They both aimed again for the docks on the Spire. It was now all a matter of climbing.
Opening the flue to his balloon, Stoddard prepared to gain altitude. But the ship lurched to the side and Stoddard looked up surprised to see Edmond had somehow managed to bank his ship up over his, positioning himself right over Stoddard’s balloon.
Stoddard couldn’t gain altitude.
Pulling the tethers wide again he tried to get out from under Edmond’s shadow but Edmond matched his maneuver, maintaining his position. And then, to Stoddard’s horror, Edmond’s ship connected with his balloon. Stoddard was jostled where he sat, his hands grasping at the rigging to keep himself from being flung from the craft.
A second collision and Edmond’s ship rested heavy on top of Stoddard’s.
Stoddard appraised the state of his balloon. The frame looked like it might have been damaged internally, but he didn’t see any holes from his vantage point. But then he glanced down and noticed the water drawing closer. He was losing altitude.
The realization dawned on him with urgency. Edmond wasn’t just trying to block him, he was trying to sink him!
Stoddard re-situated himself in the ship. He was only a few dozen feet above the water. If Edmond didn’t let him gain altitude soon, then he was destined to share Septigonee’s fate. With a deliberate kick he closed the flue to the balloon, focusing on pulling out ahead of Edmond. His propeller spun forcefully, but despite the added power Edmond kept with him.
He was losing what little altitude he had left and Stoddard was forced to open the flue to heat the balloon again. The waves below licked at his ship’s underbelly.
A thought came to him as he surveyed what little he had at his disposal. It was brash, but he didn’t have time to second guess himself. Stoddard slammed both flues closed and leaned out over the back of the ship as he watched the propeller’s rotation slow. He felt the hull skip over the top of a wave beneath and he clutched the ship to keep from falling overboard. But despite the danger he gritted his teeth and kept watching.
Another skip and he grasped the tethers even tighter.
“Come on,” he urged. “Come on!”
The propeller stopped and Stoddard gripped the lever over the shaft. Flipping it with a grunt of strength he turned back to the furnace and opened the flue fully. The propeller lurched again, this time in reverse. Dropping back into his seat Stoddard yanked as hard as he could on the tethers, opening the rudders wide to produce as much drag as possible.
Stoddard’s ship decelerated almost immediately and Edmond’s craft scraped against his as it moved forward without him. It tipped forward as it came off Stoddard’s balloon and Edmond’s ship nearly plunged into the water as Edmond fought to correct it.
Again, Stoddard threw open the balloon flue. The flame climbed high, and he began the climb back to the Spire. As he rose he looked down at Edmond who was still recovering from his slip. Their eyes met and Edmond glared venom at him. Stoddard returned a dose of his own. Edmond had shown what type of man he was.
It was then that Stoddard sensed something amiss. He wasn’t gaining altitude fast enough. Despite Edmond’s near collision with the water he began closing the distance on Stoddard almost immediately. Stoddard leaned out over the ship’s side to inspect the balloon closer. He hadn’t seen anything before, but sure enough there was a point where a piece of the frame had cut through. It poked out like a splinter and Stoddard cursed out loud.
His ship was bleeding out.
In desperation he threw the two extra bricks of fuel he’d loaded into the craft into the furnace. The flame burned brightly with the renewed fuel and Stoddard braced himself again. It was a long shot, but perhaps he could get the lift he needed. Enough to make it back up to the dock.
But even as he tried to convince himself he was still in the race he watched Edmond’s vessel pass by on its steady climb. Edmond shot him a facetious salute and Stoddard reluctantly faced the truth.
Sitting back in the ship, Stoddard’s shoulders slouched forward as the ship gently touched back down on the surface of the water. It hadn’t been enough.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ransacked
MARGARETE ENTERED HER ROOM TENTATIVELY, stepping around the overturned chair that blocked the doorway. The room was a disaster. All of their possessions had been strewn across the floor so that it was difficult for her to find a place to put her foot down. Finding the only clear spot to stand in the center, she surveyed the surrounding scene with a sinking heart.
“What happened?” Hetty asked, peering in from the safety of the hallway. She was squeezed up against Charlotte as they both took in the damage. The wardrobes had been thrown open and every one of their dresses tossed aside ruthlessly. Every drawer had similarly been opened and their contents emptied onto the floor.
The room had been searched, clearly. But by whom?
“The lock’s been broken,” Charlotte observed. “It looks like something was jammed inside. Look, it’s cracked clear through.”
She pushed past Hetty and joined Margarete inside, careful to avoid the broken glass mixed with their articles on the floor. She sighed as she lifted the new mirror she’d purchased to replace the one Margarete had broken. It was splintered completely, its broken pieces littering the floor.
“Who would have done this?” Margarete asked, righting the chair by the vanity.
“Who could have done this?” Charlotte corrected. “There’s not many people who could have come and gone after doing something like this without at least one of the other girls realizing what was happening. The noise alone should have attracted attention.”
“Perhaps they came when no one was here,” Margarete speculated.
