Midsummer Moon (15 page)

"Merlin,” he said again. “May I speak to you a moment?"

He received not a blink of response.

"Shall I write your message down in a note, Your Dukeship?” an amused Irish brogue inquired. “And deliver it when she returns to this earthly plane of ours?"

Ransom glanced at Quin. The major was lounging against the mantel, his coat loosened and his deep coppery hair falling in his eyes. Jaqueline coiled the last of the wire between her fingers.

"No, thank you.” Ransom made an effort to hold on to his good temper. He smiled at Jaqueline. “Good afternoon. I didn't expect to see you here, I must confess."

"Oh, I come with the children and spend all day.” She laughed and leaned just slightly toward Quin, so that her fingers brushed his sleeve. “We find this room most alluring, the children and I."

"I see,” Ransom said in a perfectly neutral voice. He doused his quick surge of resentment on Shelby's behalf and resisted the urge to turn and see if his brother was watching.

"Ah, Jackie,” Quin said, smiling down at her. “Don't give old Quinton a bad name with His Grace. Pull those lovely claws of yours out of me heart, dearest."

Jaqueline released her light hold. She blew him a kiss. “Vile boy. You take all the joy out of being a fast woman."

Quin's lips curved in a leering smile. “Oh, are you a fast woman, my sweet? Perhaps I spurned you too hastily."

"Too late.” Jaqueline neatly avoided his move to catch her. “I am a mother again.” She knelt, holding out her arms to envelop her daughters as they pressed wriggling bodies close for a kiss.

From behind Ransom came a high and chilly voice. “Jaqueline, you don't actually suppose such an exhibition will mislead either of my brothers? Ransom is hardly foolish enough to believe that you care so very much for your children when you have ignored them for—"

"Blythe,” Ransom said sharply.

Jaqueline glanced up, her violet eyes unreadable. She gave Augusta an extra hug before she rose.

"It is perfectly true,” Blythe went on heedlessly. Her face was pale as she frowned at Ransom. “She comes in here every day pretending it's the children, when all the time she only wants to flirt with—"

"Leave her be, Blythe.” Shelby's soft voice made them all turn. He stood with the secretary, looking as cold as one of the Grecian statues outside. In the ensuing silence, Merlin's pen scratched and Mr. Peale went on intoning mathematical equations.

"My lord secretary!” Blythe reddened. “I'm so sorry—I did not know you had come in! How do you do? Where would you like to sit? Oh, dear, I'm afraid there isn't much place in here just now."

"Quite all right, my lady.” The secretary's voice held only a hint of forced joviality. “I'll only stay a moment. I wished to see the flying machine with my own eyes."

"But do let me ring for tea."

"Please don't trouble yourself—"

"It will only be a moment. Pull that crate up closer, Shelby."

"Really, Lady Blythe,” the secretary protested, “I don't wish for a thing—"

"Please sit down there, if you like. Ransom, perhaps you could clear this workbench of that ... paraphernalia. How is your dear wife, my lord secretary? Has she recovered from her little bout of congestion?"

"Yes, she's quite well.” The secretary sat down and then sprang up again. He turned around and carefully removed a screwdriver and a littering of screws from the crate where he'd begun to sit.

"I'll take that,” Ransom said. He laid the handful of metal on the workbench. The twins rushed over and scooted up on the bench, scattering screws.

"This is the cat's seat,” Aurelia announced. “You can take us on it, Uncle Demmie. Miss Merlin said."

Augusta nodded vigorously. “Yes. Take us!"

"In a moment.” Ransom kept his attention on Blythe and the secretary, wary of further blunders from his sister. She seemed to have decided that the situation called for a more formal grouping. She snipped at Shelby until he sat down with a sigh on a heap of canvas cloth, and then went after Mr. Peale. The reverend responded instantly to the object of his passion by politely accepting her invitation to join her upon an old carriage seat that appeared to have been exhumed from some stableyard attic.

