Chapter Five

“Officers and Gentlemen”

1.

“YOU SHOULD JOIN us in the summer, Nathanial. A retreat to St Leonard’s-on-Sea might be just the thing for you. Plus, of course, your help with the patients would be invaluable.”

As they walked through the grounds of the Royal Hospital of Incurables, Nathanial regarded his mother with incredulity. “Really, Mother, I am a scientist, not a doctor! As much I pity the poor unfortunates who find themselves in this place, I do not think I will ever feel the need to help them.”

“Yet you will create things to help man’s greed?”

Nathanial chose not to respond. It was very unlike his mother to confront him so, that was usually his father’s preferred method, and Nathanial could only assume that her work at the hospital was putting great strain on her. After a short moment of silence, his mother placed her arm in his and began telling him more about the hospital. Of course, he had known of its existence since he was a boy, but he knew little of its history.

The current location for the hospital was on the grounds of what used to be Melrose Hall on West Hill; twenty-five acres of land, the hospital had its own farm and livestock, as well as an orchard and market garden which provided fresh produce for the patients’ meals. The land had once been owned by Lord Spencer, part of his estate in Wimbledon Park. His mother explained that Florence Nightingale herself was consulted on the design of the hospital, which had undergone many sympathetic extensions since 1863, the last of which had been the northern facade built in 1879, the foundation stone of which was laid by Prince Edward.

“An impressive history, Mother, but it does not change my view. I will be the first to sing of the work you are doing here, but my future is not in Surrey.”

His mother raised an eyebrow, but she refused to comment on his announcement. Nathanial suspected she already knew about his intention to return to London. If not the Reverend, then certainly Edwin would have told her. Nathanial had spent some time with Lécuyer since Tuesday, and was almost certainly going to accept the offer of lodgings. He had seen the place in question, the upper rooms of a three story house in Russell Square owned by Lécuyer, with more than enough space for Nathanial to set up a lab. It would feel good to be inventing again, patenting designs that would improve the lives of many. A line in extra mechanical limbs, perhaps. He certainly had no intention of designing anything that would bring him to the attention of the Navy again.

“Do you have any concept of the work I do, Nathanial?” his mother asked, interceding on his thoughts, “or the opposition I have in such work?”

“I believe it has something to do with helping the patients to read.”

“Something, yes. I’m one of very few Authorised Lady Visitors; naturally the hospital administrators do not consider a hospital such as this as a place for ladies, despite the example Miss Nightingale shows in her own life. Nonetheless, I am one such, and I visit four to six patients a week, to help them with writing letters, reading, and playing cards.”

Nathanial stopped and took his mother’s hands in his. She looked up at him, her eyes searching. “Mother, I could not be more proud of the help you give these poor souls, but I fear you mistake me for Edwin. I will accept that when I returned to Putney on Saturday I was less than I am usually, but I have since decided to pick myself up. As you have always taught me, I will amount to nothing unless I try.”

His mother shook her head, and placed a gloved hand on his cheek. “Nathanial, you are my son, you will never be nothing.”

“I have achieved much in the past two years, seen so many amazing things. But my travels from Earth cost me much, too.” He turned away. “Perhaps I will one day tell you of…” He shook his head, unable to even conclude the thought.

“You do not need to, I have seen the hurt. I can feel it.”

Nathanial turned back to her, and smiled. “I know,” he said softly. “You always were the strongest in the family. So much more than the Reverend.”

“Do not be too harsh on your father. He loves you as much as I; he understands that you are hurting over something so deep that you cannot tell us. But…” She smiled at him. “Your father is a complicated man, Nathanial.”

“If you say so, Mother.”

For a short while they walked on, once again linking arms, and Nathanial drew from her strength.

“I am petitioning for the development of a Ladies’ Association,” his mother began, “with a view to collecting money to help ‘unbefriended candidates’. There are so many who need the service the hospital provides, but lack the funds to pay for such. We will help them gain admission.”

