At this point in her musings, a faint tap came at the door. Emmeline said, barely above a whisper, “Maddie? Let me in!”
“Enter.”
Emmeline hurried in and closed the door. “Why did you leave so fast? Mr. Coggington was back in the parlour within ten minutes of supper ending. Already I can see the glint in Mother’s eyes; she’s thinking what a wonderful son-in-law he would make. Of course I can’t tell her he might have tried to kidnap me.”
“Why him, more than the others?”
“Just, well, he’s a Southerner. By his own account, his grandfather made piles of money after the War Between the States. It’s not making money that’s wrong, but he must have exploited the tragedies of many families. Being English, you cannot comprehend how many shady characters raced South to scoop up devalued plantations and cotton mills and cargo ships for pennies on the dollar. They founded their fortunes on others’ disasters. Southerners like that have no honour. A little thing like kidnapping a girl would not bother them at all.”
“But surely the war was over before Mr. Coggington was born? He cannot be held responsible for his grandfather’s actions.”
Emmeline tossed her head. “Carpetbagger blood. Like father, like son. And grandson.”
“By that reckoning, the German gentleman might be equally suspect. His ancestors undoubtedly pillaged their neighbours countless times through the centuries. Yet he appears a rather dull fellow, interested in his dinner and his newspaper and not much else.”
“His secretary looks sly enough. I don’t trust him any more than Coggington.”
“I’ll investigate both of them first thing tomorrow.”
“The English lord, too?”
“I recognized him,” Maddie admitted. “He is very much respected in Britain, even by the queen. To my knowledge he has never undertaken a shady business deal. But I’ll send off queries about them all. Meanwhile, we may be able to draw out the attackers by appearing in public places. My friend O’Reilly is back in the city. He and Hiram can be lookouts, and capture anyone who follows us.”
“Truly?” Emmeline’s annoyance evaporated like dew off the bluebells. “Then let us go tomorrow, to see Staten Island and the giant statue.”
THE MORNING’S FIRST challenge, however, was breakfast with the Steamlords and their secretaries. Lord Main-Bearing ate silently, scribbling the day’s orders in his notebook as he had always done, and occasionally directing an obscure remark to Pennwiper. In the clear light of morning, there was but a slim chance Pennwiper might see a resemblance to Maddie’s three-year-old debutante portrait. Her face had matured since then, and her hair was no longer piled up in a bronze heap above pale skin and resentful eyes. Further, she had long since eliminated every item of yellow clothing from her limited wardrobe, lest it recall to anyone’s mind the jonquil yellow ball gown in that portrait. Surely she was safe from recognition. Still, she kept her head down.
Mr. G-G’s travelling secretary, Mr. Gnave, who had not taken supper with the party last evening, was a sandy-haired spark whose eyes were in constant, speculative motion. Mr. Coggington, being resident at his New York manager’s abode, arrived without his assistant. Maddie approved his self-sufficiency but Emmeline narrowed her eyes. If he expected to ingratiate himself with her to gain her father’s confidence, there was an uphill battle ahead.
Emmeline addressed her father. “I’ll need Bryson and the car for the day, Papa.”
Mr. G-G raised his eyes from his scrambled eggs and ham. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, my dear. Gnave will hire you a conveyance. Horse or steam?” The sandy-haired man set down his fork and waited expectantly. Emmeline looked at Maddie, telegraphing concern: was it safe to lure the kidnappers without Bryson’s fast reflexes and the sanctuary of the rocket-car?
“I would be most honoured to provide them with my vehicle,” Mr. Coggington interjected. “My driver is a reliable fellow, and would ensure the young ladies take no harm.” When Mr. Coggington might be the kidnappers’ employer? Absolutely not. Maddie frowned fiercely at Emmeline, but the other girl was already turning her shoulder to the offer.
“No, thank you,” she said coldly. “Mr. Gnave, a steam conveyance, if you please. In one hour.”
