“How did you get hold of it?” Amethyst asked Edwina as the signal was heard for the start of the shooting. Jenson stepped back and away, readied himself beside Bobbie and tried to both watch for birds and listen to the conversation.
“Stephen bought it from the Bathhurst Estate. He thought he could make‒”
Talking stopped for the flurry of birds, the blast of guns then five birds dropped out of the sky. Jenson knew he and Bobbie had hit, he was fairly sure he’d hit both his targets, but he wouldn’t argue the point. Judging from the distance of the last two birds, he’d suggest Maker bagged that brace. A glance told him that neither Montgomery nor Sir Giles were looking happy.
“You started without me!” Great-Aunt Flora sounded rather peeved as the dogs were released to go and find dead things.
The Bathhurst Chair was squatting behind them now, and Great-Aunt Flora was being helped to the ground by one of the men as the other looked after what Jenson supposed was the tender for the steam. He offered the old lady a bow.
“It was only one shot, Great-Aunt Flora, do forgive us.”
She looked him up and down as he straightened. “It was two shots, Jenson, but I’ll let you get away with it since you flannel so nicely.”
He thanked her with an incline of his head as she turned to Amethyst.
“What do you think you’re wearing, young lady?”
“Good boots for hiking over this terrain and comfortable trousers.” Amethyst smiled as she handed over the last shotgun. “Please shoot the flying birds not those just here to support your fun.”
Great-Aunt Flora’s twisted smile said she really didn’t mind the comeback, though she also didn’t miss Amethyst’s foot with her cane as she moved away. Love was a fine and very strange thing.
The dogs were back with their finds and the guns readied for the next volley. Being so close, it was going to be impossible to tell who shot what, but luckily Jenson wasn’t that competitive, so it didn’t matter a great deal to him. He was concerned about the conversation going on behind him, but he was sure anything he missed he’d be able to get from Amethyst later.
“Stephen thought he might be able to use the chair as a base design, but he found some issues that made it, I think the phrase he used was ‘non-cost-beneficial’, whatever that means.”
“Means it would cost more to make than he could sell it for,” Amethyst interpreted with a muffled voice. A quick glance proved she was looking over the mechanism anyway. He readied for the next beater work.
“Makes sense. But that was always the way with Stephen, he loved new ideas and wanted to make the best of them, but he had enough business sense not to waste time on failed projects.”
Jenson smiled to himself. He knew someone else like that.
“Does that mean he had a buyer for the communication thing?”
“He called it a telephonic. And yes, he had someone he said was interested.”
“Who?”
A good question, and the reason Jenson missed the first shot, but he was spot on with the second. Great-Aunt Flora and Bobbie hit at least one each too.
“I don’t actually know, though Jay might,” Edwina answered.
“Who’s Jay?”
“He has the smithy in the town. He shares Stephen’s interest in aetherics.”
The shooters turned and offered the guns back to the girls, who had replacement loaded guns ready for them. The dogs were sent out again and hot drinks were served. Jenson wondered where from until he saw the black-clad man at the back of the chair.
“Technology has its perks.” Great-Aunt Flora smiled as she sipped on her heated cordial.
“Perhaps it’s in his notes,” Edwina suggested.
“Maybe, Dickens is inputting more of it into DMAC today.”
“DMAC?”
“The loud contraptions in the workroom,” Great-Aunt Flora grumbled. “All very fancy and modern.”
“And very good a speedy interpretation of symbology I don’t understand and calculation of mathematics that takes me an age manually.”
“I hope it helps then,” Edwina said. “I have to be honest, I left all the business arrangements to Stephen, he was so good with it. He helped Monty tremendously. In fact, since he’s been gone, things have been somewhat different around here.” She stopped to think about it in mid-change of ammo. “In fact, it actually started before Stephen disappeared. He became much more secretive and spent more time in his workroom than on the estate. I’m not really sure what happened.”
