Lady of Spirit, A (21 page)

“This is an impossible task,” Michael Polgarth murmured in falling tones of despair.

“It is not!” Lizzie snapped. “Our Maggie will have thought of a way to save herself.”

“But you said she wrote a letter of farewell,” Michael said. He and Lizzie were pressed against the viewing port, watching the sea below as though they expected at any moment to see a swimmer surface and wave her arms.

“She did, but that does not mean anything,” Lizzie said stoutly. “She was merely being prudent—most of it was military instructions.”

Claire, at the helm, resisted the urge to touch the letter in her pocket. She and Lizzie were the only ones with knowledge of its contents—and for the sake of the last two paragraphs, Claire was not willing to share it with either of the two gentlemen aboard.

The pigeon bearing the news of the invasion was already well on its way to Schloss Schwanenburg. Claire did not have any more information than what Maggie had dashed off in what was clearly a hurry, but details were not necessary. Once the count mobilized the Prussian fleet and they got their first look at the Kingmaker, it would become clear enough what their plan of action must be.

As though Michael’s thoughts had taken the same path, he said, “And this Count von Zeppelin will leap into action on the word of a sixteen-year-old girl?”

“We are not talking about just any sixteen-year-old girl, Mr. Polgarth,” Claire said with some asperity.

“I know Maggie is a young lady of spirit and talent, but I cannot imagine that—”

“We helped to save his life on more than one occasion, Mr. Polgarth,” Lizzie informed him crisply. “If the count receives a message from any one of us saying that immediate action of any kind is necessary, he will not hesitate. He will act, and ask questions later.”

Michael Polgarth’s astonishment at these revelations about his cousin silenced him, and Andrew, bent over the navigation charts, straightened with a smile. “You will learn, upon further acquaintance with Maggie and our friends, not to underestimate the effect that one woman can have upon the world.”

“As might anyone who is a subject of our most glorious Queen,” Claire reminded them. “Now, gentlemen, we have reached an altitude above which I dare not go. It is a tricky balance between being high enough to have an effective field of view, and being low enough to see a person signaling for help.”

A hundred and fifty miles of water. Oh, Maggie.

Claire fought against despair herself—she must not let it overwhelm her. She needed all her faculties and resources of optimism to face the task at hand—plying the skies above the Channel in hopes of seeing a vessel that might contain her girl. And they did not have much time. If Maggie had somehow managed to escape and was clinging to a piece of flotsam, she would not last long in the cold waters. Even her indomitable spirit might succumb to the forces of nature.

“Lady, we are over Penzance—but what is that?”

Lizzie’s eyesight and talent for scouting were gifts for which Claire was grateful, fully employed as they were in the search. “Eight, set the helm at this heading until I return.”

The automaton intelligence system responded and Claire felt the wheel steady under her hands as Eight took over its control. Then she rounded the navigation table and joined Lizzie, Andrew, and Michael Polgarth at the viewing window.

For a moment, she could hardly comprehend what she saw. “Good heavens above. Is the sea—boiling?”

As
Athena
drifted further west, far below and to the right came Seacombe House, looking like a pile of child’s blocks in its lawns and gardens. And along the beach for at least a mile, the sea roiled and tossed as what appeared to be whales attempted to surface.

“Those are the
navires
,” Lizzie said breathlessly. “Undersea dirigibles. Claude was kidnapped in such a vessel. Is it the invasion?”

Claire resisted the pull of scientific inquiry as to how they were powered and what they were capable of. This was no time to be distracted. Maggie’s life was at stake.

“If it is, it’s a terribly disorganized one,” Andrew observed. “Look, they are crashing into one another.”

It was like watching a school of fish being beached in a net. No one dirigible seemed to have command, and as for beaching, some had attempted it. Others seemed to be milling about in the deeper water, waiting for some greater authority and seeming unable to form themselves into organized ranks.

“You don’t suppose she succeeded?” Michael Polgarth finally said. “What are they waiting for?”

“I believe you are right, Mr. Polgarth,” Claire said. It was the only explanation. “The Kingmaker of which Maggie wrote was on the command ship—and its absence has confused them. They cannot proceed. Look, there are more, just surfacing.”

“And there is one turning tail and swimming away.” Lizzie pointed. “Coward.”

“Maybe it is going back to see what’s keeping the Kingmaker,” Andrew suggested.

