The Antics of Evangeline: Collection 1: Mystery and Mayhem in steampunk Melbourne

by Madeleine D'Este

  "I am sorry." Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe called out as her guests left one by one, climbing into their carriages and instructing their drivers to take them straight home. "Please send your laundry bills to me."

  Augie came marching across the road, flung open the front gate and slammed the front door. Evangeline waited a little longer under the bush before slipping around the side of the house and clambering back in through her open bedroom window.

  She lay on her bed fully dressed, her mind racing. What had she witnessed in the parlour? Was it a real message from the spiritual world?

  The name Miriam rang in her ears.

  Chapter 17

  Evangeline tossed and turned, her dreams filled with loud crashes, heavy red curtains and words adrift in the air. She jolted awake, with a plan fully formed in her head.

  "I must know the truth," she said to herself, dressing quickly and sliding into her flat slippers.

  She inched open her bedroom door. The rest of the house was sleeping except for Clarence, his steady ticks echoing down the hallway. She tiptoed downstairs to the Professor's study, switched on the desk lamp and began searching for the new atervis detector when a silver frame on the crammed bookshelf caught her eye. It held a daguerreotype of an elfin young woman, porcelain-faced with black hair, barely older than Evangeline herself. Was this her grandmother, Geileish? The heart of all the strangeness in her life?

  She placed her grandmother back on the shelf and spied the brass telescope-like atervis detector. Now she could substantiate the existence of dark energy in the parlour and prove whether the evening had been a sham. Evangeline slipped the device into her pocket, once again lamenting the loss of her atervis monocle, and left the house by the front door, for a change.

  Collins Street was deserted, lit only by a few pools of yellow gas light. Evangeline skipped over a mountain of horse mess and crossed the street.

  A single light burned upstairs, far away from the front parlour, and the rest of the house was dark. Evangeline pushed on the front windows but they were latched from the inside.

  She peered through the drawn curtains with the atervis detector. There was an ever so-slight silvery glow. So slight, she couldn't be certain whether it was merely the reflection of the moon on the window glass.

  Testing the weight of the brass detector in her hand, she hoped Petunia was a heavy sleeper. With a quick jab, she cracked the window pane, then stopped and listened. The house was still quiet. The only noise was the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

  She prodded at the shattered pane until the shards fell away and with her hand wrapped inside her sleeve, reached through the hole, unlatched the window and stepped into Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe's parlour. She rushed to close the door, turned up a gas lamp and lifted the atervis detector to her eye. But before she had a chance to peek through the eyepiece, heavy footsteps came down the stairs. She hurriedly crouched beside the sideboard.

  The door opened.

  "Over there. In the sideboard," said Madame Zsoldas in a low voice.

  Evangeline held her breath.

  Chale pulled open a drawer and took out a tray of rattling silverware.

  "It will have to do," Madame Zsoldas muttered.

  Chale emptied the cutlery tray into a leather travelling bag.

  "There has to be something else in here," Madame Zsoldas said. "This old sow is made of money."

  The room started to spin as Evangeline's breath ran low. She hoped they would find nothing more and move on to the next room. Quickly.

  "How about this, Madame?" Chale held up an old porcelain figurine with a tall white wig.

  "Well spotted. Meissen. Wrap it very carefully," Madame Zsoldas said.

  Her face turning blue, Evangeline could hold her breath no more. She opened her mouth with a gasp, the noise much louder than she anticipated. Chale turned instantly.

  "Who are you?" He reached down and pulled Evangeline up by the shoulder.

  Evangeline spluttered as she took a full breath.

  "What are you doing here?" Chale thrust her under the light.

  "I could ask you the same thing," Evangeline replied with a cough. "Let me go."

  "I recognise you." Madame Zsoldas smirked. "Caldicott child. Now why are you here in this house in the middle of the night dressed in gentlemen’s pajamas?"

  Evangeline shirked off Chale's grip and stood up straight.

  "I am here to find the truth about last night. Whether your séance was real."

  "You were here?" Chale's brow furrowed.

  "It was you," Madame Zsoldas said. "Very interesting. I wondered where it came from."

