The Earl of Brass (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 1) (23 page)

The Earl of Newcastle

During the ride to Beersheba, neither Eilian nor Hadley spoke of what had transpired at the camp. Eilian knew she was afraid, but every time she looked at him, her expression was one of pained sympathy rather than fear. He wondered if she felt worse about killing Edmund Barrister or letting him get in so many blows before she intervened. Half an hour earlier, he had run out of comforting things to say, but he was certain once they reached Jerusalem, she could abandon Henry Fox and return to the innocent identity of Hadley Fenice. Luckily, the little known artist would make a convenient scapegoat if questioned. Now, the problem was how could he travel with a young woman without raising questions or tarnishing her reputation? As they reached the cobbled roads of Beersheba, he scanned the streets for any sign of Sir Joshua or his men, but a lone cerulean steamer being filled at a well caught his eye. Shaking a bucket and arguing animatedly with a man from the village, was a tall gentleman wearing a neatly pressed safari jacket with driving goggles hanging around his neck. Hadley did a double-take. The man had Eilian’s face only with extra creases around his eyes and strong features that had naturally softened with age.

“Uncle Malcolm?” Eilian called as he dismounted and approached the Englishman, who promptly dropped the argument to embrace his favorite nephew.

“Eilian, I haven’t seen you in ages!” His viridian eyes ran over the younger man’s damaged features, lingering for a moment on his prosthesis before darting away. “What happened to your face? You’re far too old to be getting into brawls.” He looked over his nephew’s shoulder only to see a short, red-headed dandy staring at him with wide eyes. “Hello, I’m Malcolm Holland, the Earl of Newcastle and liaison for British affairs in Palestine,” he stated plainly as he proffered his hand, “and you are?”

She shook the doppelganger’s hand mechanically and curtsied despite her trousers. “Hadley Fenice, sir. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lord Newcastle raised his eyebrows, but Eilian cut him off before he could speak. “Uncle Malcolm, what are you doing here? We were actually on our way to Jerusalem to see you.”

He sighed as he clasped Eilian’s shoulder. “I was coming to you because your mother sent me a letter that she wanted delivered as soon as possible.”

His uncle’s features sagged under the weight of the message that lay within the petite envelope. For once his mother’s correspondence lacked all pretention. There was no filigree or fancy calligraphy gracing its exterior. Drawing out the page, Eilian read the plain script, which quavered slightly and was sloppier than he had ever seen it. As the words sank in, the searing heat of tears flooded his eyes and flushed his face. He swallowed hard, feeling the soft press of Hadley’s hand against his arm in response to his sudden pallor. When he finally looked up with wet eyes, she met his gaze with her little mouth downcast and her eyes dewy as if she already knew what was written inside.

“She wants you home immediately, Eilian,” his uncle added gently as he watched the young man’s hand tremble as he stuffed the letter into his pocket. “I hope you can give her that courtesy. I know you two were not on the greatest of terms.”

“Would— would you come home with us, Uncle Malcolm?”

“Of course I will. I was planning to accompany you and have already given my office notice of my departure. I’m sure my sister would appreciate my help during this time until she gets everything straightened out. We will leave by airship from Jerusalem in two days. Let me take care of business at the inn, and we will be on our way.”

Eilian nodded as his uncle drifted back toward the meager, mudbrick tavern at the end of the road. Covering his eyes, he let his body fall against the stone wall as a sob crept up his throat with several more behind it. Hadley rested her head against his chest, not caring who saw as he held her close and hid his face in her hair.

“I— I never got to say I was sorry,” he whimpered as she carefully wiped the moisture from his purpled cheeks. “I fought with him the last time I saw him and never got to apologize. I hadn’t seen him since March, and I was too mad to even tell him I left. There’s so much I didn’t get to say.”

“I’m sure he knew you loved him, Eilian.”

It was the first time he couldn’t stop the tears in public. He knew people passed and saw two men in a tight embrace, but he needed her now and damn whatever the others thought. Hadley cradled his head against her neck, rubbing his back until finally all the sorrow had drained from his body and what was left was only the uncertainty of what he would find when he returned to England. The one thought that refused to leave his mind was that he was no longer Eilian Sorrell, the Viscount Sorrell. He was the Earl of Dorset. In one day, he had lost his father, his name, and his identity. By taking slow, measured breaths, he finally conquered his emotions and pulled himself together. As he stood sniffling and red-eyed, Malcolm Holland emerged from the inn as if on cue.

