The Chess Queen Enigma (18 page)

“What was the date of that event?” Mina asked.

“The tenth of February, last year. Or before dawn, in the early morning of the eleventh.” I held my breath, because I knew her response would answer at least one of my questions.

“My mother left on the eleventh of February, last year. At least, that was the last time I saw her. That morning. I
did
see her, Evaline. She was alive. Had I known it would be the last time . . .” Her voice trailed off in an uncharacteristic fashion.

I felt a wave of relief, so tangible I trembled. Now I met her eyes in the mirror. I made sure she saw my gratitude, for I didn't trust myself to speak.

She nodded, then turned to dig in a box of hair pins. “What was . . . she like? As Siri?”

A rush of something like pity surprised me. Of course she would wonder, and be curious. And not just because she was a Holmes.

Being a mother and a lady of Society was commonplace and natural. But being a woman of physical action, of cunning and strategic hand-to-hand combat—things that only men did, and few as well as Siri—was so foreign to anything Mina or I would have known if things had been different.

“She was brilliant. She moved so quickly and gracefully.”

“She was an excellent dancer,” Mina said with a small laugh. “At least, so I've heard.”

“She was a demanding taskmaster too. She made me work hard, and study history and facts about my family. I practiced for hours every day—most of the time without her. And I had to read a lot too, which I didn't like as much. But she came nearly every day to work with me. She could always tell when I hadn't spent enough time practicing or studying.” I bit my lip. I realized then that the moments Siri spent with me were moments she could have been spending with Mina. “Did you do a lot of . . . things with her? Shop? Um . . . talk?” What would Mina do with her mother? “Go to parties?” That was a ridiculous question. I groaned inwardly. The last thing I wanted to do was make this awkward conversation even more awkward.

“No. Not very often. She did take me shopping on occasion; I believe I learned how to dress from her. That's how I came to know of that modiste off Fleet-street, in Chewston-alley. The one whose work is all the latest of Street-Fashion. I always thought it odd she liked that shop, for it wasn't particularly her style.”

“You still haven't told me the name of it,” I said, in an effort to lighten the mood.

“It's called Lady Thistle's. It's on the third street-level.”

I wanted to ask more questions—about how her beautiful, social mother ended up married to someone like Sir
Mycroft—but someone knocked on the bedchamber door. Mrs. Raskill poked her head in.

“There is an individual here who wishes to speak with you.”

Mina frowned. “I am not available. Please take their card and inform the person I shall be in touch tomorrow.” When Mrs. Raskill left, grumbling, my friend said, “I am not about to receive anyone dressed in this fashion. And would it hurt Mrs. Raskill to use a pronoun when she announces a visitor?”

This time Mrs. Raskill didn't knock. She merely looked around the open door. “The individual is insistent and will not leave. I was given this.” She offered a small ivory card with fancy red printing on it.

Sighing, Mina walked over to accept the card. When she looked down at it, her eyes widened in shock. “Good gad. Princess Lurelia is here!”

T
here was nothing for it; Mina had to receive Lurelia. One couldn't turn away a princess—especially one who traveled to one's door . . . in a
hired hackney
? I gaped as the vehicle rolled off down the street as soon as the princess stepped inside.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Mina said.

“Mina! Evaline! You are both here. I'm very pleased.” Lurelia seemed slightly less awkward than usual. When she took note of how we were dressed, her expression changed even more. “Are you . . . you are wearing very odd clothing.”

“Please, have a seat.” My companion neatly ignored the implied question. “May I offer you some refreshments?”

“Oh, no, I'm not the least bit hungry.” The princess chose not to sit down, but instead to walk through the front room toward the kitchen. “What a quaint home.”

“Thank you.” Mina gave me a look that, for her, was rather amusing. I'd never seen her look so discombobulated.
“What brings you to my . . . er . . . quaint home? Did you . . . er . . . travel without escort?”

