The Ghost Engine

by Theresa Fuller

  “James, everything is fine. You don’t understand,” Berd mumbled as he carried her up the stairs, the dark mahogany banisters streaming like debris on either side of her after a flood.

  Though the house appeared empty, she was aware of a listening and waiting silence. No doubt the servants had prudently sought shelter and disappeared at their approach, but she knew they were all watching. One thing puzzled her though and that was the absence of her aunt.

  “It is you who does not understand. You are ruined, Berd. Ruined. You will never inherit now.” James’s voice was softer, his anger more concentrated.

  “Do you think I ever cared? I have done nothing wrong. I am engaged. To Charles.”

  James pounded down the passageway, Rose hurrying ahead to open her bedroom door. “You have no idea the uproar. Three whole days. Policemen—”

  “James,” she pleaded. “Charles will explain when you return.”

  “Charles?” reprimanded James. “Who is this man you would be on a first name basis with? How long have you known him, you harlot! You never worried about inheriting because you had him in your pocket the whole time! You want to ruin me with scandal. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  She groaned as he deposited her on her bed. “James, please, please; stop, all of this.”

  James paused at her doorway. “Berd, listen to me. Even if you are engaged, do you think I will let you marry a savage? I’m getting my pistol.”

  Before she could leap out of bed, the door slammed shut behind James.

  “Don’t try to think of getting out, my men shan’t let you.” At that he bawled orders at the footmen to do just that.

  ***

  All night long Berd listened, waiting to hear a shot, or for Charles to come for her. Neither happened. When pink tinged the sky, she sent Rose down to investigate. That had been two hours ago.

  Now Berd was on the point of bursting. She hadn’t slept and hunger gnawed in her belly, a ravenous rat caged to a tortured man’s stomach. If anything, the dreadful feeling that something was wrong permanently anchored itself in her chest as she looked around the familiar dark walls, tinged with unfamiliar shadows.

  I will come for you.

  Rose’s recognizable fingernail scratching on Berd’s bedroom door made her look up, just as it opened and Rose peered round the doorway.

  “Is my lady awake?” she asked, her hazel eyes dull with tiredness as she gazed at her mistress.

  “Any news?” Berd craned forward in bed.

  Rose did not answer, but entered the bedroom lugging a small portable table. Berd understood why, when Rose was followed in by the parlourmaid, Hilary, carrying a tray.

  Berd waited with mild irritation as the table was placed at her bedside and the tray set down on it. A glass of barley water along with a basin of milk and bread sat on the tray: an invalid’s breakfast. No doubt James had informed the staff she was unwell and was using illness to explain her disappearance. The louse!

  “Glad you’re feeling better, my lady.” Hilary bobbed a curtsey, her gaze deliberately downcast.

  Berd nodded, but she was not fooled. She had seen the girl’s eyes widen at her dishevelled appearance. As soon as Hilary departed, and the door closed, Berd turned to Rose who had seated herself opposite on a divan. “What’s happening? Tell me.”

  Rose’s face creased in apology. “I’m afraid I have little news, my lady. His lordship has informed the entire staff that you are ill, and so you are to be confined to your bed.”

  “But what of my brother? And Mr Fotheringay?” She bit her lip.

  “His lordship returned empty-handed from the barn last night. Harold checked his pistol, but it hadn’t been fired.” Rose cringed as if she did not like what she was about to say next. “And as for Mr Fotheringay, Harold confirmed his lordship ordered the carriage return him to his home. From what Harold could gather from the coachman, the servants were in the process of shutting up his house and were astounded to see Mr Fotheringay return.”

  “But what did he say? What did my brother and Mr Fotheringay converse about when my brother returned to the stables?”

  Rose gazed at Berd warily. “I know that’s what you wanted me to find out, my lady, but according to Harold, Mr Fotheringay simply requested passage home.”

  Charles had not mentioned our engagement.