“The man who runs the stable over there said he will look after the donkey. Secure your trunks to the back of my steamer with the rope from the cart, and we will head off to Jerusalem.”

Eilian grasped the battered trunk’s handles, but as he raised it up, his ribs wailed from the sudden exertion. Before it could clatter from his grasp, the craftswoman grabbed the end and angled it into the tight space in the boot of the cab. Malcolm scrutinized his nephew’s companion as the dandy took over the job of hoisting and tying the luggage onto his steamer. He still couldn’t make up his mind about the person’s gender. The redhead’s voice and name were quite feminine, but his trousers and cropped hair spoke to the contrary. He was rather short and lithe, even scrawny as far as men go, but he had an underlying power that came not only from the fiery red of his hair but the strength in his eyes and actions. Lord Newcastle settled on believing him to be simply a dandy or a masher but was too much of a gentleman to ask which. Why would a woman don trousers and lug baggage around if there were two able bodied men available?

The Earl of Newcastle placed his funneled steamer-bucket in the passenger seat beside him and gestured for the others to climb in the back. With a flourish, Lord Newcastle donned his driving goggles and heedlessly barreled through Beersheba’s streets. A rush of exhilaration swept over him as he narrowly avoided carts and creatures until finally he reached the open roads of the desert where he could kick up as much sand and dust as he wanted. Driving was one duty he considered a luxury, and unlike many of his expatriate friends from the embassy, he refused to hand the wheel over to his servants.

“Eilian, how did you end up with black eyes?”

He listened for an answer but only heard the whipping of the wind against his ears and the slosh of sand as it parted in his path. After another long moment of silence, he glanced over his shoulder and found his nephew and his companion sound asleep. The redheaded man’s head rested against Eilian’s chest while he held him near with his titanium arm.

***

When Hadley awoke, Eilian was nudging her out of the car as a group of servants came bustling out of the fortified, brick house like ants. Unlike the footmen and maids Hadley had remembered from the great houses of London, Lord Newcastle’s staff was not dressed in ornate livery but in perfectly clean, black
thawbs
and sandals. On their heads, the men wore matching
keffiyehs
while the women’s hair was neatly tucked away under
hijābs
. With one call in Arabic from the master of the house, Eilian, Hadley, and their wardrobes were whisked through the marble and wood-trimmed foyer and up to their separate rooms. Through the jostling and her half-conscious state, she found she was disappointed to be in a near replica of an English manor. Somehow she had expected Eilian’s uncle to have more exotic taste, especially while living in a city so rich in history and so far away from the English status quo, yet despite their resemblance, Lord Newcastle wasn’t like his nephew at all. After being led up a set of stairs and down a hall lined with paintings of desert landscapes, she lost sight of Eilian and was escorted into one of the guest bedrooms that was as equally sumptuous and English as the rest of the house. Two male servants trailed behind and gently laid her dirty trunk in the corner as a dainty maid, no more than sixteen, explained to her in perfect English that her name was Amina and she would draw her a bath and take her clothing down to be laundered.

As the byzantine-eyed girl returned with bucket after bucket of hot water, the craftswoman rummaged through her steamer, hoping to find anything that was not soiled with arid grit. The bottom of the chest was coated in sand, but rolled within a union suit, she found a white linen shirt and a pair of white and blue striped trousers. With a light dusting, they came relatively clean. Amina smiled and bowed out, leaving Hadley alone with only the perfumed water and porcelain tub. She stared hungrily at the steaming water. A real bath was a little piece of home she had missed immensely during her time in the desert. Without hesitation, she peeled off her brother’s hand-me-downs and corset, shedding Henry Fox as she was submerged in the deep bath.

The lavender-scented water stripped away the sand, sweat, and blood of the desert, leaving her vulnerable yet relieved to be rid of all reminders of what happened. After two months of stealthily bathing in the spring at night with Eilian on guard and using the Billawrati’s bathhouse, she had forgotten how relaxing a bath could be. Lying back until her neck met the cold bone of the cistern, she sighed. In this moment of pure calm, what had happened only hours ago came flooding into her mind. Edmund Barrister was dead by her hand, by her gun. The shining derringer was tucked into her corset where it lay only feet away. Someone would miss him. Someone would come to the Negev searching for him. Even if they never found his body, there would be inquiries. Her name would be in the papers and so would Eilian’s. First his father died, now his name would be dragged through the mud. She couldn’t bear it.

