The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

He left, and made sure to lock the door to his three rooms. Then he checked it thrice again.

Chapter 4:

Contrary to the implications of Magnus’s dread, Mrs. Edwina Cogspeare was a sweet, loving, even-tempered, and rational woman who devoted herself to her husband and children, as well as her few friends and many good causes. She was also currently buried under a mountain of fringe sewn onto her dress. Because while she was a sweet, loving, even-tempered and rational woman, Edwina Cogspeare’s greatest fault was her truly heinous sense of fashion. It was though she exorcised every ill of her life, and there had been many, through her garish dresses and truly cringe-worthy accessories. It was almost painful to look at her, particularly as she made no attempt to hide her unfashionably bright and natural red hair, and everything she wore clashed with it.

Helping her into a leather cape to protect her from the acid rain, her butler asked,

“And when shall I tell Master Magnus you will be home, madam?”

“There have been a change of plans, Steamins. Tell him that he can either find me chained to Number Ten Downing Street or in jail!”

She flounced out before she saw Steamins’s eyes bulge or heard him let loose a long-suffering sigh. If he hadn’t survived them thus far, he would have sworn the Cogspeares would be the death of him.

Chapter 5:

Out of the dense red smog that still clung about the horses hoofs and carriage wheels that populated the metropolitan streets came a roar that heralded the daily appearance of a menace.

Though most of London still relied on old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages for the transportation of goods and people, Magnus drove his beloved Personal Steamer 4000 like a spesium-syrup-hyped automaton out of hell. He wove in and out of the clogged streets, between rearing horses and cursing drivers with a wild abandon that was totally lacking in every other part of his being.

              The first time he had gotten behind the wheel of an automobile had been four years ago. A client of dubious means had given Sir Nicodemus Grimsby his own model with heartfelt thanks as he had quickly left the country. Grimsby had sent Magnus ‘round to pick it up and the growl of the gears and the rumble of the engine had aroused a spontaneity in him that left him breathless. He went out and bought one for himself the next day.

              Since then, the eldest Cogspeare had been an inspiration to aspiring Steamers, as fans of the newest in transportation technology were called, and a regular nuisance to the rest of the population.

              He took turns with a controlled recklessness, scattering horses and pedestrians, and made it to the law offices of Grimsby & Associates in record time. He pulled around the back of the massive building to the paved-over back garden where he parked his Steamer.

              Magnus rose out of the vehicle, removed his goggles and adjusted his leather top hat to a less rakish angle as he strode into the preeminent law firm in the country.

              The building was decorated in the finest trappings of the Brass Nouveaux Movement, and exuded a mechanical elegance that only fame and fortune could buy. Though it was quiet inside relative to the cacophony of London outside, there was also an underlying hum to the place. In his more fanciful moments, Magnus liked to think that it was the sound of justice in action, while other, less successful and more cynical barristers said that it was the hum of Grimsby’s drones, Magnus being the first among them. In actuality, it was the sound of the firm’s automatons working in the subterranean stacks where the files were kept.

The staircase which Magnus walked up was a distracting work of art in itself. But he tore his gaze away and stroked his immaculate hair as he opened a door which had his name emblazoned on it in striking bronze letters: Magnus Cogspeare, Junior Partner and Court Barrister. Soon, very soon, he hoped the ‘junior’ would be wiped away and he would fulfil his dream of becoming the youngest, and only, full partner at the best law firm in the greatest metropolis in the world. The thought brought a grimace of determination to his thin lips.

              He pushed open the door into his outer office, and his secretary jumped up from behind his desk.

              “
Good
morning, sir!” he said, his face almost completely filled with an enormous grin. This was not a special morning. This was, in fact, how young Jim Addison greeted his employer every morning. Magnus sighed. He was not, nor had ever been, a morning person. Tom’s only redeemable quality was that he was a halfway decent secretary, could type over two hundred words per minute, and didn’t quit after a week working for Magnus.

              “Morning, Addison.” He didn’t stop, but continued into his inner office, assuming that Addison would follow. Naturally, he did.

              In the typical law office, the outer room is filled with a few file cabinets; some chairs for waiting clients, and is a rather Spartan affair since it is only the secretary who spends any considerable time out there. The inner room, on the other hand, is usually a study in quiet luxury, with large, locked file cabinets and dark bookcases filled with superfluous judicial tomes.

              Magnus’s office had neither. In fact, aside from the heavy steel desk that was backed against a blank wall and three chairs, and a silver Persian carpet, there was nothing in the room. No bookshelves, no side tables, nothing.

Originally it was not so. His office once had bookshelves, and many, many filing cabinets. However, that meant that Jim had to run in and out of the room to file papers and place books in the shelves, and Magnus always watched him, and then re-filed everything. It lasted four days. Now all the files and books were in the outer office, and Magnus would call out to Jim for a book or file if needed.

“I do hope you are well this morning, sir?”

“Fine.”

