Meriwether-Astor Munitions Works.
The man who had tried to kill them all and bring on a world war five years ago had not, it seemed, stayed on his own side of the sea.
20
Panting heavily from her climb up the cliff path, Lizzie ran through the rose garden, heedless of the thorny bushes catching at her skirts. She took the stairs two at a time and dashed down the corridor to her grandparents’ room.
“Grandfather!” She pounded on the door with a fist. “Grandfather, wake up!”
No movement came from within.
“Grandfather!”
Were they gone? Were they dead?
Lizzie wrenched open the door and flung herself through it, to be brought up like a runaway horse on the thick rug between door and bed.
Her grandparents stood at the window in their dressing-gowns, watching the sea. Neptune’s Maid was invisible from this angle, but they might have seen her surface earlier.
“Grandfather, you must come quickly! There are smugglers in the cove!”
He did not respond. Grandmother, however, turned toward her and frowned. “Keep your voice down, dear. You will wake the servants, if you have not already.”
“But Grandmother—”
“We know.”
“But—”
“It is none of your affair. Go to bed, where young ladies who are young ladies should be, instead of galloping about in the middle of the night like fishermen’s daughters from downalong.”
“Will you stop interrupting me?” If her grandmother was not inclined to be civil, then that freed Lizzie from any obligation to be the same. “They have taken Claude! You must come at once and do whatever they say so they do not take him away.”
This finally made her grandfather turn from his contemplation of the moonlight on the waves. “Claude is there? How can this be? I thought he had come in and gone to bed.”
“Well, he didn’t. He was drinking in the taverns and—oh, that doesn’t matter now. They have taken him aboard. You must come with me. We don’t have much time.”
“I am afraid that is impossible.”
“How on earth can you say that? They know that you will not cooperate with the next phase, whatever that is, and to ensure you do, they plan to kidnap him!”
“You have misunderstood,” Grandfather said. “These are local men, Elizabeth, whose families have been in the smuggling and wrecking trades along these shores for centuries. They all know my grandson and will not harm him.”
“Why should they?” Grandmother put in. “They are not so stupid as to endanger their livelihood.”
“Those men did not look like ordinary wreckers and smugglers to me,” she said. “They looked organized and well funded—and Neptune’s Maid is no fishing ketch.”
“Are you so familiar with the vessels used in Cornwall?” Grandfather asked. “Perhaps a few among them have the brains to make their trade lucrative.”
“As do you.” Lizzie could hardly believe her own temerity. At any moment they would toss her from the room—but until they did, and since her urgent message had got no reception at all, she would find out all she could. “How many know you are keeping the Seacombe Steamship Company afloat on smuggled goods?”
“Elizabeth, really,” Grandmother sniffed. “Must you use such incendiary language? Seacombes have been importing goods from the Americas since the days of Good Queen Bess. It is hardly likely that an edict from our present queen that has no basis in common sense should get in the way of a tradition of hundreds of years’ standing.”
“But it is illegal. All imports are to come on Count von Zeppelin’s ships.”
“Ridiculous.”
“We import from France the same way we always have,” Grandfather said. “The demand for goods is simply too high to limit its satisfaction to one shipping company—especially one run by a foreigner.”
Lizzie ground her molars together and with heroic self-control did not leap to Uncle Ferdinand’s defense. “And how do they get to France from the Americas?”
“I do not know, nor do I care,” Grandfather said heavily. “I am quite astonished at your quick apprehension of these matters, Elizabeth. I had not supposed you to have the mental acuity for it.”
Control your temper and stick to facts. “I took firsts in German, French, and mathematics in school. We studied economics and politics as well. The Bavarian educational system is quite different from the one here. They do not assume that every young lady is going to marry and keep house upon graduation. But enough of that—are you really going to do nothing about Claude?”
Grandfather turned back to the window. “There is no need to worry. Though the pigeon did not come, everything is well in hand as usual, if your report is true.”
How could he be so cavalier about the safety of his grandson and heir? Lizzie could not fathom it. But then she fixed on something he’d just said. “A pigeon? Where would it have come? They do not come to fixed addresses.” Not unless someone here was as clever as Lewis about tinkering with the pigeons’ innards, which wasn’t likely. Not in Cornwall, where they still used horses and buggies.
“For heaven’s sake, Elizabeth, is there no end to your questions?” Grandmother demanded.
“No,” Lizzie said quite honestly.
“Let this be the last one, then, and you will go to bed. When the cargo is ready to ship, the pigeons come to Demelza, moored in the harbor. Someone then gets the message to us. Now, are you satisfied?”
But the last one hadn’t come to Demelza. It had gone to Athena. Why? It couldn’t have been misdirected, because who here knew the Lady’s registry code? How could the pigeon have gotten confused? What did airship and steamship have in common?
Parts? Magnetic devices? Messenger cages?
“Did you build Demelza?” she asked, ignoring Grandmother, who threw up her hands in impatience that Lizzie was still here, still asking questions.
“No,” Grandfather said. “I bought her when I was in New York, several years back. She used to run sugar between there, the Louisiana Territory, and the West Indies.”