  "What do you mean?" Evangeline frowned. "Was it real or not?"

  "You are right. A spirit did visit us. I wondered if one of the guests had a latent talent. But you. It makes sense. I knew there was something strange about you, child."

  "How rude." Evangeline huffed. "We've barely been introduced."

  "This is a compliment. Such strangeness can be very profitable."

  "What should I do with her, Madame?" Chale grabbed at Evangeline's arm.

  "Be gentle, Chale. The Caldicott child could be very useful."

  Chale grimaced and dropped his grip.

  "Thank you very much," Evangeline said with a toss of her head, dusting down her jacket. "So, Madame Zsoldas. You are obviously a charlatan and didn't conjure up the spirit yourself. Then what was in the room? How did it know about Miriam?"

  "You tell me."

  "How should I know?"

  "You know more than you let on. I know lies when I see them. We are alike, you and I."

  "Rot."

  "Don't be so hasty. As I said, strangeness like yours, events like last night, could be very profitable indeed. In fact, I have a proposition for you. Have you ever been to Vienna?"

  "Austria? I don't understand?"

  "Come with me and I will show you how lucrative mesmerism can be."

  "Absolutely not."

  "There is a dirigible departing for Batavia at six o'clock. Join us. I know many people, rich and powerful, desperate for the type of experience we had last night. I will introduce you to the wonders of the Empire. The real Empire."

  "But what if she is evil, ma'am?" Chale stuttered.

  Madame Zsoldas laughed.

  "You are a simpleton, Chale. Who is evil and who is good?" Madame Zsoldas concentrated on Evangeline with her tawny eyes.

  "I will never go anywhere with you." Evangeline stared back.

  Zsoldas shrugged.

  "I gave you a choice." She turned to Chale. "Tie her up. It's time we left."

  Chapter 18

  "Leave me alone."

  Chale lunged forward but Evangeline struck back with a sharp elbow to his ribs. He groaned and doubled over.

  "Need a little help, Chale?" Madame Zsoldas said.

  "I can handle it, Madame." Chale grimaced and grabbed for Evangeline again. This time his grip was like iron and it was Evangeline's turn to groan. She kicked back like a donkey, her dainty heel connecting with Chale's bony shin.

  "Oh dear, Chale. A little girl is showing you up. Hurry along now. We haven't got much time."

  Chale grabbed Evangeline by the shoulders and flipped her face first onto the settee.

  "Get off me." Evangeline writhed, her voice muffled by the upholstery. Chale gripped her hands securely behind her back and bound her wrists together with a tasselled curtain tie.

  "I will never help you," Evangeline spat as Chale hoisted her upright. Madame Zsoldas unwound a scarlet scarf from her throat and stuffed it into Evangeline's mouth. Chale finished the job by tying up her feet.

  "We shall see about that."

  Evangeline protested but only mumbles emerged through her silken gag. Her eyes were flinty but underneath her heart was galloping. No one knew she was here in this house, and she wouldn’t be missed until breakfast. By then, she’d probably be half way to the Dutch East Indies.

  "I gave you the choice to come
freely. But I cannot let a golden goose like you get away so easily. You'll have plenty of time to reconsider my proposal on our long journey to Vienna. Come, Chale, let's complete our packing. I have just the right sized trunk."

  Somewhere else in the house, a heavy weight thudded to the floor, shaking the floorboards. Madame Zsoldas and Chale paused, Chale with his hand resting on the door knob.

  "Probably the old woman falling out of bed." Madame Zsoldas shrugged. "Come on."

  Another bang was followed by a long scrape,

  "Who'd be moving furniture at this hour?" Chale said.

  "Never mind. Perhaps it's a burglar. Let's go."

  Evangeline writhed on the velvet settee, pulling at her restraints. She hoped it was the police. She was already concocting a vivid story of how the spiritualist had kidnapped her from her bedroom for the white slave trade.

  Crash. The sound of delicate pottery shattering into a hundred pieces and Chale's ordinarily aloof face was crumpled in concern.

