They reached the beach below, and Victor indicated with curt whispers where they’d seen the crablike machine in the past. Tom nodded—his hearing apparently excellent to make out Victor’s words over the crashing surf—and took up a position behind one of the rocks.
Two hours later, Victor’s muscles were cramped from sitting still in the cool salt breeze. After one last look out over the moonlit water, he stood and shook his head. “Nothing.”
Tom stood and joined him. “We could stand watch throughout the night with enough men, but right now we’re basically just hoping for a coincidence. Watching and waiting isn’t my strong suit.”
“Nor mine.” Victor dragged in a deep breath. “Damned if I know what I should do, though. Right after I found the body, I texted and asked one of my captains to come and patrol this area with a blockade runner for a while. They’re in Bristol now, so will be here in a day or two. Perhaps they’ll find something.”
“It’s a good plan.” Tom chuckled as they started up the path. “But won’t the Admiralty take offense at you commandeering one of their ships?”
Victor shook his head. “Not a navy ship. I’m only half a lord. My mother’s father was a shipping magnate, and I was his heir. I still manage the company, although most of my service was in Her Majesty’s uniform.” What would the dashing young baronet think of that—a peer engaged in matters of commerce?
“Strange where fate takes us, isn’t it? Now you’re a peer and a magnate. According to many nobles I know, that’s the wave of the future. The days of just living off land wealth won’t last forever. Not with the sudden power and wealth that new technology can bring.”
Victor thought a moment, recalling his brother’s massive financial losses. Without the influx from the shipping and shipyard, the earldom might well have been doomed. There wasn’t much use for a title when you didn’t have enough to eat, or for a manor house when you couldn’t afford to maintain it. “Strange is one way to put it.”
“Someday, I’ll tell you my story.” Tom laughed. “My family has ‘strange’ down to an art. Speaking of family, what are your intentions toward Melody?”
“What?” Victor righted himself after a near stumble. “I have none. We told you it was a ruse,” he hissed.
Tom snorted. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Be careful, or you’ll end up with a countess—at the point of a pistol if need be. And the pistol won’t necessarily be mine. She has a number of staunch defenders, some of them in powerful places.”
They reached the top of the cliff. Victor looked out over the sea. “Behold the terrorized suitor.” He laughed, mostly at himself. “First of all, you’re no relation to Melody, who seems to think she’s responsible for herself and not answerable to anyone. Secondly, if and when I do marry, it will be someone who can be a proper hostess and mother to my niece—not to a tinkerer, however clever she may be. As Melody’s friend, though, you needn’t worry. I’m not an untried youth. I’m a grown man who’s spent most of his life out at sea. I’m used to long intervals between...encounters.”
“Fair enough. Although your idea of ladylike and motherhood are quaintly amusing. Sometime I’d like you to meet my sister Wink and my foster mother Caro.” Tom chuckled and scanned the sea one more time. Suddenly, he stopped laughing. “Do you see that? Out on the horizon?” He lifted his binoculars to his eyes.
Victor didn’t see a thing. The other man must have amazing vision to go with his catlike hearing. Victor pulled his spyglass from his pocket and aimed it in the direction Tom had pointed. Sure enough, there did seem to be a large craft on the horizon. It was oddly shaped, though, with no sails or masts. “It kind of reminds me of an old Norse longboat,” he murmured.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Tom said. As the vessel pulled out of sight, he turned back toward the house. “It didn’t look like a ship to me. It looked more like—”
“Don’t say it.” Victor didn’t even want to consider what he’d seen—not until he had more time to ponder.
“It wasn’t a normal ship,” Tom insisted. “I’d swear it was a dragon.”
Victor shook his head and sighed. “I’m sure it’s some trick of the fog. Unless someone really did build a copy of an old Viking dragon ship. Either way, there’s not much that we can do here and now.”
“True enough.” Tom clapped Victor on the shoulder, as if they’d known each other for decades. “Let’s get some sleep, old man. Tomorrow, we’ll set up watches on the cove. Then we’ll have a few rounds in the local watering hole while the ladies shop.”
