CHAPTER 20
Puffs of steam misted the air, and the whooshing grew louder as the boatman fed chunks of coal into the engine’s firebox.
Mrs. Guppy returned with an agitated Mademoiselle Benoit in tow. A young man in an oilskin cloak trailed behind them. “Calm yourself, Isabelle,” she counseled. “There is no need to panic.”
“I tell you, time is growing short! Oliver—” A sob slurred the next few words. “—Jasper’s papers!”
“Have courage, my dear. Just give me a moment to prepare for our journey, and then we shall discuss the current situation.”
The exhortation seemed to settle mademoiselle’s nerves. As she stepped into the boat, her gaze locking on the belching engine, worry seemed to give way to curiosity. “Oh, I have always wanted to experience traveling in a steam-powered conveyance!”
“You will find it exhilarating.” Mrs. Guppy waved the young man to the rear of the launch.
“Andrew is my top nautical engineering expert, and he’s well versed in all the subtle hazards of the river.
He will take the ship’s wheel and navigate us to our destination faster than any traditional carriage or sailing vessel. ”
Mademoiselle Benoit reached out a hand and swirled her fingers through the silvery skeins of vapor rising up from the chimney.
“Now that we are no longer in thrall to the vagaries of tides and currents, rivers—and soon oceans—offer quicker, safer, and more reliable mode of travel because of steam power.” A beatific sigh.
“And just imagine when locomotives are a common sight huffing and puffing through the countryside on a set schedule.”
Mrs. Guppy smiled. “That day is coming, Isabelle. But for tonight we must concentrate on the challenges of the present.”
“The steam pressure is ready, ma’am,” called the boatman.
“Then cast off the lines and let us be on our way.”
Moonlight flickered over the water as the steamboat chugged against the current. The dark silhouette of the slumbering city slipped by. Few lights were visible along the river’s edge. At this hour of the night, any business being done was best conducted under the shroud of secrecy.
Lifting her face to the breeze, Mademoiselle Benoit moved slowly past the thumping engine to a spot by the larboard rail near the bow of the boat. Mrs. Guppy finished conversing with her engineer, then went to join her.
“I’m frightened,” said mademoiselle in a low, tight voice.
“As I told you, it appears that Garfield has been lying to us—I don’t know why—and it is Wayland who has Jasper’s papers.
I just learned that he has negotiated a price to sell them to Jean-Paul Montaigne and his radical friend, and a rendezvous to make the exchange has been arranged. ”
A sound of distress rumbled in her throat. “It’s scheduled for tomorrow night! We can’t let that happen! We must get our hands on those papers!”
Inside the storage locker, Raven shifted and pressed an ear to the tiny gap between the door and its frame, straining to catch the words through the engine sounds.
“Let us hope that Oliver will have some idea of how to stop them!” Mademoiselle choked back a sob. “That intimidating-looking Bow Street Runner came to ask me and the other officers of our society about Oliver. I am sure that the authorities think he is guilty of Jasper’s murder!”
“My dear, they can have no real evidence of his guilt, because there is none,” said Mrs. Guppy.
“But what if someone witnessed the quarrel in the tavern? Oliver said he was so distraught by Jasper’s refusal to listen to reason that he wasn’t as discreet as he should have been.”
“Sharp words are naught but hot air,” countered Mrs. Guppy.
“And yet those words may convince a jury that there is no cause for reasonable doubt.”
Raven jiggled the door, moving the latch just enough to open it a hair wider.
“Mrs. Sheffield and her friend Lady Wrexford assured me that they want to help Oliver.” A gust of wind tugged at Mademoiselle Benoit’s cloak. “Perhaps we should trust them and tell them everything.”
“Let us see what Oliver has to say when we reach our destination. But I would counsel that we don’t trust anyone,” answered Mrs. Guppy. “Keep in mind that Jasper Milton was likely murdered by a so-called friend. If we want to get our hands on his papers—”
The boat rocked as it cut into a swirling current, and the slap of the water against the hull made it impossible for Raven to hear any more of the conversation.
By the time the river turned calmer, Mrs. Guppy had moved back to the stern to exchange words with her engineer, leaving mademoiselle standing by the larboard rail, staring out into the darkness.
Shifting uncomfortably within the cramped space—the air was thick with the cloying odors of pine tar and bilge water—Raven parsed over what he had just heard . . .
“Ahoy, Jed!”
