Shadow Conspiracy (30 page)

“I shouldn’t dream of passing remarks—”

“I am blue.”

“Er, a very attractive pale blue.”

“But not sufficiently attractive?
Je regrette.”

“It was never my intention to make light of your situation.”

“
Mais non
, it is I who make light. If one may not laugh in adversity, life—or death—becomes very long indeed.”

“Your fortitude does you credit.”

“
Absurde.
And now to bed. M’sieur Soames is positive he wishes no additional service?”

“Ileen, really! You must not speak so saucily!”

“Oh, we are special, we two.”

“In this respect we are different, Ileen! An automaton is well-educated in the laws of decorum, A—a—”

“Promethean?
Zombi?
Corpse-monster? How do the English call me? The laws of decorum float outside my mind, as it were, in the bubble of my past life. I am aware of them, but I do not regard them. I feel driven to break them all, now, while I may, so that when—if—I am dragged back into my old class and my old decorum, I have at least amused myself with some little disobediences.”

“Disobedience is unwelcome in a servant, Ileen.”

“So I perceive. And yet, one may get away with a certain amount of...sauciness!”

“Good night, Ileen.”

“
Bon soir
, M’sieur Soames.”

“Good evening, Soames. Did your mistress go off to her meeting all right, then?”

“Yes, sir. Er, Dr. Penderby—”

“Well, Soames? She didn’t ask about my movements tonight, did she?”

“No, sir. But I discovered a piece of information that might interest—”

“About Mrs. Penderby? What?”

“No, sir. About the new maid, Ileen. The, er—”

“Promethean. Although with Mrs. Penderby out of the room I can say corpse-monster if I choose.”

“Sir, she is no monster.”

“No indeed. Pretty little thing, apart from the arm.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the blue skin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose she must have suffocated.”

“Or drowned, sir. That may be my information. You recall when we removed to the Swiss mountains for three months, for Mrs. Penderby’s health?”

“Vividly. The only decent thing I got out of it was meeting Polidari himself, that stormy weekend.”

“Precisely. It is of the storm I would speak. You may recall that a pleasure boat foundered in the storm, and several lives were lost. Among them, sir, was a young princess from Wittgenstein. Princess Elena.”

“Hm.”

“All they ever found, sir, was one arm, wearing her rings. It was assumed she fell into the lake and became entangled with the paddlewheel, which severed the limb, thus causing her demise.”

“Great heavens, Soames! You think our new maid is the missing princess?”

“Just a feeling, sir. The arm. And she mentioned that she comes from Wittgenstein. She also speaks of having ‘waked upon the stone,’ and, hearing men speaking around her, she fled.”

“Great Scott!”

“Additionally, sir, I fancy that I recognize her. She was much present in our
hôtel
during our stay.”

“What, not that fashionable minx with the yaller hair? My word. That
is
interesting. Whitlake and Danton will be fascinated. Did she say whose soul they meant to translate into her?”

“That is another mystery, sir. Perhaps your theory is correct, and the soul departs the body before its worldly knowledge vanishes.”

“Or dissolves. Or fades. I wonder if she can remember anything between death and the slab? Oh, not consciously. But perhaps under mesmerism she might be made to recall—”

“Sir, I should suggest—”

“Danton is a decent mesmerist. I must suggest it to him.”

“There’s the doorbell, sir.”

“Quick, go get them inside before the other servants see them.”

“Immediately, sir. Oh, dear.”

“—Apparently
before
they were able to shove another soul into her body! What do you say to that, Penderby?”

“This would be Polidori’s translator?”

“Sir—”

“I must assume so. Who else was at the Work on that lake that week? She must have been very fresh, too. Clewis has narrowed the persistence of the energy body to seventy-two hours, and Polidori himself says the soul moves on much sooner. I’ll have to write to him and find out.”

“Sir—”

“Dammit, let’s have the girl down here and question her. Soames, go get her.”

“Sir, the maids have all gone to bed by now.”

“Oh. Well, for something like this surely we can hoik her out—”

“And Madam will be returning within the hour.”

“Damn.”

“Precisely, sir.”

“She’d chuck a dozen fits.”

“It also occurs to me, sir, that the maid Ileen may be painfully adverse to exploring her past—”

“Don’t forget, she’s a princess, Penderby.”

“Was.
Was
a princess, Whitlake. Maybe.”

“And if her soul or any portion of her identity survives, we could be—it might behoove us to tread carefully—”

“Good thinking, Danton. Potentially political situation. I’ll tell you what, I’ll write Clewis. He was up at the lake that week. If Polidari was up to anything, he would know.”

