Chapter 27
Chapter
Iva Leene’s office resembled a cross between an armory and the lady’s section of a luxury department store.
Amid this juxtaposition of fashion and firearms, the self-professed hillbilly-turned-Southern-belle of London kept the Daughters of Genius Society’s stock of weapons stored and maintained.
Pistols, cleaned and loaded. Hatpins, polished and sharpened.
Though she loved Iva Leene dearly, Margaret always felt a little on edge in her friend’s domain, which, given the number of gleaming blades in the room, didn’t seem wholly illogical.
Margaret secured a hat to her upswept coiffure with a hatpin featuring a blue-and-white porcelain head in the shape of a cat. “One concealed weapon will suffice, surely?”
“Not in my experience, sugar.” Selecting one of the garter sheaths arranged by color in the shallow drawer of a custom armoire, Iva Leene strapped it to her stockinged leg and then finished the ensemble with a bowie knife.
The blade’s onyx hilt complemented her widow’s weeds beautifully, a sartorial detail non-D.O.G.S.
members would never see . . . and live to remark upon.
“Jane, tell Maggie three weapons isn’t unreasonable.
Shoot, that’s only one for each hand and a spare! ”
Attired in a gray gown that seemed to be spun from shadow and mist, Jane was looking particularly stark. Her countenance, as stoic as her expression, was unreadable. She slipped a brass knuckle-duster into her pocket. “A lady, trained inspector or not, can never be too careful.”
“Ain’t that the blessed truth.” Iva Leene consulted a full-length mirror, twirling this way and that as she adjusted the loaded holster affixed to her hips. “Better to be armed to the teeth than leave a fight without any, as Pa always says.”
Margaret gulped. “I, for one, would rather avoid a fight altogether.”
“As would I, Maggie,” reassured Jane, securing her blond tresses with a haircomb that doubled as a clasp knife.
“But we’ve no notion what we’ll encounter at the Invention Factory this evening.
The mysterious sounds Mr. Noble reported may prove to be innocuous, but it’s prudent to prepare for every eventuality. Just in case.”
The chief had said much the same while going over the night’s plan with Margaret.
“Until we know the cause of these strange occurrences, I don’t want any of my inspectors infiltrating the factory after dark without sufficient reinforcements.
I concur with Noble that these noises warrant priority of investigation over Flaversham’s contingency plan, for the moment, but Inspectors Larrimore and Oakland will accompany you and Noble on this mission.
And all four of you will be armed. Just in case. ”
Odd how three little words meant to comfort routinely had the opposite effect.
After conceding to a second weapon, Margaret and her fellow inspectors piled into Mrs. Hackney’s cab.
Setting forth, they clattered along at a quick clip to procure her covert asset and their ticket of entry into Innovation Park.
The carriage stopped at Mr. Noble’s residence, and he promptly climbed inside, joining Margaret on the forward-facing bench and acknowledging the elegant arsenals seated across from them with a gentlemanly nod.
The carriage took off once more, and Iva Leene scrutinized Mr. Noble as though assessing his mettle.
“You remind me of my sweet Hogarth, God rest his soul, so I figured you’re not much of a blade or bullets man.
Reckoned you could handle this, though.” She tossed a compact spectacles case across the cab.
To his credit, Mr. Noble caught it deftly. “I left my reading spectacles at home. Didn’t think I’d be needing them.”
“Hopefully you won’t be needing that either, Mr. Noble.” Margaret fiddled with her hatpin nervously, committing its exact location to memory. “That spectacles case contains a collapsible baton.”
“Just in case,” Jane added from the cab’s darkest corner.
Margaret grimaced. She was really beginning to loathe that turn of phrase.
Once their plan of operation was explained to Mr. Noble, the drive proceeded without further discussion.
Eventually, the smoothness of pavement and prying glow of streetlamps gave way to the slight jostle of packed earth and protective embrace of murky shadows.
With an affectionate nicker to Misty, Mrs. Hackney signaled their impending arrival at Innovation Park’s gates.
The lady inspectors promptly donned gloves and veils in shades of inky black, slate gray, and midnight blue, respectively, making them nigh imperceptible in the darkness.
When the carriage stopped, Mr. Noble leaned out the window and waved. “Sorry to bother you at this hour.”
“Noble?” Gravel shifted underfoot as one of the guards approached. “What in blazes are you doing back here? Come to take over my shift, have ye?”