Victor groaned, not even protesting the overfamiliarity. What on earth had he gotten himself into?
* * *
Melody hummed as she twisted her hair up into its usual braided coronet. The idea of exploring the village Victor called home intrigued her, and a day out with Nell, Miss Dorothy and Emma sounded lovely after a few days of immobility. Better yet, the swelling on her ankle had gone down considerably and her bruises were beginning to fade.
She wrinkled her nose. Well, not fade, exactly, but turn that awful yellowish green that meant they were healing. It was a good thing they were all hidden by her clothing—a proper walking dress in deep emerald green. The only visible wound was the cut on her forehead, now an ugly scab. Scowling into the mirror, she picked up her manicure scissors and snipped off a fringe to cover her forehead. It was daring, if not the latest fashion, and she grinned at her reflection. Who knew? Perhaps she could start a new trend. At least it concealed the wound.
She got to her feet and reached for the cane Mrs. Bates had found. Heavy and silver-topped, it would do instead of crutches. Melody wanted to be as upright as possible when she was introduced to the village as Victor’s fiancée. Testing herself as she walked to the door, she ignored the strange fluttering in her stomach at the words. She hadn’t expected them to appeal. Why on earth was she attracted to a curmudgeon like Victor who disapproved of everything Melody was and did?
She walked into the hall and found him waiting, Emma beside him, her small hand clutched in his. Melody’s smile trembled. This. She was attracted to him because despite all his posturing and antiquated ideas, Victor Arrington was a man of strength, honor and even love. His expression seemed to soften when he looked at Melody, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking.
“Your friends are waiting downstairs.” Victor offered his arm to Melody while keeping his other hand free for Emma. He frowned at the cane. “You look lovely this morning, but are you sure you’re up to this?”
“I am.” She took his arm, switching the cane to the other side. “Emma, are you glad to be going to town?”
Emma nodded. “I get to pick out a book—whatever one I want. Uncle Victor gets to pick the other.”
Victor sighed, carefully maneuvering down the wide staircase so neither of his charges lost their balance. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten that arrangement, imp.”
Emma giggled. “Not likely.”
“We’re going to the dressmaker’s too. Do you need any new clothing, Emma?” Melody would love to see the little girl in anything but mourning black, but that might have to wait a few months, since her parents had been dead less than a year.
“I think she does,” Victor said. “Her current dresses are getting a bit short. Could you speak to the seamstress? Perhaps even pick out a little color, something a bit lighter for summer like lavender or even blues. It’s not as if she’s out in society.”
Emma let go of her uncle’s hand and skipped down the last few steps. She bounded up to Nell and said, “I get to wear colors again.”
“I think that’s a grand idea,” Melody said. “I’ve never believed in forcing children to be dragged down by mourning customs. They grieve anyway, but I think they ought to be able to brighten their spirits whenever possible.”
“That’s very progressive thinking, and yet, I find myself in agreement.” Victor frowned. “What brought such things to your mind? You don’t have children.”
Melody shrugged. “When I was small, my uncle died. The circumstances were unpleasant to say the least. My family was devastated, but it was my grandmother, of all people, who made sure we children didn’t suffer any more than necessary. She’d lost her youngest son, she said, but she wasn’t going to drive anyone else into misery. My parents conceded to her wishes. As long as we weren’t out in public, we were encouraged to play, to wear cheerful colors, to be noisy, normal children, right from the day after the funeral.” She didn’t tell him the whole story, how her uncle had given in to jealousy and evil, conspiring with vampyres to bring down the Order.
“She sounds like a very wise woman.” Victor didn’t drop his arm once they reached the smooth marble floor of the entrance hall. “The carriage would be a tight fit with all of us, so Tom and I will ride. Is that all right?”
“Of course.”
As soon as he handed her into his carriage, she felt the loss of his touch. Emma cuddled close to her side, though, bringing a different feeling of warmth. “You look like a princess today,” Emma whispered. “Can I get a green dress too?”
Melody wrapped her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Of course.” If Victor disagreed, Melody would buy it for Emma herself.