  "Very well. Go and investigate, Chale." Madame Zsoldas sighed. "But it sounds as though you missed something valuable. Pay closer attention next time."

  "Yes, ma'am," gulped Chale.

  He inched open the parlour door and a nightmarish scream echoed across the grand foyer. It was a two-toned bellowing shriek, both high pitched and low growl at the same time.

  "Oh my heavens," Chale squeaked, slamming the parlour door and leaning up against it. "This is all your fault. I should never have got involved with you. You said it was harmless. All an act, you said. What was I thinking? Meddling with the dead."

  "What are you blathering about?" Madame Zsoldas scoffed.

  "You were right. At the unwrapping party. You were right," Chale spluttered.

  Through the closed door, something slowly dragged and scraped its way across the foyer. Chale rushed to the end of the sideboard and pushed, heaving with all his might. Evangeline's chest tightened. She recalled the strange faint feeling from yesterday. It wasn't real, was it? Surely, she had imagined it.

  "He's coming for us."

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  The screeching roar blasted once more, and this time it was accompanied by a smell. An evil stench coiled under the door and up inside Evangeline's nostrils. She coughed, choking on her silken gag. This was a familiar smell, a smell she could never forget.

  “The tingle. I should have known,” Evangeline muttered to herself. She moaned and kicked her legs against the wooden chair legs but they paid her no mind.

  The smell reached Madame Zsoldas, her confident mask slipping for a moment. She hurriedly joined Chale, pushing the sideboard. The two groaned with effort but it was solid oak, their combined weight barely budged the sideboard an inch.

  "The table?"

  Chale tipped the round table on its side and pushed it against the door. Evangeline wriggled and rocked on the settee, trying to attract their attention. But she tipped too far, sliding off and thudding onto the oriental carpet.

  The low slow scraping drew closer, the thick stinky fog grew stronger. Chale and Madame Zsoldas pushed their weight against the table, desperately holding back the door.

  "Should we untie the girl? She could help."

  From her place on the floor, Evangeline nodded violently and groaned.

  "Leave her. She's a perfect present. Wrapped up like a bon-bon."

  Evangeline banged her heels against the ground, glaring at Madame Zsoldas with the best vitriol she could muster. But the spiritualist's attention was far away.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Three knocks shook the heavy door, shuddering on its hinges, propelling Chale and Madame Zsoldas forward. A fist burst through the panelling, wood smashing into the room, kindling and splinters flying in all directions.

  The door was no protection.

  Chapter 19

  A bandaged fist reached through the hole, striking Chale. His eyes rolled back and the grey-faced man slithered to the ground like a pool of water.

  Madame Zsoldas shrieked and exclaimed in an indecipherable language. From her expression, Evangeline gathered it was not a comment for polite company.

  "Chale. Wake up." The spiritualist kicked him. "This is not the time for resting."

  The mummy's hand retracted back through the hole, out of sight. With another wail, the door flew from its hinges, crashing into the middle of the room. Zsoldas was fleet-footed, skipping aside and escaping without a scratch.

  The mummy yowled.

  Silhouetted in the doorway, the creature stood over six foot tall, with spools of stained bandages pooling around his feet. His outstretched fingers were the colour of strong tea, his finger joints like knotted wood, his eyes blazing red lights, hidden deep within the layers of rotting swaddling.

  He swiped the table aside like a bothersome blade of grass and lumbered into the centre of the room. Madame Zsoldas held a fluted sleeve against her nose and stood her ground.

  "Go. Go now," she ordered, in her authoritative voice. "I have not wronged you. I did not bring you here."

  The mummy screeched in reply and lunged out with his hands. Madame Zsoldas squealed and jumped aside.

  "Ma'am?"

  Chale was back on his feet, albeit unsteadily, rubbing his forehead. He teetered within kicking distance of Evangeline and she shoved him with her boots. He looked down at her with unfocused eyes.

  "If you're not too busy. I could do with some help here," Madame Zsoldas said, fending off the reanimated Egyptian with a fire poker.

  Evangeline kicked Chale again, reinforcing her message.

