Chapter Five
F or nearly two days, Kara kept her vigil beside Turner’s bed. Twice, she thought he was about to awaken. He would move purposefully, grimace, but then fall back, inert once more.
She decided to take it as a hopeful sign. Because she could not bear for it to be anything else.
She intermittently applied cold and Balgate’s poultice to the lump on Turner’s head. She made sure he was kept warm and clean. Occasionally, she would prop him up and try to dribble a bit of honey-laced tea into him.
Niall and Elsie kept her supplied with trays of food and endless mugs of tea. Everyone else visited, sitting beside her, talking in whispers of how they would spoil Turner when he finally woke.
“I’ll make him scads of clotted cream,” Cook promised. She’d come up for a quick peek in , as she put it. “And I will not say a word about how thick he loads up his scones.”
“When he wakes up, tell him I have kept up with my studies,” Harold urged in a whisper. “And tell him I have finally learned how to move my feet without thinking about it too hard, when I am fencing!”
“Tell him I’ve kept all the grates spit-spot clean,” Prudence said when she came to fetch Kara’s tray. “He has no cause to worry about the downstairs rooms.”
“They are all too nice,” Gyda declared. “When he wakes up, I am going to tease him about how far he is willing to go to make Mrs. Canning worry about him.”
Niall, wisely, merely sat beside her in watchful silence.
And at last, late on the second night, just as Kara had been about to lie down on the cot she’d had brought in, Turner stirred, sighed, and opened his eyes. Heart pounding, she reached out to take his hand. “Well. Good evening to you.” She had to blink back tears of relief.
He noticed the tears. “Evening?” he rasped. Alarmed, he tried to sit up, but gasped in pain and fell back.
“Easy,” Kara warned. “You have some broken ribs.”
“What? What happened?” His voice gave out, and she poured a cup of barley water that Balgate had left.
He sipped at first, but then drank thirstily. Handing it back, he frowned around at his surroundings. “Where—? The guest room?”
“Yes. The one right next to my rooms. We are at Bluefield,” she reminded him. “I know you would likely prefer your own bed, but there is not enough room to maneuver in that monk’s cell you call a bedroom.”
“What’s happened?” Turner reached up to gingerly touch his head. “Oh, yes. The chaise. I’m so sorry! There was a shot. It spooked the horse.” His eyes widened. “Mrs. Canning? Is she—?”
“She’s fine,” Kara soothed. “Just a little bruised. She’ll be so relieved to hear that you’ve awakened.”
He blinked and looked around once more. “How long?”
“Two days, nearly.”
“Good heavens,” he whispered. He scowled at her. “You have not been sitting here all of that time, have you?”
She merely raised a brow at him.
“Miss!” he said, then shook his head. “Your Grace, I mean.”
“You are not to worry. Balgate has been here. He’ll be back in the morning. You had a knock to the head, but he crafted something noxious to cover it with, and it seems to have finally done the job.” She squeezed his hand. “You will have to play the invalid for a while. I know you will hate it, but needs must.”
“No. No. Two days? There must be a hundred things that need looking after.”
“The ship is not the same without you at the helm, but we will get by. It is your recovery that is important now.”
Turner relaxed a little at this reassurance. But then his eyes narrowed. “This is the work of that woman, isn’t it? Petra Scot.”
“We assume it must have been her or one of her lackeys. But there’s been no further sign of her since.” She waved a hand. “Forget her. Now is the time for you to drink the rest of that water and rest. If you tolerate it well, perhaps Balgate will allow you a bit of breakfast in the morning.”
He drank the rest down, and that seemed to exhaust him. Turner lay back and was soon asleep again. But she thought it was just a natural sleep, at last.
Sighing in relief, she sat back and watched him for a while before turning to the cot, feeling lighter and more hopeful than she had since the accident.
The next morning was a flurry of activity as Turner awakened early and the good news spread. Kara finally left him in Balgate’s care. She had a long bath and a decent breakfast. She sat with Harold a bit before she took care of a few things she had neglected. It was nearly noon when Niall took her aside, leading her to the ivory sitting room and shutting the door.
Her heart dropped. “What is it? Has she struck again?”
