The Affinity Bridge (6 page)

Newbury took his hand. “Maurice Newbury.”

“Ah, Sir Maurice. Yes, Sir Charles has told me all about you. Glad you could make it.” He put his hand on the shoulder of the man he’d been talking with when they arrived. “This is Mr. Stokes, representing the company that built and operated the airship in question.”

Veronica noted that Stokes was harbouring a dark frown.

Newbury took his hand, inclining his head politely. “Mr. Stokes.” He stepped back, allowing the others to see Veronica, who had been standing behind him in the shadow of the bandstand throughout the course of the exchange. “This is my assistant, Miss Veronica Hobbes. She’ll be aiding me in my inquiries. Please ensure you extend to her all the necessary courtesy and freedom she requires to properly execute her role.”

Foulkes looked startled by this new development, but quickly spluttered his assent.

Newbury turned to the man named Stokes. “Mr. Stokes, I’d appreciate it if you could elaborate on some details for me. Have you any notion yet of what occurred to bring about this sorry situation?”

Stokes looked immediately uncomfortable. He was a short, lean man, shorter than both Newbury and Foulkes and only a few inches taller than Veronica. He wore a brown suit and white collar, with black shoes that, Veronica noted, were filthy with mud, grime and ash from the crash site. His moustache was trimmed to perfection and waxed at the ends, and his bushy eyebrows did much to accentuate his apparently permanent frown. He shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. “Alas, we’re only just beginning to piece together the sequence of events that preceded this tragedy. There is nothing in the wreckage to indicate what may have happened onboard, and we can see no obvious reason why it should have plummeted out of the sky as dramatically as it did. Unfortunately, there are no survivors left to question, either.”

Newbury shook his head, his face serious. It was obvious he didn’t care for Stokes’s dismissive tone. “What of the ship itself? What was it, and where was it bound?”

“The ship was named
The Lady Armitage,
and according to my charter it was bound for Dublin. It was a passenger-class vessel, the smallest size in the fleet, and appears to have been carrying around fifty individuals when it crashed.”

“Fifty…” Veronica was appalled.

Newbury continued. “And what of your employers, Mr. Stokes?”

Stokes offered Newbury a black look. “I’m a representative of Chapman and Villiers Air Transportation Services, of Battersea. Mr. Chapman himself has engaged me to assess the situation here today and to act as his mouthpiece during the ongoing investigation. Any questions pertaining to the company can be directed at me. I am also the firm’s legal representative.”

Newbury glanced at Veronica, a sardonic expression on his face, and then turned his attention to Inspector Foulkes. “Do you know if Sir Charles will be attending the scene?”

“Not initially, sir. He has ceded responsibility for the case to me for the time being. He’s still caught up in this damnable Whitechapel situation. They found another body this morning.”

“Indeed. Miss Hobbes and I were present at the scene.” He glanced back at Stokes, who was attempting to clean the dirt from his shoes by rubbing them on the grass. “Do we know how long it’s been since the vessel came down?”

The other man didn’t look up from his ministrations. “Witnesses are reporting seeing the vessel come down between ten and ten-thirty this morning.” He emitted a ‘tutting’ sound as he continued to rub the side of his shoe on the wet grass, to no avail.

Newbury flushed red. “Damn it, man! Fifty people are dead! Show some decency and pay attention to the issue at hand.”

Stokes ceased wiping his shoes and looked immediately flustered. He stammered something incoherent, which Newbury decided to take as an apology. Foulkes tried to cover his laughter at the man’s expression with a loud cough.

Newbury met Foulkes’s eyes. “I think the next logical step is for me to examine the wreckage.”

“I’m sure that will be acceptable to Mr. Stokes.” The Inspector shot the lawyer a sideways glance. “But I will warn you, Sir Maurice, it is a disturbing experience. I toured the remains of the vessel as soon as it was cool enough to go aboard, and I assure you, it’s no place for a lady.” He made a point of stressing these last few words.

Newbury was unperturbed. “I appreciate your candour, Inspector Foulkes. Of course, it’s up to the lady to decide for herself. Allow me to consult with Miss Hobbes in private for a short while.” With that he turned his back on the two men and drew Veronica to one side, under the shadow of the bandstand.

“Miss Hobbes. Veronica. I would not presume to ask you to follow me into the horror of this wreck. I did, after all, hire you to assist me in my academic pursuits, and not to risk life and limb clambering after me into the still smouldering carcass of a downed airship.” He paused, giving his words time to sink in. “I’d be very happy if you preferred to wait for me here instead.”

Veronica crossed her arms. “That’s all very well, Sir Maurice, but what if you miss something fundamental? Surely a second pair of eyes would prove useful, especially when one considers the sheer size of the wreckage?”

Newbury smiled, trying to conceal his pleasure at her response. “Very good. Well, better pucker up that resolve, my dear. It’s going to be dangerous, dirty and pretty horrific in there.” He was about to move off when another thought occurred to him. “Oh, and hang on to that handkerchief too. I suspect the smell will be unbearable as we get closer.”

