Heart of Brass (38 page)

She did not want to be wrong about Alastair.

Evelyn said she could stay for her examination of Luke, so Arden did. The doctor checked his healing wounds, prodded him where he’d been injured after the incident with the touring carriage, and checked his reflexes and strength. He broke the squeezing device she used to measure his grip.

“Any improvements to your memory?” Evelyn asked with a wry smile as she put the broken apparatus in her bag.

“I’ve remembered a few new things,” he replied.

“Such as?”

“I remember the first time I saw Arden.”

Arden gaped at him. “You do?” This was the first she’d heard of it.

Luke smiled slightly. “I don’t remember where it was, but you were wearing a yellow gown and had a poppy in your hair.”

“Drury Lane,” she informed him, voice thick. “It was a production of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
” He remembered her. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

“Anything pertaining to what you were investigating prior to your disappearance?” Evelyn’s impatience cleaved the tender feeling in her chest.

“Not really. There are bits, but they’re fuzzy.”

“Might I have your permission to attempt mesmerism on you, my lord?”

Luke’s gaze rose to the woman hovering over him. “It’s that imperative, is it?”

“It is,” Evelyn replied, face grim.

“Then go ahead. I’m not certain how well it will work on me.”

She held up a syringe. “This will relax you and help overpower any safeguards the Company might have implanted in your mind.”

“Evie…” Arden’s voice trilled upward.

“He’ll be fine, luvvy. Don’t you worry. I won’t hurt him a bit.”

Luke turned to her, confidence in his countenance. “It will be all right. And you can stay and watch, right, doctor?”

Evelyn smiled. “Of course. Why don’t you set up that contraption of yours to record what he says?”

It soothed her to feel as though she was part of the solution. Arden quickly went to the library where she kept her sound recording equipment. She returned within minutes and set the cylinder machine up on the table near Luke’s chair.

The device was of her own design—a modification of that Edison bloke’s. While many used wax cylinders, Arden had discovered that a substance called celluloid provided much better quality, though the cylinders could not be shaved and recorded over as wax could. She withdrew one of the sturdy plaster-core cylinders from its protective tube and carefully set it on the mandrel. Then, she wound the large brass key on the machine’s carved oak side and positioned the sharp, precise stylus in place for etching Luke’s words into the celluloid. All she had to do was flip the switch to engage the gears that powered both the mandrel and stylus.

She tilted the sound amplification horn toward her husband. Evie’s drug was working. He flashed her a languid grin. She couldn’t help but smile back. If they survived all this intrigue, she was going to make certain she treated him better. She was going to get to know him as well. It was shameful to think that his favorite color might have changed and she wouldn’t know.

Evie used her small pocket watch as a pendulum upon which Luke could concentrate as she talked him into a relaxed state. She gave Arden a nod when she was ready to begin questioning him, and Arden flipped the switch on the machine. The soft whirl of the engine and delicate swish of the stylus whispered around them.

“What’s your name?” Evelyn asked, pocketing the watch.

“Lucas Harris Stratford Grey, Earl Huntley.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes.”

“And what is your wife’s name?”

Luke smiled. Arden’s heart kicked against her ribs. “Arden.”

“Lord Huntley, I’d like you to tell me what you remember of the night you disappeared. Before the Company took you.”

Luke’s brow furrowed. “I was at Rani Ogitani’s house.”

“Who was Rani Ogitani to you?”

“We worked together at the W.O.R. We had been lovers.”

“Were you lovers the night you are at her house?”

Arden shot Evelyn an indignant glance, but the other woman didn’t acknowledge it. Arden turned her attention to Luke once more, anxious to hear his answer even though her heart already knew it.

“No. Arden’s the only woman I want.”

And she had it on recording! Was it foolish to feel so happy for what she’d already known?

Evelyn continued her questions. “What are you and Ogitani doing at her house?”

“I’ve dropped a few hints that I’m unhappy with the Wardens because I suspect she’s a traitor. I’m trying to get her to confess.”

“What does she say to you?”

“That she knows how I feel, that she’s unhappy as well. She says the Wardens are outdated and foolish to protect an archaic country that still has a monarchy. There’s a man she wants me to meet.”

