Steampunk Omnibus: A Galvanic Century Collection (41 page)

He was ideal. She could live her life, and he his, without London society casting a sideways glance.

And so what if they did not love one another? Love was not something she needed. She was no young maid, eyes full of stars and heart full of need. She'd had lovers, yes, and doubtlessly would again, but the last man she'd considered giving her heart to -- the Turkish noble Cemal Yavuzade Bey, may his name be ever cursed -- had tried to exploit her feelings to suit his own dark political agenda, holding her captive without her being aware that she'd been kidnapped.

No.

She preferred her exploitation to be out in the open and mutual.

Hence Alton Bartleby.

Hence this wedding.

She didn't love him. Not in that way. But he was good enough.

***

Exalted Sirs,

We discovered Talos in the ruins of his stronghold, gravely injured and at the point of death. His spirit to fight on was strong, however, and his heart did still beat. We transported him to the nearest safehouse, and our doctors managed to salvage of him what we could.

Of his project little can be said. Boadicea was as efficient as one could expect in its destruction. We salvaged what we could; a package is en route.

I now write asking for instructions regarding the fate of Talos. Daedalus assures me that he can be saved, after a manner, should we desire, though it would require a significant investment. Despite his irregularities during his last assignment, he has always been an efficient tool of the Octovirate, and it is my recommendation that we attempt salvage. Daedalus himself seems particularly eager to make the attempt; he has that certain look about him.

Take that for what it is.

I await your judgement in this matter,

Cato

Chapter 3

"Brigadier Wilson!" Alton greeted the retired officer warmly. "How good of you to make it. Aldora and I both greatly appreciate the honour of your attendance."

"Mr.Fiske and I are old acquaintances," Wilson said. "I'm honoured to have been invited to the wedding."

"Then you will already know Mrs. Fiske, I'd assume?" Bartleby guided the man over towards his soon-to-be mother-in-law.

"Of course! Mary, how wonderful to see you again."

Mary Fiske offered the Brigadier a dainty hand. "Always a pleasure, Percival. How is your Dorothy? Is she here?"

"She sends her regards, but is, alas, too busy overseeing the preparations for our upcoming move to attend. I trust you understand?"

"Of course," Mary said. "Move you say? Have you tired of the city at last, come to join us in the country?"

"Were that it was so simple!" The Brigadier turned to Alton. "Having watched Aldora grow up as I have, I practically feel like her uncle. I regret not having had opportunity to meet you until this moment."

Bartleby grabbed a pair of champaign flutes from a passing footman. "Would you care for a drink, sir?"

The Brigadier took them, offering one to Aldora's mother. She shook her head, and he offered it instead to the bridegroom. Alton accepted it with a smile.

"I'd heard that you'd finally gone into retirement," Mary said.

"Were that it was so simple. No. The Crown has seen fit to reactivate my commission, and appoint me aide to Viscount Gladstone in his new role as Governor-General of the Union of South Africa."

"Quite the honour!" Alton downed his champaign in one quick gulp. "God bless the Queen."

"God bless the Queen," the Brigadier said, watching the young man drink. "Yes, quite the honour. Of course, one might speculate that perhaps Her Majesty is still somewhat cross that I supported Gladstone in appointing Lady Balfour and Mrs. Tennant to the Royal Commission on reforming Divorce Law."

"I should not be surprised," Mary said. "I cannot imagine that topic being discussed with delicacy before ladies."

"Don't be so hard on yourself." Alton gave the older gentleman a pat on the back. "I'm sure she's cross with Gladstone's whole government, not you personally."

"A cold comfort for a man shipping out to Africa, Mr. Bartleby. Now, if you will excuse me?" The Brigadier turned stiffly and walked off.

"Oh dear, I do think I may have upset him."

"Mr. Bartleby," Mary said.

"Yes, mother?"

The woman's mouth drew thin. "You know, you seem quite adept at predicting where the champaign service is going to be, and guiding the newly arrived guests to that spot."

He adopted a shocked expression. "My Lady, I do not know just what you're implying."

"There's no implication, Mr. Bartleby." She laid her head back. "Would you mind tilting my parasol? The sun's getting in my eyes. That's a good lad."

***

Three glasses of champaign later Alton failed to notice Regina Worth sneaking up on him. He didn't know the woman personally, but after having covertly witnessed the passive-aggressive exchange between her and his fiancée, he had little desire to get wrapped up in whatever drama the woman had herself involved with. He'd kept an eye out for her across the lawn, watching for the elaborate ribbons streaming from her hat, and had previously arranged to be conveniently elsewhere whenever her social meanderings would have caused their paths to cross. Luck, eventually, runs out.

"So, you're the infamous Mr. Bartleby." Regina smiled at him, glass of wine in her gloved hands.

"Ah! Miss Worth, is it? A pleasure to meet you."

She offered her hand, and he took it politely for but a moment. She was trouble. And he was drunk.

"I was beginning to fear we wouldn't meet until after you'd become a married man. I'm charmed that you know my name."

"And you mine."

She turned her head and blushed prettily. "Oh, I'm afraid I've not a reputation of your calibre, Mr. Bartleby."

"Oh, I've a reputation now?" He didn't mean to flirt with her. He really shouldn't be taking her openings. He should know better.

"You're the infamous Alton Bartleby," she said. "The scourge of St. John's Wood. I've been warned about you."

"Oh my, I sound dreadful." He was unable to help himself. "What've you been warned of?"

"Just that you're a charming rogue who's not to be trusted, particularly when it comes to a lady's virtue."

