The Zeppelin Deception Read online

  “That was the idea.” He said it so casually as he turned back to face me.

  The blood drained from my face. Suddenly I felt weak and unsteady. I groped for a chair and sat down. “What are you saying?”

  “They wanted me to shoot Marie Antoinette—you. I knew the moment I did that—or even attempted to, or appeared to do so—I was next. I had to be. They had to get rid of me. They’ve been trying for a long time.”

  “They put that—that battery device on you. To control you. That’s how it happened.” I had to believe it. My eyes burned and I blinked rapidly. “They were controlling you the whole time you were up there. Like Lord Cosgrove-Pitt.”

  He shook his head. “No, Evaline. I was never under their control. Not fully. Not the way you think.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Please help me to understand.

  “I fought it. I was able to battle against their attempts to use that device because I knew what they were trying to do. I was prepared for it; I could fight it. But mostly, it was because what they wanted me to do was impossible for me to do. It was impossible. Do you understand?”

  I nodded slowly. I thought I did. And the very idea made my eyes burn even more. “But I saw you take the device away, from the back of your neck. It was attached to you.”

  “Theatrics.” His smile was crooked. “All of tonight was merely theatrics. The device wasn’t working. Not the way they thought it did.”

  “But you did it. You shot—me. Marie Antoinette.” Me.

  “Do you think for one minute I actually thought that girl was you?” The intensity in his gaze made my lungs clog. “Of course I knew it wasn’t you.”

  “How?”

  He tilted his head, compressed his lips, then looked away, shaking his head. “Do you not know your own countryman Shakespeare?”

  I exhaled—confused, upset, hot and cold and shaky. And frustrated. Couldn’t the man ever answer a direct question? “Shakespeare? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Pix.”

  “Edison. The charade is over. My name is Edison. Use it.”

  “Fine. Edison. So you didn’t think you were shooting at me. But you were shooting at Marie Antoinette. And now some innocent woman is probably dead. And everyone saw you do it.”

  He looked at me with cold, distant eyes. “I see. Very well, then, luv. I suppose we have nothing else to talk about.”

  He turned and, without another word, strode to the door.

  “Where are you going?” I demanded, blinking rapidly.

  Why was he mad? Why was he angry?

  I was the one who’d almost been murdered. I was the one who’d kissed a murderer. I should be the one who was angry and confused and sharp and I should be the one storming out of the room.

  “I’ve got to get back there—”

  The door rattled a little, and it wasn’t because he was touching it. He hadn’t gotten there yet.

  We exchanged glances, and both of us moved at the same time—toward the other; instinctively, we created a united front, each jockeying to be the one in front of the other. I had my dagger in hand when the door swung open.

  Miss Stoker

  ~ The Fashion Assistant’s Brilliance Revealed ~

  When Mina strode into the hideaway like she owned it, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset.

  But I didn’t have the chance to react, for Grayling was right behind her, and I knew that meant trouble. I stood in front of Pix—Edison—almost as if to protect him (though I have no idea why I thought he deserved my protection). But he shoved me aside to meet Grayling face to face.

  Before I could intervene, Mina rushed over to me. “Evaline, are you quite all right? You were shot!”

  “I’m fine. The bullet didn’t go through.”

  “But that isn’t possible!” She started murmuring about trajectories and force and propulsion as she spun me around to examine the back of my corset. Apparently, she didn’t believe that I knew I hadn’t been shot.

  But that was when I realized I was still only half-dressed, with my filmy Greek gown caught at my waist. I pulled it up, and Mina assisted me to refasten it as she probed the bullet hole in the corset Madam Trouxeau’s assistant had fashioned for me.

  “Fascinating. I’ve never seen this type of material before. It actually stopped the bullet. It’s not really leather, or else it’s some sort of leather that’s been specially reinforced… Good gad, is that chain mail woven inside it? And with panels made from metal—”

  Grayling and Edison had been speaking in low, insistent voices, and I pulled away from Mina to interrupt them.

