As the best laid plans of mice, men and authors oft go aglay, please forgive my extended absence while welcoming the evolution of A Fine Gold Chain. Like any work in progress with characters possessing minds of their own, the original concept of AFGC has fallen by the wayside as the characters have done as they pleased regardless of...well...me.
So, please find all of the current episodes of A Fine Gold Chain in their new home:
TheArgonautSociety.blogspot.com
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Episode 5 - A Heated Exchange
Alexander fell asleep on the sofa in the sitting room of the
Mazarine. Amelia slept in the surprisingly opulent bed. They met each
other only a few hours after retiring, bleary-eyed and wondering if the events
of the previous day had even occurred. Except that they were on the airship
docked at Colonel Pell’s manor outside of the city, and Fletcher had addressed
them as Mr. and Mrs. Brinkley.
“So it’s true, then,” Amelia said with a sigh.
“No cold feet, now, my dear,” Alexander admonished. “We have
the first true test of our acting skills before us.”
“As though the past several years haven’t been a perpetual
charade,” Amelia retorted. “We’ve managed to convince the whole city of our
fond devotion to each other. I fail to see how meeting Colonel and Lady Pell
will prove a test of our abilities.”
“They would expect a certain...” Alexander waved his hand in
a circle, searching for the turn of phrase.
Amelia glared at her husband and tucked a parasol under her
arm. “I should hope not. But if you want me to gaze longingly at you and
suggest a quiet stroll through the wilderness, I will. For your sake.”
Alexander shrugged into his jacket. “We should muss your
hair and leave a stray twig or two to complete the effect.”
Glare melted into shock and barely restrained hilarity.
“Bravo.” Amelia shook her head and smirked.
“Shall we?” Alexander offered his arm.
“Frankly, I see no reason to alter our already established
methods,” Amelia said as they stepped down from the cabin onto terra firma. She
squinted up at the sunlight, one hand shading her eyes. The manor grounds
looked very different in the daylight, but she could see three people sitting
on the veranda not far away. Brass glinted in the sunlight from a pair of
goggles on a top hat. “Is that Gavin Graves?”
“Your friend at the Metropol? Why would he be here?”
Alexander asked.
“Hardly a friend,” she mumbled. A heavy sensation settled in
Amelia’s gut. “He expects to be Merriday’s replacement.”
“Excellent, then. Offer your blessing to Mister Graves,
relinquish your place in the Argonauts, and we get on with our lives.”
“I’m afraid it might not be that simple,” Amelia replied.
Colonel and Lady Pell sat on the veranda with Mister Graves,
watching a rather rambunctious, lanky puppy gambol about the lawn with a
knotted rope toy. He flipped the toy in the air, nipped at it with his
uncoordinated jaws, and in general moved with all the grace of an inebriated
giraffe.
Lady Pell rose to meet her guests with considerably more
alacrity than she had shown Amelia at the gala.
“Quite an intriguing hound you have,” Alexander said when
they had gained the veranda.
“A Great Dane,” Lady Pell said with a shake of her head,
“and not much older than 5 months.”
“Will he ever grow into those paws?” Amelia asked with a
chuckle.
“Eventually, perhaps," the lady mused. "I have my doubts.”
“Nonsense,” Colonel Pell said with a slight lift of his
chin. “A noble and stalwart breed.”
The dog lay on his back, torqued sideways, his tongue
lolling from his maw, tail whipping between his splayed back legs.
“Indeed.” Lady Pell passed a glance from Gavin to the
Brinkleys, one elegant eyebrow crooked in skepticism.
Gavin offered his congratulations to the newlyweds with only
a hint of the usual gallantry that he usually bestowed. “You’re a tad far from
the coastline, aren’t you?”
Amelia glanced at Colonel Pell, who resolutely fixed his
attention on his frolicking dog. No help from him, then.
Lady Pell, clearly the more conscientious of the pair, spoke
up in her husband’s silence. “With the danger of pirates on the coastline, we
felt perhaps it would be safer for them to venture into the mountains instead.”
“Surely there are pirates in the mountains as well,” Gavin
said.
“Undoubtedly,” Amelia interpolated. “But if one is to face
imminent death, it would be better to face it on land than at sea.”
“We might as well come to business, then,” the colonel said,
cutting the conversation before it became too heated. “We have a matter to
discuss, and it does no good to linger on pleasantries.”
This announcement shocked everyone, though Gavin appeared
more pleased than shocked by the abruptness. He settled back in his chair with
an air of triumph that set Amelia’s nerves on edge.
“As you all are well aware,” Pell began, “Franklin Merriday
left us rather suddenly, and for some time, we in the Argonauts have
deliberated about the future of the Club. You see, we are at a juncture. On one
hand, the cherished and enduring traditions of the Argonauts, our proud
history, and our widespread influence on world events. The other hand...” Pell
hesitated, seemed to gather his resolve. “The other hand, we have the wishes of
our dear comrade. Now, we have considered the circumstances from as many angles
as possible, and have come to realize that we have reached an impasse. Should
we proceed from the momentum of our past, we will dishonor Merriday. Should we
honor Merriday’s wishes, we will likely see the end of the Argonauts as we know
it.”
Amelia watched Gavin’s face as Pell progressed through his
speech. Though she had been told of her place in the grand scheme, she began to
wonder if Gavin was left in the dark. He looked positively uncomfortable, his
face taking on a sickly pallor.
He has no idea why we’re really here, Amelia thought.
“Merriday was always an unconventional man. That was the
cornerstone of his talent. And anyone familiar with the internal environment of
the Argonauts Society would know that he had come to resent certain fixtures
and traditions.” He hesitated again, watched his dog. “Everyone here is
familiar with the circumstances, I’m afraid, except for you, Mister Graves.”
“Circumstances, sir?” Gavin asked, his eyes fixed on Amelia.
“Merriday’s will, you see, names Miss – I’m sorry, Mrs.
Brinkley – as his Argonaut heir.”
The pallor turned to stone. He sat forward in his chair,
leaned his forearms on the table. “How long have you known this?” he asked
Amelia.
“Only last night,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Then pirates on the coastline had nothing to do with your
convenient presence today.” He looked at Lady Pell, who held his gaze, lifted
her chin.
He looked back at Amelia. “And you’re here to accept, is
that it?”
“I’m not certain,” Amelia said, fidgeting with a button on
her glove. I cannot be certain, at present. I only learned about it myself a
few hours ago.”
Gavin leaned forward toward Amelia. “I’ve been waiting for
this chance for years. Years.” He jabbed a finger on the table.
“Perhaps we should allow the colonel to continue,” Alexander
said. “What did the Argonauts conclude?”
“We could not dishonor our friend by dishonoring his last
wishes, no matter how inexplicable,” the colonel said.
“Surely he couldn’t have been in his right mind!” Gavin exploded
to his feet. “He talked with Miss – Mrs. Brinkley for an hour or more, and
determined that she holds the qualifications to lead expeditions?”
“On that we all can agree,” Amelia said, attempting to quell
his anger. “I’m as astonished by his choice as you are, and fear myself
entirely inadequate for the task.”
“Did you convince him?” Gavin hissed, ignoring her
statement, an expression of sudden clarity crossing his face. “Did you offer
yourself to him during the interview?”
