Lady of Spirit, A (9 page)

But all he said was, “I am afraid I cannot say.”

Which was most unsatisfying.

“What are we doing up here?” she finally asked. “If you can say that much.”

“It is a fine prospect over our fair town,” he said. “I thought you might like it, if you did not want to venture down to the harbor.”

It was indeed a fine prospect of Penzance in all its busy beauty, its comfortable stone houses and shops tumbling down the hill, stopping just at the harbor’s edge. The sun was at its highest peak in the sky, and the sea heaved gently below, the deep blue of the cornflowers that grew in the fields. In the other direction, Maggie could see the airfield, barely half a mile off, and make out the khaki-colored fuselage of
Athena
and the pale silver of
Victory
at rest at their mooring masts.

How long had it been since anyone had gone out to attend to Holly and Ivy? The Lady went every day, but had she been today?

“Thank you for bringing me up here, Mr. Polgarth,” she said briskly, extending her gloved hand. “I am going to walk to the airfield. That khaki-colored craft you see there is Lady Claire’s airship. I have business aboard that I must attend to.”

“Lady Claire has her own airship—as well as that extraordinary vehicle drawn up in front of the office?”

“Yes. The ship is
Athena
, the very first to use the automaton intelligence system for which she and Miss Alice Chalmers are known.”

He pushed up his cap to scratch his forehead. “You won’t find many in these parts who know what that is, including me,” he said, “but it sounds most impressive. You realize, of course, that I cannot permit you to walk out there unescorted.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Permit?” The poor chap, he could not be expected to know that she had killed a pair of pirates with a bola gun, flung gaseous capsaicin on the heads of men shooting at her with cannons, and become quite skilled in the Eastern arts of self defense—all before the age of twelve. But neither did one brag about these things to young men one had just met. As the Lady had gone to great pains to teach them, there were certain things a woman simply did not discuss outside her most intimate circle.

Michael looked a little taken aback. “Er—I meant to say, would you permit me to escort you there, Miss Seacombe?”

“Have you no work to do this morning?”

“None as important as being with you. My superiors would think me most remiss if I went back to work and left you wandering about on the moor by yourself—to say nothing of your grandfather’s feelings on the subject.”

Maggie bit back the first words that sprang to her tongue, and said instead, “It is broad daylight, and in any case, I do not think there is much danger on this moor.” It was not, after all, the Texican Territory. Or the diamond fields of the Canadas.

He gave her a sidelong look. “I should not be so hasty as to say that.” And then he offered her his arm.

She made up her mind, and took it.

Holly and Ivy came running to the door of the aviary when Maggie stepped aboard
Athena
and released them. She knelt just in time for Holly to spring into her lap and dive under her arm, and for Ivy to leap on to her shoulder and cuddle as close to her neck as she could. Maggie crooned and petted the hens, reassuring them that no one had forgotten them in the last day, and neither she nor Lizzie had been eaten by predators in the meanwhile. Finally, she introduced them to Michael Polgarth, which elicited the same reaction of doubtful watchfulness on both sides.

When the hens at last hopped down, satisfied that all was well with the world once more, Maggie led them outside to hunt in the grass under the gondola. The Lady had built a mechanical device in the aviary in the boarding area that dispensed the mix of cracked corn and grains which Lewis compiled especially for the Wilton Crescent birds. Maggie checked that it was operating as it should, then added water to the bottle that hung inside it and kept a drinking well filled.

When she was satisfied that Holly and Ivy wanted for nothing, she looked up to see Michael Polgarth looking rather befuddled.

“I have never been introduced to a chicken before,” he said at last. “I do not know whether to be amused or offended.”

“You ought to be neither,” Maggie told him, leading the way to the stern. “A bird must recognize that you are not a threat to her, and my including you helps with that aim. It would have been better if you had fed them from your hand. If a creature feeds you, then clearly it does not plan to eat you.”

“That is not true,” he said. “Many housewives keep hens for just that purpose.”

“Not around Lady Claire, they don’t.”

He appeared to take the warning in the spirit in which it was meant, and changed the subject. “Where are we going?”

“Astern. If a pigeon has come, I’ll bring the post back to Seacombe House with me.”

“You employ carrier pigeons? I did not think they were in use any longer.”

This stopped her at the door to the hold. “Are you serious? Have you never seen a postal pigeon? They are used for non-fixed addresses.”

“I don’t know any non-fixed addresses. Normal people don’t live on airships.”

“We do—or rather, we could—and I must inform you that we are perfectly normal, despite the fact that we have been to the Americas and back on airships, to say nothing of numerous voyages to Bavaria, where we go to school.”

Now she’d really flummoxed him. Imagine being satisfied to live in such a backward place! Shaking her head, she pushed open the door and crossed the hold to the messenger cage.

Sure enough, three pigeons had come—clearly, the Lady had only visited long enough to care for Holly and Ivy, and had not taken the time to check. Maggie emptied the first two, finding letters from Lewis for her and Lizzie, a missive from the Lady’s solicitor, and, in a heavy envelope bearing the Landgraf’s wax seal, a letter from Count von Zeppelin.

