Maddie Hatter and the Deadly Diamond (19 page)

Colonel Muster leapt to the deck. Adoring passengers clustered around the aeronautical daredevil. The messenger craft reversed its sling-bound journey back up to storage inside the envelope. After a while the fuss died down. Maddie’s basket was eventually emptied of reading material, and she spent the next hours running back and forth to fetch items for passengers. On one such foray, she came out of a First Class parlour stateroom with a knitting basket, just as a woman in a brown walking suit stepped out of the next door along.

Lady Sarah! In First Class after all.

As Maddie stepped back into the doorway, eyes downcast to avoid notice, the next piece clicked into place. The stateroom Lady Sarah had just left belonged to Mrs. Midas-White. What was she up to? Still staring at the back of the brown suit as it paced smoothly away, Maddie started off in the other direction with the knitting.

She hadn’t gone three steps before bumping into someone. She dropped the bag. Bright balls of yarn began to unroll down the sky-blue carpet, skittering hither and yon with the airship’s gentle sway. She scrambled after them, and only realized who she had bumped into when Mrs. Midas-White’s brass claws dug into her shoulder.

“You! Girl. What’s your name?”

“H-Hatley, Ma’am. Maggie Hatley.”

“You weren’t watching your steps. You’ll be off this ship at the next port if there’s a single other demerit on your record.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Mrs. Midas-White walked back into her stateroom and shut the door, leaving Maddie on the carpet staring after her.

“Gorgon,” she muttered.

“
I TELL YOU
, Obie,” she hissed outside the mess-hall later, “they were both in that stateroom at the same time.
Together
. There’s more going on here than meets the oculus.”

“Didn’t Madame say the lady reported to the gorgon while in Cairo? Could they have been working together all along?”

Maddie raised a doubting eyebrow. “Would any woman marry a weed like Sir Ambrose as part of a job?”

“You’re a woman; you tell me.” Obie frowned, working out the permutations. “If they were after the mask together, it makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“The reflective courier airship was hired from a White Sky subsidiary. I didn’t think much of it at the time, because anyone can hire those ships. But Mrs. Midas-White’s own cruiser was conveniently standing off when the other one swooped over the rooftop. I thought it had gone for refueling but . . .”

“If they were in it together, then she may have handed over the Eye of Africa already. That would explain why Mrs. Midas-White was suddenly eager to leave England instead of pursuing her lawsuit.”

“Or,” said Obie, pulling her aside as exhausted chambermaids trooped past for supper, “Lady Sarah still has it and is bargaining for a better price.”

“Either way, would they kill the baron to arrive at this point, or was their charade at Bodmin Manor a reaction to his unexpected death at someone else’s hands?” Maddie leaned against the wall and put her hands to her temples. “I don’t see either of them staging the killing so elaborately. Pushing him down the stairs at his home would be much more convenient, and what would they care if the trunk full of Jones’ research was found there? It would only throw suspicion back on Jones.”

Obie’s stomach rumbled ominously. “We’re not solving anything standing here. Let’s eat. Afterward we may be able to track the lady to her chamber. Who knows? She may give us straight answers once she sees the jig’s up?”

“I doubt she knows what a straight answer is. But maybe I can coerce her into giving back my visiting cards. At least then she won’t wring any more free rides out of them.” Maddie lifted away from the wall, shaking out her tired shoulders. “As for the murderer, we won’t know that until we learn who received Baron Bodmin’s telegram. What’s the earliest Madame can get a message to us without going through the ship’s telegraph operator?”

“Fifteen hours. We’ll be cruising south along the North American coast by then. Hawks could find us any time from dawn onward.”

Maddie was sure she’d stay awake all night, plotting what to say when she finally confronted the false Madeleine Main-Bearing, but two days on the hop around the ship had worn her out. She slept hard in the airless little dormitory allotted to crew members, and woke reluctantly when the first gong sounded throughout the crew cabins. A fresh breeze wafted along the corridor from somewhere; definitely warmer than yesterday. When she descended to a deck with windows she saw, to starboard and down a thousand feet or so, a handful of small airships puttering along above a rocky coastline. No buildings, much less cities, were visible. They must be just off Canada.

