A Matter of Circumstance and Celludrones (Dark Matters) Page 10

  “He is rather domineering.” At the memory of her last encounter with the duke, Lily’s sympathy slid firmly into her friend’s quarter. Still, she truly wished the two of them would reconcile.

  “Devon’s about as flexible as an iron rod. There’s only one way to make him bend and if I can’t, if I can’t melt him…” Evelyn stood back, hugging herself. The hard glint left her eyes. “Then what’s the point of us?”

  “He worries, Evie. He doesn’t want you to place yourself in the slightest danger because he loves you so deeply.”

  “Devon risks his life every other day for our country. I’m not privy to state affairs, but I’ve seen the scars and they’re not from paper cuts or a gentleman’s disagreement at parliamentary meetings. Last week he returned from a foreign dignitary commission in Germany with bruises covering half his body. Do you think I don’t worry, too? I’d never, however, ask him to choose between me and his duty to the Crown.”

  Lily was momentarily dumbfounded—she’d never imagined Devon went into the field—and then a thought struck that made too much sense to ignore. “Wouldn’t you? Isn’t this what your fascination with risqué sports is about? To show him what it feels like to be the one left behind, waiting and dreading bad news?”

  “Of course not,” Evelyn stated, hard and fast.

  “A back-handed ultimatum, then?” Lily asked hopefully. She was a little mad at Devon herself. If anything happened to him, Evelyn would be devastated. “I’ll stop if you stop?”

  “That kind of subterfuge is far too subtle to work on Devon, or most men, actually.” Evelyn shook her head, frowning. “Besides, you forget my aim was to hide my participation and win Devon over slowly.”

  “True,” Lily snapped, now irritated at the both of them. If pig-headedness didn’t keep them apart, sooner rather than later, death would.

  She almost said as much to Evelyn, but Ana returned with her shoes just then to diffuse the moment.

  A short while later, they packed into the hansom cab. Neco sat outside with the driver and Ana squashed up with William and Greyston, giving Lily and Evelyn more room on the opposite bench. Puppy was constrained with a makeshift leash of pink ribbon and tucked under Evelyn’s arm for good measure.

  At first glance, Edinburgh appeared far smaller, more contained than London. An endless tangle of narrow alleys fed off the main roads, winding along the rocky ridges with houses stacked one on top of the other. They drove directly north from the Central Terminus and the city seemed to lie in the shadow of the great castle perched on the massive rock to the west. They were well on their way along the Leith Road before it fell from view.

  “What a pity we have to leave immediately,” Evelyn said wistfully.

  “Was there anything in particular you wanted to see?” asked Greyston.

  Lily pulled her attention from the window, surprised to find his gaze on her.

  “The underbelly, for one,” Evelyn answered.

  His eyes went to Evelyn and stayed there as she went on, “Apparently half the city lives in a labyrinth of tunnels built into the rock below the streets.”

  Greyston chuckled. “Half the city’s ghosts, perhaps.”

  Lily folded her arms and leaned her shoulder into the window corner. Their banter rolled over her as she watched Greyston through lowered lashes. The first time she’d really looked at him, she’d thought a single smile would crack that square jaw. He’d seemed so stern, unapproachable, she’d never have guessed the creases at his eyes had settled in from that easy grin more often that not lurking beneath the surface, even when things turned dire to the point of deadly.

  She’d given so much of herself to him in the few days they’d been acquainted. Told him things she’d never shared with anyone else. Extended her beliefs beyond the natural and into the realm of supernatural without a blink of doubt. She’d given him her absolute trust. She’d left propriety behind to put her life in his hands and…Lily inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly, searching inside herself. But no, she had no regrets.

  Greyston was as unruly as his hairstyle. He could be imperious and intimidating when he chose, unpredictably charming and warm-hearted at other times. Mostly, he was an impossible scoundrel who’d won her loyalty, friendship, and possibly more.