“Maggie is what’s keeping it, I know it.” Claire raised her voice. “Eight, bear six degrees south and follow that dirigible.”

There followed thirty of the longest minutes of Claire’s life. The dirigible submerged itself so that they could no longer directly follow its course, but Eight held the same heading.
Athena
followed the wide road of the moonlight, bearing south until Lizzie made a sound of surprise.

“What is it, dearest?” Claire scanned the ocean from side to side, hardly daring to hope that a small figure might be visible in the waves.

“Lady—the sea is rising!”

Frozen in astonishment, they could do nothing but watch as an enormous dome of water rose about half a mile ahead. It appeared to be lit from within with the fires of hell—it convulsed—it burst, water sucked up from the gloomy depths below fountaining into the air in an explosion the likes of which Claire had never imagined possible.

It was as though a volcano had erupted in the middle of the English Channel, and a huge wave spread out in concentric circles, traveling at speed in all four directions of the compass.

“The
navires
will be swamped!” Andrew exclaimed. For they were rather closer to the coast of Cornwall than the middle. “And every fishing boat in every cove from here to Truro.”

“The coast of France will take a beating,” Michael Polgarth breathed.

“They will feel this in the Channel Islands and as far as the Isle of Wight,” Claire whispered. “But Maggie? Oh God, where is Maggie?”

“If she is responsible for that, Claire, you may need to brace yourself to learn the worst.” Andrew put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to look up into his warm hazel eyes, her own filling with tears. “I cannot,” she whispered. “If there is even the smallest hope, I must believe that Maggie will survive.”

“If she has, then she will be waiting for us, and we must not fail her.” Gratitude for his unfailing support and faith overwhelmed her, and she swayed against his chest. After a second’s hesitation, Andrew slipped his arms around her and hugged her close. “Once the sea recovers from its upheaval, we must go closer.”

“Shall I ready the basket, Lady?” Lizzie asked.

Claire took a deep, steadying breath and straightened, Andrew’s arms falling away. Lizzie, for once, had greater things to think about, and made no embarrassing remarks.

“Yes, Lizzie. Let Four manage it, though. I need your sharp eyes up here to search the waves for Maggie.”

If it took all night and the rest of tomorrow and the following weeks and months, she would search. Neither height, nor depth, nor any other creature would be able to separate her from the girl she loved.

*

Weeping with pain from a wrist that must be broken, and shivering from shock and cold, Maggie dragged herself up off the deck, grasping at the useless levers and wheels with her uninjured right hand.

What on earth had happened? One moment she was standing under the glass, watching the sky, and the next moment she was being flung about like a blackbird in a windstorm, tossed head over hems as they were engulfed by a wave at least twice as tall as Seacombe House.

And since she had disconnected the propulsion system, she had been unable to steer her way through, but was forced to become a bubble like all the rest, and surface again when the ocean jolly well decided it was time for her to do so.

“Serge?” she croaked.

He lay in a heap against the gunwale, as unresponsive as before. She fetched her gabardine skirt from where it had got wrapped around the hatch lever, wrung the water out of its hems, and laid it over him once more, inadequate to the situation as it was. At least he was breathing, but his color was still ghastly.

She had not much more medical knowledge than a few courses in biology could lend her, but even she could see that if she did not get him to a doctor soon, the family would be down by one. After all he had done for her, she could not bear it. She was just getting used to the idea that she
had
a family. To lose a single member of it was unendurable—and the fact that this particular member had risked his life for her when he did not even know her made the possibility of loss even more terrible.

“Please come,” she whispered to the water sheeting off the glass outside, where she imagined the sky must be. Tears and salt water trickled down her face. “Lady, please come.”

*

“There!” Lizzie screamed. “Lady, what is that?”

“Is it another
navire?
” Claire pressed her nose to the glass, as though it would help her see better. Below, bobbing in the wreckage and flotsam that now littered the surface of the ocean in the wake of the monster wave, was an incandescent ball of light.

“No—it’s a
chaloupe
.” Lizzie’s voice squeaked from nerves. “They used them to ferry supplies back and forth from shore to the dirigibles. Oh Lady, what if—”

“Andrew—”

“On my way. Michael! Your assistance, please, in the basket!”

Focus. You must focus on bringing Athena within salvage distance. You cannot go to pieces now.

