Dragons & Dirigibles

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  Fury coursed through her veins. She drew herself up to her full five feet and yanked her hand out of his to poke his chest. “Do not say another word about my future niece.”

  When he opened his mouth, she said, “Not. One. More. Word. Do I make myself clear, sir?” No one, not even a kindly physician, was allowed to disparage Emma in Melody’s hearing.

  She glared into his importunate gaze for several moments until Farnsworth dropped his gaze and sighed. “I understand. Just promise me you’ll seek medical attention if she ever seems to become...unstable.”

  Melody allowed him a curt nod. “Without a doubt.” She turned and hobbled rather than stalked into the shop. “Now, good day, Dr. Farnsworth.”

  Chapter Seven

  Victor sipped slowly at the local ale, aware that half the men of the village had gathered to observe the new lord on his first visit to the public house. Why hadn’t he thought to come here sooner? Perhaps along with Barnaby, who sat in a corner by the fire with Victor’s coachman. Victor had shaken a half dozen hands, fielded as many congratulations about his supposed upcoming nuptials, and been ignored or outright shunned by the other patrons of the taproom.

  “I really think you’re going to need a steam car,” Tom said, loudly enough to be overheard. They were deliberately taking about nothing of importance. “Melody is used to having her own runabout.”

  Victor let his instincts rule his reply. “My countess will not be running about the countryside on her own in some mechanical contraption. She will travel in carriage, properly escorted by me or my servants.” As soon as he said it, he realized how stuffy he sounded. Christ, he was a stodgy old bastard, wasn’t he? When had that happened?

  Tom’s eyes twinkled. “Not too familiar with your bride-to-be, are you, old man?” He pitched that low enough that no one else could hear. Louder, he said, “Well, you might want to consider upgrading your roads, just in case. I think steam cars are the wave of the future. And of course, she’ll need an airship landing field.”

  Victor growled. “Damn thing nearly got her killed.” The idea of her up in the sky on her own just curdled his stomach and made him nauseated.

  Tom shrugged. “Kind of hypocritical for a navy man, don’t you think? How many sailors drown at sea in a given year? Far more than die in airship mishaps.”

  Victor took another gulp of ale, mainly to quench the flames that seemed to be building in his skull, turning his vision red. “Different,” he managed to mumble.

  “If you say so.” Tom leaned back in his chair and winked at the barmaid. “It’s a nice little town you’ve got here. Might not mind staying awhile.”

  “Don’t you have work to do?” The last thing Victor needed was a semipermanent houseguest or a long-term reminder that Melody wasn’t really meant to be his.

  Tom sighed. “I have good managers on my estates and I’ve some leave time coming from the Home Office. Been thinking about investing in shipping. Maybe you could give me some advice.”

  Victor had no idea how much was truth and how much was rubbish. “Well, we do all right. Mostly East Indies and China trade. I have a couple ships running to Boston and Richmond.”

  “Really?” Tom lifted an eyebrow. “What kind of cargoes?”

  “We run wool, along with Spanish spices and fruit to the new world. Mostly cotton and tobacco back here.”

  “Not African slaves? I hear there’s good money in that.” Tom signaled the waitress for another round of ale.

  Victor shook his head. “No. My grandfather was violently opposed to slavery. Hell, he didn’t even like the idea of landed gentry. Always wondered why he didn’t move to America in the first place. Anyway, the Goddard line never dealt in human cargo. I can’t say I disagree with him on that.” He kept his voice pitched low. Out loud he said, “I’ve thought about it, but human cargo is a nightmare to handle.”

  “Well, you can have your principles.” Tom lifted his glass. “Hope they keep the fire in your grate. Maybe I’ll head to Bristol and ask around.”

  The barmaid brought fresh pints, just as another man joined them at the bar. “Good to see you, Lord Blackwell.” The Honorable Benjamin Walker, the local squire, held out his hand. “Good to finally have you spending time here in the village.”

  “Well, it’s been a busy time at the Heath, Walker.” Victor stood to shake the other man’s hand. He’d known Walker since they were children, but this was only the second or third time they’d met as adults. When Victor had first come home, he’d paid duty visits to each of the local landowners, and accepted theirs in return, but hadn’t done much socializing since. “Mr. Walker, meet a friend, Sir Tom Devere.”

