The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

“All alright?” he asked after a few moments, eyes still wide and unfocused. His mother moved forward and stroked his hair.

“All alright,” she said. “We’re so proud of you, you did so well,” she soothed. He stopped rocking and Declan and Erasmus pulled him up.

“Let’s get you to bed, eh son? Get you warmed up,” Cornelius shepherded his sons upstairs, leaving Edwina and Minerva alone in a shatteringly silent room.

Edwina sighed in relief, and looked at Minerva. The glance she received read clearer than a pulse,
what the hell?

Edwina motioned for Minerva to join her on the settee. Obviously the men were either still busy with Magnus, or had left Edwina to answer Minerva’s inevitable questions.

“First off, are you alright, my dear?” Minerva shook her head, not in denial but rather in confusion. Her emotions were roiling, full of pity and guilt, and not a little confusion at the stab of desire when she had first seen Magnus nearly naked- and of course, disgust at herself for feeling that, when he was obviously very disturbed.

“I should be asking you that,” she finally replied. Edwina shrugged.

“Over the years we have had to deal with quite a few of these episodes; at the worst, he had one almost every week. He hasn’t had one this severe in years, at least a decade. He must not have drunk his milk.”

“Milk?” Minerva frowned in confusion.

“Oh yes, milk. Although it’s probably the sleeping powder that I put in which really helps him sleep through the night.”

“Does he know you do that?”

“Oh dear me, no! Years ago we took him to, oh, it must have been at least a dozen doctors, and they all prescribed different tinctures for him. He refused to take them.”

“Why?” Minerva clasped her hands.

“I think he thought it would be another sign of weakness, another blemish, like his” she pointed to her ear. “And I don’t know if he will ever be strong enough to face his demons.” They were quiet for a moment as Minerva ruminated. Finally she got up the courage to ask,

“Demons,” Minerva murmured. Edwina, is Magnus…disturbed?”

Edwina’s answer was a decisive, “No. Absolutely not!” Minerva was taken aback by her vehemence, and Edwina quickly apologized.

“It’s just that, over the years, some of the doctors, and even a few servants, made the same assumption. Throughout his childhood, we never had overnight guests to stay, even the children’s friends, because we all were worried what affect they would have on him, and vice versa. He is just suffering from a trauma that happened many years ago.”

“What was it?” asked her guest quietly. Just then Cornelius returned.

“All alright, my dear. He’s safely tucked away.” Edwina quickly got up and went to him.

“And the other boys? Are they alright?” He nodded. Edwina looked over at Minerva. “My dear, as much as I would like to tell you, I think that Magnus would prefer it if he told you himself.”

“Will he remember any of this later?”

“Yes,” replied Cornelius as he led them to the hallway and up the stairs, “he remembers everything, every feeling of pain and terror that brings these episodes on.”

As they were about to part, Edwina offered, “Dear, would you like some milk?” Minerva quirked her a brow.

“I think not, but thank you.”

“And I’ll have Mrs. Bunsen look over that skirt tomorrow. The mud may not come out easily.” Minerva looked guiltily down at her once-white skirt and blouse, visiting attire so completely out of place at two o’clock in the morning, but as she looked up with a glib lie on her tongue they were already halfway up the stairs, hand in hand.

Chapter 32:

Minerva would have dearly loved to interrogate Mrs. Cogspeare further, but she had to admit that, after an evening of running about London she could do with a good night’s sleep.

              The next morning, though, she vowed to get the whole story out of Magnus over breakfast. After all, it didn’t seem like the family even knew what proper meal-time conversation was. And after her stuffy great-aunt with her strict rules of convention and conversation, she couldn’t be happier.

              But even though she entered the dining room on the heels of the servants carrying steaming dishes, she saw that a plate was already being removed.

              “Master Magnus left just twenty minutes ago, Miss,” Mrs. Bunsen said from the doorway. “He was in a grim state, he was, just as he always is after one of his fits.”

              Minerva tried to hide her disappointment, but then thought better of it. She could even make use of it.

              “That’s a shame, Mrs. Bunsen. I was hoping to talk to him about that- to tell him, well, you know…” Mrs. Bunsen nodded, waiting for a confidence that she was obviously craving. “That I don’t hold against him. After all, we all have our demons…”

              “That we do, dear, that we do!” the housekeeper said eagerly. She shooed the housemaids out of the room and proceeded to set the table. “But poor Master Magnus, he has had a hard time of it. Just goes to show that even them who are as rich as Croesus don’t always have it easiest.”

              “Mrs. Bunsen,” Minerva came close enough to the plump women to smell the tang of her talcum powder, “were you here when it happened to him?”

              “The explosion? Why yes, Mr. Steamins, Monsure Bongout and I were all here then. ’Course, that was before they had all these silly little housemaids, and before we all moved out into the mews. That was the reason we moved out into the mews, indeed it was!”

              “Was it?”

              “Oh, yes,” she began folding napkins into rounded shapes, “You see, dear, by that time Mr. Cogspeare had already discovered spesium but he was working on a way to make coal syrup. And I’m sure you know how explosive raw spesium is. Why, just look at this latest mining explosion that Master Magnus is working on!” she sighed and shook her head.

              “What happened?” Minerva prodded.

              “Well, if I remember correctly, Magnus was ten, and Mrs. Cogspeare had young Sebastian on the way. Well, she and the master were out, and it was our half-day off. Magnus had always been a responsible child, but we all underestimated how well Erasmus had learned to pick locks. Can you believe that he used to sneak out at a night and play with the gutter snipes in the East End? Freezes my blood, that does. And of course his better half went along with him.”