Claire brought the great airship as low as she could—low enough now to see that there was movement inside the little ball. Someone was jumping up and down inside it, waving their arms.

“Dear heaven, Lizzie, tell me—is it—”

“I can’t
see!
The deck is in the way!”

Claire set her teeth. Whether it was Maggie or not, some poor soul needed rescuing. At least she could do that, and continue their voyage afterward. But she could not spend another second here in the navigation gondola, not knowing what the basket would bring up.

“Eight, take the helm. Remain stationary above that lighted vessel until I tell you to proceed. Lizzie, come with me.”

They dashed astern, skirts flying. Michael Polgarth manned the winch, his shirt and waistcoat being beaten against his chest and arms by the wind coming in through the hatch.

A cry from below galvanized him into action, winding the rope up as fast as he could turn the crank. The basket came up into its housing and Claire and Lizzie leaped for it.

In the bottom lay a man in the navy-blue wool costume of a bathynaut, soaked to the skin and unconscious.

“She would not come!” Andrew shouted as they hauled the stranger out of the basket, grunting at his weight. “She insisted that he go up first. He needs medical attention immediately.”

“Who?” Claire screamed. “Is it Maggie?”

“Yes! Lower me back down before that little vessel is swamped!”

Lizzie burst into tears and would have flung herself into the basket, too, but Claire hauled her back. “Lizzie, if your sister values this man’s life at the cost of her own, we must do as she says. Help me carry him to one of the cabins.”

He was too heavy for one to take his shoulders and the other his feet, but they could both grasp an armpit and drag him, his boots clunking on the teak decking. Fortunately they had not far to go, and once they got him laid out on a bunk, Claire sent Lizzie astern to watch the basket come up. Though her entire being strained to go with her, she concentrated on the task that Maggie had deemed more important even than her own safety. She stripped the man of his wet clothing, down to his cotton vest and underclothes. Then she chafed him with a wool blanket to dry his feet and attempt to bring some life back into his extremities, and covered him with two more.

There. For the moment, he was as comfortable as it was in her power to make him, and as soon as—oh God, let nothing go wrong—

“Lady!”

At Lizzie’s shriek, Claire leaped to her feet and plunged down the corridor.

As Andrew climbed out of the empty basket, a slender figure, pale as a ghost, staggered into the hatchway. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, her wet petticoat clung to her legs, and she cradled her wrist in a makeshift sling of what appeared to be a piece of dirty canvas. She could barely stay upright—and Claire had never seen any sight more beautiful.

“I knew you would come,” Maggie said through chattering teeth, and Claire swept her into her arms.

*

“And these, little maid, are the chicks of Seraphina’s daughter—you remember Seraphina, whom you met on your first visit to Gwynn Place?”

Three golden chicks nestled in Polgarth’s—Grandfather’s—cupped palms, and he released them gently into Maggie’s lap. She sat cross-legged in the grass, the majestic Buff Orpingtons of the manor’s flock strolling about her unafraid, regally ignoring Holly and Ivy, who were bathing in the dirt next to the gate with vigorous abandon.

“I do remember. In fact, I believe I formed the resolution then—at the age of ten—of coming to live here forever.” She smiled up at him as he folded his old bones onto a gardening stool next to her, watching the chicks carefully as they ran out of her lap and hopped down to the lawn to forage under their mother’s watchful eye.

“Your wrist does not pain you, Maggie?”

“Only a little, if I move too suddenly—and the plaster does not allow much of that. The doctor says I must endure it for two months. What a lucky thing I am not going to finishing school, where young ladies would never dream of indulging in activities that might result in a broken wrist.”

“Not every young lady can prevent an invasion of her country by a foreign power.” Lizzie strolled up, her hands full of rosebuds from the rambler over the gate. “Have you seen the newspapers this morning? They are full of more questions than answers, it seems to me.”

“Let them question,” Maggie said. “I shall say nothing of my part in it.”

“We’ll want to put off any return to Seacombe House, then. Apparently there are more aeronauts and military men and reporters down there than there are sand fleas.” Lizzie sat on the grass, too, and began to weave a crown out of the flowers. Maggie had not been allowed out of her sight in six days, as though Lizzie thought she might be spirited away by some vengeful French patriot if she took her eyes off her cousin for a single moment.