“Does she tell you his name?”

“No, but he’s on his way there now.”

“Do you see him when he arrives?”

Lines creased his scarred brow. “Yes. I can see his face but it’s hazy. It’s not Wolfred.”

She would never in a million years admit it, but Arden secretly sighed in relief. Not Alastair, thank Heaven. How could she have ever doubted him, even slightly?

“Do you recognize the man?” Evelyn was frowning now as well. If she was surprised by his mention of Alastair she didn’t show it.

“No, but I might recognize him if I see him again.” Luke’s face hardened. “I hope I do see the son of a bitch.”

Evelyn patted his shoulder. “I hope so too,” she replied, surprising Arden. She’d never known Evelyn to be the least bit bloodthirsty, but this traitor had orchestrated the loss of many Warden lives.

“Do you remember anything else?”

“The man said he’d been looking forward to meeting me and then there was blackness. I don’t remember anything else.”

Apparently satisfied, Evelyn brought Luke out of the trance. Arden turned off the recording machine and stared at it. Luke had seen the traitor. He knew the man’s face. This would all be over soon.

The examination continued for another half hour—until Evelyn was satisfied. “You’re healing, regaining your memory, and showing no signs of ill effects—physical or mental—from your years in Company custody. I believe you’ll continue to regain memories, though I cannot say for certain that they will all return.”

Luke shrugged. “At least I know who I am. For the last seven years I didn’t even have a name. Not a proper one.”

There was no self-pity in his tone, but Arden’s heart broke for him all the same. She cleared her throat. “Evie, can you send a copy of your notes to Dr. Charles Vincent?”

Her friend seemed surprised. “Of course. Has he examined Lord Huntley?”

“He’s the family physician,” Arden replied. “My husband’s brother has some…concerns.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawned in her coffee-colored eyes. “I believe I understand. I would be happy to send on my findings, though I’m not certain how much weight they’ll have if Vincent subscribes to the archaic notion that women shouldn’t be doctors.”

“He’ll accept them, like it or not. We have a female P.M. for Heaven’s sake. Everyone knows Victoria herself has sung your praises.”

Evelyn’s cheeks pinkened as she packed up her satchel. “If you say so. I’ll send my notes to Vincent later today. Lord Huntley, perhaps you might write down everything you remember about the man you saw at Miss Ogitani’s house. You should also work with one of our artists, see if they can draw an accurate likeness of the man.”

“I will.”

“I hope you enjoy the party tomorrow night. I understand it’s to be a grand affair. An airship, no less.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Arden replied. “Were you invited?” Evelyn might not be upper class, but she had treated enough aristocrats to occasionally warrant an invite to such functions.

“No.” She had a strange expression on her face. “I have an aversion to airships. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

Arden promised to do just that and then walked her friend to the door. “Did you mean it?” she asked once they were alone. “Will he continue to remember?”

Evelyn nodded. “I believe so. Make no mistake, the toxin did its damage, but the mind is an amazing thing. Honestly, I do not believe he’ll regain his entire life, but he will remember more of it as time progresses.”

“Thank you for helping him.”

The other woman turned to her. They stood together in the front hall, the faint drone of a cleaning automaton adding a degree of privacy to their conversation. “For what it’s worth, I’m inclined to believe you that he’s not a threat. The Wardens will see that he gets justice.”

Arden hugged her and they said their good-byes. Then she returned to Luke. He was on his feet, staring out the window at the pleasant day beyond. His arms were folded over his chest and his shoulders were rigid.

She knew that stance. Her blood turned cold at the sight of it. That was how he would always stand before he told her of an assignment he had taken—one that he might not come back from.

“What is it?” she asked when she found her voice and could make it strong.

He half turned, the expression on his face grim. It wasn’t an expression she remembered, but it wasn’t quite Five either. It was new. “Tomorrow night’s soiree is on an airship.”

“Yes. I thought I had mentioned that.”