Mr. Gnave hurried from the room, abandoning a half-eaten bacon tart. Maddie consumed her remaining portion of sausage omelette quietly, wondering how to avoid Lord Main-Bearing until the hired car arrived. Send in a few fashion columns to keep CJ happy in London? Transmit another message to Madame Taxus-Hemlock, seeking information on the Steamlords? She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. Was she seriously about to investigate Father’s business practices? Where did her first loyalty lie: with Emmeline’s safety or with her father?
When she left the breakfast room she still had not decided. Collecting TD from her bedchamber, she stole away to the rooftop to wait for a hawk. The morning was golden-fair, with a delicate breeze. She paced across the gritty rooftop to view the immense, identical mansion under construction. Men on its roof paced along with rods, no doubt measuring for Mrs. G-G’s conservatory and rooftop garden. Noises drew her gaze downward, to the new mansion’s courtyard. Labourers were pushing handcarts up the ramp, ferrying carved doors and frames inside. A crew slid tubular table legs and long, gleaming tabletops down a chute into the basement.
A wild cry spun Maddie around. It was only a hawk, back-winging to perch on a chimney-stack, for all the world like a living bird. TD flew up to perch beside it. When he returned to her shoulder she told him, “Speak.”
Madame Taxus-Hemlock’s precise voice issued from his throat. “Dearest, don’t you remember the Russian agent we inadvertently transported from St. Petersburg to Venice on that British Navy airship? Perhaps not, as it was quite soon after you joined us, and you were, as I recall, intent on maintaining your shaky disguise as a parlourmaid. If you had ever dusted anything in your life, you might have been more convincing. Anyway, if she is approaching you, you may be certain she has some ulterior motive. Her attempt to Hobble you might have been to ascertain if you were trained by me, but still, be wary.”
A Russian agent? Maddie had only a dim memory of that voyage, having been preoccupied with the enormity of her escape from London and what it might mean for the rest of her life. But now she did remember the countess, vaguely. Her red streaks had been painted over back then. Had she been spying on the British Navy, or on the airship’s experimental equipment? What did she want in New York City? Information on the gauge, or on Lord Main-Bearing? Surely Maddie’s connection to him was not known. The countess must merely have been exploring a faint sense of familiarity. Spies probably couldn’t afford to ignore those tickles in the mind. One small reassurance: the dangerous countess had paid no attention to Emmeline. She might know nothing of the gauge.
But then who was hunting Emmeline, and in both her guises? That argued someone familiar with her personality and habits.
The hawk pecked at the chimney-pot, a sharp rat-tat-tat to remind Maddie he expected a return message. She sent two, a short one to Obie alerting him to the day of sightseeing, and a second to Madame, asking if any of the three visiting Steamlords were known to use nefarious means. Madame would understand the complication of Father’s presence without further explanation. With a last glance at the busy courtyard across the way, and a longer look at the leafy tops of Central Park’s trees barely touched with autumn gold, Maddie hurried down to her chamber to prepare for the day’s ventures. If an attempt on Emmeline was made today, there would be some answers by nightfall.
Chapter Fifteen
THE HIRED CAR was an opulent steam-limousine, more horseless-carriage than automobile. Its driver showed no curiosity, but handed in Emmeline’s little brown suitcase and shut the door on the girls. Relieved to escape the chance of encountering Father around any corner, Maddie nonetheless watched out the rear window for signs of anyone following. It was impossible to tell in the busy morning traffic, the usual city mix of steam vehicles, courier cycle
s, and delivery vans puffing out noxious fumes from diesel engines. The slow plod of horse-drawn drays impeded progress for block after block. At this rate they would not reach the ferry until it was time to go home.
Then Emmeline whispered, “Watch this,” and drew from her skirt pocket a long, slender tube such as might have held a cigar. She pointed it discreetly along the street ahead and placed her thumb firmly on an embossed bit that might be a crest. The heavy team ahead of the car, its wagon heaped high with scrapped remnants of machines, plodded to the curb. The milk-horse beyond them did the same. As the chauffeur pulled into the vacating spaces, more horse-traffic got out of his way. Emmeline grinned like a Cheshire cat. “It works.”
“What is it? And where did you get it?”
“MacIver at the factory made it. It sends an inaudible pulse that horses want to get away from. He only tested it while walking, and once on a tram. Just wait until I tell him about this drive.”
