The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

Edwina and Sebastian both let out a sigh, partly of relief, partly of regret.

“You really must excuse Magnus, Minerva.” Minerva looked over at her hostess with questions reflected in her dark eyes.

“You see, he’s never been the same since he survived an explosion here at home. Aside from his physical injuries, he’s become much more…”

“-nervous” Sebastian interjected.

“-delicate,” Edwina finished.

Minerva slowly nodded, but then paused. “But why does he practice law if he’s so…nervous, and he won’t work for what’s right?”

“But he sees the law as right. He can’t seem to differentiate justice from the law, much to my disappointment,” she sighed, this time sadly. “But I also believe that the law gives him some form of structure and order to his life, without which we might lose him entirely.”

After that, the ladies turned to more friendly forms of conversation, namely clothing, while Sebastian further perused his magazine, absently stroking L.B.

As they said goodnight sometime later, Edwina impulsively embraced Minerva. Minerva tensed, but then quickly relaxed into the delicate floral scent that enveloped her.

“I don’t know why Magnus wouldn’t want to come home more often, Edwina. It’s so lovely, comfortable and unusual here!” When she pulled away, Edwina had tears in her eyes.

“Yes, dear- but that’s the very thing he hates. You see, he blames our eccentricities for his accident- for ruining his life.” Minerva was momentarily taken aback, but then took a hard look into her eyes.

“He is in control of his own life, Edwina, so he is the only one able to ruin, or save it.” Edwina gave a wan smile, but quietly replied,

“If only that were true.”

Chapter 11:

Magnus arrived back at his rooms in record time. But when he entered the darkened foyer, he remembered that instead of his evening libation of 200 ml of milk and cognac, he was valet-less.

And as he stood there, contemplating the misery that caring for himself meant, his feet began to feel a little damp.

Magnus looked down and to his horror, saw that the beautiful carpets covering the hardwood floors of his rooms had become soggy lumps. He waded through the puddles, trying to find source. After a few more paces, his hearing enhancer picked up the sound of gushing water, and he quickly went into the bedroom.

Here the situation was much worse.

The water was lapping a good three inches up the sides of the armoire and a few of his cravats floated sinuously around the foot of the bed. He clomped through the water and finally made it into the bathroom.

The taps on the bathtub were fully open, letting forth a gush of water. He frantically turned them off, and then leaned against the side of the tub.

“Mr. Cogspeare?” Magnus looked up. A liveried doorman, the night watchman, had followed him in.

“It looks pretty bad, sir. I shouldn’t recommend staying here tonight.” He took a look around. “And it might take a few more days to set this place to rights. Do you have somewhere else to go, or should I call a hotel?”

Magnus ran his hand over his hair, taking out his comb and brushing it again, though it was still carved in place from the gel applied earlier. For a moment he entertained the idea of going to a hotel, but the reality of a bed that others had slept in mad him nauseous. 

“No, I have somewhere else to go. Was there any damage to the other rooms below mine?”

“Don’t think so, sir.” He saw that Magnus was beginning to get emotional, so he began to make a sharpish exit, when he turned around and said,

“I just checked your spesium supply, sir. All locked up, nice and tight. Thank heavens, because if it weren’t, we’d all be blown to kingdom come.”

All Magnus could do was nod.

Chapter 12:

Driving back to the Cogspeare mansion, Magnus got tangled in the post-theatre and -soiree traffic, which allowed him time to get further tangled in his own thoughts.

He could, of course, have checked into a fine hotel as the doorman had suggested. And, despite his phobia, he almost jerked the steering shaft in the direction of Brown’s Hotel.

But then he thought about his mother, his youngest brother, and his absentee father, all under the influence of a very appealing, very confrontational suffragette to keep them company. He quickly steered his steamer towards Mayfair.

Besides, it was a free room, at least for a few nights. Hopefully his father wouldn’t emerge until he was done with his case. Cornelius had a bad habit of wanting to help his son, mostly on the basis of chemical analogies that confused everyone more than helped.

Once he drove up the short gravel driveway, he wasn’t terribly surprised to see Steamins, still fully clothed, open the door and grab his bags before he even lowered his goggles.

“Steamins, are you clairvoyant or do you just hover by the door every hour of the day?”

“I have had Mrs. Bunsen ready your room, sir, and there is some hot milk waiting for you on your bedside table. Exactly 200 millilitres, if I remember correctly.”

Magnus nodded, noting that Steamins didn’t bother to reply about his psychic powers.

As they reached the first floor landing, one of the guest room doors cracked open and Minerva peered out.

“Back so soon?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Miss McFlynt.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing my spirit animal is an owl.” With that, she slammed, the door, though quietly, shut.

Magnus sighed.

“Was that..?”

“One of Mrs. Bunsen’s nightgowns, sir. It was deemed that one of Mrs. Cogspeare’s negligees would have been inappropriate.” Magnus shuddered.

“She needs something decent to wear tomorrow, Steamins. See to it?”

Steamins nodded; slightly affronted that Magnus would have thought he hadn’t looked into the matter already. “Mrs. Cogspeare instructed me to do so. I believe her trunk is with her great-aunt. It will be delivered first thing.”

“Breakfast is at the usual time, I trust?” Magnus turned to the butler when they reached his doorway.

“Indeed, sir. Have a goodnight, and remember to drink your milk while it’s still warm.”

