Brilliant Devices (29 page)

She took her own advice, weaving through the crowd of frantic diamond miners still shouting and pressing at the gates, until she gained the relative freedom of the airfield. She had promised to return to the earl in half an hour. It must be well past that, but perhaps the earl would not notice in the urgent need of all those people for his guidance and leadership.

The damaged ship belonged to the count
, of course, but she could not remember seeing him in the melee. Which did not bode well. Anxious butterflies began to flutter in her stomach, but she took a deep breath and leaped up the gangway of the
Margrethe
, trying to ignore them. Perhaps Alice had succeeded in convincing him he was in danger, and he had prudently taken cover.

One thing at a time. At least t
he count, she devoutly hoped, was not in imminent danger of being hanged.

In the sal
on, the deck of which was now tilted slightly off the horizontal, some semblance of order had been cobbled together. She dodged between people laid out on the carpet with varying degrees of injury. Medics tended to those who had been hurt the worst, which seemed to have been the dancers, knocked out of their turns and thrown several feet. At least those who had been seated or in the orchestra had been closer to the ground, and had not been plucked out of the air in midstep.

Lord Dunsmuir was nowhere to be seen.

“I do beg your pardon,” she said to a man with a red band about his sleeve wrapping a bandage around Gloria’s arm with swift, firm movements. “Do you know where I might find Lord Dunsmuir? It is a matter of the greatest urgency.”

“
Nein, fraulein
,” the man said. “As you can see, I am busy here.”

“Looking after me,” Gloria said. “Claire, what a fright. Do you know what happened?”

“Parties unknown blew up the mine and one of the digging engines,” she said with heroic brevity. “Have you seen Lord Dunsmuir?”

“Last I saw, he was over there with my father.” Gloria waved a hand in the direction of the corridor that went forward to the bridge. “I’ll come with you. Good heavens, Claire, is that a gun?”

“Yes. There is no need. You must conserve your strength.”

And without a backward glance, she headed down the corridor, trying doors one after the other. The bridge was in a state of organized chaos as the
Margrethe
’s captain appeared to be taking reports on the state of ship, crew, and guests.

No John.

She could not search the entire ship. There was no time. She must ask for help.

Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned to see Gloria, cradling her arm. “I just had a look out the
porthole and saw Lord Dunsmuir heading over to that pretty gold ship with Father and some others.”

“Oh, thank you.”

She headed for the forward gangway at a run, and only realized several moments later than Gloria was running behind her, awkwardly hugging her arm to her ribs.

“Claire, wait up.”

“I can’t. A man’s life is at stake.” She jumped down the stairs two at a time, and ran for the
Lady Lucy
faster than she ever had in her life.

She found John and Davina together in the forward salon, her ladyship still with Willie in her lap, and conferring in low, rapid tones with several men, among them Mr. Meriwether-Astor and the first officer of the
Margrethe
.

Oh, dear. And Reginald Penhaven, who had clearly come straight here while she was fluttering about on the
great Zeppelin ship attempting to find them, like a moth beating itself to exhaustion against a windowpane as it tried to get to the lamp within.

“Lord Dun0">, like smuir!” she said breathlessly, crossing the room. “I need your help!”

But he did not seem to hear. It was only when Willie wriggled out of his mother’s grasp and ran to hug her around the waist that they took any notice of her at all.

“Claire, return to your cabin at once,” his lordship ordered in tones he had never addressed to her before. “It is far too dangerous for you to be wandering about.”

“It is far too dangerous for me to stay,” she retorted in tones equally peremptory. “John, they are about to hang Frederick Chalmers for causing the explosions, but he is innocent.”

“My information indicates you are wrong.”

“Your information is biased by the self-interest and criminal intent of your informants.”

“Claire!” Davina had gone as pale as her cream silk gown,
which, Claire now saw, was streaked with brown stains and what appeared to be half the contents of a punch bowl. “Explain yourself.”

Too late, she realized she had let her fear and her temper get the better of her. She had no proof. All she had was the goodwill of her host and hostess, and if she did not step very, very carefully now, she would lose even that.

“Please, my lord, forgive me. I only meant that it is impossible. Frederick Chalmers was dancing with his daughter only moments before the explosion occurred. He could not have done it.”

“Are you here again, meddling in matters that don’t concern you?” Reginald Penhaven appeared to be on the verge of striking someone.
She took a prudent step back. “Your lordship, this girl has already importuned me with the same ridiculous story. We don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“Claire, I am very sorry, but the evidence suggests that Alice’s father is behind this terrible destruction.” Davina’s voice trembled. “You must be brave—and so must Alice.”

“He is not!” Claire said in desperation. “And neither are those poor Esquimaux boys with him. It’s all a plot to discredit you!”

“The poor girl is hysterical,” Meriwether-Astor said, his face
arranged in lines of pity, his eyes measuring, calculating. “Perhaps the medics should administer laudanum?”

“A good suggestion,” Penhaven put in.

“At least wait until morning to do … anything … and allow him to tell you himself,” she begged the earl, feeling the cold of approaching doom on her skin.

