The Earl of Brass (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 1) (26 page)

To Wimpole Street

It was half-past noon when Hadley finally wiped the latest round of sticky tears from her cheeks. The pain had come in waves over the past twelve hours for different reasons. She sobbed in bed the night before for breaking his heart and because she had no one to tell what transpired. That look of confusion and desolation refused to leave her mind. She had hurt him more deeply than Sir Joshua or his family ever could, and what made it worse was she did it because she loved him. In the morning, she mourned the life she envisioned ever since he proposed that would never come to pass. For the week they had been engaged, she had pictured them going to Egypt or Greece on their honeymoon, exploring the ruins and seeing the wonders of the world. There would be no more sitting by the fire in his library reading from the same book or discussing automatons over dinner. Now, she cried because she was utterly exhausted. She couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t rationalize what she did, but she could relive every awful detail and see his face as he said her name. Hadley sniffed, wiping at her cheeks as she attempted to assemble a porcelain doll with tremulous hands. The workroom door squealed open, irrevocably breaking her fragile concentration.

“Adam, if you have come to mock me, just leave,” she croaked, not bothering to turn and face the doorway as she didn’t want her brother to see her tear-stained face.

“It isn’t Adam who has come to speak to you.”

At the sound of the polished, stately voice, Hadley sprung to her feet, knocking over her stool as she turned to meet the hard gaze of Millicent Sorrell. “Lady Dorset,” she stammered as she curtsied amongst the mess, “what— what are you doing here?”

Hadley manically pawed at her face and the powder clinging to the front of her dress but knew in this state, she could hardly feign appearing presentable. Surveying the chaos of her kingdom, she noticed every stray wood-shaving and pool of ceramic dust and wondered what Eilian’s mother must think of it. The imperturbable Countess of Dorset wove her way around the tables and tools, nimbly avoiding any shards of metal or wood that may have caught her widow weeds as she headed for the modest wooden chair near the backdoor. Her green eyes fell on the broken bodies of dolls and the mysterious instruments of creation or destruction that lay scattered around the girl, but her face gave away nothing. Even after blinking several times, she still was not certain if Lady Dorset was really sitting in her studio.

“Miss Fenice, I have come to you because my son has taken to not speaking to me after how you were treated last night. I have always sought to make Eilian happy, but I have come to find that I obviously don’t know how to accomplish that. You aren’t the traditional choice for the wife of an earl, not my choice, but you are
his
choice, and I must accept that.” She drew in a breath and studied the red-haired woman’s face, which had paled with surprise. Apologies were something Lady Dorset was not accustomed to making, and it took her noble mind a little time to formulate what she wanted to say without uttering that servile phrase. “This is difficult for me, but what I’m trying to say is, I would like it if you would reinstate your engagement, as long as I haven’t damaged your feelings toward my son.”

“Nothing anyone could say would damage my feelings toward your son, Lady Dorset,” she beamed.

The countess grew silent. Her widow weeds drowned what youthful vigor she had left, leaving only a drawn, ashen shell of what was once beautiful. “I’m curious to know what I said to upset you so. From the way my brother described you, you didn’t sound like a woman who would be so easily scared off.”

“I knew you wouldn’t approve of me, Lady Dorset, and when I heard you arguing in the library, I was afraid you and Lord Sorrell would become estranged if he married me. He loves you very much and wants you to be proud of him. I didn’t want to be the cause of him losing both his parents.”

“Why would you think we would become estranged? My son and I never agree, but we never stay mad either.”

“It appears that I brought about what I was trying so hard to prevent.”

Lady Dorset nodded. “Did Eilian tell you our relationship was fragile?”

Hadley hesitated, unsure if she should give away her future sister-in-law. “Mrs. Sorrell told me our engagement could destroy your relationship with Eilian, especially with your health being precarious.”

“Constance told you my health was failing?” she asked with a raised patrician brow before scoffing. “I will deal with her when I return.” She glanced at the antique clock near the door as it chimed. “I hate to cut my visit so short, but I must be going now, Miss Fenice.”

“Wait, Lady Dorset,” Hadley called as she followed the countess to the front door. “Do you know if Eilian is still in London?”