Delighted, she showed Michael the packet. “We met Count von Zeppelin in the Canadas five years ago, and he became our sponsor during our stay in Germany. He is the inventor of the modern airship, you know.”

“I did know, which I am sure surprises you to no end.”

“I do not mean to offend you, sir, but goodness—I cannot imagine living in a place, no matter how lovely, that does not use modern technology.”

“We get on very well. We do not bother it, and it does not bother us.”

“But what if you had to—oh, I don’t know—travel to London with urgency? What would you do then?”

“Take the train, of course. The Flying Dutchman is the fastest train in England. We are quite proud that she runs down here, and not to Edinburgh or some other modern city.”

Maggie saw that there was no convincing him, so she turned her attention to the last pigeon. Popping open the door in its abdomen, she withdrew a thin envelope with no direction or addressee.

She slit it open with a fingernail and pulled out the single sheet of flimsy post-office paper it contained.

14 08 94 02 00 50L 450KG 6

“What on earth?”

Michael leaned over her shoulder. “What does it mean?”

“It must be a mistake—someone clearly got the magnetic numbers mixed up on the pigeon when they sent it. Though … I might hazard a guess that the first three are a date.” August 14, 1894. “But what of the next?”

“A time? Oh-two-hundred hours would be written like that. In which case, it would mean two in the morning, the day after tomorrow.”

Misdirected or not, Maggie loved a good puzzle. “All right, then, let us crack this cipher. What do the rest mean? Fifty liters? Four hundred fifty kilos?”

“If you come from Europe, where they use such a system, I suppose they might.” Michael took the paper and held it up to the porthole, as if he thought a different message might be encoded there in invisible ink. “And the last? Six?”

Maggie shook her head. “The entire message makes no sense at all—which is only to be expected, since
Athena
is not its intended recipient. I wonder if I should attempt to send it back?”

But the pigeon revealed no clue as to its provenance. Unlike most, which were clearly marked with the names of their base airships, and in the case of the Dunsmuir devices, engraved with the family coat of arms, this one was bare of identifying marks. Rather like those of
Athena
, which went to Wilton Crescent in a manner best not spoken of when there were persons in authority present. Lewis had tinkered with their navigation systems in order for the Lady’s correspondence to remain private, and the fact that it was illegal to circumvent the Royal Mail in this manner was simply not mentioned.

Maggie put the slip of paper with the other letters, and stood.

“Are you taking it with you?” Michael rose and held the door open for her.

“Yes. It may be some private correspondence of Lady Claire’s, and I would not want to risk displeasing her if that is the case.”

“Maybe she’ll tell you what ‘six’ stands for.”

“Maybe she will. Come, let us put Holly and Ivy in. I’m very much afraid I shall be late for tea.” An idea struck her. “Would you like to come back with me? If you are connected with Gwynn Place, Lady Claire would be delighted to see you.”

“I think not. I have not actually met her—or if I did, I was too young to remember it.”

“You make her sound ancient. She is only three-and-twenty, you know.”

When they reached the offices once more, they found that Mr. Polgarth’s message had been given, and the carriage had returned to Seacombe House.

“Surely they have not left her to find her own way home?” Michael said in some surprise to Grandfather’s private secretary, a man whose high forehead and myopic eyes led Maggie to believe that it would never occur to him to do as Mr. Polgarth had and take a walk upon the moor.

“Certainly not,” the man said. “The party that came in the steam conveyance are enjoying the sights of our fair town until the young lady is ready to leave with them.”

So the Lady and Mr. Malvern had remained behind … but … surely Lizzie would not have gone back to Seacombe House without her, especially knowing she was in the company of a young man they did not know. “And Miss Seacombe?” she asked. “Did she return to Seacombe House also?”

“Not to my knowledge. She and young Mr. Seacombe, I believe, are with Lady Claire.”

Maggie exhaled in relief. She did not think she could bear it if Lizzie had so forgotten her existence that she would leave without her.

It did not take them long to locate the party. It was past noon and Maggie was certain that if there were a tearoom in the town, she would find Lizzie and the others in it. And so it proved to be.

“Michael Polgarth!” the Lady said with delight, shaking his hand. “You are Myghal’s son, then?”

“Yes, your ladyship. My father’s brother passed away when I was very small, and my Aunt Tressa is not married. It is up, to me, I suppose, to carry on the family name.”

“I am sure you will do it great credit.” She smiled at him with warmth, and Maggie was quite certain that if Mr. Malvern had not been sitting upon the Lady’s right hand, Michael would have fallen in love with her then and there.

When they had finished lunch, Lady Claire said, “Perhaps you four would not mind a walk home? I must go out to
Athena
and check on Holly and Ivy.”

“Oh, I’ve done that, Lady,” Maggie said, flushing with chagrin that she had utterly forgotten about the post in her pocketbook. “They are well and happy, and had a nice hunt in the grass while I was checking the post.” She dug the letters out, and handed Lizzie’s to her. “There’s a bit of paper in there, too, that I believe has been misdirected. Yes, that one.”

