by White, Gwynn
“William,” I whispered.
“All great thieves have a special blade.”
“I love her. The queen…she looks a bit like Her Majesty.”
“Such a nationalist,” William said with a grin. “You’d almost believe I had it made in Victoria’s image on purpose. It’s a curious gift for a lady, I know. But my lady is special. She’s my queen,” he said, reaching out to touch my lower lip.
I moved the dagger aside then leaned in for a kiss once more.
“Thank you. I love her. Curious things certainly make the best gifts.”
William knew me well. I didn’t care for jewels or fancy baubles. I had no use for them. A dagger, however, was quite another matter. It was perfect. I slid the dagger back into the leather sheath then slipped her into the top of my boot. It took a minute to adjust to the feel of the blade, but she was secure there.
I looked up at Tinker’s Tower. It was already twenty after twelve. “Jabberwocky will be expecting us. I hope he’ll be pleased.”
“We did just loot a crate full of cargo meant for the British Museum on behalf of his mysterious client,” William said, looking upward once more in the direction which the Aphrodite had flown. “Alice, how can you tell a raven from a writing desk?”
Giggling, I pulled him into a kiss once more.
“That’s the best answer yet,” William whispered when I let him go. “Come on,” he said, taking my hand. We turned and headed back into the city.
Winston rang a bell alerting the galleyman we’d arrived at our destination. I glanced at the small airship tower situated along the river not far from the small village of Twickenham. It was a rickety looking thing, but the port was surprisingly busy. Winston docked his ship just as another airship took off.
I took a deep breath then readied myself. Despite everything, I was, as Winston had suggested, in the mess again.
Winston looked me over, his expression pensive. “You want me to stay a bit? We can run you back.”
I shook my head then set my hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, old friend. No. I’ll be all right.”
“I hope so,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Be careful, Alice.”
“Thank you.”
He smiled. “Tell lovely Bess I said hello.”
I grinned. “I will.”
“She ever get married?”
“Not yet. But she has a fellow.”
“Decent chap or should I come calling?”
I considered the question. “Decent to her. She loves him.”
Winston laughed. “No luck with the Lewis girls. They’re always taken. Be well, Alice.”
“You too,” I said, then headed down the platform. His remark puzzled me. While Bess was certainly on her way to the wedding altar, I was unattached. Well, at least I thought I was. By Winston’s assessment, it seemed that the whole world knew what I could barely allow myself to admit. My heart still belonged to William.
6
The Countess
I walked from the airship towers to Strawberry Hill House, the little castle where the Countess lived. Lady Waldegrave was fashionable, fun, and very popular amongst the Liberal establishment. I doubted whether any of her high acquaintances, including the Prince and Princess of Wales, knew how colorful her interests actually were. Surely they must have suspected, but Lady Waldegrave, who had an appetite for exotic everything, always seemed to know how to make everyone feel comfortable in her presence.
The little castle was surrounded by exquisite gardens and ground, on which you could find a small guest house and a defunct building housing a printing press, all surrounded by an elaborate wrought-iron fence. No one was at the gate when I arrived, so I entered on my own accord. The little gothic castle, built by the Countess’s late relative, was a hodgepodge of fashion and eccentricity. In fact, the Countess once mentioned that her late relative, Horace Walpole, had considered adding a moat before it proved too costly. As I walked down the narrow path toward the castle, I eyed the statuary in the garden. First, I encountered a rather large rooster carved from stone. It was taller than me. Around it, someone had placed painted stones of a vast array of colors. Then I noticed an arbor where roses and palm trees framed a large, shell-shaped bench. As I neared the house, ten stone goblin men lined the road, grimacing at me with angry faces.
Once I was in sight of the front door, I heard the familiar voice of the Countess. She was cursing.
“Wrench! I said wrench, dammit! You don’t know a hammer from a wrench?”
“Sorry, My Lady.”
When I approached the scene, I found a very distressed-looking serving girl standing at the side of a motorized vehicle. She struggled as she dug through a tool box, her brow furrowing with frustration.
“Wrench,” the Countess demanded again. Her legs stuck out from under the vehicle.
The girl, so lost in her frustrated digging, didn’t even notice me until I was beside her. I lifted the wrench, which had been sitting on the roof of the auto, smiled at the girl, then squatted down.
“Your wrench, Countess.”
From underneath the vehicle, the stream of mumbled profanities stopped.
The Countess shimmied out from under the machine, pulled off her goggles, and looked at me.
“Alice? By the pope’s knickers, I didn’t think he’d talk you into it.”
“He didn’t. He blackmailed me.”
The Countess laughed loudly then stood up, dusting off her backside. She removed her gloves and tossed them, and her goggles, into the toolbox.
“Shoo,” she told the girl. “Go prepare tea for Alice and me.”
“My Lady,” the girl said, dropping into a curtsey. Then she headed off, looking relieved to be released from mechanic duty.
The Countess rolled her eyes. “Tell me again why you wouldn’t come work for me instead of Dodgson?”
“Bess wanted to stay in London to be close to Henry. And I imagined that you’d keep company with people I’d rather not cross paths with.”