New York. Who else did she know who owned a shipping company and was based in New York? “Was she a Meriwether-Astor ship?”
“In fact, she was. Again you surprise me. That outfit is out of business now, I understand, and no wonder. Terrible management. Meriwether-Astor was selling off his assets, and I picked her up for a song.”
That was the connection.
Athena had been a Meriwether-Astor ship, too, before the Lady had stolen her. The pigeon must somehow have responded to her signal, not Demelza’s, and brought them the message instead of Grandfather.
If it had not, she and Maggie would be sleeping peacefully and not worrying themselves to death about a danger that no one but they seemed to comprehend.
“Grandfather, the captain of Neptune’s Maid said something about a ‘second phase,’ and that was why they took Claude aboard. He said you weren’t cooperating with it. What did he mean?”
Both her grandparents stiffened as though turned to stone.
“Elizabeth,” Grandmother said to the windowpane in a tone similar to the one the Lady used when she was about to shoot something, “for the last time, go to bed.”
And Lizzie’s temper, which most of the time she managed to keep under control, boiled over with a vengeance. “I shan’t! I do not understand why the two of you are so cavalier about Claude being taken aboard a great bloody undersea dirigible. He’s going to be used as leverage for this ‘second phase’ and there you stand, as cool and uncaring as if he were going to be late to lunch!”
Her grandfather’s knees buckled. Grandmother got a shoulder under his armpit just in time.
“What did you say?” someone asked in a ghost of a voice, all color leached out of it by terror.
Lizzie’s panic came roaring back in a devastating wave. “For heaven’s sake!” she shouted. “It’s what I’ve been saying all this time! Neptune’s Maid is no fishing k
etch, it’s a navire—an undersea vessel of some kind—and they’ve taken Claude aboard intending to use him to make you do what they want! Now, would you come before they submerge and we lose them?”
“You did not say—?” Grandmother croaked, since it was clear Grandfather could not speak, though his mouth worked. “But of course it is a fishing ketch. These are our local men.”
“Not unless your locals speak with French and Texican accents.”
With a cry, Grandfather crumpled. “They would not—he promised—”
“Howel!” Grandmother, trying to hold him up, was borne to the floorboards with him. “Elizabeth, run for Nancarrow. We must have a doctor immediately!”
“But Claude and Maggie—”
“Elizabeth!” her grandmother shrieked, on her knees, her face as gray as moonlight, her eyes wild. “Run!”
Lizzie ran. She got Nancarrow. Who sent the boot-boy for the doctor. Who came.
At least, she assumed he came. Lizzie gave up on a household helpless in its uproar and ran back across the lawn. If anyone was to help Claude and Maggie, it would have to be herself.
She slid halfway down the headland path on her behind, and wound up on all fours in the sand at the bottom. She scrambled up and ran as though the devil himself chased her, into the cove—
—empty—
—into the sawan—
—empty—
Empty but for a ton of illegal goods, several crates of fine Kintuck bourbon, and the tracks of something wheeled in the sand, which would be washed away when the tide came in.
She was too late.
Neptune’s Maid had gone, taking the only two members of her family she cared about deep under the sea, where she could not follow.
21
It was imperative that Maggie come up with a plan in the next few minutes. But questions flapped and screamed in her mind and, combined with her panic for Claude, took her dangerously close to paralysis.
Catalogue your resources, Maggie, and then apply your imagination.
The Lady’s voice in her memory, warm and laced with humor, sounded over the frantic noise in her brain. Resources. Yes. One thing at a time.
The chaloupes.
They would be going back empty. She could stow away in one, and once they reached Neptune’s Maid, she could find Claude and figure out a way to spirit him off the ship when they made landfall.
Wherever that might be.
I don’t want to go to France. Not like this. Stowing away was no good. She had told Lizzie she would stall them until help came, but how?
Sabotage.
The men were laughing and relaxing now that their work was done. Someone broke out a flask, and amid joking about not sharing the wealth with the Cornishmen who had gone, they all took a tipple.
Maggie knelt next to the lead chaloupe and realized the sky visible through the arch behind her had lightened from black to charcoal. The crew could not risk being seen by an early fisherman, so she had not a moment to lose. She studied the wheel mechanism. If she disabled it, would the proceedings stop? No, they would simply drag the thing into deeper water and start up its engine.
Disable said engine?
A good plan, except that the entire thing appeared to be accessible only from the inside. Reasonable, if you went about underwater, where movable parts could be bent or attacked by roving bands of barnacles. She would certainly be seen if she tried to scale the rounded hull of the thing, which stretched above her head a good five feet.
Blast and bebother it! Think, Maggie!
Her mechanical resources did not seem useful. What others did she possess? She was good with chickens and other creatures. She was good at reading people and understanding what they meant behind what they said. She could mimic just about anyone.
It didn’t help that he was a tremendous mimic, and half the time was telling us riddles in someone else’s voice. And Michael had laughed as he told her of her father and his talent.
Her real father. For it was utterly impossible that the Banbury tale her grandparents had spun was the truth. She possessed none of Charles de Maupassant Seacombe’s traits, with the exception of a similar eye color, and if one knew genetics as she did, that was hardly an indication of a direct relationship.
