Magnificent Devices 6: A Lady of Spirit Page 2

  But at this, Claire’s face paled and turned so bleak that Lizzie touched the hand that still held the little ring. “I’m sorry, Lady. I didn’t mean it. Or I did, but I shouldn’t have said so.”

  “You know my feelings on that subject,” Claire whispered. “Ian is a good man and does not deserve to have his perfectly honorable name bandied about in this manner.”

  Which did absolutely nothing to explain why she had declined the privilege of bearing it. Maggie had overheard his first proposal herself, and she still didn’t understand why the Lady had refused him.

  But then, she didn’t understand why poor Mr. Malvern didn’t try again, either.

  In fact, despite having reached the age of sixteen, there were simply too many things in this world that Maggie could not decipher. It was enough to make a girl want to go home to the back garden and find one of Rosie the chicken’s many progeny to cuddle.

  *

  “Claire, how perfectly lovely to see you.”

  The Lady turned and Maggie was surprised to see her smile at the young woman dressed in the next best thing to a ballgown when it was barely one o’clock in the afternoon. The other woman laid a languid hand upon her lacy breast so that both of them could take in the splendor of the enormous diamond and thick gold wedding band upon it.

  “Why, Catherine,” Claire said. “It has been an age. I see you are married—how wonderful. Belated felicitations. This is my ward, Margaret Seacombe. Maggie, this is an old schoolmate of mine. Lady Catherine Montrose, now …?”

  “Mrs. David Haliburton.” The woman’s overbite gave her a lisp. “But Claire, I see no rings upon your hands save that peculiar metal one. Twenty-five is the first corner, you know. You’d better hurry up.”

  Maggie resisted the urge to stamp on the nasty mort’s pink slipper, but the Lady appeared unperturbed. Instead, she examined the steel ring upon the smallest finger of her right hand with pride.

  “This is an engineer’s ring. I received my degree from the University of Bavaria, you know, and will be joining the Zeppelin Airship Works next month as a developer of new airship technologies.”

  Mrs. Haliburton’s rather bland features took on an expression of horror. “You will be working for your living?”

  Maggie could keep silent no longer. “Lady Claire chooses to advance human knowledge in that field—as her close friend the Empress of Prussia can attest.”

  “Really.”

  “Maggie, darling, you mustn’t take the Empress’s name in vain. You know how she hates that.”

  “Well, she would. And did, that day you sailed in the prototype together.”

  “That is very true, but—”

  “Come, Claire, engineer or not, we must have you introduced,” Mrs. Haliburton said impatiently, as if talk of the Empress made her wish to change the subject. “Mr. Haliburton has several friends here among the company who would be delighted to meet you, despite your, er, education.”

  “How very kind of you. Do you see much of Julia Wellesley—I mean, Lady Mount-Batting?”

  “Oh, yes. We are still very close, you know. There she is, over there.”

  She waved a hand in the direction of another young woman, who was so fashionably dressed and corseted it was a wonder she could breathe. Her brown curls were piled upon her head under an afterthought of a hat, and the ruffled train of her skirt seemed to engulf the feet of the young man with whom she was conversing.

  Conversing in a rather more intimate manner than one typically did with a man who was not one’s husband.

  “Is that her brother?” Lady Claire inquired.

  “Oh, no, that’s Justin Knight, one of her intimate circle. The Duke of Warrington’s heir, you know. Julia has many admirers. It’s the fashion these days to have beaux. It makes parties such fun.”

  “But she’s married,” Maggie blurted.

  Catherine gave her the kind of look that said children should be seen and not heard. “You cannot be expected to understand, dear. You are very young, and have been traveling in foreign parts.”

  The Lady laid a cool hand upon Maggie’s sleeve. “It was lovely to see you, Catherine. Do give my greetings to Mr. Haliburton.”

  And they strolled away before Maggie could do something that would put a proper bend in the woman’s snooty snout. Oh, she would not actually have done anything to embarrass her guardian, but my goodness, surely some small gesture—a tiny accident with a glass of punch, say—would be appropriate under the circumstances?

