by Anne Mallory
Besides, there was a problem in the Hastings Building, and it needed his complete attention. Thomas just hoped things would hold together until the final bit of testing. The archetypes were nearly ready, and if mistakes were made, it would take several weeks at the least to prepare another building. They just had to hope that the remainder of the testing progressed smoothly.
The question remained. What had happened to the workshop the previous night?
It appeared to be sabotage. They had finally created enough interest to warrant spies. Someone either in the village or in the castle must have leaked design information.
He scowled, and a maid “eeped” and flattened herself to the wall, trying to move as far from him as possible. He barely paid her any mind. He was accustomed to such a reaction from the servants, especially the new ones.
Thomas shook his head, hoping his chief investigator, Kinney, as well as Samuel, had managed to sort through the background information on the new servants. There had been a number of new hires in the past few weeks. People employed from outside the village, since the villagers were overwhelmed with projects already. It would be easy for some of the new servants to be more than they seemed…
A man walked out of a room and directly into his path. Paying Thomas as much heed as Thomas had paid the servants, the man muttered something to himself and walked into the gallery across the hall.
He was one of the antiquarians, the one married to the lady with the constantly pursed lips. Tucker or Tickens or something. Thomas had barely paid heed to anyone else at the table when he had actually shown up at meals, instead choosing to torment the delightfully easy-to-fluster, wild-haired Miss Harrington.
Tecking, that was it. If there was one perquisite, besides the money and power, to being a peer of the realm, it was the fact that he didn’t have to remember names if he didn’t choose to. The man, Tecking, had barely said twenty words the night the men had been forced to adjourn without Caroline, Patience, or Mrs. Tecking. Instead of enjoying a gentlemanly glass of port and normal conversation, the antiquarian had become enamored with an inkpot. An inkpot!
Thomas continued on, in a worse mood than before. The antiquarians were not only a new addition to the household, but another distraction. One or all of them could easily be in cahoots with a foreign power. Even Patience Harrington. Heaven knew that every country in the free world would like to get their hands on his monster models and designs. In the wrong hands it would be disastrous.
Thomas congratulated himself for having the presence of mind to send Samuel a note about getting background information on each of the antiquarians, just in case. It was more likely that the stuffy ninnies would be searching for a way to resurrect the ancients to take over the world than to deliver something of the new world into enemy hands. But everyone had his price.
Unbidden, spectacles that hid dark flashing eyes, and unrestrained hair appeared in his mind. Not much of a stuffy ninny there. He wondered what her price would be.
He continued with that thought until he reached the grounds. Heading for the outbuildings, he rounded the maze and walked swiftly alongside the rose garden. Although his sneezing and watery eyes had decreased with age, every now and again something aggravated the condition.
Stopping briefly to sift through his pocket for a handkerchief, a muffled noise met his ears. Probably the maids gossiping again. But a trill caused him to frown. Someone was conversing in French. While that was not unusual among members of the ton, it was abnormal among the servants. Leaning forward he tried to hear the conversation.
“Do you think he suspects anything?”
“No. Just handle your part. If he starts to suspect anything, we’ll deal with him.”
“What about the monster? How are we going to obtain it? Might as well be dragon treasure for the way it’s guarded.”
“Yes, well, keep watch, and we will strike when ready.”
Thomas was already running toward the break in the garden wall. It was imperative he see who was talking. Unfortunately his nose didn’t agree and he sneezed. Loudly.
By the time he rounded the hedge, the speakers were gone. Thomas ran back to the side, but observed no one moving toward the castle or into the woods. He made his way briskly through the gardens, but knew he wouldn’t find anything.
One thing he knew for certain, a man and a woman had engaged in the whispered conversation. And they both spoke French.
Patience watched the village boy shuffle from one foot to another as he glanced around the room.
“This is where it happens. This is it,” he mumbled, his voice caught between fear and wonder as he switched his awed gaze to the ceiling.