There had been one more fatal mistake. Seeing her companion’s face on the other man had shocked her so completely that she blurted out her real name in her natural voice. Hadley covered her face and slid below the water as she contemplated her options. Changing her name now would only arouse suspicion and complicate matters for both of them, and as she surfaced, she decided once and for all that Henry Fox had died in the desert.

Hadley shivered as a chill fell over the water. She climbed out to don Adam’s old clothes and her girdle, but this time, she purposely neglected the pomade and coiffed hair. Throwing open the door to her room, she was about to drop onto the four-poster bed to sleep away her anxiety when the door opened and Amina slipped inside. With a dart of her hand, her derringer slid safely under her pillow and out of the maid’s sight.

“The master of the house requests your presence in the study,” she stated respectfully though her almond eyes sharpened gravely and her erect posture exuded more authority than even the proudest English butler. “It’s down the stairs and at the end of the hall on the left.”

A wave of nausea rolled from her stomach up to her mouth as she sprinted down the wooden steps toward the door at the end of the hall. Outside the pocket door, she caught her breath and took a moment to collect herself, smoothing her hair and jacket, before coming face to face with one of Eilian’s nearest relatives for the first time. Hadley drew the door aside, expecting to see Eilian and his uncle sitting among traditional English furnishings when she was greeted by the penetrating green-eyed gaze of Malcolm Holland as he sat in his temple-like study. The room was littered with gaudy Egyptian-revival furniture with fluted lotus columns standing in each corner.

“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a pair of chairs enameled with lapis lazuli and gilded with gold leaf in front of his desk.

The sphinx heads supporting each armrest stared up at her with cold painted eyes as she closed the door without turning her back to him. Swallowing hard, she sat erect at the edge of the chair. They sat in complete silence as he appeared to look at something on his desk with his hands folded, but she knew he was studying her, judging her reactions. Hadley jumped when his gaze finally fell upon her freckled face, locking onto her eyes and holding them until she was certain he had bored through her sockets and into her mind where he could glimpse her secrets.

“Now, you will tell me who you are and what happened in the desert.”

His Father’s Past

Malcolm Holland, as Hadley soon learned, was not an exact copy of Eilian as she first surmised. He had a frightful intensity, which she had never experienced in her companion. They shared the same familial features: the straight nose, the dark, expressive brows, the triangular jaw, and the same earthy brown hair, though Lord Newcastle’s was streaked with wisps of grey at his temples and was neatly combed and parted on the side. Light creases branched out from the corners of his eyes and near his mouth. Apart from slight imperfections, his body still retained its athletic build and gave the impression that, despite being nearly fifty, he was well preserved. As he drummed his fingers on the gilded table impatiently, Hadley studied his right hand. Eilian’s had been missing ever since she met him, and she wondered if it would have looked the same.

“Well?” the earl prodded, touching his jade and gold ring self-consciously when he noticed her staring at his hand.

She drew in a long breath, knowing he would sense any lies she told. “My name is Hadley Fenice. I’m the co-owner of Fenice Brothers Prosthetics and Hadley’s Hobbies and Novelties. For the past two months, I was disguised as a man, so I could work with Lord Sorrell at the excavation. I didn’t come as a woman because I wanted to be treated equally and see how it really was rather than being handled with kid gloves. I met Lord Sorrell eight months ago through my cousin, who sent him to me after his accident to create a prosthetic arm for him. I’m the one who constructed the prosthesis he has now, and during the time before and after his surgery, we became friends. He asked me to accompany him here.”

He nodded, reading her face as she spoke, but when she finished, he seemed satisfied. “Please explain to me, Miss Fenice, how my nephew ended up with blackened eyes and broken ribs.”

Hadley opened her mouth but closed it at the thought of the Billawrati. They had saved them from one group of Englishmen, and she couldn’t betray them to another. “We awoke today to find the camp empty and our belongings gone. I thought we had been robbed until Sir Joshua Peregrine’s associate came riding back.”

“Who?”

“Edmund Barrister. I don’t know much about him, except that he was a big game hunter and shareholder in the shipping company that finances Joshua’s expeditions.”

“I recognize the name. He has had several run-ins in the region for illegal antiquity dealing. Go on.”

“Lord Sorrell and I demanded to know what was going on and where our dirigible tickets were. When he realized he was caught, he struck me. I was knocked unconscious, but when I woke up—” Her blue eyes burned when the scene played in her mind. “I stumbled out of the tent and found them fighting. Mr. Barrister had Eilian by the throat and would not let go. I— I thought he was going to kill him.” She covered her face as her shoulders rocked with sobs. “I shot him! I told him to get off, but he wouldn’t listen. I didn’t know what else to do, and Eilian was going to die if I didn’t do something!”