Mr. Peale's desertion left Merlin with a pursed mouth and a frown. She went back to work, and for a few moments continued scratching away with her pen. The writing began to slow. She looked up. Ransom watched. It came as it always did, that reluctant transition, as her eyes left the soft cloudy vistas of thought and focused on the world at hand. For the first time, she noticed him.

She smiled. And it seemed suddenly to Ransom that the three weeks since he'd kissed her had been three lifetimes.

He held out his hand and spoke gently, because she seemed fragile: pale and tense and worn thin as an overstrung wire. “Merlin,” he said. “Come here. We're having tea and a bite to eat. I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine."

"I'm sorry,” she said. “I have to work."

"You can rest a few moments, don't you think? We'd enjoy your company. The secretary wishes to hear about your flying machine."

"Oh.” She laid down her pen. “Of course."

She came out from behind the writing podium, dragging a stray coil of wire that had caught in her skirt. While approaching them, she passed in and out of rope-thin shadows. Sunlight kindled a gleam in her chestnut hair. Blythe leaped up and performed the introduction while Ransom was still frowning at Merlin, disturbed by the new, slender delicacy of her, the impression that she would snap and then crumble under a careless touch.

Blythe poured tea when it arrived, as indifferent as the well-trained maid to the odd surroundings. Ransom took three extra scones onto his plate, returning a casual smile for his sister's raised brows. He moved next to Merlin, who was already expounding on aviation to the secretary, and offered the scones.

She glanced at him, shook her head, and went on talking. Ransom continued holding up the plate, and the secretary took one scone, eating it handily between eager questions.

Ransom waited a few moments. He sipped his tea and watched Merlin. Behind him, Quin had engaged Blythe and Shelby in some sort of Irish blarney—which they seemed to be enjoying, if Shelby's chuckles and Blythe's huffing was any indication. The Reverend Mr. Peale had collared Jaqueline. To Ransom's amazement, the two of them appeared to be content to argue the relative merits of aluminium wire and catgut at length.

Ransom offered the scones to Merlin again. She paused in her dialogue and shook her head. “No, thank you."

The secretary took another one. “And the landing,” he said between bites. “How do you propose to accomplish that?"

"Well, I've heard that Mr. Pemminey is using wheels.” Merlin frowned. “But I do believe that my skis provide more flexibility. There is the matter of wind resistance, though—"

"I wish you would eat something,” Ransom said evenly.

Merlin shook her head as he held up the plate again. “I'm not at all hungry. As for the wind resistance, I'm trying to calculate for that by—"

"You look as if you haven't had a meal for days."

She waved her hand. “Mr. Pemminey is preparing to test his model next week,” she said, as if that should be explanation enough.

"Have you thought of a grapple?” the secretary asked. He took the last scone from Ransom's offered plate. “Something like a ship's anchor, if you see what I mean. You could throw it out and release the line as you descended."

"But there is the weight, you see.” She worried her lower lip. “Mr. Pemminey seems to have mastered that, since he plans to carry a passenger. But I'm afraid my design could not cope. I'm moving up my test to Monday next. I cannot imagine how Mr. Pemminey has managed to advance so far so fast—"

"Mr. Pemminey be damned,” Ransom said under his breath. He set the empty plate down on a convenient intersection of strung wires. “I have a question, Miss Lambourne,” he announced.

His determined tone overrode Merlin in the midst of her discussion. Everyone looked toward him.

"I was just wondering,” he said casually, “exactly how you're planning to get this apparatus out the door."

Merlin turned toward him. She opened her mouth. She closed it. She twisted to gaze up at the huge sweep of canvas with a look of pure horror transforming her expression.

"Oooh,” she breathed. “Oh,
nooo!"

There was a moment of dead silence.

"There's a poser,” Shelby said. “Merlin, do you mean to tell you never thought of it?"

Her throat worked. No sound came out.

"Really,” Blythe exclaimed. “Then we did all this for
nothing?
"

"Exactly what have you done, Blythe?” Shelby demanded. “Nothing Woodrow couldn't have accomplished twice as fast on his own."

"Woodrow is a child. I was asked to monitor the accuracy of his work,” Blythe said stiffly. “And I certainly wouldn't have wasted my time if I'd known Miss Lambourne hadn't accounted for so simple a thing as transporting her apparatus outside the room!"

