Alistair was still under doctor’s orders to take things slowly, so I was on my own again for the next couple of days. Since I really had little to do, I volunteered to help Fred work on her flying machine.
The balance was off, as she had said. I tried lifting off from the ground, but the placement of the wings made it impossible. They were mounted just behind the seat, and only the rear wheel would rise above the ground.
“Maybe if they were moved forward, over the center of the machine?” I suggested, sketching what I meant on a scrap of paper. “That would still allow the rider control, but would change the balance. Don’t you think?”
“You could be right,” she said thoughtfully. She pulled out a wrench and began to dismantle the machine.
We worked through the day, and by the time it was too late to continue, I had made a number of short trips across the warehouse riding several feet off the ground.
It was most satisfying to be inventing again. Especially to be so important to the process. What I had done with Phaeton had been mostly by accident, and what I had done with my steam iron still didn’t work, but this time I was really helping shape Fred’s machine.
We took the mechano-velocipede through the twilit streets to the boarding house. I dismounted with a sigh.
“I am going to go check in on Nettie and Ella. Hopefully, I can convince Nettie to let Ella go to the ceremony, at least.”
“Best of luck,” Fred offered. “She’s a sweet little girl. She deserves that much.”
I knocked on Aunt Emily’s door, and Vanessa opened it.
“There you are!” she said with relief. “That little girl has been calling for ‘Auntie Jo’ all day long. Driving me right ’round the bend, she is.”
“Where did you put her?”
“In Master Herbert’s old room. Second to the left at the top of the stairs. And Mrs. Conn would like to see you as well.”
“I’ll see Ella first. I’m sure Leonora has more patience than a ten-year-old.”
“Not by much!” Vanessa seemed more frazzled even than usual.
I hid a smile. “I’ll do what I can.”
At the top of the stairs, I could hear Ella carrying on an animated three-way conversation with Leonora and her mother. I assumed Hortensia was also involved, but she wasn’t the talkative type.
“How are you feeling, Miss Ella?” I asked her, going down on my knees beside her where she sat cross-legged on the floor.
“Better.” She filled a tiny china teacup with imaginary tea and handed it to me. “Thank you for coming to my tea party, Miss Josephine.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” I answered solemnly. “Now, may I have a few moments to talk to your mama?”
Ella started to protest, but Leonora called her to her side.
“Which dress do you like better for Hortensia, Ella? The velvet or the satin?” She held up both for Ella’s decision, successfully distracting the child.
Nettie rose to her feet.
“Why don’t we go down to the parlor?” Her voice sounded tired.
I said nothing until we sat down in the blissful silence.
“How are you doing, Nettie? The wedding is Saturday—are you overwhelmed yet?”
“A little.” She sighed. “I’m beginning to wonder if I should call the whole thing off.”
“You can’t do that! William is a fabulous catch. He understands about Ella…”
“You’re right.”
“And, about Ella—”
“I know what you are going to say, Jo. Maybe you’re right. William and I had a long talk last night. He thinks I should have Ella be a flower girl. If we do, we’ll have to explain her presence to his family earlier than we’d planned, but perhaps it is for the best.”
“It is, Nettie,” I replied gently, taking her hand. “That little girl wants nothing more than to be with her mother. William’s willing to be a father to her. Let him be. Become a family.”
“Now I’ll have to get her a dress,” she mourned, eyes twinkling.
I laughed.
When word got out that Amy had been instrumental in exposing Patrick Barnstable’s villainy, there were plenty of people willing to flock to her door for deductive work.
Far from being stigmatized by the idea, Society welcomed a consulting detective into their midst with open arms.
She officially hung out her shingle on the day after she was Maid of Honor at Constance and Phineas’s wedding. She’d just have to get used to him, she supposed.
-- Garrett Goldthwaite
Analytical Amy and the Case of the Covetous Cad
Chapter 22
The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear. Fred and I had spent the days between the homecoming and the wedding day working on the flying machine. It seemed to be fully stabilized at last, and we were looking forward to taking it out for a field test.
But not today. Today was about Nettie and William…and Ella.
All of us had been invited to the ceremony—even Roderick and Vanessa because of Ella’s time at Aunt Emily’s. Fred and I were both dressed in some of my new clothes. Leonora had even given Vanessa a frock to wear.
The ceremony was being held at a lovely resort on the beach outside of the city. We rode to the venue in a pair of carriages William had sent to fetch us. There was a festival air to the proceedings, down to several food vendors and a clown doing magic tricks for the children attending. It was an all-day event, to culminate in the wedding at sunset. There was even a pony giving rides on a circular track. Ella was on its back when we arrived, and she waved happily when she saw us.
“Looks like they’ve acknowledged her,” I whispered to Fred.
“About time!” she replied with the same volume.
We still didn’t know who had been told about Ella and who hadn’t, and it wasn’t our place to inform one of those who hadn’t been.
I spotted Bridget across the way and hurried over to say hello.
“Mother Mary Frances, are you enjoying the day?”
