Chapter Six

“A Taste of Freedom”

1.

“IF YOU HAD told me this two weeks ago, I would hardly have believed it. As it now stands, in conjunction with Miss Annabelle’s own situation, I find it very credible.”

Folkard studied his former first officer with caution. He had been most certain that Bedford would be the ally he needed in the unofficial task Cavor had set him—the fact that seeking out help from someone like Bedford would most certainly be considered ill-advised by Cavor was by the by. He had known Bedford, on and off, for twenty years, having met him when he was a young midshipman on HMS Saratoga under then-Captain Herbert Cavor, and had grown to trust his sense of duty and loyalty to the Crown. It was not only those attributes which Folkard was dependent on now, however, but rather Bedford’s relationship with Miss Somerset.

“In conjunction. Very well put, Bedford, for I feel sure that both Professor Stone’s and Miss Somerset’s situations are intricately linked. There is something very big going on, and we need to discover what.” Folkard glanced around the busy public house. He had chosen a pub in Lambeth as it was unlikely to be a place one would expect to see two naval officers. Neither he nor Bedford were in uniform, and he had sent word that Bedford should find clothes that would enable him to blend in with the locals. Bedford had done just that, even gone so far as to dirty his face with soot. “If I were to mention Project ‘G’, what would that imply to you?”

Bedford gave this some thought. “On its own, nothing, but clearly there is something secretive about it.” He stopped for a moment, while his mind caught up with his words. “The gravity on Sovereign?”

Folkard nodded. “Quite so, and as you know every man who served aboard Sovereign was required to sign the Official Secrets Act after it was passed last August, ensuring that the event of gravity on ship was not ever to be discussed.”

“Of course, they were ordered not to discuss it before the Act was passed.”

“Agreed, but now the penalty is much harsher. Regardless, as captain, I knew a little more about its origins, but even my knowledge had its limits. Until five days ago.”

Bedford listened intently as Folkard explained what he knew of Project “G”. It did not cover a great deal, but it was enough to make Bedford settle into a ruminative silence for a short while after Folkard had finished.

“This is incredible, and surely a complete violation of certain terms of agreement.”

Folkard raised any eyebrow. “Since when did that stop the government, Bedford? All you need do is look to Luna. The government was quite content to defy the Luna Treaty when it became inconvenient, although it is only now that they’re beginning to realise the consequences of such disregard for the other nations who signed the treaty. Possibly not the most enviable time to be a naval officer.”

“Although I have entertained such thoughts from time to time, I am surprised to hear them from you, sir. But as to the desirability of service in such times I must disagree. When are officers with an eye to the protection of the Crown more needed?”

“But who are we protecting it from, Commander?” Folkard asked, pronouncing Bedford’s new rank with genuine pleasure. He was still young, and was about to become responsible for the finest ship in Her Majesty’s Navy—they both knew that the appointment of Captain Theobald was pure politics, and it was Bedford who would really be in charge of Sovereign—but he was capable, more so than most officers of the same rank. Before that, though, he had an equally big task to undertake. “From greedy and corrupt politicians, from admirals who have risen to power through sheer political manoeuvring.”

Bedford smiled. “Is that not always the way of things?”

“Perhaps, but that does not make it right. There are still honourable men in the government and Admiralty. There is a conspiracy rotting the heart of the Empire, and we’ve been tasked to expose it.”

“But I still do not understand what this has to do with Annabelle, or Professor Stone. Certainly they have been aboard Sovereign, but…” Bedford shook his head. “The treason charge was related to the destruction of Peregrine Station.”

“There is a link here, Bedford, and that link is Project ‘G’. We must uncover the truth behind Project ‘G’, and expose these men. But let me warn you, George, we are treading a very dangerous path. It could very well cost us our careers, if not our very lives.”

Bedford nodded slowly. “Annabelle also warned me of such, but as I told her so I will tell you, I will stand by Annabelle to the ends of the Earth, and beyond. She has been forced to sign documents that give the patents of both Grant’s aether propeller governor, and that designed by Stone, to the British government. This in itself is curious, but in doing so she has been forced into, at least unofficially, admitting to the charge of treason, even though on the surface she appears to be a free woman once more, we both know she is not. I will do whatever must be done to ensure she is released from all such charges.”

