The Doomsday Machine (Horatio Lyle) (10 page)

Already, Thomas could see that it would go wrong. Mr Barker was on his feet; in the doorway, so was his father, in wide-eyed confusion. ‘Who the deuce—’ Lord Elwick began, and it was going to go wrong, so terribly, wrong ...

‘Horatio Lyle,’ said Lyle, hastening forward, one hand outstretched. And now Thomas noticed how Lyle’s clothes were soaked through, and Tess’s too - and there was Tess, an East End thief, standing in his father’s door and, oh God ...

‘A pleasure to meet you, my lord. Thomas speaks of you so often.’ Lyle’s voice cut through the nausea that rooted Thomas to the spot. ‘Might I have a word in private with your son?’

‘What? Why?’

‘Urgent matters of state, my lord.’

‘Why should you need to discuss state matters with my son - and who are you anyway?’

‘I said, I am Horatio Lyle.’

‘Should that name mean anything to me? I am, you should be aware, a man of extensive authority and reputation within the government and House of Lords, and I have
never
in all my days encountered such -’

‘My lord’ - and there it was, an edge to Lyle’s voice, a roughness as the words escaped his gritted teeth; and there it was again, in the tension in Lyle ’s left hand, clenched into a fist; and in the way Tess shrank back in the doorway. Even Tate, usually quite ready to jump on to the furniture, looked cowed. Thomas recognized it immediately: a shimmer of unease in Lyle ’s face, his eyes, his voice, that no amount of babble could disguise.

‘My lord,’ Lyle repeated, ‘what exactly do you know of me?’

‘You are Horatio Lyle, a man of some wealth, I suppose, albeit based on industry, and an occasional tutor to my son.’

‘Ah - good - yes, a tutor! What exactly has Thomas said I tutor him in?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What exactly has Thomas told you?’

‘What are you implying?’

‘My lord, this will be a very short conversation if neither of us is prepared to answer the other’s questions and, believe me, I’ve already played that game today with a man far, far worse than any peer of the realm, so please answer me.’

To Thomas’s surprise, and Lord Elwick’s too, the older man replied. ‘Geography.’

‘I
see
.’ Lyle ’s eyes flickered to Thomas, whose skin by now was the colour of cold milk. ‘My lord, might I have a word in private?’

 

Thomas and Tess sat alone in a hall full of marble and chandeliers, while Tess continued to drip.

‘Hello, Miss Teresa.’

‘Hello, bigwig.’

Because conversation lagged, Thomas added, ‘Hello, Tate.’ Tate raised a thoughtful eye in Thomas’s direction, found himself uninspired, and went on duly smelling of wet dog at Tess’s feet. Thomas knew it would be appropriate to have Tate removed for this sin, but inappropriate to acknowledge the smell if the lady didn’t, and wondered what to do under such straining circumstances.

‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked finally.

‘Whatcha mean?’

He couldn’t help but notice how Tess’s voice snapped, and how she didn’t even try to meet his eyes. ‘Well, I’ve known you for about six months, Miss Teresa, and Mister Lyle the same, and you’ve never once come here or even asked where I live. And then you just . . . turn up. Without any warning. Or ... anything. Is something the matter?’

‘Mister Lyle says as how it ain’t safe to go to his house.’

‘Isn’t safe?’

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos there’s this bigwig bloke with a gun who knows this other bloke called Berwick what we think was workin’ in this lab thing underground that got all flooded an’
They
want to know where he is and Mister Lyle says as how we had to go and lose any followers what we were bein’ followed by in the fog and then come straight here ’cos you’ll be safe ’cos of how you’re a bigwig an’ they won’t dare attack a house like yours with all its people an’ all.’

‘Attack?!’

She shrugged. ‘Like I said, he don’t think as how it ’ll happen.’

‘I see. It sounds . . . a little chaotic.’

Tess met his eyes, and for the first time he saw fear. ‘Bigwig,’ she said, her voice little above a whisper, ‘I seen magic an’ people with glowin’ green eyes and statues move and dragons an’ all that since I met Mister Lyle, an’ it ain’t scared me nothin’. But I also met this Havelock bloke, an’ he scares me.’

‘Havelock? Who’s Havelock?’

‘He paid me to break into Mister Lyle’s house, he did.’

