The Zeppelin Deception Page 4

  Grantworth House, where Miss Stoker lived, was out of the question for obvious reasons. Miss Adler no longer had an office at the British Museum, and I’d never known the direction of her personal apartments, for we most often met at parks, cafés, or in carriages in order to keep my work for the Crown secret. Nor was I going to contact my friend Dylan (for a number of reasons which will eventually become clear during this narrative, but aren’t pertinent at the moment).

  Regardless, any of those locations were obvious enough that even the bumblers at Scotland Yard would think to look for me there. I felt a renewed rush of outrage at the way those constables had acted.

  There was only one place that made sense for me to hide—at least until I determined what was happening. The only problem was that I didn’t particularly want to go there.

  But I suppose when one needs a safe place to hole up, the best place to go is the hideaway of an underground criminal.

  Thus, I had no choice but to head to the dirtiest, darkest, most dangerous area of London: Whitechapel.

  If only I could find a dratted taxi!

  Miss Stoker

  ~ Wherein Our Heroine Enjoys Her Tea ~

  Stunned by Lady Isabella’s words, I forced myself to slowly take another strawberry cream puff from the serving plate and bring it to my lips. But before I actually tasted it, I paused. “Help you? With the UnDead? Why on earth would I help you?”

  Her mouth curved into a feline smile. Her eyes glinted like granite. “But is that not your duty, lovely Evaline? To rid the world—insofar as you are able—of vampires? I’d decided I must contact you about the problem before your wedding—for, after all, once you’re Mrs. Ned Oligary, you won’t be doing that sort of thing any longer, will you?”

  I almost choked on the puff, but I managed to swallow it down. I was sure my eyes were goggling as wide as a dinner plate. “Oh, I see,” I drawled. “Your work trying to control vampires with those little battery devices hasn’t been going as well as you’d like, then, hmm?”

  “You needn’t be so bloody arrogant,” she said waspishly. “You need my help just as much as I need yours.”

  This time I snorted instead of merely scoffing as I scooped up three more puffs. They really were beyond divine. “Your help? What on earth would I need your help for? As it happens, I want to remain alive.”

  “You’re soon to have an unwanted husband—and, as you know, I have some expertise in dealing with such a predicament.” Her catlike smile was back and her eyes gleamed as she lifted her cup to sip.

  This time I really did choke. It was only by taking a large gulp of tea that I was able to dislodge the small pastry that caught in my throat. (That would have been humiliating: a vampire hunter meeting her demise by choking on a cream puff while having tea with a murderer…)

  “Did you just offer to murder my future husband?” I managed to say. “And were you thinking of doing it after we’re married, or before?”

  Lady Isabella leveled a cool stare at me. “Must you resort to such inflammatory vernacular, Evaline? And certainly afterward—so that you get the full benefit of being his widow.”

  I had to take another gulp of tea to stifle my response. I felt as if I were in some sort of mad dream. Was I really sitting here having this conversation over tea?

  “Right then. Well, if not murder, what would you call it, then, Isabella?” Delicately, I picked up one of the cocoa pyramids and bit off its glazed top.

  “It doesn’t matter what word one uses,” she said sharply. “The problem can be attended to. As mine was.”

  Apparently I was getting under her skin. Either her problem with the UnDead was serious enough that she was truly in trouble, or…or I was just being irritating. Which I have been known to do.

  “Do stop circling around the subject, Evaline. Shall we discuss my proposition or not? I have no intention of doing business with someone who can’t stay on topic.”

  Apparently I was merely being irritating.

  And enjoying the tea pastries too much, for her glacial stare went from me to the nearly depleted plate and back again, and her brows lifted.

  Blooming fish, she reminded me of Mina Holmes at that moment.

