Ether & Elephants

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  By the time they reached the village, full darkness had descended. A spring breeze cast a chill in the air, but there were no clouds above to obscure the light from the golden sliver of the waning moon, hanging low in the sky. Fortunately the station was set a ways out from the village proper, so there were no neighbors passing as they tied their horse to the railing behind the squat stone departure depot, set across the tracks from the nearly identical shelter for incoming passengers. Farther down the line was the goods shed, where cargo could be stored for pickup or delivery, and the stationmaster’s house sat perhaps fifty yards back from the arrivals side of the platform, close to the road from the neighboring village.

  Tom quietly popped the latch and opened the door. “We should start with the ticket counter,” he whispered as they slipped inside. The moonlight didn’t reach inside, so Tom pulled an etheric torch from his overcoat pocket, once again choosing technology over magick. According to everyone in the Order, Tom was a powerful mage. Only he didn’t always seem to trust himself.

  “There’s not much else to search.” The rectangular room, perhaps ten by twenty feet, held only a few rough benches, a water barrel and a tiny hearth in addition to the counter. While Tom slipped behind that, Nell wandered away from his light and sat on a bench. She lifted her face toward the rafters and opened her senses. “Anybody here?”

  An apparition began to coalesce from the dust motes reflected by Tom’s torch and the weak shafts of moonlight through narrow windows. Nell waited, and within moments, a pudgy, balding man in a derby hat settled onto the bench beside her. “Boo,” he said congenially. “Aren’t you frightened?”

  Nell chuckled. “Sorry. Ought I be?”

  The ghost laughed. “Well, most ladies are. I’ve gotten used to it. About the only conversation one has these days.”

  “I can scream and run if you like, but I’d rather sit and chat,” Nell said. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course, of course. Never say no to a pretty girl.” He doffed his hat and crossed his ankles. “Not from around these parts, are you?”

  “No, I’m from London.” Nell smoothed her skirts and lifted her chin, doing her best imitation of the dowager Duchess of Trowbridge, a close family friend. “Was it my accent that gave it away?”

  A bark of laughter erupted from the ghost. “Good one, girl. Not as foreign as you look, eh?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Nell said. “How about you? Do you travel the rails or are you always hanging about this little station?”

  “This side or t’other,” he said with a snort. “Don’t know why. The farthest I can get is the livestock pen. How is it you can see me? Nobody else knows I’m here unless I tickle their neck or something.”

  “It’s just who I am,” Nell said. “Some people can paint portraits or sail ships. I can see ghosts.”

  “Huh. Sounds like the short end of the stick if you ask me.” He spun his hat on one finger. “What’s your young man doing over there at the ticket desk?”

  “He’s not my young man, but we’re looking for a boy,” she said. “One of my students at the Glenbury School. We believe he was kidnapped.” She didn’t respond to the “short end of the stick” comment. If her power could help Charlie, she wasn’t going to complain about it now.

  “Kidnapped? Well, now, that’s hardly cricket, is it?” He crushed his hat in his hands, but the wrinkle popped right back out. “What did the boy look like?”

  “Tall for an eight-year-old.” She held up her hand to indicate approximate height. “Fair hair, blue eyes. He can’t see, though, so his eyes look a little odd to most people. They’re not always pointed in the right direction. He’d have come through first thing this morning. He was taken last night.”

  “Why take a boy at night, then wait for a morning train? Doesn’t sound like a very logical plan.” He scratched his rather bulbous nose, likely a habit leftover from his lifetime, since according to all the ghosts Nell had talked to, they couldn’t actually feel anything, which included itching. “Make more sense to get away by road.”

  “Yes, it would.” Nell rubbed at her temple, trying to push aside the looming headache. “But we thought checking the station was worth a try. Thank you for your time.” She started to rise.

  “Now wait a minute, missy. I didn’t say I hadn’t seen anything. Just that it wasn’t the best plan.” The ghost chuckled. “I like to look at the pretty girls as they pass through, you know. One of the few pleasures left in my life, uh, state of being.”

