The Affinity Bridge (25 page)

After passing a few words with a man named Dr. Russ, who had seemed rather engaging and had complimented Veronica enthusiastically on her dress, patting Newbury on the shoulder like an old friend, the two of them exited the room through a second door, winding their way further into the enormous house. They walked along a short hallway filled with the billowing smoke of cigarettes, dodging the crowd which had spilled out from the other rooms, and coming to a set of double doors,
behind which more chattering voices could be heard.

“I believe this should be worth seeing, Miss Hobbes.” Newbury, grinning, pushed on the doors and they swung open, revealing a large chamber filled with row-upon-row of wooden chairs, arranged to accommodate a large piano and two stools in the corner of the room. Music stands had been set up, and sheets of notation had already been placed in situ. Many of the seats in the room had already been taken, but there were a few empty rows near the very front of the chamber. The guests were mostly engaged in talking amongst themselves, but a number of t hem looked up as the newcomers entered the room.

Newbury cleared his throat. “Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit. I’m told the performance will be a real eye opener.”

Smiling, Veronica allowed herself to be led.

Newbury, nodding and greeting the other members of the assembled audience as they shuffled along the central aisle, located two chairs in the very front row and indicated that Veronica should take a seat. She lowered herself carefully into the chair, ensuring that her skirt did not crumple too severely beneath her. Newbury took his place beside her, first taking a printed order of play from the pile on a nearby table. He flicked through it quickly, and then placed it on his lap, folding his hands over it. He turned to Veronica, his voice lowered. “Looks like they’re starting with Elgar. Could be worse.” He grinned.

Veronica shook her head. It was clear Newbury was enjoying himself, but not, as far as she could tell, for the same reasons as the other guests. He did not seem to want to engage with the society crowd, at least any more than he deemed necessary. Instead, Veronica got the distinct impression that he was toying with them, laughing at their self-congratulatory attitudes and, whilst she did not believe he actually thought himself above his peers, it seemed as if he were remaining purposefully aloof from them. It was an interesting side to his character, and one that she had not expected to see.

Veronica heard the doors swing open behind her and a hush descend on the room. She glanced over her shoulder, almost gasping out loud at the sight she saw. A man in his fifties, with greying hair and a slight limp in his left leg, was leading two automatons into the room. They walked with the typical mechanical gait of the others of their kind, but were each dressed in a neat black suit and tie, and one was clutching a violin and bow firmly between its padded brass fingers. She tracked them as they strode down the central aisle between the rows of chairs, taking up their positions in the corner. The automaton holding the violin took a seat on a stool before the music stand and readied itself, tucking the instrument neatly underneath its chin. The other lowered itself into place before the piano, its brass feet clicking as it found the pedals, its fingers resting silently on the ivory keys. The man who had entered the room with them took his place beside the piano, paused, and seemed to steady himself with a deep lungful of air. He looked around the room, ensuring that the audience was prepared, and then turned back to the two automatons. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he cued them to begin their performance.

Newbury glanced at Veronica, a smile on his face.

The violin stirred. Veronica settled back into her seat, watching intently. The automaton drew the bow back and forth across the strings with an expert touch, and she found she was holding her breath, not wanting to exhale lest she somehow shatter the magic of the moment. She closed her eyes, allowing the music to wash over her. It was deeply affecting, and delivered with incredible precision. The piano joined in then, the other automaton timing its performance so that it seamlessly segued along with its companion at the violin. The music soared, both arresting and beautiful, and Veronica could barely believe that it was being delivered so perfectly by two inhuman devices, designed, so she had thought, for simple labour and not for complex tasks such as this. Waiting on guests was one thing— even maintaining an airship in flight—but delivering a piece of music with such skill and power made her think twice about the nature of these brass machines. She’d assumed the automatons lacked any real sense or emotion, lacked the sentience of living things, being simply machines that could be programmed with punch cards to
imitate
human behaviour, rather than having any awareness of self, or of how their behaviour would impact others. Judging by the skill with which they handled their instruments, however, she began to doubt that assumption. She’d always maintained that music was more than just the sum of its parts; not so much a technical skill in isolation, but an emotional one, too, an art form that blended passion with ability. She was astounded by the quality of the automatons’ performance, and moved by it as well. She glanced around the room, trying to get a measure of the audience’s response. Like her, many others in the room were entirely engaged with the performance. Newbury had closed his eyes and seemed lulled by the melody. She twisted in her seat, looking back towards the double doors by which they had entered the chamber. To her surprise, Joseph Chapman was standing there, his hands clasped behind his back, looking uncomfortable in his formal attire. He seemed to be staring directly at her. Veronica blinked, and then looked away. She tried to focus on the performance, but had the bizarre sense that Chapman’s eyes were burning holes in the back of her head. Her face flushed. She glanced back. Chapman was still staring over at her, his face blank, showing no sign of emotion. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked away, nudging Newbury with her elbow. Surprised, he turned to face her, his eyes questioning.

She whispered, and pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. “Chapman.”

