The Japanese Devil Fish Girl (14 page)

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Authors: Robert Rankin

BOOK: The Japanese Devil Fish Girl
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‘Pray sir, no,’ said Ada. ‘I believe you understand my circumstances well enough. I apologise for using you so poorly, it was unforgivable of me. But I am in dire need and you have the advantage of me. If it is your wish to use me as you will, so be it, if in return you do not report me to the major-domo.’
 
‘Use you as I will?’ George’s eyes widened once more. That of course would be one way of ‘settling the score’, as it were. And Ada was a very lovely woman.
 
‘No,’ said George. ‘I am a gentleman and to take such advantage of a helpless woman would be anathema to me.’
 
‘Oh,’ said Ada. And there was perhaps a certain hint of disappointment in the manner of her saying it. ‘Well, I thank you, kind sir,’ and she curtseyed.
 
‘We will put it into the hands of the major-domo,’ said George. ‘He will know what to do for the best.’
 
‘Oh no, Lord George, please no.’
 
‘I am joking,’ said George. ‘Are you hungry?’
 
‘I am rarely anything
but
hungry. I come out and scavenge at this time of day, when the posh are dressing for dinner, and later when they have all gone to their bunks.’
 
‘Come dine with me,’ said George.
 
‘In the great dining hall? I could not. I have no ticket and therefore no seat at a table.’
 
‘It is a beautiful evening,’ said George. ‘Perhaps we might dine right here. Al fresco, as it were. I am sure that one of the bellboys might be prevailed upon to bring us something.’
 
Ada Lovelace gazed up into George’s eyes.
 
The eyes of Ada Lovelace were large and green. Lit by the moonlight, George viewed twin reflections of himself therein. It seemed to George a moment of surpassing intimacy. ‘Seat yourself there at that wicker table,’ said George, ‘and I will arrange everything.’
 
He turned to take his leave and then turned back. ‘You will still be here when I return?’ said he.
 
‘I will,’ said Ada. ‘I promise.’
 
 
They dined upon roasted quail and sweet potatoes, asparagus tips and broccoli spears. They drank champagne from fluted glasses, munched upon truffles and sweet petits fours.
 
And all alone upon that deck they toasted each other and the stars and George was very happy.
 
‘Tell me,’ he said, when he thought that the time might be right, ‘why have you been reduced to living such a life? You are clearly a young lady of some refinement. Has Fate used you cruelly?’
 
Ada Lovelace stared into her glass. ‘I might ask such questions of you,’ she replied. ‘You were not badly brought up. Your accent, however, is not one of a public school and when we first met you reeked of embalming fluid and wore the costume of a showman’s zany.’
 
‘Assistant,’ said George. ‘Assistant.’
 
‘And you do not possess a title.
Lord
Fox indeed.’
 
‘It has a certain ring to it,’ said George, viewing his lovely dining companion through his champagne glass. ‘And one day, who knows, I might become a lord.’
 
‘And I a lady,’ said Ada. ‘Or perhaps the Queen of Sheba is as likely.’
 
‘You are evading offering an answer to my question,’ said George. ‘I have treated you with kindness and furnished you with food and drink – am I asking too much to learn of your misfortunes? Perhaps I might even be able to help you in some way.’
 
Ada Lovelace said that she was sorry. She was used now to being alone and fending for herself. She was of a respectable background but it had been discerned early that she possessed the most extraordinary skills in the field of mathematics. She was in fact a child prodigy. But, and here a big but sadly presented itself. No university would take on this arithmetically inclined child genius because she was a girl. She yearned to take employment in some scientific field of endeavour, possibly something to do with the development of Mr Babbage’s Difference Engine or the further understanding and back-engineering of captured Martian technology. But she would never be granted such opportunities in England and so she was running away, or indeed being carried away, to America, aboard the
Empress of Mars
, to seek a position suited to her prodigious talents in a land that offered greater prospects to a woman than did her own home country.
 
‘Well,’ said George, when Ada’s tale was done. ‘I wish you all the bestest for it. Everyone should have the opportunity to follow their dream, and I have heard it said that America offers many opportunities. I hope that you will find what you seek in America.’
 
‘Thank you, Lord George,’ said Ada, gazing up at George and fluttering her eyelids. ‘You are a very nice young gentleman and it would please me greatly to call you my friend.’
 
George smiled somewhat wanly. Young ladies always said that to him. They always wanted just to be his friend, though
best friend
some of them said. And though George was eager to take a lover and experience the joys that sexual intercourse were promised to offer, it seemed that this was unlikely to occur before he met with a young woman who wanted more than simply friendship.
 
Although, if she wanted marriage, she might make George w
ait
.
 
Sudden sounds drew George’s attention. Time had passed more quickly than he had supposed. Dinner was over and folk were now issuing onto the promenade deck for after-dinner strollings, cocktails and cheroots.
 