Pell stood then, glowering down at his young raging guest. Alexander,
too, rose with murderous intent.
Amelia shot to her feet and leaned with both clenched fists
on the table, eye to eye with her accuser. “With you sleeping off your rampant
inebriation not five feet away?”
“Mister Graves,” the colonel said through gritted teeth,
“perhaps our decision is clearer than we anticipated.”
Gavin glared at Amelia across the table. “Fine.” He snatched
his hat from the table and pretended to honor his hosts with a curt bow.
Amelia felt a soothing hand on her back. “Sit, darling,”
Alexander said.
She sat, unclenched her fists against the arms of the chair.
No one seemed eager to fill the silence.
“I suppose,” Amelia began quietly, “that I can hardly refuse
now, can I?”
“We have left the matter in your hands, Mrs. Brinkley,” Lady
Pell said. The colonel still stood beside her, visibly shaken. Lady Pell took
his hand gently, and he seemed to come back to the present. He sat.
“On the way here, I determined to tell Mister Graves that he
could have the position if he wanted it. I’m hardly one to lead expeditions, as
he said. Is there another in line who can take his place? Perhaps he only needs
time to cool off.”
“He broke a cardinal rule, Mrs. Brinkley,” Lady Pell said.
“An Argonaut never questions a lady’s honor.
“We may not venture into Society as you represent it, but we
have standards equal to yours,” Colonel Pell said. “We must, if we should meet
regents and emperors. Mister Graves has demonstrated twice in our presence that
he cannot control his temper.”
“Imagine what would happen if he were to lash out so at a
prospective sponsor,” Lady Pell said, “or a regent. The Terra already finds territorials
backward and brutish; we would rather not prove them right in an official
capacity.”
Amelia remembered a heavily intoxicated Gavin punching the
elderly gentleman at the gala. She wondered again what prompted the attack.
“But wouldn’t someone with more...” Amelia searched for the
correct word, but it eluded her. “Talent, maybe? Experience? – be more
suitable? I’d never been on an airship until last night! Surely someone else
would better meet your qualifications.”
“Forgive my bluntness, but yes, we would prefer to employ
someone with more stellar credentials – any credentials, really,” Colonel Pell
said. “But our candidate has turned out to be less acceptable than we hoped.”
“So you prefer to train someone?” Amelia asked.
“Navigation, weapons, self-defense, those skills come with
practice and training. No one can teach a person to have a quick mind and an
adventurous spirit,” Pell replied. “Those come from the marrow.”
“Mister Graves has both, and then some,” Amelia said.
“He doesn’t know how to interact with persons of rank,” Pell
said. “You do.”
Amelia and Alexander shared a look. Her husband made no move
to influence her decision, and she knew he wouldn’t, even if she asked.
“I suppose asking for more time to consider is out of the
question,” she said.
“We await your leisure, of course,” Pell said, running a
thumb along the edge of his tea saucer.
That’s a first.
She sighed, looked again at Alexander. “Well, then, Darling,
I suppose we should take a short walk.”
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Episode 4 - The Fatal Plunge
Her
fingers rested on the typewriter’s keys and she stared at the blank page,
flashes of memory cast like shadows on a wall. Around her, the newspaper staff
had returned to their jobs reluctantly, dazed, some silent in shock, some still
vocally and tearfully processing the tragedy. The presses lurched back to full
speed for the evening edition. The usual hum and racket filled the room.
“It
is with deep regret,” Amelia typed, “that the Metropol informs the
public of the tragic and unexpected” - her fingers halted, her mind tripping on
the word death, wondering if it was too harsh, if perhaps loss or
demise or passing weren’t more appropriate, as though fixating on
propriety and formality could make the announcement any less devastating to
Merriday’s devotees. She personally had spent only an hour with him, but he
had, in that brief time, felt compelled to speak honestly to a novice reporter
about his experiences with the Argonauts, despite the possibility of the
information becoming public. His candor was endearing. Amelia wondered if,
considering the circumstances, he had some precognition of his fate.
She
realized she had been staring at the page for several minutes, the sentence
still hostage to the proper word for death. She settled for loss
and moved on.
The
details of the crash had arrived through the telegraph machine a few minutes
after the original message concluded. This time, no one stood on tradition, and
employees crushed against the machine to read until McGoffery began hauling and
pushing them away with growled orders that no one would read anything if they
didn’t get out of his way. He blocked the crowd from the end of clacking,
clattering machine as the roll of paper spooled out. When the last line of text
skipped past the output margin, McGoffery ripped the paper from the spool,
growled at Amelia to follow him, and lurched to his office.
“You
were supposed to write the report articles, so you should be the one to write
the announcement,” he said, handing her the roll of paper. “You get to read it
first. We’ll have to run an extra edition for this, so I’ll need your article
in the next hour.”
Amelia
looked at the roll of paper, not even the size of a standard sheet of typing
paper, and sat on a nearby chair beside the door. It took a moment for the
information to penetrate the fog of shock her mind experienced.
The
Argo had been on a side expedition to the Gallopagos Archepelago when it was
beset by sky pirates, who boarded the ship in flight. During the brief
skirmish, a stray bullet had pierced the airship’s trademark crimson balloon,
plunging the vessel into the sea miles from the nearest shore. When the Argo
failed to return to the base camp, Argonaut authorities began the search, and
discovered the wreckage of the ship along the western coast of the southern
continent. No bodies were recovered. During that time, a band of sky pirates
had contacted the Argonauts claiming responsibility for the destruction of the
ship and the crew. They personally had seen to Merriday’s death. The Argonauts
were preparing for Merriday’s funeral at their headquarters. He had no
immediate family. The Amazon expedition was terminated indefinitely.
She
read the report twice, just to make sure she understood. Questions riddled her
mind, and she looked up at McGoffery, who attempted to appear busy with
articles. He hadn’t adjusted the lens apparatus, so she knew he was merely
pretending, waiting for her to finish. She wondered how many of Merriday’s
expeditions McGoffery had read about in his tenure at the Metropol.
“Forgive
me, but are the Argonauts prone to publicity stunts?” she asked, hoping the
editor would give some sign of complicity in a larger Argonaut scheme.
McGoffery
thought for a moment. “Here and there, but nothing like this. And they’ve
always warned the press beforehand, so things don’t get out of hand.”
“And
you’ve received no warning?” Amelia probed. “You would tell me if you had,
wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve
not received warning of any imminent danger. The Amazon expedition was
dangerous enough as it was. And yes, you would have been informed if it had
been a stunt, and kept to absolute secrecy on pain of termination if you told a
living soul.”
She
handed the report to him. “Sky pirates,” she said.
McGoffery
chuckled sardonically. “Of course it was.” He passed his eyes over the report
for a moment as if to confirm, then rose to return to the newsroom floor. He
stopped before opening the office door. “This is front page, you know.”
She
attempted a smile, but only one side of her face complied.
The
staff gathered around McGoffery’s office door. He pulled out the chair out of
his office and stood on it so everyone could hear him.
As
though anyone would have trouble hearing him, Amelia thought as she walked
through the crowd toward the bank of typewriters to begin writing her first
front page article.