  “I suppose you’re going to arrest him again,” I said to Grayling.

  The inspector gave me a look. “No, Miss Stoker, I don’t believe I’ll be arresting Edison Smith tonight. Or ever.”

  “I don’t understand.” I goggled at the two of them, then Mina joined the conversation.

  “Of course he’s not going to arrest Pix, Evaline. Didn’t you hear anything I told you previously? Pix—er, Edison Smith was in protective custody because he was being framed for the murder of Hiram Bartholomew. And the real murderer has been trying to find him and silence him for months—”

  “Years,” Edison said quietly. “It’s been years. Two and a half, to be exact.” He wasn’t looking at me. “I’ve not had my true identity for over two years.”

  “All right.” I was so confused. “But tonight—”

  “Yes, I have many questions about tonight, Mr. Smith,” Mina said. “Once you removed the controlling battery device, you were cognizant of your own desires and had control of your own will again, correct? But up until that time, were you aware of what you were doing? What they had—uh—scripted you to do? Or when you removed the device, did you—well, rather, find yourself coming out of a trancelike or dreamlike state? I find all of this very interesting—”

  “Mina,” Grayling said. “Perhaps we can wait to discuss the finer points of the battery devices later, for Smith tells me there’s little time to waste.”

  “For what?”

  “They won’t expect me to go back there,” Edison said. Still not looking at me. “Not when I’ve just recently escaped. I’ve got to get—”

  “But how did you escape? They must have had you under their control—at least physically; locked or confined or otherwise indisposed—the entire time you were there,” Mina interjected.

  “There was a—a chambermaid,” Edison said, averting his eyes. He glanced at Grayling. “Daisy. She was…very helpful to me.”

  Daisy. Who would name someone after a stinky, boring flower?

  I immediately despised the woman. But of course I didn’t show it.

  “That was very nice of her,” I said brightly. “To help you.”

  Mina looked at me strangely and opened her mouth to speak, but Grayling interrupted. “I have my steam-cycle. It’ll get us across the city in less than twenty minutes. Are you certain they won’t be returning tonight?”

  “They intended to leave tomorrow after dark,” Edison said. “But then again, things didn’t go as they planned this evening, did they? They could return at any time.”

  “No, things didn’t go as planned.” Mina looked at me. “And yet some things did. Perhaps you don’t know. Or you either, Mr. Smith. Princess Lurelia is dead. She was dressed as Marie Antoinette.”

  “What?” I struggled to make sense of it. “Lurelia was in my costume? At my ball? But how? Why?”

  “The Ankh, of course,” Mina said sharply. “Haven’t you put it together yet, Evaline? It all makes sense now. You were the intended victim, of course, originally. You were meant to die at your own masquerade ball—but at the last minute, you, unbeknownst to everyone, changed your costume. Somehow the Ankh discovered this and enticed Lurelia to attend as Marie Antoinette. That is precisely the sort of thing Lurelia would find exciting and adventurous—do you recall how much she enjoyed dressing as a man when we went to Bridge & Stokes? And we’ve known
for certain she was with the Ankh for months now, since she was at The Carnelian Crow.”

  “But I thought she was the Ankh’s partner,” I said, trying to follow all of this. “Why would the Ankh want to kill her?”

  Mina opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. She seemed, for once, not to have a ready answer.

  Grayling spoke before she could decide to continue. “Quite simply, most likely the Ankh was finished with her—and you, Miss Stoker, by making a last-minute change to your costume—and not telling anyone about it, including Mrs. Stoker and definitely not your fiancé, made it simple for the Ankh to substitute Lurelia so she could be eliminated.”

  “The Ankh sent the Sekhmet costume to Mrs. Scott-Rondeau,” I told Mina, grateful that I had at least something to add to the conversation besides a question. “She’d already made certain Mrs. Scott-Rondeau’s costume was ruined so she’d have to wear the Sekhmet costume. She must know someone who works at Mrs. Glimmerston’s.”