The carriage set them down directly in front of the dressmaker’s shop. Victor lifted Melody carefully from the carriage and settled her on the cobblestones, cane in hand. Fog wafted around them in the cool morning breeze, casting the village in shadows, like something out of a dream. It should have been dreary, gray stone clouded with gray fog, but somehow, it wasn’t—at least not entirely. There was disquiet here—Melody felt it to her bones—but there was a core of something else, something good, that rooted here too. Not knowing which side would win, Melody shuddered.
“Let’s get inside. Mrs. Russell is waiting.” With great ceremony Victor ushered her into the shop and introduced her to a beak-nosed woman of perhaps forty. Once the pleasantries were done, Victor bowed. “I trust you will take good care of my ladies, and their friends, Mrs. Russell.”
“Of course, milord.” The woman curtsied as her assistant rushed to open the door so Victor and Tom could escape. Mrs. Russell studied Melody from head to toe, as if mentally taking measurements. “A trousseau, then, miss?”
“A few things,” Melody said. “I’m not sure when the wedding will be—my parents are traveling and we want to wait for them to be here. To start with, I’d like a few more everyday dresses, as most of my luggage was burnt with my airship.” To her, that made no sense at all, since she could send for a houseful of clothes from London in less than a day. But ideas persisted in the more rural parts of the country, and one of those was the relative isolation of each village from any others and especially the capital.
“Of course.” The seamstress tapped her finger on her temple. “I’ve got the latest books from Paris, naturally.” She let her gaze stray to Nell and Dorothy. “Will there be anything else?”
“Well, my favorite bottle-blue riding habit just ripped beyond repair,” Dorothy said. “Have you any good, sturdy gabardines?”
Nell smiled. “And I’m afraid I forgot to pack my habit. Perhaps a nice vivid claret coat with a black skirt?”
Mrs. Russell beamed. “I’ve a crimson that would suit you beautifully, miss, if you’re willing to be a bit daring.”
“I’d love to see it.” Nell was the most fashion-forward of their set of friends, and Melody had never seen her looking less than perfect.
“I want a green dress,” Emma said, swinging her feet in the chair next to Melody’s. “Aunt Melody said I could.”
Mrs. Russell lifted a brow and Melody nodded. Soon the entire group was poring over pattern books and fabric swatches. The assistant, Jenny, brought tea and cakes, then stayed to offer her own insights. A local girl, through and through, it seemed her beau was one of Black Heath’s footmen.
“The countess was such a beauty,” the girl said a bit later when she was helping Melody dress after having her measurements taken. “Always dressed in the latest styles, always in white and gold, with pearls and diamonds. Like the Snow Queen, she was, icy and lovely and terrible. Never bought nothing here. Always Paris, it was. Twice a year, she went. Never took the little miss with her, though. Nor his lordship.”
Was that relevant? Melody didn’t see how it could be, but it was the first gossip she’d heard, so she filed it away. “What was his lordship like? My betrothed doesn’t often speak of his brother—the loss is so recent.”
“He were a friend to the village, miss. At least when he were young. These last few years—not so much. She didn’t like him mixing with the peasants. Started looking down his nose, he did. Near turned into a recluse. Only spoke to a few. The doctor, the squire and his cronies what would come from London every few weeks.”
Cronies from London? That was the first she’d heard of that. Not even Emma had said a word. Melody rubbed her temples. Give her a mechanical puzzle any time. This spying business was not her forte.
“Dr. Farnsworth is one of the few people I’ve met,” Melody said. “He seems very pleasant and certainly knows his business.”
“Aye, nice bloke. Handsome too.” Jenny grinned. “Wouldn’t mind fitting him for a suit, if you know what I mean.” She coughed and sobered. “Sorry, miss. ’Course the new lordship is a fine-looking man too, if you likes ’em big and, well, a bit scary.”
“He’s not scary.” Melody shook her head. Why did everyone think that about Victor?