              “But about Magnus?”

              “So this one day, Magnus finds that the younger boys have broken into Mr. Cogspeare’s laboratory, and he runs and snatches them up, frantic-like, because you see, he saw that there was a leak in the roof, and it was raining. One drop of water, one touch of something carbon-based and whoosh!” She swept her hands out, flapping the last two napkins.

              “What happened?” Minerva breathed.

              “Exactly that. He had gotten all of them out and safely downstairs except for Quintus, who was playing hide-and-seek. He saw him hiding behind one of the cases filled with raw spesium. Tried to get him out, but the poor lamb had become stuck. Magnus pulled the case away from Quintus, but in doing so exposed it to the leaking roof…” She shook her head.

              “They say that the explosion blew off the roof and unsettled the foundations of the neighbours’ homes. All I know is that Mr. Steamins and I felt it in Hyde Park. We had always known it was just a matter of time until the Master blew us all to kingdom come. But that the boys would do it…well, let’s just say that when we got back, the sight of it was enough to send Mrs. Cogspeare into early labour.”

              “And Magnus?”

              “It was a miracle that he and Quintus weren’t killed. As it was, the explosion made him totally deaf for months. He only ever regained the hearing in his right ear, as the left ear isn’t there anymore.”

              “You mean it was blown off?” Minerva gasped.

              “No. It was burnt off from the heat of the explosion. So was most of his hair, and he has some severe burns on his left side, hidden beneath his hair, sideburns and high collars.” Minerva raised a hand to her mouth, biting down on her thumb.

              “Are you horrified?” Mrs. Bunsen asked carefully, quietly.

              “No! Not at all. Just so sorry for what he went through. And of course that’s why he doesn’t get on with his brothers, right?” Mrs. Bunsen nodded.

              “Do you think that he’ll ever forgive them?” They heard footsteps coming towards them, and by the sound of it, it was at least three of the Cogspeare men. Mrs. Bunsen began walking towards the doorway, but just as she passed Minerva she answered,

              “It’s not them he can’t forgive. He holds himself responsible; it’s himself who he can’t forgive.”

              Mrs. Bunsen bustled out, leaving Minerva to her thoughts, which she had to quickly marshal as the twins came in, followed by Declan and Mrs. Cogspeare. As she was about to pass her mistress in the foyer, Mrs. Cogspeare stopped her.

              “Did she ask questions?” she asked in a non-sotto voice.

              “Indeed she did, and I answered all her questions as you told me to, ma’am.”

              “But nothing about the school,” she quickly demanded.

              “No, ma’am. I don’t think Master Magnus will thank us for this, but if I told her about the school, he’d never pardon me.” And it was clear by the shame on her face that, for her, that would be a fate worse than being dismissed.

Chapter 33:

Magnus had fallen into an exhausted sleep after his ordeal but he had awoken abruptly at dawn, unsettled and ashamed. He had huddled in his bed and watched objects from his childhood cast long shadows across the floor; a miniature gavel that Steamins had whittled for him, a ratty old wig he had bought down Portobello Road, and one of six stuffed, lumpy bears his mother made for her sons- his was dressed in a black robe.

              Finally, when he couldn’t bear the memories any longer, he threw himself out of bed and got ready for the day ahead.

              By seven o’clock he was immaculately dressed and crept down the stairs. He crept across the foyer, not exactly hiding, but-

              “Good morning, Master Magnus,” said Steamins suddenly. Magnus jumped.

              “Good Lord, Steamins, didn’t see you there.” He patted down his hair. “Well, just going out now, so if you’d get the door.”

              “Actually, sir, I’m under strict instructions to ensure that you have a decent breakfast. Please come this way.”

              “But really, Steamins.” But protestations were obviously futile as the anaemic butler had already turned, and Magnus reluctantly followed him into the dining room, where the table was set for one.

              “And who, may I ask, gave you these instructions?” he asked as he sat down. Steamins brought over a plate of toast and merely raised his eyebrows.

              “Right. Silly question. Obviously mother,” he grumbled, delicately spreading a fine layer of butter on the round slice of toast and munched it unenthusiastically. After two slices Steamins almost magically held out his cloak and top hat for him.

              “There you are, sir. Least said, soonest mended, and I’m sure that you’ll have a good day. Why, it’s almost spring, after all.”

              “It’s unnatural when you’re so cheerful, Steamins. It frightens me,” he grumbled as he hustled out the front door and slipped into his Personal Steamer.

              “Yes, sir,” replied the butler, with a distinctly fake smile stretched over his face. Once the Steamer had disappeared in a spray of gravel and whir of steam, his face relaxed into its usual, androgynously sharp features. “And God keep you from your demons.”

Chapter 34:

Magnus had barely walked through the doors of Grimsby and Associates when Jim Addison came tearing down the stairs.

              “Mister Cogspeare, Mister Cogspeare!” he cried, his young voice reverberating throughout the empty hallways. Thankfully, aside from the cleaning automatons, the entrance was entirely deserted.  

              “Good Lord, Addison, what is the matter?”

              “Sir,” he panted as Magnus met him halfway on the staircase and then led the way up. “A pulse was delivered last night, or it was supposed to be but they were having mechanical issues with the pulse receiver downstairs, and then the SAM-”

              “Addison, get to the point, please.”

              “Yes, sir! I just got the Pulse,” he waved the yellow piece of paper that looked as though it had been wrung by sweaty palms a few dozen times, “and it says that the case has been moved forward!”