Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

“He knew about my run-in with a Houdinian. Knew that Willie had been injured and that I was determined to pursue the engine, no matter the danger. It’s no secret that I’m inexperienced when it comes to facing a deadly opponent. You, however, are a professional.”

Phin spared him a glance as he steered the airship toward the moonlit landing strip. “Don’t get all pissy about it.”

“I’m not,” Simon said honestly. He appreciated Phin’s multiple areas of expertise and he’d be a fool to turn away a man who could help in protecting Willie from harm. Especially since Phin was a man both he and Jules trusted implicitly. “That means Jules has been in communication with you since he left for Australia. Have you heard from him recently?”

“Not since last week.” The Flying Cloud skimmed over the snow-dusted field, the whirling blades slowing, the engines quieting. “Considering his expedition,” Phin said, “I did not anticipate hearing from Jules anytime soon.”

“So you know what he’s after.”

“Same as you. The jubilee prize.”

“Yes, but are you aware of his destination?”

“I am.”

“Then you must understand my concern.”

“You think he’s risking a journey into the future for nothing.” Phin cast him an enigmatic glance. “What if he’s not after the clockwork propulsion engine?”

“What else?” Simon frowned. “Briscoe?”

“He is family and he is in quite the pickle,” Phin said as he finessed the airship to a smooth and full stop.

“But that was thirty-six years ago. Given my infamous cousin’s pickle , he’s probably dead by now.”

Phin shrugged. “Not if Jules arrives in the future close to the same day Briscoe did.”

“You mean before the Peace Rebels even left there?” Simon massaged his temples. “I cannot begin to fathom the effect and impact that could have on our time. Surely Jules is aware.”

“Of course he’s aware. He writes science fiction, for God’s sake. I’m sure he’s considered the paradoxes and ramifications. Look, good man. Jules didn’t inform me of specifics and I didn’t ask. I know my boundaries and I know his limitations.”

Meaning his brother’s mission was top secret? An official assignment? Who better to infiltrate and pinch something or someone from Her Majesty’s Mechanics than another Mechanic? “What do you know of Jules’s . . . extracurricular activities?” he asked as Phin cut the engines.

“Probably as much as you do.”

“I only know that he is a Mechanic,” Simon admitted, trusting he wasn’t betraying Jules’s confidence.

“Then we’re on even ground.” Phin pushed his goggles to the top of his head. “Here comes your lovely bride,” he said with a nod toward Willie, who’d just breached the upper deck. “Listen, Simon,” he continued in a low voice. “Jules trusted you with a covert tip about the Houdinians. Let us trust that he knows what he’s doing. Aside from being quite brilliant, he’s the most cunning bastard I’ve ever known.”

“But his bum leg—”

“Won’t slow him down.” Phin rapped Simon on the shoulder. “See you at Lambert’s on the morrow,” he said, then moved forward to bid Willie a temporary farewell.

• • •

By the time they took the short train ride into London and then an automocab to Covent Garden, Willie felt as though she had been awake for three days. Her brain was as exhausted as her body and she was emotionally drained. She wanted to fall into bed and to sleep for a week. But first she had to get past Simon’s valet and cook, the meticulous caretaker who had been in Simon’s employ for five years—Fletcher.

“You’re sure he is expecting us,” Willie whispered as Simon guided her from the automocab to the stone steps of his Georgian townhome.

“As I said before, I not only spoke with Fletcher this morning, but I telephoned again from Phin’s office. Yes, he is expecting us.” Simon paid and tipped the driver, who’d carried their bags to the stoop just as the front door swung open, and they were greeted by a stiff-backed gentleman with slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair and astonishingly kind brown eyes.

“Welcome home, Master Simon. I assume the lovely woman upon your arm is Mrs. Darcy,” he said whilst retrieving their bags.

“Please call me Willie,” she managed, feeling more flustered than she had anticipated. She had never employed a domestic and felt extraordinarily uncomfortable at the thought of someone attending to her needs.

“As you wish, Mrs. Darcy.”

Simon just smiled as they followed Fletcher into the entryway and Willie got her first peek inside Simon’s home. The interior, for all its spaciousness, was not overly extravagant. Whilst moving toward the stairway that would take them to the first floor, Willie peeked into the ground-level drawing room, adjacent dining area, and a small parlor. The decor and furnishings were simple and quaint, and even though this residence was far grander than her rented rooms, she did not feel overly intimidated. On the other hand, she did not feel entirely at home either. Each room was extraordinarily tidy and free of clutter. And for that matter was absent of anything that spoke of Simon’s adventurous and technology-savvy persona.

“I’ve never been much of a homebody,” Simon said as if reading her mind. “When I am here, I spend most of my time in the library. I’ll give you the grand tour later.”

“Please, sir, allow me to tidy up in there before—”

“Move one pencil and I shall have to sack you, Fletcher.”

“You should be ashamed, sir.”

“Of threatening you?”

“Of that library,” the valet said with a sniff, then continued up the steps.

Willie blinked.

Simon squeezed her waist and spoke close to her ear. “I told you he was a fussbudget and a stick-in-the-mud. I did not say he was conventional.”

“I heard that,” Fletcher said, halfway up the stairs.

“He also has excellent hearing.”

Now Willie smiled. She found the casual relationship between this particular employer and domestic most endearing. Perhaps it would not be as difficult to acclimate to this new environment as she had feared. Breaching the landing, she noted the first floor seemed to be composed of two large rooms. Since the door was open, it was clear that the room at the front of the house was the principal bedchamber. She glanced over her shoulder at the closed double doors to the rear. “The library?”

“In all its mortifying disarray,” Fletcher said. “Do have you have a headache, Mrs. Darcy? Should I fetch some medicine?”

“What? Oh. Oh, no,” she said, realizing she was wearing her sunshades in order to conceal her race.

“Willie’s sensitive to bright light,” Simon said as Fletcher carried their valises into his bedchamber.

“I see,” Fletcher said.

“No, you don’t,” Simon said.

“No, I don’t.” Probably because it had been dark outside and Fletcher had illuminated each room with only minimal lighting. Bright did not apply. “However, it is not my place to question.”

“But you will.”

“Not at this precise moment, sir. Would you like some tea, Mrs. Darcy?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“No trouble,” he said as he glided toward the hallway. “Dinner?”

“It’s been a long day,” Simon said. “We’ll be retiring early.”

“Very well. Welcome to our humble home, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, turning on the threshold and affording her a slight bow. “I warn you, Master Simon is most incorrigible to live with, although he does have a good heart. Should you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ring.”

Simon rolled his eyes.