Maddie Hatter and the Deadly Diamond (10 page)

“Hush! All right then. It’s me. And I was desperately hoping not to be recognized. If my father finds out I’ve come to London, I’ll be forced home. Or worse.”

“What could possibly be worse?”

“A convent in the Shetland Islands.”

The magnificent eyes opened wide. “Your secret is safe. Tell me how you escaped.”

Maddie sighed and sank into another armchair, spreading her two-year old skirt and wishing she dared appear, just once more, in a properly fitted gown of some decadent fabric.

“All right, but it’s not something I recommend. I stole clothing and a satchel from my maid, covered the bronze in my hair with brown shoe-polish, and stowed away on a runabout that was moored near the Admiralty. They thought I was a servant, one who was late for duty. I ended up working for a strange lady botanist as her lab assistant, on a trip halfway around the world. When that one ended, she helped me negotiate a peace with my father and I got a job as a Fashionista. But only on condition I never be recognized by any of my father’s acquaintance. I’m doomed if you tell anyone you saw me.”

The ravishing teal lips turned up at the corners. “I’m not acquainted with your father, darling. It doesn’t count. But did you really make enough to live on that way? No wonder you haven’t any gowns worthy of your name.”

“I have some older gowns, retrieved from London last fall. As for money . . .” She explained about the allowance, and stressed again how vital it was that her father not learn she had come to London. Her entire future was at the mercy of this strikingly beautiful, bored woman. Would Serephene betray her for a moment’s excitement?

The other girl was thinking deeply, but not about that, for she said a moment later, “I’d like to dress you for evening anyway. Humour me, would you? As you may surmise from my current attire—which you must never describe in your fashion columns lest my papa hear of it—I long to design clothing that emphasize a woman’s unique nature and personality rather than reinforcing her conformity to the expectations of her class and family.”

“Won’t your papa hear of it from the crew?”

Serephene’s magnificent eyes opened wide again. “Never! They’ve been my kind protectors since my earliest tottering footsteps. For Papa, you see, has the erratic temper of many creative persons and did not always moderate his language or behavior out of consideration for his children.”

Maddie counted herself fortunate for once: her father, stern though he unquestionably was, had resolutely lived up to his clear and oft-stated guiding principles as the head of his household. You always knew where you stood with him.

Her hostess was looking her up and down. “I see you in . . . crimson. Something practical, that you’ll feel good in. Silk would pack well, if you’re continuing your adventures.”

A new silk gown! Whether Serephene’s idea of practical would accord with the reality of Maddie’s working image remained to be seen, but to say no to a new dress? It could not be done. Maddie nodded.

Serephene sprang to her booted feet, one hand fluffing her teal bustle. “I’ll fetch my tape measure and a few lengths of fabric for a pattern. And the most modest gown in my wardrobe for you to wear tonight at dinner. The new one won’t be made until we reach London. You will have to see me again to collect it.” She surprised Maddie further by clutching her in a fierce hug before dashing out, yelling for her maid.

“Well,” said Maddie to TD as she took off her hat at last. “That was unexpected. I do hope she can be trusted. Now, I’m going to take advantage of that library next door to look up old news on those cherished friends of Baron Bodmin, something I have not had time for since this whole affair began. You can fly around in here as long as you hide when someone comes in. These Artificer types would have you apart in a tick-tock to find out how you work, and that secret is not ours to share.”

In the library, she settled into one of the pillowy chairs and pushed the blue button. The ceiling panel opened above her, a pole descended, and the monkey climbed down it, hand over paw, just like a living creature. It sat on the wide chair-arm and looked up at Maddie with mischievous brown eyes. A short circus tune jingled. The monkey chortled as it opened its vest with its own paws and demonstrated what each of the buttons did. This was far more capable machinery than any public monkey. Clearly Artificer families kept the best creations for themselves.