Niall handed her a folded bit of paper. “This was found on the front door. The same evening as Turner’s accident.”
She steeled herself, then flipped it open.
I owed you that one, KaraLevett
For Clémence
Kara drew a long, shuddering breath. Shaking, she covered her mouth with a hand. “She’s not going to stop, Niall,” she whispered.
“No,” he agreed.
“We—” She stopped, cocking her head. “Listen. Do you hear shouting?”
They both jumped as someone pounded on the door. “Your Grace! Your Graces!”
Kara leapt to her feet, but Niall beat her to the door.
“A fire! There’s a fire!” the maid said, breathless.
Niall was out and running.
Kara grabbed the maid, who had fallen back out of the way and now stood staring off after him. “Where?” she demanded.
The girl sucked in a breath. “At your laboratory, Your Grace.”
“Harold? Is he still upstairs?”
“Aye, I believe so, ma’am.”
Kara took off. Damn these skirts . But she lifted them high and flew as fast as she could out the front, over the drive, and along the path, past the forge, on toward the lab.
A crowd had gathered at the far front corner of the building. Groomsmen and stable lads, mostly, along with a few gardeners—and Niall.
He nodded reassuringly as she pulled up, breathing hard. “It’s all right. It’s out already. One of the stable lads spotted the smoke. They dealt with it quickly.” He rested a hand on a young man’s shoulder.
Kara straightened. “Zachariah, isn’t it?”
The stripling, just on the verge of manhood and gangly with it, nodded shyly.
“Thank you.” She looked over the collection of buckets, a pile of wet and steaming horse blankets, and the black, charred corner of the building. “Thank you so much. Your keen senses and your quick action have saved the day.” She glanced around, meeting the gaze of everyone there. “Thank you all.”
The young man shuffled, wringing his hat in his hands. “We know how much your laboratory means to you, Your Grace.”
“It does, indeed. But your safety and the well-being of all of us here at Bluefield Park means more. There are chemicals and cleaning agents inside that could have sparked an inferno. The fire could have raged on or sparked and spread to the other outbuildings. You all prevented that, and I’m so grateful.”
Niall stepped forward and addressed them all. “We are under siege, lads. I know you’ve heard we have an enemy working against us. It is clear these people do not care who they harm in their quest for vengeance.” He looked at the damaged corner of the building, at his wife, and back at the group of men. “Today you’ve stolen their victory. Well done, all of you.”
Someone gave a whoop.
“We’ve all got an eye out, Your Grace,” said John Coachman. “They shouldn’t have got here at all.” He shook his head. “It won’t happen again.”
Murmuring darkly, the men broke off, leaving in groups.
Kara stood, staring at the smoke marks and the bit of damaged building.
“It will be a quick repair,” Niall said. “We’ll just have to make sure we brace everything well.”
She nodded. “They really did save the day. I doubt there is a mark on the inside.” She looked up at him, the ire inside her rising. “Niall, you know what this means. We cannot go on like this.”
“Wooten—”
“Wooten will do as he must. It hasn’t led to any results yet, has it?” She shook her head. “No.” Fury simmered in her belly and sent tendrils creeping up her spine. “We are done. No more waiting for her to come to us.” She looked at Niall with determination. “We cannot let her harm anyone we love, not again. We have to find her. Even if we do it ourselves.”
Relief washed over her when he nodded his agreement. “That was my thought exactly.”
*
Kara wished to hold an immediate meeting and begin planning right away, but Niall convinced her to wait until Gyda returned. His friend and assistant had seen Turner this morning—and teased him mercilessly—before going into London once more. She had spoken of a meeting between Lord Charles Osbourne and some of her friends in the city’s artistic community.
Grumbling, Kara agreed to wait. She went to wash away the smell of smoke before she settled at her desk, writing a growing stack of letters. She sent them out with a courier, grouched a little more upon learning Gyda was still away, then retreated to her rooms with her maid, Elsie. While she kept busy working on her converted skirts, adjusting them for ease of movement and adding hidden pockets for useful implements, Niall retreated to the study, where he went through the post and sent out a few more private messages.
