“You may investigate the epergne at leisure after the meal, dear.” Dorothy’s smile was wry. “I suspect you’ve chosen more than you’ll be able to eat.”
“And Miss Bristol has taken nothing at all,” Sir Merrick noted. “Is none of it to your liking?”
“I’m fine, Sir Merrick.” She didn’t want to discuss her negative effect on machines in front of her employer and the odious Mr. Berry.
“Oh—she doesn’t want to break the machine.” Wink offered Caroline her own plate. “Have some of mine, Miss Caro.”
“What does she mean, break the machine?” Sir Merrick cocked his head at Wink, while Caroline accepted a few dates and cherries from the girl’s collection.
“It seems that any time I touch something mechanical, it, well, malfunctions,” she admitted, eyes cast down on her plate.
Wink snorted. “George brushed against her arm and popped a spring in his neck. It’s awful. She even uses a regular old broom when she spills something instead of the sweeper.”
“I knew it,” Mr. Berry crowed. “I knew there was something wrong with that female. She’s a bloody sidhe!”
“Excuse me?” Caroline felt her jaw drop. “Mr. Berry, have you lost your mind? Vampyres and other monsters are one thing, but faeries? Surely those are little more than children’s stories. What utter nonsense. I’m a perfectly normal person from Somerset.” Even though she’d never known her father, her mother would have told her if he wasn’t, at the very least, a human being. Wouldn’t she?
“Not full sidhe, of course, but yes, it would explain a great deal.” Sir Merrick actually seemed to be considering the possibility. “The fair folk are known for having a negative effect on modern technology. Miss Bristol, is there a reason why you always style you hair to hide your ears?”
Slowly Caroline lifted her hand and pushed up on the lock of hair carefully secured to cover the top of her ear. Sir Merrick smiled at the tiny point on the tip she revealed. She’d always just considered it an oddity. It had never dawned on her that the slight disfigurement might have meaning.
“Oh.” Dorothy grinned. “Well, it seems you’re even better suited in this household than I’d thought. There’s no need to keep that sort of thing secret here.”
“Clearly you see she can’t be trusted.” Berry’s face had turned bright red, until Caroline feared he was about to explode. “The sidhe are notorious for their vile tricks and selfish magick.”
“Relax, Edwin, before you have an apoplexy.” Sir Merrick gave her an encouraging nod and glared at the tutor. “I doubt our Miss Bristol is more than a quarter faery, and she’s certainly shown no signs of being in league with any of them—unless they also frequent your favorite lending library, aunt?”
Dorothy laughed. “No, I don’t believe so. Though I suspect Caroline’s presence may explain why the philodendron in the library is no longer brown and wilted. Aren’t the sidhe supposed to have a healing touch on living things?”
“They are,” her nephew agreed. “Her presence may also explain why Piers’s cough has cleared up nearly completely in such a short time. And the surgeon is more than pleased with the rate of healing on young Jamie’s fractured arm.”
“Sir Merrick, I really must insist. The Order will not be pleased—”
“The Order can either go hang itself, or it can find us a better governess—equally unlikely. Somehow I doubt anyone will truly care except for a few old fuddy-duddies like yourself, Edwin.” Dorothy stared him down. “You’ve been a worried old man since we were children, but I won’t let your prejudices run my home. Is that perfectly clear?”
They’d known each other as children? This Order, whatever it was, must run deeply through the families involved.
“Sir Merrick?” Berry appealed to the head of the household.
His face set in stern lines, Sir Merrick shrugged. “I judge people on their own merits, Edwin, rather than on their ancestry. Rest assured, Miss Bristol, your position is secure.”
“Thank you, Sir Merrick.” It was only rote manners that prompted her response. Her mind was whirling with this revelation. She didn’t even believe in faeries and elves and leprechauns and such. How could she be one?
After they’d finished eating, mostly in various degrees of silence, Dorothy walked upstairs with Caroline and Wink. At the door to her small sitting room, the older woman paused.