  "Leave the girl."

  Chale swivelled between Madame Zsoldas and Evangeline with a confused expression. The mummy swung wildly, knocking the chandelier from the ceiling. A cloud of white plaster dust descended and a small white ball shot into the parlour with a growl. Petunia grabbed at the bandaged leg of the mummy, tearing at the strips of fabric. The mummy bent at the waist, swatting away the terrier. But Petunia was too quick, dodging the mummy's lumbering swipes.

  Chale bent down and untied Evangeline's hands.

  "What are you doing?" cried Madame Zsoldas, trying to sneak past the mummy while the little white dog nipped at his ankles. The creature glanced up at the last moment and lunged at the spiritualist. She jabbed the poker straight at the creature's heart but the metal bounced off his chest without a flinch.

  Evangeline rubbed her wrists and pulled the gag from her mouth.

  "Thank you," she said with a croak, as she freed her ankles.

  The mummy turned her way, ignoring the yapping dog and the spiritualist, staring with his fiery eyes. Evangeline stumbled to her feet, dancing from one leg to the other in a desperate attempt to recirculate the blood.

  He lurched towards her. Evangeline deflected his grapple with a defensive forearm swing. The mummy surged forward again but Evangeline was ready, striking the Egyptian right in the belly.

  "Ow," she cried, nursing her wrist against her chest. It felt as though she'd punched a piano.

  He roared and reached out with his bandaged hands, grabbing Evangeline by the ruffled throat and lifting her off her feet. His other hand reached over her head, grabbing her jaw. Evangeline kicked and grimaced, his fingers icy-cold against her cheek. Her heartbeat thundering in her ears with the fear he would tear her head clean off.

  Petunia struck again, nipping at his heels. The mummy groaned in irritation and threw Evangeline across the room. Colliding with the wallpapered wall, she smashed into one of the grumpy portraits, crashing to the ground in a shatter of glass.

  "Petunia. Where are you?" called a loud familiar voice. It was Mrs. Picklescott-Smythe calling down the stairs.

  The mummy was in the centre of the room, lashing out at the tenacious dog, while Madame Zsoldas, still trapped in the corner, tried again to sneak past towards the door.

  "Do you know any incantations?" Evangeline called out. "Anything we can do to stop him?"

  "If I d
id, I would have used it by now," Madame Zsoldas grunted as she darted to one side, avoiding his grasp.

  Evangeline's education was light on enchantments but a few months earlier, somehow she'd freed herself from a spellbound cage, conjuring up something mysterious. But, despite all her efforts, she'd failed to replicate the power. Should she take the chance and try again? But the silver aura? What might happen if her dark energy met a reanimated Egyptian?

  "One more try," she said with a determined nod, while the mummy took another swipe at Petunia.

  From her resting place on the floor, Evangeline strained. She contracted every muscle in her body, from her toes to her forehead, squeezing with all her might, wishing the tingling would return.

  She ground her teeth and grunted but there was nothing. Not a jot of power and the mummy was coming her way again. Evangeline's shoulders slumped with a sigh.

  Luckily, she had practical skills to rely on.

  Evangeline reached down to hoist herself upright and felt cold metal against her fingers. She picked up a foot long piece of copper picture wire, an idea sparking in her head. But was it enough?

  Evangeline fumbled in her pocket for the lamp beam, grinning as she felt the little cylindrical shape. She unscrewed the brass casing and emptied out the battery.

  "Pass me the chandelier," Evangeline called to the spiritualist. "I think I can stop him."

  "I don't need your help," Zsoldas retorted.

  "Yes, you do," said Chale.

  At the sound of Chale's voice, the mummy swung around, walloping him in the process. Chale's knees buckled and he cracked his head against a carved chair arm. The mummy turned his attention back to Madame Zsoldas, pushing her back towards the fireplace.

  "I guess I'll have to make do." Evangeline grumbled.

  She hurriedly bent the picture wire into a clumsy coil and wrapped one end around the battery.

  "Here goes."

  Evangeline crossed her fingers and toes, held out the wire like a dowsing rod and pressed the button.