After a bit of playing around with the controls, Maddie came up with every mention of Colonel Muster in the past six months. The sum total of reports confirmed what she already knew: he was retired, he gambled, he spent Christmas in Cairo, and he’d vanished from London around the time the baron’s airship was found. Searches for Mrs. Midas-White brought nothing beyond the report that had so infuriated Maddie. For the professors she found just two articles, a week apart, showing their bad blood still simmering. Both articles were published before the baron’s body came ashore.

The University Times

WINDY BROWN GASSING AGAINST PROFESSOR PLUMB

A new wrinkle arose in the mysterious case of the missing baron, when American Windsor Jones leveled a public accusation at Professor Polonius Plumb of Cambridge for the theft of his research into the fabled Eye of Africa mask.

Interviewed at the Royal Air Arms Club in London, where he has visiting-veteran privileges, Jones stated, “We both attended the same conference in New York City. We came to England on the same airship. He was in my stateroom for drinks. I showed him the map I’d worked out from years of studying tribal legends. I put it into my book trunk right in front of him, and next day the whole trunk had vanished. As soon as I heard that baron guy was on the trail of the Eye of Africa, I knew the prof had shanghai’d my research for him. When I catch up to Plumb, I’ll fix him good. And if that baron makes it back alive, I’ll punch him right in the schnoz!”

Professor Plumb, not unexpectedly, had proclaimed his innocence.

The Goggles Grapevine

EVIL EYE DIAMOND GLOWS RED SAYS PROF

Scotland Yard today confirmed there is no case against Professor Polonius Plumb for the theft of Windy Jones’ trunk. “Our only possible witness to any sale has gone missing,” said Chief Inspector Snidely Bellows. “You know, that chap whose airship was just found floating off the South Coast. Without him or the trunk, we’ve got nothing.”

Plumb proclaimed his innocence and demonstrated his expert knowledge with a long, technical explication of the geological processes by which other rare minerals are compressed into the midst of a diamond to form a so-called ‘bloodshot diamond’ such as that rumoured to be part of the Eye of Africa mask.

“As for it glowing red when touched by an evil man’s blood, that’s likely a trick of refracted light when the mask is held at the proper angle.”

When the American academic’s threat was quoted to him, Plumb said, “Jones yearns to discredit me because I held out for his expulsion from Oxford after that disgraceful incident. If he dares lay a violent hand on me, I’ll have him up on charges. Immediately after a sharp lesson in British pugilism.”

The professor is departing today for Bodmin Manor in Cornwall. While awaiting news of his friend’s fate, he intends to catalogue the baron’s papers for his university.

If anything of Jones’ was found with Baron Bodmin’s papers, Plumb’s reputation would be sunk. Maybe that’s why Plumb was on his way to Cornwall: to destroy any evidence connecting him with the theft. He was at least temporarily out of Maddie’s reach. Jones was who knew where, and Colonel Muster likely dead in some lonely wood, or wherever old soldiers went to die. If Mrs. Midas-White didn’t give an interview, there was no avenue in London to avail Maddie’s journalistic aspirations. She could only hope Madame had a lead for her about the imposter, or she had thrown away her entire newspaper career and risked her father’s wrath for nothing at all.

The lovely pale teal gown Serephene sent in for her to wear to dinner did little to cheer her despite its modish tulle neckline and the intricate leaf-work swooping around the skirt.

Forty hours later, Maddie was in London, saying goodbye to the excited nieces and to Serephene. In addition to the evening gown, the latter had unearthed last Season’s conservative blue walking suit from her older sister’s wardrobe on board, and insisted on Maddie taking it to match the blue hat “with the bird on it.” Thus Maddie was modishly prepared for England, and could walk into a professional women’s hostelry in London with her head high.