  Then Lady Isabella seemed to calm herself. It was as if she were a mechanism gone wrong, and turned herself off and then turned back on again and was now functioning correctly. “I apologize, Miss Stoker. I’ve handled this badly. I merely thought… Well, perhaps I was wrong. I was under the impression you weren’t particularly overjoyed about your impending wedding. I’d always been under the impression you were the sort of woman who didn’t need a husband to tell her what to do. Or didn’t want anyone or anything to restrict her behavior or actions.” She smiled ruefully. “Apparently, I misread the situation. I do hope you’ll forgive me. You must be very happy indeed to be marrying Ned Oligary. You’ll be the toast of London as his bride.”

  Until that moment, I’d rather been enjoying our conversation. The sparring, the having a sort of upper hand, the luxurious surroundings, the pastries. Of course I found Lady Isabella fascinating—even if she was a criminal. Probably because she was a criminal.

  But after her little apology, I felt myself deflate. Blast it, but she was right about me. Of course I didn’t want to get married. And I certainly didn’t want to give up my life as a vampire hunter.

  “More tea?” she asked in that smooth voice. “The weather doesn’t seem to be turning any more favorable.”

  She glanced toward the windows, which were still being splattered with tiny ice particles. The wind was no less contained than it had been; in fact, it seemed to have whipped up even more. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like—there’s no need to go out in that, my dear. And, of course, there are plenty of empty bedchambers in this place. Shall I have one of the maids make one up for you? I promise not to bring up any sordid topics again.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose,” I replied automatically. But there was a small part of me that was still curious. And yet another part of me that really wanted to be away from Grantworth House and all talk of wedding plans for as long as possible. It seemed like forever since I’d been with another woman who wanted to talk about something other than flowers, gowns, and seating arrangements.

  “Of course not.” My hostess seemed genuinely disappointed. “It wouldn’t be seemly, considering my situation.” She sighed, glancing down at the black of her dress.

  “But I don’t need to rush off quite yet,” I said, putting my cup on the platform nearest the teapot’s spout. The cupholder was warm, explaining why the saucer had been heated as well.

  “Perhaps you’d like to send your carriage home? I’m happy to arrange for one of my grooms to take you when you’re ready to leave.”

  A little prickle of nerves caught me by surprise. She seemed overly eager for me to stay.

  But what could happen? I was fully armed beneath my clothing. Isabella certainly couldn’t overpower me, and it would take at least two or three grown men to do so. I’d sense in an instant if an UnDead were near, and I’d have plenty of opportunity to escape. I could break out of a room in which I might be locked through sheer force. I could even jump through a window with minimal injury if it came to that. I was certain I hadn’t been poisoned or drugged—I didn’t feel any different. My mind was clear and my physical self felt normal.

  Yet I was still wary. After all, hadn’t she just offered to kill my future husband?

  “Thank you very much, Isabella, but there’s no need. Middy doesn’t mind waiting, and the Oligarys have given my brother and sister-in-law another carriage to use for the time being.” I smiled innocently.

  Did I imagine it, or was the quick twitch of her lips an accolade of my parry to her sword thrust?

  Or was there really nothing going on beneath our conversation other than the fact that she truly was bored and didn’t want to be left alone to amuse herself?

  I almost wished Mina was here so we could compare notes. She’d been
an expert at sending me silent messages with her eyes and facial expressions.

  Not that I needed her help.

  “Very well, then, Evaline. I shall simply have to enjoy whatever gracious bit of your company you choose to give me.” She lifted her teacup and sipped delicately. “I daresay Mr. Oligary the younger is a vast improvement over that slippery little pickpocket with whom you seemed to be consorting. The uncommon wastrel with the odd name. What was it? Stix? No… I daresay grief over my dear Belmont has confuddled my memory.” Her lips curled in a cool smile that looked nothing like grief or humor. “Prix, was it?”

  “Pix.” I didn’t know why I bothered. She knew very well what his name was. After all, she’d tried to kill him. In fact, she had killed him.

