A Conspiracy of Alchemists Read online

  “I shall let you get on with things, then, shall I?” she said after a while. “I am sure the gentlemen will need more tea before they finish their breakfast. I’ve put clean towels in the bathroom for you,” Mrs. Hinges said as she bustled out of the room and down the hallway, humming to herself.

  Half an hour later, Elle stood in her underwear and surveyed the proposed contents of her bag laid out on the bed before her. Her own room had been swept and cleaned between the time they went to bed and the time she emerged from the bathroom. Mrs. Hinges never ceased to amaze when it came to cleaning, but the smell of smoke still lingered. She tried her best to ignore the gentle breeze coming from the broken window behind her and concentrated on her belongings, ticking them off on the list in her head as she packed them into her carpetbag. She had been lucky; her clothespress and chest of drawers had escaped the worst of the soot.

  She reached into the back of the clothespress and pulled out a parcel. She unwrapped the oily layers of brown paper and cloth to reveal a Colt 1878 Frontier revolver. She rubbed her thumb over the mother of pearl grip as she weighed the gun on her outstretched palm. Her father had bought it for her from when she’d graduated from the flight academy. “If you are going to be a pilot, then you had jolly well better learn to take care of yourself,” he had said.

  Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked out the rounds from the paper box of ammunition wrapped in the folds of the cloth, and loaded the gun. The chamber slipped shut with a satisfying click. She moved the safety lock into place. She had been silly to leave it behind on the last trip; , but she would not make the same mistake again. The next time someone tried to grab her, she’ would be ready for them.

  She pulled on a clean pair of jodhpurs and tucked in her freshly starched shirt. Then she slipped her corset on and tightened the laces. It was a hunting corset, made shorter and wider than the ones she wore under her dresses. Worn as part of a riding habit, it allowed the wearer to move and breathe more naturally.

  Elle had instantly liked the paisley print panels in the front of the corset when the shopkeeper had shown it to her. It was pretty enough to be worn on the outside of her clothes. It was a radical idea, but she liked it. And for a fee, she had persuaded the corset-maker to stitch in a few quick custom modifications. A small holster was strapped onto her left side. She fitted the revolver into the holster so it would be accessible, but hidden from sight if she wore her coat. She slipped her stiletto into the newly sewn loops fitted behind the front laces, and tucked a small purse with her emergency money, along with a particularly fine pair of diamond earrings she has earned from one of her trips, inside the removable lining.

  Suitably armed, she slipped a dark red brocade waistcoat over the corset and buttoned it. She pulled on her boots and, as a last touch, traced a line of perfume oil onto the skin above her breasts, which were visible in the opening of the shirt. The scent of freesias filled the room.

  She gave herself a last once-over in the mirror and then folded up her white silk scarf with the frond-trim around the dark bruises on her neck. With a last look behind her, she hoisted up her carpetbag and went downstairs.

  “Good morning.” She dropped her bag by the door of the front parlor.

  Marsh looked up from his newspaper. The smallest flicker of color played across his cheeks before he answered. “Miss Chance. A good morning to you too. Ready?”

  His look sent a ripple of apprehension though her, right to the tips of her fingers. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, keeping her voice even.

  “Well then, without further ado shall we be on our way?” Marsh folded his newspaper, making sure that all the corners lined up. His eyes were calm, even cold. Elle shrugged off her untoward thoughts. She would deal with those later.

  Patrice started gathering the travel bags. He was without a shirt collar and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, showing his beefy forearms.

  “Patrice, why are you not dressed?” she said.

  “I have asked Patrice to stay behind to look after Mrs. Hinges. We don’t want anyone bothering the good lady while we are away. Besides, with one less person, we can carry more water for the boiler.”

  He took up his gloves and hat from the sideboard. “Mrs. Hinges has kindly packed us a spot of lunch for our journey. Jolly good of her, don’t you think?”

  Patrice muttered something very rude in French about how their plan was ill-considered and something about the nether regions of a goat as he hoisted the bags over his shoulder.

  “Are you sure about this?” Elle asked Marsh.

  “Positive,” Marsh said.

  “Don’t worry, little one. This will be over before you know it and we will see each other again very soon.” Despite his light tone, Patrice’s face was drawn tight with anger.

  “Oh, Patrice, I promise we will celebrate together as soon as we get this stupid bracelet off my wrist and bring my father home.” Elle said.

  Patrice gave her a thin smile. “Yes. We will celebrate.”

  “Shall we be on our way, then?” Marsh held the French doors that led from the parlor into the garden open.

  She caught the slight scent of sandalwood as she passed him. He gave her an amused look but, apart from that, he seemed quite unaffected by her.

  “Now, that’s an impressive-looking contraption.” Mrs. Hinges surveyed the gyrocopter with her hands resting on her hips as Marsh and Patrice wheeled it out of the workshop.

  “Heavy too,” Patrice huffed.

  Elle did a quick check on the spark reactor and pulled out the brass crank-handle attached to the engine.

  “My lord, would you be so good as to crank the handle when I tell you to?”

  Marsh cranked the handle, and the reactor came to life with a low hum.

  “Is it working?” Marsh said as Elle emerged from the cockpit.