"It is a terrible oversight, my dear,” said Mr. Peale. “I apologize sincerely if I've encouraged you to spend your precious time unwisely."

"But sure, it's no problem at all.” Quin gestured toward the row of huge windows that overlooked the formal garden. “'Tis only a wee bit o’ wall blockin’ the way."

Ransom gave the Irishman a sardonic smile. “Don't even think it."

Merlin covered her face. She sank down onto an overturned whiskey keg. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Oh no, oh no, oh no."

The twins rushed to her side. “Don't cry, Miss Merlin! Uncle Demmie will know what to do!” Aurelia patted Merlin's cheek. “Uncle Demmie always knows what to do."

"Of course.” Merlin's head came up. Her drawn face shone with relief and hope as she looked toward him.

In the expectant silence, he cleared his throat. “I can't help you this time, I'm afraid."

The clamor of protest made him scowl. He looked away from Merlin's stricken countenence.

"Uncle Damerell?” a timid young voice asked. “Excuse ma-ma-ma ... me, ba-ba-ba—I have an idea."

Ransom turned to Woodrow and struggled to lighten his expression when the boy gripped his hands together and cast down his eyes. “Yes?"

"The wings,” Woodrow said. He took a deep breath. “The wings. We ca-ca-ca ... could change them, ca-ca-couldn't we? Here.” He pointed. “And over there. Ma-ma-ma-make those joints ma-ma
-metal.
Hinges and ...
screws
... sa-so they would fold up and ... down. Then if you only ... took out one window..."

"
Yes!
” Merlin cried. “I can do that!” She leaped up and smothered Woodrow in a hug. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much! You're the smartest person I ever, ever met!"

Ransom was preparing to declare that a window would be removed at Mount Falcon over his dead body when Woodrow emerged from Merlin's embrace. The boy was scarlet with confusion and pride.

"My pleasure, Miss Lambourne,” Woodrow said, without a single trip over a “p” or an “m."

He didn't even seem to notice the lack of stutter. But Ransom did. With a sigh, the master of Mount Falcon consigned one of its century-old Vanbrugh windows to an ignoble fate.

Merlin rushed back to her writing table, grabbing up the pen and dragging out diagrams and notes from the piles of vellum scattered across the floor. She muttered to herself, making little moans and occasional lamentations, such as: “This will throw me back a month,” or “Blast, blast, I can't cut the skeleton there ... but wait! Could I possibly ... no—it won't work. It would never stand the strain. It will have to be in the third quarter ... Mr. Peale! Mr. Peale, where is that Johnson book on integral calculus? Page two hundred and twenty, I believe it was ... Oh, do hurry—we have no time, no time at all!” Mr. Peale, with profuse apologies to Blythe, promptly went back to work. Ransom's sister stood looking after her admirer, holding the teacup he had handed her, the corners of her mouth turned down in little white pinches.

"Does he desert you so easily, darlin'?” Quin sauntered up and took the teacup from her hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips. “I find his priorities baffling."

The pinches at Blythe's mouth grew deeper and whiter as a pink flush suffused her face. When Quin lingered with his lips brushing her skin, she snatched her hand away. “I shall not stand for your continued impudence."

"Forgive me, Your Ladyship.” Quin bowed contritely. “I can't seem to help meself."

"Nonsense,” Blythe said. She turned away.

"Let's go on the cat's seat now, Uncle Demmie!” Augusta clutched Ransom's hand and pulled. Aurelia abandoned her impromptu game of skittles with Jaqueline and added her pleas. Ransom allowed himself to be drawn back toward the workbench, but his attention was divided between Merlin and the secretary, who had decided to take his leave and was already speaking to Blythe.

Augusta dropped Ransom's hand. She skipped to the end of the bench and bent over. The secretary was moving toward them when the floor lurched beneath Ransom's feet. He grabbed at the nearest thing, a dangling rope, and felt it go taut beneath his fingers. At the same time, an unfamiliar creaking clank began a rapid rhythm.