  The three men sat, Walker ordered a pint and turned to Victor. “I hear felicitations are in order, Blackwell. Didn’t take you long to find a bride—duty to the title and all, I suppose.”

  Victor and Tom told the agreed-upon story, with Tom adding details that Victor hadn’t known, such as having gone to school with Melody’s twin brother, whose wife was at any moment expecting the birth of their first child. “Melody’s the last of the MacKays unmarried,” he muttered into his ale. “Next will be the rest of the Hadrians—all but family, the lot of us.” His cheerful features drooped a bit at that, leaving Victor to wonder just how soused the younger man was and how much was an act for the squire’s benefit.

  “Isn’t that the way it always goes?” Walker laughed. “Once one of your chums marries, the rest seem to fall like dominoes. What about you, young man? Any likely filly on the horizon?”

  “No.” Tom drained another ale and didn’t elaborate.

  “What about Nell?” Victor asked. “Your sister seems to be a delightful young woman. How has she remained unwed into her twenties?”

  “She is not my sister.” Tom slammed his glass down on the table. Inhaling deeply, he stood. “Excuse me. I’m going to take a walk for a minute.”

  Victor watched him go.

  “What was that all about, I wonder?” Walker said. “Think he’ll be all right?”

  “I have no idea.” Victor frowned. “About either of those questions.” Melody had spoken as if her friend Wink—apparently short for Winifred—was Nell’s sister, but Tom had called Wink his sister too. So why wasn’t Nell? Frankly the whole thing was none of Victor’s business and trying to sort it out gave him a headache. He wouldn’t likely have any contact with any of them after this business was over, so there was no point in keeping track.

  The bell above the door jingled and Victor looked up to see Melody and Miss Hadrian waving from the foyer before slipping into the private dining room, Nell and Emma in tow.

  “Care to meet my intended?” he asked Walker.

  “Of course, of course.” Ever enthusiastic, Walker got to his feet. “Delighted. Don’t want to intrude, you know, but if she’s to become part of our little social circle here in Blackwell, then by all means.”

  Our social circle? Victor wanted to laugh. He’d never in his life been part of any such thing. Other than Dick and his Goddard grandfather, no one had paid the spare son much attention at all. All he knew about was being part of a crew. As a young officer, of course he’d been drilled in manners, occasionally been paraded in ballrooms, but that wasn’t the same as being part of a specific community. Here, though, he couldn’t avoid it—not unless he hired a steward for Black Heath and moved away for good.

  Tom, seemingly under control again, joined them just as they reached the ladies’ table and slid into the seat between Miss Dorothy and Melody.

  Victor performed the introductions. “Would you like to join us for tea, Mr. Walker?”

  “No, no, dear boy. Mustn’t intrude, you know.” He beamed, his round, ruddy face wreathed in smiles. “Still, must invite you to the Grange tomorrow for supper, eh? The missus will want to be the first to entertain the lovely Miss Mackie.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Walker.” Melody didn’t correct the oaf about her name. “We’d love to come, wouldn’t we, my lord?”

&nbs
p; No, we bloody well wouldn’t. He’d been to a small supper at the Walkers’ and it hadn’t been all that pleasant. Mostly they’d made hints about him marrying one of their nieces. However, he remembered that socializing was part of the plan, so he nodded and caught Melody’s hand in his. “Certainly, darling. Miss Hadrian? As Miss MacKay’s chaperone, does that meet with your approval?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Miss Dorothy fluttered her eyelashes. “Will there be other neighbors present?”

  “Umm—naturally.” The squire nodded. “Perhaps the vicar, the doctor and so on. Maybe old Major Breckinridge. A widower, don’t you know.”

  “How kind.” Dorothy fluttered again. “Melody, darling, I begin to think you’re going to be very happy here in Devonshire.”

  “I’m sure I shall be.” Melody’s voice was pitched higher and softer than usual and she actually simpered. “Thank you so much, Mr. Walker, for your thoughtfulness.”