‘I have so enjoyed this evening together,’ said George.
 
But, turning, he found only a half-empty glass upon the wicker table.
 
Ada Lovelace had slipped away.
 
And George was all alone.
 
15
 
U
p on high amongst the clouds the airship took but fifteen hours to span the great Atlantic. Which was a remarkably good start to a journey that was scheduled to last for seventy-nine days. George, who had been having a bit of a lie-in, awoke to the professor’s knockings at his cabin door and was amazed to discover that the
Empress of Mars
was already approaching New York.
 
But rather saddened too was George, because he had hoped to spend more time with Ada. More time, he had hoped, that might lead to something greater than just friendship. But here, so swiftly, was New York and here she would jump ship.
 
‘And whatever happened to you last night?’ Professor Coffin bustled all about in George’s cabin. Interfering with things, toying about with George’s brand-new, ivory-handled, badger-haired shaving brush. Needlessly dusting at George’s top hat. ‘I missed you at dinner. Shared a table with a Russian research chemist named Orflekoff, and his grandson, Ivan.’
 
George did not rise to that one.
 
‘Also an American false-limb manufacturer by the name of Fischel and his little son, Artie.’
 
Nor that one.
 
‘And an upper-class Shakespearian actor called Ornott-Tobee and his brother, Toby.’
 
‘Indeed?’ said George. ‘And did you by any chance meet with the highly hyphenated Mr Good-mind-to-give-you-a-punch-on-the-chin-if-you-do-not-stop- making-all-these-terrible-name-jokes, and his son, Ivor?’
 
‘No,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Nor do I wish to. So—’ And he danced his sprightly dance. ‘Up and about with you, my bonny lad. New York awaits us and we have people to see.’
 
‘We do?’ asked George. ‘What people?’
 
‘One in particular, George, my boy, and that one is Phineas T. Barnum.’
 
 
They took a late breakfast in the great dining hall, a vast room that easily accommodated the thousand or more passengers.
 
Over a feast of croissants, ginger marmalade, coddled eggs, boiled ham, an assortment of cheeses and coffee from a proper copper coffee pot, Professor Coffin passed bad news to George.
 
‘There was an accident last night,’ he told the lad, who was ladling a coddled egg into his mouth. ‘The whole ship is abuzz with it and it is better that you hear it from me than from some bellboy or bootblack.’
 
George did wonderings at what was to come.
 
Professor Coffin told him. ‘You will recall the Count de Saint-Germain, whom we encountered in the gentlemen-only bar?’
 
George nodded and chewed as he did so.
 
‘A charming fellow,’ said the professor.
 
‘It was a pleasure to meet him,’ said George. ‘Although curiously I cannot recall what it was that we spoke about.’
 
‘No matter,’ said Professor Coffin. ‘Know only this tragic news. The count imbibed rather too freely in the absinthe boudoir last night, took a stroll upon the promenade deck to clear his head and pitched over the guardrail.’
 
George did chokings upon coddled egg.
 
‘Such a pity,’ said the professor. ‘Such a learned man.’
 
‘And he fell down,
all the way
down, into the sea?’ asked George, quite horrified by the thought.
 
‘From an altitude of eight thousand feet. No man has ever fallen so far before. I was speaking earlier with a Mr Guinness, who is thinking to compile some kind of record book. He is considering putting the count in as the very first entry, so I suppose he will get some kind of posthumous fame.’
 
‘Awful,’ said George. ‘Quite awful.’
 
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said the professor. ‘It might prove to be a most interesting book.’
 
‘That is even less funny than the silly name business earlier,’ said George. Then he asked, ‘How
do
you coddle an egg?’
 
 
After breakfast the two took themselves off to the promenade deck to view New York as the airship came in to land. George marvelled at the sky-scraping towers, the Statue of Liberty, the great cruise liners that lay at berth in Manhattan Harbour. All was wonderful to George, who held very tight to the guardrail for fear that he might join the count.
 
 
There was far less fuss with the disembarking and the actual setting foot upon American soil than George had supposed there would be. The professor presented officials with ‘Papers of Recognition’ and George observed the certain handshake being brought once more into play.
 
The
Empress of Mars
had taken moorings above Central Park, and having passed successfully through Customs and Immigration Control, George and the professor strolled from the park and hailed a New York cab.
 
The cab itself was much as a London hansom in design, although with wider wheels and painted yellow. The cabbie wore a racoon-skin top hat and fringed buckskin Ulster coat. Upon learning the nationality of his fares, he informed them that if there was anything – ‘
anything
, do you hear me,
anything’ –
that they required whilst in New York, then he, Mr Frontier, or if not he then his son, Wilde, would be happy to meet those very requirements. The excessive degree of lewd eyelid pulling and exaggerated winking told George all he needed to know regarding what was meant by
that
.

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