It
hadn’t occurred to her until that moment, but she hadn’t seen Mister Graves
since the initial announcement came through. She expected him to pounce on her
the moment she left the editor’s office, plaguing her with questions she
couldn’t answer and details she didn’t have. She didn’t see him in the crowd
listening to McGoffery’s booming voice, and his desk showed no indication that
he was still in the room. She hated to admit it, knowing how much he admired
Merriday, but his absence made her job easier, as he wouldn’t loom over her or
pace behind her as she worked, questioning her talents, accusing her of
infiltrating what should have been his rightful domain.
It
is with deep regret that the Metropol must inform the public of the loss of
celebrity Arganaut Franklin Thomas Merriday.
She
sat back in her chair and stared at the line on the page, growing more anxious
as the minutes passed without an additional sentence. She checked her pocket
watch and realized she was late for the meeting with the florist. She cursed
under her breath, imagining her sister Francine’s apoplexy when she didn’t
arrive, and her monologue during and after the wedding. Amelia didn’t lift a
finger to help with preparations. We had to manage every detail while she
visited Ladies’ clubs and lived with university students. Male university
students at that! Not eager to add to the growing list of faults and infractions
her sister would inumerate, she replaced the page in the typewriter and clacked
out an apology to Francine, including a concilatory phrase or two about her
exquisite taste and judgment before giving her written permission to select the
bouguet design with her blessing. She found a messenger boy on the floor and
coerced him with the last of her spare change to deliver the message to the
florist’s shop indicated on the front of the envelope and present it to no one
but Mrs. Grimpson.
One
dilemma allayed, Amelia growled in vexation and recommenced staring at the
single sentence on the otherwise blank page. If Gavin had been there, she would
have felt sorely tempted to give him the honor. He probably knew more about
Merriday than she would ever learn. But as far as she could determine, Mister
Graves had escaped, possibly to take the information to his father. But then,
wouldn’t he have stayed to hear how his hero had perished? She shook her head
to dismiss her wandering thoughts and reread the lonely sentence on the page.
It
should have been a matter of going over Merriday’s notable exploits before
giving the details of his demise. She had read obituaries for celebrated
personages before, and few of them deviated from the standard format. But this
was her first - perhaps her only - front page article, and she refused to
conform to standard equations. She wanted to infuse it with the impressions she
got from him during the interview.
Interview
notes!
she thought, her eyes widening in elation as she shot from her seat, the chair
launching behind her on its creaky castors for a few feet. If anyone watched
her in confusion, she didn’t notice. She found the small pile of papers
containing the notes from her interview with Merriday at Pell’s gala and raced
back to her seat, her eyes scanning the scribbled words as she whipped the
rolling chair back to its rightful place and sat back down. Instead of writing
the article line by line as she usually did, not moving on until the sentence
was perfect in her head before she transferred it to the page, she clacked out
phrases and ideas. Thirty minutes later, she pulled the finished product from
the machine and raced to McGoffery’s office.
Once
again, she stood in front of her editor as he fine picked the article from behind
his bobbing lenses, marking here and there with a red pen. He looked up at her
after several excruciating minutes and extended them with silent examination.
“Where
did you get all of this information?” he asked.
“I
had the good fortune of procuring an interview with Mister Merriday during the
gala. I didn’t have room in the article for most of what we discussed, so I
used it here. I kept the notes, you see.”
Quit
babbling,
she thought to herself, aware that excitement had hijacked her better sense and,
it seemed, her mouth. Alacrity was an unbecoming trait.
“Before
or after the cuff was destroyed?” he growled, this time with the hint of a
smile. The corner of his exaggerated eye crinkled in the magnifying lens.
“After,
unfortunately. But Colonel Pell arranged to replace the cuff, if I remember
correctly.”
“He
did. An improved model, actually.”
Amelia
gestured a silent “there you have it.”
McGoffery
looked back at the article and read in silence for another prolonged eternity.
“A
couple of spelling errors, nothing we can’t fix in type-setting, but under the
circumstances,” he drew the corners of his mouth into a frown of consideration,
“this is an excellent article.” He tossed it in the type-setters’ box with his
customary lack of aplomb.
Amelia
gaped, dumbfounded.
“Finally
struck dumb,” McGoffery muttered. “Now, I need you to write up the interview.
Nothing fancy, no commentary. Thirty minutes.”
“Forty-five,”
she replied. McGoffery pinned her with a sharp look. “I had to hand write the
notes, you understand, and the last page or two are very nearly hieroglyphics because my hand was cramping so badly as I was trying to keep up. I may need a
Rosetta Stone to translate them.”
“Forty-five
then,” he said, dismissing her with a wave.
***
“You
couldn’t leave for an hour to select flowers for you wedding?” Francine asked.
“Velvet, dear heart, put the statue back where you found it. One mustn’t play
with Grandmamma’s things.”
“Yes,
Mamma,” Velvet Grimpson, aged 5, replied without the least sign of complying.
“I
fear you have no inclination to participate, as long as Mamma and I see to the
details. But, you have always been rather selfish.” Francine smoothed the fall
of her gown for the dozenth time though she hadn’t moved enough to unsettle the
fabric in any way. “One wonders if you would even marry at all if not for us.”
One
wonders, Amelia
thought, hiding a surreptitious eye roll behind the rim of her teacup.
“And
you refuse to explain yourself more than ‘an unforeseeable emergency at the
newspaper.’ The wedding is a week away! Any other bride-to-be would have
surrendered herself entirely to preparations, but you always have been
stubborn. It’s a mercy for Mamma that Margaret is so tractable.”
Meanwhile,
little Velvet, the dear heart, was using the statue she wasn’t supposed to
possess to make a marvelous ruckus on the legs of the table. Francine appeared
oblivious to her child’s behavior, preferring instead to praise her darling
toddler son for ambling along the edge of the table and reaching for the tray
of tea things with grasping little paws. “Such a brilliant child, is he not?”
she asked. The brilliant child had got his paws on the sugar spoon and
proceeded to rap the table with it, resulting in peals of laughter that would
have made a dog’s ears ring.
Unable
to tolerate another moment of her tiny nephew’s percussive genius, Amelia
replaced the sugar spoon with a soft cloth toy, pretending not to notice the
cool, slimy moistness of the fabric. Her nephew shoved the cloth toy in his
mouth for a few moments, then removed it, trailing a filament of drool attached
to his lip.
“Dear
Alabaster,” Francine cooed.
Velvet
was out of Amelia’s range and continued to rattle the marble statue on the
table legs.
“I’m
sure Mamma would not appreciate marks on the furniture,” Amelia said, “or the
statue.”
“You
are hardly one to speak for what Mamma would appreciate,” Francine replied
without moving. “She is in no condition to accommodate for your insensitivity.
The least you could do is tell me what the great emergency was that prevented
you from attending to your duties.”
“I’m
so bored, Mamma,” Velvet whined, dropping the statue on the floor. “I
want to go outside.”
Yes,
do go play in the street, Amelia thought, then instantly chided herself for it.
“The special run should be available in an hour or so,” she said to her sister.
“Until then, I’ve been asked not to speak of it.”
“Where
is Grandpapa?” Velvet interrupted. “He can take me to the park.”
“Grandpapa
is in his study, dear heart, and mustn’t be bothered just now.”
“Aunt
Amelia, will you take me to the park?”
“I’m
afraid the rain hasn’t stopped yet,” Amelia replied. “You wouldn’t want to ruin
your lovely frock, would you?”
