Magnificent Devices [5] A Lady of Resources (13 page)

Her father came along the gallery just in time to hear, freezing Maggie in embarrassment upon the stairs.

“I am glad to know that your former guardian instilled such noble principles in her wards.” He tucked Lizzie’s hand into the crook of his arm and they paced together down to the foyer. By the time they reached the bottom, Maggie’s blush had faded and her back was straight as she turned to face them. “And your cousin is quite right, Elizabeth,” he went on, looking earnestly into her eyes. “I will not take it amiss if you decide to go to London for this event … though I must say your absence will be noticed.”

Exactly! “Maggie, Father needs a hostess to help him far more than the Lady needs me standing in some big audience. No one will notice my absence there.”

“Lady Claire will. I will.”

“But not in the same way as it might be here,” Seacombe said before Lizzie could reply. “The hostess’s chair will be empty, and I am afraid Claude will not fill it nearly so graciously. Many of these scientists do not know the civilizing influence of ladies at table—to say nothing of the gentle spirit of a true home. But of course you must do as you think right. The decision is entirely yours.”

Was this not what she had wanted for weeks now—to create the kind of influence for good that Lady Dunsmuir did so effortlessly? Here was her opportunity, and she must take it. “I am staying, Maggie. You must give Lady Claire an extra hug of congratulations for me.”

Maggie would understand some day, and until that day, she would show patience and grace and forgiveness. Those were the qualities of a lady, too.

None of which helped in the least when Claire hugged her at the bottom of
Athena
’s gangway and Lizzie saw the tears swimming in her eyes. “Are you sure you will not come home with us, Lizzie? There is still time to fetch your valise.”

It took all her conviction that she was in the right to say, “Quite sure, Lady. My place is here, where I’m needed—and—and I want to know my family better.”

The Lady’s dear face turned slightly paler, but despite it, she nodded slowly. “I hope you will write should you want more of your clothes or books. And I will expect you at Carrick House on the first of August, when Mr. Seacombe leaves for the shooting, so that we can buy your clothes for Geneva together.”

“Yes, Lady. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Good-bye for now, then, darling.”

Lizzie couldn’t … quite … let go.

“Send a pigeon if you need me,” Claire whispered into her hair. “You know the code for
Athena
.”

B1LL4 B0L7
. Oh, yes. All of them knew it. They had memorized it years ago, just in case.

Maggie and the Lady boarded … the gangway swung up … the groundsmen released the ropes.
Athena
fell up into the sky, past the treetops, past the castle towers … and beyond all hope of calling her back again.

The long dining table seemed even longer with the Dunsmuirs, the Lady, and Maggie gone. There had to be thirty feet of gleaming damask tablecloth, with islands of bone china and place settings and glasses marooned at intervals along its length, and floral arrangements of fragrant lilies and roses separating one side from another like continents. Lizzie, had she been in charge of the arrangements this evening, would have seated everyone at one end so that they might have a proper conversation.

But she was not in charge. Yet.

The butler pulled out the chair at the far end opposite her father and waited for her to seat herself. “This is your place now, Miss Elizabeth, as the daughter of the house,” he said. “We understand that you have been reunited with your family. I hope you will permit me to say that the staff and I are delighted.”

“Why, thank you, Mr.—I mean, Kennidge,” she said, so touched that tears sprang to her eyes. “How very kind of you.”

She would have said more, but Claude took that moment to lean in and call down the length of the table, “Pater, we’re off to Newquay tomorrow to see the new sub-marine cable cars. What fun to whizz about underwater! May we have
Victory
, or will you make me slog it out on the train?”

Their father craned around the flower arrangement to gaze at him, confused. “I thought you were staying the week, and racing here on the Colley?”

“Water’s too low,” Geoffrey put in before Claude could speak. “And it’s too hot—the ladies don’t want to crew. There will be good fun at Newquay, though. Can’t say it’s too hot under the sea.”

Wait—they could not be thinking of going? And leaving her here all alone? Well, as alone as one could be with one’s father and a staff of a dozen at least?

Her father said as much, and Claude laughed. “You brought it up last night, so don’t go blaming me because I agree it’s a brilliant idea.”

“But Claude, I didn’t mean for you to go this week—practically this instant. What will Elizabeth do without all her friends—and without you?”

All my friends have already gone
. But no, that was disloyal and untrue.

“What about it, Lizzie?” Claude asked, waving his fork to get her attention. “Want to come down to Newquay with us and see the latest in sub-marine engines? They’re going to see if they can get to Bristol, underwater. If we lift in the morning, we should be there in time for lunch—and the marina puts on a topping spread.”

“I—well, I hardly—” Good heavens. It would be horribly rude to abandon their father. Every bit as rude as Claude abandoning her. And besides, she could not think of anything less appealing than being under the water. The thought of it closing over her head horrified her. But she could certainly watch from the deck of the marina. “I am to be Father’s hostess when the scientists come tomorrow. I couldn’t possibly go until the day after, at least. Why don’t you put it off until then?”