  “It’s certainly something the Ankh is quite capable of doing—making a swift and excellent, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, adjustment to her plans and taking advantage of the situation in order to have someone else take care of her dirty work.”

  “In this case, murdering Edison Smith,” I said dryly. “But who shot me? I mean, me for real, not the person dressed as me. And who was shooting at Pi—Edison?”

  “Do you mean you haven’t figure it out yet, Evaline?” Mina’s arch look made me want to strangle her. “It’s quite obvious—”

  Grayling must have recognized the light in my eyes, because he stepped between us. “We really haven’t the time to discuss this now. We— Where the devil did he go?”

  Mina and I spun as one. “He’s gone. He left,” I said, cursing in a very unladylike manner (inside my head). “We stood here talking about theories and clues and plot—”

  “The word clue was never mentioned, Evaline,” Mina snapped, but she was on my trail to the door. “Nor was theory or—”

  “Miss Holmes.” Grayling’s voice was desperate. “Please.”

  “But where are we going?” I demanded. “Where were they keeping Pix?”

  “Why, Evaline, Cosgrove Terrace, of course. Surely you figured that—”

  “Not the Oligary Building?” Grayling stopped. “Are you quite certain, Miss Holmes?”

  “The Oligary Building?” I looked between them. “Why would you— Are you saying Mr. Oligary is involved?”

  Then it all seemed to explode in my mind. “The black airship. Cosgrove Terrace—Sir Emmett was there. Blooming fish, how could I not have seen it?”

  “That’s quite correct, Evaline,” said Mina—and I wasn’t certain whether she was referring to the fact that I was correct, or that I’d been so blind.

  “Sir Emmett and the Ankh. Of course. He and Lady Isabella have known each other for years! I should have put it together before. She practically told me…” I trailed off as Mina gave me a horrified look, her eyes bugging out as she looked at Grayling.

  “Whatever is the matter, Miss Holmes?” he asked.

  “I…well…”

  “Did you think I was unaware of the identity of the Ankh?” he said with a sigh of exasperation. “What sort of an imbecile do you think I am?”

  “I…”

  “Bloody hell, Mina.” His frustration would have been amusing had the moment not been so tense. “Can we cease the nattering and be on our way?”

  “But where are we going?” I demanded.

  “Evaline, you should know better than anyone else. Where is the airship moored? Who has the battery devices? Where would there be a chambermaid to assist Pix? Cosgrove Terrace, of course.”

  “Very well,” Grayling said. “I hope you’re correct, Miss Holmes.”

  “I’m always—”

  “You weren’t right about the Ankh and the airship being connected,” I reminded her as we rushed into the tunnel below Fenman’s End. “You said they weren’t.”

  “But we can’t fit all three of us onto your steam-cycle,” Mina said loudly—as if to drown me out. “Evaline will have to go on her own—”

  “Evaline certainly will not—we will have to make us fit,” Grayling growled.

  And neither Mina nor I said another word after that.

  Bilbo glanced up as we burst into the pub. He sighed, shaking his head, and went back to spitting on the counter and polishing it as we rushed past him.

  Moments later, we were outside. I was a little surprised when Grayling hurried over to a pile of rusted-out metal, but moments later, it had expanded into the sleek steam-cycle I remembered from the single time I’d been on it.

  He insisted that Mina climb on the front, and he handed her an aviator cap with goggles. Then he turned to me. “Climb on behind me and hold on tight. Wear this.” He handed another cap to me.

  I had no idea how I was going to get it on over my high fountain of hair. “All right—”

  “Miss Stoker, there’s a point of information I feel you need to have before—er—before we proceed.”

  There was something so serious in his voice that I stopped breathing. “What is it?”

  “Tonight—at the ball, on the balcony. Edison’s gun was not only not fired, but it wasn’t even loaded. I examined it myself. There was no possible way he could have shot Marie Antoinette—or anyone.”

