Meanwhile, at the Dernstrum Institute Page 13

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A COLD THRILL ran through me at the sight of my own casually scrawled name. Hack had been collecting information on all of us, all the time he had been here. It was tempting to see what he’d written about me, but that wasn’t important. I seized the file labelled ‘Langstone’, put the rest back and closed the bag.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Enfield’s voice surprised me. He stood framed in the doorway, frowning.

  I hid the file behind my back. ‘Nothing. I mean, I’m packing Hack’s things. He’s been thrown out, did you know?’

  ‘Mrs Jones told us.’ He advanced into the room. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘You could take his bags over to the pub, if you want.’ I bit my lip, embarrassed yet again by my thoughtlessness as I recalled Enfield might not be able to carry both bags.

  He said nothing, just picked up the bag of papers, tucked it under his truncated arm, then picked up the suitcase with his good hand and went on his way. I followed him out with the file clutched behind my back, intending to go to my own room.

  As I stepped onto the first floor landing, a hand fell on my arm. Snatching myself away from the touch, I realised it was Langstone. He stood in the shadows like a marble statue, his hand still outstretched.

  'I'm sorry, Miss Wright. I didn't mean to startle you.' His gaze darted from my face to his surroundings as if he expected monsters to emerge from the skirting boards.

  I composed myself. The file burned in my hand. 'Can I help you, sir?'

  'Has something happened? In the night.' He stepped closer. I stiffened, resisting the urge to move further away.

  'Madame Dellargo's pet dog has been killed. Mrs Jones found it this morning.'

  'Oh. I see. How very shocking for her.' His words were delivered without emotion. I didn’t know which ‘her’ he was referring to. Maybe both of them.

  When he didn't speak again for a moment, I stepped away. 'Was there anything else?'

  'No.' As he moved forward into the light of the stairwell, he squinted. His eyes were bloodshot. 'No, nothing else. Tell Mrs Jones I don’t wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day.'

  'Of course.' I watched him walk away towards his bedroom

  In the safety of my room, I opened the file.

  Squiggles. Pages of closely written notes but not in any language I knew. Just squiggles. My heart sunk. I scanned each page for anything intelligible but it was all the same.

  Hack wrote his notes in shorthand. Thanks to ‘Introduction to Secretarial Work for Young Ladies’, I knew it was shorthand, but that useful book had only told me it was a specialist study, requiring years of practice. I couldn’t read it. I wanted to howl.

  There might be a book in the library on shorthand. It couldn’t be that hard.

  My hands were still shaking. I stared at them, willing them to be still. This was madness. I had lied, eavesdropped, conspired to conceal a fraud, picked locks, and now stolen. Was it worth it? If, after everything, I found the Professor’s treasure, what then? I was sure it wasn’t anything as immediately useful as money.

  Perhaps he’d wanted me to pick up his abandoned research, make my own fortune from the witch’s potion. But I wasn’t a chemist. If Langstone wanted to experiment with it, he deserved the potential benefits more than I did. Besides, judging by the way he looked, the stuff couldn’t be all that good.

  There. The decision was made. I didn’t want the Professor’s treasure.

  Tension drained out of me. It was the right decision. I felt sorry now for taking Hack’s notes, even if he was a fraud. But I didn’t owe him anything. He had lied and spied on us all for weeks, and it was his own fault he’d been thrown out.

  I still wished I knew what he’d known about Langstone. Getting a photograph of him must have been important, for him to risk so much for it. But why? What would a photograph show?

  I shook my head. There was no point guessing when I had just resolved to let the whole business alone. I shoved the file under the mattress, along with my other guilty secret. Once it was out of sight, I felt much better. I was going to turn over a new leaf. No more secrets, no more lies.

  Hack’s departure was the main topic of conversation at lunch.

  'Did they say what their plans are?’ I said to Enfield.

  'Madame is apparently going to America. Hack didn’t say much.'