“Ingenious,” Maddie murmured, mentally composing a description in W.Y. Knott’s slightly pompous style. “We’re clear of the horses now. If that’s a new invention not yet on the market you’d better put it away before the driver gets curious. Mr. Gibbs might sack your inventor pal if word leaks out prematurely.”
Emmeline used the device once more on the journey, and soon the car drew up before the shabby brick orphanage. She directed him to take Maddie along to the boarding house and hurried indoors with Emmy Gat’s clothing. It appeared she had more faith in the eyes of the urchins for this venture than in Obie and Hiram. But then, she had reason to trust them, just as Maddie had plenty of cause to trust the young men.
After examining the composite images of the two would-be abductors, Obie and Hiram set off to the Staten Island ferry terminal. There they could await the girls’ arrival and note anyone following. Maddie enjoyed a quick cup of coffee with Mrs. Darling, hearing about the children’s doings and the odd man in the corner bedroom who ate nothing but grilled kippers for every meal. When she judged Emmeline had sufficient time to organize the urchins and resume her proper clothing, she returned to the car.
“Back to the orphanage, please.”
At last they set off for Battery Park and the ferry landing. Soon the Statue could be seen between the buildings, its torso and head slowly rotating, its upraised torch promising freedom to every immigrant on every arriving ship. For many, the United States offered little but slavery-wages and over-crowded tenements, piecework and day labour doing the jobs nobody else wanted. Yet still they flocked to the transatlantic liners, escaping famines, persecution, and entrenched social hierarchies back home. Who could fault them for seeking a new life? Certainly not Maddie. Maybe W.Y. Knott could find an immigration story once Emmeline’s job was wrapped up.
As the hired limousine nosed through the crowds of pedestrians and penny-farthing bicycles toward the dock, Maddie looked for the urchins or her own friends. Seeing none of them, she felt terribly alone with the burden of Emmeline’s safety. A thankful sigh escaped her when she spied Obie buying a ferry ticket, with Hiram close behind him. It would be all right. She boarded the boat and lifted her face to meet the fresh breeze coming in from the sea.
The Statue turned slowly to face the approaching ferry. Maddie’s only close-up view until today had been last Spring, during the White Sky Liner’s arrival from England. Then, she had been preoccupied with reaching shore before being arrested; now she had ample time to appreciate the giant figure’s grandeur. Its copper skin gleamed greeny-blue in the late morning sun. The tools hanging from its waist-belt swung gently, sending their melodic chimes across the bay. The huge head gazed impartially over land and water while the torch, higher still, signalled far out over the deep blue sea. It was unquestionably a majestic sight.
Maddie was not so enraptured that she ignored the ferry’s other passengers. No adults looked familiar but a lad leaning on the upper-deck rail was watching them. One shabby boot resting on the bottommost rail, he flashed a grin and then vanished before she recognized Cat. The girl—no lad for all she had stood and moved like one–had disappeared so completely there was nothing left but her grin.
Once Maddie knew the urchins were aboard the vessel, she saw them everywhere. Little Muffet sat demurely near the ice-cream seller, happily accepting round scoops of coloured ice creams on wafers and in dishes. As soon as her latest benefactor was out of sight, she would hand off the treat to Rabbit or Hare, who dematerialized with it while her little face resumed its innocent yearning expression. Somewhere on board, every one of the youngsters was enjoying a share in Muffet’s bounty.
When the ferry passengers streamed onto the island a few minutes later, they found hawkers lining the lane, crying out to sell their flags and miniature statues. Swirled lollipops the size of Hare’s face, sticky toffees, and bags of buttery popcorn were on offer. Clockwork teddy bears shuffled around, caps in hand, begging for pennies. Automaton dogs danced for coins to the squeezy music of concertinas. A booth held viewing-devices of marvellous variety, from tiny, folding opera glasses to telescopes too large for one man to carry. Emmeline insisted on stopping there.