“Oh, yes. Lord Regent Terrence is busy tonight—he is with your father, I believe, Mina, doing something boringly political. I sneaked out the back of the hotel and hired a—what do you call them? Taxi? Yes, a taxi. I'm here because I wish for you to entertain me this evening. Princess Alexandra assured me you would be available whenever I wished, and I wish to be entertained tonight.”

“But . . . erm . . .” Mina looked helplessly at me. If I hadn't been in the midst of the same predicament, I would have found her expression hilarious.

“Where are you going dressed in that fashion? Are you pretending to be men? I shall do the same. It will be a grand adventure. I have always wanted to wear trousers!”

“But . . . erm . . . Your Highness, it's not quite—”

Lurelia lifted her chin and gave us an imperiously royal look. She was almost more frightening than my sister-in-law, Florence, when she got annoyed with me. “I wish it, Mina. I should not want to report to Princess Alexandra that you disappointed me—or her.
Again
.”

“But, Lurelia . . . where we are going is not quite . . . well, it isn't precisely the best location for a young, affianced
princess
to—”

Lurelia lifted her chin, and for the first time, I saw a real spark of emotion there. “If you do not take me with
you—dressed as you are, on whatever adventure you are going—then I shall follow you. All on my own.”

And that was how the three of us ended up in a carriage disguised as young men.

Mina still looked mildly nauseated, but I was beginning to appreciate the humor in the situation.

“Besides wanting entertainment tonight,” Lurelia said as our carriage made its way from Grosvenor to Pall Mall, “I have another request of you.”

I had a feeling her idea of a request was more like a command, but I kept that thought to myself.

“We are happy to serve you in any way, Your Highness.” Mina's words were smooth, but I saw the trepidation in her eyes.

How ironic that what we'd—or at least I'd—anticipated being a dull, quiet assignment might yet turn out to be quite amusing.

“You must help me find the chess queen.”

Mina relaxed a trifle. “The letter describing its probable location is missing, but presumably you have made a copy of it.”

“Correct.” Lurelia seemed pleased.

“Why do you want to find the chess queen?”

The princess's gaze darted away. “I'm to exchange it for some . . . letters. Letters that I . . . wrote.”

“Ah.” Mina and I exchanged glances. Blooming fish, this was going to be a mess!

Nevertheless, my companion nodded. “Of course I—we—will assist you to find the chess queen, provided it is still to be found. It has, after all, been missing for centuries. But I am afraid I cannot allow you to give it up to the perpetrator of this blackmail scheme.”

“But—”

“Your Highness, you must trust me. I am a Holmes. We will find the chess queen and we will unmask your blackmailer and retrieve those letters for you.” Mina didn't seem to realize—or care—that she'd interrupted a princess. I decided not to point this out. Mina interrupted everyone.

“Very well.” The princess smiled behind her false mustache. Mina had made certain to hide as much of the girl's face as possible behind bushy sideburns, thick hair, and a mustache. “Now, will you teach us how to play the game you call poke?”

“Er . . . poker. Yes, but you must learn quickly, for we have nearly arrived at our destination.”

Although the sign for Bridge & Stokes was at the third street-level above the ground, I discovered (I say
I
because Mina claimed she was already aware of this) that the actual establishment was at the sixth, and most elite, level. In fact, in most areas of London—at least the ones outside Whitechapel and Seven Dials, where reputable people frequented—there were only four, and on occasion, five street-levels.

Each level was accessed via a street-lift, which required coin as payment. The higher one wished to go, the more one had to spend.

The lower the level, the darker and dingier the walkways, shops, and vendors. The ground, or street-level, was traversed mostly by vehicles, for there were few shops or businesses at the lowest level. The streets were nothing more than a conduit and a place where refuse and other waste collected and puddled in the sewage canals. Even the Refuse-Agitators couldn't keep up with the amount of waste from our good city.

Lining each side of the street, along the shops, were walkways with waist-high railings. Vendor carts were moored to the edge of the walkways with massive clamps, floating out over the street below. Occasionally there were sky-bridges connecting both walkways that allowed pedestrians to cross the “street.”

