. Oh, and yes, I’m a private detective if you were wondering.
She had seen the advertisement before, but never thought she would ever have the need to use it. Now it appeared right as she needed it. There wasn’t a name attached to the advertisement. It might be Byron. Or it might be someone else entirely. But if she didn’t ask for help, her journey into Wonderland would be over. If she didn’t take a chance, she probably wouldn’t find out anything more about Byron, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to solve her parents’ mystery. Hopefully, it was Byron. She clipped out the section she needed and folded the newspaper up. She opened the blinds to look out over Kensington, then sat on the couch, Nero purring as he joined her. She wrote a quick note to Walker.
Dearest Walker,
I am so excited that you are likely going to be an apprentice to an engineer! And with Henri Giffard no less! I’ll have to read up on Jules Verne, then perhaps I can better imagine how your adventures are progressing. I have decided to take you up on your advice. Just after receiving your letter, I found an advertisement in the paper for a private detective. I’ll write again once more has happened on my end.
Much love,
Mira
She resolved to go early the next morning to this private detective and go from there to the cafe to check for Byron once more. Tomorrow would either be the beginning or the end of both rabbit holes. She just hoped she found something more than dirt and earthworms. She moved back to her bookshelf and took Around the World in 80 Days from the shelf.
The sun peeked over the horizon as Mira woke and stretched. The night before, she laid out an outfit after looking her wardrobe over. Normally she didn’t take so much time, but she wanted to make a good first impression. She decided on a white blouse with ruffles and lace, a dark brown skirt and petticoat, and a lighter brown overlay with floral designs and clasps in the front. A simple necklace with her mother’s silhouette in ivory adorned her neck. Then she buttoned up her polished boots, dressed quickly, and tried to tame her hair.
For once her hair resolved itself to casual waves framing her face. She liked it when it did
that. It somehow made her green eyes more vibrant. Of course, that frame also made the freckles on her nose more prominent. Her freckles were the only things she omitted when she drew her self-portrait. She thought about drawing another one as she examined herself, and then put that thought aside as she grabbed her sketchbook and left her rooms to find number 27 Palace Court.
She moved down to the main road and waited for a hansom cab. The wait wasn’t long, and soon enough she climbed into one. It was large and black, certainly spacious enough to sit two comfortably. The driver stood behind the compartment where she sat. A sleek, brown horse was attached at the front.
“Where to, Miss?” The cab driver had a rough voice.
“27 Palace Court if you please.”
“Ah. Palace Court. I’ve gone there several times. You’re looking for the private detective?”
“Well. Yes, actually.”
“Odd fellow that one. If he could forget his head, he would, but he’s as sharp as a tack in other ways.”
“I see.” She settled further back into the seat.
“Course that’s just what people say. I only drives them to and from. He did help me find me horse’s shoe when he threw it once. Course that doesn’t take much detecting, now does it?”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
He continued to ramble about this and that, pausing here and there to give directions to his horse. Mira didn’t really mind. She preferred to listen. Before too long they came to Palace Court. She hadn’t realized how close the building was to where she lived. It was certainly within walking distance. An apartment door with the shiny lettering of “27” stood in front of her. She paid the cabbie and stepped out onto the cobblestones, looking up at the building. She took a deep breath, crossed the street, and knocked using the large brass knocker. Footsteps shuffled on the inside, accompanied by the sound of fluttering papers. Then the door opened.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 4