Folkard ran a hand over his beard. “The British government now owns the patents to the only aether propeller governor designs? Most interesting, since without such no ship can hope to navigate Luna.”

“Except the Russians, who have access to Tereshkov’s own modulation device.”

Folkard nodded. “Whoever is behind this conspiracy is certainly well connected.” For a moment he was silent, allowing all the new information a chance to circulate through his brain, while he quaffed some of the ale from the tankard in his hands. “Very well. If I know Miss Somerset at all, even now she will be thinking of ways to investigate why she’s been accused of treason. Assist her in any way you must. For more my own part I shall continue to make discreet enquiries about Project ‘G’, and locate Professor Stone.”

“We will need to move carefully.” Bedford considered. “How will you contact me? I am still an officer in the Navy, after all, and our association may draw some interest the deeper we dig.”

Folkard smiled. “The guttersnipe, Mister Bedford, of course.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“London, full of children, many homeless. Street urchins who will do almost anything for a scrap of bread. They move throughout the city largely unseen, privy to things the city’s best bobbies would have trouble learning. I shall contact you through them.”

Bedford blinked at this, clearly surprised by his former captain’s audacity. “Well, then… Mister Lincoln has secured lodgings for Annabelle, for she is moving out of Dorset House today. You can get word to me through her, at Number Seventeen Chapel Street, run by a Mrs Collingwood.”

“Capital.” Folkard stood, and finished the dregs of his ale. “You remain for a while, so we are not seen to leave together.” He took Bedford’s hand in his and shook it, smiling grimly. He retrieved his respirator mask and hat from the table, “good morning to you,” he said, and departed.

2.

THE COLD WIND blew the pollution out from the City, and Nathanial found himself having to rely on a respirator mask to keep his breath in check. He had never been to Perivale before, and now he understood why. There was not much of it, not even a village blacksmith. This, at least, made finding the house easy. He rang on the bell and waited on the door step, glancing over at the carriage which had brought him from London. Lécuyer sat warmly within, and waved somewhat flamboyantly when he noticed Nathanial looking over.

He had been living in the Russell Square rooms provided by Lécuyer for a couple of days, and had spent most of his time engaged in making contact with several gentlemen at the Savile Club, known for their government connections. Thus far he had learned nothing about Annabelle, although Sir Eleias promised to have something for him within a week. With thoughts of Annabelle still occupying his mind, and unable to focus on any work, Nathanial set to work on locating the one person he knew would help him.

The door opened and a young man stood there. Nathanial had not seen him for some weeks, and when they had last laid eyes on each other, the young man had been resting up in Sovereign’s sickbay being administered to by Doctor Beverly. At that time the young man was ill, recovering, and only then just barely, from treacherous treatment at the hands of the Drobates, the dwellers of the lunar City of Light and Science. Now, as he stood before Nathanial, the young man seemed to be of a stronger bearing. Not as well as when he and Nathanial had first met some eight months ago, but still, as Doctor Beverly would no doubt say, “on the mend”.

“Nath… Professor Stone, what are you doing here?” asked Ordinary Seaman Erasmus Stevenson.

Nathanial almost stepped back in shock. To hear such formality from Erasmus’ mouth. He had expected Erasmus to be surprised, but this was the not the surprise of a happy reunion. “Erasmus, for the first I have come to ask for your help, and in the second instance I have come to see how well you fair, now you are home. I imagine your sister is most happy to finally meet her big brother?”

Erasmus’ eyes darted about. “You should not be here. I… I cannot speak to you.”

Abruptly the door closed on Nathanial’s shocked countenance. For a few moments he lingered on the doorstep, his mind awash with feelings of confusion and betrayal. When they had been on the run from the Drobates, secreted in the underground railroad of Luna, Nathanial had felt sure that he and Erasmus had come to an understanding. That something deep and personal had passed between them. But now…

Nathanial turned and retreated to the carriage. He did not look at Lécuyer, instead his eyes continued to rest on the house, and the lit window in which the silhouette of a man could be seen. It was Erasmus, Nathanial was certain, but for what was he watching? To make sure Nathanial left forthwith, or did he watch with longing in his heart?

Lécuyer signalled the driver, and with the crack of a whip the carriage moved on.