“Yes, ma’am, that he is.” Jenny gave a vigorous nod into the mirror as she did up the buttons on the back of Melody’s shirtwaist. “Some folks say he come back and killed his brother for the title. Others say he brought the smugglin’ here and had them get rid of the old lord. Either way, miss, might be better for you to go back to London.”
“My fiancé is a good man.” Melody wished she dared say more. Was the whole town saying things like this about Victor? Her arm twitched, wanting to strike something. “He cared very much for his brother.”
“Maybe so.” Suddenly polite and stiff, Jenny held out Melody’s jacket and helped her into it. “Can’t say as I know for sure. Just what people say.”
“I know.” Melody reached into a pocket of her coat and pressed a coin into the girl’s hand. “Thank you so much for your help today, Jenny. And thank you for the advice. I can’t believe Lord Blackwell is like that, but I do appreciate the warning.”
Jenny bobbed her head. “As you say, miss. Just watch your back, if you know what I mean.”
Melody nodded. “I always do.”
When they all stepped out onto the street a little while later, Melody lagged a few steps behind the others. She drew a deep breath, trying to clear away the fury. Who was spreading rumors about Victor? And why? Her entire being rejected the notion that he was actually guilty of either smuggling or fratricide.
“Miss MacKay!”
Melody hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes to collect herself until Dr. Farnsworth’s exclamation sounded in her ears. “Whatever are you doing on your feet?”
“Dr. Farnsworth.” Melody pasted on a smile and let him take her hand. “My ankle is so much better that my friends and I decided on a little shopping.” She performed the introductions, forcing him to let go of her hand.
“Thank you so much for taking good care of Melody.” Dorothy tucked her hand into the doctor’s elbow, startling a sound out of him before instilled good manners forced him to escort the eldest female present. Dorothy nudged him toward their next stop, the milliner’s. “Her mama is my dear friend, of course, and I had to rush right to her side, since her mother is traveling.”
Melody bit her lip to stifle a laugh at Dorothy’s vacuous act. If there was ever an example of nonsimpering womanhood, it was Miss Hadrian. She’d certainly followed through on her plan to seem harmless. Melody supposed it wouldn’t hurt to emulate her, at least a little bit, until they’d finished this investigation.
When they reached the millinery shop,
Dr. Farnsworth stood back while Nell, Dorothy and Emma stepped inside. “A moment, Miss MacKay, if you please?”
“Of course.” Melody nodded at the others and remained on the street with the doctor. “What can I do for you?”
“You can explain this nonsense I’ve heard that you’re planning to marry Blackwell.” He caught her arm in a grip just short of painful. “I’ve told you, none of that family is to be trusted. Have you no thought for your own safety?”
Melody opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own business. Even if he meant well, which he must, he was being an ass. Then she remembered her resolve to play nicely with the locals. “I thank you for your concern, Doctor. Really. But I can’t believe Lord Blackwell such a villain as you’ve made him out to be. He’s far too handsome and kind.” As if handsome was any evidence of innocence. Her uncle Gideon had possessed the face of an angel and the heart of a monster. Victor was far more rugged and masculine—no one would ever call him pretty, except maybe a woman besotted with love.
“I beg of you, Miss MacKay—Melody—please, for your own sake and that of your friends, leave that house. If you don’t feel well enough to travel or you refuse to leave without your airship, you can stay at the inn—or even with me. I’d be happy to help you repair your ship. With my own hands, if need be.”
“You’re so kind.” She beamed up at him, sorry to have to disappoint someone who meant so well. “But we’ll be fine. In just a week or so, my parents should be here, and then we can begin planning the wedding.”
“Wedding?” He blinked, but something felt off. Surely he’d already heard the gossip. He cleared his throat. “You can’t truly intend to marry the bas—I mean man. Not after all I’ve just told you.”
“I’m afraid so.” She sighed theatrically. “We’re very much in love.”
Farnsworth’s face paled. “My dear woman, if he doesn’t murder you in your bed, the girl probably will. You must come away. You and your friends can stay with me until you catch your train. I’ll even make sure to send your airship rubble after you.”
Dragons & Dirigibles Page 9