  Miss Holmes

  ~ Into the Den of the Lioness ~

  Cosgrove Terrace loomed behind tall stone walls, its mourning banners of black giving it an even more forbidding appearance than merely the shadows of night.

  “How did you get in the last time?” I demanded of Evaline, whose demeanor had turned unaccountably quiet and sedate. Perhaps the breakneck steam-cycle ride had frightened her into submission. “Did you go over the walls?”

  “The gates opened and I just walked in.”

  In a bold disregard for propriety, she’d discarded the shimmery over-gown from her costume and was clad only in a sort of Street Fashion Combined with Roman Gladiator attire, with tall boots. The sight of her brought to mind the Amazon women of legend. Although Evaline isn’t tall or muscular as I picture those legends to be, she carries herself like one. That night, her garb was perfect for a female warrior.

  I’d never seen her look so suited for her vocation as a vampire hunter. The intense expression on her face added to the potency of her appearance.

  “But this time I’ll go over the wall—”

  “This way,” Grayling said in his matter-of-fact manner, then started off into the shadows along the west wall of the property.

  Moments later, he was demonstrating how helpful it was that his extended family tree included Lord Cosgrove-Pitt, for he brought us to a secret entrance in the stone wall. I started to ask how he’d known to slip behind the wall fountain that burbled charmingly (in the summer; of course it was frozen now) to find a hidden door, but decided it was best to keep conversation to a minimum.

  It was short work for the three of us to get inside and sneak from shadow to shadow toward the house. Despite the sheen of white from the snow on the ground, there were enough trees, hedges, benches, statues, and arbors to provide cover for us.

  The house itself was dark but for two palely lit windows—one on the ground floor near the front of the east side (servants, most likely), and one on the top, third floor, at the back. I kept my attention on that window, for it faced us as we made our progress across the grounds, and I was watching for any evidence of a figure outlined in the light, peering down at us.

  I admit that at that point in the evening, despite my ratiocinations and observations, theories and conclusions, I had only a suspicion of what we might find inside and what Edison Smith’s purpose was in coming back here. There was unfinished business that couldn’t wait, and I suspected it had to do with the enigmatic zeppelin.

  Obviously, Lady Isabella and Sir Emmett had been planning to use the airship for their escape—to where, I wasn’t certain, although I had a str
ong suspicion about that as well—tomorrow.

  But I didn’t know, at that early stage, why Edison had been desperate to come back here tonight when we could have brought Scotland Yard here tomorrow to stop the fugitives.

  At last we were at the wall of the house itself, and as I crept along with Grayling and Evaline (behind them, for obvious reasons), I was struck by a sudden fear.

  What if I was wrong?

  What if Edison had gone to Oligary Tower instead? What if we were here, and missing our opportunity to help him in whatever endeavor he was undertaking?

  For surely, as clever and slippery and dangerous as he was, even Pix wasn’t a match for two…or three (I wasn’t certain about the third one yet) villainous masterminds.

  Grayling, who I must admit had been with me—and perhaps even ahead of me, although I sincerely doubt it—every step of the way during this entire debacle had expected Pix to go to Oligary Tower.

  If he was correct and I was…under the wrong impression…then the worst could come to pass: war with Betrovia. At the very least.

  Thus, as we inched our way along the foundation of the house (to what end, I didn’t know; I was merely following the two adventurers—or, at least, the adventurer and the relative of the Cosgrove-Pitts), my stomach tied itself into tight, ugly knots.

  I couldn’t afford to be wrong. Not tonight.

  And then I saw it. On the ground near the servants’ door.

  A daisy.

  I smiled. I’d been correct. Of course.

  I didn’t need to point out the sign to the others; Grayling and Evaline had already given their separate indications that they’d recognized it themselves.

  The door, as one would expect from such a blatant signature, was unlatched and unguarded.

  We slipped inside, three shadows. I closed the door carefully behind us, and we listened.

  Nothing. Nothing but the soft sssshhhhh of steam impelling the mechanics of the house to do their business. Nothing more.