A Midsummer Night's Steampunk

by Scott E. Tarbet

  “Can nothing be done to persuade him? To moderate his attitude?”

  “I am afraid that since he removed Otto von Bismarck as chancellor, very little moderating influence reaches his ears.”

  Somerset shook his head. “It must break your heart.”

  “More than you can know, my friend.”

  “Will you indulge an unofficial communiqué from Her Majesty, your mother?”

  “Of course.”

  “Her Majesty and her government are gravely concerned at the course Wilhelm has set. Unless some way can be found to convince him to abandon his bellicose plans, he will bring the European states, their colonies, and friends around the world, into a conflagration that would engulf us all. It would truly be a world war.”

  “My mother and I have discussed that possibility at length in our correspondence,” said the Dowager Empress. “I have done my best to impress upon my son the danger of the course he is on. But we have been at odds philosophically for many years, and lately he has isolated himself from me.”

  Graymalkin shifted uneasily beneath her, but Vicky’s hand on the reins was firm.

  “I am glad you and your mother are able to correspond with one another so freely,” said Somerset. “Would that your son could, as well.”

  “As do I, Beau. As do I.” Victoria drew a deep breath. “You are aware of what this meeting today portends?”

  “I believe it means that your mother has decided it is time to act. To set the wheels in motion.”

  “Just so. The time has come. We are much indebted to you for facilitating this encounter. It would be impossible to meet discretely otherwise.”

  “It is my great pleasure, Your Majesty.”

  “Has the doctor arrived?”

  “Her airship came in only an hour ago—something about adverse winds slowing the transit from Victoria Station. She is docked at the mooring masts north of the stables. With the personal airships of several other guests.”

  “And the American? Has she made her appearance?”

  Somerset smiled. “Indeed! We had the pleasure of her company last night. She stayed with us on the estate. She should join us nearly any moment.”

  “No doubt her entrance will be hard to miss. It always is.”

  As if she were in receipt of some preternatural cue, there was a stir among the black-clad followers of the hunt and their retinues as ‘the American’ galloped up. She sat scandalously astride a pinto pony, rather than the far more customary and decorous sidesaddle. No proper hunting attire for her: she wore Western chaps over a doe-colored split skirt, white beaded shirtwaist with billowing sleeves, her chestnut hair flowing over her shoulder in a thick braid beneath a sweat-stained cowboy hat. Vicky clapped her hands delightedly and beckoned the newcomer to join them. “Jennie, my dear! You never fail to amuse and entertain.”

  Lady Randolph—Jennie Churchill, to her friends—would have cut a striking figure in any company, with the mane, visage, and lithe body of a woman at least ten years younger than the forty-three she seldom admitted to. Dressed and mounted as she was, and with the penetrating dark eyes that one admirer likened to a panther’s, she stood out at the society fox hunt like a wild rose on a croquet lawn.

  But for the fact that her eldest, Winston, was partially the subject of the day’s consultations, it never would have occurred to her to mention in public that she had a grown son of nearly twenty-five years. She seemed to ignore him as much as possible, and he was perennially left to jostle for position in the long queue of those seeking her attention.

  Two years a widow, she found herself more at the center of the social maelstrom than ever before. The gossip and innuendo, which had been considerable during her marriage, swirled around her nonstop. And she did absolutely nothing to discourage it, seeming to revel in her merry reputation.

  Fanning her horse to a sprint with her hat, she burst through the loosely gathered crowd, directly to Vicky’s side, coming to a halt so abrupt that the horse appeared to be dropping to a sitting position. “Cutting horse,” she laughed. “Not much good over a mile and a quarter, but in the quarter mile, fast as lightning. Cutting a calf out of a herd for roping and branding—there is none better.”

  “How sad for you, then,” said Vicky, “that you won’t be up with the dogs to harry the fox! You’ll be stuck making tepid conversation with us old ladies.”

  “That won’t take all day, will it?” objected Jennie in mock horror. “I have a fifty-quid bet with Viscount Collingswood that my paint will take down his Irish hunter in a barrel race. It’s to be settled today. I want my winnings!”

