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

by Madeleine D'Este

  One of the glass barrels started shuddering and vibrating, belching geysers of liquid to splatter against the side.

  "Oh, dear," said the Professor. "I don't like the sound of that one bit."

  "What is rubidium?" Evangeline said, tracing the flow of liquid through the tangled web of tubes.

  Sucking air through his teeth, the Professor shook his head. "A world of trouble. When will people learn? At least you can rely on good old cogs and pins. Solid. Stable. And safe. We'll have to tread very carefully, my dear. One slip and Guy Fawkes Night'll come early this year."

  Her whole body felt heavy. If Evangeline had been more like Miss Plockton, she would have dropped to her knees and asked for help from a higher power. And not the star men.

  "We're not going to escape, are we?" Evangeline said, her chin trembling.

  "I don't know, my dear," the Professor said, his voice a mere whisper, a dribble of sweat running down the side of his nose. "We are in rather a pickle."

  "If this is the end. I'm glad to be here with you, Father." Evangeline closed her eyes and rested her head against her father's shoulder.

  "And I, you, dear little Evangeline." The Professor said before coughing heartily.

  "There is something you can do for me."

  "Anything, m'dear."

  "I need to hear the story of you and my mother."

  The Professor chuckled, his voice a rusty rasp. "You have me in a corner. There's no way out now."

  "Please, Father. Tell me the story of how you met."

  Chapter 16

  "Peggy." He sighed.

  "Is it a terribly sad story?" Evangeline leaned forward.

  "Sad. Happy. Life never turns out as one expects. Good can turn to bad, but bad can be good in disguise." The Professor wheezed as he spoke. The bottle nearest them shuddering erratically. "We met in London. 1864."

  "The year before I was born?"

  "Indeed. My first year at King’s College. I always knew I wanted to be an engineer. I was never one for games and the countryside, not like Wilby or even Edmund. In those days I was quite obsessive."

  Evangeline raised an eyebrow.

  "I dismantled every contraption I could lay my hands on, especially anything clockwork. Drove Mama half-mad. She hated being late for anything."

  "Mama?"

  "Step mama." The Professor corrected himself. "My hard work and single-mindedness paid off. I secured a place in the engineering school at King’s College. So I left for London and took a room in a hostel. Where I met Peggy."

  The glass bottle rattled loudly, the vibrations building up speed.

  "How long can that hold?" The Professor winced. "Perhaps we can strengthen the bottle. More strips of petticoat, my dear?"

  "If you think it could help." She nodded, her head as heavy as a cannon ball. "But please carry on, Father."

  She couldn't allow him to get distracted, not now, when she was finally on the verge of learning how she came into this world.

  "University life was not quite as I hoped and dreamed. My studies were difficult and demanding. No longer the cleverest boy in my year, I was barely average, no matter how hard I worked." He shook his head.

  Perched on the edge of the metal box, Evangeline tore strip after strip from her petticoat. Her eyes fixed on her father.

  "London was big and grey and friendless. Every day was the same. I would go to my lectures and come straight home to my small room in the hostel or walk the foggy streets, barely sharing a word with another soul. One day, I was struck by a rather melancholy mood and left my lectures early. I returned to my room in the late morning and disturbed Peggy cleaning. We exchanged a few words, mainly profuse apologies on both parts and she scampered off. I have to admit I was a little smitten by her. Such lovely dark curls. Just like yours." His hand reached out towards Evangeline's hair, but he pulled his hand away at the last moment.

  "Let's reinforce the glass," the Professor said, standing, and Evangeline handed over a stack of cotton strips.

  "Go on with the story, please, Father," Evangeline said, as they slapped the first makeshift bandages around the jittering barrel. "I'm listening."

  "I was young. Inexperienced. Absolutely no idea how to talk to the female of the species. But there was something beguiling about Peggy, I wanted to know all about her. I made a habit of missing lectures, in the vain hope of seeing her again. I left little gifts for her on the dresser, posies of violets or bags of boiled sweets. Eventually I teased a few words out of her, then full sentences and one day I convinced her to stop her work and have a cup of tea with me. She was reluctant at first. It was rather improper and daring of us. A girl, even a maid, unchaperoned in my room was highly irregular. But despite all this, our friendship blossomed."