As his mother continued to tell him of her plans, Nathanial’s mind drifted away to another strong woman he knew. Ever since he first met her in Arizona, he had been drawn to Annabelle. He had never quite understood why, although he knew the reason had little to do with what Cyrus Grant had thought at the time. Now, in the presence of his mother, it all made sense. All his life he had been around a woman of such inner strength that it was perfectly natural for him to find other strong women compelling. Most men would probably disagree, opposed to the suffragette movement, but Nathanial knew he was not most men. In so many ways he was different to the men he knew.

Now he was, once more, back in touch with his fellows in the Savile Club, it was time to discover just what had happened to Annabelle. For nearly two weeks now they had not been in contact; as far as he knew she could be back in America, or even away on further adventures in the aether in the company of George Bedford. It seemed inconceivable that she would have made no attempt to contact him, but then what effort had he made? Certainly he had attempted to get the governor of the Chatham Convict Prison to find out, and had even implored Director White for information, but neither man had been willing to help. Indeed, Director White had been most obstructive on that point. That had been almost a week ago.

He had wasted enough time, Nathanial decided, and he would waste no more. He would discover the whereabouts of Annabelle Somerset.

2.

“TREACHEROUS BRITISH COWARDS,” Uncle Cyrus muttered when Major Gordon entered their sitting room. “You’d have blown them all up if you had a lick of sense.”

“I did not blow anyone up, Uncle,” Annabelle answered with an air of resignation. Her uncle’s comments grew increasingly random and carried little meaning any more, aside from a reflection of his current mood. “It has been two days since your last visit, Major Gordon. Have you come with a new bribe?”

As usual, his face registered no offense at the comment, or even reaction. “No, and I must apologise for my absence. The Queen’s business has kept me away. I trust you have both been well?”

“The Devil’s business, more likely,” Uncle Cyrus snapped.

Gordon smiled at him as if he had wished him good morning. Annabelle considered her own retort—that they had prospered rather than suffered from his absence—but following her uncle’s remark she realised she would have sounded like just another petulant half-mad American. She was powerless at the moment, and these little gestures of angry defiance did not disguise that fact, she suddenly saw, but rather emphasised it.

“We are both well, as you can see. What business brings you here, Major Gordon?” she asked.

“I had intended to send you a note but duty brought me near Dorset House and so I thought I would look in on you.”

“Where is she?” She heard the familiar voice echo from the downstairs parlour, up the stairs, and down the hall.

George!

Gordon half turned to the doorway with a look of surprise. “Who the devil is that?”

As she heard the stairs taken at a run, two at a time, she tried to compose herself. Why George, how good to see you, she would say, and offer her hand. Or was that too formal? How wonderful to see you. No, how very wonderful to see you. How–

The door burst open and George Bedford paused for a moment, face red with emotion and exertion, snowflakes still off-white on the shoulders of his naval greatcoat, and then he brushed past Gordon as if he were the doorman and enfolded her in his arms.

“Oh, George!” she said, and then could say no more as her tears choked her.

“I will leave you,” Gordon said, but George turned on him, one arm still protectively around Annabelle’s shoulder.

“Not before you answer for this! What do you mean to hold these two as prisoners with no word to their friends? If the American consulate had not contacted me I would still not know where they were, or even that they were held against their will.”

“What do I mean by it?” Gordon said. “I mean to follow my orders, sir. While I understand naval officers are rather more relaxed with respect to orders than we in the Army are used to, I still imagine you understand the concept.”

“Orders! Orders to hold a young lady and her uncle incommunicado? To what purpose? How can a man of honour allow himself to be part of such a shameful business as this?”

For the first time Annabelle saw Gordon react to a comment, saw his lips tighten and colour come to his cheeks and ears.

“Miss Somerset and Doctor Grant are held pursuant to legal orders of the government you and I both serve. Neither of them has been mistreated in any way. As to my honour, sir, it would hardly survive direct disobedience to lawful orders issued from the highest—I emphasise the highest—authority. I certainly cannot take it upon myself to unilaterally release someone whom I have never met prior to this week and against whom the Lord Chancellor is considering charges of treason.”