She smiled tremulously. “Everything is beautiful, isn’t it? I hope Nettie’s doing the right thing. Ella was just fine at the orphanage.”
I wanted to slap her.
“Bridget Doyle! If you had had the opportunity to have a family ofyour own, would you have wanted to stay in the orphanage? Even if you did want to be a nun, if you could’ve had the support of a mother and father of your own, wouldn’t you have jumped at the chance?”
“Perhaps…,” she said, with a wistful smile, “but I will miss her so much.”
I suddenly realized Ella was the closest thing to her own daughter that Bridget would ever have. I gave her a hug.
“It’s best for Ella.”
“I’m not sure William’s parents agree,” she murmured.
“What do you mean?” I asked curiously.
She pointed to an older couple dressed to the nines who stood deep in conversation with… Clarence Smythe. Their faces were cold as they shot distinctly unfriendly looks in Ella’s direction. Far from being approving, they appeared to me as if they were watching a sideshow monkey gambol among its betters.
“I would put money on the possibility he’s telling them Ella is illegitimate and Nettie is a fortune hunter after William for his money,” Bridget said. “It isn’t too late for them to destroy Nettie’s happiness.”
“They would take Smythe’s word over the word of their own son?”
“He’s been a trusted friend for decades. Nettie’s someone William has known for a handful of months.”
“Well, I can prove everything Nettie says is true!”
“Can you? Do you have the certificate with you?” she asked eagerly.
I reached for my reticule and then remembered.
“No. I left it with Phaeton, where it was safe.”
Bridget’s shoulders slumped, as her face fell.
“That will do us no good.”
Fred joined us in time to hear the end of the conversation.
“It’s at Ma’s. How can I get there and back before sunset?” My mind raced. “I have an idea.”
Fred’s eyes narrowed.
“You aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you, Jo?”
“If I hurry home, I can get back with the flying machine.”
“Are you insane? We haven’t even field-tested it yet. We’ve barely flown around the warehouse.”
“I can do it, Fred. I trust your engineering skills.”
“It’s a good thing one of us does! This is a terrible idea, Jo.”
“It’s the only way. If anyone asks, tell them I was feeling indisposed and I’m taking a nap in the carriage.”
Fred rolled her eyes.
“As if anyone would believe that of you!”
Bridget was looking from one of us to the other, trying to follow the conversation.
“What is going on?”
“Jo is going to do something stupid!” Fred answered.
“Jo?”
“Don’t worry about a thing. Everything will be fine. But if I’m not back by the start of the wedding—stall.”
It was just after noon. The carriage had taken about two hours to get here, so it would take that long to get home, and there wasn’t that much time again to get back. Still, if I could get to Ma’s, and then half an hour to the warehouse…
It would be tight, but I could do it.
“I’ll be back,” I promised Bridget over my shoulder as I dashed toward the carriages.
~*~
I begrudged every minute of the ride back to the city. My mind raced, making and discarding plans. I would only have one shot at this. I thought my ultimate plan was possible, but I might just wind up dead if I wasn’t careful.
We pulled up outside the brownstone at last.
“I do apologize for the imposition, but could you be patient with me for a little longer?” I asked the driver. “I hate to keep you away from the festivities, but I’ll need a ride to another location as soon as I pick something up.”
“Master William told me this morning I was completely at your disposal, miss, but I would like to get back to the party. The whole staff was invited.”
I sensed Nettie’s influence behind that decision.
“I’ll just be a moment,” I called, running downstairs to the laboratory.
“Phaeton!” I shouted, as I ran into Alistair’s hallway. “I need you to give me the marriage certificate at once.”
He stepped out of the storeroom, the precious paper in his hand. I grabbed it, tucked it into my bodice, and ran back out of the basement. I gave the driver the address of the warehouse, and we were off.
~*~
I jumped down from the carriage, and sent the driver on his way, hoping he might still get back in time for the ceremony. I certainly planned to.
Hurrying into the warehouse, I opened the roof as quickly as I could. Heart thumping in my chest, I circled Fred’s flying machine. I did wish we’d gotten a little further on it. I didn’t even know if it had the range I needed.
I topped up the reservoir for the steam engine and checked the coal oil supply—with its light frame and the need to conserve weight, Fred was trying an alternate fuel to the coal I was used to. I lit the pilot and tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for the water to boil. Then, mourning the fact that I was wearing one of my best frocks, I kicked over the engine.
It took me three passes across the warehouse, each higher than the last, to clear the roof; and then I was banking to turn toward the resort. It was exhilarating!
There were hand controls that helped to pitch the vanes in the wings, foot controls that impeded or expanded the amount of steam driving the wings. I also needed to pedal to keep the fan of the tail adjusted to control direction. I had to concentrate to keep everything straight. It took all my focus.
I had disliked riding in the Pearl because I was so high above the ground the clouds had been sweeping below us. The flying machine barely cleared the trees, at least for now, and I knew I could survive a fall from that height. I might break a few bones, but I would live…probably.