Newbury returned to stand beside Inspector Foulkes. “Miss Hobbes intends to attend the scene alongside me.”

Foulkes looked ready to object, before Newbury caught his eye. “I assure you I’ll look after the lady’s well being. Now, what’s the best way into the wreck from here?”

Stokes answered. “The ship came down nose first, so the rear of the ship retains the bulk of its shape whilst the sub-frame at the front of the vessel has compacted, making it difficult to enter. I’d suggest you find your way around the left hand side,” he indicated with a wave of his hand, “and enter through the main cabin door on the side of the gondola. I’m not sure what it is you’re hoping to find in there, though, Sir Maurice. In truth it’s nothing but a burnt-out husk.”

Newbury shrugged. “I’ll know it when I see it, no doubt. Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen. We shall return presently, before the light begins to wane.” He turned and offered Veronica his arm.

Foulkes watched as the two Crown investigators, entirely incongruous in their formal attire, began making their way towards the huge, shattered structure on the park green, cautiously stepping around the still-smouldering piles of debris as they walked.

_{Chapter Five}

The wreck of
The Lady Armitage
was like the carcass of some ancient, primordial beast; the skein of rubber-coated fabric that served as the outer skin of the vessel now burnt and torn like peeling flesh. The sub-structure of iron girders jutted into the sky like broken ribs, blackened by the soot and heat and buckled from the impact. The engine housing, at the rear of the wreckage, looked relatively intact, although in truth it was hard to tell, as much of it was buried in the earth where the impact had driven it into the ground. The passenger gondola, usually situated underneath the belly of the ship, had been forced upwards and backwards, puncturing the underside of the vessel and contorting awkwardly where it came into contact with the iron struts of the interior frame. The whole thing was a terrible mess, and Newbury had to use every ounce of his experience to maintain a level head as he walked towards it.

Steam and smoke still rose from deep inside the wreckage. As Newbury and Veronica approached the misshapen outer door of the gondola, Newbury felt the need to warn his assistant once again of the dangers they may face inside. “Make sure you don’t touch anything. It may still be hot from the fires. And watch out overhead, too; the wreck hasn’t settled yet, and as the metal cools, fragments of the vessel may still collapse inwards, trapping us inside, or worse.”

He covered his nose and mouth with the crook of his arm to stave off the terrible smell of death and burnt rubber. Veronica followed suit, once again holding Newbury’s borrowed handkerchief to her face. The hem of her skirt was already thick with mud and soot where it trailed on the ground, her boots filthy with grime. She tried not to notice.

The door into the gondola had buckled badly. There was nothing but a blackened frame there now, where once there had obviously been an elaborate door and mechanism. Veronica peered inside, seeing nothing but darkness and iron girders. “Are you sure this is the best way in?”

“It looks like the
only
way in, as far as I can tell.” He looked around, confirming his suspicions. “I wouldn’t trust that man Stokes for a minute, but I can’t fault his directions in this instance. Here, let me go first.” Newbury tentatively put a hand on the outer rim of the door. “Still warm.” He gripped it more firmly with both hands and swung himself through the twisted metal opening. Veronica watched him disappear inside.

“Oh well. For Queen and Country, I suppose.” She grabbed the door frame and swung herself in behind him.

Inside, Veronica found it difficult to get a sense of the scale of the ship. She was standing in what she assumed had been the lobby, although now, with fire and structural damage, it was difficult to tell.
The Lady Armitage
may have been small by airship standards, but on the ground it was still an immense vessel, and the passenger gondola was equally well-proportioned. Newbury was making his way towards the compartments at the front of the gondola, if she had her bearings right. She watched him climbing over blackened furniture and the still-warm cinders of other unidentifiable objects. He turned back. “I’m off to try to find the pilot’s control room. You take a look around. We’ll meet up again shortly.” She looked the other way, trying to see a path through the scene of destruction. “Oh, and Miss Hobbes?”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

She smiled to herself, pleased with his evident concern.

The lobby—or what remained of it—was a long rectangular room with doors in each of the far walls. Since Newbury was heading fore she decided to take the other option and see what she could find towards the rear of the vessel. She supposed, as she trod carefully over the ash-covered floor, that she was heading towards the part of the ship reserved for passengers, since the bulk of the gondola’s interior space seemed to lay in this direction. Fighting her way past the crisp shell of a wooden sideboard, and ducking under a nest of trailing metal cables, she came to a stop in front of the door. It was still relatively intact, although flames had obviously licked black soot up and down its fascia. She hesitated. She knew she was likely to happen across a body or two on the other side. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. Her palate was growing used to the stench, now, and her clothes were so thick with grime, dust and soot that she’d given up paying attention. She reached out and tried the handle, then immediately withdrew her hand. It was still hot from the fire, and even through her red-leather gloves she knew it would scald her hand. Not only that, but the door appeared to have sealed shut with the heat. Stepping back, and looking around her to ensure no one was watching, she hitched her skirt up above her knees and sent her booted foot flying into the centre of the door. It gave a little in the frame, splintering where the wood had been stressed by the heat. She tried again, this time putting her full weight behind her as she drove herself forward into the door.