“Nathanial, I think you need some cheering up. It is a Sunday, is it not? As is my custom I must visit my friends, and I believe you will enjoy them.” Lécuyer leaned forward and placed a hand on Nathanial’s knee. “For they will certainly enjoy you!”

Nathanial barely noticed Lécuyer’s hand, instead as the carriage continued on into the night, away from Perivale village, he continued to watch as the house sank into the distance.

He had been certain he could have counted on Stevenson.

3.

THE WATER FELT so good on his face. Nathanial stood up and dried himself with the towel resting by the basin. After leaving Stevenson he had not been himself, that was the only excuse he could find for his behaviour afterwards. He had seen much, and engaged in much else besides, that would be considered unconventional, and he had always known that in some ways he had been made wrong, but last night redefined his perception of such things.

He walked across to the table on which lay the cluttered mess of gears and pistons, levers and switches. He knew he would never discuss the events of last night with anyone, as Lécuyer had discovered when they had returned to their house in the early hours of the morning, but to himself he could at least admit that he very much enjoyed himself.

He sat at the table. His first task, he had decided upon awakening, was to perfect the mechanical leg he had started designing during his journey across Mars. He turned to his schematics and unrolled the paper upon which they were drawn. Looking around for two paperweights, he found a large book and the silver pocket watch. He picked up the watch and looked at it curiously.

He did not remember putting the watch on the table. The last time he had seen it was when he’d first moved into the rooms on Friday, and then he had placed it for safe keeping in a small drawer located under the table.

He must have removed it when he’d returned from that den six hours ago. It did not matter; it would serve sufficiently as a paperweight. He placed the watch at one end of the schematics. It was time to get to work.

4.

“OH, IS THAT so?” her uncle demanded of Annabelle for perhaps the tenth time. “Is that so? Is that so?”

“Yes, Uncle Cyrus, it is so!” she exclaimed in frustration. “These are good people we share these walls with and you must—well, you ought to show them the same courtesy they have extended to us.” She held her hands over her face and took a breath to steady herself. What was the point of growing angry at him? It was as sensible as berating a man with malaria for perspiring. Her mind carried her back over the past three days which had begun so hopefully.

Saturday morning had been consumed with travel to and from the magistrate court building and waiting for the competency hearing, although the hearing itself had taken less than a quarter of an hour. A wigged and silk-robed Queen’s Counsel had presented the petition to the magistrate, the supporting documentation had already been filed, and after Annabelle answered a few routine questions under oath the petition had been granted. The only real point of concern centred not on her uncle’s competency but rather her own, considering her age and gender, and the questioning had determined that she was, indeed, his only living relative and in any case the only United States citizen in the United Kingdom to whom the courts could reasonably entrust another American. The ease with which Uncle Cyrus had been declared incompetent disturbed Annabelle. It was true, of course, he was incompetent, but would it have been any harder had he not been?

Annabelle spent Saturday afternoon making arrangements for their move from Dorset House, as they were no longer “guests” of the Crown, but had received a cash advance against their pensions with which to secure lodgings. Mister Lincoln, again by anonymous courier, had recommended a boarding house north of the Thames and on the near west side of the city just off Edward Road, and they made the actual move on Sunday. Two sailors from HMAS Sovereign rode on the back of the carriage George hired and carried their bags in and up, although one could have managed them without difficulty, so destitute were they of material possessions. George accompanied her and Uncle Cyrus, and he also gave her a brief orientation as they rode to the place.

“I made some inquiries. This is a respectable boarding house and Mrs Collingwood is said to set a good table. The house and neighbourhood itself is safe enough although I would not recommend you walk at night. When you walk in the day, walk south and then return north before dusk. This is Edward Road,” George said, meaning the broad boulevard the carriage made its way along. “We are heading nor’ by nor’west. You see those roofs to the west? Those are the homes on Norfolk Circle, all of them quite fine.”

Annabelle saw well-maintained tile and shingle roofs rising above the shops and brownstones which lined Edward Road. Everything she saw here looked prosperous and the people moved with an easy confidence which bespoke gainful occupation.

“This neighbourhood is safe, as you can see, as are those in the two of three streets north of here to Chapel Street. I would say the houses on the north side of Chapel Street mark the limit of the genuinely middle class neighbourhood. North of there the people are working class, generally good people, but economic want always threatens them, while north of Bell Street the neighbourhoods become quite desperate, and hence dangerous.”

