by Rebecca Diem
Her lessons in etiquette under the watchful eye of Miss Ellington had included training on all the subtleties of courtly flirtations, and she was employing them shamelessly tonight. A sidelong glance, a brush of the hand. They orbited each other, two suns converging and lending their brightness freely to all in their midst. The gaiety of the salon was infectious. She had almost forgotten their original purpose when he left her side to trail the Professor.
She caught a wink from Nessa, who crossed the room to join her with Marie on her arm. Amidst the mixed company of artists and idealists, they were far from the most unconventional pairing, and the two had embraced the opportunity to display their affection for one another without reserve.
“Enjoying the evening?” Clara asked as they drew near.
“Quite so,” Captain Buchanan replied with a smile. “You appear to be having quite the time yourself. Where is your besotted escort? He has hardly left your side.”
“Shocking, is it not? How terribly inappropriate we are tonight.”
“Propriety is overrated,” said Nessa, raising her glass.
They moved on to the next clutch of Tradists, teasing out tidbits of information from the inebriated and overconfident. The most level-headed guests vacillated between cautious appraisal of the proposal for greater collaboration between states and concern over the shift from the colonial borders. Many showed far greater concern about the state of their investments than for protecting the lower classes during the next great economic shift.
Just as the Captain returned, the room was taken by the arrival of the Princess and Prince. They paid their greetings to the hostess, and before she could ask the Captain what he had learned, the woman caught sight of Clara. With a beaming smile she waddled across the room, voluminous skirts doing little to disguise her state of gravidity.
“My dear Clara, how wonderful! I had not thought to see you again until our return to Osborne.”
“Your Royal Highness, it is good to see you,” she said as she dipped into another curtsy. “And in such good health! Surely your confinement must begin soon.”
“Quite so. Mother insists we stay at Windsor for it. We leave for Berkshire in three days’ time.”
“That is happy news. It makes my heart glad to see you so.”
“And you as well! Ah, Henry. You remember Lady Clara?”
The prince joined them, his arm placed protectively at his wife’s back.
“From our wedding, of course. I was so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He is greatly missed.”
The pang in her heart was quickly subsumed by gratitude for their remembrance of her father. She gave her thanks, and the couple were soon drawn away by other dignitaries, but not before securing a promise from her to visit after the birth of their child.
The Captain Duke turned to her, “You attended the wedding of the Princess Beatrice?”
“Of course, last summer.”
“Of course.”
“Yes. The Royal family stays quite frequently on the Isle of Wight. Her Majesty prefers it.”
“Oh?”
She smiled. Life on the Isle of Wight had a different pace from the formalities of London.
“My brother and I have no titles of our own, only well-connected relations. My grandmother was a countess and waited on Her Majesty. But with no male heirs, the family title was passed to a distant cousin,” Clara explained. “My father, for his service, was given a baronage for life. Princess Beatrice had many duties but she enjoyed our company, so my father would bring us to visit now and then. She would stage these wonderful tableau vivants at Osborne.”
He shook his head, smiling, “You lead an interesting life, Clara Whittington.”
“One day I shall compel you to finish telling me of yours, Marmaduke Ivan… Olivier.”
“Lysander,” he corrected with a laugh.
“Marmaduke Ivan Lysander Olivier.” She cocked her head, “Milo, then. That shall be it.”
“Milo?”
“M-I-L-O. Milo.”
“You may call me whatever you wish,” he said, moving closer.
Clara bit her lip and leaned slightly forward until their forearms touched. The barest contact, and yet it sent her heart racing. She saw his breath catch, and the longing in his eyes had her craving his touch.
“Captain, if we do not remove ourselves from polite company I am about to do something indecent.”
“Clara! I…”
“I believe Nessa will be returning to the Fregata this evening. I’ll have them drop me off at the docklands on the way. Meet me, at the airship. Tonight.”
With a smile, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.
“My lady, it would be my pleasure.”
She could not help the blush that rose to her cheeks, but she was ignorant of the stares they received. The wild captain, the scholarly gentleman, both stood before her in one man.
“We must leave separately, or we’ll cause an even greater stir.”
“A pity, or I would fly you away this very moment.”
“I’ll see if Nessa and Marie are ready to leave. Check in with Cat before you go, she’s planning to stay on with the staff and will meet with us tomorrow.”
“Giving me orders, Quartermaster?”
“Here, I outrank you,” she smiled.
Clara pressed her hand into his once more before they parted. She could not help her blush as she joined her friends.
Chapter 19: In which our hero errs in his judgement
The Captain Duke went in search of Cat, but none could recall having seen the “young man” for the past hour. The salon was winding down. Mrs. Branson-Honeycutt held court in the parlour as her royal guests listened politely to a young lady espousing her philosophy on the importance of enfranchisement of women voters. He searched the balcony and the hall for another half hour before making his way to the library near the antechamber. He pretended to peruse the extensive collection, fending off solicitations to discuss the latest plays of the west end, before he heard voices in the hall.