A shout from the engineer to the boatman roused him from his thoughts.
“Kindly fetch me a pair of hemp mooring lines from the storage locker.”
“Aye, sir,” The boatman placed a last chunk of coal in the firebox and shuffled to the bow of the boat.
Raven whispered a curse that Charlotte had strictly forbidden him to say. He slithered back as far as he could and pulled the coils of rope over his head and shoulders, hoping that the darkness would hide his presence.
The locker door opened, allowing a spill of light from the lantern by the engine to flutter over the nautical supplies. A meaty hand reached in and groped around . . .
And then seized Raven’s collar and gave a mighty yank.
Struggling was hopeless. He let himself go limp and allowed the boatman to drag him out of his hiding place.
“Oiy, look what we have here—a thieving little wharf rat!” cried the boatman, lifting Raven to his feet.
Reacting in a flash, the boy drove an elbow into the man’s stomach and slashed a vicious kick to his knee, allowing him to twist free. He danced out of reach, and pressing his back to the rail, whipped out the knife in his boot and turned to face the others.
“Bloody hell.” The boatman edged back and took a wary sidestep to put himself between the knife and mademoiselle.
The engineer rose from his seat, keeping a grip on the ship’s wheel. “If you take over steering for a moment, Mrs. Guppy, Jed and I will make short work of throwing the filthy little rat into the river.”
“Sit down, Andrew,” ordered Mrs. Guppy. “There will be no such violence. For God’s sake, he’s a child!”
“And will grow into an even more dangerous, depraved man. We would be doing the world a favor,” growled the engineer. “Besides, he may have overheard your conversation.”
“There is enough evil in the world,” replied Mrs. Guppy firmly. “We shall not add to it by resorting to murder ourselves.”
“Oui,” said mademoiselle, repressing a shudder. “There has been too much death shadowing our efforts. The boy is innocent—”
“Innocent—ha!” said the boatman, rubbing at his bruised stomach. “The imp of Satan was planning on stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down.”
“Nails wuddna be a problem,” retorted Raven.
Mrs. Guppy repressed a twitch of her lips at the show of spunk. “Even if the lad did overhear anything, what possible harm can he do with the information?”
The engineer grumbled but couldn’t muster an argument.
To Raven, she added, “Put the knife away, young man. You are in no danger from us. When we tie up at our destination, you’ll be free to go.” A pause. “But in return, you must promise that you won’t return to my dock and rob me blind.”
“Oiy, fair enough,” grunted Raven. He slid the knife back into his boot but kept a wary eye on the two men.
“Ah, the word of a gentleman,” sneered the engineer. “So of course you can believe it.”
“In my experience,” observed Mrs. Guppy, “thieves often have a code of honor.”
A snort. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you come out one morning to find this lovely craft stripped bare.”
With things at a standoff, an awkward silence descended over the boat, save for the hiss and clang of the engine and whoosh of the water.
It was Mademoiselle Benoit who broke the tension by turning to Mrs. Guppy. “I’ve never been on a steamboat,” she said, “and I would love to get a closer look at its engine. Might you explain to me how it works?”
“It’s always a pleasure to reveal the wonders of our new technological innovations, which are changing our world for the better.” Mrs. Guppy fetched a folded tarp from the storage locker, placed it down aft of the boiler, and gingerly lowered herself to a kneeling position.
“My legs aren’t quite as limber as they were in my youth,” she said with a wince. Then grasping a brass ring set in a section of the floorboards, she pulled up a section of the planks, revealing the rotating crankshaft.
Raven craned his neck to see the mechanics, curious to observe the workings of the engine.
Mrs. Guppy caught his movement and regarded him thoughtfully. “Would you like to have a closer look?”
Another shrug, but she must have seen the flare of interest in his eyes, for she beckoned him to crouch down beside mademoiselle. “Come, have a look. You have my word that my men won’t lay a hand on you.”
He hesitated, and then decided that if she had intended to toss him overboard, she would have tried to do so already.
He slid closer and dropped to a crouch—but kept himself poised to spring up at the first sign of trouble.
Already he had a plan for scrambling out on the narrow deck of the prow, where the two men could not both come at him at once.
“It’s really a rather simple contraption,” began Mrs. Guppy.
“The boiler heats water, which creates steam. The steam creates pressure, which opens and closes the pistons as they move up and down. There are gears and levers, which then move in different ways to convert that force to turn the propeller. And that is what pushes the boat through the water.”