“Winifred, I’d like to speak to Miss Caro for a bit. Can you go in and see if Sally needs any help getting the boys ready for bed?”
“Yes, Miss Dorothy.” Wink took a moment to squeeze Caroline’s hand before she left them. “I’m sorry if I caused a fuss.”
“It’s all right, Wink. You did nothing untoward.” Caroline smiled at the girl’s retreating back.
Dorothy ushered Caroline into the sitting room and nudged her down on a chair. “It really will be fine, Caroline. Your heritage makes no difference to Merrick or me. Edwin Berry will get over himself eventually.”
“It just can’t be,” Caroline said. “Surely there’s no such thing as the sidhe.”
“There is. Just as vampyres, werewolves, ghosts and other such creatures are more real than most people care to realize. Unlike vampyres and ghosts, however, faeries and werewolves are living creatures, capable of intermarrying with humans.”
Caroline simply shook her head.
“So you have difficulty with mechanical devices—we shan’t ask you to operate the sewing machine then. Can you ride on a train, or is that too much iron for your senses?”
“I do seem to be an inadvertent Luddite.” She hoped her wince didn’t show. “I have ridden on a train, but each time, I wore heavy gloves and was careful to touch as little as possible. Even so, on one trip the brakes failed on my car. We stopped with a lurch due to the cars ahead of us.”
“Well, we shall practice caution then. How about an airship?” Dorothy seemed more curious than repulsed, thank heavens.
“I’ve never tried. I shouldn’t like to put other people at risk.”
“Wise choice, my dear.” Dorothy patted Caroline’s knee. “You know, this could also account for your problems with previous employers. I suspect your father was a member of the leannan sidhe—a love faery. They’re notoriously attractive. Your poor mother probably never had a chance of resisting him. It’s a good thing members of the Order are immune to most magicks. Merrick should be entirely safe from any unnatural attraction—though I wouldn’t rule out natural ones. Faery blood or not, you’re still a lovely young woman.”
“Thank you.” Caroline was too busy assimilating the information to say anything more for a moment. Finally, one idea surfaced that made her smile. “Am I really helping Jamie and Piers heal?”
“Quite probably. And the poor philodendron. I also suspect the more you practice and learn about your abilities, the better you’ll be able to control them. They are gifts, you know—not burdens.”
“Thank you, Miss Dorothy. Your support means a great deal.”
“Good. You’ve already worked wonders with civilizing the children. I’d hate to lose you now—and so would they.”
Caroline gave her a wry grin in reply. “And I them. They worm their way right into your heart, don’t they, the little baggages?”
“They certainly do. I’d begun to despair of ever seeing children in this house again since Merrick seems so set against marriage. It’s good to have some life inside these walls.” A screech and crash echoed from the nursery and both women winced and laughed. Dorothy shook her head. “I’d best let you go deal with the mayhem. Good night, Caroline. Rest well, and know you’re very welcome at Hadrian House.”
Caroline returned the woman’s warm handclasp and hurried toward the nursery. Before she got there though, she heard Nell singing and the rest of the din ceased. Even the boys stopped whatever they were doing to listen to her lovely voice as she crooned a lullaby to her dolls.
Standing silently in the doorway to the girls’ bedroom, Caroline watched as the youn
g girl sang a sweet tune, tucking in each doll and kissing their cheeks. The sight was so moving, Caroline had to blink back a tear. She heard someone next to her clear his throat and she turned. Tommy had come up and was watching as silently as she.
“She’s special, isn’t she, miss?” he whispered.
Caroline nodded. “She certainly is.”
“You’ll look after her—and the others, of course?”
“Naturally.”
With a smile and a nod, Tommy vanished into his own room.
The following afternoon, Merrick sat in front of his superior and explained that his governess was a part-blood sidhe, figuring it was better for him to strike first, before Edwin could spread any exaggerated rumors.