"Definitely not the trustworthy sort, this Mr. Bartleby." Stop it, you drunken goat.

She stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. "So I've heard. Makes one wonder why he'd seek the company of one Miss Aldora Fiske."

"Does that seem unusual to you?"

"Only in that they're so very different in temperament."

"Perhaps not as much as one might think," Alton said.

"Oh? And whatever might that imply?"

Alton cast his gaze about, looking for an escape from the conversation. "Simply that one cannot make assumptions based upon unfounded rumour. That leads to nothing but scandal."

"I've found that even the most scandalous rumour contains the seed of truth." Miss Worth stepped forward again, standing nearly toe to toe with him. "And don't we all need a little scandal in our lives?"

With a sense of relief he noticed the constable from the train station heading towards the house with purposeful strides. "Terribly sorry, Miss Worth, but you must excuse me. I've guests to greet."

"Oh, but Mr. Bartleby--"

He set off at once, weaving his way through the crowd of guests.

***

Alton intercepted the constable mid-way up the drive.

"Hello, there. I don't believe we've been properly introduced. Alton Bartleby, bridegroom."

"I know who you are. We met at the station." The constable tried to sidestep around him, stopping as Alton mirrored his movement.

"Yes, but I don't think I caught your name beyond your title."

"Fuller. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Constable Fuller. Do you mind showing me your invitation?"

"I'm not--"

Alton smiled, continuing to move and bar the man's passage. "You see, I'm afraid this is a private affair. Can't just let anyone in off the street -- not that that's an indictment of your character, just that I'm not acquainted with you, and if the Fiskes' did not see fit to extend an invitation to you--"

The constable held up a hand. "I'm not here for the wedding, Mr. Bartleby."

"You've some other business, then?"

"Yes. None of it yours."

Constable Fuller once more tried an end-run around the tipsy bridegroom, but Alton just so happened to weave in his direction. The Constable stopped just short of a collision.

"Now look here--"

"Dreadfully sorry, Constable, but I'm afraid that my duties are quite clear. In this instance I am tasked with acting as gatekeeper. The Fiskes, you see, are quite engaged in the wedding preparations and their social duties, and are not to be unduly disturbed." That wasn't entirely true, but after a certain number of drinks Alton was more inclined towards contrariness.

"This is official Hillshire police business. I have a matter that must be brought to Mr. Fiske's attention."

"You can bring it to my attention first."

"It's a matter of legal sensitivity--"

Alton put his hands on the constable's shoulders. "Surely, good sir, if Mr. Fiske can entrust to me his daughter, he wouldn't mind you sharing the town's trouble?"

Fuller scowled and clenched his jaw. For a second there Alton thought that the man was actually going to strike him, but the rage left his face almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"If you must know, Mr. Bartleby, there have been more than a few unexplained disappearances over the course of the last month. Mr. Fiske asked he be appraised of any developments."

"And have there been? Developments? Hmm?"

The constable stepped back and the other man's hands fell from his shoulders. "I've let you know why I'm here. Now I am afraid that I must insist that you cease your interference and allow me the completion of my duties as an officer of the law."

Alton slipped around Fuller's side and threw an arm around his shoulder, speaking with a conspiratorial compassion. "Look, good man. You're a man of the law, I understand. So am I. A detective, as a matter of fact."

"You're a metropolitan police detective?" Constable Fuller asked. "You?"

"I'm a detective. We both know that men like Lucian Fiske dictate laws, they don't enforce them. That's the province of men like you and I. Men like us. We get things done, aye? So why don't you tell me what this development is, and I'll determine whether or not it's something that Mr. Fiske needs be troubled with just before his daughter's wedding, or if it's something that we men of action can handle ourselves."

Fuller gave an exasperated sigh. "If you must know, Mr. Bartleby--"

"Oh, I must."

"If you must pry, then know that there's been another disappearance. One of the warehouse watchmen did not return home from work last night."

"Most troubling," Alton said.

"Yes, so if you don't mind--"

"How many of these disappearances have there been of late?"

"Two dozen reported in the last month or so," Fuller said. "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this."

The bridegroom flagged down a passing servant and snatched a flute of champaign from his tray. "It's my confident and commanding demeanour. Have you reason to believe the disappearances linked?"

"Very little in the way of evidence has come to light, Mr. Bartleby. The vanished were all employees of Mr. Fiske's warehouse and factory facilities, but given that this is a company town that isn't necessarily telling."

"Not necessarily," Alton said. "Quite. I've got some good news for you, Constable Fuller."

"You're going to cease this interference in my duties?"

"Quite the opposite." He downed the champaign, then tossed the glass into the bushes at the side of the house, where it shattered with a tinkle. "Your matter has piqued my interest. I've decided to personally look into the matter."

The constable gave a start. "On your wedding day? Surely you've other, more pressing matters."

Alton waved the man's concern away. "Oh, it's the bride's parents who handle all this. I've nothing substantive to do but fret until late afternoon."

"That's but a matter of hours, sir."

"I'm quite good. Ask anyone. But in the unlikely event that I cannot solve your problem, I shall remain in the vicinity for the wedding."

"Mr. Bartleby--"

"A good mystery is just what I need to take my mind off of my nuptial jitters." The bridegroom gazed deeply into the man's eyes. "Surely you can understand that, Constable Fuller."

The man seemed to grasp for a socially acceptable reason to turn him down. "Sir, aren't you the one to greet the guests as they arrive?"

"Follow me, sir," Alton said.