The Mysterious Lady Law
Read The Mysterious Lady Law Online
Authors: Robert Appleton
The Mysterious Lady Law
By Robert Appleton
In a time of grand airships and steam-powered cars, the death of a penniless young maid will hardly make the front page. But part-time airship waitress and music hall dancer Julia Bairstow is shattered by her sister’s murder. When Lady Law, the most notorious private detective in Britain, offers to investigate the case
pro bono
, Julia jumps at the chance—even against the advice of Constable Al Grant, who takes her protection surprisingly to heart.
Lady Law puts Scotland Yard to shame. She’s apprehended Jack the Ripper and solved countless other cold-case crimes. No one knows how she does it, but it’s brought her fortune, renown and even a title. But is she really what she claims to be—a genius at deducting? Or is Al right and she is not be trusted?
Julia is determined to find out the truth, even if it means turning sleuth herself—and turning the tables on Lady Law…
Dear Reader,
A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good intentions.
This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT Booklovers Convention in April, where we’ll be offering up goodies, appearing on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests and more as part of our week-long promotions!
But even when we’re not doing special promotions, we’re still offering something special to our readers in the form of the stories authors are delivering to Carina Press that we’re passing on to you. From sweet romance to sexy, and military science fiction to fairy-tale fantasy, from mysteries to romantic suspense, we’re proud to be offering a wide variety of genres and tales of escapism to our customers in this new year. Every week is a new adventure, and we want to bring our readers along on the journey. Be daring, be brave and try something new with Carina Press in 2011!
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For you, Mum.
“Huzzah! Huzzah!”
Horace Holly had nowhere to hide. He thumbed his lapels and bowed for the thousands of adoring spectators gathered outside Westminster Abbey. How many of the youngsters even knew who he was? Their fathers and grandfathers might recall, but years had passed since he’d last braved public scrutiny on such a scale. The queen’s New Year’s Honours ceremony was something he’d read about but never imagined
he
would be invited to—to receive a Knighthood, no less, for “many extraordinary discoveries in exotic lands and gallant dedication to the teaching of young scientists and future explorers.”
Holly chuckled. How squat and unsightly he must appear next to the younger sportsmen, the upstanding war veterans and the distinguished men of science preceding him through the great entrance. He’d never been much to look at—his enormous sideburns, grey concessions to middle age, probably didn’t help matters—but that hadn’t stopped him from enjoying a full, some would say amazing, life. How impressed his fellow honorees must be by all this pomp and majesty. But they had not visited the great Temple of Kor, nor had they seen firsthand the fanatical reverence of the Amahagger for their queen, the great and terrible Ayesha. They had not trekked with Quatermain into the shadows of darkest Africa, discovered tribes never before seen by white men, nor tasted that petrifying fear of being hunted for supper in a hidden jungle.
He waved at a pink-cheeked little girl hoisted high on her father’s shoulders. The butterflies roused in his stomach. Fancy that—despite all he had survived, he was a little nervous, after all. Young Josh, his assistant, had been right. He would buy the lad a beer when he saw him next.
Silence gripped the crowd. For the first time he heard the howl of the wind and, during a lull, the creak and buzz of the airships struggling to maintain their circular flight paths high above the two gothic towers. People stopped waving. Holly glanced behind him. A post chaise halted and a smartly-dressed woman got out. Her face was hidden by the wide-brimmed black-and-white satin touring hat that exaggerated her bow to the crowd. She wore brown leather boots and marched with a schoolmarm attitude. The lady was small but powerful, with a lovely figure. Not altogether popular, though. Four constables escorted her as spectators whom he’d seen clapping and shouting “Huzzah!” now shook angry fists, grimaced and generally harangued this tiny woman. Others blew her kisses and cheered her on. Who was she? What had she done?
Holly was about to protest—a few obscenities were being tossed out from the crowd—when a moustached gentleman, red-faced and in a hurry, said to him, “You’d best get a move on, old boy. That’s Harriet Law. She’s the pox on
any
public event.”
Ah, so this was she. The infamous private detective who had managed to upstage the police in every investigation she had been hired to solve. Not most, mind, but
every single one.
Even cases the most seasoned Scotland Yard detectives claimed were unsolvable. Insufficient evidence. Zero leads. Apprehending Jack the Ripper had merely been the first in a series of breathtaking breakthroughs over the past decade. Some believed she was complicit in the crimes themselves, but her alibis always stood up. Others claimed to have spotted her in several places at once, but she laughed that off as celebrity mania. Was she really what she claimed to be—a genius at seeing and deducting things others couldn’t?
Yet what did any of that matter? Harriet Law had stepped in and not only caught the villains, but recorded her entire investigations, in dazzling detail, in the most controversial book of the last decade. The title of her recent memoirs,
The Miraculous Case Files of Harriet Law,
was now to be amended by her publisher, as per her official title after today’s honour, to
The Miraculous Case Files of Lady Law.
Holly admired the fresh-faced, brazen young woman who, knowing she was likely to be received hostilely, had marched straight through the crowd for her prize. Very admirable. Something he and his old friend Leo Vincey might have done—to hell with the fickle public!
