The Affinity Bridge

by George Mann

  Newbury couldn't keep his eyes from wandering as the two of them strolled along the passageway. The walls were lined with austere portraits of long-dead kings and queens, the figureheads who had helped to shape the nation in times past. Victoria herself was notably absent from the gallery, and Newbury wondered if that would be the first role of any new incumbent to the throne; to hang a portrait of this most powerful ruler in its rightful place, at the head of the gallery of her predecessors. Not that the Queen showed any real signs of abdication or debilitating illness; the marvellous machines of Dr. Fabian took care of that. He was a scientific genius without precedent, and Newbury was only grateful that he was loyal to the Crown and not, as others with pettier minds might have been in his position, hungry for power in his own right. He'd only met the man once, fleetingly, but he knew at some point he was likely to meet him again. Most agents of the Crown found occasion to visit Dr. Fabian at least once or twice during the course of their career.

  Presently, their feet scuffing the deep pile of the carpet, they came to rest before a door. The corridor ended abruptly here, and Newbury knew that the vast chamber of the throne room awaited him on the other side.

  Sandford knocked boldly on the door, straightening his tie.

  "Come." The command from within was direct, pointed.

  The butler reached for the handle and clicked the lock, allowing the door to swing open into the room. All Newbury could see inside was darkness.

  "Sir Maurice Newbury, Your Majesty." Sandford shuffled out of the way to allow Newbury to pass, and then pulled the door shut behind him. Newbury heard the sound of the butler's feet rustling on the carpet as he slipped away, heading for his rooms and the relative warmth of his fire. He stepped forward in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Heavy curtains were drawn across all of the windows, casting the place in dark shadow. The only light in the entire room was a gas lamp flickering in one corner, a tiny flame adrift on a sea of darkness. He had the sense of standing in a cavernous space, but only being able to see a few feet in front of him. He could hear the sound of Dr. Fabian's machines, wheezing and sighing as they rasped at the air, their bellows clicking as they rose and fell in the darkness.

  Finally, Victoria spoke.

  "Ah, my faithful servant. What news do you bring?" Her voice cut through the darkness like ice, sending a shiver up and down his spine. He turned towards the sound, and bowed.

  "Majesty." He paused. "Precious little news, I fear." He sighed, deciding how to go on. "I attended the scene of the airship disaster, as requested, and discovered certain...irregularities."

  "Go on."

  "The body of the pilot was missing from the wreckage, and the passengers, or what remained of them, had all been tied into their seats. There were no survivors at the scene. I later discovered that the vessel had in fact been piloted by a clockwork automaton developed by the airship's operators, Chapman and Villiers Air Transportation Services." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. The wheezing sound continued, steadily, in the darkness. "Yesterday I visited the manufactory of the aforementioned business and saw one of these automaton units being demonstrated. I have no reason to believe the pilot of The Lady Armitage could have malfunctioned at the controls. The cause of the disaster remains unclear."

  There was a creaking sound as Victoria wheeled forward in her chair, emerging from the shadows into the dim glow of the gas lamp. Newbury fought the urge to gasp at her appearance. He had seen her before, of course, but the sheer extent of Dr. Fabian's work was a Constant source of shock and amazement. The Queen was lashed into her wheelchair; her legs bound together, her arms free and resting on the wooden handles that enabled her to rotate the wheels of the contraption. Two enormous tubes protruded from her chest, just underneath her breasts, folding around beneath her arms to connect to the large tanks of air that were mounted on the back of the chair. Bellows were affixed to the sides of the contraption and groaned noisily as they laboured with the pressure, forcing air from the tanks in and out of her collapsed lungs. Her chest rose and fell in time with the machine. A drip fed a strange, pinkish liquid into her bloodstream via a catheter in her arm and a bag suspended on a brass frame over her head.

  She regarded Newbury with a steely expression. "Newbury." Her voice was full of gravitas. "We must impress on you the critical nature of this assignment. It is a matter of some importance to the Crown. We expect you to do your duty and identify the source of the disaster. Foul play remains a distinct possibility." Her mouth was a tight line, her face old and tired. Nevertheless, her eyes shone with a brilliant gleam that, even in the semi-darkness, gave evidence of the fact that her mind was still as sharp as her tongue.