The fact that all the French patriots the Royal Aeronautic Corps had been able to capture were cooling their heels in Cornish gaols until Her Majesty decided what to do with them did not seem to weigh much with Lizzie.

“I shall be glad to stay away in any case,” Maggie said. She leaned against Grandfather’s knee, and his hand came down to stroke her hair. “The Seacombes may be my mother’s parents, but I much prefer my father’s.”

Maggie saw Lizzie’s gaze fall to the locket on its ribbon about Maggie’s neck. That night they had arrived, and immediately after the doctor had come to see to Serge Lavande and set the bones in her wrist, Maggie had set off for Grandfather’s cottage. He had known nothing of the events that had transpired except for the tidal wave that had washed halfway up the cliffs and necessitated a rescue effort for some late-returning fishermen.

They spent until the wee hours of the morning talking, Grandfather reminiscing about her father’s childhood, she telling him of her own childhood after the airship had gone down in the Thames, when she and Lizzie had learned to live on the streets of London. Maggie left out nothing—she was determined there would be no secrets standing between herself and her family ever again. In the morning, Grandfather had taken her into Kevern’s old room and shown her the miniature of Catherine’s sweet face, crowned with flowers and painted when she was only three years older than Maggie was now.

With his blessing, she had threaded the miniature onto a ribbon, silently vowing that her mother’s likeness would always lie next to her heart.

“There.” Lizzie’s clever fingers had finished their work, and Maggie bent so that she could put the crown of roses upon her head. “In the language of flowers, I just gave you your ‘reward of virtue.’ You look a proper princess. If it were spring, we could call
you
Queen of the May.”

Polgarth’s face wavered as memory seemed to assail him. “Catherine was the loveliest girl,” he said. “You favor her strongly, Maggie. And you have my boy’s spirit. Both of them would have been as proud of you as I am. Somewhere, I believe that they are.”

The Lady never failed to give praise where it was due, and Snouts acknowledged a job well done, but Maggie had never received approbation from anyone outside her own intimate circle. The sweetness of her grandfather’s loving gaze nearly brought her to tears. Such a contrast to Demelza Seacombe’s stony face! No wonder Catherine had run away to be with Kevern. Despite the brevity of their acquaintance, his family had welcomed her and loved her, and had likely filled her heart in just the way Maggie’s was filling now.

“Oh, I mustn’t forget,” Polgarth said in an obvious attempt to regain control of his emotions. “A package come for us. Mariah has sent us both some sachets of lavender for the linen closet, and a packet of letters written by your parents.”

“Letters?” Maggie sat up.

“Aye, old and scented with lilac. I took the liberty of glancing through them. Seems Catherine kept every letter she and Kevern sent to one another—and after her death, Mariah kept them safe, tied up in a pale purple ribbon. When we go back to the cottage for tea, I will give them to you.”

“We could go now,” Lizzie suggested. “Maggie will be anxious to read them, won’t you, Mags?”

“I am,” she said softly. The scent of the roses in her crown wafted around her. “But I am happy here, too, in the sun with you both. Mama and Papa have waited for me for seventeen years—they won’t mind waiting a little while longer.”

Across the lawn, Michael emerged from the kitchen door, Serge Lavande leaning upon his arm.

“Mariah’s Henri will be glad of news of his nephew,” Maggie said. “I’m so relieved we were able to get him to a doctor in time.”

“He needs to be careful,” Grandfather said, watching closely the progress of the pair across the grass. “Pneumonia could still set in, after the beating and chill his body took. But never fear, we will care for him well here at Gwynn Place.” His hand lay warm on Maggie’s shoulder. “I confess I’m not sure I can let you go next week to your school in Bavaria. What if something happens to you?”

“Lady Claire will be with us, Grandfather. We are a flock.”

He laughed, delighted. “Aye, you are, and a more loyal one I never saw. My young lady may not be married yet, but she is as good a mother as any and better than most.”

Holly finished her bath and shook out her feathers, a cloud of dust surrounding her like a nimbus. Then, her neck stretched out in anxious anticipation, she ran across the lawn to climb into Maggie’s lap, where she occupied as much space as she could in case her sister should have the same idea.