  Captain Somerset laughed. “Quite so. I stand surety for the wager.”

  Unnoticed in the commotion that attended Jennie’s arrival, another rider had approached the group. Unlike the flashy American, Doctor Lakshmi Malieux was attired in a tastefully tailored black riding habit with the prescribed points of scarlet trim, identical to most of the hunt’s female followers, and sat sidesaddle on an elegantly slender white Arabian mare. She spoke quietly in a voice that smiled, comforted, and invited trust.

  “Captain Somerset?” she asked, drawing to a stop. “Doctor Lakshmi Malieux. You were pointed out to me as my gracious host.”

  “Doctor Malieux, how wonderful to finally make your acquaintance.” In that moment, the moving-off horn sounded. “I’m very sorry, but I must away to my duties. May I introduce you to Her Royal Highness the Kaiserin, and to Lady Randolph? I am sure you will find much to chat about.” With a smile and a wave, he wheeled his horse and rode off to the pack.

  “Your Highness, how very glad I am to finally make your acquaintance, after so much correspondence,” said Lakshmi.

  “Doctor Malieux, how lovely you are! One should have known that such a brilliant mind would inhabit such a winsome frame. Please call me Vicky. We are, after all, en famille today, are we not?”

  “Indeed we are, Vicky.” The doctor turned to Lady Randolph. “Jennie, my dear friend, it has been far too long.”

  Jennie rode close, leaned out of the saddle, and embraced her friend. “Far too long, indeed. It has been since Hermione and Ernst christened their darling baby daughter. My son Winston tells me she is quite the pretty thing. And quite an engineer.”

  “From the news I have received of her, she is nearly her mother’s equal in many ways. She has a quick mind, a natural talent, and used her time at the Sorbonne wisely. And you, my dear . . . I was ever so sorry to hear of the passing of Lord Randolph. I do hope you received my condolences.”

  “I did, and I thank you.”

  “And I hear many wonderful things about you, now that the mourning period is over: that you are once again the talk of London society, no party is complete without you, and the men flock to you like moths to a flame.”

  At this, Jennie barked a laugh. “There are many who say things that are not so lovely. Jealousy is an ugly thing, isn’t it?” She dropped a wink. “I hear amazing things about you, my dear: that you do such marvelous science and technology that you may as well be a wizard or a magician, that you are the queen of the engineers. I hear your own husband is so envious of your abilities that he would go to any lengths to re-enlist your aid.”

  Lakshmi smiled sadly. “And I would aid him most happily if his aims were more enlightened. He is a brilliant man, with many accomplishments of his own, who could make the world a better place if only he could clearly see his place in it. And if he could only see the true worth of the people around him.”

  “You married beneath you,” Jennie assured her. “All women do.”

  The clamor of the hounds had moved away, and the followers were moving out. The three women rode side by side. Jennie turned and looked at the groom trailing Vicky. “Is that one reliable?”

  “Quite reliable. Plus, he speaks no English, and has been instructed to stay out of earshot. Nevertheless, until we are clear of eavesdroppers, accidental or otherwise, let us ride a bit and talk of other things.”

  “Of sh
oes and ships and sealing wax? Of cabbages and kings?” asked Jennie.

  “And why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings!” affirmed Vicky.

  Lakshmi looked at them quizzically. “A child’s poem, perhaps?”

  “Indeed,” said Jennie. “Our Mr. Lewis Carroll.”

  “Ah,” said Lakshmi. “I know of his Alice books, but alas have not read them. His other books under his true name—those on mathematics—are far more familiar to me.”

  “Mathematics? Ugh!” exclaimed Jennie. “You scientists! I would rather strive to understand people. Though, of course, I probably never will. Particularly women. Men, on the other hand, are such simple, transparent, reliable creatures.”

  “Ah,” said Lakshmi, “but is not the Creator of the Universe Himself both the ultimate mathematician and the ultimate in understanding of the human soul? I choose to believe that there are common keys.”

  “Hmph. Too deep. Far too deep for a ride on a lovely summer’s morning.”

