Destruction (Asylum for the Mechanically Insane Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  “That would be perfect.” He bowed. “My thanks, Lady Harbury. I anticipate a delightful stay.”

  “We do hope so.” She inclined her head. “Oh, Commander Moreton?”

  He paused and glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “Please call me Alwynne.”

  He nodded. “Of course. Thank you, Lady Alwynne. I’ll see you this evening.”

  She watched him stride from the room, and then sighed. Dr. Ringwood’s debt would be fully paid.

  But what a waste.

  *~~*~~*

  As the sun was setting that evening, an odd vehicle wound its way out of Coralfield and headed southwest into the warm dusky light toward Harbury Hall.

  It featured six wheels, two at the front, two centered beneath the carriage and two larger wheels at the rear. It chuffed quietly, a large engine housing located in a gleaming tank on the back, above which sat the operator. He was smartly attired with goggles and a pristine white coat falling well below his knees. The steering mechanism was not unlike the wheel of a ship, with copper spokes and highly polished wood trim.

  Tonight there were six passengers seated in front, beneath a richly embossed leather canopy trimmed with heavy gold fringe

  It was a motley assortment, thought one of them as she settled into the soft leather, smoothed her gown, and glanced at her companions.

  Besides herself, there was a scientist, an engineer, the scientist’s current mistress, a woman the engineer apparently knew intimately, but the relationship was unclear as yet, and…Thakur Sahib Kerala.

  Her current lover and keeper. She was his courtesan. She, Vivienne Stanton-Foley, once friend and confidante to many in London’s finest homes, was now reduced to the role of demimondaine. Mistress. Cocotte. All euphemisms for what she knew she now was.

  A whore.

  She pushed the thought aside, as she had done so many times before. There was nothing to be done. Decisions had been necessary and options few. At least now she was fed and housed in great style, treated with respect—in public—and had found she could survive what happened in private.

  Her duties were few…always appear to the best advantage beside her protector, help him if there were any linguistic difficulties, and in general assist in his goal to present himself as a distinguished Indian nabob with gold dripping from his fingertips.

  There were more than a few functions she was unable to attend because of her status. The Royals were less than enthusiastic about being presented to ladies of dubious virtue, although God knew the aristocracy was more licentious than most of the kept women out there.

  But to many she was now a pariah, a fallen woman, and as such she was ostracized and denied entrée to places she had once frequented with regularity.

  Kerala didn’t seem to mind, since his business took place behind securely locked doors. His rented mansion in Belgrave Square was fulsomely magnificent, and no expense had been spared in setting up his stables.

  He had a passing interest in the newest machines currently fascinating the upper classes, but astutely commented that they’d be useless on his home ground in India. Vehicles not requiring some kind of animal in harness stood little chance of making any headway across foothills, rivers and mountains.

  Thus, with Vivienne at his side, Thakur Sahib had become a “figure” of the season, an interestingly eccentric foreigner who—even though his country was engaged in an ongoing war with Britain—had been granted admission into more than a few levels of London society.

  She wasn’t sure if it had been a good thing or a bad thing to end up associated with him, to become part of his entourage.

  But it had saved her from life in a brothel, so on that level alone she must look at it as a blessing. Albeit in a very thorough disguise.

  The mechanical vehicle jolted its way over the country road between Coralfield Conservatory and Harbury Hall, slowing only to allow a horse-drawn wagon the room to make a sharp turn onto a smaller lane. Vivienne admitted it was pleasant; the bumps were cushioned by the luxurious seats and the scenery was idyllic, touched as it was by the rays of the setting sun and dusted with patches of rising mist as the air cooled in the hollows and the shadows beneath the trees.

  It was a quintessential summer evening and one that Shakespeare might have enjoyed, along with Charles the Second and pretty much everyone who had ever walked through this part of England at such a time.