  'You would think a medium would be rather more philosophical about death. But maybe dogs don't go to the other side. Eh?' Rickett said. ‘I don’t mind if they’ve gone for good, the pair of them. I have men from the Ministry due on Tuesday to see the Machine. Hack and his… ilk make us look like a circus.’

  ‘Will it be ready to demonstrate by then?’

  Inspired by the designs I’d contributed via Sam, Rickett had been rebuilding the steering and parts of the control system.

  ‘Yes,’ he said pointedly. ‘Unless Sam messes things up somehow, she’ll be ready.’

  Sam flushed.

  Saturday dawned wet and blustery, the sort of weather that makes every window creak and mutter in its frame. The house smelt damp. Overnight, a shallow lake had formed on the drive in front of the porch.

  I was pecking away at the typewriter when a gentle knock on the open door made me turn. It was Enfield. He came in and sat down at the table with his good arm outstretched in front of him, hook out of sight on his lap.

  ‘I hope I’m not interrupting your work.’

  ‘Not at all. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Can you order me some rabbits? Half a dozen should do.’

  ‘Live rabbits?’

  ‘Yes.’ He rubbed his arm against the table as if it itched. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. About the cabbage. I didn’t know what to make of it, at the time. But I’ve observed you since, and I don’t think you’re the hysterical type. Anyway, I have to be sure the stuff is safe to eat.’

  Not the hysterical type? Nice to know he thought so. Pity the poor rabbits though. ‘I’ll see if I can get some for you.’

  He began straightening up the paperwork spread out on the table. ‘No offence, I hope. I mean, it looked pretty strange, you in the greenhouse…’

  ‘I think the least said about it, the better.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I wouldn’t have mentioned it, but I thought I should explain. Because, well, I’d like to think we were friends.’ He frowned down at the papers in front of him. ‘Do you know quarterly isn’t spelt like that?’

  I rose and closed the library door.

  He twisted in his chair to watch me, eyebrows raised. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Can you keep a secret? Only, I want to tell you something. It’s rather complicated.’

  ‘You aren’t married, are you?’

  I laughed. ‘No, nothing like that.’

  After my earlier resolution, this seemed the natural thing to do. I trusted Enfield and hated lying to him. I would make a clean breast of it. No more secrets. I told him everything. Nearly everything, anyway. This took a while but he listened patiently, occasionally asking questions when I was more than usually confusing.

  Finally, I ran out of things to say. I sat back, watching his expression.

  ‘So. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I’m glad you told me. I think you’ve made the right decision.’

  He scratched his head. There was a rusty stain on his shirt cuff and a drop of blood on the back of his hand. A red weal extended up his wrist, under his sleeve.

  ‘What happened to your hand?’

  ‘Oh.’ He glanced at it. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘It’s bleeding.’

  ‘Some of the plants seem to have developed a sort of a sting, that’s all.’

  ‘Let me see.’ I got up and seized his sleeve before he could move. He grimaced in pain as I pulled back the cuff. The red mark looked raw and swollen. Where it terminated on his wrist, blood seeped from a small puncture. ‘I’ve seen this before.’

  The unfortunate dea
d sheep had similar marks on its face, and the morning after my night in the greenhouse, the wound on my leg looked just the same.

  He pulled his hand away from me. ‘It’s not serious. Now I know, I’ll take more care.’

  ‘This isn’t something you can just ignore. You’ve created vampire cabbage. Someone could be seriously hurt.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He stood up, his expression wooden. ‘I know about plants. There’s no danger.’

  ‘These plants aren’t going to feed the poor. Eat the poor, maybe.’

  He reached the door and turned to face me. ‘You don’t know what this means to me. I’ll never give up.’

  I knew that stubborn expression well. For years I tried to persuade Father to give up on the Pedomotor, and he had much more reason to listen than Enfield did. He had invested so much in his dream, he couldn’t abandon it. Each new difficulty just made him cling harder to his faith. I wanted to slap him, but it would do no good. You can’t save people from themselves.

  ‘Well, please think about it. And get the fences fixed. The farmer doesn’t like his sheep getting hurt.’