  The Professor and Evangeline wrapped the glass with petticoat strips, glued down with condensation.

  "Then one day I came home late and found her waiting on my bed in tears."

  Evangeline's hand clasped over her mouth.

  "I was angry and scared. I thought something horrid had happened. London is never a safe place for a young lady... but you'd know that better than I would."

  Evangeline nodded, pushing aside the memories of her own narrow escapes.

  "When I saw the tears running down her face, I could not help myself. I took a seat beside her on the bed and comforted her. Brash and reckless, I know but I didn't care. I only wanted to make Peggy smile again. She told me a horrid tale. She'd gone along with her sister, and half of London, to Newgate Prison to watch the hanging of Franz Muller. The railway killer. She was such a sensitive soul, your mother. So good hearted. She said she wanted to see justice prevail. Sometimes justice provides little comfort. It can be just as brutal as the deed itself."

  The Professor sighed. Evangeline stuck on the last cotton strip and crossed her fingers. Their efforts only wrapping the large barrel with a thin belt.

  "But she was shaken by what she'd seen. I didn't know what else to do. I wrapped my arm around her, then placed my lips on hers and then..." The Professor blushed a deep pink. "You don't need to know the rest."

  Evangeline stifled a giggle.

  "It was foolish but having your mother in my arms is one of the happiest moments of my life."

  "You skipped a part, Father. When did you propose? You were engaged to be married, weren't you?"

  The Professor cleared his throat. "Not quite. My father wouldn't have approved."

  Evangeline furrowed her brow. "But what about my grandmother, Geileish? Wasn't she a flower seller from a village in Ireland? Your father overlooked her position to marry her?"

  "With tragic consequences. On the day she died, my father's heart died with her. He was a different man by this time. Rigid and unwieldy. He would never have understood about Peggy." The Professor shook his head. "But I never got a chance to tell him about her. Within a few weeks, she was gone. Leaving only a letter. I never had a chance to say goodbye."

  Nodding, Evangeline's eyes filled with tears. Not quite the romantic tale she'd hoped, her father comforting her mother after a gruesome hanging, but in the topsy-turvy life of Evangeline Caldicott, somehow, this beginning made perfect sense.

  A cracking noise made Evangeline and her father turn their heads. A thin hairline crack sliced down the side of the convulsing barrel, tearing right through their attempt at reinforcement.

  "Oh, dear," the Professor said. "That's rather worrying."

  Chapter 17

  Evangeline glanced at the cracking glass, then up at the locked trap door, then scouted the windowless room one more time. A droplet rolled down her cheek, tears of sadness turning hot with frustration.

  "Come here, m'dear. Chin up, old girl." The Professor opened his arms, and she rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of pipe tobacco and tea.

  "What's this?" she said, feeling a hard lump in his pocket.

  "Oh, what a first class duffer I am," he said, fumbling about in his internal jacket pocket. "In
all the excitement, I plum forgot. I wanted it to be a surprise. A gift for your first day as my assistant."

  The Professor opened his palm. Evangeline squealed and grabbed his arm, eyes shining.

  "But how?" She stammered. "I saw it fall."

  The Professor grinned and tapped his nose. "I am a man of mysterious ways."

  "Oh, Father." Grabbing the locket from his hand, she clutched it close to her chest, feeling the familiar silver necklace against her skin. "Oh, how I've missed you."

  "Open it."

  Wiping aside a tear, she opened the locket. Rather than a daguerreotype or a lock of hair, a square of paper was folded tight on the inside. She brushed the paper with her fingertips, she did not need to unfold it.

  "Are you sure, Father? The letter is yours."

  He nodded, smiling, but his eyes were moist.

  "Oh, Father. How can I ever thank you?"

  The Professor squeezed her hand. Evangeline beamed, her finger tracing the lark engraved on the front.

  "Wait. Silver?" Evangeline raised an eyebrow. "Too soft?"