  Her fellow passengers seemed to agree, and there was little conversation as the sky darkened and the silhouette of Harbury appeared in the distance. There were lamps hanging on their vehicle and they sprang to life, creating small glowing oases for thirsty moths.

  For a brief instant, Vivienne was transported back to the first portable gas lamp her father had owned. Lord Stanton had loved his gadgets and had taken her out into the gardens to show her his newest acquisition.

  Together, they’d marveled at the brilliance and laughed as angry insects attempted to worship the flame within the glass. He had suspended it from a piece of garden trellis and a wonderful hour had passed, illuminated by the light of the future. At least that’s what her father had told her.

  He couldn’t know that her future would contain little that could be described as “light”.

  “We’re nearing the Hall, I see.” Edwin Carstairs, the engineer, turned to Kerala. “If you’ve not visited Harbury, sir, you’re in for a treat. Truly a delightful estate and the Harburys themselves a charming couple.” He paused, then frowned. “Of course there is Lord Harbury’s…er…problem.”

  Kerala leaned forward a little. “There is a problem, Mr. Carstairs? Will you tell me, please.”

  Vivienne listened too. She’d heard rumors some time ago, but had never visited this part of Hampshire or met either Randall or Alwynne Harbury. At least not that she could recall.

  Carstairs settled himself. “Well, apparently the young Lord Harbury was quite the roué, if you get my meaning. Very popular with the ladies.”

  Kerala nodded.

  Vivienne had no doubt he understood every word, every nuance. He was brilliant, without question.

  “Anyway, one night he was with not one but two ladies, and a third—who had misunderstood his intentions—caught him in flagrante delicto, so to speak. She made her anger clear with a vial of acid to his face.”

  “Oh my.” Vivienne couldn’t resist the exclamation. “How terrible.”

  “He’s badly scarred, Mrs. Stanton-Foley. Very badly scarred. Some say that the acid is still eating away at his face, even his brain.” He shook himself as if to shed something unpleasant. “However, these are all rumors. I’m sure Lord Harbury will make us welcome, regardless of his injuries.”

  “You have met the man, then, Carstairs?” Dr. Pembroke, Professor of Natural Sciences, asked the question. Vivienne knew of his title, since he made a point of including it whenever he was introduced.

  “Several years ago, Professor. He attended one of the engineering symposiums and we shared a lunch table afterward. Brilliant man. Quite brilliant. But badly disfigured. He wore some kind of high collar at that time, hid the worst of it. And he seemed normal, too.” Carstairs frowned. “Oh well. We’ll soon find out for ourselves.”

  He gestured to the gates beneath which they were passing. “I believe we’re here.”

  He was right. The grand façade of Harbury Hall loomed above them as the vehicle pulled to a gentle halt in front of the stone staircase leading to the impressive doors.

  Lights gleamed from many windows, already the staff was moving toward them to assist in their disembarkation from the machine that had conveyed them and it was everything an evening at a country home should be.

  Thus far.

  Vivienne assumed a quiet and subdued manner, as was her wont in unfamiliar situations. She was dressed conservatively in a blue-grey silk gown, modest in cut and up-to-the-minute in style.

  However, the moment Lady Alwynne Harbury stepped forward, she knew she didn’t have to worry. Their hostesss wa
s absolutely stunning, and not one of the men could tear his gaze from her.

  The other two women, Pansy-something-the-mistress and the other one whose name Vivienne had yet to learn, were fluttering and twittering around their escorts, a cloud of ruffles and giggles, easily identifiable to the trained ear as quite nervous.

  She, on the other hand, waited her turn, curtseyed and thanked Lady Alwynne for her kindness in inviting them this evening.

  The woman was charm personified. “It’s delightful to meet you, Mrs. Stanton-Foley. I believe my husband knew your father, and of course your late husband. My sympathies.”

  Vivienne dipped her head. “Thank you. It’s been several years now, of course. But I still miss them both.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She glanced behind her momentarily, and then nodded at the butler. “If you’d care to follow me…”

  Her comment was obviously meant for them all.