“I don’t know that I will remember all of that,” Annabelle said.

“You will witness it and it will all become clear. Mrs Collingwood’s house is one of those on the north side of Chapel, between Edward Road and where Carlisle broadens out into Hyde Park Street.”

Mrs Collingwood greeted them at the door with a polite but not fulsome welcome. She struck Annabelle as a sensible woman of early middle age, plump and plain, with a natural dignity but no evidence of snobbery or self-righteousness. There was no Mister Collingwood, he having perished in the army overseas some years earlier. This was, Mrs Collingwood explained, a gentleman’s boarding house, but as their rooms would be let to her uncle, Annabelle could certainly board here with him. If her landlady thought to elaborate as to the sort of proper behaviour she expected from Annabelle, she must have changed her mind and left her explanation at that. Perhaps the sight of Annabelle’s cane and obvious physical infirmity, or Uncle Cyrus’s bewildered look, influenced her.

Annabelle introduced George as a friend of both hers and her uncle’s. Mrs Collingwood accepted that after first spending a moment in frank appraisal of the tall naval officer at Annabelle’s side, an appraisal which ended on a satisfactory note to judge from the slight nod she gave.

Their rooms consisted of two small bedrooms and a sitting room, very like their quarters at Dorset House, but also very much unlike them. Pastel-coloured walls with a few country landscapes, and yellow-upholstered chairs and settee, gave the sitting room a light and open feel. The curtains smelled of carbolic acid, which she had by now grown used to, and the sitting room also had a lingering odour of tobacco smoke, but in London those were by no means the worst smells encountered. The carpets were a bit threadbare but lent a homey feel to the rooms, and if the rent of two pounds a week had seemed high to Annabelle at first George assured her it was reasonable for this part of London. That was particularly true, he added, as Mrs Collingwood’s lodgers were reputed to end each week with the same number of shirts in their closets as they had started out with, which was by no means a universal characteristic of boarding houses.

George had seen them settled into their rooms and then taken the sailors away, having an appointment of his own at the Admiralty. At Sunday dinner she met the other four lodgers, two older retired army officers and two young men in the professions, one a clerk at a bank and the other a junior official in the Foreign Office. Her uncle had been silent through dinner, eating what was placed before him but saying nothing. The others had apparently been alerted by their landlady that Doctor Grant was recovering from a nervous collapse and so they showed no mawkish curiosity at his silence, nor did they try to draw him out.

Dinner had been an almost surreal delight. She tried to remember the last time she had dined with a group of people who were not either in Her Majesty’s Service—one way or another—or members of an alien race, and although she knew it had been more than a year earlier, she could not recall the exact circumstances or company. It would have been too ordinary to embed itself in her memory. She would remember this meal; its very ordinariness now rendered it extraordinary. She had herself spoken little and merely enjoyed the conversation of the others, enjoyed it for its meaninglessness. Here there were no hidden motives to puzzle out, no alliances to make or potential enemies to identify. There was only portly Major Blount, the retired Army officer, teasing Mister Blessingham, the young clerk from Hoare and Company, for never attending the races or staying out late at night like a sensible young man of his age would. Not like Cartwright, of course, he added, gesturing at the other young man, the Foreign Office staffer, always scribble, scribble, scribble up in his rooms. Another tragedy in verse is it, Cartwright? A novel, Major, in three volumes. Three? Damn me if I’ve ever seen a novel that needed more than one, and most could do without that.

And so the meal went: roasted chicken and boiled potatoes, garnished with this friendly banter and gentle teasing between men who knew and apparently liked one other. Mrs Collingwood ate with them but did not join much in the conversation, nor did the elderly Colonel Wyndham—tall, slender, and erect, and who, like Annabelle, walked with a cane—although he smiled in quiet enjoyment. She would like it here, Annabelle decided, she knew she would.

The atmosphere became even more convivial the next day when George called in the afternoon. She introduced him to the two retired military lodgers taking tea in the parlour and Colonel Wyndham had stood almost in shock.

“Bedford?” he asked. “Commander George Bedford, HMAS Sovereign?”

