The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) (11 page)

“Just getting the feel of her Mr. Pruett, no serious deviation.” After a moment Jerard added: “Any of you fellows a lover of the theater?”

There was a chorus of muttered “not as such” from the puzzled crew except for Jones who smiled. “You’re a fan of Shakespeare I deduce captain?” The Welshman offered.

“A little yes, Mr Jones.” Jerard replied as he shifted the lift controls to put the Discretion on a very gentle dive down. “In about half an hour if you care to look port side gentlemen you will see the Avon River and the home of ‘The Bard’ himself. But if you will indulge me, this side trip is a little personal as well. You see gentlemen my family has a small estate just north-east of Stratford-on-Avon. It’s been years since I last visited and well I have never had the opportunity of seeing the old home from the air...”

“I see Sir.” Pruett stated in a flat, professional voice. A private side trip! Archibald’s unease was growing again, Miss Tash had all but goaded the man to take the wheel but somehow his choice of maneuvers irritated the navigator all the more. His mouth settling into a tight line he set to work re-plotting the course to Beardmore’s Inchinnan factory.

Oblivious to the senior navigator’s discomfort Jerard flew on testing the feel of the ship as he put her through a few minor turns and course corrections. At a eight hundred feet he leveled her off and leaned forward to catch a glance out of the floor of the forward bubble.

Green and gold patchwork fields looked back at him from the ground. A small puff of white steam caught his eye as a steam tractor toiled across a green field; picturesque but not what he was looking for. Then just ahead he saw the landmark he wanted, The Fosse Way. The old Roman road cut like a ruler across the crazy patchwork of fields and farm tracks. Arrow straight and pointing north-east the old stones were now mostly tarmaced or covered in dirt but still stood out easily from the air. Phillips marveled at the ingenuity of those ancient engineers in making the track so unswervingly straight. Oh how the Romans would have wondered at the great silver ship now cruising above their man made ley-line. Or perhaps they wouldn’t? He speculated. The Romans were a pragmatic folk and from all accounts they took local marvels in their stride and adopted them as their own, given the chance.

Leaving this musing aside he headed for a dark patch of old forest to their right and dropped the ship down another two hundred feet. There it was, the village of Ashorne Hill. He could see the college and the nearby playing field. Though the cricket oval was clearly marked on the grass nobody was playing he saw. Just as well, he thought, it wouldn’t have been fair to distract the players with his ship’s shadow and engine noise after all.

Then he saw it, nestled at the foot of the ancient wood, his family home. A single tear caught in his eye as he wondered how his sister and her husband were, since his father’s retirement. Jerard had always been grateful that his father had passed on the manor and it’s operation to his sister and husband. A pang of guilt shot straight to Jerard’s heart. Perhaps he should have gone home after his disgrace. His father had always understood him and right now Jerard was feeling like he had never shown the proper gratitude. Even now, after being told that Mr. Lovelace had never met his father, Jerard felt sure that somehow his father had managed to help him and support him once again.

Looking down on the glass roof of the conservatory he wondered if his parents were sitting together in the sunlight and if they heard the throbbing of the Discretion's engines through the windows. He wanted them to know that their son soared the skies once more. What a bloody ass I’ve been, he thought.

His moment of sentiment past, he hauled back on the wheel and spun it. “Coming to due north Mr. Pruett. Where do you want us to go from here to get back on track my good Sir?” Jerard asked genially. Pruett’s voice came back unexpectedly cold.

“Turn to 300 north, north-west, Sir.”

“300 Nor’north west, aye.” Jerard replied, wondering again what the fellow’s problem was.

Slipping his left hand onto the aileron controls he lifted the Discretion's nose skywards a couple of degrees, and the ship began to climb back to cruising height.

At two thousand feet he leveled her off, marveling at the ease of the flap controls compared to the comparative stiffness of the wheel. Satisfied, he stepped back from the wheel as Wallace had done before, not fully relinquishing it until the pilot was ready.