  “Then you did see Charlie?” She dropped back onto the hard wooden bench. “Was he all right?”

  The ghost pursed his lips. “I didn’t see the boy.”

  Pain throbbed behind Nell’s forehead. Blast it, this wasn’t a good time for a headache. “Then why did you say—?”

  “But I did see something. Yesterday I was over at arrivals. I tend to alternate, just for a change of scenery, you know. When the last train came in, only two passengers got off, a man and woman yelling at each other like howling banshees.”

  “What did they say?” Nell gave the ghost a hopeful smile. His information might be worthless, but they had nothing else to go on.

  “Give me a moment to think, here. I eavesdrop a lot, you know. Sometimes it’s hard to sort out one conversation in the jumble.” He twiddled his hat in his hands. “Ah, here we go. Tall girl, yellow-haired. Right side of thirty, but not by much, I’d say. Still had an impressive, uh…” He looked down at his chest.

  “Bosom?” Nell supplied. That matched the description Lord Michael, the ghost, had given, as well as Tom’s account of his wife. She tried not to glance down at her own unimpressive endowments.

  “Ahem. Quite right. Very impressive, so I couldn’t help but notice. Anyway, the chap with her—boring-looking fellow, he was. No beard, dapper clothes, posh accent but a mean look about his face. Old enough to be her da, but looking at her, ah, figure like he was no relation, if you catch my drift.”

  Nell’s memory for the spoken word was excellent. She didn’t need to write anything down. Every voice had its own pitch and timbre and cadence, and she automatically tapped into that when she listened. Then she could recall every word as if it were a musical note, every conversation as if it were a score.

  “Anyway, the chap says, ‘Let’s go get the little blighter now,’ but the girl says, ‘No, let’s wait until later, when the school has settled down for the night.’ They argued a bit, but she won. Hauled him off to the tavern for a bite of supper before they went up to the school.”

  “And did either of them say anything about where they were going or what they were doing after they retrieved the boy from the school?”

  “Had to meet a man, the chap said. London, maybe, or could be Southampton or Dover. Said she shouldn’t’ve ditched the brat. She said if they’d known he’d be so important, she wouldn’t’ve. Anyway he’s the one who told her to in the first place. Chap didn’t much care for that. Told her to just get on with it, while he rented a coach to take them east.”

  “So if they rented a coach last night, they could be halfway to London by now.” Nell looked over her shoulder at Tom as he approached. “Did you hear either of them call the other by name, sir? Any idea who they were?”

  “Moll, I think he called her. Chuckles, she called him. I figured it was one of those ironic nicknames, on account of him being such a gloomy bugger.” The ghost snorted out a laugh.

  “Just a moment, Nell.” Tom pulled his leather credentials case from the breast pocket of his overcoat. “Can you ask your friend if he—or she—has seen this woman? She’d be older now by about nine years.”

  Of course Tom carried a photograph of his missing wife. Nell took the offending scrap of paper and found a tiny reproduction of what was probably a larger cabinet card. She held it out to the ghost. “Could this have been the woman you saw? The portrait is several years old.” Nell had wondered if Tom would make the leap to thinking the “aunt” might be Charlie’s mothe
r.

  The ghost squinted, scratched his nose, and squinted again. “Aye. That’s her all right. Unless she has a sister.”

  Nell handed the photo back to Tom. “It’s her, unless she has a sister.” She’d been required to glance at the image for herself, now that this was the woman they were hunting. Buxom and blonde, the girl in the portrait was about as much Nell’s opposite as another female could be. She also sported a come-hither smile that made nausea roil in Nell’s stomach. Only a first-rate beauty for Tom. If the girl had been a London debutante, she’d have had her pick of titles and fortunes. Instead she’d gotten both but never claimed them. That bit had always confused Nell. Why trap a wealthy baronet into marriage then run away?

  “I think we should head east tonight,” Nell said, after bidding farewell to the ghost. They stood on the platform outside the station. “We can stop at inns along the way and see if they spent last night there.”