  “Just waiting for the water to boil.” She smiled at him. “From what I can see, my father has designed a closed-circuit system, which means less steam escapes from the pistons as they move.”

  “Ingenious,” Marsh said drily.

  “It means the machine needs less water and steam to run, which in turn allows for the unit to be sufficiently light to be airborne. Or that is the idea, in case you were wondering.” She let her voice trail off.

  Steam started hissing through the pipes and valves. Elle pulled a new pair of goggles out of her coat pocket and handed them to him. “To wish you well on your first flight,” she said feeling suddenly shy and awkward.

  His face lit up as he took the goggles from her. “Thank you. How very thoughtful of you. I shall cherish them always.” He slipped the goggles round his hat.

  Elle felt her cheeks grow warm and she quickly shoved a folder of papers at him. “You, sir, are navigating. These are my father’s maps of the Continent. I am not sure how well we’ll do with them, but it wouldn’t hurt to have them handy. You will find a compass in the pouch as well.”

  The standby valves started whistling, signaling that the machine was ready.

  He smiled at her. “Well, Miss Chance, I do believe that it is time to go.”

  “I had better try this first before you get in.” She slid into the pilot seat and strapped herself in.

  He slid into the seat next to her. “Oh, no, you’re not. We are going to make history together, you and I.”

  A little distance away, Mrs. Hinges stood next to a scowling Patrice. She waved a lace handkerchief as she watched them.

  Elle closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

  “Stand back!” she yelled. She flicked the switch that operated the propellers, and they came alive with a slow whirr. Faster and faster they turned, churning up bits of sticks and dust.

  She took hold of the steering column and slowly eased the controls forward. The propellers whirred faster and faster, and Mrs. Hinges had to grab hold of Patrice to steady herself against the updrafts of air that formed around them. More bits of debris flew about. Patrice had to duck as a
n old newspaper nearly hit him in the face. The propeller blades gained critical momentum and, with a shudder, the gyrocopter lifted off the ground. It rose up into the air.

  Somewhere down the road, a neighbor’s dogs started howling and Marsh let out an excited whoop in reply.

  Elle looked down at the ground. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Orville Wright!” she yelled.

  The gyrocopter hovered in the air. They were flying.

  “Let’s make a loop around the field first!” She had to shout over the noise of the propeller blades.

  He nodded and made a gesture to indicate a circle. She eased the controls upwards and the gyrocopter gained altitude. It lurched slightly, and then banked to make a big loop through the air.

  Marsh smiled and he gave Elle a thumbs-up.

  “Now let’s see if we can land this thing!” she yelled.

  She made the ’copter hover over a patch of ground outside the workshop and eased the steering downward. The ’copter bucked, wobbled and set itself down on the ground with a thump. Elle shut down the engine. They stared at one another in amazement as above them the whirring blades turned slower and slower.

  Elle suddenly realized that her fingers were aching, and she let go of the steering lever. She sat back in the seat, and smiled a great big triumphant smile. They had been flying, high up in the air in a machine that no person had ever thought possible. And there was no better feeling in the world than that.

  Marsh smiled at her.

  “I think we should have a range of about two hundred miles with the water we have on board,” she said.

  Marsh nodded. “I will keep an eye on the distance.” He made a mark in the margin of the map with his pencil. “I can’t believe we just did that,” he said.

  Patrice and Mrs. Hinges ran up to the gyrocopter. Mrs. Hinges was laughing and dabbing the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. “Oh, your father is such a clever man. I am so proud. I wish he were here to see it.”

  “Are you ready, my lord?” Elle said.

  “I think I am.” He smiled at her and adjusted his goggles.

  She started the engine again. The blades of the gyrocopter started whirring furiously above them.

  They waved to Patrice and Mrs. Hinges to stand back. Elle took hold of the controls and the gyrocopter rose up and into the air.

  Marsh pointed southeast. “To the English Channel, and on to France!” he yelled over the noise and wind of the whirring blades.

  CHAPTER 16

  The girl and the Warlock had mastered the art of flying. They were so proud of themselves; so proud of their skills and the crafty machine that carried them through the air. They did not pay attention to those who were watching them.

  For them, there were far more urgent matters to heed. The girl needed to go to Venice. She needed to follow this path. Much depended on it. Everything depended on it.

  And so we flew across the fields. We flew over the heads of oak and birch and ash and on to the sea.

  The flying machine was faster than anything the girl had ever flown. The Warlock proved to be a surprisingly resourceful co-pilot. Within the first hour they were working together, two bodies moving in unison with one another as if they were dancing.

  The girl worried about the fact that they had no official flight papers. She pointed the nose of the machine well away from the well-flown air paths of other ships, to ensure that they passed unnoticed.

  The Warlock worried about getting lost. He worried about the amounts of water in the tanks. But most of all, he worried about the girl. There were so many secrets he had to tell her.

  Amid all the worry and concentration, the sea eventually made way for land, and more fields and trees.

  From time to time the Warlock and the girl saw people on the ground. Most of them stopped what they were doing and pointed at the flying machine, which sped past over rooftops and trees. But somehow the people on the ground did not matter. They were on their way. And there was no time to waste.

