A Gentleman and a Scholar Page 8

  “Get yourself off to London-town, I’m quite happy to stay,” Trick said. “By the time you’re back I’ll have Tammany’s Jig ready for ye.”

  “The timing could not be better. Leave the rehabilitation of Trick to me,” said Archie. “I know you’ve been getting a touch of cabin fever here with us land-lubbers.”

  “Let me think on it,” she said at last. “I’ll write to Nessa at least.”

  Professor Sewell had her assistant fetch champagne for their little company, and they toasted to Trick’s recovery and her continued success. The Kendrick Road house rang with sparkling voices, music and laughter late into the night.

  Chapter 13: In which our hero confronts a captain

  Nessa was in a dress, and she was not amused.

  “This is why we picked up the debutante,” she stage-whispered after escaping the over-enthusiastic shop girl.

  “Clara cannot be responsible for all our ruses. Come now, you’re doing a fine job.”

  “If I have to try on one more pair of— Oh, you’ve found the ivory silk. Hmm, this seems a little too colourless for my complexion, don’t you think? Maybe a nice ecru, this time three-quarter length with a few more flourishes perhaps, yes?”

  She waved away the girl as she pretended to inspect more of the glove shop’s wares. The Captain Duke hid a smile, but kept his watch by the window of the store.

  “How much longer do you think?”

  “He’s late. He usually comes out by a quarter after. Wait, look there!”

  Their quarry was coming out from the alley, but this time he was not alone.

  “The one with the bowler hat. That’s the one who was lurking around that meeting point Robbie set.”

  Nessa narrowed her eyes, “There’s something about the other one...”

  “Miss?”

  Startled, she turned about.

  “Oh, the ecru. Yes, thank you. On second thought, I think I’ll return with a sample of the fabric so we can match it precisely. Thank you ever so kindly, we will most certainly return post-haste, if you’ll excuse us now we must be on our way.”

  Nessa gave a frightening smile to the poor girl, then, gripping the Captain’s arm, she fled the store.

  “I recognize him.”

  “Who?”

  “His companion. Don’t you? Well, you didn’t nearly shoot the man I suppose.”

  “What? Who is he?”

  “The captain of the gunpowder ship who damn near blew us into the heavens.”

  “It can’t—I had him thrown overboard.”

  “You mean you ordered Robbie to.”

  The Captain Duke clenched his jaw. They continued to follow the two men at a reasonable distance, until they paused at the entrance to a pub. The one with the bowler seemed to console his acquaintance, and offered him a few coins, shaking his head. The former captain had his head bowed through the exchange, but accepted the money before entering the pub.

  “Well, which should we follow?”

  “I think we’ve found our source’s source. Fancy a pint?”

  “We may draw attention to ourselves, dressed up like this.”

  “It’s a dress. You cut a fine figure, but rest assured, Ness, they’re less likely to take note of a lass in a frock than one who looks as though she could take on the entire establishment—and win. No, I’ve a better plan.”

  Nessa entered the pub alone and approached the bar rail. Her target was already deep into his cups and did not notice until she stood at his elbow. Leaning in, she whispered into his ear.

  “How far did you think you could run?”

  Confronted by Nessa’s steely gaze, the captain knocked his stool over in his haste to get away. Seeing her positioned between him and the entrance, he turned on a heel and fled through the kitchens and into the alley behind. She followed at a stately pace, arriving in time to see him pinned to the ground with the Captain Duke’s knee at his back, his arm twisted behind him.

  Nessa shooed the kitchen staff as she closed the door behind her, “Move along, move along, just a common ruffian. Nothing to see here.”

  Then, she turned back to their detainee.

  “You. You remember me?”

  He responded by spitting onto the ground. The Captain twisted his arm further and he yelped,

  “Alright, alright! Yes, I remember you, wench. Just let me be.”

  “That depends entirely on how quickly you explain how a dead man is walking about before us. If I recall, you were about to take a dip in the channel.”