  He pronounced himself utterly at the ladies’ service and bustled out of the room. Since the waiter hadn’t yet returned with their tea, that left Victor and his party alone for the moment. He looked around, not knowing what to expect.

  It wasn’t to hear all of the Londoners start to snicker, chortle, giggle or outright laugh.

  Victor looked from one to the other. “What on earth?”

  The waiter returned with a tray of cakes, and all conversation ceased.

  * * *

  Back at Black Heath, they reconvened over supper, after Melody had tucked Emma into bed. Tom did an imitation of Miss Dorothy’s lash fluttering, and the group began to laugh again.

  “Oh, goodness,” Nell said, wiping her eyes. “Auntie, I can’t believe you actually fluttered your lashes like a debutante. Over the possibility of meeting some doddering major, no less.”

  “I know,” Melody said between chuckles. “You’d think she was such a twit.”

  “You’re no better, Miss Priss. I could barely keep a straight face.” Dorothy said. “Mel, dear, I’d never realized you were such an actress.”

  “Learned from you, I guess,” Melody said, schooling her features with obvious effort into a modicum of dignity as a waiter entered with a tureen of soup. When he’d left again, she added. “I think he believed us, though. No one will consider us a serious threat.”

  Victor groaned inwardly. After too many years on an all-male ship, he’d forgotten anything he might have known about coping with females.

  “You do get used to it,” Tom said quietly. “Or so I’m told. Growing up with Wink and Nell, then Caro, their mum, I never knew women were supposed to be weak. I always just trusted them at my back.”

  Nell blinked at Tom. “Really? That may be the sweetest thing you ever said.”

  Tom shrugged, his fair skin turning bright red. “Well, Wink more in a fight. But you’re better than most.”

  “I find myself curious to meet this paragon I keep hearing about.” Victor spoke over the others to Miss Dorothy. “Is your niece Wink some sort of Amazonian goddess?”

  “Hardly.” Dorothy smiled. “But she’s a fierce one, and clever, much like Melody.”

  “Only taller,” Melody grumbled into her soup. “And beautiful.”

  “More so than you?” Victor cocked his head. “Now, that I can’t imagine. Taller, I can believe.” Melody was the original pocket Venus, short, with slender curves he suspected would ripen a bit with age. He quite honestly couldn’t think of anyone more appealing. He could imagine her as a grandmother, a little plump, with silver hair and spectacles, still managing everyone in her path. And even at sixty, he thought, he’d still want to sweep her away from the crowd and take her to bed.

  Nell laughed. “Say that again and you’re liable to find out just how good she is with a spanner.” The waiter returned and Victor was shushed.

  “Don’t remind me. That wasn’t one of our finer hours.” Tom winced. “We should never have let it get to the point where the circus burned down and we were all fighting for our lives—even you two.”

  “Oh?” Victor nearly stood but stopped himself in time. He couldn’t strangle anyone. “Fighting for their lives? With a spanner?”

  Melody laid her hand over his. “It wasn’t as bad as he says. Just a group of rogue wizards who didn’t like the idea of anyone else who could work magic. They attacked Belinda’s uncle’s circus, so yes, we had to defend ourselves. But we stopped them.”

  “Belinda?” He thought he might have heard that name before.

  “My sister-in-law. But that incident wasn’t nearly as bad as the kraken attacks up on Torkholm, when the witches kidnapped Genny.”

  Victor rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Genny. Your older sister?”

  Melody nodded.

  Victor sighed. “So you do this often, do you? Get into situations where witches and wizards and giant squid are trying to kill you?” It still sounded like a lot of faerie stories to him, but from all he could tell, his guests were entirely in earnest.

  Melody bit her lip. Tom looked at his plate and Miss Dorothy shook her head. “Tell him.”

  Melody looked up, then nodded. “It’s what we do, Victor. Tom, my father, even myself—we don’t really work for the Home Office—at least not directly. We belong to an organization that has been around for centuries. Our job is to search out and defeat criminals who have powers or means above the ordinary, whether that’s witches or vampyres or mechanical soldiers or possibly smugglers with automaton crabs and ray cannons.”

