Of Steel and Steam: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  Beatrix considered him. Was he inebriated already? She plastered a smile on her face and placed her hand on his forearm. “Of course, kind sir.”

  He placed his hand over hers, laced his fingers between hers, and squeezed.

  Beatrix grimaced. The sensation wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but the action held a bite of pain that made her uncomfortable. Not because of the feel of it, but for the flash in his eyes. Her throat dried. Suddenly, Jackson Luntz seemed dangerous.

  He pulled her closer and pressed his lips close to her ear. “You’ll learn to like it, my dear,” he said, his voice stickier than before. “In time.”

  Beatrix didn’t answer, and she wanted to shiver. She worked to swallow the panic that threatened. Spots danced in front of her eyes. It brought too many memories of spending the day hungry or beneath the fist of an angry parent. As a child, her life had been filled with pain. She had to get him to think of something else.

  “Should we go inside?” she asked brightly, hoping to distract him. “I would like to meet all your friends.”

  He frowned. “I don’t have any.”

  “Then, perhaps, I could meet your cousin?”

  He didn’t agree right away, and he glanced back toward the steam hackney. Was he thinking of leaving the party? People meant safety.

  Beatrix stepped forward. “I was so excited about our outing, I haven’t had a bite to eat all day, and I’m afraid I’m a bit light-headed. Could we go in?”

  He blinked once as though realizing she was more than a pretty face. “Yes, of course,” he said. His expression softened.

  The tension leached from her, and she settled into place alongside him.

  He led her up the front steps and into the reception area. Finely dressed men and women meandered across the polished marble floor between the seating areas in the middle of the larger room.

  At the reception desk, Beatrix hesitated in front of an ornate silver tray that held individually wrapped chocolates. Each piece rested on the back of an ornately folded piece of paper. They had been crafted as a work of art, and she felt in awe of such finery.

  “Can we eat these?” she breathed. They were beautiful. What would they taste like?

  Jackson considered her and the chocolate and back again. “Which one would you like?”

  “Any of them.” Beatrix pursed her lips. “All of them?”

  Jackson chuckled. Then he removed four different chocolates from the tray and handed them to her. “They are for guests. I am a guest, and you are my guest.”

  Beatrix beamed and followed as he moved toward a small group of people in the corner. It had been over a year since she’d had chocolate of any kind. She took a bite, relishing the tang of truffle in cocoa.

  Jackson nodded to a passerby. “What do you think?”

  “Delicious,” she answered.

  They approached a collection of well-dressed men and women, surrounding an airship pilot wearing his racing silks. The group clamored at him.

  Jackson didn’t fawn as the others did. Instead, he stepped into the center and touched a short woman’s elbow. The plump, middle-aged woman leaned on an ornate cane, but she didn’t seem elderly. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, Jackson whispered in her ear. The older woman turned and scanned the room. A wreath of diamonds glittered at her throat, a layer of expensive rock glitter. Her gaze stopped at Beatrix and turned to a glare.

  At Jackson’s urging, she wove through the crowd and came to a stop in front of Beatrix. “Cousin, dear, this is Beatrix Bordeaux.”

  “Oh, what a lyrical name,” the older woman beamed.

  He held out his hand. “Ms. Bordeaux, this is my cousin, the Baroness, Lady Margaret Luntz.”

  Margaret’s gaze dropped to Beatrix’s skirts. “Keep this one around, Jackson. What an absolutely hysterical dress. Your escort has quite a lovely humor about her, Jackson.”

  “One does what one can,” Beatrix murmured, her face burning at the backhanded criticism. Nevertheless, she dropped into a curtsy. But that didn’t make the judgmental old hag a better person. The baroness probably thought poor people chose to be poor somehow.

  Yet when Beatrix straightened, she added, “I’ve heard so much about you. Jackson has so much respect for you, you are something I aspire to, Ms. Luntz.”

  The sour-faced woman smiled. She offered her hand. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, Ms. Bordeaux.” She gestured beside her. “Please meet my escort, Albert. He’s a fine man. I wish I could be more enticing to him. I don’t think he believes I was quite the looker in my younger years.”

