Beneath a Waning Moon: A Duo of Gothic Romances (23 page)

“Her knowledge of design and repair would be wasted trying to teach a baronet’s brats their letters and numbers.”
 
He ignored Nettie’s knowing smirk.

“Aye, it would.
 
Besides, she’s a bricky girl and learned plenty from her papa about engine design.
 
She’d be easy to teach the hands-on stuff, and apprenticeship under a good mechanic would make her valuable to any airship crew.”

Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment, recalling those final moments aboard the
Pollux
before the whiplash of a barbed tentacle bit into his flesh and flung him off the deck.
 
The shuddering
ship.
 
He opened his eyes and met Nettie’s steady gaze.
 
“If you take her on board, would you take me as well?”

Her face drained of color, leaving her almost as pale as he was.
 
Her blue eyes sheened with unshed tears.
 
“Oh Nate, my boy,” she said softly.
 
“I just got you back.”
 
Her rueful smile made his heart ache for her.
 
“A little peaky and odd looking for sure, but alive.
 
I don’t think I can bear to lose you a second time.
 
Besides, I’m not sure having a bone keeper onboard will sit well with the crew.

Nathaniel clasped the chair arms in a white-knuckled grip.
 
“Please, Nettie.”

She glanced at his hands, then at him and blew out a sigh.
 
“Like I told Lenore, I’ll think on it.”

It would have to do for now.
 
He knew her well enough to know if he kept pushing, she’d flat out refuse and then bodily throw him out of her quarters to hammer home her point.
 
He stood when she did.
 
“I imagine you never thought I’d end up guarding a bone yard.”

“Better that than lying in one.”
 
Nettie reached up to cup his jaw.
 
Nathaniel pressed his cheek into her palm.
 
“If you need me for anything...” she said.

He held her hand and kissed her callused fingers.
 
“Likewise.”
 
He bowed and headed for the door, her goodbye to him eliciting a laugh.

“Quit robbing the barber and cut that mop!”

CHAPTER SEVEN

TWO MONTHS EARLIER LENORE had prayed and crossed her fingers that Nettie Widderschynnes would see her way of it and give Lenore a chance to join her crew.
 
When the airship captain returned from the Redan, she countered Lenore’s offer with one of her own.
 
Her letter arrived in the post a week after the
Pollux
docked in Maldon, drafted by one of the fleet’s secretaries.

Dear Miss Kenward
,

This post is addressed to you on behalf of Captain Nettie Widderschynnes of the
HMA Pollux.
 
Your request for a post aboard this airship has been reviewed and a counter consideration
offered.
 
Temporary post as cabin boy aboard the
HMA Terebullum
is currently available.
 
Captain Widderschynnes will lead a training crew on a test flight of the
HMA Terebellum
to Gibraltar, Spain.
 
Total flight duration is seven days to begin 12th of February, departing from Maldon Airfield.
 
At the end of the stated flight, consideration for a more permanent post will be discussed.

She scanned the remainder of the letter, noting the deadline for a reply and immediately set to scribbling her acceptance letter.
 
Cabin boy wasn’t quite what she’d hoped for, but it was the perfect post for someone with no experience aboard ship.
 
Nettie could just as easily have said no and put an end to it.
 
Lenore had no intention of questioning her good fortune.
 
Temporary and of lowest rank it might be and on a ship not the
Pollux
, but she had a post.

Gaining Nettie’s short-term approval was the easy part, defying a furious Jane Kenward, a battle hard-fought and costly.

Jane read the letter, crushed the parchment in her hand and glared at Lenore over her spectacle rims.
 
“I forbid it,” she announced in tones low and seething.
 
High color scorched her cheekbones, and the jet beads draped over her collar juttered against each other from her rapid breathing.

“You can’t forbid it, Mama,” Lenore replied in what she hoped was a serene voice.
 
“I’ve already posted my acceptance and received both my travel instructions and ticket.
 
I leave for Maldon Tuesday next.”

Jane’s nostrils flared, her outrage palpable.
 
“I am your mother,” she bit out.
 
“I demand your respect.”

Lenore’s patience began to fray.
 
“You have it, but this isn’t about respect.
 
This is about survival.
 
We must retrench.”
 
The second wave of creditors had already cleaned out Arthur’s workshop down to the last gear and pencil.

“I’m well aware of our circumstances, Lenore.
 
However, that doesn’t mean you abandon all propriety and expectations of your class to go sailing off with some ragged lot of Shoreditch outcasts.”
 
Jane rose from her chair to pace before the parlor window.
 
Her skirts swept the floors in an agitated swish.
 
“There are many positions available for an unmarried woman of your station.”

“And they pay one-third or less the rate of an airship crewman.”
 
Lenore had made some effort in seeking out other employment possibilities.
 
Even were she not so eager to avoid the slow, stifling death as a paid companion or harried governess, the pay of an airship crewman offered its own attraction.

Jane retrieved her fan from one of the side tables, its many ribs snapping in time each time she opened and closed it.
 
“It’s vulgar to speak of money.”

Lenore clenched her teeth and prayed for patience. “It’s even more vulgar to starve.”

“A crewman’s pay is greater because the danger is significantly greater.
 
As a governess, the most you might suffer is a recalcitrant child or his demanding mother.
 
I doubt either of them will shoot at you, blow you up or try and devour you.

Lenore couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips.
 
“Have you seen some of those children?
 
Don’t be so sure.”

