Brilliant Devices (21 page)

“Chalmers,” the woman said, in a voice as mysterious
and deep as an owl’s call, and just as musical. “Alice?”

*

“What do you mean, the Esquimaux village?” Andrew Malvern couldn’t decide whether he most wanted to ream out his own ear, or to box those of his companion.

“Just what I say, sir,” said the young man who had been their guide that afternoon. “The young ladies went off in a landau to the village
, about eight miles from here. I offered to go with them, but they refused.”

“And you let them?” Andrew’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head, and he reined in his temper with difficulty. “You let two young ladies go off into the wilderness without protection of any kind?”

“They were better protected than I, sir,” he protested. “Have you seen that mucky great gun Lady Claire carries? Can she really shoot it?”

“Yes, she can, and—” He annt>

The young man wilted. “It wasn’t just the two young ladies. The girls and that young blackamoor went as well.”

This time Andrew was bereft of speech entirely. When he could speak again,
he managed to get out, “That young
blackamoor
, as you call him, is my laboratory assistant and a midshipman on your employer’s personal vessel.” He breathed heavily. “You will refer to him as
Mr. Terwilliger
.”

“Yes, sir.” By now
the boy was close to tears. “What can I do, sir?”

“Despite the fact that I would put the Mopsies up against anything except a bear, I see no option but to pursue them. But I swear, sir, that if any harm has come to
so much as one hair upon their heads, you will pay for it with your hide.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man whispered miserably. Then his gaze shifted upward, past Andrew’s shoulder. “
Oh, no.”

Andrew turned. A
ship had emerged from the clouds over the forested tops of the hills—a ship with an ornate brass gondola and a bronze keel that ran the length of the fuselage. They could feel the sound of its engines as a vibration in the stomach—rather the way dread felt.

“Whose is it?”

“That would be the
Skylark
, Mrs. Churchill’s ship,” the young man said on a sigh. “We’re in for it now.”

“Why? Is she so terrifying?” Andrew followed his guide, who broke into a jog as he headed in the direction of the airfield. “I’ve read about the lady’s political and charitable works, and she seems rather admirable to me. Do you suppose her daughter will be with her?”

“I imagine so. Don’t let your admiration blind you to the facts—she is determined to shut the mines down. The Firstwater is only one of several.”

They emerged from between the low-slung buildings as the
Skylark
sailed low over their heads. The ground crew swung into action, and within a few moments, the ship was secured to its mooring mast and settled into position. The gangway folded down and two ladies descended, allowing the crewmaster to hand them to the ground.

Andrew, slightly out of breath, realized one of them was Peony Churchill. The other, then, must be the famous an
d redoubtable Isobel Churchill—intrepid explorer, fearless speaker, and scourge of Parliament.

She did not look like a scourge. Indeed, her daughter was taller than she by a head, and her figure was trim and set off becomingly by a tobacco-brown tailored suit and a small hat set over one eye that somehow involved netting
, silk roses, and pheasant feathers. It managed to add to her height, however. Her hair was russet brown and piled up under the hat in fat he ting

But upon closer inspection, it was in her eyes that Andrew saw the woman who made members of parliament quail and newspapermen uncap their pens. For those eyes did not suffer fools at all. They saw the world as it could be, and had very little patience
with it as it was.

That sharp brown gaze also noted
the distinct lack of an official welcome—if you did not count Andrew and his guide.

Andrew swept off the fedora
with the driving goggles affixed to the brim that had seen him from New York to Santa Fe to Edmonton, and bowed. “Mrs. Churchill. Miss Churchill. I trust you have had a pleasant flight?”

“Why, Mr. Malvern,” Peony said before her mother could speak. “How lovely to see you again. Mama, this is
Mr. Andrew Malvern—you remember, the scientist for whom my friend Claire was working in London. We met him last night in Edmonton, at the governor’s ball.”

Had it only been last night? For Andrew, it seemed a lifetime
ago.

Isobel Churchill extended a gloved hand. “How do you do, Mr. Malvern? You are a long way from home.”

“As are we all. I am here as a guest of the Dunsmuirs—mostly, I am afraid, because they do not know what else to do with me.”

“I am sure that is not the case.” She smiled, and Andrew felt the power of
her intelligence, not to mention that of the dimples that flirted at the corners of her mouth. He began to see why individuals at the highest levels of government believed her to be one of the most dangerous women in England. And maybe even the world. “Perhaps you can tell me where I might find the Dunsmuirs.”

“If you will allow me to escort you, I believe they are in the offices still.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” The dimples twinkled, and he found himself losing track of his concentration. “If you are their guest, being seen with me could put your next meal in jeopardy.”

“I am quite sure that not only my next meal, but yours as well, is already being taken into account.”

“You are very gallant, but the Dunsmuirs know why I am here. I shall say my say and be back in the sky by sunset. There is weather coming, and I wish to be safely in Edmonton before it does.”