“I’m not sure. He took his belongings and left last night.” Her chauffeur stepped forward from the black steamer with an open umbrella. After a step, she paused and turned back to Hadley’s reddened face. “There is one thing I would like you to do for me. As his wife, he will listen to you and turn to you for advice. All I ask is you try to convince him to tend to his duties
before
gallivanting all over creation. He owes it to his tenants to do so.”

“I think I can do that.”

With a final nod, the Lady Dorset descended the steps and disappeared into the hearse-like steamer. Hadley burst upstairs, switching into a clean dress and washing the tears from her face faster than she thought possible before clambering outside with her carpet bag.

An empty cab clattered across the cobblestones, stopping as she waved her hand and cried, “To thirty-six Wimpole Street, please!”

***

Eilian stared down at the snifter of brandy in his hand. For over an hour he had been holding the glass, swirling the amber liquid rather than drinking it. James Hawthorne had suggested going for a walk to clear his head, and somehow he ended up at the Oriental Club wishing to make his mind as fuzzy as possible. He didn’t frequent clubs very often, but he had been there several times in the past with those from the archaeological community. Most who went there were men who enjoyed traveling to the East and Africa, and he felt more comfortable among their ranks than he did in most other society. The room was clouded in a cigar smoke haze, but in the fog, no one had noticed him in the corner wallowing in self-pity and asked him what happened.

More than anything, he wanted to talk to Hadley, but he feared how she would react. He didn’t know what to say to convince her to stay with him, and while he wanted to run from the club and pour out his heart to her, he knew how a broken engagement could bring a young woman embarrassment she would soon prefer to forget. Finally, he took a sip of brandy. A grimace crinkled his features as he quickly put the drink on the table a safe distance away from him. The residual heat warmed his throat and stomach unpleasantly, making him feel queasy.
Obviously brandy and tears do not mix
, he thought as he looked up at the painting beside him of men and dogs long dead but still hunting for all eternity. Eilian patted his breast pocket, confirming the little box was still there. He never even got to give it to her, but he couldn’t bear to take it out and abandon all hope of ever putting it on her finger. A sharp pain flashed down his arm but dissipated rapidly as he opened and closed his prosthetic hand.

“Did you get an invitation to the British Museum from Sir Joshua Peregrine?”

Eilian Sorrell’s ears perked at the familiar name mentioned behind him. He peered around the side of the wingback chair and spotted two young men whom he recognized. One was David Hogarth, an up and coming archaeologist who was becoming Eilian’s direct competition now that he was publishing his findings, and the other was Lord Porchester. He only knew the latter by name and reputation, but he was fairly certain the redheaded man almost ran him over once as he crossed the road to his parent’s house. As the nobleman looked up, Eilian pulled his head back, leaving only the tip of his nose and a tuft of wayward hair visible.

“Yes, but I haven’t decided if I should go. Are you going?”

The archaeologist chuckled. “Most certainly. The man claims to have some big discovery, and if he has invited us, that means he’s going to open slots for the expedition and for those who wish to finance it.”

“Why should
I
go if all he wants is my money?” Lord Porchester scoffed.

“George, think of it this way, if we find anything of importance, your name will go down in history with ours.”

Eilian held his breath, his grey eyes widening as he continued to eavesdrop.

“When is this meeting?”

A pocket watch clicked open. “In about twenty minutes. I should be off. Would you care to share a cab?”

Before Lord Porchester could reply, Eilian darted out of the drawing room and sprinted out to the street, blowing the invitation off the table. He had left Patrick and his steamer back at the Hawthornes’ house, but if he could return to Wimpole Street quickly, he should be able to make it to the museum with a little time to spare. By the time he rounded the corner of the street, his calves were aching and his ribs were throbbing from the sudden exertion, screaming for him to hail a steamer. As his eyes trailed to number thirty-six, the breath hitched in his throat. There she was approaching the door, about to reach for the knocker’s mandible when her eyes fell upon him. A smile flashed across her features as she gathered her skirts and ran through the icy slush. Hadley collided with his chest, knocking the wind out of him and nearly sending them both to the ground. For a moment, he forgot about Sir Joshua and just held her close, inhaling her familiar scent of cinnamon and ceramic dust. When their red-rimmed eyes met, he kissed her, and her body pressed into his, warming him in the bitter November cold better than brandy ever could.