‘Miss Teresa! Are you saying that you would accept such a commission for ...’

‘I dunnit, bigwig. That ’s how I went and met Mister Lyle. An’ I ain’t never given another thought to this Havelock bloke since. But I seen his face, Thomas. I heard his voice, I know what he ... how he thinks an’ all, seen bullies like him out in the streets before. But I ain’t never seen Mister Lyle so frightened as he is now. An’ that scares me more than any monster.’

 

In Lord Elwick’s study, Horatio Lyle stood. The older man sat down behind a polished leather-topped desk and poured himself a glass of port, without offering one to Lyle.

‘Mister Horatio Lyle,’ he said at length. ‘Forgive me if I dispense with polite necessities, now we are out of the lady’s company.’

‘Polite necessities?’ echoed Lyle faintly. ‘Those were polite necessities?’

‘You may find me a little . . . abrupt.’

‘Oh no, not at all!’ Lyle tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice; and Lord Elwick probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.

‘But I am led to enquire,’ went on his lordship in a voice like the brushing of two passing icebergs, ‘what exactly you are doing here?’

‘There’s really nowhere else to go.’

‘Please explain that remark.’

‘It ’s complicated.’

‘See if your mental powers of explanation can rise to the occasion, Mister Lyle.’

Lyle half-smiled a bitter smile, and said, ‘My lord, may I be frank with you?’

‘I would demand nothing less.’

‘I’m here to see your son, my lord.’

‘Why are you here to see my son, Mister Lyle?’

‘Because once a week, every week, he sneaks to my house near Blackfriars, and I teach him about machines. Because I know he comes from a home with a hundred staff waiting on your every wish; because I know that Lord Elwick’s son cannot disappear and not be noticed; because I need somewhere safe to stay and, most of all, because I need to warn him. I ... there are those who may try to harm him.’

‘Harm him? Why?’ Lord Elwick’s fine features were white, but his voice didn’t waver above a flat calm.

‘I would not presume, my lord, to intrude, but that . . .’

‘Harm him
why
?’ The tone didn’t change, but the voice filled the room; it hummed through the panelling and rattled the window panes.

Lyle met Lord Elwick’s eyes, and saw nothing but burning anger, although his face was ice. ‘Because of me, my lord. Because it is known to some who are my enemies, that Thomas is my friend. They may try to hurt him, to hurt me.’

‘Why?’

‘Did I not just explain that?’

‘Why are they going to hurt you, and why would they assume you have any sort of relationship beyond a passing one with
my
son?’

‘Because I teach him!’

‘What do you teach him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you teach him, Mister Lyle? I know full well that once a week he departs for the city, and once a week he does so claiming to visit a teacher or a relative or attend a concert or a sermon or a lecture or some such device - does he visit you? What do you teach him, what do you tell him, who are
you
to have put
him
in danger?!’ Lord Elwick was on his feet, and now his face was purple. ‘How
dare
you?!’

‘Science.’ Lyle’s voice was cold and unmoving. ‘I teach him science.’

‘Is that it?’

‘That’s the part I think you’ll understand, my lord.’

‘He has no need for science!’

‘He has more need than anyone I’ve ever met.’

‘I do not need a stranger to tell me about my son! Why did he lie? Why did he not mention you?’

‘Perhaps because you
do
need a stranger to tell you about your son, my lord.’

‘Do not push me, Mister Lyle!’

‘I’m sorry; there’s no nice way to tackle this. Believe me, I tried when first I came through that door; but you just wouldn’t let me, would you? So I’ll get to the point.’ Lyle sought a good way to begin, and failing, gave a shrug and dived in.

‘Your son has flown, in his own machine - has he told you that? He has built a flying machine from bamboo and canvas, launched it off Hampstead Heath, flown across the city, so high and so fast you’d think he could touch the moon, called it Icarus, after the boy who flew too close to the sun until his wings melted in its heat. And he made it work; he did the maths, he calculated the pressure, he worked out the speed. He has . . . such a passion for it, an astonishing brilliance. Perhaps he has not told you because he is afraid, because science is not what the Elwicks do. In his own way, I suspect that is his attempt to be a good, dutiful, son. That means he doesn’t admit to his interests - it is not what you expect of him. Not that this is important, it ’s not what I’m trying to say . . .’ Lyle hesitated, then said, ‘Put it like this. Forget the science, forget the maths; what matters is that he does what he thinks is right - studies what he thinks is important, does what he believes will make things better.