  The broad-shouldered man turned around. He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Bordeaux.”

  When she met his gaze, Beatrix froze, and she covered her gasp with a cough. The reason she came flew out the window. What chance did she have now?

  Margaret’s escort was none other than Constable Albert Jones.

  Heist

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she swayed. She tried to speak, but nothing came out except an undignified squeak. Albert? How had she never heard his first name?

  Constable Jones stepped forward with concern on his face, his arms outstretched as if meant to catch her. Sharp creases marked his blue uniform freshly pressed. “Why, Ms. Bordeaux, you’ve gone white as a sheet, are you alright?”

  If she spoke now, she wouldn’t sound anything like she had earlier. Her a’s and e’s would come out twisted and morphed by the neighborhood she grew up in. She checked her broach watch. Six o’clock. She had to get herself together. She had to figure out how to steal a diamond.

  She lifted her chin. The warmth in Constable Jones’s face disarmed her. Had he always been this kind? She’d never seen this side of him. The tang of liniment filled her nostrils, and his fingertips grazed her arm and left heat in its wake.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, but her accent wobbled.

  Jackson edged into the space between her and Constable Jones. Jackson peered into her face, too, frowning. “What part of the city did you say you’re from?” he asked. “Wasn’t there something in the papers about resurgence of the Spanish flu?”

  Beatrix cleared her throat and spoke more clearly. “I’m fine.”

  His coldness was a stark contrast to Jones, and Beatrix shivered. She didn’t know what to say. She expected a flicker of recognition from Jones, but none came. Did she really look that different to him? Yet it wasn’t enough to please the baroness.

  Did it please the constable? She wanted to know the answer to that question the moment it entered her thoughts and pushed everything else aside. She opened her mouth to ask.

  But Margaret harrumphed, her cane tapping against the floor. Her frown encompassed all three of them, and she gave Beatrix a dark look. “Can’t you answer, girl?”

  Beatrix tipped her head to the side. “I beg your pardon, Baroness. I’m afraid I’m rather breathless.” She leaned closer. “I need to adjust my corset.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened, and she sniffed derisively. She laid her hand over the largest diamond in the necklace. “Indeed.”

  Beatrix squared her shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll freshen up.”

  “Of course,” Jackson murmured. He bowed slightly. She hurried across the polished floor, her boot heels punctuating each step. She paused to ask a uniformed maid for directions to the privy.

  The woman pointed to the rear of the administration building. “Can’t miss it, ma’am.” She curtsied.

  Moments later, Beatrix stepped inside the large, tri-room space. One side included a carefully decorated seating area with a fireplace, sinks and mirrors lined the walls in the middle room, and a bank of alcoves on a low platform filled the room to the left. Beatrix raised a brow. Each recess held a porcelain toilet behind a swinging wooden door. She’d never seen so many flushers in one place before. At the far end, a curtain covered a closet space.

  Beatrix pinched her cheeks, fussed with her bodice, and then straightened her
short skirts. She had to figure out how to get a diamond off of the baroness. Anything for Helen and William.

  Everything in the place sparkled in brass and marble. Maybe one of the faucets might be enough to pay William’s debt. She snorted at herself in the mirror. Could that be the answer? She approached the nearest sink and bent beneath the counter, leaning up into the space under the sink bowl. The iron pipes went straight up into the faucet without an easy break. A drop of water rolled down the side. She didn’t know how to work pipes, and she didn’t fancy a swim. She stood up with a sigh. Back to the diamonds.

  At that moment, Margaret appeared behind her. “What are you playing at, girl?”

  Beatrix flinched, and she moved toward the toilet room, taking the one step upward. “Playing at, Baroness?”

  Margaret slammed her cane into the ground. “Don’t test me, girl. I know pub-speak when I hear it, and what corseted woman puts her head in the water works of a bathroom?”

  Beatrix spun around. “I beg your pardon?” She had to bluff her way out. The diamonds glittered at her throat. If only she could figure out how to get what she needed and get out.