  “It’s like chasing a bloody chimera.” Tom kicked a loose pebble off the platform. “We have nothing to go on. They could be headed anywhere.”

  “Well, we know more now than we did an hour ago.” He was right. Their quest was probably futile, but she had to try—not just for Charlie now, but for Tom as well. She had no idea how she was going to manage being alone in close proximity to him without making an utter fool of herself by either kissing him or smacking him in the gob. Blast it, now he was making her think in street cant again.

  The sound of clattering hoof beats on the lane behind them caused Nell to duck behind a bench and Tom to draw a revolver from the holster strapped inside his coat. The stationmaster’s cottage sat across the tracks, so it wasn’t him coming to investigate their breaking and entering.

  The racing figure drew close enough to be seen in the moonlight. Nell giggled as she stood up from her hiding place. “Roger,” she called over the clatter of hooves. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Roger jumped down off his horse. Like a handful of the teachers, he kept his own mount in the school’s meager stable, paying a stipend from his wages for the gelding’s upkeep. “I’ve left the school, Nell. I’m here to help you find Charlie. I cannot work for a headmistress who’s so callous about her students and teachers.” He wrapped the reins about the platform railing and strode up to catch Nell by both shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She looked up at him, his rugged face full of tenderness and fierce concern. He was a good man and she did care for him. She laid a hand on his chest. “But you don’t need to give up your position, Roger. Teaching is your livelihood.”

  “Not really.” He smiled and kissed her nose. “I inherited a small estate in Sussex about a year ago. I didn’t leave the school, because you were there. And the students, of course. My uncle had an excellent steward, so I wasn’t needed on the property.”

  “Oh.” She blinked. “I see.”

  Tom had apparently had enough. His boots loud on the wooden platform, he strode over and inserted his shoulder between Nell and Roger. “Sir Thomas Devere. And you are?” He crossed his arms over his chest rather than holding out a hand.

  “Oh, um, Roger Braithwaite.” Roger stuck out one hand. “You’re Nell’s adopted brother. She’s told me all about all of you.”

  Tom lifted an eyebrow, a behavior he’d copied from Papa. “Really? And yet she hasn’t told us anything about you?”

  Nell elbowed Tom in the gut. Hard. “Be nice. I’ve told Mum and Wink all kinds of things about Roger. It’s not his fault I don’t bother talking to you.”

  “At any rate, you asked who I am.” Roger straightened his shoulders. He was above average height, but still had to look up at Tom. Nell was proud of him for holding his own. “The answer is that I am Nell’s fiancé. So if anyone is going to be careening around the countryside with her, it is I.”

  Tom froze, blinking rapidly. Finally, he looked down at Nell. “Nelly? Is he telling the truth or do I tear his head off?”

  Nell’s head whirled. She hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no. Only implied it, though she had suggested he look somewhere else. She turned from one man to the other. The first, a man she had always loved, but could never have, could never trust if she did have him, and the second, a man who loved her, about whom she cared deeply, and who would happily give her the home and family she craved. More importantly, Roger would never stray. Nell knew that down to her bones. She swallowed hard. She and Tom were never going to be together, not now, not ever. It was time for her to let go of that final trickle of hope. Maybe an ordinary life with Roger was the best chance she had for happiness. At worst, he’d provide a buffer between her and Tom for part of the ride toward London. “Well, we hadn’t made a final decision yet. I wanted him to meet Mum and Papa first.” She stared at Roger while she spoke. Somehow Tom could always tell by her face when she was lying.

  Roger blinked twice, burst into a broad grin and wrapped Nell in a bone-squeezing hug. “Anything you wish, darling.” He kissed her once, briefly, with enthusiasm she couldn’t quite match.

  Tom jerked his chin in a parody of a nod. “Of course.” Belatedly he held out his hand to Roger. “It seems congratulations are in order. Welcome to the family and all that. But you can’t come with us.”