  It was that possibly more she struggled to define. Her blood warmed over whenever she found herself in one of the many intimate situations they’d shared, some more warranted than others. She’d gone to sleep last night with the false promise of his kiss weaving into her dream world. And yet, while she was disgruntled at his rejection, she wasn’t utterly distraught. Watching that grin play on his jaw now as his gaze clung to Evelyn certainly wasn’t shattering her heart. And maybe that’s what bothered her the most. Lily had always assumed love would come first in a rush of intense emotion, and physical attraction would follow. Or, at the very least, that they would arrive together.

  “Ana, have you been to Scotland before?” Greyston asked.

  Lily’s eyes went to Ana, curious.

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Cragloden Castle?” He didn’t wait for her affirmation. “When was that?”

  “The year I was created, 1829, m’lord. I lived at Cragloden until we left for France.”

  The implication of his questions dawned on her. Ana might have all the answers, if only they could find the right questions to put to her. Her gaze flew to Greyston. Their eyes met and, in that connection, she saw her realisation was nothing new to him. Another demonstration instead of simply telling her?

  Lily turned her gaze from him to the window. 1829. That was before she was born, before she’d been conceived. Greyston had accused her of confusing her own age. Was it possible her mother had lied about her birth date? Ana would know, along with a host of other questions brimming in Lily’s head now, but she preferred to ask them in private.

  They’d left the city behind since she’d last looked out the window, and turned off the main Leith Road onto a smaller, well-maintained track that cut through a moor of gorse and scrub trees. A gusty breeze rippled across the moor, bringing a tangy smell of salt and sea with it. The track curved sharply to the left, leading them directly to a series of hillocks on the edge of the flats and, Lily was quite sure, inland instead of toward the Leith Docks.

  “Didn’t you say we would do the last stretch by ship?” she enquired. Greyston’s home, Castle Forleough, sat on the Firth of Tay, apparently just an hour’s ride from Cragloden Castle.

  “Airship,” he supplied succinctly.

  She whipped a frown on him as her stomach lurched.

  At the same time, Evelyn released a gasp of pleasure. “You never mentioned the air part, you devil.”

  “I thought you’d appreciate the surprise.” The look he slipped Lily’s way indicated that he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it and that’s the real reason he’d misled them.

  Lily bit down on a caustic retort and turned it into a smile. She’d always considered herself more pragmatic than timid, but then she’d never had to measure herself against the challenges she’d been facing of late. Well, she was tired of being the frightened weakling while everyone else charged forth into the fray. Even William’s eyes had lit up at the prospect.

  Stuff and cockles to that. She’d already been killed once and heaven only knew when Lady Ostrich would put in another appearance. It was high time she laced steel into her marrow. A clot of bile stuck in her throat at the thought of taking to the skies, but no one had to know it. “How absolutely delightful.”

  Greyston cocked a brow at her.

  Evelyn reached across the bench to grasp her hand. “It won’t be awful, you’ll see.”

  “I said delightful, not absolutely awful.” Lily rolled her eyes and managed a small laugh that dislodged the clot in her throat. If she kept up the pretence long enough on the outside, it might just permeate inside and become real.

  A narrow pass wound in between the band of hillocks, taking them almost to the other side
before coming to an abrupt dead end. A massive wooden gate, approximately twenty feet high and studded through with iron, blocked their passage. Engraved along the top in giant letters of bold orange and blue, read, The Baston & Graille Dirigible Company.

  A man wearing the company’s colours stepped from the guardhouse built into the slope and Greyston climbed out to address him. The tension in Lily’s gut eased. Baston and Graille had established a few regular routes in the last two years, including their Trans Atlantic Mainline to New York City, and she’d never heard of any unfortunate incidents.

  Her relief, however, didn’t survive past Greyston’s return to the carriage. The gate swung open to let them pass into an enormous expanse of packed soil, the ground littered with mooring hooks and chains that the carriage had to navigate around. A lone Company dirigible was berthed off to one side, its deflated balloon draped over the body. The only other ship in the yard, and the one the carriage pulled up in front of, was like nothing Lily had ever seen before. The sleek black hull, dotted with a row of portholes, looked like a sealed elliptical capsule bluntly dissected along the horizontal. Black sails were furled on numerous squat masts spread across a flat deck that rounded off at the edges with no railing.