“Weather is not the only thing coming,” he said. “Apparently we are to have a visit from the Meriwether-Astor family and a flock of reporters. Mr. Meriwether-Astor is on a world tour,
we are given to understand, and he and his entourage are expected at any moment.”

“Meriwether-Astor?” Peony repeated in tones of amusement. “The family of Gloria Meriwether-Astor? Do not tell me so.”

“Claire said nearly the same thing.”

Peony laughed. “Mama, if there is to be a grand to-do, we simply must stay. Seeing Gloria here in the wilderness will be worth the price of admission. If she met a bear in the forest she would demand to know who its panow, is rents
were, and whether it had
expectations
.”

“Is she a
Buccaneer, then?” Isobel asked, but only with half her attention. They had been spotted, and a small party had set out from the mining office, Lady Dunsmuir’s slender figure at the head.

“
A most determined one. Rumor has it her dear papa wanted her to bag a duke at the very least, the moment she was out of school. The fact that she is accompanying him at all tells me she did not succeed.”

“Barbaric,” her mother murmured, and raised a hand in greeting. “Lady Dunsmuir, I trust you received my pigeon?”

“Isobel.” Regardless of her politics, Andrew could see that Davina Dunsmuir would not treat a guest with anything less than the utmost courtesy. “Welcome to the Firstwater Mine. Peony, dearest, you are looking very well. The brisk northern air seems to suit you—as does that smashing emerald suit. Do come inside, I have tea waiting for all of us. Mr. Malvern, will you ask Claire to join us?”

“I would if I could, my lady,
but she has taken the landau to the Esquimaux village with Alice, the girls, and Tigg.”

“I beg your pardon?”
Lady Dunsmuir came to a dead stop and stared at him. “She did what?”

“It was my fault, your ladyship,” his young guide said. “She said the girls wanted to see the
village, so I drew them a map. And then they wouldn’t let me go with them,” he finished rather miserably.

“I have already pointed out the foolishness of such an excursion
to our young friend here,” Andrew said, “but—”

Davina had recovered her wits. “You must fetch them back at once. Good heavens, any number of dreadful things could happen. Two girls and the children? What on earth were they thinking?”

“Do you think the Esquimaux will set upon them?” drawled Isobel Churchill. “Like wild animals? Beings of lesser intelligence than you?”

“Certainly not,” Davina snapped. “I am afraid that
wild animals
will set upon them. The caribou are migrating down from the north, and if they should be trapped in a river of moving animals, the consequences could be disastrous. Did you not see the herds as you flew?”

Isobel looked the tiniest bit taken aback. “I did. Are they really such
a danger?”

“I will not take the chance.” She gave rapid orders, and several men separated themselves from the party.

“I’ll go, too,” Andrew said. This was his fault. He should have kept a closer eye on Claire and not let her go rambling around the camp getting odd ideas.

“And I,” Peony said.

“Certainly not,” her mother informed her, unconsciously echoing Davina’s words and snap. “If there truly is any danger, we do not need more inexperienced people out there. You will stay with me.”

“But mama, she is my friend.”

“All the more reason to stay out of the way and allow the men here, who know what they are doing, to fetch them back.”

Peony got a distinctly mulish look in her eye, but the men were already jogging toward what appeared to be a large equipment shed. Andrew hurried after them, and did not hear her reply.

Alice
wondered if it were possible to be turned to stone by surprise.

The silence stretched out, punctuated only by the wavering
laugh of some water bird on the river. Lizzie gave her a nudge with her elbow. “’Ow does she know your name?”

She
would have given up another automaton to know the same thing. Or rather, to have confirmed what must be the truth—that the only reason this woman could know her name on first sight was because she had been told it, and been given a very accurate description.

Which, if Frederick Chalmers was indeed here and had done so, was a good thirteen or fourteen years out of date.

“Alice?” the woman repeated, a little more cautiously now. With either hand, she gently moved the two children behind her, so that a curious eye peeked out from either side of her fur-trimmed jacket.

With another dig from Lizzie’s elbow, Alice
roused herself, like an automaton given a command. “Yes,” she said. “Who …?”

“I am Malina, wife of Chama. These are my children.”

“You speak English?” Alice said, unable to come up with a more intelligent reply.

“Chama taught me. And the children.” She extended an arm to encompass the village. Not just her children, but all of them, apparently. Did he teach in a school when he wasn’t
being a saboteur and who knew what else?

“Where is … Chama?” Claire asked.

Alice was grateful that someone was asking the right questions. Chama might not be the man they were after. If it wasn’t, they could steam right back to the airfield and she’d pull up ropes two minutes after.

Malina glanced at the sun, which just brushed the tops of the trees. “He comes soon. He hunts with the men. Come.”

Without waiting for a reply, she ducked into the nearest buried house. The little girls giggled and followed her.

She met Claire’s inquiring gaze
as her eyes filled with tears. “Do you think he’s here? With his little family? Do you think he forgot me?”