‘It was by accident that he met me, and I suspect he’d do what he does regardless. His connection with me . . . is nothing. Just a nudge along the way. But I
do
care for your son, and I think it would be a tragedy and a loss if he were not to study and do what he does. And now a man who is ... how can I put it? Without scruple. A man without scruple is going to try to use your son against me, and I am scared sick that I won’t be able to protect him, and I
need
to warn him that this might happen. Is that enough, my lord? Is that what you needed to hear?’

Lord Elwick had sunk back down into his chair. Now he murmured, ‘But . . . he is
my
son.’

‘Yes, my lord. And he is my friend. Between us, he should be all right, don’t you agree?’

 

‘Thomas?’

Lady Elwick stood in the doorway. Thomas got to his feet. Tess stood too. Instinctively, in the presence of someone obviously a lady, she attempted a little curtsey, and almost stood on Tate’s ear.

Lady Elwick was pale. ‘Thomas,’ she said softly, ‘your father is asking for you, and . . . you, young lady.’

Tess tried not to feel like a walking, soaking refuse heap in contrast with Lady Elwick. Thomas moved stiffly towards the study door, his face empty. Tess followed and Tate slouched after her.

At the door, Lady Elwick put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right,’ she said softly. ‘I know what you do. The servants told me. And it ’s all right.’ She smiled weakly when he froze, and nudged him forward. ‘Go and speak to your father.’

He walked into the study, not registering his surroundings, unaware of his own movement or Tess shuffling behind him. His father sat at the desk; Lyle stood in the window and peered round the curtain at the street outside, seemingly oblivious of anything else. Thomas felt like the most lonely person in the world.

His father cleared his throat.

‘Thomas.’

‘Yes, Father?’

‘Mister Lyle informs me that . . .’ his voice trailed off, then started up again. ‘There are some things you have not been telling me, Thomas.’

‘No, Father.’ His voice was barely a whisper.

‘Now, before I make my mind up about this situation, I need to hear you tell me, just once, why you do these things. Why you . . . wilfully endanger yourself, why you court trouble, linger where you know there will be risk, why you . . . why you . . . no, I will not ask why you do not tell me, the answer to that is too easy: what father would permit knowingly the things you do? But I need to understand why you so readily accept that this man’ - a glower in the direction of Lyle ’s impassive back in the window - ‘can risk his life and yours, why you can just let that happen and not blame him, not run from this . . . strange world you seem to inhabit. I need to hear you tell me why.’

Thomas looked behind him at the shivering Tess, then down at Tate, and across to the window, where Lyle was watching him over his shoulder, face closed, saying not a word. He turned back and saw his father, shorter in real life than the portraits on the wall suggested, whiskers sticking out either side of his face, back slightly hunched with age, dressed in fine evening wear that, being designed for a younger man, just made Lord Elwick look older. For almost the first time in his life, he found he knew exactly what to say.

‘Because it ’s right, Father. What we do is the right thing to do. And someone has to do it. You can’t just . . . walk away from something like that. You told me ... that it’s my
duty
to do right. You said that I had to do right by my family, my servants, the people who would look up to me - you said that because I was . . .’ he hesitated for a moment, glancing up at Lyle, who showed no reaction, ‘. . . because I was born to privilege, it was my duty to follow a code and do the best I can for those who were born beneath me, who trusted me not to mislead or abuse them. More - not just
not
to mislead, but to try to do something so that they would be better, that I could make a difference because of who I am! If you say that it is a duty to be a gentleman, and that duty means I should be understanding and kind towards my family and my servants, does it mean I should ignore everyone else? I can’t make everything better - but I can’t not try.’

He stopped, feeling the blood standing out on his skin, trembling at the end of his fingers, and looked at Lord Elwick.

His father’s face seemed to empty, smoothing out as every muscle unknotted itself and as he let out a long sigh that seemed to start at his strained shoulders and flow all the way down to his fingertips. ‘In that case,’ said Lord Elwick, and his voice no longer rang with imperious command, but was gentle and real, ‘you have my blessing, Thomas. Mister Lyle?’