All the guns were ready now but lay broken on the chair or over arms. The next round wasn’t ready yet, so Edwina pointed to the wooden box on the long leather handle that she had passed Amethyst before they set off on the hike.
“You should open that.”
For a second it seemed Amethyst had forgotten the thing, then she moved it in front of her, flicked off the catch and opened it. Her eyes went wide, her jaw dropped.
“What is it?” Great-Aunt Flora demanded when Amethyst just stood there staring at the innards of the box they couldn’t see.
Amethyst flipped the box back closed and moved the handle from over her shoulder, then placed the box on the seat of the chair and flipped it back open.
They all crowded around to see what it was.
It was the oddest-looking pistol Jenson had ever set eyes on. The handle looked like polished horn, on the side of that was a dial, one that could easily be moved by a deliberate act of the thumb. Where the ammunition cylinder should be lay a two inch square gap ready for something to be slipped inside. Where an iron barrel should be was a squat, glass tube attached by an intricate latticework of what looked like steel. Inside the tube, filling about half of it, was a roughly circular bundle of narrow brass tubes bound together with copper wire and a snaking glass coil that he could see one end of in the base of the gap. Inside the barrel, the glass re-joined the bundle, only to dive inside just as it penetrated through the bulbous tip of the glass tube. An inch of the tube protruded, bound more tightly by copper wire and supported by a steel under-bar that ran from the top of the gun grip to the front of the barrel and acted as support to the whole thing. Beside what he assumed was the A-Gun Edwina had mentioned, was a standard miniature aetheric power pack, and a moulded brass cradle that looked like the male part to the female housing in the gap of the gun. It was this moulding that Amethyst took out and turned around.
“Oh well, doesn’t this just take the egg.” She continued to turn it around in her hand and study it.
“The egg?” Jenson asked.
She looked up at him and smiled. “It’s a real winner. I can’t believe how simply the solution appears to be as to how Stephen overcame the problem of controlling the conversion of aether power into‒’ She picked up the gun and looked into the barrel. “Yes, into static charge.” She turned to look at him, her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes alight with excitement. “Ever since aether was found and harnessed twenty years ago, people have been looking for a way to weaponise it. We all know that if you use faulty aetheric equipment, it can give off a charge, it can shock you. It’s one of the causes of household fires and explosions. It probably is, in fact, what caused the explosion in Stephen’s workroom. But all attempts to make those weapons so far have failed, they’ve been too big and bulky and inaccurate, and frankly more of a danger to the person using it than being targeted by it. If I’m correctly interpreting what Stephen’s done here, then he’s built a working prototype for‒”
Another signal went up to announce the next round of birds would be released.
Amethyst started shooing them away. “Go shoot, I’ll show you this after the…erm…fun.”
Chapter 24
Amethyst watched as the three of them stood in a spaced row and cradled the shotguns to their shoulders. This was her first experience shooting and the sharp retort of every blast felt like it was going to split her ears in two. She imagined that for those shooting, it must be even worse.
As they prepared, she took the pieces from the box and fitted the gun together. The mechanism was beautifully crafted. Whatever else Stephen may be, have been, he had been a genius.
The birds flew. Amethyst flinched as each of the guns fired twice. Jenson lowered his gun sharply, snapped it into the broken position and swung back around to Amethyst. Thrilled by the possibilities this gun offered, a broad grin seemed etched on her face as she looked up at him. The thunder on his brow washed that expression away. “Don’t get grumpy just because you missed.”
The frown deepened, and he looked angrily at her. This didn’t make sense.
“I don’t care about my shots, I care that you’re so happy to have aether turned into a weapon.”
Her heart thudded. Didn’t he understand? No, he couldn’t. Another smile broke out but the clouds just grew darker.
“Oh Jenson, that’s because you don’t understand yet,” she said. “If you shoot with that‒” She pointed to the gun over his arm. “‒Things die. Which is why the dogs keep coming back with full mouths. I’m guessing from what you said at dinner last night, you’re also aware with what guns can do to people?”