  “Aye, thanks to your scheming. You stole my ship! Twice! I should never have trusted the blond one.”

  The Captain Duke dragged him to his feet, “What do you know about Robbie Codswaddle?”

  The man leered at them and Nessa realized the situation was getting out of hand.

  “Now, now. There’s no need for bloodshed,” she said, taking out a handkerchief and pressing it to the man’s bleeding lip. “Perhaps our interests in this matter align.”

  She traded a significant look with the Captain, and the man looked between the two of them, confused.

  “Let’s start with a name.”

  “Thompson,” he replied.

  “You see, Thompson, the blond man you dealt with, we’re trying to find him too.”

  “So the hornswoggler is still alive? What of the cargo? Has he run off with it too?”

  “He’s run off, yes. What have you heard?”

  “That’s it, innit? Haven’t heard a thing. He set up the meeting point and never showed. Figured he might be dead, or worse. Our benefactor is unhappy and soon I won’t be able to show my face in any kind of company, respectable or not.”

  “So what are you doing in London?”

  “I got word that the Admiral was ‘ere, thought I could explain to him. I fought for ‘im, I would have given my life for ‘im. But with no goods to show, or coin to repay the man, I’m ruined.”

  He sighed bitterly and slumped. The Captain Duke could almost pity him. His dejection was complete. Nessa, however, was not so soft-hearted.

  “Good to know. So now you’re going to tell us exactly what you told Robbie to inspire him to abscond with your cargo, as well as its origins, or we’re going to flag down the nearest Tradists and hand you over directly.”

  The man blanched, “Listen, I only know what I was told. The gunpowder had to get to London, and discreet. I don’t know where it came from, I picked it up on the Isle of Wight with directions to leave that very night.”

  “And who was your contact there?”

  “Uh, Corring. Alexander Corring. Military fellow, set to marry some fancy lass.”

  The Captain Duke felt a rush of anger.

  “You had better not be lying to me,” he said in a tone of quiet thunder.

  “I’m not, I swear. Please, just let me be and I won’t bother with any of this mess again. I swear it.”

  “What do you think, Captain? Is he a changed man? He does seem to have greater troubles than us.”

  “I already called for your life once, Thompson. You’re too pathetic for a second attempt. If you think of anything useful, leave a note at this pub and we’ll collect it. But, my colleague here is not so tender as I. Cross us again and there will be no such mercy.”

  Their former adversary looked to be near tears as he straightened his jacket and began to limp out of the alley.

  “One more thing,” said Nessa, as the man flinched. “Which Admiral?”

  “Admiral Flint,” said Thompson, before hurrying away.

  The Captain Duke looked at Nessa, and grinned.

  “I’ve missed that,” she said. “Putting the fear in them.”

  “I think I have heard of this Admiral Flint. He’s known to run in certain circles.”

  “Ah. Perhaps it’s time for your ‘friend’ to return from his travels early.”

  “I was thinking the same. But what of the crew?”

  “I’ll handle it. Between our people and Marie’s, we can cov
er your exit. We’ll send word to Madge to set up a few sightings of a ginger Captain in the northwest.”

  “Good. Let’s get back to the ship, I’ll need to pack a new trunk.”

  Chapter 14: In which our heroine receives an unexpected guest

  It was the day before Professor Sewell’s departure when Mouse burst through the doors of the solarium, shouting for Clara. She jumped up from the settee where she had been deeply engrossed in a heavy tome on international trade agreements and swept back her skirts to pull a pistol from the hidden pocket Mrs. Cottingham had sewn into them, ready to take on whomever was threatening their hideout.

  “Clara! Oh, you won’t need that. It’s Master Tims! He’s here to see you! And he brought Lottie,” he said.

  The boy could hardly contain his excitement, breathless from running. Clara had just started to relax when a rather irate librarian appeared in the doorway.