Patience had to clear her throat before his attention finally switched back to her.
“What is your name?”
The boy’s eyes went wide. “Todd Farmer, miss.”
“Well, Mr. Farmer, did the smith give you any instructions for me?”
His head bobbed in quick succession. “Oh, yes. He said to oil it…um…” He shifted feet. “Oh, yes. Once a month.”
She hid a smile. “Do you work for the smith, Mr. Farmer?”
Another head bob. “Oh, yes, sometimes. And sometimes I work at the Styx.” This was said with pride.
“The Styx?”
“Oh, yes. Only the blightest of us.”
“Brightest?”
“Blightest, yes.”
“I see.” She set the tool on the table. “And what is the Styx?”
“It’s where we make all of the secret stuff. The secret stuff for the castle,” he said, in a hushed voice.
Patience blinked. “What type of secret stuff?”
“I work on monster parts. Well, my pa does, but I sometimes help. Very interkit work.”
Patience’s heart sped up a few beats. Monster parts? “What type of intricate work do you do?”
The boy was avidly looking around the room. “Oh, yes. Interkit. Very interkit. The legs mostly. My pa is teaching me so that one day I can take over his position.”
Patience kept her voice even. “Have you ever seen the monster?”
The boy shook his head. “Oh, no. They keep it here at the castle, they do. I’ve never been here before.” His voice became wistful. “I’ve always wanted to.”
“Me too.” She smiled, trying to form a connection while she formulated her next question. Unfortunately, her connection backfired.
“What do you mean?” His brows scrunched together. “You don’t live here?”
“I’m a guest.”
His face went white. “Uh—must be going. I must be going.”
And with that he sped from the room, leaving Patience with her jaw hanging open. Yes, that settled it. She was definitely checking the village signs, if she ever returned, to see if the words Bethlehem Hospital adorned any of them.
The Styx? That must be the mill-type building that she had seen. An odd name for a building. Her earlier thought about Charon, the ferryman of the Greek underworld, had been right in tune with the village surroundings after all. Perhaps if one looked under Charon’s hood, he would find Blackfield’s sardonic gaze.
Patience had just finished telling John about the odd experience with the villager, leaving out a few of the more peculiar bits, when Mr. Tecking walked into the room Patience had claimed for organizing and cataloging her portion of the collection. He walked to the window and looked out onto the grounds. Patience and John exchanged a glance.
“Mr. Tecking?”
He waved a hand. “The servants are moving the last of the statuary and busts from the room.”
Patience raised a brow. It was unlike him not to supervise the work. “I take it they are doing a fine job?”
“Yes, took me nearly two hours to instruct them on the proper procedures.”
That sounded more like it. “What have you been doing in the interim?”
“Took a look at some of the rooms Lady Caroline mentioned.”
“Anything of interest? A
ny unknown treasures?” she teased.
Mr. Tecking brushed a hair from his face. “Yes, treasures. Although a Puckle Gun is hardly a treasure to me.”
John froze, and Patience blinked. “A Puckle Gun, Mr. Tecking, are you sure?” she asked.
He waved a hand in annoyance. “Said it, didn’t I? Seems like all the young people are interested in these days are swords, pistols, and swaggering. Wouldn’t know a Bocca Della Verita if it bit them.” He walked to the door, his short break obviously over.
Patience coughed to hide her laughter. “Yes, well, we’ll see you at dinner, Mr. Tecking.”
He waved carelessly as he disappeared from view.
She let loose with laughter as soon as she was sure he was far enough down the corridor. “Sometimes it is almost worth the displeasure of putting up with his wife, if only so I can hear his crotchety comments. You’d never suspect the man possessed a gram of wit by just looking at him.”
When John didn’t respond, she looked over. He looked as if someone had told him the earth was triangular. “John?”
He shook himself from his stupor. “Sorry, Patience. What was that?”