“So, Mr. Wallace, thank you, and indeed, thank you all, for that little taste of this fine lady’s performance. She seems a little stiffer on the wheel than I expected but the lateral controls are smooth as silk. How is that?” He offered up to the bridge in general as he settled back into his own seat.

“Ah the wheel is manual Sir, pulley driven but the laterals are servo assisted, something to do with the rotor angling array.” Wallace answered.

“Oui captain, as I have come to understand it, when we ascend or descend the center rotors are angled by the servos that adjust the flaps. I have not seen the design before but I understand from Mr. Nichols that it is an attempt to keep the ship more level when changing height.” D'Arcey added.

Jerard steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “I see, unusual, I shall have to keep that in mind next time I’m up at the helm.” Standing once more he added. “I want to study the ships log for a while, in my cabin. Mr. Wallace, is it safe to assume that you will be fine until I return to take over, so you can get a spot of lunch?”

“Aye Captain! Mr. Vinnetti fed us breakfast this mornin’ so me gut’s still a purrin’.”

Jerard chucked. “Well then, thank you for that Mr. Wallace. I shall return as quick as I can. Carry on gentlemen.”

After freshening up a bit, Jerard entered the passenger lounge at precisely eleven o’clock. He found Smythe-Harris curled up on the settee, papers and ledgers bloomed from every flat surface like some sort of bizarre garden. When she did not look up, Jerard cleared his throat. This did not get a reaction either. He was not sure whether to be annoyed or to appreciate the woman’s concentration, deciding on irritation he said: “Madam, it
is
eleven o’clock.”

Tash jumped. “Captain Phillips! Oh dear!” She unfolded her legs and hurriedly gathered up the papers and books. “I am so sorry! I did not realize the time. Oh! Please, please have a seat, I shall have this tidy straight away.”

Jerard watched her a moment longer, enjoying what his small dig had produced, but only for a moment as his good manners seemed to automatically take over. He moved on into the room and knelt down to gather the items that were the furthest away from the flustered woman.

Tash looked up and smiled. “Thank you Captain.” She said gratefully. Several strands of auburn hair had slipped free of the crown of braids and framed her face. Her blue eyes sparkled merrily as she took the stack of papers from him. For the first time Jerard noticed a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. The charm and wit displayed in that look nearly took his breath away. I wonder, he thought, why I did not think she was beautiful? For the briefest moment he wanted to reach up and pull the pins from her hair and see if the rest of it was as pretty as the curling strands around her face.

“Captain?” Tash inquired politely.

Jerard realized he had been staring and felt the heat rising in his face. “Madam.” He replied, the simple word seemed to break the strange spell he had fallen under. Ye gods! He thought, what is happening to me, I must be more tired than I thought.

“Thank you for coming to see me Captain Phillips I have several things that I need to discuss with you.” And why are you staring at me Tash thought. She reached up to try to smooth back her wayward hair and discovered she had stuck her pencil in her braids, a long time bad habit. She snatched the pencil out hoping that he had not noticed. But from his failed efforts of trying not to smile she saw that her hope was in vain. Just carry on girl, she reminded herself, just carry on.

“I have here several reports regarding an accident that took place on this ship several days ago. This accident resulted in severe injuries for
engineer
Dalton
. And sadly the deaths of crewman O’Brien
, second engineer Mr. White and your predecessor, Captain Mather.” Tash handed Jerard several papers. “Please Captain, I would have you read these. I would see Sir if you reach the same conclusion that myself and Mr. Nichols have come to.”

“Very well. When should I report back to you Madam?”

“Captain Phillips, if you would please read them now I would greatly appreciate it. This is an important matter and I believe it may affect the safety of ourselves and the crew.

The pages on the top are the official reports and copies of the log entries. The last is a letter written to me by Mr. Nichols the day after the accident, it includes his conclusions. I would have you read that one last if you please.”

Jerard nodded and began to read. Tash got up and moved to a small cabinet where Gopal had earlier placed a pot of tea. Pouring two cups she returned to place one on a small table at Captain’s elbow and took the other with her back to the settee. She watched him, carefully trying to read his expression. When he finished the first page he placed it at the back of the small stack and continued reading. His expression did not change until he began reading Nichols’ account. The frown that creased his brow was all the confirmation Tash needed but she held her tongue and continued to watch him.