  She and Lizzie had not had much practice in being condescended to. How did the Lady bear being spoken to in that way? Did she simply not care? Was she above such things, or did she feel them as keenly as Maggie did and was simply better at hiding it?

  When she found Lizzie several minutes later and got these questions off her chest, Lizzie gazed thoughtfully into the distance, where Mr. Malvern was doing his best to converse with a young lady. He had rather an air of once more into the breach about him, as though he had assigned himself a task and was going to perform it though it killed him.

  “We must get them alone in a room, Mags,” Lizzie finally said. “It’s a wedding, innit, and Mr. Malvern already has courtship on his mind. We must simply give him an opportunity to court the Lady instead of whoever that is.”

  “How are we going to do that? We can’t just collar them and push them into a closet. And most of these rooms have people in them.”

  “You’re going to find an empty room and keep people out of it until I can get both Mr. Malvern and the Lady in. I was just in the powder room, and there is no one in Mr. Fragonard’s study next door. You go hold the fort, and I’ll tell Mr. Malvern the Lady wants to speak with him privately. We’ll have no trouble with him—and I’ll think of something to tell her.”

  It was a pretty straightforward plan despite having been concocted in two seconds. “Right. And while you fetch the Lady, I’ll keep him occupied.”

  “Done.”

  Maggie found the study with no trouble. It was at the back of the house and smelled of wax and paper and leather furniture. She closed the door, then arranged herself upon the leather sofa with a wrist over her eyes, in case anyone should look in.

  When the door opened and closed a moment later and she heard the lock turn, she lowered her arm. “Mr. Malvern, I’m afraid I—” She stopped. “I beg your pardon, I was expecting someone else.”

  “Clearly,” said the dashing young man who was the son of the Duke of Something-or-other. “And I was expecting Julia. What an interesting situation.”

  “I’m sorry, but my guardian will be here at any moment, and I do not feel well,” Maggie said in her best plaintive tones. “Perhaps you might fetch me a glass of water?”

  “In a moment. You don’t look ill to me. Sure you weren’t waiting for someone?”

  “My guardian.”

  “No, you weren’t. Come on, you can tell me. A pretty little thing like you? Well, whoever he is, he’ll have to get past me first.” He advanced upon the sofa, and Maggie sat up, the first stirrings of alarm fluttering in her breast.

  “I’m Justin. What’s your name?”

  “Margaret.”

  “Who’s your guardian?”

  “Lady Claire Trevelyan.”

  But instead of backing off like any sensible cove at the Lady’s name, he laughed. “Oh, I’ve heard of you lot. Julia’s told me. Terribly entertaining, dashing about the world with the Dunsmuirs and getting up a fascinating reputation. I daresay once you’ve kissed an Injun or two you’d be glad to have a kiss from a gentleman, wouldn’t you?”

  Maggie hardly knew which outrageous statement to take on first. Or maybe it didn’t matter. The most urgent concern was getting up off this sofa before he trapped her on it.

  She slid under his arm and made sure her shoulder caught him right in the solar plexus as she pushed to her feet. He sat down upon the sofa with a suddenness that would have caused any other man to think more carefully about his next actions.


  But apparently careful thought was not Justin Knight’s forte.

  He rose, straightening his wine-colored brocade waistcoat. “A young lady of spirit, are you? Providential, what? I like ’em with a bit of spunk. Come here, darling. Just one kiss, that’s all I want. When was the last time you were kissed by the son of a duke?”

  “Tuesday,” Maggie lied breathlessly. She’d never been kissed, and there was no way on God’s green that this idiot was going to be her first.

  “At Lady Weatherley’s ball, hmm? So you’ve got some experience, then. All right, I’ll play the game—you be the mouse, and I’ll be the cat.”

  He advanced once more, and Maggie spread her feet slightly, her weight evenly balanced and slightly forward. With both hands, she gathered her skirts as though preparing to run again, and feinted with a glance to the right.

  He lunged to intercept her, and when his weight was all on one leg, she kicked the load-bearing knee as hard as she could.

  With an incoherent howl, he fell to the other knee. She brought one elbow down on the back of his neck with all the force she had, and he sprawled on the Turkish carpet, his chin bouncing off it hard enough to make his teeth clack.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Maggie?” Mr. Malvern said. “It’s Andrew Malvern. Lizzie says you’re not feeling well.”