The Reading Room

He closed his eyes, his lips trembling as they lingered on hers. Frosty clouds of vapor rose between them, cutting a balmy path through the frigid afternoon air. His body wanted to stay with her, to lie on a couch near the fire with her asleep on his chest. Despite his unsteady breaths, he planted several more small kisses on the freckles of her nose and cheeks just to keep the tingles of happiness aflame a moment longer. Resting her ear against his prosthetic hand as it cradled her neck, a small smile played on Hadley lips. Eilian drew her near with his left arm to keep the pressure of her body against his and to confirm she was really there. He had wanted to talk to her and get her back, and there she was waiting for him. Their ribs breathed into one another, interlacing with each labored exhalation.

“Does this mean our engagement is back on?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” Hadley took a step back, watching his chest heave as he finally managed to gain some semblance of control over his lungs. “Are you all right?”

“Cracked ribs don’t make it easy to run all the way from Stafford House in the cold. We need to get to the British Museum. I will explain on the way.” Patrick’s head peeked through the curtains at the sound of their voices, and within seconds, he was at the door as Eilian beckoned to him from below. “Ready the steamer, Pat.”

The butler went to work checking the water tank and lighting the boiler while his master pulled the coat Hadley left at his mother’s home from the back seat. She eagerly traded her shawl for the wool coat, grateful for its additional warmth. The archaeologist impatiently drummed on the hood of the vehicle as his eyes darted between the thermometer and his pocket watch. The moment the engine whistled, Eilian ushered her into the cab and jumped in behind her as it roared to life. Patrick tore down the busy, cobbled streets, honking the cacophonous horn to scare pedestrians out of their path.

“Are you trying to get us killed? What could possibly be at the museum that’s so pressing?” she cried as she slid into Eilian when they rounded a corner on two wheels.

“Sir Joshua is there right now, collecting supporters for a trip back to Billawra. We have to get there and stop him before he tries to civilize them with an army of anthropologists.”

Hadley gasped, sliding forward into the driver’s seat as Patrick slammed on the brake. “What do you propose we do to stop him?”

“Somehow we have to convince them not to believe him. Disproving Billawra’s existence is our best bet I think.” He held her tightly and craned his neck to see over the seat as the steamer slowed to a stop. “Patrick, can you tell what is going on up ahead?”

While he couldn’t see around the other steamers, the butler could make out a plume of dark smoke wafting over their roofs. “It appears someone’s boiler has blown out. Would you like me to try an alternate route, sir?”

“There isn’t time.” The massive Grecian façade of the British Museum appeared around the corner. “We will have to run. Are you coming with me?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she smiled, the fire returning to her eyes for the first time since they returned to England.

Hadley grabbed his hand as they broke from the cab and wove their way through the idling steamers, trotting up Great Russell Street as fast her encumbering skirts would allow. Ice splashed onto her dress and through the tiny cracks between the sole and body of her shoes as they passed into the throngs of tourists, scholars, and lingering schoolchildren. When Eilian and Hadley finally found themselves in the shadow of the great Athenian temple, they slowed their pace as they processed between the massive ionic columns and entered the marbled hall. Lord Sorrell looked around for anyone he recognized that might be arriving late to the presentation. He had been to the museum so many times that he had the floor plan committed to memory long ago, but where could Sir Joshua have his lecture?
It wouldn’t make sense to hold the talk in the galleries
, he thought as Hadley bustled over to a porter stationed near the door, but as he raised his eyes toward the light flooding into the hall, the answer came.

“The Reading Room!” she called, leading him by the prosthesis. “He’s in the Reading Room.”

Guests passed through the terminal of the Grand Hall, making their way from different wings while circling around the great, white drum of the Reading Room. Eilian steadied his breathing while Hadley tidied her dress and hair before opening the door. He couldn’t help but smile at her nervous habit. The librarian opened his mouth to ask for their invitation and tell the woman to leave, but upon recognizing the young archaeologist on her arm, he quietly settled back into replacing the books onto the shelves. In the center of the round room, Sir Joshua Peregrine stood at a lectern with a small ocean of chairs before him filled with gentlemen and scholars. They crept between the bookcases as they made their way over to the audience, unobtrusively taking their seats in the last row. Hadley’s eyes ran over shelf upon shelf of tomes lining the circular wall and up onto the gold and blue coffered ceiling. The room was stunning yet paled in comparison to Billawra’s endless tunnels of books and scrolls. She wondered how Neuk would feel about the library’s limited contents. While Joshua Peregrine had already begun his discussion, it appeared they had not missed much.

