Viridis - A Steampunk Romance (5 page)

“Missions aren’t the only way to help, Seth, but
you’re never willing to find a happy medium.” She turned away from
him. “I shouldn’t have to ask you to stay.” A tear slid down her
cheek. “And if you cannot figure that out, if you cannot figure out
a way to keep us together, then maybe you should leave.”

She didn’t turn to watch him go— she couldn’t; for
all she wanted was for him to take her in his arms and tell her he
would not leave, tell her all would be right. But instead she heard
his quiet footsteps as he walked out of the room, just as he had
done a year before.

Chapter Five

After making sure the body was delivered to the
morgue, William had gone to Lord Niles Hawthorne’s place of work,
though he had little luck. Lord Hawthorne’s employers would not
grant him access to the cases he’d been working on as a solicitor,
but said they knew of nothing that would lead to his death and of
no one who would wish him harm.

William had sent out requests to those that may be
able to help, calling in what favors he could to gain copies of the
case files. It would take some time, but he did not doubt he’d
eventually have any information pertinent to the case, so he could
follow up on any leads.

The coach pulled up to Lord Niles Hawthorne’s home.
The flat was located in the decent yet trendy neighborhood of
Bedford Square, in a spacious and elegant home. A footman, already
expecting him, escorted him to Lord Hawthorne’s quarters.

The décor was distinctly male— deep burgundies
accented with rich browns, leather and velvet— the colors and
fabrics were well-chosen, darker and heavier in appearance than
rooms designed by a woman—or with a woman in mind. A bachelor
himself, he was all too familiar with how a woman’s touch could
lighten a room and add a sense of charm
.

All too often, William thought of how nice it would
be to have someone to come home to after a hard day at work,
especially in the cold and wet weather—someone to talk to, share
the day with. But an inspector’s life was one of long hours,
limited compensation, and little respect. Not exactly what a woman
would be looking for in a husband.

The flat consisted of a large sitting room, a
library, and the sleeping quarters. Each room could hold a clue
that would help him with his investigation, but spotting the desk
in the library, William decided to start there.

Rifling through the drawers, William found a few
pieces of personal correspondence, but a cursory review proved it
to be nothing out of the ordinary. He continued his search, and was
ready to move on to the bookshelf when he came across a playbill,
listing the upcoming shows at Viridis. It appeared that William’s
original conclusion as to why Lord Hawthorne had been in the area
was indeed correct.

Turning the paper over, he spotted some scrawled
writing. Yesterday’s date and a time were scrawled in the upper
corner. An assignation perhaps? He set the paper aside, so as not
to forget it and then continued his search. The rest of the library
and the sitting room turned up nothing of interest, however in the
bedroom, he did find a fuse gun, a portable information module and
a significant amount of monetary funds. Despite Lord Hawthorne
coming from a wealthy family, it was still unusual to have such a
large sum of monies lying around.

Also nothing in the life of an ordinary solicitor
would warrant the use of a fuse gun, though they were becoming more
common. This one was far more elaborate in design than most. The
black metal was heavy and cold, molded to fit perfectly into the
palm of one’s hand. Not too unlike a traditional pistol, the body
of the fuse gun differed in that it was made by a series of
decreasing spheres designed to accommodate the charger, but instead
of using normal metal slugs as bullets, the fuse gun fired a sphere
of compressed energy.

Most telling, however, was the portable information
module, its brass case etched beautifully, as the polished surface
gleamed in the light. Quite the rare tinkering, William had only
ever seen them in the hands of the elite Special Services branch of
the government. To possess such a tinkering meant there was a good
chance Lord Hawthorne worked for them, likely gathering
information, though to what purpose, William did not know.

And with that, the case quickly turned from one of
murder to something far more complicated and dangerous.