“Barometer’s dropping,” Geoffrey said to his salad. “Won’t get away if we don’t lift tomorrow, don’t you know.”

“Rather unsporting of you, Lizzie,” Arabella drawled. “Do come. What do you want with a lot of grisly scientists, anyway?”

As if she didn’t know perfectly well that Lizzie numbered several scientists among her friends. “I told Father I would, and so I shall,” she replied quietly.

“That’s the spirit,” Father said. “She stands by her word. A valuable quality in a young woman.”

Claude merely grinned, and Lizzie waited for their father to put his foot down and insist that his son stay. They needed time to get to know each other—to become a family. In a few days’ time the Prince of Wales would come to his country home with his eldest son and what the papers had taken to calling the Three-Feathered Court—his personal circle, separate from that of the Queen or even that which he inhabited with Princess Alexandra—on his way to Scotland. Her father and Claude would join the royal shooting party and she would return to London—and two weeks after that, she would be on her way to Geneva. Time was short, and she had years of it to make up for.

“Oh, very well, if you must go,” Father said. “I’ll have the crew alerted for an early departure—say, nine o’clock?”

Arabella groaned, and her brother nudged her. “Chin up, Bella. You can nap on the way.”

Lizzie dropped her gaze to her own salad, for fear they would see the shock and dismay there. She felt as though she were sinking into her chair … down through the floor … into the cellar, where people kept things they didn’t have any use for—or would use sometime in the future, but not now.

If she protested any further, six pairs of eyes would train themselves upon her, and six minds would come to the rapid conclusion that she was a baby and a self-centered one, to boot.
A lady thinks of others before herself
. Claude would come back—this was his home, after all. Or one of them. They had years and years to get to know one another.

She was fortunate, really. She would have Father all to herself, with the exception of Evan, who rarely stuck his head out of the laboratory unless there was the imminent prospect of food. She would get to know Father, then. He could tell her about her mother and about her past. She was hungry to know every detail—how her mother looked when she’d held her as a baby, whether she preferred green to blue, as Lizzie did, and what kinds of flowers were her favorites.

Yes, all things considered, maybe this was the best thing that could have happened. Claude had had their father all to himself for eleven years. Now it was her turn.

The next morning, according to plan, the Sorbonne set straggled aboard the Seacombe airship,
Victory
, with the maximum of fuss and bother and a minimum of organization. Lizzie watched them with some amusement. One week in the company of the Lady and Arabella would learn to pack everything once, in the proper order in her trunk—would possibly not even
have
a trunk, for the Lady travelled light. One simply did not need shoes in every color to match every single gown one owned. Captain Hollys would never allow Darwin and Geoffrey to lounge about on the lawn instead of assisting sisters and friends. And Tigg … well, Tigg would not be swanning off to Newquay and leaving her here at all.

A pang of homesickness reverberated through her, and she decided she would write letters this afternoon. It had only been a day, but there had been so much left unsaid between her and the ones she loved best that she would not waste any more time in communicating it.

Cynthia ran over to hug her when it appeared everything at last was loaded into the ship. “Are you sure you will not come?”

This was the second woman who had asked her that in as many days, but the answer was still the same. “Quite sure. Do send a postcard, though, won’t you? I should like to see a picture of the engine, at least.”

“I shall, then, if that is all you wish. Will we see you before September?”

“I will be here for ten days, and then I return to London. I must order my wardrobe, you know.” Goodness. How Maggie would laugh, and remind her that even five years ago, neither of them would have dreamed one could say such a thing.

Cynthia clapped her hands. “We are, too! Oh, do give me your card. We must meet in town—put our heads together at the modiste’s and have lunch in Piccadilly—perhaps take in a fashion show or two. Monsieur Charles Worth is exhibiting his most famous gowns, you know, for the first time ever. One mustn’t miss it.”

Lizzie had no idea who Monsieur Worth was, but she nodded as enthusiastically as if she did. “I haven’t a card, but we live in Wilton Crescent. Number twenty-three. You are welcome to call at any time, Cynthia.”

“Wilton Crescent, is it?” Her eyebrows rose coyly. “Aren’t we the fashionable ones. I shall be delighted to call.” She kissed her on both cheeks, in the European way. “Until then, dearest.”

Arabella gave a languid wave and the two of them climbed the gangway, assisted by Geoffrey and Darwin, who appeared to be able to stir themselves for that much, at least. And then with a cry of “Up ship!”
Victory
lifted, leaving Lizzie alone in the company of the groundsmen and her father.

She smiled as she joined him. “I hope they have a pleasant flight.”

“I’m sure they will.” He offered her his arm. “The barometer is indeed dropping, which makes me a little concerned for the flight of our scientific guests. But Cowell over there assures me that as long as they arrive by midafternoon, they should avoid the worst of the storm currents. Will you join me for another cup of coffee, my dear?”