Positioning himself in the shadow of the arched door, he watched as a company of a half dozen men passed by, boisterous in their good cheer. Professor Sewell was with them, Admiral Flint at her side. She seemed pleased, though it was hard to tell from their backs as they continued their progress and turned a corner.
The Captain made his way down the passage they had come from, examining the lamp in the antechamber. He looked about him and gave the fixture a tug. Nothing. He considered it for another moment before giving it a twist. A panel slid noiselessly aside to reveal a room. He had barely stepped across the threshold when a shape sprung at him, spinning him backwards before the panel closed once more with a thud. Breathing heavily, Cat stood before him in the antechamber, looking as though she had seen a spirit.
“Sorry, Captain. I managed to sneak in, but I couldn’t find my way out. How did you find me?”
“By chance it seems. What have you learned?”
“I got in earlier when we were setting up the room and hid. Seemed like this was where all the bigwigs would be coming. And I was right. But Captain, the Professor was here. Her inventions, they’re using them to build an army.”
“Well, that makes sense. Her military connections are well known.”
“No, Captain. An army. Not Her Majesty’s forces, the Tradists. A faction of them at least. They want their own, private army. I can’t remember all of it, but they mentioned the missing gunpowder, and needing a different kind of distraction to encourage support from the people, and the Crown. They want people to be afraid.”
“Did it sound as though they would act soon?”
“They spoke about a demonstration of some kind. They didn’t go into details.”
“Professor Sewell is involved?”
“They were asking her about her inventions and complaining of the stalled talks at the official meetings. The Professor seemed awfully familiar with the Admiral. They must be friends. I can’t be
certain, but she did say she had plenty of models ready for examination at their leisure. It would be during her visit here; within the week, I imagine.”
“We must get word to the others. Take my glider, go to Nessa and Marie on the Fregata and tell them everything. Send word to your brother and Trick. I’ll see to Clara.”
The little pilot left, and the Captain Duke had been forced to make his way by other means. The mechanicab was painfully slow as it moved through the streets on the way to the docklands. The Captain Duke wished for the hundredth time that he had brought a spare glider. As they drew closer, his heavy heart began to lift. Whatever mess they had found themselves in, they would find a way through it, together.
As the mechanicab pulled up to the tallport, he looked up to find his airship among the many tiers.
In the light spilling from the windows of his cabin, he could see her figure pacing the room. Grinning like a besotted fool, all was forgotten. The bad news could wait a little while, he thought, as he tossed some coin into the front of the cab and hurried to reach the central tower. He briefly considered the stairs, spiralling upwards, before seeking out the elevator. He tapped his foot as he watched it descend, stopping at each tier on its way down.
He felt nervous—giddy, even—his mind consumed by thoughts of what to say. Or if anything needed to be said. He just wanted to see her, to be in her company forever. A kiss, he decided, spoke volumes.
The doors opened, but before he could step inside, a small noise alerted him that he was no longer alone. He ducked the first punch, but found himself surrounded by three men of the vilest sort. He downed two of them before a fourth came from behind. Blows rained upon him and the world fell to black. His last thought was of Clara as he felt himself being bound and carried away.
Chapter 20: In which our heroine dreams
Clara hummed as she paced the length of the room, enjoying the feeling of her skirts swishing around her ankles. The gown she’d borrowed from Marie fit like a dream. She gave a little twirl and watched as the lilac fabric flared with the movement, vowing to have Mrs. Cottingham make her another. There could be future occasions for such dress, she thought, smiling to herself. Best to be prepared.
The airship was tranquil, floating high above the city, no rumbling carriages to disturb the peace. Clara yawned, fighting the sleepiness that threatened to overcome. She sat on the bed, looking to the timepiece the Captain kept on the little desk in the corner. It was quite late, nearing 2’o’clock in the morning.
Just for a moment, she thought, as she lay down and closed her eyes.
Falling into her dreams with a smile, certain she would soon be woken with a kiss, Clara slept.
Stay tuned for the thrilling finale in Book 4!
Tales of the Captain Duke:
Of Tempests and Teacups
rebeccadiem.com
Bonus: The Adventures of Cat and Mouse #1
A short story first featured in the October 2015 edition of Airmail
Catherine Waugh searched her bag for the last of the biscuits and came up with crumbs. She took a deep breath before uncorking the water flask and turning to her brother with a smile.
“Here you are! Just enough to wet your whistle.”
She dribbled some into Morris’ open mouth. He giggled and most dribbled down his chin. For the hundredth time that morning, Cat reminded herself that a toddler could not be counted on to understand the gravity of their situation.
“Now dinner!” he exclaimed.
“Not just yet, it’s hardly tea time silly boy. You wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite. Soon we’ll have a grand feast.”
“But I’m hungry now.”
“No, no, not yet. Here, want to play with the telescope again?”