The Duke of Trowbridge listened carefully to Merrick’s words, then nodded his head, which was now snow white and thinning, instead of the shaggy silver mane Merrick remembered. His grace must be well into his seventies, but Merrick couldn’t imagine the Order under any other control, not even that of the duke’s son, the Marquess Lake, a perfectly competent man edging up on fifty, who was in charge of the Order’s office in York.
“Edwin’s a good man, and a well-qualified teacher, but I’m aware of his faults. While the Order has its reasons for distrusting the sidhe, I hardly think that applies to a part-blood governess. Particularly if you’re correct, and she had no knowledge of her bloodlines.”
“I’m quite certain she was stunned by Edwin’s revelations. I only wish I’d seen it myself, rather than having it pointed out in such a harsh manner.” Merrick had wanted to pop Edwin in the nose for making her so uncomfortable.
“Well, keep an eye on her, but I see no need to worry unduly. Now for more pressing matters. We’ve lost another Knight. Tregarth was found dead in an alley this morning, not far from his home as he was returning from meeting an informant. Something with claws had gotten to him, leaving very little blood, so we must assume vampyres.” Which meant his corpse had been beheaded as a precautionary measure.
Merrick closed his eyes for a moment. Alec Tregarth had been a friend, damn it, one of the Knights closest to Merrick’s own age.
“What concerns me most is that this is the third attack in the last month. We’ve lost Demaris, Tregarth, Safer, and if you count the attack on you in Wapping, that makes four. We haven’t had a loss on this scale since ’38.” When Merrick’s father had been killed, along with five other Knights and a good dozen allies, subduing a rogue clan of werewolves.
Tregarth, like Merrick, had been sworn into the Order early to replace his father, who’d also died in that blood-soaked Irish forest. Merrick made a mental note to send Dorothy over to see what help she could be to Alec’s widow. Hell, the man had young children, too. This was exactly the reason Merrick didn’t intend to marry until after he’d retired from field work.
“Each attack has occurred during an assignment—one that was recorded in this office. Merrick, we have to assume that someone within the Order is working with the enemy. From here on, anything I tell you remains just between the two of us. You don’t even tell Edwin or your fellow Knights.”
Merrick swallowed hard. “I understand, your grace.”
Trowbridge muttered the words of a spell, and Merrick sensed the invisible sphere that sprang into place, preventing their words from being heard more than five feet away. The duke drew in a deep breath and regarded Merrick steadily. “I believe I have uncovered the reason the undead are banding together and working with humans. A theft has occurred from a secret vault, thought to be unbreachable, deep in the bowels of the Tower of London. Magick must have been involved. The items stolen present a deadly threat, not only to the health and economy of the Empire, but to the human race as we know it.”
“You can trust me, sir.”
“I know. There are one or two others in whom I’ve the same implicit faith, but they’re out of London at the moment.”
Including his own son.
Trowbridge’s expression was grave. “I’m counting on you, son, but I want you to be careful. We can’t afford to lose you as well.”
“Yes, sir.” It was the closest either man would come to admitting they were fond of one another. Trowbridge and his son had both been close to Aldus Hadrian, Merrick’s father, and the older man was like an uncle to Merrick. “What was stolen, and how can I get it back?”
“The items taken included several bundles of punch cards for a Babbage engine.”
Merrick raised one eyebrow. “Sir? Aren’t those a trifle obsolete, if you don’t mind my asking? How could a bunch of old programming cards pose a threat to the Empire?”
Lord Babbage’s original analytical engine, perfected some ten years earlier, had changed the world, allowing for an explosion of invention and innovation unlike any other in history. While Countess Lovelace had originally used punch cards like those from jacquard looms to feed instructions into the machine, those had gone out of favor after only a few years, replaced by much smaller and easier to work with ticker-tape reels. As analytic engines grew smaller and more sophisticated, even the ticker-tapes had been replaced with copper or brass cylinders with grooves etched into the metal. Now, even some household items like the mechanical sweeper had scaled down versions of a cylinder-driven Babbage engine in their workings. So what could be so important about a pile of outdated punch cards?