  He left, but I couldn’t focus on my work. I didn’t think he would change his mind.

  Rickett and Sam worked all weekend on the Machine, appearing only for meals. To Rickett’s great satisfaction, the rain stopped Monday night. The soggy ground would help demonstrate the advantages of his Machine and the important visitors wouldn’t get wet. All was ready for the demonstration.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘WHERE IS HE?’ Rickett asked for the third time. He glared at me but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He said he’d be here.’

  Rickett had been bending Langstone’s ear at every opportunity, pointing out the importance of the Institute’s Director greeting his visitors. In my hearing at least, Langstone had been noncommittal.

  ‘Perhaps he’s ill,’ I said.

  He snorted and turned away. After glancing out of the window to check the visitors hadn’t arrived in the last minute, he paced across the hall again. Sam sat on the bottom step of the stairs, head hanging. They’d both been up at dawn for last minute work on the Machine.

  Concluding another circuit, Rickett returned to face me. He consulted his pocket watch. ‘They’re late. They’ll be here any minute. You must fetch him.’

  I didn’t think hauling Langstone from his bed was a good idea. I certainly wasn’t about to try it myself.

  ‘If he’s ill, it can’t be helped. I’m sure your visitors will understand. They’ve come to see your Machine, not Langstone.’

  ‘It’s the look of the thing, that’s all.’ He chewed his moustache. ‘He’s the Director.’

  Sam jumped to his feet. ‘They’re here.’

  A palatial black Humber saloon rolled up outside the front door.

  ‘They’re here!’ Rickett stared at the black car and at the hall and stairs, as if he thought Langstone might appear suddenly. ‘What do we do?’

  I’d never seen Rickett so close to panic. I smiled with all the calm confidence I could muster and strode towards the front door with Rickett and Sam trailing after me.

  A fleshy young man stood beside the car, grimacing at the puddle his polished shoes had encountered. An older man, whose remaining hair struggled to cover a lot of head, emerged from the car to join him.

  I advanced with my hand outstretched. ‘I’m Miss Wright. I’m sorry the Director, Dr Langstone, isn’t able to join us. He’s indisposed. May I present Mr Rickett?’

  If the visitors thought it odd to be greeted by a woman, they were too polite to give any sign. In the ritual of handshakes and introductions, Rickett recovered his composure.

  ‘Can we offer you any refreshment, before the demonstration?’ I said. ‘There’s tea.’

  The younger man, who had introduced himself as Grayson, smiled, but his older colleague spoke first. ‘No, thank you.’

  Rickett jumped in, ready to take over. ‘Gentlemen, if you’ll just follow me. It’s this way.’

  I was curious to see the finished Walking War Machine in action, so I tagged along, keeping a discreet distance from the official visitors.

  Rickett and Sam had moved the Machine onto the park in preparation for the show, safely away from the cabbage plots. The legs had sunk a few inches into the mud under its own weight. Rickett and his audience clucked around it. On the sidelines, I hugged my coat around me against the cold as Rickett described the design at length, his ego swelling visibly in response to the visitors’ polite interest.

  They retreated to where I was standing when Rickett climbed into the driving position. Sam joined us. The first engine started, then the second rumbled into life. I smiled at the sweet noise. The visitors murmured in surprise as it lurched into motion. Although I had seen it before, it still amazed me to see the thing working.

  The Machine stalked over the ground, slowly then at increasing speed, kicking up clods of grass and mud as it went. Rickett put the Machine through its paces. The redesigned steering worked better, but it was still hardly agile. Sam stood beside me, silent. Each time the Machine turned, he tensed, his hands bunching into fists.

  The visitors had their heads together, speaking quietly. I edged closer.

  ‘Howard?’ the young man said.

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think so.’ The older man gazed at the passing Machine. ‘Unless you’ve heard something?’

  ‘No, not really. Someone just said. Well, after the last time. No one would be surprised.’

  ‘Huh.’ The older man turned up his collar. ‘I hope this doesn’t take much longer. I’ve never been so cold in my life.’