Chapter Six

Phoebe spent the entire afternoon in her laboratory
waiting for the distillation to run through its cycle with nothing
but the constant chattering of her thoughts making her second-guess
her every action. It had been a mistake to let Seth back into her
life, and she cursed herself for being stupid enough to not learn
from her past mistakes. By late afternoon, she was wound tight as a
spring. She needed to get out of the house; needed to clear her
head.

In another couple of hours, she would be expected at
Viridis, but for now, she had other business to tend to. She took a
hired coach as far as the driver was willing to go before the roads
narrowed and deteriorated and he was no longer willing to risk his
carriage or horses. From there Phoebe continued on foot, moving
easily through the crumbling streets. She was used to the routine
by now, for she made this trip at least once a week.

Avoiding the puddles of swampy refuse, Phoebe wound
her way down the narrow alleys, the houses piled one against the
other and probably the only thing holding them upright. A fire in
one home could burn down an entire section of London in no time at
all, leveling the area to nothing more than ash, killing hundreds
in one go and leaving the rest homeless.

One last turn down a narrow alley, and Phoebe
steered herself towards the large wooden structure she had recently
purchased. Though she would have preferred a building made of
brick, it had previously been a warehouse and was sound and sturdy,
offering Phoebe plenty of space to work with. It had not cost her
very much, Cripplegate being one of London’s poorest areas, and the
exact reason she had bought in the neighborhood.

She paused at the top of the steps to look at the
brass plaque mounted next to the door.
Genie’s House
. She
had named it for Imogene—her way to pay tribute to a life cut
short, by helping those in need of aid, offering everything from
food and shelter to employment when it was available.

For the Cause
, she thought. It was her way of
helping, taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Viridis
brought her a steady income from those who had enough to indulge
themselves. She found it ironic that so many of her customers had
no interest in helping the needy, and yet through her, it was
exactly what they were doing.

It would be dark soon, and though she preferred to
go to the shelter early in the day, the distillation had delayed
her. She probably should have left the visit for another time, but
her argument with Seth was still bothering her, and she needed
affirmation that what she was doing to help the Cause was indeed
making a difference.

She wouldn’t be long; just wanted to check in with
Mrs. Farthing, the dear lady she found to run the shelter. The
recent cold spell would put additional strain on the shelter’s
resources, and Phoebe wanted to make sure they weren’t in need of
anything. She had arranged for food supplies to arrive daily, and
had a doctor visit twice weekly to help with the ill and to
distribute the appropriate medicines. The house staff were even
teaching the young, and anyone else willing, to read and write, and
basic shelter was available to those who needed it on a cold
winter’s night.

Yet, it was nowhere near enough, just a drop in an
ocean of suffering. But she had plans. Plans she hoped would help
the Cause and aid in making the poor self-sufficient. Reading,
writing, and meeting their basic needs were just the start. She had
hired most of the employees who worked at Viridis from the shelter.
By offering them an opportunity they might not have otherwise, she
received loyal employees in return.

The wind picked up, whipping its way down the alley
as she knocked on the back door. The walk had chilled her to the
bone, and she would be grateful for a seat by the fire and a cup of
tea to warm her.

She waited but a moment and then a young woman of
about twenty answered the door. Her hair was the color of spun
gold, and pulled back from her freshly scrubbed face. She wiped her
floury hands against the apron tied around her waist.

“May I ‘elp ye?” Recognition suddenly dawned in her
glacier-blue eyes. “Mum? What ye doing ‘ere out in the cold? Come
in ‘fore ye catch yer death.” Pulling Phoebe into the warmth, she
steered her towards the fire in the bustling kitchen.

“Thank you, Anne.” Phoebe had only met her once
before, but she made it a priority to be on a first-name basis with
as many of the inhabitants of the house as possible.

“I’ll just get ye a cuppa. Help warm ye up, it
will.” With a quick curtsey, she bustled off.

Phoebe removed her gloves, and placed them in her
lap. She noticed things quieted down as those working in the
kitchen took note of her presence, whispering to each other and
throwing curious glances her way. There was many a familiar face
from her previous visits, but she was pleased to note there were
others she had not met before. It was good to know they were able
to employ in increasing numbers, saving them from dangerous and low
paying work. Or worse.