“You didn’t.” There was no censure in his voice, but she flinched at it all the same. “We need to send word to Alastair to make certain there’s a strong Warden presence attending. They’ll have us—and a large number of Britain’s most powerful citizens—cut off from the rest of the world, unable to get to help. Isolated.”

“You think the Company will make their play at the party?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I think they’re going to try blowing the damn thing right out of the sky.”

Of course Luke didn’t know exactly how the Company would come for them, but he had a good idea. They would wait until they were in the air, when medical assistance would be next to impossible. If they were lucky the Wasp would have orders just to take out him and Arden. But he knew those bastards, and he knew without a doubt they would take the path of the most carnage. The assassin would be there simply to make sure Luke and Arden didn’t somehow escape.

He informed Alastair of this a short time after Dr. Stone took her leave. The three of them—Luke, Alastair and Arden—were in the room that had apparently been his study once upon a time. It was a good room—decorated in rich, comfortable colors. More important, it was soundproof, and built to resemble a Faraday cage, with metal mesh built into the walls, ceiling and floor. It had no windows. Luke didn’t want to take any chances of their conversation being overheard.

“Dr. Stone will have to overcome her fear of air travel,” Luke commented. “We’ll need her to tend to the injured.” And there would be people injured, no matter how this played out.

Alastair rubbed his chin. “I will tell her. How many spies do you reckon they’ll have onboard?”

“Only as many as they need. Two, perhaps. Three, tops. They’ll have another two in a small vessel that will fly alongside our ship to rescue their own if they decide to destroy it. The Wasp will be in one of those. Once he’s done his job, they’ll fly off in the panic.” He didn’t have to remind either of them what the Wasp’s “job” was.

“We can use the sparrows attached to the ship to give chase.”

Luke nodded. The small flying machines were standard on most air vessels now in case of an event that required evacuating the ship. There were larger “air-boats,” but the sparrows were for crew to aid in the procedure.

“We could just stay home,” Arden suggested.

“No longer an option,” Luke replied with a sympathetic gaze. “They’ll know we’re onto them and bring down the ship just to make a point. No, we have to end this.”

“I have a gown Zoe—Madame Cherie—made for me during the Erlich affair. The bodice has thin sheets of gregorite sewn into the fabric. I’ll wear it.”

“Delicate armor.” Luke almost smiled. “You’re to stay inside the ship at all times.”

She stiffened. He knew she would fight him on this. For someone who hated the danger he had put himself in, she certainly seemed to have a knack for diving headfirst into it herself. “That won’t deter them.”

“I won’t concede on this, Arden.”

Her chin came up at a mulish angle, and her lip came out in a pout that he found surprisingly arousing. She didn’t know how difficult it was for him to let her go at all. But she had been a Warden for years, and she knew what she could and could not do. Hadn’t she taken him down with one of those contraptions of hers?

“Fine,” she agreed. “But if you go off acting like a fool hero, I’ll shoot you myself.”

He grinned. “Fair enough. Whatever gadgets you have that might help us, now’s the time to assemble them. Wolfred, how many Wardens will we have onboard tonight?”

“Seven,” the red-haired man replied. “Chiler will be there. He’s the son of a viscount, so he was invited. I’ll arrange for Dr. Stone—she’ll be in demand as the doctor who treated you. Then there will be the three of us and St. John Crane.”

“Crane?” That was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. “When did he get back?” And why the hell was it that he could remember a man who meant absolutely nothing to him but not his own wedding?

“A year ago,” Alastair informed him, seemingly unsurprised that he knew who the man was. “India changed him.”

That, Luke reckoned, was an understatement of grandiose proportions. “Is he still as mad as a French-pocked hatter?”

“Without doubt.”

“Excellent. He’ll be a good addition then.”

Alastair smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Should I take this to mean you no longer suspect me of being the traitor?”

Luke ignored his wife’s gasp. Wolfred was not a stupid man; he had to know Luke would suspect him—just as Wolfred had been suspicious of him. “I suppose so.”

“We have another problem,” Arden reminded him. “The man who killed those two debutantes may be aboard the ship.”

Alastair swore harshly beneath his breath. He raked a hand through his hair. “What in the name of holy hell am I supposed to do about him?”