“Excellent!” replied Addison happily. He came into the room once Magnus had sat down behind his desk, back to the blank wall covered in black silk shot through with thin white stripes. “Today you have to appear in court for the final verdict of the Ballaster case- simple divorce, shouldn’t take terribly long.”

“Did you place a bet?” Magnus’s dark grey eyes never left Addison’s face. His stare disconcerted most intelligent people, but somehow Addison just went blithely on.

“Yes, sir! Indeed I did. Five pounds on you at two to one odds, favouring Lord Ballaster.”

“Really? The bookies should know better than to place the odds against me by now.”

“Indeed, sir, indeed. I even ventured to advise them of this one time.”

“Oh? What happened?” he steepled his fingers.

“I was banned from the establishment and had to find another bookmaker,” Addison replied. The spotty nineteen year old actually managed to seem indignant.

              “So why are the odds against me this time?”

              “Something about most divorce cases ruling in the husband’s favour, particularly when the wife is an adulteress.”

              “Addison, she is not an adulteress, she is a lonely woman who was taken advantage of,” Magnus corrected with what passed as a smile.

              “Multiple times, sir.”

              “What else is on the agenda?” Addison looked down at the ornate clipboard.

              “A lunch meeting with Sir Morton, then another with the Court Etiquette Committee, then a consultation with the Earl of Dashington-Hill about something which he wouldn’t disclose to me, and Lord Grimsby would like a word sometime before you leave this evening. And paperwork.”

              “Paperwork?” Addison went out, and returned with a stack of files four inches thick.

              “No, don’t-” began Magnus. But it was too late. Addison slapped the files down on the pristine desk, and Magnus sighed.

              “I really would prefer it if you didn’t do that, Addison.”

              “Sorry, sir, but you haven’t finished your files from last week, and it’s time to get all the t’s dotted and the i’s crossed.” Magnus rubbed his high forehead as Addison stepped back out. 

              He had just opened the first file when he became aware of a rising tide of shouts and cries outside his window.

              “Addison!”

              “Yes sir?” he poked his head around the doorjamb.

              “What is going on out there?” he pointed to the window. Addison shrugged.

              “Don’t know, sir.” Magnus levelled a stare at him. “Right, then,” he replied quickly, “I’ll just find out then, shall I?” He dashed across the room and stuck his head out the widow, leaning as far out as he could.

              “Sir,” he called back in, “it looks like a protest of some kind. A bunch a ladies holding green, white and purple banners are marching down the street, stopping all the traffic!”

              Magnus sighed and rolled his eyes.

              “That’s fine; just a lot of old biddies wanting more power for bored women.”

              But Addison leaned out even further.

              “I say, sir- there are some very nice looking young women in there too.”

              “Addison!” he barked, “That’s enough. Shut the window, and door on your way out.”

              His young assistant quickly did as he was bid and Magnus sighed.

              “Sometimes I wonder about that boy,” he grumbled. “Very worrying, at times.”

This, of course, came from the man who had just been coerced into doing paperwork by having his desk sullied with files. He knew that he’d never be able to leave the room until his desk was free and clear once more. So he opened a drawer and removed one of his seven identical pens. He uncapped the glistening brass utensil and attached a glass orb to the end, filled with silky black ink, and he began on the first file.

Chapter 6:

It’s astounding, mused Edwina Cogspeare, how friendly one can become with people to whom one is handcuffed.

              And currently she was handcuffed to a young woman, no more than twenty-four or –five years old, with long, curly black hair and defiant black eyes.

              “And what about your family, Mrs. Cogspeare? Does your husband know about this?” she asked in a low, melodious and well-bred voice, holding up their cuffed hands.

By now, Edwina had discerned that this woman, Minerva McFlynt, was as intelligent and independent as her divine namesake.

              “I can’t say that I am a typical suffragette in that respect, my dear. My husband believes in the cause, and would even have accompanied me had he been able. As it is, he’s somewhat engrossed in a new project and won’t be disturbed by anyone, save myself, of course.”

              “But then who will bail you out of jail?” This was a very relevant question, as they happened to be in a paddy wagon carting a dozen or so women to Newgate Prison.

              “Well, you see, I have six sons, dear, and the eldest just happens to be a barrister…”

Chapter 7:

              Finally, his long day was drawing to a close. The meetings had been tedious, the paperwork even more so. But he knew that these were the paving stones on the road of justice that would lead to fame.

              Addison had just left, and after he packed away his supplies and shelved reference books, Magnus left the outer office and went down the long corridor to the very last door. He opened it and was met by the icy glare of the oldest secretary in the world. Mr. Sprightly had to be at least ninety years old, and had only one hair on his head, and two teeth in it. Magnus had only seen him rise from behind his small desk once, and it was a terrifying experience. The sounds had haunted him for days. Sprightly, so ironically named, was also the most brilliant secretary to ever grace a law office. Indeed, he often put encyclopaedias of
juris prudence
to shame.

              This brilliant man was currently dunking a biscuit in his tea and nibbling at the mushy results with obvious glee. Magnus tried not to cringe.