Velvet’s
sigh heaved her entire body.
“Perhaps
tomorrow,” Amelia said, “when everything has properly dried.”
“Tomorrow
we are scheduled for your final fitting,” Francine said. “And while the flowers
didn’t require your immediate attention, your wedding gown does. You should
tell your editor that you cannot be spared tomorrow under any circumstances.”
“I’ve
nothing planned until after the fitting appointment.”
“And
you wouldn’t have time for the park today, anyway, because the Brinkley’s are
coming for dinner. You do intend to join us for dinner?”
“Yes,
of course.”
“Alabaster,
dear, one mustn’t chew on the furniture,” Francine said. As the culprit was on
Amelia’s side of the sofa, Francine made no move to actually prevent the child
from gnawing on the table’s edge. Amelia retrieved a well-chewed wooden toy
horse from the floor and presented it to the child as compensation for
detouring him from his initial target.
“Can
I go to the fitting tomorrow, too, Mamma?” Velvet asked. “We’ve not been
anywhere since we arrived, and you promised to take me on the trolley.”
“It’s
hardly the place for a child, Velvet, dear. Perhaps your Aunt Amelia will take
you on the trolley tomorrow afternoon.”
“I
am engaged tomorrow afternoon,” Amelia reminded her sister. “I have two events
to attend for the Metropol. I’m afraid I won’t return until after
dinner.”
Little
Velvet appeared on the verge of tears. “I never get to do anything,” she moped.
To
prevent spending the last hour before dinner pulling her nephew off of nearly
every surface in the room that could be put in his mouth or that made a racket
when pounded with various objects, enduring her sister’s eternal condemnations,
and listening to Dear Velvet’s pleas for entertainment or attention, Amelia
feigned a headache and escaped to her room. To her credit, she did indeed lie
down if only to revel in the silence.
The
Brinkey’s final dinner visit before absconding to the country did little to
soothe Amelia and Alexander’s nerves. After a brief interval of mild interest
in Merriday’s death, followed by an equally desultory reception of Amelia’s
front page debut, conversation revolved almost entirely on wedding plans and
last minute considerations. A brief span between the soup and the fish gave
moment for the adults to ask the necessary questions.
“Has
Amelia surrendered her position at the newspaper yet?” Mrs. Brinkley asked Mrs.
Stodge, though Amelia sat near enough for direct inquiry.
Mrs.
Stodge shook her head, “Not yet. But she has quit the insufferable boarding
house.”
Francine
set her slightly skewed silverware in order. “I am still at a loss as to why
she insists upon working when she has so many wedding details to see to. But
she has always been that way, hasn’t she, Mamma?”
“I’ve
not,” Amelia said, putting wine glass to table with more force than intended.
All three women looked to her as though they had been directly slapped. She
felt a warning nudge against her foot under the table, and looked up to find an
equally warning expression from her fiancé.
“But
of course you have,” Francine said. “You’ve had to be dragged and prodded to
attend to anything. And you escape as soon as you are able, under the auspices
of work. We all understand that you are less than amenable to the wedding, but
you must understand that we know what is best for you. Someday you will see
that, and you will thank us.”
Amelia
sucked in a breath to reply, but Alexander’s warning nudge turned into a
warning kick, and she changed her tack at the last moment. “Tomorrow is my last
day at the paper.”
“How
lucky!” Francine said. “Another day more, and we’ll have had to abduct you.”
“Francine,”
Mr. Stodge warned, drawing an expression of shock and ire from his eldest
daughter. To her credit, she backed down.
“I
hear Miss Wemberly has made quite an interesting match,” Mrs. Brinkley
announced brightly. “Have you heard of this yet?”
“I
have not,” Mrs. Stodge declared.
“I
have,” Amelia said. “Eloise Trewe told me about it recently. It seems Mister
Godfrey Childes asked Miss Wemberly to dance three times at the Goddards’ ball.
Quite shameful.” Amelia shook her head in mock disapproval. “Especially
considering how he had been showing such promising attention to Miss Jane
Duncan.”
“Miss
Jane Duncan?” Mrs. Brinkley asked. “But she is only just debuted.”
“Indeed,”
Amelia responded, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “But they had been seen
having rather clandestine conversations before the debut. There was talk that
they intended to make their engagement known as soon as Miss Duncan debuted,
but the relationship crumbed almost immediately afterward. Mister Childes
directed his attentions toward Miss Wemberly, and now Miss Jane Duncan has gone
to visit relatives in another territory for a while.”
Mrs.
Brinkley studied Amelia for a moment. “How were you able to speak to Miss
Trewe? She has dedicated herself almost entirely to her wedding preparations.”
“Almost
entirely,” Amelia said. “She attended an event I covered for the paper. She
said she has little hope for Miss Wemberly regarding Mister Godfrey. And Miss
Rosten has nothing but ill to stay about him. She is Miss Jane Duncan’s
intimate friend, you see.”
Mrs.
Brinkley and Mrs. Stodge shared a look.
“If
the Rostens are at odds with the Godfreys,” Mrs. Brinkley began, gears churning
behind her eyes.
“Dormand
Rosten seemed perfectly amiable toward Mister Godfrey,” Mr. Stodge said.
“At
the club, of course he would,” Mrs. Stodge said, “had he desired to hazard
defenestration along with Mister Godfrey, perhaps, but that is unlikely.”
“And
you said that Miss Duncan has left the city? Left the territory entirely?” Mrs.
Brinkley asked.
“According
to Miss Trewe, yes. For an unforeseeable amount of time.” Amelia sat back in
her chair, glad of the distracting topic, but sick from spreading gossip.
“We
will have to confirm this information, of course,” Mrs. Stodge said, absently
tapping the table beside her plate. “But if it is true, then it will affect the
next Season.”
“If
Miss Duncan is indisposed for several months, we can only assume...” Mrs.
Brinkley said.
Amelia
cast a sidelong glance at Alexander, whose mingled expression defied immediate
comprehension. She was certain, however, that no small part of the mixture
included disappointment, and she would have to explain herself in time.
***
What
Amelia had intended to be a short visit to the newspaper to finalize her last
two articles turned into an hour-long farewell party. The whole of the newsroom
staff attended, except for Mister Gavin Graves, a marked absence that Amelia
couldn’t help but consider a personal slight. McGoffery said Gavin had been
informed, but he said he had a prior engagement from which he could not excuse
himself. Amelia rolled her eyes when she heard, but otherwise made no point of
it. If the following month of travel meant anything, it was a month of not
having to deal with Gavin’s constant criticism and vacillation. She had that
much to look forward to. When she left the newspaper building for what could be
the last time - certainly for a while - she felt her last piece of freedom drop
away. The next morning, she and her family would drive out to the Brinkleys’
country estate. The following day, she would marry Alexander. And she could
augur nothing but years of navigating drawing rooms for the foreseeable future.
She
took a more circuitous route home on the trolley, watching the city glide by
beside and below her. When her route reached the Kettery, she disembarked and
strolled through the station, taking in the glittering glass and steel arches,
the diffused light, the cascading arcs, the bustling crowds. Just for fun, she
rode the elevator all the way to the top of the spire and watched the
dirigibles. From her vantage point, the whole of the city spread around her,
and the ocean surged in from the horizon. The manufacturing sector belched
smoke from its forest of stacks. She walked around the enclosed terminal area
until an attendant urged her to leave if she had no pressing business.