But whom could she mimic that would help in this situation? Oh dear—they were climbing down from the landing now. In a moment they would all load themselves into this chaloupe and her only chance would be lost!
M.A.M.W.
Meriwether-Astor had a daughter, did he not? Granted, the languid creature was the same age as the Lady, and Maggie was not yet seventeen, but maybe this lot didn’t know that.
Maybe they hadn’t met her.
Maggie hadn’t seen her in five years, but to give her credit, the girl had helped them out of a very sticky situation. She had a good heart, even if she’d been brought up by a villain. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind being generous with her name—if Maggie could only think of it. And her voice. And maybe even her posture.
There was no time. She’d have to go ahead, and hope to heaven the mort’s name came to her.
Maggie ducked out of the sawan’s arch and shook her skirts out of their clasps so that they fell to cover her ankles, then straightened her collar and wished she were wearing a ballgown or a riding habit or anything more ladylike than her raiding rig.
Then again, she had all kinds of useful devices secreted in its pockets and hems, so in this situation, perhaps raiding rig was the most practical option. Miss Meriwether-Astor would never be caught dead in it, but these men needn’t know that.
She dropped her shoulders, thrust out her pelvic bones, and strolled into the sawan, crossing in front of the chaloupe’s running lights in a way that made them illuminate the ruffles on her cream eyelet blouse and catch the attention of every man Jack on the sand.
Name—name—oh, what was the daughter’s name?
“Hello, the boat,” she greeted them in the flat accents of New York, overlaid with a little British schooling and a generous dollop of nouveau riche entitlement. “What are my chances of catching a lift out to Neptune’s Maid with you?”
The joking and laughter faded into sheer astonishment, then muttering and exclamations. The voice she’d heard first said, “Who in tarnation are you?”
Elmira—no, Sophia—no—
Her eyes widened in impatience. “Didn’t you get Papa’s pigeon? I’ve been visiting the Seacombes for a week and I am so bored I could scream. I told him I was dying to go to Paris, and he said he’d arrange it with you.”
The men looked at one another, then the Texican one said, “I’ll ask you again, missy—who are you?”
Gloria—? Gloria! That was it!
She sniffed. “I suppose you can’t be expected to know, but believe me, you’ll remember next time if you want to keep your job. I am Gloria Meriwether-Astor, of course. Now, are you going to do as I ask, or do I have to go and fetch the Seacombes to vouch for me at four in the morning?”
Someone snickered in the back, and soon two or three were laughing. The Texican grinned at her. “We got us a Seacombe ourselves, and it won’t be long before those two snap to it and give your pa what he wants.”
How much would Gloria be expected to know about whatever her father was up to? It seemed to Maggie she had known quite a lot, being dragged about from continent to continent. “I should hope so. They’d be quite mad if they didn’t. Now, will you hand me into this thing?”
“Where are your baggages, mademoiselle?” Another man, who could not be much older than Michael, came to join the Texican, who pulled a lever and lowered the ramp into the lead chaloupe. “Surely you do not plan to voyage wiz us just as you are?”
Maggie gave him her best smile and a flutter of her lashes. She knew a thing or two about charming Frenchmen, especially young ones. “Monsieur, you are too kind,” she said in flawless Parisian French. “But as to my adventure in the navire—from what Papa has said of it, I feel quite sure tha
t the extra weight of trunks and valises would be inappropriate, non? To say nothing of the space they would require. It is of no matter in any case—I have clothes enough at the hotel in Paris, and I expect Papa will meet us once he knows I have joined you.”
“You are most perspicacious, mademoiselle,” he returned in the accents of Arles, in the south, and bowed with the respect of a man who appreciates the young and pretty—and considerate. To his companions, he said, “She brings nothing so as to keep the extra weight in the navire to a minimum. She will join her father in Cornaouille.”
“The big boss is coming?” someone asked. “Is it really gonna happen?”
“It seems zat it is,” the Frenchman returned, offering Maggie his hand. “I predict that Mademoiselle Meriwether-Astor is departing England for more urgent reasons than it is wise to share with just anyone, non?” He twinkled at Maggie.
She smiled the kind of smile that holds secrets and the promise of confidences later on. “Monsieur, you are altogether too observant,” she told him in a low tone. “I suspect you will go far.”
“You are too kind, mademoiselle,” he said. “Alors, watch this ramp. It is slippery and at the angle so steep. Perhaps a word in your father’s ear about these good qualities in your servant Jean-Luc Martin, should you find it convenient …?”
“It will be my pleasure,” Maggie told him.
She could not stall any longer. She had no choice but to board the vessel—no one was going to come from the house, and even if someone did, how could an old man like her grandfather hope to stop this rough crowd, who flung crates up on landings as if they weighed nothing? Who did not have the respect for him that would make them stop to listen, much less obey?
They had laughed at the mention of him—her grandfather, who was the first gentleman in all the lands hereabouts. A gentleman who clearly was under the thumb of Mr. Meriwether-Astor, though how that had come about and what it meant for the immediate future she did not know. But she meant to find out.
Magnificent Devices 6: A Lady of Spirit Page 15