  Justin Knight groaned and attempted to get up. Maggie stepped on his back and flattened him once more as all the breath was pushed out of his lungs. She dropped her skirts decorously, crossed the room, and unlocked the door to let Mr. Malvern in.

  He took in the scene in an instant. “Good heavens. What happened here?”

  “Tripped on the bloody rug,” the gentleman mumbled, attempting to rise. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Ah. Apparently he had bitten his tongue.

  What a pity he hadn’t done so in a metaphorical sense before he told such a bold-faced lie. He obviously expected her to go along with it to save them both face, but she had no interest in allowing him to get away with such behavior for the sake of … what? His standing in society? Hers?

  “He attempted to assault me,” Maggie said. “I dissuaded him as Mr. Yau taught us on Lady Lucy.”

  “I see that you have. Well done, Maggie. And now I shall do my part to clear away this situation by taking out the rubbish.”

  He opened the French doors and stalked back to Justin Knight, who had managed to stand. “If I catch you laying a finger on a young lady—any young lady—again, this is the least you can expect, you ruffian.”

  He grasped the back of the young man’s coat and the waistband of his trousers, and tossed him bodily through the window. The heir of the Duke of Whatsis landed flat on his face in the flowerbed, mowing down a bank of phlox and frightening two doves up into the trees.

  The gardeners had just watered the gardens so that the flowers would be at their freshest for the wedding reception. When Justin Knight rose, his face, hands, chest, and trousers were covered in sticky wet soil.

  “You damnable wretch!” he shouted. “You’ll be sorry for this! You’ll—”

  Mr. Malvern closed the doors in his face and locked them, leaving the other man with no choice except to return to the house via either the servants’ entrance or the front door, both of which would ensure his complete mortification.

  Maggie smiled as he took the third option. He vaulted over the garden wall and took himself off, and good riddance, too.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Maggie?” Mr. Malvern said, laying his hands on her shoulders and examining her for damage. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No. He wanted a kiss, but I was not prepared to give him one.”

  “I am glad to hear it. His reputation is not one I’d be prepared to have associated with you.”

  “Maggie? Andrew?” The Lady stepped into the study and glanced from one to the other, then to the rug, which was rucked up, and a small occasional table, which had been knocked over. “What has happened?”

  “It’s all right, Claire,” Andrew told her, releasing Maggie after a brief hug. “Justin Knight made a poor assumption about our girl here, and she corrected him as Mr. Yau taught her.”

  “Did she?” The Lady’s face cleared and a sunny smile dawned upon it. “Well done. Has he gone?”

  “He needed to change his clothes and get some medical attention, so yes.”

  “Even better.” She hugged Maggie in her turn, and Maggie wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing her nose into the crook of the Lady’s shoulder. The lace of her high collar felt scratchy upon her cheek. Claire’s perfume warmed her gently, that mix of roses and cinnamon that had come to mean safety. Security. Approval and love.

  “What were you doing in here in the first place, my darling?” the Lady asked softly. “Lizzie said you didn’t feel well?”

  The moment for courtship had passed, and to be honest, Maggie felt a little queasy now that the danger had been ejected from the room. So she nodded.

  The Lady wasted no time. “Emilie and Peter have gone, so there is no reason for us to stay, either. Andrew, if you would be so kind as to begin the landau’s ignition sequence, I will collect our party and meet you outside.”

  So their plans had come to nothing. But despite that, Maggie took heart. For Mr. Malvern had come to her aid, and the Lady had treated him as though he was one of the family. That had to count for something.

  3

  “Up ship!” the Lady called out of the open hatch, and the ground crew—including Lewis and Snouts, who had come to see them off—released the ropes that tethered Athena and Victory to the airfield in Vauxhall Gardens.

  The property had once been their home before Toll Cottage had burned to the ground. But now there was a cluster of snug little homes that housed the families of the men who ran the airfield for the Lady. Since it was the only airfield on the south bank, tolls for airships had become much more lucrative than tolls for boats had once been. And upriver, their nearest neighbor, the Morton Glass Works, ran efficiently under the ownership of Snouts—beg his pardon, Mr. Stephen McTavish—using modern steam and automaton technologies that did not spew chemicals into the river and spoil the swimming for the children.