  “But, but didn’t my brother ask...” Berd pressed her lips together tightly. No. She would not let Rose see her humiliation like some normal woman who couldn’t keep her man interested. There had to be some mistake. Charles must have been exhausted. Harold was only a butler; though he had twenty years of service he must have misinterpreted what passed between James and Charles. James obviously had second thoughts about the pistol. He must have relented when he saw how Charles had taken care of her. Or perhaps he had seen how exhausted Charles was and they would speak today.

  I will come for you. If only he had specified when.

  “My lady?”

  Berd looked up.

  Rose was visibly shaking, colour rising to her cheeks.

  “Yes, Rose.”

  “There’s one more thing.” Rose sniffled.

  “What is it, Rose.”

  “His lordship paid a visit to Mr Fotheringay early this morning.”

  Berd’s heart lifted. “And?”

  “He came back an hour ago and said, apparently that Mr Fotheringay asked him for one thing alone to make up for his transgressions with you. To bring them to an end.”

  Berd swallowed. One thing. “What was it?” she whispered, not wanting to know, yet unable to stop herself. One thing. One hand in—

  “The Engine,” answered Rose. “He will be coming by to pick up the Engine this morning, and you are not to be let out until afterwards.” Rose nodded, as if this were a well and good conclusion.

  Despite her pride, Berd could not help the sob of bitterness that escaped her.

  The Engine?

  She must have mistaken Charles’s proposal. She felt Rose’s hand on hers.

  “I’m sorry, my lady. But you’ve been away...”

  “Three days.”

  “Three days without explanation. No unmarried female can afford such a liberty.”

  “Do you think I care if I’m ruined?”

  Rose squeezed her hand. “Perhaps Mr Fotheringay is coming to express his intentions to his lordship?” She looked up hopefully.

  “What was the expression on my brother’s face when he returned?”

  Rose sighed heavily and her shoulders drooped.

  Berd glanced away, focussing her attention on the old violet ottoman by the bay window, her late mother’s favourite seat, and the only piece she had been able to salvage when James had ordered everything removed. Everything that reminded him of Mother…

  “I’ll come with you, my lady, if his lordship lets me,” Rose said softly.

  They were not idle words, but there was no need for Rose to explain what she meant. Exile. Banishment. Disgrace.

  James was no doubt planning to keep her locked up in her room until he had someplace in the country in order to bury her. Berd tried to convince herself that it really wasn’t so bad. After all, she had never wanted to marry. The irony was that she had never cared about society and only wanted to be left alone to do her work.

  But I love him. I thought he wanted me. I thought we were to be partners…

  Her heart twisted; a dead weight that grew and grew until it forced all the air out of her so that she struggled to breathe.

  “It would be good if my lady could eat something,” said Rose. “It’s a pity, Her Grace is away.”

  Berd nodded. Yes, perhaps if her aunt had been home, she could have sought assistance from her. But according to Rose, her aunt was enjoying a weekend of fox hunting. She had apparently wanted to cancel the engagement when Berd went missing, but decided in the end that her absence might have aroused suspicion and decided to proceed. She would be back sometime late on the morrow.

  Berd pic
ked up the glass of barley water, but as she brought it towards her, she noticed the clear unblemished skin of her hand. The same hand Charles had cradled like a precious rose. The same hand she had slapped him with...

  The room blurred. The glass slipped. Thankfully, it was a few inches from the base of the tray and landed without spilling a drop. It was loud, though, rattling her and when the room came into focus again, she found herself staring at her white and flawless hand. Any injury had vanished. Any external injury. She rubbed her palms together briskly, and heard the rasp of skin on skin. Surely, surely it must have all been a dream, the sort of thing a mathematics professor might have written to amuse a little girl.

  She had been Alice in Wonderland.

  Gine had really tried to kill her. Yet, she was back in the world. She was out of Gine’s reach.

  She and Charles had come back. Alive. Whole. Clearly, Gine had no further use for her.