  “Now, young man, I will not have such tomfoolery in these halls—”

  She paused, catching sight of her quarry, and Clara, armed with a shining pistol.

  “Oh, it’s not—” started Clara.

  With a sigh, the woman fainted.

  “Oh dear,” said Mouse.

  “Oh dear indeed. No running in the library.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Clara rolled her eyes, “Tims is here you say? Come, help me get her in a chair and let’s be off before she wakes up. We’ll explain it to the Professor later.”

  By the time they had crossed the wide expanse of lawn, the Professor was already at the base of the tallport, playing with a curly-haired tot who was operating a tiny wingding and running about as Cat stood at the side of Tims.

  “Clara! She’s charming. Such an inquisitive little soul. I’m so pleased you invited them to see our facilities.”

  Cat gave her a significant look.

  “Ah, yes. I thought it would be a pleasant surprise before your trip,” Clara said, as Lottie ran to envelop her in a hug.

  “Where is Captain?” she asked, staring up with piercing blue eyes.

  “Captain who?” asked the Professor.

  “Oh, ah, a friend of ours,” Clare began, before feeling a blush warming her cheeks.

  “Lottie calls him captain because she’s after his ship,” Tims interjected, sweeping his daughter into his arms and plucking the wingding from the air as it whizzed by his ear. “We do appreciate the opportunity to visit. Clara spoke highly of your facilities and I thought it well to show Charlotte some of the world beyond my little workshop.”

  “Oh, of course! It is just so exciting to see an interest in the mechanicals at her age. Will you be staying long?”

  “Only a day trip this time.”

  “Well then you must allow me to give you a tour,” she said, beaming.

  Tims set Lottie down to run ahead, and the little girl took the Professor by the hand, walking on the side of her shining prosthetic and peppering their stroll with a hundred questions. Clara smiled at the sight of them, the Professor answering each inquiry in language the child could understand.

  “She’ll learn a lot here, once she’s old enough,” said Tims, walking beside her.

  “I think it’s a fine institution for her future education, and I imagine she’ll have a thing or two to teach them by that point. But I was not expecting you to make the whole trip out here just to see it. How is your wife?”

  “She’s doing fine today. Mrs. Cottingham is checking in. I would have sent word, but… well, I’ll explain later.”

  Clara could hardly repress her curiosity, but the rest of the afternoon did not permit an opportunity for private discourse as they were led around by their hostess. Lottie proved to be quite the distraction for student and faculty alike as they made their way through the halls. It was not until after they had joined Archie and Trick for an early dinner that Professor Sewell took her leave, citing the need to finish packing for her journey the next morning.

  Master Tims waited until the staff had cleared the room to pull an envelope from his inner pocket and handed it to Clara. It was a letter, an actual, physical letter. She quickly discovered the reason: the envelope also contained a drawing. A symbol that looked to be composed of some piece of equipment over a diagram of a heart. Clara studied the image, but soon turned to the letter to make sense of it.

  “It’s from Peg,” she said aloud, passing the drawing to Trick.

  “Why didn’t she use the wireless?” asked Cat.

  “Well, there’s the drawing for one. She says she’s concerned about messages being intercepted. That explains her cryptic tone of late.”

  “That’s right,” said Tims. “None of yours yet, I think. They don’t know you’re here and your crews keep on the move. I believe they need to be in range to get the signal.”

  “How did you discover this?”

  Tims ran his hands through his sparse hair and leaned forward, “There were Tradist ships sighted last week near Keswick. They were headed in the direction of the Haven, so the next morning I took Lottie out for a flight around the Derwentwater and there are signs they landed there.”

  Clara said a silent thanks that they had taken all of the books and ledgers with them. There would be nothing for them to find except overturned furniture in the burnt out shell. She hoped they would think it abandoned.