Feeling restless afterward, he collected Harold and went out to the forge. His arm had been injured on their last adventure, at his new estate in Scotland. It was recovering, and the bridal trip had provided a nice rest for the healing muscles, but it was time he started getting it back in working condition, and since he needed a distraction…now was as good a time as any.
“Put your mind to work,” he told Harold as he set about forging long stems and leaves for the wetland-inspired project. “I’d like to get some real texture on the cattail heads we mean to put in the foreground.”
“How about we heat them and take a wire brush to them?” the boy suggested. He was shaping tree branches at his own, smaller anvil.
“That will work, but I’ve a mind to make it more realistic. I’m turning it about in my head, and I hoped you would do the same.”
Harold nodded and went back to work.
After a couple of hours, Niall’s arm began to ache. He called a halt and took Harold back to the house so they could both bathe. Niall was just finishing up and getting dressed when Stayme burst in.
“It’s not as strong as we might have hoped for, but it’s something,” he said, waving a paper.
Niall took it with a questioning look.
“It’s the report you requested,” Stayme explained.
Niall read it over, frowning deeply as he went further. “Odin’s arse, but people can be the very devil, can’t they?”
“So they can, but at least we can use it against him.”
“Yes. Put it together with the other information we’ve gathered, and it might do the trick.” He glanced out the window at the afternoon light. “Where the hell is Gyda?”
“Must we wait for her?” Stayme grumbled.
Niall shrugged. “It’s too late to make this particular call, in any case.”
“If she doesn’t return by morning, we should move ahead,” the viscount insisted. “The timing regarding the man’s request to the Crown is crucial.”
Niall agreed, but in the end, it wasn’t necessary. Gyda returned to Bluefield late that evening. She blew in looking breathless and happy, just as Niall convinced his wife to sit down with him in the parlor.
“Niall! Kara! It’s so exciting! It’s happening!”
Kara sat up straighter. “Here you are at last! What’s happening?”
“Charles has found a suitable space. He can move ahead with his plans!”
“Plans?” asked Niall.
“It’s all coming together.” Gyda dropped onto the settee with a happy sigh. She grinned at Stayme as he entered and closed the door behind him. “I told you that Charles is very interested in the idea of craftsmanship and creation. He wants to establish a museum dedicated to the creative process, to the design and construction of both art and functional objects, even industrial works. He believes it all has beauty and value. He believes that artists, craft masters, and inventors should be celebrated. He wants to display selected works and also incorporate an interactive element to the place as well, so that ordinary people might see creation in progress—just as you did, Kara, when you worked on your automatons at your spot in the Great Exhibition.”
“The attendees were fascinated seeing her at work,” Niall said.
“Exactly!” Gyda said. “People might be inspired. Who knows what might come of it? At the very least, they might become more appreciative, seeing the artistic or inventive process in action. Charles has been in contact with various critics, masters, and artists. I told him that you might put him in the way of inventors or industrial specialists, Kara.” She turned to Niall. “And you will never guess just who Charles means to work with.”
He raised a questioning brow.
“Your friend—Ansel Wells. Did you know that he has opened a gallery?”
“What? No. How?” It hadn’t been so long since Niall had spent a few nights on Ansel’s sofa, in his suited-to-a-starving-artist single-room flat.
“He received an inheritance and bought a bang-up building with plenty of light and a charming little studio attached for his own painting. He’s very interested in helping Charles. They mean to use the gallery space to begin the museum, and Ansel is eager to recruit artists to be featured there.”
“It sounds intriguing,” Niall admitted.
“It will be glorious ,” Gyda corrected him. She peered around at the three of them. “I thought you would be more excited about the idea. What is it? Is Turner…not mending?”
“Turner is fine,” Niall assured her.
“Balgate says he can get out of bed after a few days,” Kara told her. “His ribs need time to heal.”
“What is it, then?” Gyda demanded. “That Scot woman?”
Niall explained about the fire and showed her the note.
“The wicked cow,” Gyda breathed.
Kara leaned forward in her seat. “She’s tried to kill Turner in revenge. I did subdue Clémence Wilkes with her own ether, that day in the labyrinth in Seven Dials, but she was awake, lucid, and on her feet when Petra went into a raging temper. Miss Scot caused the fall and the blow to her friend’s temple that killed her, yet she blames me.” She scowled. “It is a warped and immature mind that cannot accept one’s own faults and mistakes. I have plenty of my own sins to answer for. I won’t take that woman’s on as well.”
