CHAPTER 8
The famous spires of Oxford glimmered through the morning haze shortly after eight o’clock that morning. Elle straightened up from underneath her travel blanket and looked about. The morning sun flickered on the river and bounced off damp leaves as they passed Iffley Lock and the part of the river they called the Isis. Her spirits rose; she would be home soon.
“Good morning.” Marsh turned round from where he was sitting in the front passenger seat and smiled at her. Dark stubble covered his chin.
“Oh, good morning. Have I slept the whole way?” She straightened her shirt and tucked her hair back into its knot.
“The whole way.” Patrice said over his shoulder without taking his hands off the steering lever.
“Did we stop?”
“Indeed we did. Twice. You even missed the part where I drove,” Marsh said. “But if you’d oblige us with a few directions, we shall stop for a third time to deliver you home safe and sound.”
Soon the steam car pulled up outside the house she shared with her father. Situated on the outskirts of town, it was a new house as far as houses in Oxford went. It had been built in the style the King’s mother, Queen Victoria, had favored some thirty years before. Elle loved the redbrick front and the white stonework around the windows. It reminded her of the gingerbread houses one saw around Christmastime.
“Pull into the coach yard behind the house, if you don’t mind,” she said. “It will be easier to turn the car around that way.”
The steam car shook to a halt on the gravel behind the house. It hissed as Patrice released the steam in the engine pressure tanks. Startled by the noise, a fat wood pigeon flew off the lead-roofed spire, an acknowledgment of their arrival at a house that was otherwise silent.
Elle stretched her back as she stepped onto gravel. Her body ached all over from sleeping upright. She stopped mid-stretch and gripped Marsh by the arm.
“What?” he said.
She raised a finger to her lips for them to be silent and pointed at the back door. It was ajar.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispered.
Marsh motioned for her and Patrice to take up positions on either side of the door frame. The sound of gravel crunching underfoot as they tried to be quiet was excruciating.
The brickwork pressed against Elle’s back as she flattened herself to the wall. Marsh leaned forward and pushed the door with his boot. The old wooden door creaked open to reveal a patch of red tile kitchen floor.
Silence. The house was quiet … and dark.
Elle held her breath in an attempt to still her heart as it hammered against the inside of her rib cage. She craned her neck forward to get a better look, but Marsh pushed her back against the wall. His hand felt heavy and warm against her stomach. Silently he mouthed the word stay.
With slow, deliberate movements, the two men entered the kitchen.
Seconds ticked by in time with the pulse of blood through Elle’s veins.
A woman screamed, followed by flash of light and a loud metallic clang that ended the silence.
“Oh my goodness—Mrs. Hinges!” Elle ran into the kitchen.
Patrice was on his knees on the floor, holding the side of his head. Marsh stood over Mrs. Hinges, who was armed with a large cast-iron frying pan.
“No, don’t hurt her!” Elle shouted.
Everyone looked at her.
“Eleanor!” Mrs. Hinges pushed Marsh out of the way and folded Elle into a big hug that pressed the pan handle into Elle’s back. “Oh, my darling girl, I’ve been beside myself with worry. Thank heavens you are all safe. Now, get away from us, you devils!” Up went the frying pan to its former defensive position.
“There is no need for any of that.” Elle disentangled herself from Mrs. Hinges and pushed the frying pan down. “Mr. Marsh over there was kind enough to bring me all the way home from the airfield. I’m so sorry to have startled you. What on earth is going on here? Why is the house so dark?”
“Get back, I say!” Mrs. Hinges glared at the men with wild eyes. Her long salt-and-pepper hair was hanging down her back in a braid and her normally immaculate starched apron was stained and crumpled.
Elle gave Marsh a warning look. “I think we should all take a moment to calm down, don’t you?”
Marsh nodded at Patrice and they both took a step back.
“Mrs. Hinges, this is Mr. Marsh—I mean Viscount Greychester—and this is Patrice Chevalier, my docking agent and his lordship’s man.”
The older woman’s eyebrows shot up and the frying pan wavered.
“Gentlemen, may I present Mrs. Mathilda Hinges, our housekeeper and dear friend.”