Stroking the little hen with loving fingers, Maggie exchanged a glance with Lizzie as Serge and Michael joined them to complete their family circle on the grass. Since Maggie was in safe hands with her grandfather, the Lady and Mr. Malvern had been prevailed upon to leave them for long enough to take a refreshing walk along the cliff path this afternoon.

A refreshing walk
alone
.

*

“So Maggie still plans to return to Bavaria with you, despite her injuries?” Andrew strolled next to Claire, the tweed of his jacket warm from the sun and the pressure of her hand. The breeze off the ocean teased at the brim of her hat, making the blue and green ribbons that trimmed it bob and flutter. But despite the playful breeze, the sun felt glorious.

Or perhaps it was the peace that filled her that was so glorious. Peace and relief and gratitude that nearly all the people she loved most in all the world were right here with her, safe as houses.

If only Alice and the occupants of Wilton Crescent could be with them, she would be perfectly happy. Of course, Lady Flora would be aghast at such an invasion, so perhaps it was just as well that she believed there were only four in her party. Of Serge Lavande and the events of a week past, her mother and Sir Richard Jermyn had no knowledge whatsoever. Claire was quite happy that they should continue to believe that her abrupt departure in
Athena
had been upon receiving the report of Maggie’s broken wrist, nothing more.

“She has not confided in me plans of a different nature,” Claire replied in answer to Andrew’s question. “In fact, she may be more set on it than ever—she comes by her taste for genetics quite honestly, you know, and she is anxious to add her own contributions to that field of study. I believe she wishes to honor Polgarth’s work, which is quite unknown outside Cornwall.”

“And the count’s most recent letter? Will you tell her of that?”

Claire hesitated. “Of course.”

“But?”

“Oh, Andrew. You know how she is. None but we know of her bravery, and she is quite content that it should remain that way. How will she feel to know the Emperor wishes to bestow the double eagle upon her?”

“I understand that is quite an honor.”

“Yes. The highest the Empire can give to a civilian. It comes with an annual stipend as well as the medal—and I am quite sure Uncle Ferdinand had something to do with it.”

“Whether he did or not, Maggie deserves it, and you must tell her before you land there.”

“I know. Of course I will. We have no secrets from one another.”

You must marry Mr. Malvern, Lady. He loves you.

No secrets, indeed. It was a sad state of affairs when one must be told of a gentleman’s regard by one’s ward. Of course, Claire had known practically from the beginning of Andrew’s feelings toward her. She had shared those feelings. But her experience of men had tarnished her expectations a little. Why did she attract men who seemed to appreciate a woman of strength and intellect, but when it came right down to it, still expected her to abandon her dreams and be content presiding over home and hearth once the ring was on her finger?

Not that these were dishonorable things. She possessed a home, and enjoyed the security and warmth of her own hearth very much, thank you. Why, then, did gentlemen not see the matter as she did—that managing a home and enjoying a career were not incompatible?

With a sigh, she bent her attention to the path in front of her, winding its way through yellow clumps of gorse in which tiny gold finches twittered and flitted.

“What is the matter, Claire? On such a lovely day, what can there be to sigh over?”

She smiled up at him. “Nothing, Andrew.”

But his eyes did not hold an answering smile. “You have no secrets from the girls, but after all we have been through, you cannot share the honor of your confidence with me?”

Oh, dear. How was it possible to hurt a man without saying a single word?

“You are quite right,” she said softly. If she could hurt him by her silence, surely speaking could not inflict any more damage. “I was just thinking of James Selwyn and Ian Hollys, and my abysmal luck with men.”

She did not know what he had been expecting, but with his bark of startled laughter, she knew it had not been this.

“I don’t know how you can call it abysmal,” he said, chuckling. “If my information is correct, they both cared enough for you to propose.”

“Yes, but the terms of the proposals were not acceptable.”

“And what were they? I know James’s terms, but it has been a mystery to me why you should have turned down Captain Hollys. He is handsome, honorable, cousin to Earl Dunsmuir, and a baronet in his own right. What more could a woman wish for?”

“I do not expect you to understand. If my mother knew of it, she certainly would not.” She gave him a quick glance from under her hat brim. “On no account are you to tell her.”

“You have my word. Help me to understand, Claire.”

“Ian is all the things you say, and more. And he cared for me. But he wanted to leave the Corps and settle to the life of a landed gentleman. He wanted a chatelaine for Hollys Park and a mother for the future baronet.”