She wasn’t sure when Lord Newcastle moved into the chair beside her, but there he sat with a handkerchief at the ready and kind eyes. “There, there, you’re both safe now.”

“I killed him. Lord Sorrell hid his body in a cave and used some of the leftover explosives to collapse it. Please, don’t turn us in to the constabulary, Lord Newcastle!”

“My child, I will do nothing of the sort. It’s quite obvious you care a great deal for each other. You killed a man to save my nephew, and he hid the body to protect you. I can ensure that no one comes looking for Mr. Barrister, and when you get to England, this will all be behind you.”

Hadley shook her head as she blew her nose. “Not quite. Joshua Peregrine has our airship tickets. He and our notebooks are probably halfway to London by now.”

“The airship to London leaves only once a fortnight.”

“That’s even worse! I don’t want Eilian on the same ship as him! I’m sure he will suspect something when Mr. Barrister doesn’t show up.”

Lord Newcastle stroked his well-trimmed sideburns as his eyes fixed on a framed piece of papyrus on the other side of the room. “Will he be shipping any crates?”

“Yes, sir.”

He hopped up from the chair, startling her to her feet as she followed him to the pocket door. “I think I may have a way to keep him from taking that dirigible home. Tell Eilian I will be back in a few hours.”

Lord Newcastle purposefully strode past her and toward the front door, leaving her abandoned in his empty library. Feeling uncomfortable being alone in his mock Egyptian tomb, she quickly shut the door and headed for Eilian’s chamber. After a moment of shuffling within, she was greeted by his bloodshot grey eyes and split lip. With a pained smile, he let her in. Seating herself at the window, she admired Jerusalem’s white walls and multicolored roofs as they blazed in the mid-afternoon sun. Eilian stiffly lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, looking cleaner but much sorer and more fatigued than he had been in months.

“How are you feeling?”

He chuckled softly, grimacing against his will. “Dreadful, but happy to see you. I wanted to talk to you without my uncle around.”

“If you are worried about Sir Joshua, I spoke to Lord Newcastle, and he just left to deal with him.”

“That’s not it.” The archaeologist moved to the bench beside her and took her hands in his. So much had changed in a day. “I know I have broached this subject several times but have never said it directly. I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone, Hadley. I’m happiest when your face is the first and last thing I see each day.” He paused for a moment and watched as his prosthesis gently close around her hand. “I know you value your freedom, and I want you to know I will never stop you because your intelligence and ambition are why I was drawn to you. What I’m trying to ask is, will you accompany me back to England as my future wife?”

She grinned as she pressed her lips to his bruised cheek, stroking the scant amount of prickly stubble on the other side. When she hugged him, she felt the depression in his ribs and realized how close she had come to losing him that day. Her eyes burned as she answered, “I would love to.”

Eilian lightly held her face in his hands, taking in her beaming yet tearful features. “This is cause for celebration. Let’s see if we can get some tea and cakes at least.”

“I’m going to write to Adam and tell him the news. If I mail it tonight, the bullet ship should get it to London a day or two before we arrive. Are you going to write to your mother?”

“No, I think she would rather hear the news in person.”

***

When the Earl of Newcastle returned to his lodgings with his head held high and a satisfied swing in his step, he didn’t expect to find his nephew and Miss Fenice chatting intimately at his dining table. As he entered the room, both greeted him warmly, and he was shocked to find that the two forlorn faces he had left only hours earlier had been replaced by cheerful, if not exuberant, countenances.

“You would not think there was a death in the family from the way you two look.”

Eilian leapt to his feet as Hadley returned to writing her letter with her head down. “I am sorry, uncle, but we have a definite reason for being happy. I have proposed to Miss Fenice, and she has accepted.”

A wide grin reminiscent of the one Eilian was wearing crossed his stern features. “That is wonderful news. I am so happy for you both. I come bearing not nearly as joyous news, but
I
have gotten Sir Joshua Peregrine removed from the airship.”

“How?” Lord Sorrell blurted in shock.

“I may not be an Ottoman, but I do have some sway over affairs concerning the crown. I went to the docking field and confirmed he had crates there already. Well, somehow his papers,” he fished inside his jacket for a moment before tossing a handful of dusty, crumpled pages onto the table, “had gone missing. I made a fuss over the lack of documentation, suspicious packaging, possible contraband, black market artifacts, and suddenly the officials yanked his cargo from the roster and put in an order that he is to be detained when he tries to board. He will no doubt miss his flight.”