The look said he was only too sickeningly aware.
“Well, the benefit of aetheric weapons is that they don’t kill. This is not a gun, it’s non-lethal. It’s-” She searched for the description. “A stun-gun.”
“Stun-gun?”
She stepped closer and showed him the dial on the handle of the pistol. “Look, I’ve moved the dial down to level one, all it should do is give a nasty jolt.” She turned the weapon around and offered him the butt. “Here. Take it. Try it. Shoot me.”
“No!”
Jenson’s response was chorused by one of the black-clad men who had arrived with Great-Aunt Flora. They turned to him as he stepped forward.
“Sorry, madame, sir.” The man offered a tight bow. “But if any harm were to come to any of His Lordship’s guests, he’d, well he wouldn’t be happy with us.” He looked directly at Jenson. “Miss Forester is right, however, that gun isn’t lethal. I saw Mr Russell try that gun on one of the boars once, the thing was going wild, charging other animals and causing all sorts of damage. Mr Russell used that and it dropped like a stone, twitched a few times and was still, but alive, breathing. We dragged it back to its pen and when it came round, it was grumpy, but there were no signs of any lasting damage.”
Jenson looked the pistol over. Would he see the benefits she saw? While the thing had felt a little big for her hand, it looked like a perfect fit for Jenson, though that wasn’t a surprise. Edwina had told her Jenson’s dinner suit was actually Stephen’s so clearly they were about the same size, though Stephen seemed to be a bit better padded around the waist.
“It doesn’t look big enough to stop a boar in its tracks, but I’ll take your word for it.” He looked at the man. “When he fired on the boar, do you know what setting it was on?”
“I think Mr Russell said it was a level four. Yes,” he confirmed with a nod. “‘Four for a boar,’ he said.”
Jenson looked at the dial. It was on one now. It rose from one to five, and Amethyst had set it on one. If four could drop a bore, five would drop a man. That could be extremely useful. Imagine dropping a man in his tracks running from any criminal act.
“I have‒” The man faltered and looked somewhat embarrassed. “I have experienced a shot of level one, sir. It’s painful, stings a bit. I had a bruise, but no permanent damage was done.”
“Mr Russell tested this… by shooting you?”
The man swallowed. “No, sir. I found the gun in his workroom and was… looking at it. It sort of…”
Amethyst could guess where this was going. She looked to Jenson. He had a look that suggested he’d heard this one before.
He tutted and asked, “You shot yourself in the foot with it, didn’t you?”
“Essentially. Yes, sir. Though, it was my thigh that got shot, not my foot.”
Jenson nodded, thanked the man for his honesty.
Amethyst said nothing but decided the man got what he deserved for snooping in his master’s workroom, but it would seem the man had taught himself that lesson. Of course, if he was shot in the thigh, the only protection he’d have there would be the layer of material that made up his trousers, so virtually no protection at all. Which attested to the A-Gun being at least relatively safe.
As the man melted back out of the group, Jenson studied the gun. He held it like a normal gun, or at least how she thought a normal pistol would be held. He pointed it at a tuft of heather, and‒
Colour flowed around the coil of glass and burst forth to crackle in a line from the tip of the barrel to the tuft, which hissed and steamed, but didn’t burn.
The party gasped.
“Well, that worked then.”
The way Jenson grinned back at her made Amethyst warm despite the wind. He was a good friend.
“I like it.”
She liked it. She liked that he liked it.
“Hey!” The shout drew their attention to Sir Giles. Somehow it wasn’t a surprise that his voice could boom across the distance and the wind. “What’s going on up there?”
Great-Aunt Flora stepped up to Jenson’s side. “Can he be your next target?”
Chapter 25
The dinner jacket fit much better now; Arthur had done a sterling job on the minor alterations, it felt like the suit had been made for him.