Cat was very nearly at her wit’s end, but there was no time for despair. Not when they’d made it so far already. She helped Morris climb onto the musty armchair she’d pushed to the boarded-up window, peering between the slats at the bustling town below. In the distance, the new tallport stretched high into the air, with airships of every shape and size gliding to and fro. If only they knew which they were looking for.
It had been three days since they’d arrived in the thick of an autumn storm. But last night the harvest moon had shone brightly overhead, the one night of the year when Cat knew where he would be.
And perhaps, she had been wrong.
Perhaps, he had decided not to attend the festival this year.
Perhaps, he had been captured or killed.
Perhaps…
Cat felt the sting of tears and focused on taking deep breaths as her brother snuggled into her warmth. She stroked his hair as her mind wandered into the forbidden territory of what to do if tomorrow came and the two of them were still friendless in a world that seemed to grow larger by the day.
But then…
“Cat, look! His hair’s afire.”
Startled out of her contemplation, she took the telescope and scanned the square for the red-haired man. He was walking down the street towards the merchants’ bazaar, clad in the very same bright blue coat she remembered from the year before. It must be him. Her hands trembled as she handed the instrument back to her brother.
“There we are! I’m sure that’s him, I’m sure of it. Quickly, gather your things.”
The two of them picked up their meager possessions and ran to the burnt-out stairwell. They slipped through the crowds, invisible. Two dirty children making their way through the streets. But by the time they reached the market, they’d lost track of their target. Cat’s heart beat a little faster, they could not fail now! She turned into an alley with some boxes for cover, and tucked her brother behind them with their packs.
“I’ll find him, I promise, and then I’ll be right back. Remember what we practiced, quiet as a mouse,” she said, placing a finger to her lips.
“Quiet as a mouse,” he repeated solemnly.
She kissed him on the forehead and rejoined the throng. Unencumbered, she flitted from one store to the next, dashing from one end to the other, always peering through the forest of elbows for a glimpse of the bright blue coat until, at last, she found him by the milliners. He shook the man’s hand as she crept closer to listen.
“That’s the last of it then. It’ll be a good year.”
“Can I no entice ye to stay for a spot of dinner? Winnie’s got a lovely stew on,” said the merchant.
Cat’s belly made its opinion on the matter loudly known.
“Regretfully, I must decline. We’re due for another interception down the way and must leave post-haste. I’m heading back directly and Trick’ll have my hide if he finds I’ve set us off course for any lesser reason than your wife’s pot roast. The pilots still speak of it fondly.”
The milliner guffawed and clapped the red-haired man on the back, “I’ll send her your best, Captain. And ye can be sure she’ll have one waiting for ye next harvest. Here, have a tart for the road.”
Cat grinned. She was certain it was the right man now. But before she could approach, the Captain pocketed the treat and climbed into a waiting carriage with a wave. Her heart was gripped by ice, but as the horse passed her hiding spot at a short clip, she knew what she had to do.
She bolted toward the vehicle, boosting herself up using the footman’s rest to cling to the side, then leapt up to grip the edge of the roof and propel her small frame through the window, landing in a heap on the floor.
“Ow,” she said, rubbing her elbow.
“You may need to practice that a bit more,” said the Captain Duke.
His right hand was tucked beneath his coat, some manner of concealed weaponry at the ready, Cat presumed. But at her glare, he removed a handkerchief instead and handed it to her. Blood was beginning to bead on the scrape on her arm, and she accepted it with thanks.
“Now that you have my attention, what might I do for you, little one?” he asked.
“Well, first we need to pick up my brother, and then we’ll be going to
your ship.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. We’ll be joining your crew, see?”
“Well. I hadn’t expected this to be a recruiting mission, where is your brother?”
Cat could tell that he was humouring her. She could always tell when adults were telling fibs. She had him stop the carriage and sweetly asked for his hand before leading him firmly to the alley where Morris hid.
“It’s safe! Quickly now!” she called.
The Captain tensed beside her, sensing a trap, but Cat gripped his sleeve tightly as her brother peered out from behind the crates. Immediately, his manner changed. He crouched in the dirt, carefully removing the tart from his pocket to offer it, hand outstretched, to the boy who grinned and tumbled out of his hiding place.
Two bites in, Morris beamed at Cat, “Quiet as a mouse!”
“Yes. Yes, you did very, very well.”
The Captain was quiet as he watched their exchange, but Cat turned to him, determined. “We’ll be going to your ship now.”
“Tell me your name.”
“Catherine Mary Margaret Waugh.”
“Ah, little Cat. I thought I recognized you. You’re a hand taller than last harvest. How old now? Eight?”
“Nine. And Morris will be three soon. He’s hardly a bother, you’ll see. I’ll take care of him, he won’t be any trouble.”
“Don’t be afraid, I will not part the two of you. But Cat, I need to know: Where is your father?”
He spoke the last word softly, as though he already knew the answer. Cat tried to reply in a steady voice, but felt as though she’d had the breath knocked out of her.
“They came for him. Three weeks ago. He said to warn you.”