The crew members in the mess hall were paying into the pool on first sight of the Statue of Liberty, with odds strongest for teatime this afternoon. Everyone looked forward to shore leave in America’s largest port. Everyone except Maddie, who could not worry about a future beyond the confrontation that must happen today.

“What if I don’t manage to tackle her?” she half-whispered to Obie. “Once she’s ashore, we’ll lose her for good!”

He nodded. “Too many solo women this trip. I’ve said ‘brown suit, brown hair’ to every steward and waiter on board, and the unvaried answer is ‘which one?’” He raised his voice. “Any of you taken meals to a woman in Second Class?” Everyone looked, but nobody answered. After a moment the hum of conversation went on just as before. “So much for that. We’ll just have to keep our eyes open. I’m on duty outside the Public Rooms. If she appears near the library, dining room, lounge, or spa, I’ll risk sending TC to alert you. Keep your eyes peeled in the stateroom corridors. Hover in the serving pantries when you can, to watch comings and goings.”

Maddie put her hand into her pocket, checking on TD and, latterly, her notebook. With its jottings, she could work up a nice article about trans-oceanic airship travel for some magazine or other. Maybe, if she couldn’t solve the murder or confront the imposter to kick-start her career in investigative journalism, there might be a future for her in travel writing.

The immediate future, however, was one of delivering breakfast trays in First Class, collecting them again, and pausing often to aid the ladies in locating misplaced fans or re-lacing a boot when their own maids were absent. She tried to school her features during these menial tasks; she too had once been accustomed to calling for service rather than doing the least thing for herself. A long time ago, it seemed now. Dodging an inspection tour by Mrs. Midas-White, which was attended by Colonel Muster and seemingly every ship’s officer not immediately needed elsewhere, she hurried the last tray into the service pantry.

While she was in there, Obie stopped by. “Message from Madame. The Jamaica Inn telegraph went to a message drop at the Royal Air Arms Club in St. James Street, London. Colonel Muster was a member until his recent disgrace, and Windy Jones had visitors’ privileges due to some youthful service scouting in Mexico. She’s looking into which of them might have been in residence then. They’re both on this ship and at least one of them is armed. You need to steer clear until we figure this out.”

“I’m more interested in Sarah than in them. Since she’s not a killer, I’m safe confronting her.”

“You don’t know how far she’ll go if she’s cornered. Send for me if you need help.” Obie touched her cheek with one finger. “Yes, I know you’re a modern, independent woman. I just want you to be safe.” Maddie smiled at him and slipped out the door. Satisfied that Lady Sarah was not anywhere in that section, she moved to the next deck up.

She had barely set foot on the runner-covered catwalk that served as the Second-Class hallway floor when she saw a brown-haired, brown-suited woman stepping carefully down into the next stairwell. She whirled on the spot. Grabbing the steep railings with both hands, she swung herself down five steps and another five to the level she had just left. A moment’s straightening of her sky-blue uniform and starched white cap, and she was stepping out of the First Class stairwell just as her quarry passed.

Back straight, skirts swaying gently, Lady Sarah trod the hall toward the bow. At Mrs. Midas-White’s door she stopped. After tapping and waiting while Maddie passed her to enter the next serving pantry, she did something at the handle and stepped inside the stateroom. The door closed.

Maddie pulled TD from her pocket. “Listen,” she commanded. “Obie, she’s in the gorgon’s stateroom. Where is the gorgon?”

She added an injunction to TD to stay near the ceilings and escape through an outside window rather than risk capture. The little bird skimmed the gilt-touched ceiling mouldings toward the stern, leaving her to gather up a stack of fresh, white table linens. She carried this across the corridor, gave a perfunctory tap at Mrs. Midas-White’s door and walked in.