Lord Montgomery had dragged Amethyst to the top of the table with him. She hadn’t looked terribly comfortable at the idea, but she had settled into it. Resplendent was the word that was uppermost in Jenson’s mind. Her gown was a deep purple that looked almost black in this light. The candles bathed her in a gold that sparked fire from the family jewel about her neck. She received Monty’s attention with good grace, but there was a strain, probably something to do with the way the Chalmers’ were being so loud. For aristocrats, this lot were worse than a rowdy bunch of sailors.
Equally unsurprising was that he was at the far end, as far from the great and glorious as he could possibly be. Not that he minded, it allowed him to watch them unimpeded.
“Breeding will out, of course!”
The over-loud statement came from Cynthia Chalmers, whose corpulent flesh was squeezed into a forest green gown with puffy sleeves that still managed to look full over her fat arms. Every seam strained to hold together, or run screaming from the disgust of the perspiration stains the woman was pouring through it.
“Same with horses, same with dogs.” Piggy eyes were pinned on Amethyst. “Same with people.”
Jenson drew breath – that caught when Bobbie covered his hand with hers. “Not worth the effort.” The words were whispered.
“Amethyst,” he hissed back.
“True,” Amethyst met the lady’s observation with equal volume, but greater clarity given the lack of food in her mouth. “But of course, we all know what inbreeding does.”
Bobbie smiled and leaned in. “Amethyst can defend herself.”
“Yes,” Sir Giles bawled. “It leads to having a mad Kraut on the throne!”
Bobbie’s tightened grip on his arm was matched only by the tension in the fist he made to focus and internalise the reaction. Whatever else he might be he was loyal to queen and country. He allowed Bobbie to drag his hand back and under the table to hide their mutual reaction. It was that very movement that caught Maker’s eye.
“What would you have instead?”
“A Stuart, of course.” Chalmers was like a blunderbuss.
“Didn’t we run out of them?” Amethyst asked. “Wasn’t their failure to provide the required heir not the very reason that the Hanoverians were invited to take the throne?”
“Stupid girl,” Chalmers sneered.
“Chalmers,” Lord Montgomery snapped. “Do not presume to spe-”
“There’s a Stuart in France as we speak. He is the King.”
“A descendent of Bonnie Prince Charlie,” Violet stated.
“Exactly, the true King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.”
“The Jacobites lost more than a hundred years ago,” Amethyst protested.
“Back then the Forresters fought for them.”
“Spelling.”
Maker’s pronouncement didn’t make much sense. Everyone around the table was getting used to him though – they waited him out.
“The Forresters who supported the Prince were spelt with a double r. Miss Forester has only a single r in the forest part of her name.”
“Yet another deficiency.” Violet smiled as she sipped her wine.
“And weren’t the Montgomerys on the side of the king?” Bobbie called up the table.
“That was the Clan Montgomery,” Lady Cynthia spat around a mouthful of half-masticated pork. Everything about that moment made Jenson shudder.
“There’s a trough in the yard,” Great-Aunt Flora pointed out in disgust. “If you can’t keep your food in your mouth, go eat with the pigs.” She whipped spittle and pork fragments off her hand with great pomp.
“It was all over a century ago,” Lady Garrington-Smythe said calmly. “The Young Pretender is gone. The Jacobites are gone.”
“The New Jacobites stand for the True King because Victoria is the Pretender if ever there was one.” Chalmers reached for another slab of shortbread, swirled it in whiskey cream and fed it to his wife. “She can hardly even be bothered to be a queen any more, too busy playing Mrs Brown with some common Scot servant.”
There was more than enough alcohol and food swimming about that pair to sink a battleship, and they sailed on in much the same regardless fashion.
“Came charging over here from Germany,” Lady Cynthia added, waving a stuffed fork like a conducting baton. “They’ve no right.”
“They’ve the right conferred on them by the British Government.” Jenson was getting sick of this pomposity. Perhaps the generous measures of wine with the meal were getting to him too.
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