  “Speaking of rides,” Vicky put in, “let’s see what lies down this pretty lane.” They had lagged some distance behind the main body of riders, and now diverged down a shady track. Soon they were beyond the chatter of the people and the clatter of the horses, but could still hear the far-off bay of the hounds and the shrill cries of the hunt master’s horn. “We’ll catch them up shortly.”

  They emerged from the lane to a gardened enclosure surrounding what appeared to be the ruins of a stone building in the form of a miniature crenulated castle. “How lovely!” exclaimed Jennie, riding up to inspect it more closely.

  “Isn’t it?” said Vicky. “Beau and Bertie and I played here endlessly as children. The Ragged Castle, we called it. Unlikely we’ll be disturbed. Shall we get to it, then?” They all dismounted. “First, let us dispense with all formality. We mustn’t allow our intentions to be cloaked in extra words.” Both her companions nodded their agreement. “Second, our purpose: Wilhelm grows ever more petulant and headstrong. The noble aims of his father and grandfather—the unification of Germany—is no longer enough for him. Now he seeks dominion and glory. Von Bismarck, who architected peace, has been shunted aside. Militarism runs amok.”

  “Surely he’s not stupid enough to think that the British, the French—even the Americans—would allow him to grab territory in the colonies, let alone on the Continent!” Jennie exclaimed.

  “Of course. While his grandmother lives, he dare not attempt it. But when her health finally fails, he believes that he can face down my brother’s government. He is prone to underestimating his Uncle Bertie. The Americans are mired in their silly ‘isolationism’ and cannot be relied upon to help. The French, he thinks, would then stand alone. He thinks he will make his fame defeating our traditional foe.”

  “Oh, don’t count the Americans out,” drawled Jennie. “They can always be counted on to do the right thing . . . after they’ve tried everything else.”

  Vicky laughed. “He certainly underestimates Edward and the British people, especially the Royal Navy. On the waves their ships are second to none, and in the air the Royal Navy’s dirigibles lead the world.”

  “Is this your estimation as a German monarch?” asked Lakshmi.

  “You do know that in Berlin they call me ‘the English girl,’ do you not?” Vicky smiled. “My ancestry may be German, but I was born and raised in England. My household speaks English. All my children, including Wilhelm, were raised with English literally as their mother tongue.”

  “This must tear at your heart,” said Lakshmi.

  “Indeed. There is no way I can stand idly by and watch my son take my homeland and my adopted country to war. The bloodshed would be unthinkable.”

  “I believe the war between the American North and South completely demonstrated the horror of modern war,” said Lakshmi.

  “I agree,” said Jennie. “And the weapons that have come along since then, the new automatic sorts like the Maxim gun, and the poison gasses—beyond imagination!”

  “Exactly,” said Vicky. “The answer is to return Germany to the path of democracy, and away from military ambition.”

  “Well,” said Jennie, “we women will just have to step in and make the world safe for men, since men have made it so darned unsafe for women. It’s time for the world to change, don’t you think?”

  “Pioneering women may be picturesque figures, but they are often rather lonely ones,” Lakshmi noted.

  “Only if they choose to be, my dear, only if they choose to be,” Jennie replied archly. “And I, for one, choose not to be.”

  Lakshmi turned back to Vicky. “Your mother is completely aware of this effort?”

  “Completely. She has worked out much of the grand design with her prime minister and her top military commanders. But the British government cannot be seen to interfere directly in German affairs, lest they hasten the inevitable military confrontation. That is why she has turned to us: the German Kaiserin, an American heiress, and the daughter of the Raja of Golkonda. She can deny any involvement.”

  “So what does she want us to do?” asked Jennie. “Just leave Herbie von Bismarck to me. He already eats out of my hand. And his father is such a charming old man—I can’t imagine I wouldn’t be able to persuade them both.”

  “Yes, we’ll leave Herbie in your capable hands,” said Vicky. “The Iron Chancellor has already let me know privately that he is anxious to consult with me.”

  “I guess that means the old fox is with us?”

  “In the non-diplomatic American vernacular,” said Vicky, amused, “that’s exactly what it means.”