Jerard read through the first report. Rather standard affair he thought, he had read many such documents while still in Her Majesty’s service. The second report was not as formal and there was something about it that bothered him. He re-read it trying to put his finger on the problem. Giving up he moved to the third document, Mr. Nichols' letter:

2 June 1870

Tash,

Enclosed are the accident reports, copied from the ship’s logs. I know you and I know that each detail will be carefully examined. But I also know how busy you are; I wanted to get this information and my personal findings to you as quickly as possible. Below is my summary of the reports and what I believed happened. I have not discussed this with anyone else nor will I do so without your leave.

Events transpiring on 1 June:

Watch Officer’s Log:

10:00 a.m. –Entry by A. Jones, Watch Officer, control gondola

*Bakery delivery. Noted: Three new delivery men instead of the usual two familiar individuals.

10:15 a.m. . –Entry by A. Jones, Watch Officer, control gondola

*Mr. Vinnetti reported that the delivery men were insisting on delivering 100 loaves of French bread. He refused the delivery as his order was for ten loaves, a ruckus ensued when the delivery driver insisted that he be paid for the bread. Captain Mather issued a cheque for the 100 loaves and instructed the driver to deliver the 90 extra loaves of bread to the Isle of Dogs Orphanage. The Landover brothers were summoned to be sure the delivery men re-loaded the 90 loaves and left the premises.

Engineers Log:

8:12 p.m. –Entry by B. White, Second Engineer, auxiliary control gondola

*Crewmen Dalton & O’Brien reported hearing a slight hissing sound behind the panels of the secondary nacelle, location: Ring 32.

8:30 p.m. –Entry by B. White, Second Engineer, auxiliary control gondola

*Upon removal of the panels of the secondary engine nacelle and the panels of the rear gondola, a wet leak was discovered. Further investigation revealed that a high pressure pipe from the steam reservoir, that feeds the boost engine, had come loose at a coupling joint.

An emergency klaxon sounded from the boost engine’s room. It was my evening off so I had not been involved in what I believed were standard ship’s repairs. I was in my room reading when I first
heard the klaxon, I raced to the boost engine’ enclosure. The scene before me was a horror I shall never forget and therefore I will spare you the details and attempt to stick to my findings.

Apparently Airshipman Collins was the first on the scene but could not approach the room. His quick thinking moved him to the steam tanks where he closed off the boost engine feeds. He then moved to the auxiliary gondola where he effectively vented the steam pouring into the boost engine room by opening the emergency vents. Captain Mather and Mr. Howell were the next arrive. According to Mr. Howell the Captain slipped on the wet steps leading down into the room where he fell and broke his neck. Mr. Howell then proceeded to call Mr. McPherson to attend the wounded and then called Mr. Jones to send to the hospital for more emergency assistance.

When I arrived Howell, Tanner, Collins and McPherson began reporting. The Captain and Mr. White had died immediately of their injuries. Mr.
O’Brien
was unconscious but I was able to speak to Mr.
Dalton
who told me the following story:

“Mr. White arrived and told us that he had shut off the pipe’s valve that we were to be working on. He said that the gauge indicated that there was no pressure in the valve. But just in case he and
O’Brien
loosed the coupling bolts and stood back to allow any steam to escape. But Sir, there was NO steam. I am telling you Sir, you’ve got to believe me, there was NO STEAM!”

It was several moments before I could calm Mr. Dalton enough to continue with his story:

“After a few minutes Messrs White and
O’Brien
unbolted the coupling all the way and took the pipe loose. I had stepped back to retrieve the sealant when the pipe seemed to explode with steam. I remember…I remember not being able to breathe. I think I hit the alarm klaxon…no I did, I hear it. Mr. White Sir, and
O’Brien
, are they alright?”

It was at this point Mr. Dalton passed out; it was a miracle in itself that the man was able to talk at all. I will be visiting him and Mr. O'Brien in the hospital when I finish this letter.