At
last, after the sun had set and all of her excuses faded, she took the trolley
home to Electo Park station and joined her parents’ preparations for the next
day’s departure.
***
Idyll,
the Brinkleys’ country estate, was considerably grander than Amelia had
remembered. The road that wound through the grounds passed through an orchard
and along a gorgeous spring-fed creek lined with willows. A trellis had been
erected beside the willow copse in preparation for the wedding ceremony. Mrs.
Brinkley was adamant about the location of the ceremony, as a marriage begun
beside running water would survive the vagaries of time. Amelia hadn’t been
aware of her mother-in-law-to-be’s more superstitious tendencies until the
wedding preparations began. Every detail of the wedding’s location represented
some attempt to sway the fates in Alexander and Amelia’s favor. Amelia almost
expected a ritual ceremony complete with robes and candles, possibly blood
offerings, to take place directly before the wedding breakfast, if not the
night before.
Not
far from the manor house, Alexander’s dirigible, the Mazarine, waited
outside its hangar. Named for its brilliant blue balloon, the Mazarine
would take Amelia and Alexander on their honeymoon along the coast. Amelia tried
to imagine the Mazarine docking at the Kettery, she and Alexander
disembarking for an evening of theatre or a ball during the Season. Or maybe
just taking the occasional floatabout. Not over the open ocean, of course, she
thought, imagining a band of sky pirates attacking them as had befallen
Merriday’s Argo, sending it crashing into the waves. Perhaps she would
discuss the direction of their honeymoon travel route with Alexander before
they departed. She heard the mountains were lovely in the summer.
They
spent the evening with all of the Brinkley family instead of only the adults.
Even Francine’s riotous children joined, though neither Francine nor her
husband showed the least effort to restrain them once the introductions and
necessary praises had been observed. The children’s nanny remained on-hand to
see to her charges’ needs. Amelia found herself sitting next to Alexander’s
sister, Calliope, who was nearly the same age as Margaret, and who would begin
planning for her debut after the wedding. Their portion of the drawing room,
together with Alexander and Margaret, seemed entirely separate from that of the
parents. Amelia, Margaret, and Calliope discussed the formalities and details
of the debut, including the exact specifications of the presentation at court.
“The
Regenta dismisses anyone who doesn’t curtsy low enough for her feathers to
touch the floor,” Margaret said. Calliope’s eyes widened in horror.
Amelia
hid her smile behind her glass of claret. “Unless the feathers on your head
happen to be meters long, that is an impossibility. Don’t add to her fears.”
She imagined the contortions a woman would have to perform in order to complete
such a requirement. She had to hide another smile as attempt after attempt
ended in catastrophe and possible concussion.
Margaret
blushed, and Amelia had to admit that her sister did have just the perfect
complexion for it. Margaret would have no trouble finding a replacement for
Mister Goddard. If her short conversation with Miss Trewe, Mister Goddard’s
latest source of adoration, contained any truth, Margaret had escaped a
potentially heartrending situation for one so young. Mister Goddard, like many
young men in the city, was a slave to his aspirations. Not even a sizable dowry
could tempt him once Amelia’s dalliance with commonhood became known. Amelia
tried to console herself with the knowledge that she had saved her sister from
an ambitious man’s machinations, but she wondered if Margaret or Calliope or
anyone in Society could escape unscathed. She herself certainly couldn’t.
“From
what I have witnessed of you so far, Miss Calliope Brinkley, you will have no
trouble whatsoever at your presentation. Only remember, speak only in formal
language. I can personally attest that girls have been dismissed for using
informal language. Particularly contractions.”
“I
have been practicing,” Calliope said with a slight adjustment of her posture.
“I shall not struggle to speak correctly if it can be avoided. I shall endeavor
to persuade the Regenta that I speak only formally in all occasions.”
“Now,
don’t let’s be irrational,” Amelia said.
Margaret
feigned shock at Amelia’s informal contractions, and Calliope turned up her
nose and flicked her fingers in mock dismissal. All three dissolved into
stifled giggles, and even Alexander hid his smile.
“Ladies,
this is hardly acceptable behavior,” he said. “Perhaps Miss Stodge has imbibed
more than she ought tonight.” He moved Amelia’s wine glass out of her reach.
“You
have no authority yet, Mister Brinkley. Kindly return my wine glass.” Amelia
assumed a stern expression. When Alexander refused to comply, she reached
across and took possession of his glass of whiskey and, with an impudent grin,
drank half its contents in a gulp.
“That certainly
is not courtly behavior,” Calliope said with a surreptitious glance at the
established adults of the room. “Or proper manners for a soon-to-be married
woman!”
“Soon-to-be,
indeed,” Amelia said. “I have only scant few hours for rebelliousness and
general debauchery before I become the staid hausfrau and gentle mistress of
the manor. Mister Brinkley, on the other hand, shall continue in his ongoing
efforts to...what are you going to do once we’re wed?”
“Prevent
the mass anarchy you will inevitably incite wherever we go.”
“A
noble cause, if futile.”
He
shrugged and finished the wine in Amelia’s erstwhile glass.
“What
are you four doing, pray?” Mrs. Brinkley asked from the vicinity of the
fireplace.
“Preparing
our sisters for the rigors of adulthood,” Alexander said.
Alexander’s
mother almost returned her attention to Mrs. Stodge, but something caught her
attention. “Miss Stodge, is that whiskey you are holding?”
Amelia
felt her face flush, though whether from the whiskey or shame, she wasn’t
certain. “Yes, madam.”
“Amelia!”
Mrs. Stodge said, clattering her tea cup against its saucer.
Alexander
took the glass back from her. “She was only holding it for me for the moment.
No harm done.”
Mrs.
Stodge glared at her daughter for a moment longer than Amelia could ignore.
“Margaret, perhaps we can help Calliope with her debut preparations.” She
patted the seat next to her.
Margaret
and Calliope shot apologetic looks at Amelia and Alexander before joining the
adults. Slightly abashed, Alexander took the opportunity to invite Amelia to a
walk along the lighted paths in the garden, away from the reproachful gazes of
their parents.
“Already
becoming a bad influence on your sister,” Amelia said, her head feeling
somewhat loose on her neck. “I really should learn to control myself.”
“You
will be an excellent influence. Not a proper one maybe,” he finished off his
drink, “but then, neither of us is proper in the strictest sense.”
“You
can get away with it. Men are always allowed to wobble along the lines a bit. A
flask in the coat pocket, a coarse word here and there amongst fellows, or a
tawdry tale of conquest. Society thinks nothing of it. Whereas I work at a
newspaper and live with university students and Society dismisses me as all but
lost. Were some illicit romantic entanglement in my past to surface, my family
would likely disown me.”
“No
cause to worry, is there?” Alexander asked archly.
“With
whom would I entangle myself? Kurt the titled proletariat rake?” Amelia rolled
her eyes. “No, there isn’t. Should I return the favor and ask you the same
question? Oh, no. Because while I would be castigated for life, you would be
forgiven for being a man. As long as you don’t mention names.”
“That’s
hardly fair, not to mention unkind.”
“But is
it true?” Amelia’s mouth seemed to work before her mind had formed the thought,
and the words escaped before she realized what she was saying.