Jane bent a hard glare on her.
 
“Lenore,” she warned.

Lenore exhaled a frustrated breath.
 
“Mama, I love you with all my heart, but I am twenty-seven years old and capable of making independent decisions.
 
We may argue this to death, but I’m not changing my mind.
 
Let me help you.”

The two women clashed in a silent battle of wills, before Jane turned her back and found refuge on the nearby settee.
 
She stared out the window onto the front garden washed in fragile morning light.
 
“Were you married, we wouldn’t have this discussion.”
 
Her voice had lost none of its edge, but Lenore sensed she’d given ground.

She sat, facing Jane.
 
“As I recall, you were at first against me marrying Nathaniel Gordon.”

Jane’s frosty gaze didn’t thaw.
 
“Foolish boy tossing away his birthright as if it were scrap.
 
I wish you had never met him.”

Lenore refused to apologize.
 
“I’m so very glad I did,” she said softly.
 
She rose and smoothed her skirts.

Her mother’s eyebrows rose, and she frowned.
 
“Where are you going?”

“To visit Papa.”

“That’s the second time this week.”

And if Lenore had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t be the last.
 
“I go for us both.
 
You’re welcome to join me.”
 
She knew Jane’s answer before she made the offer.

The older woman stiffened and turned away, her voice a little more hollow this time.
 
“Not yet,” she said.
 
“Not yet.”

Lenore clasped her shoulder briefly before rising to leave.
 
“I will return by tea.”

“Take Constance with you,” Jane called just as Lenore curled her hand around the door knob.

Lenore raised her eyes to the ceiling.
 
“Mama, Constance is taking deliveries today and waiting for the washer woman.
 
She’s far too busy to play nursemaid to me.
 
I promised her I’d stop by the markets and pick up supplies for her as well.”

A muttered “Stubborn girl” followed her into the hallway, and Lenore closed the door behind her with a relieved “whew.”

Despite the hints of sunlight breaking through the clouds, the day was brutally cold, the only blessing the lack of a wind to cut through clothing.
 
Lenore wrapped warmly in layers of wool coat, mittens and scarves.
 
She’d rolled on her thickest stockings and donned her heaviest petticoats in a futile bid to stay warm.
 
Only the crowded omnibus that transported her and others from Camberwell, across London Bridge to Camden and Swain’s Lane offered some relief and a little warmth.
 
She pitied those who rode on the open upper deck.

Most would think her mad if she admitted to the nervous anticipation that sent her stomach in a tumble once she stood outside of Highgate’s grand entrance.
 
A visit to a cemetery usually elicited tears or in many instances, much appreciated moments of peace and reflection on a Sunday afternoon.
 
Lenore had not lied when she told Jane she planned to visit Arthur.
 
She simply didn’t mention the hope she dare not acknowledge out loud that she might see and speak with the Guardian.

She passed the Lebanon Circle vaults, following a narrow path to where Arthur’s grave lay undisturbed.
 
No longer a target for body snatchers, his remains rested beneath bricks turning green with lichen.
 
Sometime between now and her last visit, someone had placed a bench close enough to the grave so she might sit and chat with her father’s spirit in comfort.
 
The butterflies swirled in her belly.
 
Had the Guardian been responsible for the thoughtful gesture?
 
Those otherworldly eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts, but he had always been courteous to her, and kind.

Lenore set the basket she carried on the bench alongside her ever-present umbrella.
 
Constance had slid it onto her arm before she left.
 
“A bit of lunch for you should you have need of it.”
 
Lenore would also use the basket to bring home those items the grocer didn’t deliver to the house.

Sunlight filtered through the bare trees and thick ivy, golden and alluring with its false promise of warmth.
 
The flowers she laid on the grave three days earlier were already a black slimy mess.
 
She retrieved a new bouquet from the basket, scraped the dead one aside with her shoe and placed the fresh flowers in its place.
 
Like her, they shivered in the cold.

Lenore returned to the bench and perched on the edge.
 
Huddled deep in her coat, she listened for the footfalls of any nearby visitors.
 
Only the silence answered.
 
Her breath clouded before her when she spoke.

“Good morning, Papa.
 
I have news.
 
Nettie has not yet agreed to me joining her crew permanently, but she has allowed me to join them on a test flight.
 
Not the
Pollux
mind, but a new one—the
Terebellum
.
 
Do you remember her?
 
A cargo lifter.
 
We saw her plans four years ago.
 
The Vickers Armament modified Sir Smithson’s design so the engines will generate more horsepower with the possibility of speed at 61 knots.
 
They’ve installed them on the
Terebellum
.
 
Nettie has been offered the chance to test-fly her before she’s formally assigned captain and crew.
 
A short run to Gibraltar and back.
 
No more than a week out.
 
I’m to play cabin boy.”

Lenore didn’t mention her argument with Jane or the fact that creditors had seized everything of value from his workshop and were now eyeing the furnishings in the house.
 
Such things were the burdens of the living, not the dead.
 
She spoke instead of the latest scandals posted in the scandal sheets and conjectured over what the secretive Guild mages might do to strengthen the barriers at the coast.

A faint whine interrupted her one-sided conversation.
 
Lenore went silent, listening.
 
Another whine followed the first, and she peered into a cluster of ivy to her left.
 
A dog, thin and quaking, emerged from the foliage, wary but no doubt drawn to the scents wafting from her basket.
 
Its fur, dark with caked mud, did little to hide its bony hips and ribcage.