  “The Company provides private docking and launching services,” Greyston informed them as he pushed open the carriage door.

  “That’s your ship?” Lily asked with a sinking feeling.

  Greyston nodded. “She’s a beauty. In a calm sky, I can handle her without a crew.”

  She didn’t doubt it. The black ship could fit into the dirigible twice over and there’d be room to spare. Unfortunately, when it came to floating devices, she tended to think the bigger the better.

  “Why would you take the train to London when you have an airship at your disposal?” she asked suspiciously as they all piled out. Had the ship been docked for repairs? Had it broken down midair?

  “We’re not exactly welcome in the British Aether.”

  “It’s illegal to fly a privately owned air ship over England,” Evelyn chimed in.

  “There’s that, too,” Greyston said, shrugging.

  “Baston & Graille have a special licence,” Evelyn continued, “but other than their small fleet and the two dirigibles owned by the Customs Department, no air machines are welcome. Devon says it’s a matter of state security.”

  Lily listened with interest. The concept of air travel was fairly new and she’d assumed the absence of private traffic was due to expense and impracticality, not government legislation.

  “The Scottish law sanctions personal use, so long as the ships conform to regulation and size,” Greyston said. “Our countries may be united, but thank God the politicians realise we’ll never see eye to eye.”

  “You can take a Scotsman out of the wilds…” Evelyn let her words dangle on a teasing smile.

  Greyston chuckled, making no attempt to defend his nation.

  A wiry man approached them from the boarding plank. Red hair curled wildly to his shoulders and his beard was just as fierce.

  “That’s Jamie, my second-in-command,” Greyston said just before the man reached them.

  “We weren’t expecting you back so soon.” Jamie slapped a hand on Greyston’s shoulder. “Hob is aboard, but Ian and Ferdie went a-taverning in Leith last night and we haven’t seen hair nor hide of them since.”

  Greyston rattled off a quick round of informal introductions, then added, “Fire up the engines and prepare to launch, but we’re only going as far as Forleough. You can return for the others this afternoon.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lily was relieved to discover the ship was as different from a dirigible on the inside as it was on the outside. The body was, indeed, a sealed capsule and they boarded directly into a large cabin that must have comprised at least a quarter of the ship. The inside walls were of a similar black, metal composition as the outer shell with no added décor to soften the harsh effect. There was a scattering of hardback chairs and stools, a single table bolted to the floor and a long padded bench built into one wall beneath a row of portholes. Most importantly, there was no viewing deck. Evelyn would have insisted on enjoying the experience from that vantage and Lily would’ve had to admit defeat before her new philosophy on embracing life-defying acts had taken its first step forward.

  The door leading off toward the rear was firmly closed and Greyston hadn’t offered a tour before heading off to the pilot cabin with Jamie. Not long after, a humming sound shuddered through the hull and Evelyn, perched on the bench with her face glued to a porthole, announced, “We’re rising.”

  William rushed over to the adjacent porthole.

  Lily briefly considered the merits of remaining seated in her chair against the inner wall, but decided advance warning might be preferable if they were about to drop from the sky.

  She dragged Ana with her to the portholes along the opposite wall. “This isn’t nearly as bad as I’d imagined. It feels as if we’re hardly moving at all.”

  The ground dropped away rapidly as they lifted, rising above the dockyard and higher still, until the isolated formation of hills spread out below them and the ocean extended endlessly to the right. They stopped climbing and the ship did a slow turn, then shot forward seamlessly in a motion that caused a tingling sensation low in Lily’s abdomen.

  Across the chamber, Evelyn’s giggle was partially muted. The humming of the ship’s engine wasn’t intrusive, Lily realised, but it diluted the transmission of other sounds. She drew closer to Ana and asked the question tormenting her. “In what year was I born? What is my birth date?”