  Nobody else was in the bathroom. Not even an attendant or a maid.

  Nobody… except the cousin and the diamonds. She checked her watch. Herbert would be there in a quarter-hour, and she wouldn’t get a better chance.

  Beatrix spun around until she faced away from the older woman. Then she brushed her finger across her belt buckle. Clicking filled the air and then a tiny hiss followed as a sleeper dart shot out of the rear of her belt. She whirled back around just as the dart landed in Margaret’s shoulder.

  The baroness’s eyes widened. “What have you done?” She rushed toward the exit, but made it no more than two steps before she sank to her knees. She plucked the projectile from her dress and clutched at her shoulder. “You’ve poisoned me to death. They’ll hang you, girl. You mark my words.”

  “Not if you don’t die, Baroness.” Beatrix grinned and dropped all pretense. “But ye’ll have a nice nap, and that’s for certain.” She’d have to find Herbert as soon as possible. Maybe she could meet him at the exit.

  Margaret took a breath and then slipped to the floor. “Who are you?” she whispered. She reached for Beatrix.

  Beatrix crouched beside her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  When Margaret stopped flailing, Beatrix hooked her hands beneath her arms and dragged her deeper into the bathroom. Carefully, she tucked the woman into the upholstered seat from one of the corners. She arranged her to look as though she was sleeping and dragged the chair into the curtained closet.

  Then Beatrix slipped the miniature wire snippers from the rear pocket on the belt beside the throwing stars. She snipped a small, two-carat diamond from the necklace, near the clasp. It wouldn’t be easily missed, but the woman might doze until Beatrix could meet with Herbert to get the replacement.

  Why hadn’t they enough time to properly plan this caper? Her last-minute ideas were going to get them all thrown into prison.

  She closed her hand around the sparkled stone. Such a small bauble to give a man’s life back and Helen’s, too. They could leave New London.

  It had gone easier than Beatrix expected, easier than it should have. With Herbert creating an alibi and Constable Jones’s not recognizing her… She might be able to escape the whole thing without getting caught. Even if she did, she knew the jailkeeper. Surely, if it came to it, she could exploit that somehow.

  She burst from the bathroom and slammed into a dark blue fabric wall.

  “Oof,” a man grunted.

  The deep, guttural sound sent a thrill through her, but she didn’t have time to enjoy it. Instead, she staggered backward and caught herself. Her palms slammed against the wall beside the bathroom door.

  A meaty hand caught her elbow. “Ms. Bordeaux, I didn’t expect to see you so soon. My apologies.” He reached for her until he was certain she had regained her balance.

  Her heart thumped against her ribs. The diamond. She’d lost the diamond. Where had it gone? She wanted to dive to her knees. If she laid her cheek to the marble, she’d be able to make it out.

  “Are you recovered?” the constable asked.

  Beatrix took a step backwards, peering around the officer. “Constable Jones, I’m fine,” she bit out. She raised a hand and shook her head. Had he noticed the new dialect slip?

  “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  She paused her search to meet his gaze. Why was he so approachable here? Why did he exude warmth? Why did he have to be so frustratingly caring?

  Herbert came hurrying around the corner in a flash of goggles, but he stopped short the moment he caught sight of Jonesy. He pointed at the hulking officer and whisper-yelled something Beatrix couldn’t make out. Then he jogged back out of sight.

  She moved in a circle. “I’m fine. I thought I lost something.”

  He raised a hand. “Ah, so did I. I’m looking for the baroness, did you see her inside?”

  Her composure cracked, and her smile wavered. “What?”

  “She mentioned she had something private to speak with you about. Did you see her inside? I apologize for the indelicacy of the question.”

  She willed her face to lie better than it had earlier. “Nope, not at all. Not in there.”

  “That’s odd.” He made a move to go inside, but she stepped between him and the ladies’ privy.

  “Mr. Jones,” she said, using her most proper governess voice she possessed. “It isn’t proper. There’s a woman indisposed.”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You cannot go in. There’s been a corset malfunction.”