“Treason!” George practically spat. “What a lot of rot! Perhaps you’ve never met her before, but I’ve known Annabelle Somerset long enough to understand not only the impossibility of this charge, but also the debt the Crown owes her and her uncle. I’ll vouch for her.”

“But I do not know you, Commander, and in any event your opinion, no matter how well-founded you believe it to be, does not relieve me of my responsibility. Now I fear my continued presence here will produce nothing of benefit to any of us, and so I leave you with your admirer, Miss Somerset.”

3.

GEORGE BEDFORD HELPED Annabelle situate herself on the sofa and while she dried her eyes and composed herself he turned to her uncle.

“I hope you are well, sir,” Bedford said.

Cyrus Grant, one of the greatest scientific minds of the age, peered at him through squinted eyes as if trying to remember him, or remember something important about him. “You. Bedford, isn’t it? You saved the Heart.”

The Heart, that unimaginably old, alien intelligence resting deep in the underground caverns of Luna behind walls of unrusting, unyielding metal. Whether it was an organic or mechanical intelligence, what it wanted and where it came from—all these remained unanswered questions. What was known was that it reached out and touched the minds of a very few people, but once it touched them, it changed them—perhaps forever. It had touched Cyrus Grant’s mind and left him like this.

They had also learned, nearly too late, that the Heart reacted traumatically to violence and death. George Bedford had almost given his life keeping a detachment of Russian soldiers at a distance, as a deadly struggle in proximity to the Heart would have had unpredictable, perhaps catastrophic, consequences.

“Well, a number of us saved it, I should say,” George said, “and I came close enough to killing it myself by dispatching all of those Saltators in its presence.”

Grant’s eyes cleared for a moment and he waved the words away. “None of us knew. How could we? But afterwards you did what was needed.” He patted Bedford’s arm. “For that I am very grateful. The Heart is all I have, you know.” His eyes lost their focus and drifted to the walls of the room. “All I have,” he said again softly, and then he wandered away and disappeared through a side door.

Bedford pulled an armchair closer by the sofa and took Annabelle’s hand is his when he sat. “You wear the black peg instead of your mechanical leg. It’s not damaged, is it?”

“No, they took it from me at the Tower.”

For a moment Bedford had difficulty understanding the words, their meaning was so alien. “Took it? The Tower? Good heavens, you have been through a difficult time! What sort of swine would do such a thing? The ordeal seems to have affected your uncle as well. Is he always like this?”

“Worse, usually. He was more lucid for that moment with you than I have seen him since our return to Earth. For just a moment he seemed himself again. Mister Lincoln informed you of our presence here, you said?”

“Lincoln?” Bedford asked. “I honestly don’t know who it was. The note was unsigned, but the messenger boy said he’d been sent to the US Consulate building and met in front by a gentleman who gave him the note and instructions for its delivery to me. It may be your Mister Lincoln wishes to avoid direct involvement, but if so I have ruined that with my outburst.”

Annabelle’s face creased in thought. “How odd,” she said. “He is already quite involved, as he has offered to underwrite my defence at trial. Perhaps he thought informing you went beyond diplomatic propriety. I cannot fathom why, but so much of this affair makes no sense to me.”

“But you trust this Lincoln chap?”

Annabelle nodded immediately. “Oh, yes. He is a forthright man who I believe will do everything he can to help me, provided only it is consistent with his duty to our country.”

There was that word again, Bedford thought—duty. He had always thought of it as his own guiding compass, but when did it stop being that and become simply a crutch? This Major Gordon fellow seemed to hide behind it, use it as a blindfold for his own conscience. His thoughts must have shown in his face for Annabelle squeezed his hand.

“Major Gordon was truthful,” Annabelle said, “at least by his lights. We have not been mistreated or injured, beyond the enormous injury to our freedom.”