  Newbury was unsure how to respond. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will endeavour not to disappoint in this matter." He shuffled awkwardly. "If it's not impertinent to ask...may I know the origin of your suspicion of foul play? It may prove useful in identifying the next course of action."

  Victoria moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Very well. A member of the Dutch Royal Family—a cousin of this household, no less—has been missing in London for some days. Intelligence from other sources suggested he may have been onboard The Lady Armitage when she went down. This morning the mortuary confirmed his body had been identified in the wreckage." She hesitated before going on. "We need not impress on you the severity of this situation, Newbury. One suspects that sabotage of the vessel may have been an attempt to discredit this house. Worse, we fear the means of that sabotage may in some way be related to your...field of experience. We have given our word to the boy's mother that we shall provide a reasonable explanation for the disaster. You must find an answer, and quickly. What with all this business in Whitechapel and the plague spreading through the slums, your expertise is needed elsewhere. Scotland Yard are floundering without your aid. Hurry to it, Newbury. Bring us the answers we need."

  Newbury bowed his head. "I will press on with all haste and due diligence, Your Majesty."

  "Go then, and report back to us soon."

  He turned to leave.

  "Oh, and Newbury, how is that new assistant of yours working out? A woman, isn't she?"

  He smiled. "Miss Hobbes? Yes, delightful, Your Majesty.

  And full of spark. She'll be a great asset to us, in time."

  Victoria let out a rasping chuckle. "We do hope so, Newbury. Women like that are difficult to find. Make sure you keep her close." With that she turned the handles on the sides of her chair and retreated slowly into the darkness.

  Newbury fumbled his way back to the door in the dim light, turned the handle, and left.

  Sandford was waiting by the fire when Newbury emerged from the passageway. He turned to look at the younger man, and then picked up a tumbler from where he'd left it on the mantelpiece.

  Newbury accepted it gratefully and took a long swig. The alcohol attacked his palate, causing him to splutter slightly. "Brandy?"

  Sandford nodded, his lips curling in a wide smile. "For the cold, sir."

  "Thank you. Very considerate of you, Sandford." He downed the rest of the drink, feeling the warmth spreading through his chest. He knew that Sandford was an old hand at this sort of thing, and that the reason for the brandy had, in truth, little to do with the cold. The man was simply used to seeing agents return from an audience with the monarch, and the brandy was a restorative offering to steady their nerves and put colour back into their cheeks. Newbury was thankful for the opportunity to do just that. He'd never found it difficult to talk with Her Majesty, but the sheer weight of expectation and nervousness always left his nerves jangling for the rest of the day. Today, of all days, he needed to head back to his lodgings and try to relax, to ponder all of the disparate elements of the case and see what shape they were beginning to take. Not only that, but in answering one mystery he had inadvertently opened up another. He now knew what had agitated the Queen so much about the airship disaster, but he was faced with an even more difficult question to an
swer: What was a Dutch royal doing onboard a passenger-class vessel bound for Dublin? He needed a breakthrough, and, at the moment, he wasn't sure where to look next.

  Newbury placed the glass back on the mantelpiece and moved to fetch his coat and hat. Somehow, Sandford was there before him, and he thanked the butler as he helped Newbury on with his coat. "Sandford, my thanks. I'm sure it won't be too long before I'm giving myself over to your hospitality once again."

  Sandford nodded. "Best of luck, sir." He opened the door for Newbury, momentarily allowing a gust of air into the room, stirring the newspapers that lay on the table. It was cold out, but the day was still young. His head buzzing with thoughts and the warm glow of alcohol, he stepped out into the grey fog and slipped away into the busy streets of London.