  “Technically speaking, you aren’t supposed to do anything but build and fly airships,” Tom reminded her. “You’re not a Kni—field operative. You just happen to have gotten involved in the other things.”

  “All of them?” Victor had heard, of course, about the mechanical army that had threatened the Queen at last year’s Ascot races. Dear God, had Melody been there too? Was she determined to get herself killed?

  Melody shook her head. “No. I was in Scotland during the Ascot massacre. Tom was there, though, along with my brother and most of the Hadrians.”

  Victor looked over at Dorothy, presumably the sane one. “And your families allow this? Allow their women to be soldiers, for lack of a better word?”

  “I’m afraid so, dear.” Dorothy smiled. “You see, in our circles, we don’t make people squander their natural gifts and talents just because they happened to be born with a womb. It hasn’t always been the case, but I’ve made it my life’s work to help change things, and there has been progress. In another generation or two, Melody might have been a full-blown Knight.”

  “Knight?” Victor snorted, even while his mind rebelled at the thought. “You sound positively medieval.”

  “Well, the Order of the Round Table is that,” Tom quipped. “But Mel doesn’t have the power—the brains and courage, yes, but not the magick.”

  “Magick? Ridiculous.” Victor knew vampyres existed and probably there was magick in some hidden corners of the world. But not at his dinner table. That was just too much to accept.

  “Oh, it’s real.” Tom held out his hand and Victor watched as a small flame flickered on his palm. “That’s just a parlor trick, of course. But gifts do run in family bloodlines, so I suspect you’re rather surrounded.”

  Victor swallowed hard. Smuggling, he at least understood in theory. Magick? His breath caught. How could such a thing be real?

  Miss Dorothy nodded. “I was never allowed to train my powers, of course, but I can almost always sense them in others, and I have a limited gift with illusion. Nell is a natural medium—if you’ve any ghosts in the house, you may want to ask her to talk to them for you. And Melody? I know you’ve gifts, beyond your gift for flight, but you’ve never discussed what they are.”

  “Ghosts? Illusions? Balderdash.” Victor still hadn’t come to grips with any of this.

  “I don’t, in any particular fashion,” Melody said, ignoring his outburst. “But sometimes, my intuition tells me things—usually through dreams. I knew something had been do
ne to my airship. I knew when my uncle turned vampyre. It’s not a useful gift. Unlike Jamie, I never see things before they happen.”

  “Jamie?” Victor was beginning to run out of capacity for remembering names.

  “My little brother,” both Nell and Tom said at the same time. They stopped, glared at each other, and both turned away.

  Victor looked to Melody for help. “Which one is he brother to?”

  “Both in some ways. Legally, to Nell. By blood, to neither.” Melody kept her gaze on her plate. She’d pulled back, leaning slightly away from him since his previous outburst. “All five children grew up together on the streets of Wapping. Then the Hadrians adopted Wink, Nell, Piers and Jamie. Since Tom had the baronetcy, they didn’t want to confuse things for him and only fostered him after his grandfather died.”

  “I see.” Victor nodded. “So they were all raised together but aren’t natural kin. And the MacKays?”

  “Oh, we’re more traditional. Papa sired each of us and Mama gave birth to us all, Genny first, then Connor and I, an hour apart.”

  “I meant, how are you connected to the Hadrians and Deveres?” Victor gentled his voice. “I’m only trying to understand what I’ve been thrust in the middle of.”

  “I told you. It’s the Order of the Round Table,” Tom said. “I wasn’t joking. My ancestor was Sir Bedivere. Melody’s was Sir Kay.”

  “And my papa is descended from both Arthur and Sir Tristan,” Nell said. “The Duke of Trowbridge, who is in charge of the Order, and his son, Lord Lake, are from Sir Lancelot’s line.”

  “Right.” Victor still couldn’t take it all in and he felt in some way as if he’d been used, rather than just duped. “Did you know about the smugglers? Was that why you flew here in your ship?”

  “No!” Melody cried, her hand flying to her chest. “I’ve never lied to you, Victor. I may have hidden the truth, but that’s a necessity in our families. I’m sorry, but everything else I’ve said has been entirely true.”