He supposed that was true, and the decision to incarcerate Annabelle and her uncle had undoubtedly been made far above Major Gordon. What had he said? The highest level. Bedford had himself had to do things which he considered wrong, or at least wrong-headed, and sometimes an officer had to just hold his nose and follow orders. Gordon, however, did not have the look of a man holding his nose. “I still don’t think I like him,” Bedford said and Annabelle smiled in reply.

“Oh, you just met him, George,” she said. “Once you have known him longer, all uncertainty on that point will disappear.” He chuckled at that, and he felt warm inside seeing the humour sparkle in her eyes again. “But I have been without news for nearly a fortnight,” she went on. “He said Nathanial was released. Is that true or simply another deception?”

Bedford settled back in the arm chair, finally beginning to relax. His morning had been a tidal wave of anxiety and suspense since receiving the mysterious note, the emotional tension heightened by a breakneck ride by hansom cab through the crowded city streets. Now that he could see her safe and sound, feel her hand is his, he felt the tension slide away.

“It’s true, although the professor has been let go by the government. Why they would clear him and then sack him is beyond my understanding. Of course we had no idea you were being held. At first I imagined you were simply occupied with…family business,” he glanced toward the door to her uncle’s bedroom, “and were simply too busy to contact me.”

“I would never be that busy, George,” she said and squeezed his hand.

“Well, it’s nice to hear you say that, and I will remember it for future reference. But when it came to explaining your silence I found it more comforting to think it was an oversight rather than anything untoward. Then as the days stretched out I became concerned and began making inquiries. I even hired a detective to look into the passenger manifests of steamers and airships leaving for America, to see if you had already left.”

“Left without saying goodbye?” she asked.

How could he put into words how he had felt when facing that prospect? A sinking, hollow, empty feeling, to be sure, but one unaccompanied by any bitterness toward her. As a boy his pain might have found an outlet in anger. As a man he was no stranger to solitude, or to melancholy when it came to that.

“Annabelle, I have no claim on your affections. You have no obligations to me in that respect.”

She drew back slightly. “You would not care if I left without a word?”

“I would care very much, dear, and I would feel a great many things as a result, sadness above all else. But I would not feel betrayed. Do you understand the difference?”

She studied him for several seconds, her lips slightly pursed in concentration and her brow furrowed. Then her eyes softened and she seemed to relax. “I believe I do, George. Oh my, how complicated life can become when facing a charge of treason.” She laughed softly then, and Bedford smiled.

“But tell me about you,” she said, her voice again light. “The major called you Commander. Have you been promoted?”

“Yes, I have. I completely forgot in all the excitement of finding you, but they gave me my third stripe.” He held the sleeve of his coat up and she took hold of it, turning it slightly to examine the new gold stripes on the cuff.

“You had three before but the middle one was thin. Now all are the same.”

“Yes, the thin stripe in the middle meant I had eight years seniority in grade, but it wasn’t a substantive rank.”

“Will your duties change with this promotion?”

“No. Sovereign should have had a commander as first officer all along but Captain Folkard insisted on me. He once told me he chose me because we were so different I would be a good complement to him. He already had a shadow, he said, and was not interested in acquiring another.”

“That sounds like him,” she said. “Is he better?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him since we reached Portsmouth. He left the ship shortly after we grounded, and a couple of days ago we received word he had been officially relieved of command and sent away on sick leave.”

“Will you receive command of Sovereign, then?”

“The most junior commander on the lists? No. The Viscount Theobald will take command, as soon as he returns from the Caribbean. He’s master of HMS Medea, one of our cruisers on West Indies Station. He’s never been off the planet before.”

Some of his bitterness must have leaked through in his voice because Annabelle’s expression darkened. “Why would they give command to someone so much less qualified than you?”