“Claire, if you do not have proof, you must see our position.” John Dunsmuir visibly controlled himself in an effort to be civil.

“I do have proof. Perhaps if we speak privately—”

“Dunsmuir, this is a waste of time,” Meriwether-Astor snapped. “I have fifty injured men, a damaged convoy, and an injured daughter, and I want to know what you’re going to do about it, since it’s clear your mismanagement of this operation has been the cause of this disaster.”

“Mismanage—!”

“I said
mismanagement
manPerhaps
, and I meant it. If any of those men succumb to their injuries and—God forbid—die, I am holding you personally responsible along with that Chalmers madman.”

Over by the window, she saw now, two jour
nalists had their notepads out and were scribbling furiously. She and Alice and Lizzie had been right. Meriwether-Astor had timed his moment perfectly, for what better time to strike at the heart of an enemy than when he was staggering from a blow?

Claire felt as though she was caught in the middle of a street with two steambuses bearing down upon her. No matter
in which direction she chose to run, one bus or the other would strike her.

But Lord Dunsmuir was an experienced man of the world. If he and Davina could not handle Meriwether-Astor, then no one could.

And they were not in imminent danger of being hanged, either.

For the second time in ten minutes, she made Hobson’s choice.

As a towering argument broke out between the Dunsmuirs and Meriwether-Astor, no one but a tearful Willie noticed as she gave the world’s most abbreviated curtsey, turned, and hurried from the salon.

At the bottom of
Lady Lucy
’s gangway, Gloria Meriwether-Astor had finally caught up to her. She brushed past the girl. “I’m sorry, Gloria, but I don’t have time.”

Gloria grabbed her arm in a grip surprisingly strong for such a languid person. “Is my father up there?”

“Yes. He is attempting to ruin my friends. You’ll forgive me if I do not have much to say to you at present. I must save a man’s life.”

“I’ll come with you.”
Breathlessly, Gloria matched Claire’s pace.

“
Your place is with your father,” she told Gloria with the calm of despair. “Go away and keep it.”

“I’m not responsible for what he does, you know. You don’t have to treat me like I am.”

In a sudden spike of rage, Claire swung on her. “I’m not treating you as anything at all. Much the way you treated me at school. Now get out of my way.”

In the light from the lamps on the mooring masts, Gloria’s eyes glittered with uns
hed tears. “I suppose I deserve that. But Claire, wait. I want to help.”

“You want to help?” She couldn’t contro
l her own voice—it was shrill with impatience and fear. “Why should you, when your father has contrived to blow up the Firstwater Mine to discredit the Dunsmuirs, cover up the assassination of Count von Zeppelin, and provoke an international incident?”

Gloria’s mouth fell open. “Are you insane?”

“Not in the least. I just can’t prove any of it. So go on, take that tale back to your father and he can feel free to assassinate me, too. But while you’re about it, I have work to do.”

She whirled and began to run.

And to her outrad tfonged dismay, her plain speaking still did not dislodge the cocklebur that was her former classmate, who seemed determined to stick to her no matter what unpalatable truths she flung in her face.

“All right, so you’re insane,” Gloria panted. “But I could almost believe you. Insanity is the only thing that can explain why I’m even here. And maybe it explains some of the things I’ve heard him say—things that made no sense.”

“Everything makes sense if you have the right point of view.” Claire dove into the shadow of a building and flattened herself against the wall to catch her breath before the next leg. “Gloria, I mean it. You cannot be here.”

“A man’s life is at stake, I know. Is
Father trying to have him killed?”

“He is using him as a scapegoat. He
will take the blame for the explosion and be hanged in short order if we do not prevent it.”

“You need help.”

“If you are going to insult my mental capacities, you may save your breath to cool your—”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I meant, you need reinforcements. Surely you’re not taking on that mob by yourself?”

“I tried that, and failed. So now I must resort to stealth. What I need is for Penhaven to have locked him in a room to which I can gain access, like—like his lordship’s private dressing room, or Davina’s powder room, in the building where the management offices are.”

“I can do that.”

Claire stared at her with astonished contempt, but in the dark of course she could not see it. Just as well. She moderated her tone so that her utter disregard of this mooring-rope of a girl did not leak through. “Now who is the crazy one?”

“
I’m serious. I’ll simply tell them I’ve a message from my father and Penhaven, and tell them to lock him in one of those places. It’s not like they have a gaol here. We’re not in the Wild West.”

“Why should they listen to you? They didn’t listen to me.”

“You haven’t been yawning through all those meetings with the management. Father doesn’t think I have a single feather in my brain, and maybe I don’t, but he makes me sit with him anyway. Family solidarity or something. But the directors know me. They might believe it—at least, for long enough that you could do … whatever it is you plan to do.”

Now it was Claire’s turn to grasp Gloria’s elbow and drag her into the light from the main square
, so she could see her face properly. “Or for long enough for you to tell them to trap me, too, once my back is turned?” A spasm passed across Gloria’s pale, elegant features. “Why are you suddenly being so helpful, when it means betraying your own family?”