  The Engine had been in the stables. It must have been there upon her return as well, as that was where she came to. And it was Harold at the door, but he would have been little defence against…

  Berd fingered her throat nervously, aware Rose watched her every action. Determined to appear normal, she picked up the drink, brought it to her lips and drank.

  He was coming for the Engine. The Engine. Not her.

  All she knew was that she had to be there when he returned.

  Gine must be controlling Charles from the Engine.

  Chapter Nineteen

  GINE HAD TO be at the bottom of all of this chaos. He just… No, not he. It. It had to be responsible. Gine. The Engine.

  Berd gritted her teeth and before Rose’s astonished eyes, sprang out of bed. “Draw my bath at once,” she ordered.

  Rose’s mouth dropped. “I- I… yes, my lady.”

  “And press my green riding habit.” Pity she had to dress like a lady again, but leaving the house dressed in pants would attract too much interest.

  “Hurry!” Berd pushed the baffled maid out of the room and into the arms of the startled footman stationed outside.

  Rose blushed furiously and disappeared as Henry gawked and swallowed. No doubt he would have a tale to tell down in the servant’s quarters later, but it didn’t matter. None of this mattered. Berd knew now what was important and was prepared to fight for it.

  While Rose was gone, Berd undid her blouse and then tried to undo her corset. Thank goodness she was no longer in a child’s corset! Still the task was nigh impossible without a maid to assist, especially since her chemise appeared stuck to her skin. Though after what she had been through in the Engine, she was not surprised. But it was evident she needed hot water. At least the pants slipped off easily enough. She just hoped Rose did not notice that her under drawers were missing.

  Berd shook her head warily. Even in the area of attire, women were trapped. Women should have the freedoms of a man in dress. Or, however, they chose! This subtle and insidious control by men in every aspect of a woman’s life was all the more reason for her to succeed in her endeavour and to prove to the world that women were just as good as men and that they weren’t to be seen only as housekeepers. Domestic angels.

  I am no angel, she thought. In fact, it was time to be that demigod’s devil.

  Rose returned with two maids carrying a bath tub and copper buckets of hot water.

  “Laundry day. Had water already boiling,” explained Rose, then she made a face as she saw the red welts on Berd’s skin in her attempt to peel her corset off.

  Berd nodded. Once on laundry day, she had mistakenly entered the kitchen, looking for Rose. She had gasped at the alien world with its massive coppers of boiling water. Steam clouded the air. Scents of Sunlight soap and starch had made her light-headed.

  The bath was soon ready and the maids gone. Rose’s brow crinkled in worry as she undressed Berd. “My lady, forgive me for asking, but you aren’t thinking of...”

  Rose was certainly getting braver to be actually querying her. Or more worried. “Eloping?” Berd eyed the window. Escape had entered her thoughts. If she did, she would be unaccompanied for she doubted she would be able to persuade Rose to come with her. This year one or two brave ladies had attempted to walk about unaccompanied, but they were in the minority. And they had attracted such a crowd.

  Those women had been hard-pressed to persuade men that they were not whores. Pray the suffragist movement gave women the freedom to roam independent from such slurs on their character. Even though Mayfair was one of the best areas, it was too close to the sea, and an unaccompanied woman was fair game for kidnap, which was the last thing she needed, even though James had already assumed that was what had happened.

  A footman below and a footman at the door. She would tackle the one at the door first.

  She stepped into the bath. “Not as far as I am aware. I believe one also needs a man, if one is to elope and there I fall short.” She winked, as she tried to lighten the tension in the room. To some extent, she succeeded as Rose nodded, her face softening as she scrubbed the dirt from Berd.

  The act of winking, however, reminded her too much of Charles; but then everything reminded her of him. It had to be love, what else? Only she had never realised love could be so painful.

  She blinked rapidly to dry her tears and her gaze slid about her room. The air danced with buttery light, pouring in through the white lace curtains across the French windows. Every wooden surface gleamed as if polished with honeyed beeswax. She was back. She had her wish. She should be happy, only she had been happy in the Engine and had not realised. Charles had protected her and loved her, but she had not appreciated him until he was gone.