  "Plated. Nickel underneath." His eyes twinkled. "We can get it repaired again. I think she would approve."

  Opening the locket wide, Evangeline unscrewed the pin from the hinge with her fingernail.

  "Look after this for me." She handed the dismantled necklace back to the Professor and scooted up the ladder like a monkey.

  Holding her breath, she set to work on the trap door hinges. The pin was slim and her hands slippery, she gripped it, but the pin skidded across the head of the screw. Grasping tighter and gritting her teeth, her fingers cramped and seized under the strain. But the little nickel pin was sturdy and after four failed attempts, the first screw began to loosen. Evangeline let out a brief yippee before finishing the job with her fingernails. One by one, the screws delightfully clanging onto the floor below.

  "Nice work, m'dear," said the Professor, standing at the bottom of the ladder.

  "With a little help from Mother. Let's get out of here." Evangeline placed her palms under the trap door and pushed with all her might. She groaned and strained. But nothing. The door remained stuck fast.

  "Knickers," she muttered.

  "What? It should have opened," the Professor said, leaping to his feet. "Give me a turn."

  Evangeline moved aside as her father scampered up the rungs and shoved the door, brass elbow bonging. But again, the door barely budged.

  "One more." The Professor tried again. A thump and a grunt but still nothing. "There is something unusual about this door. A second set of hinges?"

  Evangeline's shoulders slumped. "I should have known. She's put a spell on it."

  "Did you say spell? Magic?"

  The Professor knew nothing about Evangeline's first altercation with Lady Breckenridge-Rice and her escape from the cages in the cellar.

  Smash.

  The cracked glass barrel shattered, a river of pink liquid flooding the floor. Quickly, the liquid rose up to the first few rungs of the ladder, bubbling and simmering under their feet. The clouds of pink gas thickened, provoking fresh rounds of coughs.

  "I hope it's not corrosive," Evangeline said as they both clung to the ladder, watching the pink sludge pool beneath them.

  "I'm not keen to find out," the Professor said, shuffling back up towards the trap door. "Oh, dear. Rock and a hard place."

  Evangeline had one last chance. The circumstances looked insurmountable but she had beaten the odds before. She had one last possibility but it was slippery and unpredictable, and may even unleash something evil.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated, banishing away any thoughts of death or failure. It would not work if she pitied herself, she needed every scrap of strength, perseverance and grit. She had the mettle, she'd survived and escaped Charlie Drigg. Lady Breckenridge-Rice would not cut short her new life with the Professor. They'd not even celebrated one of Evangeline's birthdays yet.

  Evangeline ground her teeth, drawing up every ounce of determination. Thinking of her mother and grandmother watching over her, wherever they may be. It was not the time, the three generations would not be reunited today.

  "Are you praying?" the Professor asked, with a shrug. "I guess it's now or never."

  Evangeline steeled herself. This was the chance to prove her latent power was not dark or wicked. Her power could save her father and herself.

  She felt a tingling. Was she dreaming? Was she concentrating too hard and fooling herself again? Was there truly energy flowing through her fingers? Had the power finally returned?

  “Gadzooks!” said the Professor. “What on earth…”

  Evangeline opened her eyes and gasped.

  The amber glow was there, pulsing through her fingertips. Her father’s mouth flapping like a fish on land.

  Wasting no time, Evangeline placed her palms on the trapdoor and pushed. It slid out like a knife through jelly, the door toppling onto the floor above.

  “I’ll explain later.” She climbed out of the trapdoor and called down below. "Come along, Father."

  The Professor stepped out of the hole and onto the wooden floors, gulping and wiping his brow.

  "This way. I'm sure we can take them by surprise."

  "Let's go home," he said, rubbing his neck. "I've had enough excitement for one night."

  "But we can't let Hank and the Lady Alchemist get away!" Evangeline frowned.

  "Let Pensnett deal with it. I'm not sure I'm cut out for this type of caper."

  Evangeline hesitated. Sometimes she was not her father's daughter. She could not let Lady Breckenridge-Rice get away a second time.

  Bam!