  “I must apologize for my husband’s absence. As I’m sure you all know, his condition worsens from time to time, rendering bed rest a necessity. He is hoping to join us later, but until then why don’t we begin with some sherry in the salon?”

  She led the way, her magnificent blood red gown billowing out from a tiny waist, her hair perfectly coiffed and jeweled with just the right amount of ruby and diamond aigrettes.

  The house was a frame for its mistress, unobtrusively exquisite, and Vivienne noticed several priceless old masters gracing the walls of the foyer through which they walked.

  It had even impressed Kerala apparently, since he made the unexpected move of offering her his arm, something he only did when he was a little unsure of himself.

  She took it and together they walked sedately into the salon, where two other men awaited them, sherry in hand, chatting in that idle social way men had.

  One immediately turned and smiled at Professor Pembroke. Vivienne recognized the meeting of like minds and pegged him as a fellow scientist.

  The other was tall and clad in dark clothing, but she couldn’t see his face until he turned around.

  When he did, her heart thudded to a sudden halt and she struggled to restrain a gasp of surprise.

  That traditional Airship Fleet braid of hair framed his features clearly.

  It was Del Moreton.

  The only man she’d ever really loved.

  Chapter 4

  “And your experiments. They are progressing well?”

  Two men walked slowly along the stone parapet edging the terrace. They both held lit cigars and appeared to be nothing more than gentlemen enjoying an after-dinner smoke.

  In fact, they were anything but.

  “Thus far, everything is proceeding as I expected. The detonation problem has been reduced to a minimum and is responding well to the instigation process. There’s just one tiny flaw…” He paused and stared out into the darkness.

  “What is that?” Thakur Sahib Kerala stood next to him and asked the question quietly but firmly.

  “Leather. For some reason leather does not react to the thonirium. I have no idea why.”

  Kerala frowned. “This is not a good thing.” He raised his cigar to his mouth and took a thoughtful puff. “Leather is too commonplace. It is to be found everywhere.”

  “I know.”

  “Then remedy this problem, Professor. I am not paying you to fail.” The tone was level, but the words and the implications were an undeniably obvious command.

  “It is a minor issue, Thakur Sahib.” Ringwood responded respectfully, even though the words threatened to choke him.

  “Minor issues can turn into major disasters.” The Indian glared at him, eyes dark and glittering. “You are our prime focus, Ringwood. Most of our resources have gone into funding your work. Much has gone here to Harbury, and the amount we have spent in bribes alone…your judicial system is weak and susceptible but that does not mean it is inexpensive.”

  Ringwood straightened. “I know all this and I am most grateful for your assistance. But please understand this is new science. All new. I have no blueprints or dissertations to study and reference. Everything I do is unique. Every result is unexpected. And every request you’ve had so far, I have honored, have I not?”

  The other man said nothing.

  “Well, have I not?” Ringwood pressed his point, his hands clenching into fists and crushing the cigar he held. He wanted to punch this—this foreign upstart.

  “I would see a demonstration.” Thakur Sahib started strolling again, impervious to any sense of hostility emanating from his companion. “You will set one up for me. Tomorrow I think.”

  “I…I…”

  “Understand me, Ringwood. I will see what my money has paid for. And I will see it tomorrow. Is that clear?”

  Ringwood thought frantically. He’d need a subject. And it was very short notice. But there must be someone, amongst the staff perhaps. Someone nobody would care about very much. He could—and would—do it. He had no qualms at all about the thonirium explosive. He’d perfected that process and knew it was flawless.

  “Very well. But it has to be Saturday. I shall need time to procure a test subject.” It was an effort to assume a little more control.

  The other man was silent for a few moments. Then he shrugged. “I have been told we are to stay here at Harbury over the weekend, starting tomorrow. Some meetings with that military officer.” Sahib strolled on with no signs of perturbation or concern. “So perhaps Saturday morning, I will ask that we be given the chance to further discuss some matters after tea and before dinner. I believe that will be an appropriate time, yes?”