  “Next morning, some gentlemen came ‘round my shop. There was nothing to find, but they made a few pointed inquiries. They flew off, but left a device of some sort at the post office, big antenna-like thing out the back, and ever since we’ve had trouble with our wireless. I had my suspicions, so I sent out a false call for a shipment the next eve in Whitehaven and had one of my contacts keep an eye out. Sure enough, the same bloody Tradists were prowling their docks that night. We’ve had to go back to airmail to coordinate our operations.”

  “How did he know they were one and the same?” asked Trick.

  “There were some odd markings on the ship, and a few of them wore pins with that symbol there. Next a parcel comes in, hand delivered by one of yours from Peg’s crew with that drawing. Said they’ve been seeing it at different ports and wanted to know if we had any information. I’ve sent word to my people to be extra cautious, but I wanted to get this to you myself straight away. I took the chance and used the university as a cover for our trip, to avoid suspicion. Everyone in the village knows Lottie is likely to come here one day.”

  “I’ll pass on the warning to the crews. We’ll need to come up with new codes in case they’ve cracked ours,” said Cat.

  “We have bigger problems than that, I think,” said Trick.

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s unlikely they could have discovered the Haven without direction.”

  “Robbie? You think he would go to the Tradists?”

  “I think the Tradists are far more involved in this mystery than we first suspected.”

  The table was quiet as his words sunk in. This was no simple case of smuggling. The Tradists had every means to import the gunpowder with all the protections of the empire. If they were resorting to illicit means…

  Clara folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope, “I need to get this to the Captain.”

  “Professor Sewell leaves tomorrow; shall I send word that you’ll be joining her?” Archie asked.

  “Would she mind?”

  “Not at all, she’ll be delighted.”

  “Very well. Cat will be coming as well, I presume. And what of you, Mouse? Off on an adventure? Or will you be keeping Trick company here?”

  They all looked to the boy, who fidgeted with a loose button on his sleeve.

  “Well… Archie could really use my help I think…”

  He looked to Clara’s brother with a questioning look, as though seeking confirmation.

  “Absolutely. Your work is incomparable. I’d be lost without your assistance,” said Archie.

  Mouse then looked to his sister, who seemed to be warring with herself but q
uickly replaced her frown with an encouraging smile.

  “Yes, of course. We won’t be gone long. And Trick still needs protecting.”

  That seemed to settle the matter, though both of the children looked concerned by the idea of their imminent separation. Clara wondered when last they had been apart, or if they ever were.

  “Very well. Cat, send word to the crews. And Mouse, would you make a copy of this drawing? I’ll take the original with me.”

  Mouse accepted the task with a beaming smile and left to puzzle over it at a large writing desk in the corner. One of the revelations of their stay at Lovelace was the young boy’s talent for technical drawings. No sooner had he and Archie conceived of a new design than Mouse had completed an illustration, with all of the mechanical intricacies. He had an excellent eye for detail, and patience – surprising for a boy of his age.

  They said their farewells to Master Tims and Lottie before Trick escorted them to the tallport. Then Clara mounted the stairs to her rooms and began to pack her few belongings into a case. Archie followed behind and sat on the bed as she scowled at the jumble of clothing. Breeches and loose linen shirts were mixed with ruffled dresses and skirts. She sighed, picking up one thing and then another.

  Her brother smirked, “Penny for your thoughts? Or is it a shilling?”

  Clara smiled at their old joke. Their father had always instructed them to ignore the idiom and know the value of their minds. But that sent a fresh wave of nostalgia for her family and their home on the Isle of Wight. She struggled to keep her emotions in check, but her brother, ever the perceptive one, stood and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey now, what’s this about? The last time you left there was nary a tear, and that was under far less certain circumstances.”

  Clara gave a rueful smile, “I was quite determined in my chosen course of action if you’ll recall.”

  “And now?”

  “I still am, it’s only—it feels too soon to say goodbye once more.”

  “Clara, you can always return to us. Trick will be here as well, for the next stage of his treatment.”