  Ana brought her gaze in from the window. “1831. The 21st of December.”

  Lily put a hand to the wall, her legs unsteady as she did the calculations. Greyston had been right all along. Her mother had died the weekend following her fifteenth birthday. She was one of the Cragloden children, as she’d come to think of them. Her age fit, which meant she was supposed to have been there that day…the day everyone had died. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “You never asked,” Ana said, her gaze steady and unblinking.

  “But every birthday, you never said a thing. You never thought to once mention—” Lily cut herself off. Celludrones didn’t truly think. Not even Ana would offer explanations when no one else was challenging the situation. “Why would my mother lie to me?”

  “I don’t have that answer.”

  Lily shook her head in frustration. But there was only one reason anyone lied about the birth date of a child, wasn’t there? “Were my parents already married when you met them?”

  “Your mother married Lord d'Bulier the same week we arrived in France.”

  “When was that?”

  “September, 1831.”

  “And I was born four months later,” Lily whispered. So, her parents had moved to her father’s country estate in France to cover the scandal of a premature birth. It could be worse, she told herself, and instinctively knew that it was worse.

  Too much didn’t add up.

  Her father had been somewhat of a recluse, seldom leaving his home in the years before his death. Her mother had said they’d met while she was touring France. Her father had been elderly, sickly, he’d died of natural causes before Lily had turned three years of age. While she’d always hoped her mother had married for more than his title and wealth, she couldn’t stretch her imagination to unrestrained passion before the marriage ceremony.

  “Was my father out here in England with my mother? Were they engaged? Did they know each other before they got married?”

  “I cannot be sure.” Ana shook her head. “I’d never seen Lord d'Bulier before we reached France. Your mother did not confide in me, but they did not act as if they knew each other well. I cannot be sure, Miss Lily.”

  Lily pinched her brow as an ache throbbed at her temple. Her mother had married for more. To prevent Lily being born a bastard. “Did you know my father?”

  “Lord d'Bulier?�
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  “No,” Lily muttered impatiently. “My real father.”

  “I do not understand.” Ana smoothed her hands down her skirts in a manner reminiscent of Lily when she was agitated, nervous or at a loss. “My data indicates Lord d'Bulier is your real father.”

  Lily so desperately wanted to accept that as the truth. And she very nearly did, if not for another of Greyston’s earlier accusations that leapt to mind. You are not one of those analytical machines, Lady Lily, you can do better than spewing out whatever rubbish has been fed into you.

  Lily was starting to feel as if she’d been bred and raised on rubbish and lies. Ana couldn’t be one hundred percent sure of that fact—no one but a mother ever could, really—and she was usually careful about qualifying her statements when there was any probability of doubt. “Does that come from your original data or what you’ve digested along the way?”

  “My original data.” Ana went still for a few moments, then shook her head. “There is nothing else to contradict that information.”

  Nothing Ana had seen or heard, perhaps, but that only meant everyone had been successfully discreet. For all Lily knew, McAllister had preloaded his celludrones with whatever lies he wished to perpetuate. She didn’t know the moral integrity of the man, or his purpose, and what she’d heard so far didn’t sound promising.

  Lily was done with blind faith. She was determined to question everything. She’d learnt from her mistakes and she’d learnt another thing, something Greyston possibly hadn’t even figured out yet: If they went looking for answers with Neco or Ana, they’d have to handpick the truths from the dubious facts McAllister might have planted for some unknown purpose.

  “What are you two being so serious about?” Evelyn called.

  Lily cleared her brow as Evelyn handed Puppy to William and approached them. She wasn’t ready to divulge her suspicions, didn’t know if she’d ever be. “It seems I’m anxious about flying after all, despite my best attempts.”

  “Oh, but you’re doing marvellously.” Evelyn took her hand and pulled her closer to the window. “And look, it’s almost over.”