She thought back, trying to recall what had been said. “Did you want to see the Puckle Gun? I thought you had already examined one.”
“Well, it’s not like there are very many in existence.” He looked deep in thought. “It really is true,” he murmured absently.
“What’s true?”
The expression on his face was so distraught, it was as if he had forgotten she was there. Again. Really, she knew she was forgettable…but her vanity was a bit insulted anyway.
“John?” she asked, when he still hadn’t answered.
“That Mr. Tecking is witty.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t stick your hand in any lion’s mouth. It would be bitten off by a Bocca Della Verita. Listen, if you don’t want to tell me, fine, just don’t lie.”
He gave her a weak smile. “Do you want to see the gun?”
She shrugged. “Lead the way.”
They walked through the corridors until they found the room Mr. Tecking had mentioned. After a bit of searching, they found the gun. It was a mounted flintlock with a cylinder that revolved.
Patience ran her hand over the revolving cylinder. “I’ve never seen one up close.”
“Our forces never adopted them,” he said as he examined the tripod. “Can you imagine? Shooting nine times a minute? Three times the average firing power at the time this was produced?”
A feeling of unease shot through her. “Weaponry makes me uncomfortable. It is why I don’t cross into your field, John.”
He gave her a small, compassionate smile. “Sorry, Patience. But you can still understand the importance of this invention.”
She rubbed her arms. “Yes. But I must say that I’m glad they didn’t become popular.”
He narrowed his eyes. “All this model requires is some adjustment and the right investor, and it would revolutionalize warfare as we know it.”
A chill ran through the room. Patience backed toward the door. “Stay if you wish, but I need to return to the collection rooms. I need to go over some of my notes on the Egyptian Senet boards. You know, the boards and pieces I showed to you earlier? The games buried in the tombs? Mr. Ashe kept horrendous notes after all, and I think that I mistook one as belonging to Ramses’ dynasty rather than Akhenaton’s…” She was babbling, and she knew it.
A low, smooth voice spoke from behind her. “Akhenaton’s, are you sure?”
She spun around. Blackfield lounged against the door. It seemed to be his habit. The lifted brow and smirk as well.
“Lord Blackfield,” she said, as calmly as she was able. She felt as if John and she had been caught doing something illegal, rather than examining a room in an area they had been allowed entrance. John looked uncomfortable as well. “Excuse us, we were just returning upstairs.”
“And here I thought you would give me an explanation on the difference between the two dynasties.”
She grimaced. “I would like to think I had learned from my previous mistake with the armor.”
“Going to deny me the entertainment, Miss Harrington?” he drawled.
“Hoping to save myself the embarrassment actually.”
John quirked a brow, and she noticed that his gaze was focused to the right of Blackfield.
An attractive sandy-haired man who was nearly as tall as Blackfield, although stockier in build, stood next to him. He was well dressed and appeared comfortable in his fashionable attire.
Blackfield seemed to notice her gaze. “Miss Harrington.” Blackfield gave her one of the bows that seemed reserved for her, full of innuendo that she couldn’t comprehend. “And Mr. Fenton, may I introduce Mr. Simmons, a friend and business partner. He has just arrived from London today.”
She nodded and smiled at the newcomer as John shook his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Simmons.”
He gave a friendly, disarming grin, and his light brown eyes sparkled. “Call me Samuel. I hear that you are cataloging old George’s collection. Caroline has been telling me all about your progress.”
She inclined her head. His reference to the others by their first names and his attire made her think that this was the friend that she had heard mentioned by Caroline and some of the servants. “I believe I have heard tale of you as well, Mr. Simmons. Will you be joining us for dinner?”
“Not tonight. I need to go over some work with Thomas. Lord knows he can’t run the estate without my help.” Blackfield snorted at Samuel’s words. “But definitely tomorrow. Wouldn’t miss seeing what you’re up to,” he said cheerfully. He had been shooting a couple of twinkling looks between Blackfield and her the whole time.