  “Oh, yes. But that’s not his real name, is it? Of course not. Who would name their child something so ridiculous?” She leaned forward and plucked up one of the sugar roses for her tea. She dropped it into her cup with a little plop, then stirred with one of the tiny spoons. “I read about his arrest in the Times—the same day your wedding announcement was posted. And just in the nick of time, wasn’t it, Evaline? How awkward that would have been if you’d been seen consorting with the likes of him on the same day your engagement to Mr. Oligary was formalized. It would have been quite a scandal. The society pages would have had a great day with that!”

  How awkward indeed.

  I hadn’t seen Pix—whose real name was apparently Edison Smith—since that night at The Carnelian Crow. And when I woke up the next morning, it was to my excited sister-in-law’s knocking on my bedchamber door. She’d been ecstatic to show me the notices of my engagement in all of the newspapers. Not just the Times, but all of the papers.

  And by then, it was too late for me to do anything about any of it. But it would have been a horrible scandal if things had gone differently. If Pix hadn’t been arrested, and if he’d seen or heard about the engagement, or—

  I realized my fingers were digging into my palms, leaving nail imprints in my favorite forest-green gloves.

  I forced myself to relax. Isabella was trying to goad me, and I wasn’t going to let her. True, this sort of cat-and-mouse dialogue was more of Mina’s forte—I much preferred action to words—but I was more than able to hold my own.

  So, I looked up at her with a feline smile of my own. “I hardly think it would have been any more of a scandal than your husband dancing on the railing of his balcony before jumping to his death at the Yule Fête. How did you manage to arrange it, Isabella?” I reached for another of the cocoa pyramids.

  “Looking for advice on how to deal with your own husband, Evaline? I’ve already offered to help you.” She gave an obviously manufactured sigh of affront and settled back into her chair. The upholstered sapphire-blue wings seemed to embrace her. For a moment, Lady Isabella appeared almost queenly, sitting on a throne. Her long eyes glinted silver as she looked at me thoughtfully. It was a reminder of how intelligent, cunning, and powerful she was.

  “Strangely enough, that was one thing Miss Holmes and I didn’t discuss during our little tête-à-tête.”

  I couldn’t keep the shock from my face. I forced it to go blank as quickly as possible. Maybe she hadn’t noticed. “You and Mina?” If she hadn’t read my expression, the tension in my voice would have given away my incredulity.

  My hostess’s eyes widened and her brows lifted. I couldn’t tell whether her bewilderment was genuine. “Do you mean Miss Holmes didn’t tell you about it? We had a rather intimate, extended conversation—just the two of us, of course. I daresay we both came away with quite a bit of increased admiration for the other.” She looked at me from over the brim of her teacup. “I simply assumed she’d told you about our discussion regarding creating a partnership.”

  “A partnership?” I felt like one of those mechanical birds at Cloyster’s that kept repeating phrases spoken to it.

  Impossible. Mina wouldn’t partner with the Ankh.

  Would she?

  Of course not. No matter how tempting it might be. Besides, it wasn’t as if she were being forced into getting married.

  If anyone might be tempted to align with the Ankh, it would be someone in my position.

  “It’s no wonder you were so taken aback by my proposal that we should work together, Evaline. Please forgive me. I believed you and Miss Holmes were so very close and loyal to each other—as my friends were, those days we lived in Paris—that I was certain she’d told you about it, and that you would have been expecting me to contact you.” She sighed and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “I do seem to be apologizing to you far too much today, don’t I? I supposed one must chalk it up to this horrible exile of mourning. I’ve lost all sense of civility.”

  “Not at all,” I said automatically. “When did you and Mina…um…talk?”

  “Oh. Well.” She grimaced delicately. “It was that night at The Carnelian Crow. I really must beg your pardon—this is quite awkward, Evaline.”

  “What did you talk about—in regards to a partnership?” I couldn’t seem to stop myself from talking, from asking, from feeling lost and confused. I probably sounded like a petulant child, but I was so taken aback by the thought that Mina had had an intimate, extended conversation with the villainess we had been trying to stop since we’d first begun working together—and she had never even told me about it!—that I couldn’t think about anything but why hadn’t I known?

  And what had they talked about?