“True. True. Both true. But here you are nonetheless,” she said as she straightened the scarf around her neck.
I smiled at her. The Countess’s hair was a wild heap of brown and silver curls tamed haphazardly into a messy bun on her head. Wisps fell around her dark brown eyes which shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. She had the charm of someone who’d been ravishingly beautiful in her youth and hadn’t forgotten it. Despite the fact that her white shirt was covered in what appeared to be oil and coal dust, she stopped a moment to tuck her shirt tail into her trousers before clapping her hands off for the final time.
“What do you think?” she asked, setting her hand on the hood.
I had seen several such autos in London. They never seemed, at least to me, to function as they ought to. Perpetually surrounded by clouds of steam or thick smoke, such tinkered machines often seemed slower than the horses they were trying to replace. The Countess’s vehicle boasted brass pipework and interesting clockwork gears just under the carriage.
“Pretty,” I said.
The Countess laughed then linked her arm in mine. “I know,” she said. “Half the time I’m covered in so much coal dust that I look like I rolled in pepper, but I love these machines. With each new iteration, they perform better. One day, they will out-perform locomotives and put an end to the carriage. This one is special. I was able to procure some unique blueprints from a Yankee in the trade. This machine is going to be fast,” she said, her eyes glimmering.
I smiled at her. Her passion made her look like she was lit up from the inside. I tried to remember when I felt so excited, so happy, about anything. “I hope it goes as you wish.”
The Countess turned me toward the house. As we crossed the drive, she whistled toward the garden. A moment later, a pot-bellied pig ran toward us.
“You remember Baby, of course,” she said, stopping to scratch his ears. “Where have you been, my bad Baby?”
I looked down at the pig who looked up at me expect
antly.
“Go on. Give him a scratch.”
I pushed down the feeling of revulsion that wanted to take over and scratched the pink pig behind his ear. His skin was hard and thick, the white hairs on his head wiry.
He snorted happily.
“Go find some truffles,” she instructed Baby, scratching his ears once more before the pig trotted back toward the garden.
Waving for me to follow her, the Countess led me inside.
I’d only been inside Strawberry Hill House once before. Designed by the Countess’s eccentric relative to give the air of the dark and brooding, the castle had all manner of Gothic masonry, stained glass, and gilded touches. The Countess led me to the library. It was a sunny room. The bookshelves were elaborately designed with arched peaks of a gothic design. A cheery fireplace heated the room, taking away the chill. Above the fireplace was a painting of a girl in a red dress standing in a snowy forest.
“Now, let me see,” the Countess said, opening one of several parchment cases that were lying on a table at the center of the room. The long table was covered with open books, papers, gears, and all manner of tinkered devices.
I went to the bookshelf and eyed the spines. Most of the books had titles written in Latin or Greek, not that I could read Latin or Greek. I simply recognized the lettering.
“Your relative was certainly a man of letters,” I commented.
I pulled a book off the shelf and opened it. Inside, I found illustrations of arcane figures.
“Old Horace? Oh yes. Lots of odd little tomes in there. He was quite interested in the occult.”
“The occult?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I slid the book back onto the shelf.
“Ah yes, here we are,” the Countess said, pulling a long paper from a tube and spreading it across the desk, sending books and other contraptions rolling out of the way.
I came to stand beside the countess and looked down at the schematic.
“The Koh-i-Noor went on display on Monday,” the Countess said. “I saw it myself at Victoria’s opening. A rather unimpressive hunk of stone, if you ask me. I’ve never seen such a lackluster diamond. It’s kept in a cage,” she said, waving her hand across a blueprint of the display in which the diamond was housed.
“It looks like a bird cage.”
The Countess nodded. “At the whisper of a touch, however, it falls into this steel box below,” she said, dragging her fingertip across the design. “The pedestal is essentially a safe.”
“How does it open?”
“The guards have a key for the side panel. But the diamond is lowered into the safe by a hand crank. The internal mechanism is clockwork,” she said, pointing.
“All in all, then, it’s just a safe.”
“A highly sensitive and well-guarded one,” the Countess said then leaned back. She looked at me. “What was it they used to call you? I know they love their nicknames. What was that odd moniker Jabberwocky gave you?”
“Bandersnatch.”
“Ah, yes,” she said with a laugh. “A girl who could snatch a soul from the jaws of death. A Bandersnatch indeed.”
“Speaking of snatching. How did you come across these?” I asked, waving my hand across the schematics sitting in front of me.
“Oh, well, I do have my connections—for better or worse. Now, let’s have tea,” she said as she rolled the blueprint back up, slid it into the case, and handed it to me. Linking her arm in mine, she led me from the library to the drawing room.
A few minutes later, a grumpy-looking maid with a severe scowl and a tight bun entered with a tray. She eyed my dress as she poured tea for the Countess and me.
“We hiring new staff, Countess?” she asked. I’d swear I’d never heard a heavier cockney accent in all my life.
“No, Rebecca, we are not. Mind your own business.”
The woman frowned heavily and looked over my clothing.