“You’re never so lucky, and neither am I tonight.
Wouldn’t you know it, I left a stack of important files in my office.
Bids from competing florists with proposed arrangement sketches for the anniversary gala.
I need to read over the whole lot this weekend if I’m to have my selection prepared for Mr. Harrison’s approval first thing Monday morning.
Do a chap a favor and let me in, will you? ”
“Bless me tiny violin, how can I refuse when you tell such a sorry tale as that?”
Mr. Noble laughed. “You’re a first-rate fellow.”
“Make no mistake and tell me no lies. I’ll have the gate open in a trice.” The crunch of disturbed gravel faded as the guard walked away.
There was a faint creaking of iron, and then the carriage was on the move, passing through the gates of Innovation Park unhindered.
Margaret exhaled the breath she was well-aware she’d been holding.
Great gadgets, it had worked! She removed her veil and gloves, mirroring her friends as they returned their now unnecessary accessories to their pockets.
Soon enough, Mrs. Hackney parked in the deep shadows of the Invention Factory’s facade, and the party stepped out of the cab.
Quick work was made of retrieving Margaret’s chair while Mr. Noble unlocked the front door, and then, as a united front, they made entry.
Stealthily, silently, swiftly. They navigated the building by moonlight provided by the massive, accommodating windows.
As they boarded the elevator, a mechanical screech rent the air, and Margaret’s gaze darted to the others.
Jane and Iva Leene nodded as the doors closed.
Pressing a button on the panel, Mr. Noble heaved a sigh as though relieved to have his reports confirmed and senses validated.
Disembarking in the basement, they paused in cautious surveyal.
The only sound in the long corridor was a distant, almost imperceptible mechanical whirring.
Whoever was operating the machine must’ve just oiled the gears, curing the machine of its painful screech.
Guided by the beams of handheld electric torches, the party diverged as planned.
Jane and Iva Leene, veering to the right.
Margaret and Charles, making for the left.
Each pair bound to search their preassigned rooms for a secret passageway.
This, of course, seemed the only logical explanation for the mysterious noises Mr. Noble had tracked to the basement.
If the sounds were emanating from below the factory’s lowermost floor, it stood to reason there must be something below the factory.
Speedily reading through architectural records, Louisa had confirmed this deduction.
According to her research, the city had begun construction on a network of railway tunnels, but after a series of fatal accidents involving the laborers, expansion was curtailed.
Several unfinished tunnels were bricked off from the completed London Underground and subsequently abandoned .
. . right beneath the Invention Factory.
Margaret was convinced Mr. Harrison had discovered this same information while constructing Innovation Park and had taken advantage of the additional real estate, connecting the factory to the tunnels by means of a hidden passageway—one they hoped to uncover tonight, so they could catch the operator of those machines in the act.
After scouring the archives room without success, they moved to the personnel room.
Mr. Noble moved file cabinets, searching behind every furnishing for a concealed entrance.
Meanwhile, Margaret systematically moved her light along the wooden floor, vigilant for anomalous seams that could signify a trapdoor.
When the floor turned up nothing, she shifted her attention to the walls.
Leaning an ear to the far-right wall, she rapped upon the plaster and listened.
No hollow echo to indicate a concealed passage.
That’s when she noticed it. Aside from the sounds of Mr. Noble pushing another file cabinet along the floor, the room was quiet.
Too quiet. When had the whirring machines gone silent?
Down the hall, a door clicked shut. A lock bolted.
Margaret’s heart lurched. Rusted cogs! Jane and Iva Leene!
Lit torch in one hand and steering lever in the other, Margaret zoomed toward the hall, and her chair collided with a pair of trousers. Bone-rattling pain stunned Margaret, and the torch fell from her grasp. Clattering to the floor, the torch whirled, disorienting her with flashes of light.
A hand seized Margaret’s shoulder, fingers tightening like a vise.
Snatching her hatpin, she drove it into her assailant’s forearm.
The man screamed and shoved her away, propelling her backward into the room she’d been searching.
Her chair crashed into something solid. The light of a torch arced through the air, and a body slammed into a cabinet with a sickening thwunk.
“Charles!” Retrieving the pistol concealed in her chair, Margaret aimed at the open doorway just as the elevator’s ding pierced the silence.
She was too slow. Too late.
The shadowy figure had escaped.