“Qualification is a matter of opinion, of course, and being someone’s son and heir is often the only qualification which counts. But it’s not important. As I said, I had no prospect of commanding Sovereign given my own rank and standing, and if I’d have got a command at all I couldn’t have expected much more than a steam sloop somewhere on China Station. If they’d chosen a captain who knew his business, that’s where I’d have ended up, but they need me, you see. So I’ll still be second in command of the pride of the fleet. Honestly, I could hardly have expected a better assignment.” Bedford smiled at Annabelle’s look of pride, once again reminded why he wished to have her on his arm. He cleared his throat. “So it will be several weeks before Captain Theobald arrives to take command, and in any case Sovereign is laid up at Chatham in refit, having her aether propeller rebuilt.”

“Yes, I remember the difficulty we had before diverting to Luna,” Annabelle said.

“Quite. Boswell—you remember him, the chief engineer—has everything in hand. Really nothing for me to do during the refit and the crew’s been sent off on leave. I’ve some leave coming myself, so I’ll be here to help you sort this business out. We have faced much more dangerous foes than a gaggle of faceless bowler-hatted bureaucrats—both of us have, Annabelle, individually and jointly.”

She looked down for a moment and her expression became serious. “I will not hold you to that, George. You have a career, hard won, and I would not see it ruined by scandal on my account. You must do nothing which will reflect ill on your reputation in the Navy. Recall, I am an accused traitor. What assignment can you look forward to as an associate of a saboteur?”

Bedford sat quietly with Annabelle for a few moments before answering, drawing his thoughts together and trying to decide where to start. “My father was a tanner,” he said finally. “He’s gone now, God rest his soul, but my brothers followed his trade. I would have as well, except for some extraordinary luck. Sometime I’ll tell you about that, but it’s not important now. The thing is, being a tanner stinks—physically stinks. It’s from the chemicals used to tan the hides. I hated that stink. I suppose it’s the stink I fled when I went to sea, and then later to the aether. But here’s God’s honest truth, Annabelle. If it comes to abandoning someone I care for, abandoning them to a disgraceful travesty of justice, I’d sooner scrape hides for the rest of my life than hold my peace or do the safe thing. Tanning stinks, but the stink washes off at night if you work at it. But if I abandon you—well, I’d never scrub that stink off.”

4.

“I TRUST YOU enjoyed your visit yesterday from Commander Bedford,” Gordon said after bidding Annabelle good morning.

“I did, although I do not recall introducing him to you,” she answered. She would rather have had her breakfast in peace than see Gordon and have to go back and forth with him again. She had not slept well the previous night, thinking in part about the perils which faced her, but more about those to which she was subjecting George. Not for the first time did she reflect that her affection for someone usually seemed more curse than blessing—her own parents murdered, her uncle mad, Nathanial disgraced, and now George apparently hell-bent on running his career aground on the reefs of her legal difficulties. Perhaps she was not destined to go through life in the happy company of others.

Major Gordon placed his dark leather portfolio on the white tablecloth and took a chair across the table from her. Mrs Dubbner appeared with a cup of tea and set it down before him without the customary thunk and sloshing of tea into the saucer she reserved for Annabelle. “Thank you, Mrs Dubbner,” he said. “I wonder if Doctor Grant would prefer to take his porridge in the parlour?”

“Of course, Major Gordon,” she answered, and went to Uncle Cyrus’s side. “Come along, Doctor. Your porridge is in the other room today. Nice and hot, and cook found some Jamaican molasses for it.” His otherwise blank face showed some interest at the mention of molasses and he went with her without complaint. Mrs Dubbner closed the sliding doors to the dining room behind her.

“No, Miss Somerset,” Gordon said once they were alone, “you did not introduce us, but I am an officer in military intelligence. I would not be worth much if I could not discover the identity of a fellow officer in my own armed forces. Commander Bedford is a rather remarkable man. I expect him to be heavily decorated for his part in that business on Luna, maybe even come out of it with a knighthood.” He looked down and stirred his tea, although he had added nothing to it.