  I turned away. After all Rickett’s efforts, these people he counted on weren’t even interested. I was angry though I hardly knew why. I fixed my eyes on Rickett and the Machine, willing him to come up with something to make them pay attention.

  His face contorted in fierce concentration as he wrenched at a lever. His timing was off. I heard it in the note of the engine and the crunching of gears. A cloud of steam jetted round him.

  The Machine tipped. His yell was lost as the engines roared. The legs jerked, but not with the co-ordination required to correct the situation.

  With a final spasm, the Machine fell onto its side. Rickett tumbled to the ground. Sam stared, frozen in horror. The engines still rumbled but the legs had stopped moving. Sam ran over and I followed, stumbling over the rough ground.

  Sam swarmed onto the Machine and cut the engines. They chuntered and stopped. Rickett lay in a crumpled heap, groaning.

  ‘Are you hurt? Don’t try to move.’ I said.

  He tried to sit up. His face contorted with pain and I reached out to help him.

  He flinched away from my hand. ‘Get off me, you witch. My bloody arm’s broke.’

  Sam jumped down from the Machine and helped Rickett to his feet.

  The younger Ministry man wandered up. ‘Is he badly hurt? Anything we can do?’

  Rickett gestured to the downed Machine. ‘It can easily be fixed. I know what went wrong. Simple problem.’ His breathing was laboured.

  ‘Aha. Good, glad to hear it.’

  ‘We’d better take him back to the house,’ I said. ‘Dr Langstone should look at that arm.’

  With Rickett leaning heavily on Sam, we headed back to the house. The Ministry men stopped at their car. Rickett insisted on speaking with them though I could see they weren’t interested in his explanations.

  ‘Sure we can’t do anything else for you? No, no, I see. Very interesting vehicle. We’ll be in touch if we need any further information,’ the kindly young man said. The older Ministry man was already in the car.

  I went into the house to find Langstone, leaving Rickett and Sam to watch the Ministry car pull away.

  Langstone was in the drawing room, reading the newspaper. As soon as he grasped that someone was hurt, he went to fetch his medical bag.

  Rickett, it transpired, had not broken his arm, but only his collarbone. Judging
by the amount of swearing, it was an extremely painful injury.

  ‘You’ll need to wear a sling for several weeks, but it should heal up without any problems. There, feel better?’

  Rickett grimaced, looking down at his strapped arm. ‘Rotten.’

  ‘I’ll give you something for the pain, but it will hurt, I’m afraid.’

  Lurching to his feet, Rickett exclaimed, ‘The Machine!’ and set off towards the front door.

  Langstone sighed. ‘Someone should keep an eye on him.’

  Sam and I caught up with him not far down the drive since Rickett wasn’t a fast mover at the best of times. Though wincing, he was still striding along like a man who wouldn’t easily be diverted.

  ‘Don’t you think this could wait?’ I said, a little out of breath. ‘You should be resting.’

  ‘No, it won’t frigging well wait. I need to get Machine back to workshop and look at broken coupling. It’s a simple breakage. Easily fixed. I can schedule another demonstration.’

  The Machine was in the middle of a muddy field, steeply canted over with one leg embedded in the ground. Steam drifted upwards, escaping from an over-heated part.

  ‘Right. Let’s get her shifted.’ Rickett surveyed the injured beast. ‘Can’t do anything with her out here.’

  ‘Shift it how?’ Sam said. ‘It weighs a ton. And you aren’t lifting anything.’

  ‘Rubbish. Fetch trolley from workshop. We can manage.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What did you say?’ A vein pulsed in Rickett’s neck.

  ‘I really don’t think Sam can move it on his own. Can’t it wait?’

  ‘No, it can’t wait. Go find Enfield or that gardener feller. About time they did something useful.’

  I didn’t appreciate being ordered about in such a peremptory fashion, but it seemed better to humour him if it kept him from blowing a blood vessel. Enfield should at least be easy to find.