“Ah, the unrivaled queen of shortbread biscuits. How do you do, madam.” Marsh bowed politely.
Mrs. Hinges nodded at Patrice suspiciously and turned to Marsh.
“How do you do, my lord.” Her free hand fluttered to the base of her neck and she bobbed an unsteady curtsey.
She turned to Elle and gave her a stern look. “Eleanor, what on earth are you doing, bringing important guests into the house through the back door, like thieves? Do you realize that I could have killed them?”
“I’m sure you could have. But why were you hiding in the kitchen armed with the frying pan?”
In answer, tears welled up and collected in the crinkles around the older woman’s eyes. “Oh, it was terrible. I’ve not slept a wink all night. They came into the house after midnight and took him. You know how he likes to work late sometimes. Grabbed him out of his study. I was fast asleep when— the commotion woke me.” She wiped at her face.
Elle frowned. “Who? Who came?”
“Oh, they were like devils, they were. All wrapped up in cloaks.” She eyed Marsh’s carriage cloak. “They came into the house through the front door and grabbed the professor, right where he was in his study. They didn’t even let him put on his coat.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes.
“My father has been abducted?”
“Constable Pierce only left about an hour ago. A proper case has been opened and everything, but what do the local lads know about such a crime? This is the work of Shadow, I tell you.” She shook her head and set the frying pan down on the kitchen table. “What has the world come to that we’re not even safe in our own beds anymore? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“No!” Elle strode past Mrs. Hinges ,through the kitchen and into the house. She tore up the stairs, flinging open doors on the second floor until she reached the professor’s bedroom. The bed was made. No one had slept in it.
She bounded down the stairs and into her father’s study. It too was empty. The professor’s chair lay on its side and books and papers were scattered across the parquet floor.
Shock enveloped Elle like a wet wool blanket and she sank to her knees. The others found her there a few minutes later.
“Oh, my dear girl. I’m so sorry. I should have watched over him more carefully.” Mrs. Hinges put her arm around Elle.
Marsh spoke. “Mrs. Hinges, Miss Chance is currently in my charge and so it falls to me to assist in these circumstances.” There was quiet authority in his voice.
Mrs. Hinges rubbed her eyes again. “In your charge? But I don’t understand.”
“It’s all a silly misunderstanding. Nothing to be concerned over. Mr. Marsh
was just about to leave,” Elle said.
“On the contrary. I think my stay here has just begun,” Marsh said.
“I said, you are leaving.”
“And I said I am not going anywhere—not until I know what has happened here.”
They glared at one other. Neither blinked.
“Perhaps we should hear what his lordship thinks,” Mrs. Hinges said.
“I don’t really care what he thinks. This is none of his business.”
“Oh, but I think it is,” he said. “And since I so recently find myself in charge of a certain freight ship, currently moored in Croydon,” There was a dangerous edge to his voice.
&nb
sp; “Eleanor. Where are your manners?” said Mrs. Hinges, now fully composed. “And if you are going to insist on wearing that terrible shirt, at least make sure that it is tucked in properly.”
Elle suppressed a sigh as she straightened her shirt. Mrs. Hinges was a formidable woman; there was no arguing with her once her mind was made up. And it wouldn’t hurt to have Mr. Marsh where she could keep an eye on him. “Very well, you can stay. But don’t get too comfortable.”
“Oh, I will do my best not to.” Marsh gave her one of his irritating little smiles.
Mrs. Hinges straightened her apron, fished a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Well, gentlemen, I had better take your coats, then. Perhaps a spot of breakfast is called for. You must be hungry after your long journey. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the guest rooms, where you may wash up. This way, if you please.”
Elle glared at Marsh as he followed Mrs. Hinges from the room. But she had her ship to think of and so she would have to play his strange little game a little longer.
“Don’t worry, little one. I am here to help. I won’t let him take the Water Lily, you have my word on that,” Patrice whispered as he walked past.
“Thank you. You are a gallant and true friend,” Elle said. “It’s good to know that I have someone I can rely on.”
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 m
e. 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?”
A Conspiracy of Alchemists Page 6