She and John excused themselves, as it became apparent that the two men were interested in discussing something in the room.
Blackfield barely allowed Patience room to pass through the doorway. As she brushed against him, the fine linen of his jacket caressed her arms, and the fine hairs stood on end. Catching herself before a full blush could manifest, she turned and walked quickly up the hall.
Thomas watched Patience disappear around a corner, her skirts swishing lightly across the floor.
He walked into the room and closed the door. Samuel regarded him with amusement. Thomas gave him a dark look designed to make him keep his thoughts to himself. “Did you get the materials on the antiquarians while you were in London?”
Samuel nodded, a guarded look dampening his amusement. “But after that little display, I’m not sure you will want to read it.”
Thomas held out an impatient hand, and Samuel handed him the sheaf of papers he had been carrying since his arrival. “A lot to interest you.”
Thomas shuffled through the pile looking for Patience Harrington’s papers first. The words French, French, and France popped out. “French mother? French cousin whom she still keeps in contact with? Visits to France?”
Samuel nodded, the guarded look still in place. “I realize you have some sort of fascination with her, Thomas, but you do know this is the wrong time to get interested in some chit from London. Even if the lady were as completely harmless as Miss Harrington portrays. But especially if she is a chit who just happens to be here when the monster takes its first breath. A chit who has all the connections and even a motivation for spying. Check the papers on the father.”
Thomas continued flipping and reading aloud. “A recent deal with a French import/ exporter. Tens of thousands of pounds. Recent bank deposits. Interest in antiquities and new machinery. Warehouses being readied, but no one with knowledge of what is being shipped.”
He glanced at Samuel, who nodded, and said, “Those pieces of information have been confirmed. There are lots of rumors swirling around. You should hear the things they say about her.”
Thomas tapped the pages. “Seems almost too easy.”
“Some people just aren’t that clever.”
“From all I’v
e heard, Arthur Harrington is exceedingly clever.”
Samuel made a grudging motion. “Fine, but some people just don’t make good criminals. Anyhow, it looks mighty bad. You be careful around the lady and Mr. Fenton, that cousin of hers.”
Thomas looked at the gun the two had been examining. “Did you find out anything about him?”
“Not much. Seems pretty clean, cousin on the father’s side, so no French blood, but he’s still family, and his uncle is knee deep in French transport. Never know what someone will do in the name of family loyalty.”
“Has Miss Harrington ever been linked to anyone romantically?”
Samuel gave him a strange look, but shrugged. “That’s the rub of the gossip. She’s linked to several men. Read the personal section. The lady has a very shady reputation.”
“Yes, I figured as much from the looks the Tecking woman has given her, and the remarks from Miss Harrington’s own mouth. She isn’t exactly a blushing flower type. Although I can’t see her in the role of a seductress either. Are you sure the information is accurate?”
Samuel affected offended dignity. “As well as it can be based on a week to discern rumor from fact. The ton seems to believe her reputation to be well based, even if you don’t put much stock in their views. There are firsthand accounts of her behavior.” He leaned forward. “See the Antleberry incident on the second page.”
Thomas’s eyebrows rose. “Antleberry can’t be a day under seventy, and you are saying a twenty-year-old, unmarried woman had an affair with him?”
“Listen, the information I’ve gathered is all in there. Including the firsthand accounts. Just remember how Kevin McSweeney was taken in by a beautiful spy and lost all of his designs to a German firm. Let me know if you need me to dig up more information or send someone else to London. I’ll help Kinney with the reports on the newer servants.”
Thomas shook his head, unwilling to believe what he had just heard. “I’ll read the reports. Thanks, Samuel.”
Thomas flipped through the pages, wondering if he could have judged the woman so badly. But Samuel did have a point. Kevin McSweeney had lost all of his life’s work because he had trusted the wrong person, thinking with his heart and lower anatomy rather than with his head. Thomas had guarded his heart for too many years to let it be his downfall.