“Penderby, you don’t think they got hold of Her Highness’s corpse and deliberately—”

“Well, there she was, dead. And fresh as a daisy.”

“Very lucky chance, really.”

“Sort of thing doesn’t happen more than twice in a scientist’s lifetime.”

“Twice, Whitlake? I should have thought once.”

“Twice, three times, whatever. Some of us make our own luck.”

“So I’ll write Clewis, shall I? Ask casually about the death of the princess, was she acquainted with Polidori, sort of thing.”

“And have him across the Channel in forty seconds by the clock. You are an ass, Penderby.”

“Only if she’s one of his escapees.”

“And have him confiscate her before we’ve had a look!”

“Sir, if Madam should learn of Ileen’s precise origins, she might, er, choose to become the girl’s champion.”

“My God. You’re right. Not a word about this to my wife, Soames.”

“Sir, I find it increasingly uncomfortable to—”

“To what? Dammit, man, out with it!”

“To function on—on conflicted ground between you, sir.”

“You like your place, do you?”

“Shut up, Whitlake.”

“It upsets my mandate, sir.”

“He’s an automaton, remember, Whitlake? Penderby mandated him to obey them both.”

“Danton’s right, Penderby, you’re an ass. Man’s got to be supreme in his home, what?”

“Soames, I don’t mean to upset your mandate, but I don’t want to upset Mrs. Penderby either.”

“Don’t want a tongue-lashing, more like,”

“Couldn’t you simply...abstain from informing her? How bad would it be?”

“It gives me a—a tummyache, sir.”

“Oh,
well
. We can’t give a bloody butler a tummyache. What the hell’s the point of building your own servants if you give ‘em a conscience, Penderby, you ass?”

“I never did!”

“Well, he’s getting one now.”

“He has a tummyache!”

“It gives my wife a headache.”

“That’s not conscience, it’s hysteria.”

“The soul manifests its existence in many ways, Danton.”

“
Pompous
ass, Penderby. Under the cat’s foot, too. How the devil you can call yourself a scientist—“

“I believe I hear a carriage, sir. If you will permit me, I will go and open the door for Madam.”

“Oh, Lord. You’ll have to sneak out the back, gentlemen.”

“Master in your own home, Penderby, there’s nothing like it.”

“She’s a founder of the SBDH.”

“Back door it is.”

“Out of my way, Danton!”

“Oh, Mr Soames! So horrible! Come quickly!”

“Calm yourself, Cook. What is the matter?”

“Mr Soames, it’s the hape. ‘E’s gone and accosted Margie!”

“Oh, dear.”

“Hurry!”

“Hurrying, Cook.”

“EEEEEEEEEE!”

“Urgh! Urgh urgh! Eek ahk ahk urgh!”

“Great heavens.”

“They been and done and smashed up my whole kitchen, sir. My dinner will be ruined! I don’t know what I’ll tell Mrs. Penderby! Oo, duck, sir!”

“Ducking. Calm yourself, Cook. Have you any toffee?”

“EEEEEE!”

“Toffee? Why—here’s a bit, sir—but—”

“Ourgh!”

“Thank you. And send for Ileen—ah, there you are. Now I will endeavor to distract him. I will require you, Ileen, to abstract the kitchen maid from the orangutan’s embrace. Are you ready?”

“Duck!”

“Mmmp. Mmm. Mmmmm!”

“
Soyez tranquille
, Marguerite. Clearly, your
maman
neglected your education. If you had pinched him—just here—”

“Mmmoomp!”

“Well done, Ileen.”

“Eeeee—oh. You pinched him on the—”

“Ah, Madame Penderby, you need not have come down the stairs. All is well. M’sieur Soames has subdued the beast.”

“Goodness, what a mess!”

“Mrs. Penderby, if you would be so good as to remove Margie. She has the hiccups.”

“Hic! Ulp! He—it—ulp! Hic! I’m giving notice!—”

“And I’d like to give my notice, too, ma’am.”

“Oh, no, not you, too, Cook!”

“Mmmmmmm! Urgh!”

“Cook, have we no more toffee? How about humbugs?”

“Well, there’s my personal store in the bureau—”

“That will do nicely.”

“Oh, but sir, my own humbugs!”

“
Merveilleuse!
Cook has saved the day! And look, she has even sherry for calming Marguerite!
Splendide!”

“Oh, well—Missus Penderby, sherry for you too?”