The Countess followed her gaze. “Rebecca, please go upstairs and retrieve the package on my bed. Have it loaded into the carriage,” she said then turned to me. “I expect you’ll be heading back soon? I’ll have my carriage take you.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Looking annoyed, the serving woman left.
The Countess settled into the oversized leather chair, dropping her feet over the arm as she sipped her tea.
“So, what have you heard?” I asked.
“About the job?”
I nodded. “This is not like William. Something is off here.”
She blew across her teacup. “There are rumors.”
“Of?”
“That he made a deal that went bad,” the Countess said. She turned and faced me, setting her cup down. “Why do you think he asked you, Alice? Why you, of all people?”
“He needs someone very good.”
“You’re good, there is no doubt, but do you think that’s the only reason?”
I sipped my tea and didn’t look at her.
“He trusts you, Alice. And he’s in trouble. The deal was with the Queen of Hearts.”
I set my cup down and stared at her. I knew it. From the moment he uttered the name of the diamond, I had sensed the danger. Only the Queen of Hearts would have the audacity to steal from the crown. “What was the deal? Do you know what happened?”
She shook her head. “All I’ve heard was that she hired him for a job and it went bad. She wanted blood but settled for a diamond.”
“I don’t like this.”
“I don’t know what the deal was, what she has over William, but if I were you, I’d find out.”
I shook my head. “I don’t like the idea of stealing from Queen Victoria. It’s just…it’s just not patriotic. And more, if something goes wrong—”
“You’ll pay the price for him, and Bess will pay the price for you.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry he dragged you into this, Alice. You’ve been out of the job for a year, haven’t you? I was surprised when he told me he was going to ask your help.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Well, surprised and not surprised, to be honest. Men often make excuses to find their way back home,” she said with a soft smile. “Now, do you still have that knife of yours?”
I paused a moment as I thought about her words, but set such thoughts aside for the moment. I moved my apron aside to show the hilt of the blade.
The Countess held out her hand.
I pulled the blade from my belt and laid it in her palm.
“The White Queen, isn’t that what you call her?” she asked, looking at the carving.
I nodded.
“Fitting,” the Countess said. Then she did something unexpected. Muttering something just under her breath, she ran her index finger down the flat of the blade. Her words were too low to be understood and they were also in Latin. For a second, the blade flashed with glowing blue light. The appearance of words seemed to be etched on the blade, glowing in gold. A moment later, both the light and the words dissipated. I raised an eyebrow at the Countess.
“There. That should do it.”
“I thought you said Uncle Horace was the one interested in the occult.”
“Well,” the Countess said with a smile. “It never hurts to pick up things here and there.” The Countess rose. It was time to go.
Standing, I followed her lead.
“If there is anything else I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to contact me. Be safe, Alice.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “It’s the least I can do. Your former employer was very dear to me, and I know you stayed loyal to the very end, whether you wanted to be or not. You were, in truth, like a daughter to him. And he, in truth, was someone very dear to me. In an odd way, that creates a bond between us, wouldn’t you say?”
It was true that Lady Waldegrave and Jabberwocky had been lovers. While her words moved me, they also struck me with guilt. Jabberwocky had been like a father to me. And I had stayed true to him. U
ntil he was gone. “He was like a father to me. I wish I could have been…have done more with his legacy. It’s just, the life wasn’t—”
“No. It was never right for you. He couldn’t see it. Just because you could do the job didn’t mean you should. Not then. And not now,” she said, her expression serious. “I don’t like that you’re involved in this disaster. Please, be careful. Now let’s get you home to Bess before she worries herself sick,” she said, handing the blade back to me.
I took the knife from her hand. When I gripped the dagger, it felt oddly cool. The Countess was an odd woman, who lived in an odd house, full of odd books, procured from her odd ancestor. And now, my blade too took on an oddness. And I knew, just from the touch, that my dagger was deadlier than ever.
“I think I owe you a thank you.”
She laughed. “You do. And you must repay me. Talk Bess and Henry into moving to Twickenham. Come work for me. I need someone with a quick mind. And you look dreadful in that stupid uniform.”
I laughed.
With that, the Countess led me back outside where a carriage waited. Sitting inside the carriage was a box.
“What’s this?” I asked.
The Countess smiled. “A dress, a proper ladies’ dress. You cannot go the Great Exhibition dressed like that,” she said, frowning at my outfit once more.
“I’m beginning to believe everyone hates this uniform,” I said, looking down at my white apron and blue gown. “And here I thought it was suited to me,” I said with a smile.
The Countess grinned. “Good luck.”
“Thank you for everything.”
She nodded.
Once I was settled inside the carriage, the Countess waved to the driver. Before we pulled away, however, she left me with one last piece of advice.
“Alice,” the Countess called. “Watch your head.”
7
Little White Lies
Oh, thank goodness,” Bess exclaimed the moment I opened the door. She pulled me inside then took my face in her hands. “Alice, are you all right? I’ve been so worried. This has been an awful, awful day. Are you okay? Where have you been?” Her large blue eyes looked even wider in all the excitement. And her soft yellow curls, pale in color almost to white, hung in wild wisps about her face. The red blotches on her face told me she’d been crying.