  The sun overhead signaled the arrival of lunchtime. Elle pointed at the dials and yelled, “I need to stop for a while … and we may as well fill up with water!”

  Marsh pointed out a field with a canal running along it below them. With growing confidence, Elle set the gyrocopter near the water. A few floppy-eared cows eyed her warily as the ’copter settled down. Cows apparently had no business with flying machines, and with a few indignant moos, they sauntered off into to opposite corner of the field.

  “You get the picnic basket and I’ll fill the gyrocopter.” Marsh unrolled the hoses and walked over to the canal.

  Elle took the basket and a blanket from the back of the ’copter and spread the latter out on a nice cowpat-free patch of meadow. A few late-summer flowers dotted the long grass. Lacy cow parsley heads bowed gently in the breeze.

  Elle closed her eyes and inhaled the rich smell of grass baking in the sun. Insects buzzed around her, frantically making the best of what the end of summer had left to give.

  Marsh dropped down onto the blanket next to her. She opened her eyes and smiled. To her surprise, the sight of him pleased her.

  “What’s for lunch? I am famished,” he said. The skin around his eyes was faintly marked from his goggles.

  Mrs. Hinges had packed cold ham and chicken sandwiches, a wedge of cheese, a few apples and a couple of flasks of cordial. Elle rooted around inside the basket and pulled out a brown paper parcel of strawberry jam tarts. She smiled at them with pleasure. They were her favorite.

  “Would you like a sandwich, my lord?” She handed him the paper parcel. His fingers brushed her hand as he took it from her.

  “I’m sure we can dispense with formalities now, don’t you think? My name is Hugh.”

  “Very well, then. Hugh,” she said, savoring his name. She bit into her sandwich and they enjoyed their food in companionable silence.

  He finished his sandwich and stretched out. Next to her, she felt his large body extend across the blanket.

  “It’s lovely out here, isn’t it?” she said after a while.

  “Hmm. The sun is nice.” His eyes were closed as he basked in the warmth. He had ridiculously long eyelashes for a man.

  The lazy silence spread around them. Drowsy in the warmth she drifted off, almost asleep. A slow bead of sweat trickled down her rib cage.

  Marsh sat up from the blanket. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, and if it won’t offend your sensibilities, I think I would like to stretch my legs.”

  Elle suppressed an irrational urge to giggle. Well-bred gentlemen were rarely this open about the call of nature. Certainly not the ones she had met while chaperoned by her aunt. The boys in flight school were a different matter, of course, but it seemed strange coming from someone as uptight as Marsh.

  She drifted off in the heat as he walked off to a clump of bushes near the canal. She sighed, happy to put aside the gnawing worry about her father that twisted and turned inside her for a little while. Here in this meadow, it was a lovely day—perfect for flying. Here in the meadow, it was a lovely day—perfect for flying.

  His shadow slid over her as he sat down on the blanket next to her. She kept her eyes half-closed as she watched him pick up an apple and bite into it. His jaw worked steadily as he chewed.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said eventually.

  “By all means,” she said.

  “Do you know what an Oracle is?”

  She sat up, drowsy from the sun. “As in the oracles from classical Greek mythology?”

  “Well, yes.” He looked down at the exposed flesh of his apple.

  “Then I know what an oracle is,” she said.

  “And do you about the Oracle?”

  She snorted and rolled onto her side to face him. “What? Women with scarves on their heads who tell fortunes at parlor party séances?”

  He looked away. “No.” The conversation had suddenly turned awkward.

  “Is that a gun?” he asked, changing the topic. />
  Elle sat up and straightened her shirt. “Better safe than sorry. You never know who you might run into when you’re in a foreign place.”

  “And I assume you know how to use it?”

  “Of course. I bet you I’m a better shot that you are, my lord!”

  He laughed. “I’ll make that wager.” He picked up the cordial bottles and walked across the field to the fence, where he carefully lined them up on the posts.

  “One shot each. Loser sleeps in the gyrocopter tonight.”

  “You’re on.” She handed him the revolver.

  Marsh took a stance and aimed.

  She studied his face. A dark lock of his hair had fallen forward over his brow. Without really knowing why, she reached up and carefully traced it back behind his ear.

  He closed his eyes as her finger moved over his sideburn and over his ear. “If you keep continue doing that, I can’t be held responsible for what I might do next,” he said.

  “And what might you do next?” She laid the gentle challenge down between them.

  He pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the post and the bottle toppled into the grass.

  “Aha! That’s not a direct hit,” she said.

  “It is if you miss,” he answered as he handed her the revolver. “And besides, you cheated.”

  “A lady never cheats.” Elle relaxed her shoulders and took aim. She took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger. A split second later, the remaining bottle exploded into a million bits.

  She let out a whoop of excitement. “So it seems that you take the first watch then this evening,” she said.

  “Well done, madam.” Marsh tipped his hat.

  She curtsied. “Why, thank you.”

  They sat back down on the blanket. “I suppose we had better get a move on. Losers gets to pack up the picnic.” Elle said.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” He leaned over and started tickling her. He smelled of apples and in that moment, she knew he was going to kiss her.