A knighthood? Annabelle considered the possibility of George the tanner’s son becoming Sir George, and for the life of her she could not encompass it. True, Nathanial had been quite convinced George was about to become a national hero after leading the attack and rescue mission against the so-called City of Light and Science on Luna—was certain of it, the merits of the accolades notwithstanding, because it would serve the interests of the backers of jingoistic colonialism. Bizarre and interesting as these possibilities were, it also occurred to her that Major Gordon had not mentioned them simply to make polite conversation.

“What is your point, Major?”

He looked up and set the spoon down beside his saucer. He picked up the cup but paused before drinking. “With respect, Miss Somerset, I believe you know very well my point.” He sipped the tea, returned the cup to the saucer, and placed his right hand lightly on the leather portfolio.

“You have brought the agreement again? You have wasted your time, Major.”

“Not the agreement, or not only that,” he answered and unlatched the case. He drew out a large sheet of heavy paper folded oddly in upon itself in a manner she had never seen but which had the look of some sort of official document.

“I have obtained special permission to bring this and show it to you. It is, for the moment, sealed, but will soon become public.”

He passed the paper across to her and she felt the blood pound in her ears, felt slightly light-headed as she accepted it with trembling hand. This, then, was the evidence against her. She unfolded the paper and read.

It was not the evidence.

It was a formal indictment for high treason. The words seemed to blur before her eyes, but with difficulty she read them. The paper bore the signature and seal of the Lord Chancellor, or at least purported to. She had no idea what the seal would actually look like, or who the Lord Chancellor was, but she suspected this was no stage prop. Something about it…something about it seemed very, very real. One phrase in the indictment caught her eye: “…and such other accomplices, both before and after the fact, unnamed here but also subject to prosecution…” The meaning was clear: they would not stop with her.

She put the paper down and looked at Gordon. He studied her face carefully, had no doubt done so as she read. She wondered what he had seen when he did so, what she had revealed about herself. She said nothing and for several seconds they studied each other.

“Let me now explain where I believe matters stand,” Gordon said at length. “If this goes forward, you will be prosecuted and, in all likelihood, convicted. I am not myself conversant with the evidence, but I am told it is quite damning and in any event the Lord Chancellor would not proceed with a case of this sensational a nature if there was much prospect of the government being humiliated by a loss. He has ambitions of his own. If and when you are convicted, the courts will remove your uncle from your guardianship, appoint another guardian with power of attorney, and the rights to the patents will come under control of the government the same as if you had signed—although I cannot guarantee the terms will be as generous. As to what extent this will darken the reputations, indeed the lives, of your friends I can only guess, but the prospects for them are not bright.” He drew another document from his portfolio. “This is the agreement I brought before you earlier this week. It still stands, I am somewhat surprised to say, but only so long as the indictment remains sealed. Once the charge becomes public, there is no going back. It cannot then be swept under the rug without too many embarrassing questions being raised by Mister Gladstone and the opposition in Parliament, not to mention the Austrians, who had a considerable interest in the station. However, if you sign, there will be no charges against you or any of your friends.”

Annabelle looked at the two papers—one amounting to a death sentence and the other a reprieve for all—and she felt both a choking fear and a burning sense of outrage, the two struggling for control of her mind.

“If the government thinks me innocent,” she said, “why bring the charges? Or if they believe me guilty of this heinous crime, why let me go? And if this is simply blackmail to force my hand, what sort of people would—or could—harness so much of the machinery of a government to such base purpose? And why would they risk so much simply for two patents?”

Major Gordon looked away thoughtfully for a moment and when he looked back his eyes narrowed. Annabelle had considerable experience with dangerous men, far more than she cared to. She had never considered Gordon a dangerous man—cold perhaps, and calculating, but that was a different matter. As his eyes narrowed, though, she thought…perhaps. But she did not believe him dangerous to her, which was quite interesting.

“I cannot answer those questions, Miss Somerset, but I can tell you this: Were I in your position, I would do everything in my power to find out.”

Yes. It would be hard to do that while standing trial for treason, though, wouldn’t it? She took a deep breath and then slowly let it out.

“I shall require a pen, Major Gordon.”