LADY SARAH WAS
not in the parlour. Bedchamber and balcony doors stood open. A breeze from outside stirred the draperies and fluttered the plumes that stood in a brass urn beside them. Maddie put the stack of tablecloths and napkins on the dining table and, thankful for thick carpeting that muffled her footsteps, stepped up to the open bedchamber door, where a faint tapping originated.

The nefarious imposter was once again searching for hidden panels. This time she stood on the vast bed with its signature sky-blue coverlet and clouds of white pillows. As Maddie drew breath to announce herself, a section of walnut veneer slid aside under Sarah’s hand. Inside was a small wall safe, to which the schemer applied a brass box. She fixed an armature to the safe’s dial. A whirr, a lilac glow, and an audible clunk signaled the lock had been breached. One dainty white hand detached the box while the other opened the safe door. On the top shelf lay a velvet bag, and a leather coin sack, and a double stack of banknotes. Underneath were jewel cases and a sheaf of papers.

Sarah ignored everything but the bag. She tugged the drawstring and pulled out a dark object, as thick as two hands pressed palm to palm and as large around as a human face. It was polished ebony, set with white shells, and streaked with dried brownish stains. A gem on its forehead sparkled in the light from the balcony.

The Eye of Africa.

The imposter was caught in the very act of stealing the legendary mask. What was that legend about evildoers’ blood? It did not glow red when she touched it, but then, even if the legend were true, Sarah’s blood was safe within her skin. Evil as she undoubtedly was, the mask did not need to denounce her. Maddie would be more than happy to ensure she did not escape this time.

“I’ll be summoning Security, madam.”

Sarah turned so fast her shoe snagged on a pillow. Flailing for balance, she took in Maddie’s sky-blue uniform and relaxed.

“No need, girl. I am retrieving this for the owner.”

“I doubt that.” Maddie stepped further into the room and shut the door behind her. “She didn’t give you the combination.”

“There’s lots of money in here too. How much would it take for you to go away and forget you saw me?” Sarah eased off the bed and stood, shaking out her skirts with one hand. The diamond winked in the other. If it had red in its heart, Maddie could not tell. But what other diamond could be of such size, in such a mask?

“You have something I want more than money.”

“You can’t have this mask.” Sarah stepped away from the bed. Would she make a break for the balcony?

“Yet you must have given it to Mrs. Midas-White,” said Maddie, feeling behind her for the door latch, wishing she had not been in such haste to shut the woman in. “In exchange for passage to America, by any chance?”

“She promised to pay me for months of work. Now she’s reneging.” Lady Sarah darted out the balcony door. Maddie wrenched open the door behind her, leaped out, and caught the thief by the arm as the woman raced through the parlour. She swung Sarah around and yanked the mask from her hand.

As she backed away, Sarah grabbed at it. “Give it back. I earned it.”

“I don’t care about the mask,” said Maddie, and was surprised to find it true. Now that she had the imposter in her sights, all her mind was bent on one object: to prevent her ever using the Main-Bearing identity again. “I want the visiting cards you stole from me in Cairo, and your promise never to use that identity again.”

“Cairo?” Sarah lowered her arms and regarded Maddie with her head a-tilt. “Which cards exactly? I acquired a few.”

“They were in my inkwell.” Maddie sidled, putting an armchair between her and the thief. “In my chamber, down the corridor from yours.”

“Inkwell.” Sarah’s eyes flickered while she thought. “Oh, yes. A steamlord’s daughter. Useful identity, that. I don’t see why we can’t share it.” She too shifted position.

“I will not share it.”

“The trail would be more confused if we were using it at the same time on different continents.” Sarah sounded eminently reasonable.

“That is my identity.” Maddie’s voice slipped into the autocratic tone of one who has largely been obeyed since birth.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “Oh my gears and goggles!
You
are the Honourable Madeleine Main-Bearing?”