“These cards contain chemical formulae that have never been fully tested,” his grace said with a heavy sigh. “But if even some of the rumors about them are true, the impact could be devastating. One bundle supposedly contains the formula for alchemy—the ability to transmute one metal to another. You can only imagine what that could do in the wrong hands.”
“Entire economies could crumble.” Wars could erupt, famine and God knew what else could come in the wake of the global financial crisis that would ensue.
“Another is an even more frightening prospect. It’s believed to be a potion that can alter the nature of vampyres. While still sensitive to sunlight, they would cease being hideous, vile-smelling beasts. Instead, they would look as they did while human, undetectable unless their fangs and claws emerged to attack.”
Horror almost clogged Merrick’s throat, but he followed this revelation to its obvious conclusion. “And since so much of London’s social activity is at night, they could literally live among us, unseen, preying at will.” The thought was enough to turn his stomach. “Why were these cards not destroyed outright?” Now Merrick knew why vampyres were working with humans—this formula could change their species forever.
Trowbridge shrugged. “You know politicians. Someone in Parliament thought it might be possible to use vampyres as a weapon one day. In their defense, the formulae are heavily coded, and can only be utilized by an analytical engine connected directly to a chemical mixing apparatus. The card set containing the code must be fed in first, then the mixing can occur, and there is no guarantee that the formulae will actually work. Unfortunately, the culprits have also stolen the cards that break the code, which were kept separately, in a secure vault in Whitehall. Now, all the villains need to do is find an old punch-card analytical engine and attach it to an automated mixing crucible. There are only a few of the old machines in existence—most in museums.”
“Or they could build their own from scratch.” Merrick wondered why the duke hadn’t mentioned that possibility. “Even I’ve seen plans for the original, in books and museum displays.”
“Yes, but what isn’t mentioned is that each of those plans is deliberately missing a few parts—ones that were only made by direct order from Lord Babbage himself. Anyone wanting to duplicate his machine had to purchase them from his company. Until other scientists replicated the concept of the machine using ticker-tapes, Lord Babbage controlled every engine in existence. Which means we have a record of every single punch-card Babbage engine in Britain. A few have been destroyed, but there are believed to be ten still in existence—one of those here in the Club.”
The Order of
the Round Table’s headquarters masqueraded as a private gentlemen’s club—one so exclusive that virtually every member was a descendant of one of the founders. There were even rooms here for those Knights who didn’t maintain a townhouse.
“So in order to use the cards, our thief must steal or replicate one of these existing machines.”
“Correct. Your first task will be to ascertain that each of them is still where it’s supposed to be. I can vouch for the one here. I’ve put a personal protection spell around it—not even another Knight can touch it without my knowing. I’ve also checked and warded the ones at Whitehall and at Buckingham Palace—both are intact. That leaves you with seven to check.” The duke handed Merrick a scrap of paper with seven locations listed.
“I’ll get right on that, sir. Actually, I’ll start with the ones at Cambridge and Oxford. I’ve reason to visit Sir Andrew Devere. Might as well kill two birds.”
“What do you want with Andrew?” Trowbridge lifted one bushy white eyebrow. “He can’t be involved in this. He isn’t well.”
Merrick sighed. “I believe my new ward may be his grandson. There’s a strong family likeness.” The Devere clan could trace its ancestry to Sir Bedivere of Arthur’s court—young Tom’s heritage might be a truly noble one, even if the family title was only baronet.
“Yes, Malcolm would have been in London at about the right time,” the duke agreed. “It would be a blessing to see the Devere line continue. Don’t take the lad with you, though. Perhaps a photograph. Andrew’s heart isn’t strong. We don’t want him too excited or disappointed.”
“Of course.” Actually, Merrick should have thought of having the children photographed immediately—just in case one of them was to disappear.
“Merrick, there’s one other thing.” Trowbridge’s expression grew, if anything, even more serious. “It’s time for you to think about stepping up to a leadership role within the Order. I can’t afford to pull Jasper in from York right now, and since Lord Blackthorne retired, I really don’t have a right hand here in the office.”
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