  —— Chapter Eleven ——

  The visiting room was cold and impersonal; clinical, even. Veronica was convinced that it wasn't supposed to feel so unwelcoming, even for a hospital. Her parents were paying a small fortune towards the upkeep of the place, after all. The least they could do would be to provide a few cushions and a bit of colour around the place to brighten things up. No wonder the majority of the patients were so miserable and lifeless. Veronica firmly believed that people were inspired by their surroundings, and that a dull and dreary hospital would reflect badly on the mood of the patients, especially in an institute such as this, which catered for the clinically insane. She knew Amelia would agree. She resolved to make a point of talking to Dr. Mason about it at the next available opportunity.

  Veronica sat with her hands on her lap, waiting for the nurses to fetch her sister. She felt uncomfortable and ever so slightly on edge, as she always did when she visited the asylum. She'd travelled to Wandsworth early that morning, taking care to ensure no one saw her leaving her apartments in Kensington and hailing a cab. She hadn't told Newbury where she was going, and consequently she hoped that he hadn't attempted to call on her with news of the case. If he had, she'd just have to tell him that she'd decided to go out for a stroll. She was meant to be taking the day to recuperate, after all.

  She glanced around. One of the nurses sat on a stool by the door, looking out into the corridor. This would be her guard, she supposed, the woman posted' there for the duration of her visit to ensure that her sister didn't stray towards violent tendencies, or that Veronica didn't attempt to sneak her any proscribed articles such as cosmetics, cutlery or photographs of the family. It was ridiculous, of course. Her sister had never hurt anyone in her life, and Veronica had no intention of causing difficulties for Amelia by bringing her any gifts that would cause her emotional unrest.

  Dr. Mason believed that the less contact the patients had with their families, the easier they would find it to settle in to their new environment. In fact, the last time Veronica had spoken with him, he'd admonished her for the frequency of her visits, citing all manner of recent papers on the subject and claiming that the regularity of her calls was working against the treatment programme he had instigated for her sister. To Veronica, it seemed like an archaic way to try to make someone better, isolating them from the people who loved them. Besides, she knew it was a pointless exercise, anyway, although she didn't admit that to Dr. Mason. It wouldn't do to have him think that she disagreed with his diagnosis. Only, Veronica knew that her sister was far from the lunatic that the doctor had led her parents to believe. She wasn't mad. She just happened to be able to see into the future.

  Veronica looked up at the sound of footsteps from the corridor outside. The nurse who was sitting on the stool turned to look at her in acknowledgement, and then a moment later another nurse in a white uniform led Amelia into the room. Veronica's heart leapt. She stood, moving to embrace her sister.

  Amelia was painfully thin, and dressed in a loose-fitting outfit comprised of a grey woollen blouse and matching skirt that Veronica thought would be better suited to a prison than a hospital. Her hair was raven-black and long, loose around her shoulders, and her pale skin and soft complexion gave the impression that she was even younger than her fragile nineteen years. She looked scared, although her face lit up as she entered the visitor's room and saw her sister coming towards her.

  "Veronica! You came."

  Veronica embraced her, feeling the press of her bony shoulder blades through the prickly fabric. "Of course I came!" She led Amelia to the sofa where she had been sitting and bade her to take a seat. "Are you eating enough? You're so terribly thin."

  "I eat well enough, sister. The food here is passable." She forced a smile. "Anyway, what news do you bring from the outside world? Do our parents send word?"

  Veronica looked uncomfortable. "No, Amelia, no word from home." She patted her gently on the back of her hand. "But I'm sure they will call soon." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "You know how Dr. Mason likes to hold them at bay."

  Amelia glanced at the door. The nurse was still sitting on her stool, staring out into the corridor, as if there were something more interesting to engage her attention out there. Amelia sighed. "I don't understand it, Veronica. They must know by now that they've made a mistake. It's clear that I'm not a lunatic. I'm convinced the seizures are a medical condition. They must be able to control them with drugs or remedies of some sort. They must." She looked into Veronica's eyes. "I want so desperately to come home."

  Veronica felt tears welling in her eyes, and blinked them away, forcing herself to be strong for her sibling. "I know, Amelia. I know." She looked away, unable to see the pleading in her sister's eyes. "Your illness is unique. The doctors need time to study it, to find a way to help you. I'm sure they're doing everything they can."