“Yes, sir,” George answered with a note of caution in his voice. Colonel Wyndham dropped his napkin and thrust out his right hand.

“Then I’d like to shake your hand, sir. Your dispatches from Luna were just published in the Gazette. Read like a damned adventure novel. Good show! Damned good show.”

George coloured in embarrassment but shook the colonel’s hand and then Major Blount’s when he rose. Annabelle and George did not have a chance to speak together much that afternoon as Wyndham and Blount had plied him with questions for the better part of an hour. But when he left, Annabelle felt more accepted into the household, if only by association with her suddenly-famous friend. Was friend the right word? For now it was all she had, but it seemed inadequate.

Dinner on Tuesday had been a less happy affair. Uncle Cyrus had begun muttering to himself during the meal and, although everyone at first tried to ignore him, he became increasingly agitated, eventually berating the other lodgers and carrying on about the Heart of Luna in increasingly incoherent terms. Annabelle was obliged to excuse herself and, with difficulty, persuaded Uncle Cyrus to accompany her back to their rooms. There she had tried to explain to him why, if they hoped to remain here, he could not treat the other guests in this manner

“Oh, is that so?” he had said over and over again until the words seemed only a series of meaningless sounds strung together.

She struggled for a different approach, one which would be less inclined to elicit this stubborn rejection, but a knock at their sitting room door interrupted her thoughts. She rose unsteadily to foot, peg and cane, crossed the room, and opened the door to find Mrs Collingwood looking particularly stern. Annabelle looked back into the sitting room, knowing she should invite her landlady in but fearing its effect on her uncle.

“Mrs Collingwood, I… I am very sorry for my uncle’s outburst at dinner. I am trying to calm him now and…”

“Of course, and I will not detain you long. You will have seen, Miss Somerset, that this is a happy house with lodgers at their ease with one another.”

“Yes, of course, and I repeat that I…”

“Yes, I understand you are sorry and no doubt mortified, which speaks well of you as a young lady. I also am not unsympathetic to your position and the difficulties you must face. I have never suffered an injury such as yours, but I was not much older than you when war took my Charles from me. As we had married contrary to the wishes of both our parents, this left me facing the world on my own. I am not prepared to ask you to leave, Miss Somerset, provided you uncle’s behaviour does not grow worse and completely destroy the peace of the house. However, I think it better if, from now on, you take your meals in your rooms, and I would remind you that you are responsible for your uncle’s behaviour at all times. Good day, Miss Somerset.” She said these things not unkindly, but rather out of obvious overriding consideration for her other boarders and, having said them, left.

Annabelle and sat down in an armchair. From across the room Uncle Cyrus regarded her with a hostile, challenging expression. She had enjoyed dinner the previous day, but this was not to be their home forever and if she had felt warmed by the possibility of being again surrounded by harmless friends, people who came to value her simply for her company rather than her pluck or her utility in a crisis, it was only because she was so weary of being tested. But it was foolish and irresponsible to think that a few meals could change the reality of her situation. She still faced challenges, and none of these people had a role in that. Her more immediate concern was Uncle Cyrus himself. How was she to do the things which needed doing if he required her constant attention? She could not very well take him with her and she would not lock him up like some animal.

There was an answer to this question, she was sure. She would simply have to study on it further.

5.

ELSPETH STONE CONSIDERED her son with a warmth in her bosom she had not felt for some time. This was the Nathanial she remembered before he vanished for two years. The enthusiasm for his latest project was overflowing from him; she and Edwin listened with rapt attention, while Ronald hit their son with a barrage of questions. All of them pertinent. This was how she liked to remember her family, in the days after the twins and Emily left Fairfax House, when it was only Edwin, Nathanial, Ronald and she. Nathanial regaling his family with tales of technical genius, the likes of which they could never hope to understand—but then, she reflected, they did not need to. From a young age Nathanial had worked hard, training his academic genius, preparing to make his indelible mark on the world of science and invention. Without the presence of Emily and the twins there was no fear of jealousy clouding over the meal, just pride from Nathanial’s younger brother and parents. Yes, even Ronald. Nathanial could say what he wished, but Elspeth knew her husband loved all his children equally, even though Nathanial had always been his most favoured child. It was this fact that always prevented Ronald from showering extra attention on Nathanial; he did not want his elder children to add his attentions to their fire of jealousy.