  His need to protect his charge warred with his sense of propriety. “You didn’t see her in there at all?”

  “She stepped in to invite me to tea on the morrow and then said she had to send a message to her housekeeper about preparations.” Surely, the constable didn’t know about housekeeping or entertaining.

  He frowned, but he didn’t seem convinced. He didn’t budge.

  Still, Beatrix scanned the floor. “It might take half an hour, Constable. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  He turned to look where Beatrix stared and then turned back. “It’s my reputation, you understand.”

  “Your reputation is safe with me, sir,” she said.

  There! A glint at the corner of the room, in a line of white striation in the dark marble. She tipped her head ever so slightly. She had to keep her eyes on it or she might lose it. “Was there something else, Constable?”

  “Have we ever met, Ms. Bordeaux?”

  Her eyes bounced to his. “What?”

  “I’m sure you probably hear it all the time, but I have to admit that you seem familiar, Ms. Bordeaux.”

  “Uh, I’m… Uh… I don’t…”

  Herbert appeared again and left. He had noodle nerves.

  Jackson marched around the corner. His petulant frown nearly reached his chin.

  “Jackson, dear,” Beatrix exclaimed. “I’m feeling much better.” She lurched around Constable Jones, stepped wide, and caught the diamond with the tip of her shoe.

  “Have you seen my cousin?”

  Beatrix clamped her mouth closed and shook her head.

  Jackson turned to Constable Jones. “Have you lost her? You’re supposed to be protecting those diamonds.”

  Constable Jones chuckled. “She is sending a message to her housekeeper about serving tea.”

  “Do you know who she invited? Was it the mayor?”

  “Why, Ms. Bordeaux and others, I take it.”

  Jackson’s eye flicked back to Beatrix, and she winked at him. He didn’t react.

  Constable Jones continued. “The human element is often the one thing we cannot plan for. Did you check the refreshments area? Perhaps she also stopped there.”

  “Of course I…”

  Beatrix stopped listening, scooped the diamond from the ground,
and bolted around the corner.

  Herbert paced on the other side of the wall. His eyes went wide.

  She slipped to a halt beside Herbert.

  “Here,” she said. “Take this.” She shoved the diamond at him. “Get the replacement made.”

  “Why is the copper here? What is going on?” he whisper-yelled at her. “I’m going to bolt, Bea. I swear I am.” He trembled from head to toe.

  She smiled into his face. “We’ll be fine. Get the replacement made, Herbert. Stick to the plan.”

  The two men’s voices came closer, and their footsteps neared.

  She shook her head. “No time. They’re coming.”

  He shoved it into his pocket, and she dashed off once more. She reached the corner at the same time as Jackson and Jones. Then she did an about-face to stroll beside them. They barely noticed her arrival. She plastered a smile on her face then glanced over her shoulder.

  Herbert had disappeared, and she sagged with relief. “Are we checking the buffet?” she asked, hoping to send them someplace other than the bathroom.

  “Indeed,” Constable Jones said. “We should lock down the building and mount a search.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?” she asked.

  Jackson pursed his lips. A moment later, he said, “If there’s one thing she dislikes, it’s a scene. Let’s give her another little while.”

  Constable Jones sighed. “As I am in your employ, I will respect your wishes. However, I feel it’s a mistake.”

  Jackson simpered, but Beatrix didn’t miss the way the constable’s gaze narrowed.

  Her skin pricked, and worry scurried up her spine.

  Friends Don’t Let Friends…

  “Wait here,” Jackson growled. “I have to figure out where Margaret’s gone off to.” As the evening wore on, she liked him less and less, so she didn’t mind waiting behind. It felt as if it had been ages since Herbert left, but it had only been fifteen minutes since he’d disappeared with the diamond.

  She tapped her toe. The sleeper darts provided about half an hour. He knew that. Where was he?

  Twice as many attendees milled about the main room of the administration room. An orchestra collected at the edge of an open space. Young men brought seats, and the musicians began to tune their instruments. An older couple watched with excitement. Probably airship sponsors.