  Light blasted through the trap door, rocking the airship from side to side, throwing them off their feet and sliding across the wooden floors.

  "Buchanan. Sloppy as always. Let's go," her father shouted, helping Evangeline to her feet.

  Plumes of darker purple smoke emerged out of the trap door hole.

  "But the others?" she said, pulling her father back towards the dirigible's bridge. The Professor tugging the other way.

  "The next blast will blow us all to Kingdom come. Forget about Buchanan. We must save ourselves."

  Evangeline chewed on her lip, looking left and right.

  "Come on." The Professor disappeared into the smoke.

  Screwing up her face, she followed him. She hated leaving anything half-finished.

  She fumbled blindly through the smoky air, running her hand along the wood panelled walls until her hands met a handle. "Here. The door." She wrenched it open, welcoming the rush of fresh air with big greedy gulps.

  The small Caldicott airship was moored alongside the burning ship. Evangeline and the Professor jumped across the strait into their dinghy and Evangeline set to work on the guide rope, unwrapping it from the wire support. Her father grabbed the dials, sending a gush of hydrogen into the balloon and grabbing the lever.

  "Ready?" he shouted.

  "Not quite." Evangeline said, tugging at the guide rope. Rather than coming loose as she pulled, the rope only snagged tighter.

  "Knickers," she muttered as she yanked.

  "Hurry," the Professor said. "She might..."

  Blam!

  Another explosion burst from the engine room. The black gondola reverberated, ramming the smaller airship and knocking Evangeline to the deck. She scrambled onto her knees, crawling along the steel floor.

  "Are you hurt?" her father called, his hands still firmly on the lever.

  "Shipshape, Father." She righted herself and grabbed hold of the guide rope once more. The knot was firm and unforgiving, and an inch out of reach.

  "Hurry," the Professor said.

  Evangeline took a deep breath and stepped up onto the rim of the ship, the toes of her boots poking out into the air. She leaned forward, looking straight ahead. Wind rushing all around her, loose hair blowing into her eyes, her torn skirts flapping. She groaned, stretching her fingers as far as they would reach. But she w
as still not close enough.

  Drawing in deeply, pushing aside any thoughts of the hard ground below, she balanced on one leg, straining for just an extra inch of reach. This time her fingers grazed the rope. Her heart leapt but she was not done yet. She fumbled and grappled to untie the knot, gritting her teeth. A pearl of perspiration trickled down her cheek, fingers aching and seizing up under the pressure.

  "If you could get a wriggle on, m'dear."

  The knot finally loosened under her fingers. "Hoorah." She panted in relief. But she was leaning out into the air on one foot and her ankle was wavering. She took a firm grip, squeezed her eyes shut and jumped blindly backwards. Her derriere smacking on the steel deck.

  "Ready, Father." She grimaced, rubbing her bruised posterior.

  "Righty-oh!" The Professor pulled the lever.

  "Let's get out of here," shouted another voice, as a pair of boots hit the steel deck of the airship with a ring.

  It was Hank.

  Chapter 18

  Hank brushed himself off, gold tooth flashing.

  "You really are the most annoying chap," the Professor said.

  "You can't get rid of me so easily, Monty old pal." Hank smirked. "I can explain everything."

  "Save it for the police," the Professor grumbled.

  Hank shrugged. "I don't see any uniforms. Who's gonna hand me over? You? Don't make me laugh, old man."

  Hank and the Professor stood toe to toe, their chests puffed out like pigeons. Half a head shorter, the Professor craned his neck to stare into the American's face.

  "You always were a reprobate." The Professor poked his finger into Hank's lapel.

  Evangeline shook her head. Grown men and their school boy antics. It was up to her to stop this silliness. The guide rope in her hand gave her an idea.

  "You high falutin' old fossil." Hank narrowed his eyes.

  Twirling her fingers, Evangeline looped a noose. A technique she'd learned from one-armed Hattie, the lead trick rider in the Tockholes Circus Troupe. No one knew horses, and ropes, like Hattie. Unfortunately she came to a rather sticky end, involving a backwards triple somersault, a bloodthirsty tiger and a mislaid cutlass.