“Without
names? Yes, absolutely true. Even, in some circles, certain clubs, despite
names. Or because of names, better still! Are you asking if I’ve taken lovers?
Yes, I have. When we are married, I won’t prevent you from taking one if you
choose because I’ll be of little use to you in that respect.” His voice had
taken on a ragged edge of pain. “And you have already promised to permit me the
same luxury. We are performing this little charade against our desires, but we
don’t have to blame each other. You,” he put his hand on hers, “can’t hold your
liquor. Or your tongue.”
Amelia
narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Growing pains.”
“One
night, I promise you, we will drink until we’re delirious, say everything we
want to say, then pass out and forget it all.”
“And
nurse terrific headaches the next morning. Perhaps we should be slightly drunk
tomorrow?”
Alexander
shook his head. “Absolutely not. We can’t be sure what you will say.”
***
Cinched,
tied, and buttoned into her dress, she waited, pacing around her room, mindful
of every step and movement, following a well-worn path from window with view of
guests meandering toward the willow-lined stream, to mirror with view of
starched and proper mannequin of herself complete with her mother’s inscrutable
mask, to bedroom door to listen for the approach of her parents, the signal
that all was in motion. They would board the carriage that would take them to
the ceremony, and there she would devote herself to her oldest and dearest
friend. Together they would bring about the happiness of their mothers and
complete the farcical cycle they began as children.
But
all had been in motion for some time. A constant, determined current that urged
her year by year in its course. By the time she realized her danger, she had no
purchase to pull herself free, no matter how she struggled. Now she felt the
final downward pull and lost all interest in struggle. The current carried her
under and away.
The
smattering of guests that trailed across the lawn toward the willow creek
slowly trickled to an end. The clatter of horse and carriage drew Amelia back
to the window from where she gazed at the stranger in the mirror. Moments
later, she heard Francine’s harried voice announcing the carriage’s arrival
before bursting through the door carrying Amelia’s bouquet.
“Come
along, now,” her sister urged, beckoning with the bouquet. “Alexander is
already at the willows, per his mother’s instruction. The guests are seated.
It’s getting rather warm already, we don’t want to keep the guests in the heat
for too long. It’s impolite.”
Down
halls and stairs out the front door to the carriage that transported Amelia and
her parents to the willows in silence. At the last moment, Mrs. Stodge grasped
her daughter’s hand and kissed it.
“You
will find happiness,” she said. “I know you will.”
Her
father exited the carriage first, then gently assisted her mother as she
climbed down. Amelia remained inside. As the carriage pulled forward to bring
her to the gazebo, she peeked between the slats of the carriage’s blinds to see
what awaited her. The chairs, nearly a hundred in total, were filled and more
people stood by. She recognized a few of her Society friends, as well as more
than a few party crashers from the Metropol. She had explicitly invited
Mr. McGoffery, and she was pleased to find he had, in fact, arrived, sitting at
the end of the last row. She half expected him to wear the lens apparatus, and
she felt a twinge of confusion at his normal, unmagnified features. She had
also delivered an invitation to Miss Kelley at the boarding house, but she
didn’t have time to search the crowd for her friend before the gazebo blocked
her view.
Alexander
offered his hand to assist her out of the carriage to the small gazebo. Panels
of billowing fabric had been erected to prevent guests from viewing the couple
before they emerged for the ceremony. Francine, Margaret, and Calliope flitted
around Amelia unpinning the bustle of her dress to let out the train, fretting
with the diadem and a few errant strands of hair. Francine handed her sister
the bouquet she had been wielding before scrutinizing Alexander’s general
appearance and adjusting the fold of his cravat an indiscernible bit. Finally,
she nodded her satisfaction.
“You
look lovely,” Margaret said.
I
feel like a dog’s breakfast, Amelia thought, somewhat queasy. She gripped the stems of
the bouquet so tightly that she could feel them crush beneath the braided and
pinned ribbon holding them together. The blossoms quivered despite all her
efforts to still her hands.
Alexander
held her hand firmly. “Crush my fingers if you need to,” he whispered to her.
“You’re
all kindness,” Amelia murmured, unable to alter her expression from what she
knew mimicked her mother’s mask of composure. “But you may regret the offer in
the end.”
“Breathe,”
Francine said. “You look pale, and your complexion doesn’t support it.” She
lightly pinched Amelia’s cheeks to bring color back, but frowned in
dissatisfaction. “Those freckles. You spent too much time in the sun.”
“Leave
her be, Francie,” Margaret said. “You’re not helping.”
“One
more thing,” Francine said, her voice tinged with mock reproach. “We all need
some tonic on our wedding day, but no one else should suspect that. Drink this
quickly,” she handed her sister a glass of what looked like champagne, “then
chew on this.”
Amelia
did as directed, her mind in a state that precluded any other course of action.
One drink made her ponder the plummeting quality of champagne.
“What
is this?” she almost choked.
“A
little concoction to settle your nerves and sustain you through the rest of the
event,” Francine replied coyly.
“It
tastes like patent medicine.” Amelia hesitated to take another mouthful, not
sure if the mild floating sensation was altogether desirable in her current
situation.
“You’re
half correct,” Francine smiled. “Now finish the glass and chew the mint so no
one will smell the medicine on your breath.”
Amelia
chewed the sprig of mint, then closed her eyes, drew as much of a breath as the
corset would allow, and forced her grip on the bouquet to relax.
***
The
ceremony in its entirety, from the moment that Amelia and Alexander stepped
from the gazebo, to the recitation of the ritual vows, the tying of the cords
around their grasped hands, and the blessing, took no more than thirty minutes,
though Amelia could remember little enough of it to believe it had actually
occurred. The torture of the receiving line persisted for nearly two hours, on
the other hand, and her face ached from the constant smile, though she found
herself surprised by its sincerity. By the time the last of the queued guests
congratulated the new couple, Amelia’s feet ached, her mouth was dry, and she
desperately needed to hide somewhere remote and silent.
Francine
offered her sister a glass of champagne. “If I may steal your bride from you
for a moment,” she asked Alexander and guided Amelia away from the disbursing
crowd. “Are you quite ready to escape yet? It’s a wonder to me that we still
require the couple to greet every single guest as though their nerves aren’t
quite overcome already.”
Amelia
eyed the proffered glass warily.
“Only
champagne this time,” Francine said. “Can’t have the bride completely sozzled.
It’s just not done. The tonic seemed to work, though. You didn’t appear nearly
as panic-stricken.”
“For a
moment, I almost felt magnanimous,” Amelia quipped, taking a small sip, then a
larger one once she was satisfied it wasn’t laudanum. “Then I remembered what
was happening.”
“You
performed admirably, and the trial is nearly over.”
Amelia
marveled for a moment at her sister’s compliment and wondered if she hadn’t
indulged in her tonic as well.
“Truthfully,”
Francine said, “I didn’t expect you to go through with it. I fully anticipated
finding your bed empty this morning save a letter begging for forgiveness. I
was up all night worrying.”
Ah, Amelia
thought, sleep deprivation. She must be half dead not to find fault with me
in some respect. “All that anxiety for naught,” she said instead, waggling
the fingers of her left hand. “I know when I’ve been bested.”
“It
isn’t as bad as you think,” Francine said, “being married under these
circumstances. It’s...a necessary formality. I don’t find Mr. Grimpson
particularly attractive as a man, or as a human being for that matter.”