“With pleasure,” she said, happiness flooding in to fill the empty spaces all these rapid departures had left inside her.

The breakfast table had already been cleared of the mess left by the Sorbonne set, and magically, two places re-set with a coffee service. Either someone was listening at the windows for the least whim of the master of the house, or he habitually returned for coffee at mid-morning. If the latter, perhaps he would not object if she made it her habit, too, though coffee was not one of her favorite beverages. Perhaps she might stand near an open window and muse upon the possibility of chocolate for herself to see what would happen.

“So, my dear.” He waited for her to pour him a cup, then her own. “We are to keep each other company. I should very much like to hear of your life between the day I last saw you at five, and the day I saw you again at sixteen.”

“I will need more than the space of a cup of coffee for that story, Father. And there are parts I do not wish to dwell on, even for your sake.”

“Understandable. But perhaps we might begin with how you met Lady Claire?”

Lizzie hesitated. Yes, he was her father, but at the same time, the Lady’s secret life was just that—secret. While much of it might be in the past, there were still loose threads that extended from that time to this, and every inhabitant of number twenty-three knew how to keep mum on the subject. If the Lady didn’t deal with you herself, Snouts would. His patience was much thinner than hers, and his methods less civilized.

“We were street sparrows, Maggie and I,” she began. “Lady Claire had opened a school in Vauxhall Gardens, hard by the bridge, and we heard from some of our mates that a body could get a good meal there. We went, thinking that at any moment we would be beaten and turned away, but instead she took us in, fed us, and offered us a cot. The next morning, she began to teach us our letters and numbers.”

“How commendable.”

“Our lessons progressed to table manners and ethics, and then to physics, mechanics, and chemistry. And then when it was discovered that one of our number, Weepin’ Willie, was actually Lord and Lady Dunsmuir’s kidnapped son, our lives changed again, and through them we met Count von Zeppelin. He encouraged Lady Claire to study in Munich, and of course by then she had made us her wards, so we went, too.”

“It seems I owe Lady Claire a great debt.”

“We all do,” Lizzie said softly. “I can’t bear to think what might have happened to Maggie and me if we hadn’t met her. We’d likely be Whitechapel chippies—or dead.”

He shuddered and set his cup in its saucer rather forcefully. “I’m sorry, my dear, but to hear such words upon your innocent lips distresses me.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” There were many worse epithets she could have used, but to say
desert flower,
an expression used only by Texicans, would have brought up their adventures in the Americas, and that was skating a little too close to other people’s secret lives—including her own—for comfort. It was much easier to tell him the story of Weepin’ Willie, and of his dramatic return to his parents.

“So that is the secret of your familiarity with the Dunsmuirs,” her father said, draining his cup. “It is very good to know. Upon such connections a glittering social career is often based, from what I understand.”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed eagerly. “Lady Dunsmuir has already offered to sponsor us for our come-out in two years’ time.”

“Has she?” A glow of approval suffused his face. “How very kind of her to take a motherless girl under her wing.”

“Well, at the time we were not really motherless. Lady Claire is more of a—an elder sister, but as our guardian, she stands in the place of a mother from time to time. I am quite certain she and Lady Dunsmuir put their heads together on the subject behind our backs.”

“You speak of
our
and
we
, my dear. Are you including Margaret in your thoughts of the future?”

What a question. How could she phrase this so that he would understand? “She is my sister in every way that counts. We have been like this—” She crossed her third finger over her forefinger. “—forever. As you say, practically since birth.”

“But she is not, in truth, your sister.”

“Well, no, but certainly by all other ties, if feeling and experience mean anything.”

“Your loyalty to the girl is commendable, my dear, but do you see your relationship continuing?”

“Of course.”

He gazed at her, as though marshaling the right words to say. Once back in England, with its kinder systems of illumination, he had put away the amber, multi-lensed spectacles. Now his gaze held hers, tawny and somber.

—tiger eyes—

—smoke, and the floor falling—

“Elizabeth? Have I said something to distress you?”

She blinked and gripped the edge of the table—something firm to hold on to while she battled a sense of vertigo. “No … no, I think I may have had too much coffee. It has made me dizzy.”

He rose at once, and took her hands to guide her from her chair. “Then you must lie down in your room. Let me call a maid.”

“No—no, Father. I am quite all right. I think I might just step out into the garden and walk a little in the fresh air.”

“Do whatever you think best. I do not want my hostess taking to her bed, after she was so selfless as to give up a trip to Newquay in order to assist me with my guests.”

With a smile, she made her way to the grand salon and then out the open French doors to the terrace, where she breathed deeply of the soft morning air. Several wide flagstone steps took her down into the garden, which seemed in disarray despite the efforts of the two gardeners she could see beavering away in the shrubbery.