Newbury strained in his seat, searching the back of the room for the man. After a moment, with no success, he glanced back at Veronica, shaking his head. Unnerved, she leaned on the back
of
her chair, trying to see what had become of the industrialist. The woman in the chair behind her made a ‘tutting’ sound and shifted obviously in her seat, making her displeasure with the fidgeting Veronica clearly evident. Veronica sank back into her chair, frustrated. Newbury placed his hand on hers in a placating gesture. A few moments later the automatons finished their first piece and both Newbury and Veronica joined in with the enthusiastic applause. Then, when the moment seemed appropriate, Newbury stood, held his hand out for Veronica, and lifted her out of her chair. As politely as possible, the two of them slipped away from the scene, making their way out of the room to silent glares from the other members of the audience. Veronica heard the music starting up again as the door fell shut behind them.

The hallway was still bustling with guests. Newbury leaned in closer and spoke into her ear. “Are you alright?”

Veronica shrugged. “Yes. Just a little unnerved. It wasn’t a friendly look he gave me. He seemed somehow…sinister. It was as if he were trying to threaten me in some way.”

Newbury frowned. “Are you sure it was Chapman that you saw?”

Veronica nodded. “Certain.”

Newbury straightened his back. “Well in that case, let’s see if we can’t find out where he’s hiding now.” He took Veronica by t he arm and they made their way back towards the main thrust of the party, passing a gaggle of squawking women in the hallway as they did so. Newbury cringed as the ladies seemed to grow momentarily silent, whispering to one another conspiratorially as they brushed by. Veronica wondered what inane secrets they were sharing at Newbury and Veronica’s expense. The giggling resumed again almost as soon as Newbury and Veronica had reached the other end of the hall.

The party had swelled in the few minutes they’d been away from the main reception room, with more and more guests arriving and others yet to drift away from the main hubbub and further into the bowels of the great house. The room was hot and bustling with people. The automatons waited patiently in the wings, surveying the crowd, ready to step forward at any time to offer the guests more refreshment. Newbury strained to see over the heads of the nearby dignitaries. After a moment he stopped craning his neck and leaned in to whisper to Veronica. “No sign of Chapman in here. At least that I can see from the doorway. Shall we do another lap and try to get a better look?”

Veronica nodded. “I’d feel better about it if we did. At least that way I’d know I’m not imagining things.”

Newbury smiled. “I’m sure that’s not the case. We don’t have to confront him about it, but we can certainly try to keep an eye on him, if indeed he’s here. Come on.”

They edged into the room, taking two further flutes of champagne from the tray proffered by the automaton near the door, and began the process of slowly weaving their way through the crowd, working clockwise around the edges of the room. Veronica held on tightly to Newbury’s arm as they manoeuvred through the press of guests, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of the industrialist. It wasn’t long before they’d circled back as far as the main entrance. Finding a little more breathing space there, they decided to take a moment to pause. Guests were still arriving as they stood with their backs to the door, surveying the room. Newbury sipped at his drink, regarding the  little huddles of people nearby. “Perhaps he left?”

“Or perhaps he’s watching us from elsewhere in the room?” Veronica shivered at the thought.

Newbury frowned. He looked as if he were just about to reply when he stopped suddenly and turned away at the sound of shouting from the other side of the room. A hush descended on the party like a thick blanket, smothering the chatter. It was difficult to make out what was being said, but a man was clearly engaged in directing a torrent of abuse at another man whom he felt had somehow done him a disservice.

“…and another thing, sir! Your company’s literature clearly states that in circumstances such as this, full recompense is assured. Yet I continue to find no such recompense is forthcoming! A damnable business, and you, sir, are a damnable man!”

Newbury raised his eyebrow at Veronica. Neither of them could see anything through the gathered throng. There was a wave of gasping sounds, and then the crowd suddenly parted as two automatons, their trays now abandoned, moved forward, thru brass feet clicking on the marble floor, a middle-aged gentleman in a black suit between them. The automatons each held one of the man’s shoulders as they forcibly marched him Inwards the exit. The man was squirming, clearly in discomfort, and the spinning eyes of the automatons glinted in the low light, their features frozen, unmoveable. Behind them, Joseph Chapman stood with his hands on his hips, a wry smile on his face. He glanced at Newbury, and then nodded politely, his eyes flicking away to watch as his two brass guardians escorted the other man from the building. Then, as the guests all looked upon the scene with a kind of horrified fascination, he set off after his clockwork devices, exiting the party through the main entrance. Outside, the sound of the man’s protests trailed away down the street. The party took only a moment to recover, and then the hubbub began in earnest once again, the society gossips quickly moving to engage one another with talk of the scandal.

Newbury looked at Veronica, bemused. “Well, my dear Miss Hobbes, you were certainly right about Chapman being in attendance here tonight, but it seems as if the problem has miraculously solved itself.”

Veronica smiled. “Yes, you could say that, I suppose. But what do you make of it all? It strikes me that the unfortunate captive of those automatons may be a likely witness in our developing case.”

Newbury nodded. “Yes, it certainly seems that way, doesn’t it? I get the distinct impression that the poor gentleman may have had a similar experience to Mr. Morgan.”