Hadley nudged Eilian’s arm as Sir Joshua held up a notebook and sketch pad he had taken from inside the podium. “Look, he has my journals!” she cried in a harsh whisper.

“A civilization sheltered from the outside world for over a thousand years would be a treasure trove for anthropologists, linguists, scientists, and even missionaries. Allow me to read you a few excerpts from the diary of one of my fallen companions. ‘The Billawrati appear to believe in a type of pantheism. They don’t worship any one deity but nature itself. If one equates God to the perfect harmony of nature, then that is the core of their beliefs.’”

Sir Joshua paused, looking up at the riveted audience, but was still completely unaware of Eilian or Hadley sitting among them. “This is what the missionaries will need to work on. ‘Despite having numerous versions of the Bible, the Torah, and the Koran, as well as every major mythology, the Billawrati have created their own religion unlike any of the others. They believe in harmony and keeping the balance of nature. Death is part of a greater cycle where the body is reclaimed by the earth to be used as a source of nutrients for plants and animals while the equivalent of the soul is reused as energy in keeping with Sir Isaac Newton’s laws of conservation.’ Sending in missionaries would be the first step to colonization because converting them to Christianity would make them more receptive to—”

“Colonization?” she murmured into her companion’s ear, ignoring the admonishing looks from the gentlemen around them. “When should we say something? How far are we going to let this go before we stop it?”

“I don’t know, but not yet. If we are patient, we will find an opening. Right now he is in his glory from all the attention. We have to wait until he is off his guard.”

“He does look quite smug.”

Eilian huffed as Lord Porchester turned around to shush the gabby couple. “Of course he does, he thinks he’s having his Schliemann moment.”

The Anglo-Indian casually thumbed through the stolen notebook until he reached the desired location. His brows arched as he began with a clearing of his throat and a flourish of his hand. “For the scientists in the audience, there is a whole host of undiscovered wildlife living under the desert that appears unrelated to those found above ground. Papers, whole books even, could be written about the luminescent fungi and creatures alone. For the evolutionists, I think this passage will be of particular interest. ‘The Billawrati appear to be normal humans in every respect except for their physical appearance. Much like other cave dwelling creatures, they lack all pigmentation except for their eyes, yet their skin is not that of an albino. Their eyes are large to collect the limited light coming from the glowing fungi and diatoms, making them almost owl-like.’ Several drawings within the deceased’s sketchbook,” he continued as he held up a charcoal drawing of Kae, “illustrate the structural differences between these creatures and normal human beings.”

Hadley cringed as Sir Joshua continued to read from the journal Adam had given her, citing each passage as a source of scientific intrigue. She cursed herself for meticulously writing down every shred of information Neuk or Uta was willing to share. Her journals had turned against her, enticing the men to invade her lost utopia and destroy all she loved for queen and country. She remembered how Neuk told them stories about times in their history when balance had been lost and the Billawrati suffered until they were able to correct it. No famine or natural hardship would compare to an invasion of zealous imperialists ready to dissect their society, mutilating it until it resembled their own. Eilian and Hadley sat in stunned silence for nearly an hour as Sir Joshua stressed the lucrative nature of the expedition. He moved from the scientific nature of the trip to the harnessing of Billawrati technology for substantial profit and how they could gain control of waterways like the Thames or Nile in order to manipulate the price of electricity despite its unlimited sources. She covered her eyes as the anger tightened her chest and crawled up her esophagus like bile, but a gentle squeeze of her other hand temporarily abated her temper.

“The plan I propose to you is to follow me to Billawra where we can unlock the secrets of an ancient people together and witness living relics of a time long forgotten. Through science, we can systematically decipher what sets these people apart from us and understand what they have to offer. If you will join my cause, I know we can plan an expedition to rival all others. We will bring back not only new resources and technology that will repay your investments ten-fold, but we will go down in history,” Joshua proclaimed triumphantly as his gaze traveled over the riveted faces of the investors and scientists. “Now, I will open the floor to questions.”