  If Gine was responsible for this, then it was to Gine she would repair. She would fight him for Charles if need be.

  She had to persuade Aunt Agatha to help, not see that she was ruined. Perhaps Aunt Agatha would blame herself and not be as lenient as she had been in the past. No, Berd decided, it was up to her to escape. Charles was returning to the stables for the Engine. She had to be there before him if she wanted to confront Gine.

  “Where is my brother this morning?”

  “I believe at his club, my lady.”

  Perfect. James was probably trying to gather information on Charles. But with James gone, maybe, just maybe, her plan would work. If she didn’t lose confidence. Or James returned too early. Or Charles called for the Engine before she was ready.

  An hour later, her heart pounding like a piston, Berd was prepared. “Open the door, please, Rose.”

  To his credit, Henry, the footman on guard, straightened when he saw her, like a junior officer upon seeing a higher-ranked officer. His hands even opened as if he was preparing to bodily seize her but then they closed the next.

  Good. Berd smiled inwardly. It was as she had predicted. Henry remembered his place. She was a lady and he, a mere footman. He should not lay a finger on her, which would make it difficult for him to restrain her.

  She stepped out.

  “My lady,” he gasped, his face flushing.

  “Good morning, Henry.” Taking advantage of his confusion, Berd coolly headed for the stairs, barely glancing at him. Rose followed close behind.

  “I’m sorry, my lady, but you need, umm, to return to your room.”

  Berd halted with all the grace at her disposal. She cocked her head at the cringing footman and simply stared at him, as if she could not believe he was actually stopping her. Behind her she heard Rose draw a deep breath.

  Henry, barely twenty years of age at a pinch, wilted even further under Berd’s gaze. He tried once more. “I’m sorry, my lady, but his lordship insisted you remain in your room.”

  She arched one brow. “I see.” Then she turned to give Rose a reassuring smile before once again proceeding towards the stairs.

  At her flagrant disregard of her brother’s order, Henry whisked in front of her, his face mottled crimson in embarrassment, but determined to stop her.

  Despite her annoyance, Berd
had to give him credit for attempting, despite the awkward situation, to carry out James’s orders. Again, she drew to a halt. She lifted her chin. “I’m afraid I don’t find this at all amusing. I shall have a word with my aunt when she returns.”

  A look of confusion crossed Henry’s face. As if he had just realised it was the duchess who employed him and not the earl, and that the duchess had given no such command to confine Berd to her room. “Yes, my lady.” He glanced at Berd then at the room she had vacated then back at her again. A corner of his eye twitched.

  But Berd had little sympathy for the footman. Time was running out and she had to enforce her will swiftly or James would be back. She glared at Henry impatiently as she played her final card. “Where is his lordship? I need a word with him.”

  To her surprise, she received an answer immediately. Only it wasn’t from Henry.

  “Here.” James’s voice was suave.

  Berd’s stomach knotted. Somehow she managed a curtsey.

  James, leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs, bowed back in greeting, his manner unruffled. “Would you care to join me in the library?”

  Her smile broadened as if she really was glad to see her brother. Head held high, she glided away from the petrified footman, down the stairs and straight into the library. At the appearance of the earl, Rose had conveniently disappeared.

  When Berd heard the door shut behind her, she turned to face her brother. “James,” she breathed.

  “Please be seated, Berd.”

  She sat, clasped her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze on the large brass globe of the world in front of her.

  James pursed his lips then headed to the array of decanters to pour a brandy. He raised his glass to ask Berd if she wanted a drink, but she shook her head. It was tempting, but she had learnt a hard lesson that when dealing with Gine, she needed all her wits about her. And more.

  “Well,” said James. He took a good swig of the brandy. “It appears we have a delicate situation.” He swirled the amber liquid round in the glass, before he looked up at her. “You weren’t about to head to the stables by any chance?”