He picked up his pace. The Queen’s Grenadier Guards at the main entrance looked ornamental in their scarlet tunics and bearskin hats. Though the ceremony was ordinarily held at Buckingham Palace, much of that was still being rebuilt following the infamous airship crash last year. This venue was no poor substitute. On either side of the single aisle, ranks of opposing pews appeared almost full, though he couldn’t find young Josh in the section reserved for the honorees’ guests. The lad was generally about as punctual as a shooting star, but he’d practically begged Holly for this invitation. Disappointed, Holly lowered his gaze. He had no family and Josh was the closest to a comrade he’d had since he’d left poor Leo Vincey to his fate in Kor.
So much for that beer, then.
Enormous archways heaped medieval might upon the congregation. At the far end of the church, ornate stained glass windows towered to the rafters. Everyone remained still, their voices never rising above a whisper. That was…until
she
entered.
Holly groaned when he reached his seat in the second pew and heard the disgruntled swell following him. Queen Victoria had not yet arrived. So the hullabaloo could only be about
her,
the darnedest woman in London, who had already upstaged every single person in Westminster before a single honour had been bestowed. This was getting silly. Who cared if people didn’t understand her methods? Who cared if they objected to her feminist attitude, her unwholesome social life, or her flagrant disregard for public opinion? She put villains away, for Christ’s sake! The ends
had
to justify the means. The rest was gossip and innuendo not worthy of such a hallowed church.
He offered her a friendly smile when she reached his side. Ms. Law would have one friend, at least. Her big, intense hazel eyes struck him still, then she smiled back at him. Holly gawped at the freshest, prettiest creature he’d seen in years, not to mention the most brilliant.
A booming voice announced, “All rise for Her Royal Majesty, Queen Victoria…”
As he stood, Holly imagined the words,
‘…and the accused, Ms. Harriet Law.’
The ceremony passed pleasantly enough. Clapping, bowing, names he’d never heard before and would not remember, more clapping, more names, more clapping and even a few tears here and there. Queen Victoria handed out the medals, ribbons and quiet praise with her customary poise. She even winked at Holly as she touched his shoulder with her sword—he had regaled her more than once at the dinner table with tales of his exploits. For a reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he felt an aching sadness mixed with the pride. It was as if these were the closing chapters of his adventures, written publicly, from which he would not emerge.
“Congratulations, Sir Horace,” Harriet Law whispered in his ear as he returned to his seat.
“Thank you. Most kind. And to you, miss.”
The booming voice announced her name and she rose with that same nonchalance, a centred grace that had immunised her from the volatile crowd outside. She swept into the aisle, hiking her skirt over an obstacle someone had left on the floor. This drew gasps from those nearby, recipients of a glimpse of her shapely white legs. Holly cleared his throat and straightened his bowtie.
Now
she had given them something to gossip about!
Out of the corner of his eye, Holly glimpsed a reddish flash behind Ms. Law, a few rows away. Bizarrely, someone else had left their seat to approach the steps to the throne. A well-dressed man. Broad-shouldered, with a misshapen prizefighter’s nose, he looked to be in his early twenties, around Josh’s age. But what was that…?
In his right hand, a copper
steam-pistol.
An assassin!
“Watch out, miss!” Holly yelled, darting from his seat. The man saw him and bared his teeth. He bolted for Harriet Law, his copper weapon at the ready. Holly hurdled over the knees of the last two people in his row, tripped on the edge of the pew and crashed into the attacker’s legs, bowling him over. A ferocious scramble ensued. They smashed heads while fighting tooth and nail for the pistol. Holly thrust his huge right arm around the man’s neck. Try as he might, he couldn’t equal his opponent’s powerful grip on the gun. Holly had been incredibly strong once, but now the energy sank from his muscles, the weight of concrete set in its place. Just a matter of time. Another man tried to intervene but received a kick to the groin instead. Holly spat through clenched teeth, his hold lessening with each snatched breath.
Not like this, you bastard…
He lost the struggle and the assassin launched an elbow into Holly’s ribs.
Christ, that hurt.
But the cry of agony that hurtled round Westminster Abbey was not Holly’s. He rolled, scrambled away and tried to gain a standing foot in that same motion. He overbalanced against the hard wood of a nearby pew, cracking his shoulder. Screams and the clattering of feet erupted all around the church. Through a tightening circle of red tunics he glimpsed a shiny two-foot-long blade. It had been thrust into the assassin’s chest. Its owner—Harriet Law—refused to let go. She remained bent over the man’s body, watching him die, one high-heeled leather boot pinning down his shoulder. In her left hand she clutched the hollow shaft of a parasol, from which she had unsheathed her surreptitious sword.
He heard many voices address him but he couldn’t discern the words. Minutes passed. He sat alone and gathered himself. Queen Victoria was long gone. When the chaos died down, a soft whisper in his ear brought him to. “I am in your debt, Sir Horace. I can never thank you enough.”
“Are you well, miss?”
“Fine,” she replied. “I believe you performed the heroics this time.”
This time?
She was as beautiful as ever, but now he perceived the ice in her cool aspect, for after so shocking an episode, no
man
would be this unaffected, let alone a woman. What gave her such steel?
“I hope you will attend the conclusion of our ceremony, whenever that may be,” she added.
“I’ll…I will certainly try.”
“Well, thank you again.” She shook his hand, her intense gaze searing him.
“You’re very welcome, Miss—”
“Harriet. Please call me Harriet. I’ve had enough pomp for one day. And now—” she straightened her hat and turned to leave, “—it’s time to disappoint the mob.”