The vendor, quick to spot a wealthy customer, drew from beneath his counter a tray of silver-filigree oculexes. These slender tubes, he explained, would expand her distance viewing as well as any full-sized telescope, while collapsing on themselves with a twist of the wrist, the better to fit into her pretty purse. She chose two, one with enamelled bluebells for Maddie, and cornflowers for herself. Hanging her sturdy street parasol from her wrist, Maddie tested hers, swinging it across the crowds. Among the stragglers leaving the ferry were Hiram and Obie. Had they seen anyone suspicious yet? How, in all this throng, could they tell? Was sightseeing a good idea or a disastrous impulse born of her determination to finish the job fast and get away from Father?
As they passed into the Statue’s hollow pedestal and began to climb, Maddie spotted the urchins again. They darted between the tourists, hopping and skipping up the metal-grill stairs, cutting corners on the landings by leaping from railing to railing. Anyone trying to stop them grabbed only air, for the young rascals would be halfway up the next flight. The gigantic metal column resounded with clattering feet, shouts, shrieks, and the cheerful taunts of the urchins as they eluded every attempt to stop them endangering themselves.
After two hundred steps they all arrived at a platform across the Statue’s waist. Here they paused, for the upper stairs were temporarily out of alignment with the lower due to the turning of the torso and head. While Emmeline and Maddie caught their breath and looked down the long core to see how far below Obie and Hiram were, the urchins, except for Muffet, abandoned the stairs for the girders and struts that supported Lady Liberty’s copper clothing. Dormie wasn’t among them.
“Still sick,” Emmeline said. “Do you think they suspect I’m both me and Emmy?”
“Probably not.” Emmeline not only spoke and dressed differently from Emmy Gat, she walked differently as well. And they hadn’t been close enough to her as Emmeline to identify the chin and mouth. Or perhaps they knew who she was but were content to go along with whatever game Emmy Gat was up to now.
Above the waist-platform workmen were clanking wrenches and yanking on levers to shift the stairs to their next connection. The first flight floated across, guided by a cog-driven mechanism. At its new slot, a crewman ran down it and unhooked the safety gate at its bottom. A thin stream of tourists trekked down, returning from the shoulders, head, and crown. Hare caught a ride on the next flight of stairs as it swung around. The workmen saw him, shouted, and set off in pursuit, leaving three flights angling over the central abyss. Hare easily out-distanced his pursuers, slipping through tight railings, speeding along the outer walkways, and diving fearlessly from a girder to an adjacent foothold. At last the men gave up and returned to their work, muttering about calling the coppers on the little brats. Maddie could not help thinking the stairs could be moved more efficiently by clockworks and steam power, but th
ese Americans clearly believed in doing things the old-fashioned way.
The chase, or the mention of police, settled the urchins. They made their ways rather less obtrusively upward via the girders, keeping pace with Emmeline and Maddie on the stairs. Many visitors had turned thankfully toward the downward stairs, shirking the prospect of a further climb to the giant head. Soon the girls were almost alone on their section of stairs. The walls were closing in, footsteps echoing louder. The brilliant gas-lighting of the skirts gave way to intermittent light-pipes that drew sunshine down from the shoulders. The statue’s constant turning sent shadows slithering over stairs and struts and people’s faces.
Somewhere down below, Obie and Hiram were surely following. Was someone else coming too, someone who wished Emmeline harm? Maddie glanced down, but the nearest followers were a modestly dressed couple three flights below, holding hands and puffing hard as they climbed. Surely no threat.
The bright noonday sun welcomed them onto the outside platform on Lady Liberty’s shoulders. Maddie opened her parasol and turned, surveying those who might follow them outside. Only Cat came out, strolling to the opposite railing. The boys were doubtless exploring the head. Maybe they’d appear on the crown next, laughing and waving as if they were not twenty-seven or so storeys above the island with nothing between them and the long, long drop.
Emmeline pulled out her oculex and swept it slowly along the horizon. “I can see everything,” she cried. “Battery Park is so close I can read the markings on the airships moored there. Oh, a lovely steam-yacht is parked almost on top of the Aquarium. As big as an ocean liner. It doesn’t look like a Vanderbilt one. Maybe they have guests visiting from Europe again. Do look, Maddie.”
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