It was an ongoing gripe of Mina's that I often forgot to bring money for the lifts, but this evening I had stuffed a good number of coins and bills in my coat pocket. That was fortunate, for it cost two pounds to take the lift to the sixth-level.

“I could buy an entire meal for two pounds,” I grumbled.

“Or an excellent brandy,” Mina said in a deep voice, giving me a quelling look.

Unlike most street-lifts, which were public and merely needed payment to enter, the one that traveled to Bridge & Stokes was operated by a burly man wearing a uniform and a cap. He had no intention of allowing us on board. Mina jabbed my foot sharply with her walking stick and I remembered the card engraved with Sir Mycroft Holmes's seal. On the reverse was a note in which he confirmed the sponsorship of his cousin, Mr. Kevin Newman.

“This way, gentlemen.” The burly man allowed us to enter after I showed him the card and paid the lift fee.

As we rose smoothly above the ground, I couldn't help but gawk at the sight. The ornate brassworks that created the sides of the lift allowed an excellent view of the buildings as we passed by. The higher we went, the fancier the storefronts became. When we reached the top and stepped out of the platform, we found ourselves on a terrace-like balcony overlooking the city. For a moment, the three of us simply stared at the ragged array of rooftops in row upon row upon row below us, as far as the eye could see. We were higher than any other building in the vicinity; the only structures taller than us were the distant white face of Big Ben and the jutting black spires of the Oligary Building.

Even the sky-anchors danced and buffeted below us, moored to the cornices of buildings built too tall and narrow to keep from swaying at the top. The sky-anchors were large balloons meant to keep the tall, spindly buildings from crashing into their nearby neighbor.

The sun had sunk beyond the rooftops in the west, and the sunset left a spectacular red-pink color in its wake. Even the ever-present fog clouding our city didn't seem to be present at this height. Behind me, to the east, the sky had turned dark and I could see the beginning of a glitter of stars, and in the distance . . .

Was that an airship? I felt the tiniest shiver. Was it the same one Pix and I had seen twice? The one that portended
something bad? The eerie, shadowy thing that slid silently through the night like evil? Blooming fish, was I getting poetic!

Still . . . I couldn't drag my eyes away from the oblong shape that could very well be an airship. It was too far away to fully recognize, and the sky was too dark.

“Shall we?” Mina broke into my thoughts.

I saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. If we were recognized inside a gentlemen's club—especially with Princess Lurelia—not only would our reputations be ruined, but surely Princess Alix and Miss Adler would be beyond furious. I couldn't imagine how much trouble Mina and I would be in. It would be an international incident.

But I
had
to obtain one of Pix's devices. We needed to find out what exactly it was, and he'd taken back the one I had stolen from him. And this was also our chance to learn what we could about his mysterious customer—whether it was indeed the Ankh or not.

And besides . . . it would be an
adventure
. I couldn't imagine doing anything more exciting than mingling elbow to elbow with gentlemen in their private club. I could hardly wait to see what they got to do!

Females didn't have any place similar to these clubs. We were restricted to sitting politely at tea and making nice conversation, or being chaperoned to within an inch of our lives at highly regulated dances. We couldn't visit pubs or fighting clubs or music halls or even the pleasure gardens like
New Vauxhall without a proper chaperone. And our bodies were just as restricted—by corsets and stays and layers of petticoats.

Hmm. Perhaps that was the Ankh's point all those months ago, when she railed on about society and its restrictions against women.

And poor Lurelia . . . destined to marry an older man who was boring and had bad breath. She was owed a little bit of fun.

Without another thought, I breezed toward the door.

The words “Bridge & Stokes” glowed in soft yellow light, somehow fashioned out of a long slender lamp forming the script. The door opened as we approached. I remembered to speak in a deep voice, and to act imperiously, as if I and my companions had every right to be accepted inside.

And, miraculously, we were.

Sir Mycroft's card—which, I admit, had been Mina's brilliant idea to forge—seemed to be the magic key. Not only did we gain entrance, but the butler called a porter to give us a tour of the club so we would know where we wished to spend our time.