  Amelia nodded, biting her bottom lip. She brushed her fringe away from her eyes. "Well, that's enough about me! Tell me about yourself, Veronica. What have you been up to? This hospital is so drab and boring that I need to hear stories of the real world. I like to think of you going about your business out there, all pretty and professional in your smart clothes."

  Veronica smiled. "I think your expectations of my life are rather fanciful, Amelia. I work in a museum. I've spent the last week transcribing Sir Maurice's essays and researching academic papers on the druids of Bronze Age Europe. It's good work, but it's quiet. Hardly the stuff of high adventure!"

  Amelia nodded, a twinkle in her eye. "You forget, sister, that I'm able to see more than you think, even from in here. I fancy your recent exploits are far more engaging than you care to let on." She smiled, dismissing the issue. "So, tell me, have you scandalized the museum terribly with your forward-thinking ideas?"

  Veronica laughed. "There have been a few raised eyebrows, certainly. Although I try to abstain from truly ruffling any feathers. I'd rather hold on to my position for the time being."

  "And what of suitors?" The nurse by the door looked over, obviously interested in Veronica's response. "I hear that Sir Maurice cuts a dashing figure about town."

  "Amelia, really." Veronica blushed. "Sir Maurice and I have a strictly professional acquaintance. He's a handsome man, I admit, but I—"

  "-protest too much, clearly." Amelia cut in, chuckling. "Come now sister, I'm only playing with you." She scratched at her arms where the woollen shirt was evidently irritating her skin.

  Veronica was suddenly serious. She put her hand to Amelia's cool cheek. "Have you had any more episodes this week, Amelia?"

  Amelia shrugged. "A few." She looked away, noncommittal. "And..."

  "And they were just as unpleasant and unwelcome as they usually are." She looked up at Veronica again, searching her face. "I do wish they could find a way to make them stop. The things I see...." She trailed off, clearly distraught.

  Veronica hugged her close, her voice soothing. "I know Amelia. We're doing all we can, I promise."

  She felt Amelia go limp in her arms.

  "Amelia?" She held her by the shoulders. "Amelia?"

  Suddenly, Amelia's thin body began twitching jerkily, her muscles going into spasms as Veronica tried to hold her still. He
r eyes rolled back in their sockets, her mouth foaming as she shook wildly on the sofa.

  "Amelia!" She glanced at the nurse, who had only just realised what was happening.

  "Help in here!" The woman came away from the door, running to Veronica's side. She took hold of Amelia and eased her to the floor. She continued to twitch violently. "We need to restrain her so that she doesn't hurt herself."

  Veronica dropped to her knees, clamping her hands over Amelia's legs. Her face was etched with concern. "What now?"

  The nurse didn't look up from where she was struggling to hold Amelia's arms by her sides. "Now we wait for the doctor."

  Amelia started to babble something incoherent in the midst of her tortured seizure. Veronica tried to make sense of the garbled words, tears now streaming freely down her cheeks. There was something about fire, screaming and trains. Other than that it was impossible to tell what Amelia was saying, as her body, wracked with nervous energy, fought against their grip in random, violent spasms.

  Veronica heard footsteps. She didn't look up. A moment later two more nurses were by Amelia's side, one of them cradling her head whilst the other took over from Veronica, pinning her sister's legs to the floor. Veronica heard a familiar voice from behind her.

  "Miss Hobbes. Please step away." She clambered to her feet, looking round to see Dr. Mason standing by the edge of the sofa. He looked serious. "I think it is time for you to leave now, Miss Hobbes. Your sister is in safe hands." Veronica glanced back at her sister's writhing body, held down by a small army of nurses. She looked torn.

  "Really, it's for the best. We can see her through this unfortunate episode, and then afterwards she'll be in need of rest." For once, Veronica thought, the swarthy-looking man in the brown suit had a kindly expression on his face. She believed he really did want to help her sister. "You can call again in a week's time. I'm sure she'll be up and about again by then. If the weather is tolerable you could even take her for a walk around the airing court." He smiled. "But now it is time to go. I'll walk you to the exit.