“I— I don’t know what to say.”

He waved his gloved hand dismissively. “Why have a diplomatic post if you can’t throw your weight around every now and again? When you’re finished with your letter, I would like a word with you in my study, Miss Fenice.”

The craftswoman froze, cringing before quickly concluding her letter and hurrying off to the Egyptian room with the same trepidation she experienced during their first meeting. As she walked in, he motioned for her to close the door behind her.

“I regret to inform you, Miss Fenice, that you will be travelling as a man on the dirigible ride back to London. It’s infinitely easier to travel as three men than as an unmarried woman with two bachelors, which will undoubtedly raise questions.”

“I don’t mind, really. After months, four more days will not make a difference.”

He nodded, tenting his fingers as his eyes flickered with curiosity. “You obviously realize that isn’t the only reason I called you in here. When I heard from my sister that Eilian bought a prosthesis after his accident, I was told it fell off at a dinner party. Am I to assume that is not the same prosthetic arm he has now?”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Does his Lady Dorset know about it?”

“No, I don’t think so, sir.” She stared down at her feet. “I don’t believe she knows about the surgery to install it either. Lady Dorset isn’t going to be very happy with us, is she?”

“My sister will be furious that he didn’t subject her to news that would only have made her worry herself into the vapors, but all mothers are like that. She will probably have some choice words for him when he arrives for not only neglecting to tell her about the prosthesis but for not telling her he left for Palestine or about you. As his fiancée, I want to warn you, the first few days back may be difficult for him.”

“But why did he not tell her about his life these past few months?”

The nobleman sighed. “You must understand, the reason he never tells his parents these things is he fears they won’t approve. I know what that is like first hand. My sister learned browbeating and nitpicking from our mother. If he is able to finally stand up to his mother, she will probably not try to control him anymore. Maybe then he will be more forthcoming about what is going on in his life. His brother always takes his parents’ side, so you and I need to support Eilian to keep him from being completely berated. Are you willing to do this with me?”

“Of course, I would do anything for him to have a better relationship with his family. Both of my parents are deceased, so I know how fleeting that relationship can be.” She watched as he leaned back in his throne-like, gilded chair as if waiting for her to go on. “I hope I don’t sound too forward, but what was Eilian’s father like? I never met him, and Eilian never spoke about him except in the vaguest of terms.”

The earl opened his mouth to speak but hesitated as he searched for the right words. “I can’t deny that Harland Sorrell was a difficult man to deal with, prone to losing his temper and being stubborn, but Eilian doesn’t realize how his father was raised. Harland’s father was a notoriously violent man, who beat his wife and children at the slightest indiscretion. Eilian’s father never raised a hand to Lady Dorset or the boys even if they needed it. As you can see, Dylan is spoiled and Eilian is wayward. While he broke from the violence, he could not escape his temperament and the hate it instilled in those who received it. I once asked him why he let Eilian carry on and cry when he should be taught to mask his emotions like a proper man, and he told me he refused to be like his father and give his sons only anger as a way to vent their frustration. I think he also wanted to know how his children felt about him. He wanted to know if they hated or loved him. Lord Dorset may have seemed like a tyrant, but you have to understand he had so poor of an example to learn how to be a father from.”

“Does Eilian know all of this?”

“I don’t think so, but I am not going to tell him now. It would only make him feel worse about the state in which he left their relationship.” He chuckled lowly as he straightened the papers on his desk. “He probably doesn’t know about the poetry either.”

A small smile played across her lips. “Poetry?”

“When Harland was courting my sister, he wrote her all sorts of silly love poems. When she would go out with my mother, I would peek at her cache of letters and sit for hours laughing at the poor sod. Oh, how he loved her. It was far from Shakespeare, but it showed how highly he regarded her. He would compare her to a muse or a goddess, and my sister thought he was the most romantic creature. I couldn’t believe someone saw my sister that way, especially since I found her to be shallow and whiney. Every time I saw him in town, I couldn’t help but laugh when I pictured this burly man hunched over his desk, struggling to write such delicate couplets. It was comical. I liked him though, despite his difficult disposition. If I didn’t, I would have chased him away as I did her other suitors, but there was always something endearing about how much he loved her. Maybe that is why he and Eilian never got along. They were simply too passionate about different things.”