Charlotte pursed her lips. “Hetty,” she said. “Go and find Faye. I want you two to check on the other girls. See if any of their rooms were searched like this. And make sure no one is hurt.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hetty scurried off down the hall and began knocking on each of the girl’s doors in turn, calling to those inside. Soon the whole house was in a commotion as doors were flung open and word circulated among the girls about what had transpired.
“Whoever this was, they weren’t holding back,” Charlotte observed.
She lifted one of the pillows and its feathers spilled out from a long tear across the front, littering the ground. Someone had knifed them. With further inspection they saw the mattress and the chairs had received similar treatment.
“I think we were lucky not to have been here when they came,” Charlotte said.
“You don’t think this was Dempwolf, do you?”
“Undoubtedly,” Charlotte said, rubbing her head. “I’m just not sure how.”
A clamor of girls was forming outside the door, craning to get a peek in at the destruction. Each looked horrified and a few spoke words of preservation against the ill fortune that had befallen them.
Margarete lifted her favorite dress from the ground, holding it up to inspect it. She half expected to find tears through it as well, but it appeared untouched by the blade. As she checked a few of her other dresses, she saw they too had been preserved. They’d been rummaged over, but they’d not been damaged.
“What about your letters?” Charlotte asked.
Margarete’s heart finally reached the bottom of its descent. She’d been afraid to look. If the room was any indication of just how determined their intruder had been, then her letters were likely miles away by now. There would be no recovering them.
Reluctantly she crouched in front of the wardrobe and reached into the back where the secret compartment was hidden. Holding her breath, her fingers found the lip and she let out a sigh of relief. The panel that hid it was still secure in the corner. Feeling for the latch, she lifted it and fetched the box out.
To her relief, it was still locked.
Taking the key from around her neck she opened it up and drew out the letters, their soft edges rekindling some warmth back into her heart. She kne
lt there, offering a silent prayer of thanks as she grasped them tightly in her lap. She’d come so close to losing everything she’d risked. Just like that she would have been back to where she’d first began. Worse even, having lost any reputation she had among the meritocracy.
It was dawning on her just how dangerous a game she was playing. She was truly balancing on the edge of a knife.
Faye appeared in the doorway with Hetty, pushing past the others so she could speak with Charlotte. “All the girls are accounted for,” she said. “None of the other rooms were touched.”
“Thank you, Faye,” Charlotte said. “Whoever is responsible for this will probably not try it again, but that doesn’t mean we’re beyond concern. We’ll all need to be more careful from now on. If someone is willing to go this far to recover your letters we can’t be sure what else they might do.
“Girls,” she instructed. “I want everyone to be vigilant and come to me immediately if you notice anything suspicious around the house. For the time being, no one is to be let into the house without my permission.”
The girls in the doorway accepted the terms and whispered them on to those who couldn’t hear.
Rising from the floor Margarete tucked the letters into her dress. She’d need to find a new hiding place for them—at least until she heard from Worthington.
Unless this was his response.
The thought distressed her. Would Worthington stoop so low as to ransack her room in search of the letters? The act seemed unlike him, but then ever since this all had started Margarete questioned how well she actually knew the man. Could she anticipate what he would do now that she’d betrayed him? Wouldn’t anyone stoop so low in a moment of desperation?
One problem at a time she told herself as she set about righting the room.
“I’m sorry,” Margarete said as she gathered some larger pieces of glass and placed them in one of the open drawers.
“For what?” Charlotte asked. She joined Margarete’s efforts to tidy the mess and began laying out the dresses on top of one another on the bed.
“For making things difficult for you. You told me this would complicate things, and I didn’t listen. If I hadn’t stirred up trouble, then you wouldn’t be dealing with this right now.”
“Child, I’ve known difficulty all my life,” Charlotte smiled. “It would take a lot more than a vandal like Dempwolf to trouble me.”
“It still doesn’t make sense how he got in,” Margarete said. Her face skewed in thought as she knelt to pick up a shattered picture frame.
Margarete looked forlorn at the photograph. It was one she’d taken years before, when she’d first befriended Charlotte. It was taken at her first event, a masquerade. They’d spent the night gallivanting as whatever woman they dreamed of being. She could still remember the feeling of freedom from her childhood. Coincidently, it was also the night she’d met Worthington.
It couldn’t have been him, she told herself. She couldn’t see him lashing out like this. Worthington was a man of words, not violence. He always had been. And while Dempwolf had already shown his hand there was no way he’d have been able to enter and leave the house without someone knowing. Whoever had done this would have been able to come and go without causing alarm.
Charlotte knelt beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What are you thinking?” she asked.
Margarete’s frown deepened as she turned to Charlotte. “I don’t think one of the girls shares your feelings about loyalty,” she whispered.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Hiding Place
EMMALINE SIGHED AS SHE SAT idly outside the estate. She’d felt cramped inside the house all morning and since her parents were busy and had nothing for her to do she’d sought to distract herself with a walk around the grounds. She wasn’t allowed to wander far, so she circled the border twice before discovering, quite by mistake, a small grove nestled into the northwest corner.