“The thought that worries me is that, having failed, she may try again,” Niall said.
“Worse, now we know she continues to plot additional revenge. She could go after any of you next.”
“We already knew we were all in her sights,” Stayme said wryly. “She likely holds us all responsible for her woes.”
“I’ve sent notes to Moseman and to the executives in charge of my factories and other holdings. They need to be wary of sabotage. She might try to dismantle my organizations if she blames me for the loss of hers.”
Kara folded her arms, and Niall took a moment to appreciate that familiar look of determination.
“We cannot sit here and wait for her to strike again,” she declared.
Gyda straightened. “I should say not.”
“Wooten’s progress has been slow. Too slow. We need to find her ourselves,” said Kara.
Stayme looked interested. “And do what with her, should you find her?”
Niall had been pondering the same question. “We’ll turn her over to the Crown, if possible.”
Kara pursed her lips. “And we will do what is necessary, if it is not.”
“Now we are getting somewhere.” Stayme pointed at Kara. “Finding the Scot woman is the first problem, but you have another.”
“What is that?”
Niall knew what the old man was going to say. “The note. The second one left on the door. And the fire. Someone set it.”
“Indeed.” Stayme looked stern. “Neither Petra nor her lackeys should have been able to penetrate our defenses twice.” He shook his head. “No. You have a traitor here at Bluefield.”
Kara’s face fell.
“Who?” Gyda demanded.
“I don’t know. Yet. But I will find out,” the viscount vowed. “Turner can help me. It will keep him occupied as he recovers.”
Kara looked crestfallen. “I hate the thought that someone here might have worked against us. And to go so far as to set that fire?”
“Let Stayme handle that,” Gyda said. “We must cut the head off the snake. That means concentrating on finding Petra Scot.” She grimaced. “But how?” Shooting a look at the viscount, Gyda raised a brow. “I assume you’ve been at work on it?”
“I have.” Stayme glanced at Niall. “ We have.”
“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Kara said. “The woman is diminished and alone. Who do we go to when such circumstances strike us? We go back to the beginning. We go to family.”
“Except we know that she has none,” Gyda objected. “Wooten already checked with the couple that raised her. Clémence is dead. Barnstaple has disappeared. Isn’t that what the inspector said?”
“There were more than three children involved in that educational experiment,” said Kara. “Five of them were raised together.”
“You are thinking exactly as I have been,” Niall told her. “I remember what she said that night, when she was speaking of her life. Five children in the experiment. Barnstaple was a merchant’s bastard. Clemence was the child of a slave, while Petra was a royal by-blow. But there were two more. A nobleman’s natural son and a babe from the streets. The first three were the ones who excelled when granted the boon of a fine, extensive education. The other two she implied were…ordinary.”
“The other two did not seem to be involved in the League of Dissolution, either,” Kara recalled. “But Petra seems the type to keep tabs on anyone and everyone who might somehow become useful to her.”
“So, she might be holed up with one of them?” Gyda asked. “But how do we find them? We don’t even know their names.”
“No, but Petra did tell me the names of the couple who ran the experiment. The pair that raised her.”
“Didn’t Wooten say they were uncooperative?” Gyda frowned, trying to remember.
“He did,” Niall confirmed. “I asked the inspector to go back to Matthew Hanlin and find out the names and directions of the other two children. Mr. Hanlin declined to share the information.”
“Bastard,” Gyda grumped.
“Which is why we’ve been doing a little digging of our own.” He held up the report that had come in just this afternoon. “We have something that might help.”
Kara took it, and Gyda came to sit beside her. Together they read through the report, then looked up with matching frowns.
“The girl first,” Kara said. “I want to find the girl first.”
“We need the two boys. We’ve found a vulnerability to use against Hanlin, but it is time sensitive,” Stayme objected. “We need to move on him quickly.”
“No.” Kara stood firm. “She will be the sort of leverage we will need to force his hand. Find me the girl.”