But not Claridge’s Hotel. Both outfits looked a smidge too much like her old self for that. Conveyed to Paddington Station in an Aquatiempe steam coupe that wove through traffic faster than any horse-drawn coach could manage, she checked her luggage for the day and walked the few blocks to Brooks Mews at the rear of the hotel. The staff entrance was busy, with maids and footmen, cooks and porters all popping in and out. She followed a pretty maid in a black dress and starched white cap to the maids’ dressing room. It was the work of moments to find a uniform from a rack, an apron from a shelf, and a cap from the stand beneath the room’s only mirror. Stuffing notebook and journalist card into the uniform pocket, and stashing her hat, suit, and handbag far back on an upper shelf, she settled TD into her cleavage and drew up the apron’s bib to hide him. Then she followed the clatter of pots to the kitchens.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” she said to the first waiter she saw. “My mistress would like a coffee tray brought up for her visitors. Where can I get one?”

“New, are you? This way.” He hustled past her to a long row of brass cylinders along one wall. Beneath them were open metal racks containing coffee and tea services on trays. “Coffee from the black handles. Brown handles are tea. Cream and milk in the ivory and white. Mind your hands when the steam first releases.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She fitted up a tray with two cups and started up the back stairs, dodging footmen as they hurried down. On every guest floor, she knew from previous stays, there was a butler’s pantry, where the kitchen dumbwaiter brought hot meals up, and each one had a listing of that floor’s occupants. She would soon locate Mrs. Midas-White.

Starting on the first guest floor with its airships-in-flight woven carpets, she scanned the butler’s blackboard. No Midas-White. She hurried up the servants’ stair to the next floor. As she stepped out onto the cog-and-gear carpet there, a woman dressed all in black, from button-boots to veiled hat, left the ascender opposite. Maddie kept her eyes down and hurried toward the butler’s pantry, only to hear the woman call out.

“Maddie?”

Maddie kept walking.

“Madeleine Main-Bearing. Does your father know where you are?”

FROM BEHIND MADDIE
came a peculiar whistle. Her bosom fluttered. Literally fluttered, as TD tried to scramble out from her apron. He chirped, loud and distinctly out of place in the stately hotel’s corridor. With both hands on the coffee tray, she could neither stop him nor shush him. She could only hurry away.

When TD reached the top of the apron, he launched himself back down the corridor. Maddie turned. The little bird had landed on the woman in black’s shoulder and was rubbing his bronze beak against the veiled cheek. He would only do that for one person.

“Madame Taxus-Hemlock?”

“Yes, dear.” Madame subdued TD with a touch on his cocked head. “Come along to my parlour. Unless you really have taken a job here, in which case deliver the coffee first.”

“I can fetch more any time.” Maddie followed along the gear-patterned carpet to a large corner suite. Madame unlocked the door and held it for her to pass through into the small foyer. On one side was a large parlour, with a steam-grate set into the old hearth, a pair of wing chairs before it, and a dining area besides. On the other side a door into Madame’s bedchamber stood ajar. Maddie set down the tray. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Madame released TD as her own Birdie, a swallow twice TD’s size, zoomed in from the bedchamber to meet his little compatriot. The two clockworks whizzed around the ceiling fan together, swooped through the plumes in a tall vase, and soared up to perch on a curtain rod from which they could eye the coffee tray. Madame sat by the hearth and accepted a cup and saucer.

Maddie poured her own coffee, liberally sweetened. “Obie said you were in Frankfurt for the dueling. Did anybody die this year?”

“You know we discourage dueling to the death in these enlightened times. Novice rules only. Less exciting but far safer for modern young ladies. Now, tell me everything about your investigations. I’ve had only Mr. O’Reilly’s brief reports to gauge your progress.”

Maddie sat opposite and summarized for Madame her final week in Cairo, beginning with Baron Bodmin’s disappearance and going on to the discovery that the widow had fled Egypt with both the merchant’s jewels and her own visiting cards. The baron’s confirmed death and Colonel Muster’s disappearance got a mention in context of her thwarted byline dream.

“After all this upheaval, I have no byline and possibly no job at all. I must find that woman and induce her to stop using my name. Obie said you had investigated her time in Venice; do you know her real name yet?”