Anne brought her a tray with a steaming cup of tea
and a plate of still warm thick sliced bread slathered with melting
butter. Anne pulled up another chair and placed the tray on it so
Phoebe would not have to leave the warmth of the fire.

“There ye are, Mum. Shall I fetch Mrs. Farthing?
She’ll be right pleased to see ye.”

“I’d appreciate that. My thanks.” Phoebe held the
teacup in her hands, letting the steam warm her face, before taking
a sip. As she drank her tea and sampled the delicious bread, her
chill faded away, and it was not long before she saw the stout form
of Mrs. Farthing making its way towards her
.

Phoebe had been lucky to find such a gem of a woman
in Mrs. Farthing. Kind of heart and motherly, she was also stern
enough to run a tight operation. Under her guidance, the shelter
was doing incredibly well after only several months in existence.
In many ways, Mrs. Farthing was like the mother Phoebe missed so
much, doling out love and praise with a good dose of advise and
concern on the side.

“My Lady, you should have let us know you’d be
paying us a visit. And did you come all on your own?” A look of
worry and consternation crossed Mrs. Farthing’s weathered face.

Phoebe could not resist a smile at Mrs. Farthing’s
maternal scoldings. “I did come alone, but really, it was fine. I
wanted to make sure you were not in need of anything, what with the
terrible cold spell we’ve been having.”

Mrs. Farthing waved away her concerns. “Not at all,
my Lady. As you can see, we’re kept busy, but what you’ve managed
to provide is far more generous than anything we could’ve imagined.
Granted, the cold has us packed full at night, but we’re managing
just fine. Would you like to take a look around?”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work
but—”

“Och, not at all. Come.” With that Mrs. Farthing
bustled Phoebe along into the shelter.

Phoebe spent the next half hour in Mrs. Farthing’s
company, as they toured the kitchens, the pantries, the schoolroom,
and infirmary. The young worked amongst their elders, making sure
everything that needed doing got done. With the temperatures
driving most indoors, the sleeping quarters had been expanded to
accommodate as many bodies as possible. Phoebe was pleased to see
the new beds she had recently purchased were being put to good use,
the needy already starting to arrive for the night. Throughout,
there were improvements— the broken windows had been replaced, the
walls were freshly whitewashed— and though the changes were small,
they made a significant difference.

Everything was running far better than she could
have hoped for. Since those who took advantage of the services
offered were also required to participate and help in maintaining
the shelter, a sense of pride and self-respect was starting to root
in their battered souls.

At the end of the tour, Phoebe reached out and took
Mrs. Farthing’s hand. “I cannot thank you enough for all your hard
work— not only yours, but indeed, everyone here who has
contributed. It warms my heart to see the good that is being
done.”

Mrs. Farthing gave Phoebe’s hand a squeeze, a smile
gracing her weathered face. “Well, none of it could’ve been
possible without your help. Now surely you’re not going to wander
the streets after dark on your own?” Phoebe barely had the chance
to protest when Mrs. Farthing cut her off. “At the very least, let
me have Samuel escort you,” she clucked, and she sent a girl to
fetch Samuel.

Phoebe knew from experience that arguing would do
nothing but cause delay, so she waited patiently by the door. She’d
have Samuel take her just far enough to catch a coach to Viridis,
where Gabriel would be readying everything for tonight’s shows.

Samuel appeared, a gangly youth surprisingly tall
for his years of seventeen, and gallantly held the door open for
her. A wall of arctic cold hit her in the face when she stepped out
onto the street, the thick layer of frost on the cobbles crunching
under foot. Together, they kept a brisk pace, heads bowed down
against the wind.

Night had fallen with a moonless sky, and the only
light afforded them was the dim, sooty glow of the street lamps and
the occasional shop and tavern window. The walkways were still
crowded with people wrapping up their day and trying to find some
warmth.