The wings beat with a steady susurration of steam as I pedaled the machine toward my destination; the sun was still fairly high in the sky, but it would be close. The wind, streaming through my hair and blowing back my clothes as I flew—yes, flew!—was lovely. The air smelled fresh and clean, without the taint of coal or horses that seemed to be everywhere in the city. There was no sound besides that susurration of steam. It was so peaceful.
Before I reached the resort, however, the pedaling had begun to be onerous. I tried adjusting my altitude and caught a thermal current—something Fred had told me about in her instructions to me as we’d built the machine. It made things easier for a time; but then it disappeared, and my heart nearly flew from my chest as I dropped several feet.
By the time I regained full control, I was higher than I had been before—probably in compensation. The wind was cooler now, and I shivered in a dress that had been intended for afternoon formal wear. My legs were beginning to tire as well, and I was distinctly uncomfortable.
As I adjusted the tail fin to correct my course slightly, I could see the tents and carriages at the resort several miles ahead of me. Then I realized something.
Fred and I had practiced flying about the warehouse, but I had never been higher than four or five feet off the ground. I had no idea how to bring the flying machine to the ground from a height such as this without crashing.
I tilted the planes of the wings as Fred had shown me. The smooth susurration of the steam began to skip and hiss. I spared a glance for the reservoir and saw that it was nearly dry. The flying machine began to lose altitude, and my heart skipped another beat as I plummeted several feet straight down before the wings caught again.
Gulping my breakfast back down my throat—and grateful I hadn’t had time for luncheon—I steadied my pedaling and regained fair control of the machine. I would land, somehow, and I would rescue Nettie’s wedding. Ella would have her mother, and everyone would live happily ever after.
The resort was directly beneath me. I began to loop around to descend. It would take a while to get low enough to dismount safely, but I was getting there. By the third circle, I was close to the beach. One more pass, and I should be able to jump if necessary.
Then, the engine sputtered out completely. I was going down!
There was a grove of trees behind the pony track, and I aimed for them—I have experience landing in trees. My feet brushed the top leaves, and I took a deep breath. Fred was going to kill me…
I threw my leg over the frame and jumped. The flying machine kept going toward the ground, and I landed in the top of a tree. Knocking branch after branch as I fell toward the ground, I had a third moment of déjà vu. Why was it that everything about this adventure reminded me of some other bit of my life?
I caught the lowest branch and then dropped the rest of the way to the ground, shaking out my skirts and checking the safety of the certificate. I hurried through the crowds of people, ignoring the horrified stares of the wedding guests.
I must look a fright. Still, important things were at stake here; my appearance was the least of my worries.
The wedding party was assembling; I could see them across the way. Clarence Smythe still hovered beside the older couple I had been told were William’s parents.
William stood at the altar with the minister. So, apparently, there had been no blowup yet.
I could see Nettie some way off under the shelter of a canopy, waiting for her cue. Sergeant Doyle stood beside her, looking very smart in his dress uniform, presumably to give her away. She was so beautiful in her gown, and looked so happy. It cemented my determination that she would have her perfect wedding.
The music started—a harp and violin playing the increasingly popular “Wedding March” from Lohengrin—and Ella walked down a carpeted pathway at the head of a be
vy of flower-girls, tossing rose petals from a small basket. I had never seen her looking so happy.
Ten paces behind her, Nettie started toward William, her face radiant. I saw Smythe glowering from the groom’s side of the gathering.
The minister started the ceremony, and I ran toward the altar. I had to be in time.
“If anyone here knows any just cause why these two should not be joined in marriage, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
“I have an objection!” thundered Clarence Smythe, stepping forward. “This woman is a strumpet with an illegitimate child.” He pointed a finger at Ella. “That child was born out of wedlock!”
“That isn’t so!” I shouted, pulling the certificate from my bodice and waving it above my head. “I have signed and sealed proof that Nettie married her first husband in eighteen-sixty-four. That was over a year before Ella was born. Matthias was a soldier, and he was killed in the War, leaving Nettie a widow. She has been a model of decorum for the last decade—living apart from the daughter she loves. She has finally found happiness with William. They deserve to be a family.”
“May I see the certificate,” the minister asked, holding out his hand.
I bit my lip, but handed it to him. After all, he was a man of the cloth. Surely he would do the right thing.
“This appears to be in order,” he announced, after reading through the document. He handed it to William’s parents. “There is nothing here to prevent this ceremony moving forward. If there are no further objections?”
I glared at Smythe and the Vanderbilts in turn. I would not let anything spoil this day further. No one said anything else—although, from the glower on Mr. Vanderbilt’s face as he looked toward Smythe, plenty would be said to someone later.
The ceremony concluded with a most satisfactory kiss on the part of the bride and groom. I felt tears of joy begin as Ella ran to her mother and William hoisted her into his arms laughing and squealing. She would have a family—her family—what every little girl and boy deserved.
The Nearly Notorious Nun Page 17