  In Victory’s fanciful gondola, with its baroque trim painted gold, Lieutenant Thomas Terwilliger manned the engines, since unlike Athena, the airship had to be manually controlled and required a crew. And assisting him was Lizzie, the reason for which Maggie was quite sure the Lady did not know. Lizzie had not as yet confided in either of them, but Maggie had eyes in her head. From her post at the map table, she had observed Lizzie’s gaze wander to their former squat-mate more than once that morning, to say nothing of the way he had squeezed her hands in greeting with rather more than brotherly enthusiasm.

  Lizzie and Tigg were sweet on each other. Who’d have thought?

  Though Maggie could hardly discount the truth—Tigg had grown into a handsome young man, his coffee-colored skin smooth and unblemished, his khaki uniform setting it off in a way that a girl might find most attractive. His brown eyes saw much more than a person often wanted them to, and the mind behind them was so sharp that when Tigg was in port, Mr. Malvern appreciated his help and advice in the laboratory he maintained in Orpington Close.

  However, he was not in port very much. Tigg served aboard Lady Lucy, the personal flagship of the Dunsmuir family, and as often as not was in the air on his way to the Canadas, or the Antipodes, or some secret location on Lady Dunsmuir’s business for the Queen. Aeronauts on private ships were all serving members of the Royal Aeronautic Corps, and should the country declare war, were all required to report to the Admiralty for duty and deployment. But in their glorious Queen’s lengthy reign, there had only been minor skirmishes in the Balkans and the subcontinent of Hind, in protection of Her Majesty’s economic interests there. In Maggie’s lifetime, the closest they had come to war was the annual day of remembrance for fallen airships in November.

  The only reason Tigg was with their part
y now and not aboard Lady Lucy was because the Dunsmuirs were enjoying a shooting holiday in Scotland with the Prince of Wales. Tigg had two weeks of ground leave, and instead of the myriad things he might have done or enjoyed on a lieutenant’s pay, he had chosen to come with them to Penzance.

  Maggie had not made up her mind whether it was for their protection or simply for friendship. But either way, this would be interesting.

  When Windsor Castle had floated away beneath the two ships and they were officially out of London air space, Maggie saw Athena pull away slightly. “Full speed ahead, Victory,” she called back to Tigg.

  She turned her attention to the charts on the navigation table. Assisting her was Holly, a reddish-gold hen who took after her mother Rosie in both looks and temperament. She said to Claude, who was manning the helm, “Bear west southwest until we pass the airfield at Dartmoor, and then two points south to Penzance.”

  Tigg called, “Aren’t Lady Claire and Mr. Malvern going to put down at Gwynn Place beforehand?”

  “No, she seems to be as anxious to meet our grandparents as we are. They are to be guests at Seacombe House with us for three days.” She removed Holly from the map, where the bird was pecking at the Channel Islands, and lifted her up to roost comfortably upon a bit of pipe. “Is that your understanding, too, Claude?”

  Lizzie’s half-brother was gently trying to convince Ivy, Holly’s sister, who clearly hoped he might have a biscuit about his person, that he in fact did not.

  He swept out an arm in an encompassing gesture much too extravagant for this time of the morning, and Ivy scuttled out of range. “They’ll be ready and waiting with open arms, I’m sure. It feels like a perfect age since I was there—I’ll be glad to see the old dears myself. I’m not related to them by blood, but they’re still my stepmother’s parents—and the only grandparents I’ve got.” He peered out of the viewing port. “I say, that shabby vessel has quite the spring in her step. Best lay on the steam, old man.”

  Indeed, Athena was definitely increasing her lead. The Lady was always meaning to have Athena refurbished so it looked more like Lady Lucy or any other pleasure craft. But somehow Athena seemed to resist being made up like a society belle and remained exactly what she was—a lethal ship of war that looked deceptively plain in order to hide both her speed and her maneuverability, to say nothing of her capacity to carry and conceal weapons.