Amelia
smiled, remembering her first impressions of Mr. Grimpson - words like vapid
and narcissistic and useless sprang immediately to mind - and she
wondered how her sister could tolerate such a creature. Perhaps her tonic
played a bigger role in her life than she let on.
Francine
continued. “But he holds a significant position in Society and in the city’s
government. He is rarely home, and he cares little for the details of how our
home is run, so I rarely have cause to speak with him for more than a few
minutes. I know our marriage is a formality. I know he doesn’t spend all of his
free time in his club. I know he finds solace in various locations. But I am comfortable,
my children will never know want, and I dine in the highest circles. That is
all I truly desire from a marriage. You, on the other hand, have the luxury of
a husband who highly esteems you, who supports your desire for freedom, and as
you care little for social aspirations, you have the liberty of doing whatever
you want. As long as, at some point, you make an effort to fulfill the
biological requirement of the union.”
Startled
by her sister’s candor, Amelia remained silent, choosing instead to direct
smiles at the guests who watched a married sister lovingly advise the bride.
“I
shall endeavor to fulfill my obligations to the best of my ability,” Amelia
responded. “And, I believe, Alexander intends likewise.”
“One
would hope, but if circumstances warrant, one can find assistance rather
easily.”
Her
sister’s nonchalance worried her, but Amelia had no time to contemplate the
impression, as Alexander begged his bride’s assistance with the cake, then the
official expressions of gratitude to the guests for their attendance, and an
insincere but required hope that the guests will continue to enjoy the
celebration and music until the newlyweds were prepared to board the Mazarine.
“Now
would be a lovely time,” Amelia whispered. “I think this corset has gotten
tighter, if that’s even possible. And I’m beginning to resent people in
general.”
Alexander
chuckled beside her and put an arm around her waist.
Amelia
leaned into the hug. “How are you fairing?”
“I
haven’t quite reached the point of general resentment, but then again, I’m not
laced into whalebone and several meters of cloth.”
“And
you aren’t perched on your toes. And you can sit without an entourage and an
act of Parliament. I don’t know which is worse - the train or the bustle.” She
shifted from one throbbing foot to the other.
“The
starvation,” he responded. “Neither of us ate much at the breakfast, and we’ve
not had an opportunity since.”
“We
have food on the Mazarine, I hope.”
“Plenty,
and someone who knows how to prepare it without jeopardizing the vessel.”
“Little
felicities,” Amelia sighed.
After
what seemed an insufferable amount of time, perhaps another hour, all parties
involved decided the moment had arrived for the new Mr. and Mrs. Brinkley to
embark on their celebratory floatabout. Once more in the sheltered gazebo,
Francine, Margaret, and Calliope helped Amelia out of her wedding gown and into
the equally restrictive traveling suit. Then, a final toast, a chorus of
cheers, and the newlyweds escaped into the cabin of the Mazarine
accompanied by a hail of seeds.
“Well,”
Amelia said, flouncing into a chair in the small library, “it may take time to
get used to the roll and pitch, but I imagine it would act like the rocking of
a cradle. I may sleep better tonight than I have in months.” The import of
discussing sleeping arrangements, even facetiously, did not escape her. Her
stomach twisted, and she wondered how they would broach the subject in earnest.
The
comment seemed to miss Alexander, however, whose attention focused on a piece
of telegraph paper he held.
“We’ll
have to make a short detour,” he said absently. “I need to speak to the
captain.”
“Detour
where?” Amelia asked, following him into the narrow hallway.
“The
Kettery,” he replied.
“Is
everything alright?”
“As
far as I know, yes. What can you make of this?” He handed Amelia the telegram.
Colonel
Raymond Pell requests the honor of an urgent interview with Mr. and Mrs.
Alexander Brinkley at their earliest convenience. Kettery Spire.
“Colonel
Pell?” Amelia asked in disbelief. “When did you receive the telegram?”
“Just
before we boarded. That article you wrote was about his gala, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,”
she replied, cursing her skirts and her aching feet as she tried to keep up
with her husband. “But one article hardly warrants a congratulatory interview
interrupting our honeymoon.”
“Do
you know of any other reason he would want to speak with us urgently?”
Alexander briefly knocked on the door to the navigation cabin, then entered
without waiting for reply from within.
Amelia
hesitated at the threshold. “Am I...allowed in there?”
Alexander
waved her in. “Of course. You can learn to fly it with me, if you like.”
She
made no attempt to hide her excitement as she stepped into the cabin and gazed
around. The whole of the rounded front portion of the cabin was made of glass
from floor to ceiling and afforded a mesmerizing view of the landscape. All
around, levers and dials and knobs glistened and winked in the glowing western
daylight. Listening to Alexander’s conversation with the captain, she
approached a panel, careful to clasp her hands behind her back like a child
told to look but not touch. She couldn’t imagine knowing what each of the
devices did or how to orchestrate them to maneuver the ship without causing
some catastrophe. Her stomach lurched at the thought. It could also have been a
reaction to the ship’s course adjustment toward the city and Kettery Spire.
Alexander
introduced Amelia to Captain Fletcher, a man not much older than Alexander
himself. He briefly explained some of the fundamentals of flying the dirigible,
and encouraged Amelia to help him with a few minor corrections in response to
wind fluctuations.
“You’re
the reporter who interviewed Merriday, aren’t you?” Fletcher asked. “At Pell’s
gala. And you wrote about his death.”
“Yes,”
she replied, focusing intently on the wind-speed and direction monitors. She
twitched a halfhearted smile. “I did.”
“He’s
really dead? I mean, this isn’t some publicity stunt, is it?” Fletcher
inquired.
“I’m
afraid so. We were given no indication to believe otherwise.”
Fletcher
shook his head. “Merriday was a legend. I mean, I started flying because of
him. I wanted to be an Argonaut.”
Amelia’s
smile returned, somewhat wistful. “I did, too, after the interview. My editor,
Mr. McGoffery said I could possibly become a junior Historiographer. If Mr.
Brinkley approves, of course.” She glanced over her shoulder at Alexander and
winked.
“I
have no objection,” he replied, feigning indifference.
“You
can see the Spire in the distance,” Fletcher said, pointing at the glimmering
structure. “We should arrive in approximately 30 minutes. You’re welcome to
stay until we’re docked - this is your vessel, after all.”
Amelia
had no desire to return to the confined quarters of the library when she could
watch the landscape change, see the smaller communities spring up around the
periphery, and pick out the fine lines of the sky trolley tracks that laced the
city sky. The trolleys themselves glided like tiny water droplets along the
lines, pale orange in the light of the setting sun.
“We
have to skirt to the south,” Fletcher said. “We can’t float straight through
in-city. People tend to complain.” He turned the massive brass and polished
wood wheel, and Amelia’s stomach lurched again. She quickly forgot the
sensation, though, when she saw the towers and spires of the university. She
leaned over the balustrade at the edge of the glass floor to get a better look
as they passed over the campus.
“There
it is, I think,” she said, pointing at a roof. “That’s the boarding house where
I lived.” She scanned the area for landmarks. “There’s Uni Station, so...yes.
That’s it.” She wondered what Miss Kelley was reading. She hadn’t seen her
friend at the wedding, and the disappointment stung more acutely than she
anticipated. She would have to visit once the journey was over.