  The jewels in his turban flickered sparks as they turned back toward the house. “Make no error, Professor. I want this invention. I will have this invention. You will make it perfect, I will take it and that will end our association. It will be as if we are passing acquaintances only from then on, should we ever meet. Which will be unlikely.”

  “You plan on returning to your home then.”

  An inscrutable smile passed across Thakur Sahib’s face. “Perhaps. After I have accomplished all that is to be done.”

  Something in his tone chilled Ringwood to his marrow and he quickened his pace. “Very well. Saturday. After tea. I will send a message, since I will need every moment to prepare.”

  With a brief nod, he hurried back into the house, tossing the remains of his now-dead cigar into the bushes and leaving his companion to his own devices.

  Courtesy be damned. One minute longer and his disgust of the pompous peacock of a man would show and in spite of his personal feelings, Ringwood knew he could not jeopardize his funding. But by God, if there had been a way to plant that dark-skinned upstart a facer, he would have done it. And enjoyed it.

  He had to set up the demonstration and make it a good one, because then Thakur Sahib would depart and clear the air of Harbury Hall. The Professor knew that the less he had to do with that infernal Indian, the better.

  *~~*~~*

  To say Del Moreton felt like he’d taken a kick in the gut was an understatement.

  The moment he’d turned to greet the other guests and seen her…well it had shaken him severely. He was thankful that the order of introductions put her toward the end and he had chance to regain his countenance and some of his control before actually looking her in the eye, taking her hand, mouthing something inane—and remembering…

  God, she was still as lovely as ever.

  And yet there was something different, a reserve perhaps, almost a coldness in her eyes.

  He immediately realized her connection to the Indian gentleman. And he ached inside at that knowledge.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Stanton-Foley. It’s been quite a few years I believe.”

  “Indeed.” She smiled and withdrew her hand from his. “And I see I should now address you as Fleet Commander Moreton. Congratulations.”

  Words. Polite, meaningless words.

  Del wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her, demand to kn
ow where she’d gone when she walked out of his life,

  He wanted to shout at her, yell at the top of his voice as he told her how much she’d hurt him by leaving.

  He wanted to punish her, make her hurt too.

  But above all he wanted to take her in his arms, strip that old-lady gown from her luscious body, kiss her until she was shaking beneath him and then thrust himself inside her, just to hear that tiny gasp she had always made when he entered her.

  By some miraculous intervention of Fate, or perhaps his guardian angel—who was doubtless beside herself and fluttering around in circles over his head—he did none of those things.

  He merely smiled, placed her hand correctly on his arm and walked her to the sherry tray.

  “You two have met before?”

  Alwynne Harbury’s smooth tones demanded his attention. “Yes, indeed, Lady Alwynne. Mrs. Stanton-Foley and I met many years ago in London. I was on my way to my first Airship assignment, I believe.”

  “That’s right.” Vivienne smiled easily. “I remember how impressed I was with the uniform.”

  He grinned. “They’re designed for maximum visual impact on the ladies. I found that out a few years later. Totally impractical in action, of course.”

  Both women laughed at this nonsense.

  “It worked, Lady Harbury. I was quite swept off my feet.” Vivienne lifted a hand to her heart dramatically.

  “Understandable.”

  “But of course, since I had to leave for the Continent and pursue my posting, we really had little chance to do more than the usual drives in the park, theaters and some dances.” Del sought refuge in social inanities.

  “The Cornwallis ball, wasn’t it?”

  “Um…” He blinked. “Please. Don’t ask me to remember. There were so many of the darn things that year.”

  “He’s right, Mrs. Stanton-Foley. One should never ask a man to recall past affairs. They just don’t have the mental capacity for that sort of important minutiae.” She tapped Vivienne on the arm with her fan and walked away, chuckling.