  For the next twenty minutes, Vicky outlined the plan, while Lakshmi and Jennie asked pointed and detailed questions. In the end, all were satisfied with their roles and agreed that if all went well and all did their parts, the plan stood a decent chance of success.

  “When shall we three meet again?” asked Lakshmi, stirring a pantomime pot.

  Vicky laughed. “Do we have to wait until it’s a dark and stormy night? I’m quite enjoying being out in the sunshine.”

  “We definitely need to meet again,” said Jennie. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to go have a talk with your boy.”

  “You know of course that I’ve tried that? Repeatedly?”

  “Yes, but alone, without us to back you up. And you may have heard this about me, but I have a way with princes. I collect them, you know,” she said with a smile of mock innocence.

  “So I’ve heard! Prince Kinsky of Austria, Prince Herbie von Bismarck, and my dear sweet brother Bertie. I suppose a Crown Prince and future King of England is an additional feather in your cap.”

  “More like a notch in my bedpost, you mean!”

  “You wouldn’t want Willy, believe me. He’s far more trouble than he’s worth.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I haven’t scored an emperor yet,” Jennie said.

  “So when shall we meet?” asked Lakshmi.

  “Tomorrow night should be enough time,” said Vicky.

  “Where, then?”

  “My yacht. Jennie travels easily, you even easier. I don’t move without an entourage.”

  “Very well, I . . . pardon me . . .” Lakshmi paused, appearing to listen to something the others could not hear. She turned, and they could see that a large, glittering, silver dragonfly hovered near her ear. She nodded, and turned back to her human companions. “I am told that even now my goddaughter is on her way to Victoria Station, where she expects to find me docked. I must return at once. Before I go, Vicky, would you answer one last question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I do not understand the place of the young people in all of this; my goddaughter Pauline, Jennie’s son Winston, Alexander MacIntyre, the Hozier girl. Where do they fit in?”

  “They are the future, the ultimate failsafe. How much do you know of Pauline’s parentage?”

  “Hermione confided all. She and Ernst were both from Houses co-opted by the Prussians into t
he German Empire. Pauline is royal. Of the House of Hanover.”

  “Quite. She and I share common ancestors. Her marriage could alter the dynamics of European politics. Should she be wed to a potential heir to the Prussian throne, many problems would be solved, especially should Wilhelm have to be replaced.”

  “But, by all accounts, she and Alexander MacIntyre are quite smitten,” Lakshmi noted.

  Vicky smiled. “We are not displeased.”

  “But is she not betrothed since childhood to Jennie’s son Winston?”

  Jennie herself answered, “And a fine match it would have been indeed. But a match born of my girlhood friendship with her mother. You know how it is, surely: ‘Oh! When my little boy is old enough, he’ll marry your little girl!’ I’m sure nothing irritates the children more.

  “I would be happy indeed if he married the Hozier girl, despite the Duke of Marlborough’s plans to the contrary. Winston goes on about her so! That girl is nobody’s fool—as much a brilliant mind as the Spiegel girl. Winston and Clementine would make a fine pair.”

  “I have a feeling that Winston and Alex, too, will be a formidable alliance,” Vicky said, “once they put aside their rivalry over the Spiegel girl.” She smiled. “And my mother’s long-term plans for them both will be very well served.”

  “Well then! The plot—as they say—thickens!” exclaimed Lakshmi. “I must get back to London as quickly as possible. Please don’t worry about my horse; she will return without me to my airship, which will then return to Victoria Station. And please excuse my abrupt departure. I know it can be a bit disconcerting.” She stepped several paces away, and without a visible signal, first one brilliant, metallic blue swallow, then another, then another, then seemingly thousands, swooped close and began to gather in a swirling cloud around her.

  Through the whirl and whoosh of wings, her human companions heard her say, “Very well, then, my Friends. Fair is foul, and foul is fair. Hover through the fog and filthy air. To Victoria Station, if you please.” She was completely obscured in a spinning ball of metallic blue, which rose quickly from the ground and disappeared east over the trees almost more rapidly than the eye could follow.