“Marrying what I know of Berlichingen’s work with the discoveries I made in the City of Light and Science, I have perfected a design that will revolutionise artificial limbs throughout the civilised worlds. No longer will people need to stand out, with obvious replacements. With my designs, they’ll have greater dexterity; indeed it will almost be as if they have their original limbs intact! Already several private investors have shown an interest in providing the financial backing for the designs. It is only a matter of weeks before we interest companies in the mass manufacture of such. The Stone-patent Artificial Appendages will bring me quite a tidy sum.”

“I caution you, son, do not become too indentured to the riches of worldly things. They are only passing, and will account for nothing in the next kingdom.” Ronald pointed to the nativity scene situated beneath the Christmas tree in the corner of the dining room. “The Day of Our Lord’s Birth is the perfect time to be mindful of such things.”

Nathanial bowed his head slightly. “Fear not, Father, riches are not something I seek. They are merely a means to an end, in this case a way to procure more materials for my future inventions. If I can better the life of my fellow man, and live comfortably while doing so, then I will consider it a blessing from the Lord Himself.”

Ronald smiled at that, and Elspeth felt a warm glow. He had taught his children well, that much was certain, and although Ronald and Nathanial differed on their approach to most ecclesiastical pursuits, there was no doubt that they both shared the same reverence for their faith.

“Perhaps your new found riches will lead to you replacing the top hat I bought you?” Edwin said, a sly smile on his face.

Nathanial, who was carefully cutting himself another slice of turkey, failed to notice the mischievous look on Edwin’s face, and so took the comment to be a sleight. “Edwin, I have apologised many times over,” he said, “but if you could have seen the view from the plank. Why, I was over twenty thousand feet above ground, the Dover Straight below me. Imagine that, me!”

Edwin laughed. “Oh, I can imagine. You get dizzy just looking out of your bedroom window.”

“Yes,” Nathanial said, now laughing, too, “my fear of heights is one thing I’ve learned to overcome since boarding Sovereign in such a spectacular fashion.”

“One wonders what other fears you have mastered in your time away,” Ronald interjected, no sign of humour evident in his tone. Elspeth gave him a warning look, but the damage to the good mood of the room had been done. Nathanial looked at his father sharply, and resumed eating his dinner in silence.

For a few moments more no one spoke, as the Stone family ate their Christmas meal, but Elspeth was determined to enjoy the day. It was, after all, the first Christmas that she had shared with Nathanial for two years. Who knew where he would be a year hence? He had only been back in London less than a week, after all, and his career seemed to be gaining momentum.

“Nathanial, tell me more about this Archibald Lécuyer. He sounds a rather…uh, eccentric character,” she said.

Nathanial looked up at her, his eyes conveying a silent thanks for the change of subject. Neither Edwin nor Ronald seemed to notice. “Eccentric is certainly one word for him. I would go so far as to call him foppish, but I must confess I do rather enjoy his company. Why just the other day we were discussing the merits of…”

6.

CHRISTMAS LUNCH WAS finished and while Edwin helped their mother to clear up the dining room (the household staff were never required to work on Christmas Day, one of the Reverend’s more charitable acts—he did not believe the Lord expected anyone to serve another on His birthday), Nathanial and his father repaired to the drawing room. Soon it would be time to exchange gifts, but they would wait until they were joined by the rest of the family. Even the twins and Emily were making their way across London for the occasion. Nathanial found himself waiting on that with baited breath!

The Reverend offered Nathanial a small glass of port, before taking his place in a comfortable chair near the fireplace. He waited for Nathanial to join him, and then asked; “Just what kind of trouble are you in, Nathanial?”

This was so typical of his father, always on the offensive. Throughout dinner Nathanial had to listen to the Reverend looking for faults in his stories, seeking ways to debunk him before Mother. Not to mention, as ever, preaching to him as if Nathanial did not know the tenets of his faith.

“I am in no kind of trouble. Or perhaps you were not paying attention during dinner?”

The Reverend narrowed his eyes. “Yes, it would appear you are turning your life around in a laudable fashion, however when you returned to this parish a matter of weeks ago you were running from some kind of trouble. Is this not so?”