“Forgive
my curiosity, but I thought you were Society,” Fletcher said. “Why were you
living in a boarding house with uni students?”
Amelia
groaned inwardly. “My parents were - are, really - less than enthusiastic about
my journalistic aspirations. I chose to live in an environment that supported
my choices.”
“How
bluestocking of you,” Fletcher said.
“Thank
you.”
“But
now you are married and your bluestocking days are over.”
Alexander
snickered. “Doubtful.”
“My
darling husband should know; we have encouraged each other in our waywardnesses
since childhood.”
After
the university and the boarding house glided below, Amelia focused on the
horizon again. The Kettery glittered and flashed from within and without. At
least three dirigibles docked around the Spire.
“Kettery
Spire, this is the Mazarine requesting a port,” Fletcher said into a
radio bell. A tinny voice crackled from another, larger bell beside it. Amelia
couldn’t understand a word, but the noises made sense to the captain, and after
a complicated dance with levers and pulleys, the dirigible coasted in to a
port. A few more levers and the Mazarine’s docking clamps locked in
place.
The
ship became suddenly and eerily still. Amelia was surprised at how quickly she
acclimated to the ship’s movements.
“I
don’t know how long this will take,” Amelia said to Fletcher. “I’ve no idea why
he wants to see us so urgently in the first place.”
“We
can stay docked all night if necessary. We probably don’t want to fly at night
along the coast, anyway, with pirates around.” Fletcher leaned back in his
grand leather captain’s chair. “We aren’t equipped for warfare.”
Colonel
Pell awaited them inside the Spire’s glass terminal. Once the introductions,
formalities, and felicitations concluded, the Colonel asked for a private
interview with Amelia, wherein he began directly with his business.
“The
weeks following Merriday’s death have uncovered
some...complications...regarding his will. He may have informed you that he has
no children, no immediate family. His legal will on file directed the entirety
of his substantial estate to the Argonauts. It seems, however, that on the
night of the gala, before he set off for the Amazon, he wrote an amended will,
witnessed by his assistants, wherein the Merriday estate is bequeathed
to...Miss Amelia Stodge.”
“Me?
Impossible! Why would he do that?”
“Believe
me, Mrs. Brinkley, we have asked the same question. We were hoping you could
provide us with some understanding.”
Amelia
attempted to still her spinning thoughts. “I’m afraid I have none to offer. The
only interaction I had with Mr. Merriday was during the gala, when I
interviewed him. I’d never met him before that night or had any form of
communication with him before or after.”
“Forgive
me for being quite blunt, but are you aware of any familial connection you may
have with him?”
“Familial?”
Amelia shook her head in amazement. “None, I can assure you. And to prevent you
from becoming even more blunt, as I can imagine where your questions are
leading, there was no improper relationship between Mr. Merriday and myself. If
you need confirmation of that, you can inquire of Mister Gavin Graves. He was
present during the interview. I’m assuming the two gentlemen assisting Mr.
Merriday have perished with him?”
“You
cannot but understand our suspicions,” Pell continued. “The circumstances
surrounding the changing of the will, and Merriday’s untimely death soon after,
suggest some form of conspiracy, though we can find no evidence to prove it.”
“You
think that I had a part in Mr. Merriday’s death?” Amelia dug her nails into her
palms as a distraction from her mounting indignation.
“We
have, by necessity, considered and investigated all possible motives,” Pell
said, his voice betraying his effort to maintain civility. “Circumstances and
the reputation of the Argonauts warrant no less than total certainty in this
matter.”
“Colonel,”
Amelia began, wondering when the trials of the day would ever end, and making
no attempt to soften the edge on her voice, “as I’m sure you are aware, I have
had a rather trying day. If it would ease your mind, I will sign the whole of
Merriday’s estate to the Argonauts, this very minute if the documents are
prepared and to hand. I have no desire to become embroiled in some legal
fracas. Indeed, I wonder that you found this matter to be so urgent as to
interrupt my honeymoon to discuss it.”
“Again,
I apologize for the intrusion. I would have waited until your return if
circumstances allowed it. The matter of the estate is only a small part of the
matter, however. Included in the will, there is a stipulation that, having
named you as his heir, Merriday has passed his title to you as well. You are to
take his place in the Argonauts.”
Amelia
opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.
The
Colonel smiled. “Am I to assume you would like to consider that proviso before
you sign the estate back to us?”
She
considered. “I should like to consult with my husband before I make that
particular decision, if I may.”
“Of
course,” the Colonel chuckled. “Only, if you would permit me one indulgence?
This business has kept me in the air, literally, for weeks, and I have one more
interview at my home tonight. If you and Mr. Brinkley would like to join me, we
can discuss the whole matter in more detail there.”
“Why
can this not wait until we have returned?”
“The
first order of business for the Argonauts, once we have gathered the new team,
is to find Merriday’s murderers and exact a modicum of satisfaction. As
we have taken some time to sort out the legal ramifications of Merriday’s will,
it is in our best interest to act with some haste from this point forward.
There is a great deal of preparation involved.”
Amelia
considered this information for a moment, then excused herself to confer with
her husband.
She
found Alexander pacing in the library of the Mazarine. The situation in
which she found herself was so ludicrous that she had no idea how to explain it
to her husband. Considering, however, the urgent nature, she decided to be as
straightforward as possible.
“Merriday
left his estate to me. All of it. Including his position in the Argonauts.”
Alexander
watched her for several moments.
“Well,
say something,” Amelia said. “I don’t know which way to turn.”
“You’re
serious,” he said, sitting down. “I thought for a moment that you were joking.”
“No,
I’m quite serious.”
“Why
would he do that?”
“Believe
me, I have no idea. The whole of our interaction occurred during the interview,
and he demonstrated no particular interest in me at the time. I mean, aside
from being perhaps a little more honest with his answers than I had
anticipated. But nothing to suggest that he considered me anything at all, much
less his heir!”
“What
did you say to the Colonel?”
“I
told him I needed to speak to you.” She began pacing the few steps across the
library, rubbing her forehead. “I mean,
I’m perfectly capable of making the decision for myself, but being an Argonaut
would change everything, and I didn’t want to make that kind of decision for you.”
“It
seems too important a decision to make immediately,” Alexander said. “But it
seems you may have already made up your mind.”
She
made a gesture of frustration. “I am far from settled. He asks that we join him
at his manor tonight so we can discuss it.”
Alexander
sighed and leaned his head against the back of the sofa. “Another detour. He
understands that we’re just today married?”
“Yes,
but we’re not exactly eager, are we?” She slumped on the sofa beside him.
“I
suppose not, but we are exhausted. Can we at least sleep before accepting a
massive change in our lives?”
“I
will demand a night’s sleep before we discuss anything.” Amelia looked up at
the ceiling, noticing for the first time that it was painted like the night
sky, with the lines of the constellations drawn in gold paint. “Can you imagine
what we would experience? We’ve never left the territory! We wouldn’t be
trapped in the manor house navigating dinner parties and monitoring our Social
status.”
“Or
hiding from curious visitors on grand home tours,” Alexander said.
“Or
learning flower arranging or needlework,” Amelia laughed.
Alexander
sighed again. “We should probably tell Fletcher to burn the travel plans.”
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