What was he, five years old?

Magnus entered his former lair. It was still as impeccably neat as it had always been, from the alphabetized books on the shelves to the pens and pencils arranged by height on the desk. There were no pictures on the walls or any other clutter. It was almost as if he had been a guest in his own room. He finally relaxed.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he downed the milk in one gulp, smacking his lips on the unique taste that evening milk had in Cogspeare household.

He didn’t even have time to change before he fell limply into the three firm pillows lining the polished headboard. His last thoughts before he slipped into a deep, restful slumber were that,
I knew it: Mondays should be obliterated from the week.

Chapter 13:

The next day, Magnus rose early, hoping that breakfast would be an exercise in monosyllabic greetings and hearty appetites. But as usual, he was doomed to be disappointed. His father was already there. 

Looking at Cornelius Cogspeare, it was evident where Magnus got his tall, lithe physique. But unlike his son, Cornelius had ruddy skin, unusual in someone who spent most of his days inside a laboratory.

He was just helping himself to huge portions of bacon, beans, sausages, tomatoes, potatoes, toast, and five eggs, when he looked up and saw his eldest son.

“Magnus!” he exclaimed in his friendly, hearty voice, “how are you, my boy?” he smiled widely. His eyes crinkled in the middle of circles left by his goggles, while the rest of his being was caked in soot.

“Fine, Father, thank you,” Magnus replied primly, reaching around him for two pieces of toast, which he then proceeded to cut evenly and dollop preserves on each piece.

Cornelius tried not to stare at this newest fad of his son’s, and was rescued from further comment by the entrance of his wife and her young friend, trailed by Sebastian and L.B.

“Oh, Cornelius! I wanted you to be presentable when you met Minerva, and instead you still have your apron and work clothes on! And your goggles are still on your head too!” she scolded, though without any true vehemence. Cornelius grabbed the smeared goggles off his frazzled blond hair and hid them behind his back self-consciously.

“Sorry, m’dear. And who might you be?” he quickly turned his focus to Minerva.

“Minerva McFlynt, sir,” she replied, holding her hand out boldly and already liking the scientist who reminded her of a dirty and rather absentminded Viking.

“A pleasure, miss. I would shake your hand, but I just emerged from my laboratory, and am rather the worse for wear, don’t you know.” He returned to his plate of food and sat down at the head of the table.

Magnus had stood up for the ladies’ entrance, but now resumed his seat, sipping tea and concentrating on eating as fast as possible.

“What are you plans today, dear?” his mother asked as she sat opposite him.

“Going to the office.”

“Will you work on the SWSMC case?” Minerva piped up. If any of them had been raised religious, Magnus would then probably have prayed for patience. As it was, he was fresh out of it.

“Yes, I will, since it is my
job
,” he replied acerbically. “As I am gainfully employed by the most well-respected law firm in the country, I do not have the luxury of picking and choosing which cases I pursue, and in this case, defend.”

“You must forgive him, my dear,” Edwina interjected, “Our Magnus isn’t much of a morning person. Hasn’t been since he was a wee thing.”

Now, Magnus,” Cornelius said around a mouthful of beans, “what is this about the South West Spesium Mining Corporation?”

“Cornelius, I told you: there was an explosion in the mines a few weeks ago, and Magnus’s firm has given him the job,” Edwina explained.

“Good on you, son! You show Sir Edgar Clinton that workers deserve a fair wage and good working conditions.” This, of course, from the man who sported more scars, bruises and burns than many miners.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, Minerva broke it.

“But sir- Magnus is defending Sir Edgar Clinton and his company, not the miners.” Cornelius stared, then slowly put down his knife and fork and swallowed. He then levelled his blue eyes at Magnus.

“Magnus,” he began, and his son rolled his eyes heavenward and stroked his slick hair. “You know that when I discovered spesium and invented coal-syrup, I made the process widely and freely available so that no one would be without the benefits that come with this energy enhancer. I, that is, we wanted everyone to prosper” he smiled at his wife. No one, not even their children, knew exactly what part Edwina had played in the discovery and invention of coal syrup. They sometimes thought that they didn’t want to.

“But then, a few years later, Clinton began to buy up all the regional mines and companies producing coal-syrup and created a conglomerate with the sole purpose of making money and hoarding the spesium, thus creating a monopoly. Now, does that sound like a person you want to work for, to defend in a court of law?” Magnus threw down his napkin.

“Are you done? Then listen to this. Everyone under the laws of this country is entitled to a defence in a court of law. That includes Sir Edgar Clinton. Just because he happens to be wealthy does not mean that he is in any way guilty.”

“But it does mean that, since he can afford the best lawyer, he’ll probably win. And especially since he’ll be tried in the House of Lords, full of his cronies,” Minerva added, and Magnus shot her a dark, quelling look. She returned it, measure for measure.

“Then the miners should have thought of that before,” Magnus retorted, chomping down his last piece of toast.

“They were too busy, trying to earn a living and not get killed down the shafts!”

Magnus shoved back his chair and strode out into the hallway, too mad to say goodbye to his family.

But not to be outdone, Minerva followed him.

“Magnus,” She said his name so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it, and turned around as he was tugging on his leather overcoat that Steamins proffered.

“What?” he growled.

“Just look into the case. Make sure that you’re defending the right people.”