Images of being arrested on Mars rushed to Nathanial’s mind. “Nathanial Stone, I hereby place you under arrest for the deliberate sabotage and destruction of the heliograph station Peregrine, and for the attendant loss of property and life. Guards, take him away.” The words of Major Witheringham continued to mock him to this day, words that set in motion a series of events that led to a week of incarceration at Chatham Convict Prison.

He shook the images away. This was not his father’s concern. Regardless of intention Nathanial had somehow got himself into the predicament, and it was he who would find a way out. He would not be confessing his sins before the Reverend.

“Stuff and nonsense, Father, I had merely served my time at Chatham Dockyard and wished to resume more civil duties. I was never born to be a designer of military hardware.”

“Hmm.” Clearly the Reverend was not convinced. He reached into his smoking jacket, and removed a card, which he proceeded to hand to Nathanial. “I have not made your mother aware of this, but a gentleman came to visit you yesterday. A captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

Nathanial took the card and read the name. A miasma of conflicting feelings rushed through him. On the one hand he was elated to learn that Captain Folkard had been in touch, no doubt with news of Annabelle, but alternatively he was horrified at the timing. It had taken him a couple of weeks, but he was now determined to put the past firmly behind him. Everything, from the devastating events on Peregrine Station all the way through to his connection to the Navy. To his mind that included Captain Folkard.

“Thank you, Father,” Nathanial said, careful to keep his tone neutral, “an old Navy friend, no doubt calling to convey his seasonal greetings.”

The Reverend held his hand up. “Pray, Nathanial, do not think your old father a fool. My business is the maintenance of people, and I know agitation when I see it. You are in some kind of trouble, and whatever business Captain Folkard has with you, it is quite clearly something serious.”

Nathanial swallowed. It would be so easy to simply pour his soul out to his father, tell him of everything, all those good people that had died because of him. But what good would such a thing do? No.

“Father, I appreciate your concern, but I am my own man now, and I must take care of my own life.”

Nathanial could not attest to certainty, but it appeared to be that his father swelled with pride at Nathanial’s words. The Reverend stood up.

“Very well, I shall see if I can assist your mother. I am sure Edwin wishes to talk to you about something. He has hardly been able to contain himself these last few days.” As he walked out of the drawing room, he briefly rested his hand on Nathanial’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

Nathanial dared not move. Instead he continued to look at the now empty chair opposite him, his eyes glazing over with tears he could ill afford to release.

Some moments later the door opened again and Edwin entered the room. He bounded over to the empty chair and sat down heavily. “Take me to London with you!”

Nathanial blinked away the tears and stared at his brother. “I beg your pardon? Edwin, how can I do that?”

“You must! If I remain here Father will continue to try and mould me into your image. He’s been doing so for the last two years.”

“Absurd! Father is most happy, I think, when I am absent.”

Edwin shook his head. “You may be a genius, Nathanial, but you fail to see what is before you. Father holds you most dear, although he would never tell you such. And he wishes me to be you, but I am not!”

Nathanial did not know what to say. He would never consider his brother a liar, but this was such bunkum! As if the mighty Reverend Stone, the Revered and Honourable spiritual leader of Putney Parish, considered any of his children more important than his flock. It was an inconceivable notion.

“I want to be a writer, like that Doyle fellow. Imagine, if I lived with you, you could teach me science, I could experience that romantic life you live. Travel!” Edwin sat forward in the chair, as if the excitement in him would not allow him the comfort of sitting still. “Scientific romances, Nathanial! None of your penny dreadfuls, but something with meaning. An exploration of everything this life has to offer!”

“Edwin, you have barely left Surrey your whole life. What do you know of what this life has to offer?”

“I have heard your stories, and I want to know more. Please, Nathanial.”

Edwin was old enough to branch out, and their parents could hardly stop him, but what kind of brother would Nathanial be to bring Edwin into the danger his life held?

No, that was nonsense, too. He had left danger behind when he moved to London. Having Edwin with him for a time would be a good thing. He could help set his brother up, show him London.

“Very well, Edwin, but only for a time. We shall tell Mother and Father that you are merely visiting for a week or so, and if you get a feel for London life, then we shall reassess. How does that strike you?”

Edwin beamed.

“Then it is settled,” Nathanial said, and added to himself, plus this will give me something to concern myself with other than Jacob Folkard.