It was a pleasant patch of grass with a small stone bench shaded by a large oak tree whose branches reached high over the border hedges. They were positioned just so that they shielded her little hiding place from the view of the house.
It was a welcome bit of privacy. Since the ball, Emmaline’s parents had grown steadily colder toward one another and Emmaline was getting tired of trying to carry on like nothing was wrong. It was difficult because she wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong, and any hope of discovering it eluded her. Her parents seemed intent not to talk about it. But the unpleasantness only grew, becoming so uncomfortable that Emmaline had to excuse herself to the powder room just to give them one less thing to argue over.
But she tried not to think too much about that just then. In her grove she was free even if just for a moment. It felt like for the first time since she’d arrived that she’d been truly alone with her thoughts and feelings.
And as it turned out, they weren’t easy company either.
Her heart was still heavy with thoughts of the race. She’d thought of little else since then. She felt responsible for putting Stoddard through it. She wasn’t sure what had come over her when she’d suggested he race Edmond, but that didn’t hold a candle to how surprising she was her father had gone along with it. Was he too curious about the young mechanist? Or was it a way to get rid of him once and for all?
Emmaline hadn’t seen Stoddard afterward. They’d sent a ship to pick him up, but she’d been dragged into the company set to receive Edmond when he’d returned. The scene on the docks was loud and triumphant, but despite the outcome she’d not been able to take her eyes off the crippled ship in the bay.
For a second time Stoddard had been treated horribly on her behalf, and it seemed she was the only one to have noticed. On the contrary, it had been something of a joke among those who’d watched it transpire. The young mechanist trying desperately to prove himself only to putter out in the end.
Emmaline couldn’t find the humor in it.
Sitting down on the bench, she kicked her feet and sulked. Without others watching she could let her shoulders hunch and her head fall forward as low as she wanted. She’d held her posture for ages and it felt like a weight had been piled on her.
All of a sudden, she let herself fall forward and rolled out on the soft grass beside the bench, stretching her arms and legs as wide as she could so that her body settled into the gentle slope in the lawn. The thought of her father, or mother, or Anne scolding her for getting her dress dirty made her smirk, but she liked the feeling of the grass on the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes, watching the shimmering light through her eyelids as it fell through the leaves. The smell of the ocean drifted in on the light breeze and Emmaline felt her entire body relax. For a moment she felt as though she weren’t in Hatteras at all, but back on the grassy dunes of Sorrento. The air carried with it that warm salty aroma that ever beckoned the senses. She could almost believe that if she were to open her eyes in that very moment she’d see the edge of the harbor and the little boats skirting the shore.
And then, as suddenly as she’d been transported away to the memory, her heart grew heavy. She blinked her eyes open again into reality.
Emmaline lay like that, heavy against the lawn, for a few minutes before the sound of footsteps nearby disturbed her peace. She sighed knowing her moment alone was nearly over. Anne must have finally caught up with her. She didn’t even bother to stir or to make herself more presentable. Let Anne throw a fit over her dress, she thought. She didn’t care. She had plenty of dresses, but only seconds left of her solitude.
“It was only a matter of time,” a pleasant voice said.
Emmaline craned her neck and saw the upside down image of her uncle. He stopped as he came abreast of the tree trunk, snapping his feet together in military fashion and giving a sharp salute.
“Permission to enter?” he asked.
Emmaline nodded, rolling over onto her front as she sat up. Her dress had picked up a few loose blades of grass and leaves which
clung to the fabric. She picked at them self-consciously, trying to brush them away.
“Were you looking for me?” she asked. “Is it time to come in?”
“No, I can’t say I was,” Uncle Lewis said. “Although I’m fairly certain I saw a particularly flustered maid fretting earlier over losing her ward. It seems someone was loath to tell anyone where she was slipping off to this afternoon. But I’m sure that was just a lapse in thought.”
Emmaline couldn’t help but smile picturing Anne searching high and low for her in the house.
“I thought so,” her uncle grinned.
Emmaline felt her spirits lifting again with her uncle’s presence and hope returned. If there was anyone she could be persuaded to share her little grove with it was him. She wondered whether he might not accidentally give it away. Of all her family, he seemed most likely to keep a secret if only she could bring him into her confidence.
“Did you want to stay?” she asked.
“If you’ll have me,” he said, brushing away some leaves from the bench and taking a seat. He set an umbrella, which Emmaline hadn’t realized he’d been carrying, down beside him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you if you were enjoying yourself. I was just taking a turn around the yard and I couldn’t help but notice someone else had found this quaint little grove. Naturally, I was curious who I’d be sharing it with.”
“Is this your spot then?” Emmaline asked, realizing for the first time that it might already have been claimed.
“Oh, no,” Uncle Lewis said. “It’s far too sacred a place for any one man or woman to own. That would be blasphemy. It would rob it in a moment of its very appeal. However, I do visit here often whenever I have something on my mind deserving of a good think.”
“What’s the umbrella for?”
“Sometimes I think an awfully long while,” he smiled. “And I’ve had a fair number of storms sneak up on me while my back was turned. I err on the side of caution now.”
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