Lady Claire pulled out the slender missive and gazed at it, puzzled. “What on earth?”

“Exactly what I said.”

“We think it must be a cipher,” Michael put in. “Fifty liters and four hundred fifty kilos of something at two in the morning, the day after tomorrow.”

“It is a poor cipher, then, if it can be understood so readily. Is it a manifest of some kind?” The Lady handed the sheet to Mr. Malvern. “It is certainly misdirected. I have not ordered fifty liters of anything, I’m afraid.”

She rose, and the party prepared to leave. The sheet lay abandoned between her plate and that of Mr. Malvern, so Maggie picked it up and replaced it in her pocketbook. Whatever it was, it was not rubbish, but the private correspondence of someone. It should not be left out in public view.

When they were out on the street once more, Mr. Malvern said, “Mr. Polgarth, Tigg, may I trust you with the girls if Lady Claire and I take a spin in the landau? I have screwed my courage to the sticking point and am ready for my first driving lesson. If I begin on the airfield, there will be no obstacles—and if I run into poor
Athena
, she at least is tough enough to shrug me off without too much damage.”

“You will do perfectly well, sir,” Tigg told him. “Just remember that she builds up a head of steam while she is stationary, and you must let the acceleration bar out slowly to compensate for it.”

“Noted,” Andrew said with the air of a man committing a lifesaving fact to memory.

“Mr. Polgarth, if you are escorting the girls home, you must join us for tea at four o’clock,” the Lady said.

“Oh, no, your ladyship. I couldn’t. I’m just a clerk—Mr. Seacombe probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

Claire lifted her chin. “Then he will when you arrive and I introduce you. I wish to hear more news of Gwynn Place and you have not nearly satisfied me.”

“If you are sure, my lady.”

“Oh, goodness. You are only a few years younger than I. Please call me Lady Claire.
Her ladyship
is my mother.”

“Yes, your—Lady Claire. If you feel it would be suitable, I would be happy to join you.”

“I do. We shan’t be long, provided Andrew does not run us into a stationary object.”

“Or off a cliff,” Mr. Malvern said with his usual self-deprecating humor. “You will not make me pilot it on a road, I hope?”

And reassuring him on that point, the Lady took his arm and they proceeded back along the street in the direction of the harbor, where the landau was no doubt entertaining a crowd.

No sooner did she have her back turned than Lizzie took Tigg’s arm in much the same manner, smiling up at him. “This is more like it,” she said. “I confess I’ve had enough chaperonage and proper behavior for one day. How clever of you gentlemen to fix it so that they are alone and so are we.”

“What happened to Claude?” Maggie asked. She stood rather awkwardly at Mr. Polgarth’s side. It was rather too bad of Lizzie to be so familiar with Tigg when Maggie could do nothing more than take Michael’s arm politely. They ought to be on equal ground in public, and people were staring already. “Come. Let us walk round the harbor.”

“He went home with your grandparents,” Tigg explained, his hand over Lizzie’s in a way that, had Maggie not been so embarrassed, might have struck her as touching.

“That’s odd—Claude missing out on a—what did he call it? A ramble?”

“I don’t think he had much choice in the matter,” Lizzie said over her shoulder, the breeze tossing the tendrils of taffy-blond hair at her temples. “Grandfather had not quite finished telling him about the trade routes. My best guess is he might be by teatime.”

“Poor boy,” Maggie said. “Better he than I.”

“Don’t you want to learn about the trade routes?” Michael asked, pacing along the harbor promenade beside her.

Maggie ran a hand over the heads of the lion statues as they passed. “I do, very much. But Grandfather has rather firm views on what is suitable knowledge for a young lady. Lizzie, did you see how annoyed Lady Claire became in his office?”

“I did. I must say, I think you or I could do a perfectly capable job of running the company. Poor Claude does not possess what one might call a head for business.”

“He may in time,” Tigg said. “Give him a chance. He’s only just lost his father and come into all this, you know.”

“I know, but he has had nearly all his life to come to terms with being the Seacombe heir—and yet he is two and twenty and no closer to accepting it than I am.”

Tigg glanced at Michael, who was attempting the impossible—walking directly behind the two of them while pretending not to hear what they said of his employer’s family. “What is your opinion of Claude, Mr. Polgarth?”

At being thus directly addressed, Michael swallowed. “I do not think it fair of you to ask me, Lieutenant. I could not express an opinion of those who employ me.”

“Of course you can,” Lizzie said briskly. “It’s only us. Don’t you think Maggie and I ought to learn about the business? Wouldn’t it be just the thing if the three Seacombes were to run it together? Goodness knows we could all fit in that office with a private secretary for each of us and have room for a string quartet.”

“I think there would be entirely too much riotous behavior in there. You would scandalize the captains and no one would get any work done.”

Lizzie laughed in delight. “There! I knew you had opinions of your own.”

“Ah, but it would not be wise of me to express them. I can be sacked at any moment. You, I suspect, cannot.”