  “No, I think he should.” Nell stared Tom down. Roger’s bravery in coming after her had proven his devotion, and that was something she craved deeply. She was going to give Roger a real chance, see if he could hold his own in her world. “Roger won’t be a liability. He was a soldier before he was a scholar. He’s smart and he knows how to ride and shoot. Plus, if he’s going to be a member of our family, he’s going to have to know…things about us. It’s only fair that he understands what he’s getting into.”

  “That’s not your call to make, Nell.” Tom crossed his arms again.

  She snorted. “You want me to telephone Mum and ask? Papa? Or His Grace?” The Duke of Trowbridge was an old family friend, as well as the head of the Order. Tom knew as well as she did that Nell was something of a pet to the others, doted on and pampered far more than was necessary.

  “Fine.” Tom heaved a sigh. “Come on along. Just try not to have an apoplexy along the way—assuming Nell didn’t already tell you all about our family.”

  “No. Not all the details.” Nell had never mentioned seeing ghosts, for example. “He knows you and Papa work for the crown.”

  “Well, this ought to be an interesting trip.” Tom rolled his eyes. “Think there’s an inn here in the village where we can put up? Or shall we press on in the darkness?”

  “There’s enough moonlight if we stick to the main roads. We’re less than two hours from Black Heath,” Nell said. The home of her friend Melody and Mel’s husband, the Earl of Blackwell, was a big, brooding manor set on the Devonshire cliffs. “From there, we can probably get an airship to come pick us up in the morning. That way we can get to London ahead of Charlie and his abductors.” It had been hard, going back to Black Heath, where Tom had confessed his marriage. Over the last three years, though, Nell had overcome her reluctance. Among all her friends and family, only Melody and Victor were close enough to visit on a day trip from the school, so Nell often spent her time off visiting them there.

  “A good point, except we don’t know that we are going to London,” Tom reminded her.

  “I don’t mind a late-night ride,” Roger said as he boosted Nell into the saddle. “Sure you’re up for it dearest?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She repeated one of her earlier thoughts. “Something you need to know about me, Roger, is that I’m tougher than I look.”

  “She’s not fibbing. Which reminds me…” Tom fumbled in his saddlebag and handed a small pouch to Nell. “Papa brought this from London. Apparently Wink thought you might want it.”

  Nell lifted out her favorite weapon, one of Wink’s modified electrical stunning devices. The ESD, as they called it, carried enough electrical charge to knock an assailant unconscious without killing him. Wink had speci
fically altered this one to better fit Nell’s smaller hands. “Perfect.” She belted on the waist holster Tom handed her and carefully tucked the ESD into it. “Now, gentlemen, let’s try to reach Devon before the entire household is asleep.”

  Chapter Three

  Nell was engaged? To be married? Tom couldn’t wrap his head around the idea.

  Sure, it’s what he wanted for her. And this Braithwaite fellow seemed perfectly unexceptionable. Still, the whole notion made Tom queasy. Nell with someone else? In another man’s bed, raising another man’s children? He swallowed a mouthful of bile and nudged his horse ahead of the others. “I’ll ride a bit ahead, just to keep an eye out for trouble.” He hoped neither heard the quaver in his voice.

  “Won’t that mean he’ll be more at risk alone?” Braithwaite whispered.

  “Lesson number one about my family, Roger,” Nell said as placidly as if she were discussing a piano arrangement. “Some of them have special…talents. Tom and Papa, in particular, both have unusually acute hearing and sight. He’ll be fine.”

  Tom resisted the urge to ride far enough ahead that he couldn’t overhear. That would mean leaving them vulnerable. Instead he kept his face forward, pretending not to hear the conversation behind him.

  “But I thought you said none of you were related by blood?” Braithwaite said. “How can talents run in an adopted family?”

  Nell chuckled. “In our case, Tom’s similar talents were what brought us to Papa’s attention. Papa knew Tom’s father and recognized a kindred soul.”

  Tom snorted. His father had married in secret and died before he could do anything about it. Tom had been raised as a bastard until his mother died, leaving him on his own at the age of ten. The only father figure he’d ever known was Merrick.