  “Why, I simply told her how much I admired her—and everything she’d done—and that it was obvious we would make a brilliant alliance.” Lady Isabella lifted her teacup again, those intense eyes watching me over the brim.

  “Right.” Suddenly, I was no longer interested in the teacakes. In fact, my stomach felt as if a wide steel band had tightened around it—other than my corset, I mean—and I felt a little lightheaded.

  “There is no one else in the world to whom I would have suggested such a partnership, Evaline,” said my hostess. “With the obvious exception of yourself. The three of us together would be unstoppable.”

  “I see.” I couldn’t seem to find the words. I rose abruptly, and realized my lightheadedness was becoming more of an ache in the back of my skull. And the tightness in my stomach hurt.

  Wait.

  No.

  “You said you weren’t going to poison me,” I snarled, pulling to my feet so quickly that I lost my breath.

  “I didn’t poison you, my darling Evaline,” said Isabella with feigned surprise.

  “What did you do? What did you put in the tea?” My heart was pounding so hard that I felt ill. No—it was whatever she’d done to the food that made me ill.

  “Why, Evaline, you wound me. I did nothing to the tea. Perhaps you’ve merely had too much to eat?”

  I dug for the derringer Pepper had helped me tuck into a hidden pocket and retrieved it quickly. It felt solid and safe in my grip. “Show me out to my carriage.”

  “There’s no need to threaten violence, Miss Stoker.” She rose to her feet. “If you wish to leave, all you need do is ask.”

  “Well, I’m asking. Show me out.” With slightly wobbly knees and a muzzy head, I started carefully toward the door, still gripping the tiny gun.

  I had no idea whether I could manage the vast hallways, let alone all the stairs to the first floor—or whether Lady Isabella would even allow me to try. But I wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  To my surprise, Isabella took it upon herself to escort me down the stairs and to the front hall instead of calling for a servant to do so. I was shocked and relieved when we made it to the front door without incident.

  I’d never been so happy to walk out into freezing, pelting rain and winds than I was at that moment—and to find Middy waiting for me in my carriage. A footman dashed up with an umbrella, but I was already clambering into the carriage—into safety, with the help of a Middy bewildered by my rush—before the footman even had the brolly open. (Those mecha
nized ones never work properly.)

  It wasn’t until I settled back into the squabs of the carriage and the vehicle began to ease down the drive that I realized something.

  I was fully awake, aware, and no longer feeling lightheaded or ill.

  Um…

  Hmmm.

  I reviewed my insides, checked my limbs, and realized I felt normal.

  Huh.

  So she hadn’t poisoned or drugged me?

  Perhaps it had been too many teacakes after all.

  I grimaced. That had been a horribly rude way for me to take my leave of Lady Cosgrove-Pitt. I stopped myself from wincing when I remembered there was no reason for me to feel bad. After all, the woman had tried to electrofy me. And she’d offered to murder my future husband. Surely that meant we could dispense with any sort of formality.

  My thoughts were interrupted when I noticed a fancy horseless vehicle turning into the drive of Cosgrove Terrace just as Middy eased our carriage out onto the street.

  Turning in my seat to look out the rear window, I peered through the ugly gray sleet. The vehicle looked like Mr. Oligary’s steam-car. Mr. Oligary the elder, I mean—Sir Emmett (who’d just recently been knighted), not Ned, my betrothed. I was certain it was his; I’d only ever seen two of them, including the one that belonged to the Oligarys.

  This one definitely looked familiar: it was painted a sleek blue that was so dark it was nearly black. The size of a landau, it would only hold the driver and one passenger next to him. The wheels had fancy copper arcs over them, and the decorative swoop of metal came around to a curve in the rear where there were two stovepipe sorts of things jutting out the back. Smoke puffed out in regular clouds as the vehicle puttered along. It reminded me of Grayling’s steam-cycle—but legal, of course. I couldn’t tell whether there were two people inside, or only one, for the glass windows enclosing it were tinted pale blue and the world was so dark and wet.