Finally, Victoria spoke.
"Ah, my faithful servant. What news do you bring?" Her voice cut through the darkness like ice, sending a shiver up and down his spine. He turned towards the sound, and bowed.
"Majesty." He paused. "Precious little news, I fear." He sighed, deciding how to go on. "I attended the scene of the airship disaster, as requested, and discovered certain…irregularities."
"Go on."
"The body of the pilot was missing from the wreckage, and the passengers, or what remained of them, had all been tied into their seats. There were no survivors at the scene. I later discovered that the vessel had in fact been piloted by a clockwork automaton developed by the airship's operators, Chapman and Villiers Air Transportation Services." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. The wheezing sound continued, steadily, in the darkness. "Yesterday I visited the manufactory of the aforementioned business and saw one of these automaton units being demonstrated. I have no reason to believe the pilot of The Lady Armitage could have malfunctioned at the controls. The cause of the disaster remains unclear."
There was a creaking sound as Victoria wheeled forward in her chair, emerging from the shadows into the dim glow of the gas lamp. Newbury fought the urge to gasp at her appearance. He had seen her before, of course, but the sheer extent of Dr. Fabian's work was a Constant source of shock and amazement. The Queen was lashed into her wheelchair; her legs bound together, her arms free and resting on the wooden handles that enabled her to rotate the wheels of the contraption. Two enormous tubes protruded from her chest, just underneath her breasts, folding around beneath her arms to connect to the large tanks of air that were mounted on the back of the chair. Bellows were affixed to the sides of the contraption and groaned noisily as they laboured with the pressure, forcing air from the tanks in and out of her collapsed lungs. Her chest rose and fell in time with the machine. A drip fed a strange, pinkish liquid into her bloodstream via a catheter in her arm and a bag suspended on a brass frame over her head.
She regarded Newbury with a steely expression. "Newbury." Her voice was full of gravitas. "We must impress on you the critical nature of this assignment. It is a matter of some importance to the Crown. We expect you to do your duty and identify the source of the disaster. Foul play remains a distinct possibility." Her mouth was a tight line, her face old and tired. Nevertheless, her eyes shone with a brilliant gleam that, even in the semi-darkness, gave evidence of the fact that her mind was still as sharp as her tongue.
Newbury was unsure how to respond. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will endeavour not to disappoint in this matter." He shuffled awkwardly. "If it's not impertinent to ask…may I know the origin of your suspicion of foul play? It may prove useful in identifying the next course of action."
Victoria moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Very well. A member of the Dutch Royal Family-a cousin of this household, no less-has been missing in London for some days. Intelligence from other sources suggested he may have been onboard The Lady Armitage when she went down. This morning the mortuary confirmed his body had been identified in the wreckage." She hesitated before going on. "We need not impress on you the severity of this situation, Newbury. One suspects that sabotage of the vessel may have been an attempt to discredit this house. Worse, we fear the means of that sabotage may in some way be related to your…field of experience. We have given our word to the boy's mother that we shall provide a reasonable explanation for the disaster. You must find an answer, and quickly. What with all this business in Whitechapel and the plague spreading through the slums, your expertise is needed elsewhere. Scotland Yard are floundering without your aid. Hurry to it, Newbury. Bring us the answers we need."
Newbury bowed his head. "I will press on with all haste and due diligence, Your Majesty."
"Go then, and report back to us soon."
He turned to leave.
"Oh, and Newbury, how is that new assistant of yours working out? A woman, isn't she?"
He smiled. "Miss Hobbes? Yes, delightful, Your Majesty.
And full of spark. She'll be a great asset to us, in time."
Victoria let out a rasping chuckle. "We do hope so, Newbury. Women like that are difficult to find. Make sure you keep her close." With that she turned the handles on the sides of her chair and retreated slowly into the darkness.
Newbury fumbled his way back to the door in the dim light, turned the handle, and left.
Sandford was waiting by the fire when Newbury emerged from the passageway. He turned to look at the younger man, and then picked up a tumbler from where he'd left it on the mantelpiece.
Newbury accepted it gratefully and took a long swig. The alcohol attacked his palate, causing him to splutter slightly. "Brandy?"
Sandford nodded, his lips curling in a wide smile. "For the cold, sir."
"Thank you. Very considerate of you, Sandford." He downed the rest of the drink, feeling the warmth spreading through his chest. He knew that Sandford was an old hand at this sort of thing, and that the reason for the brandy had, in truth, little to do with the cold. The man was simply used to seeing agents return from an audience with the monarch, and the brandy was a restorative offering to steady their nerves and put colour back into their cheeks. Newbury was thankful for the opportunity to do just that. He'd never found it difficult to talk with Her Majesty, but the sheer weight of expectation and nervousness always left his nerves jangling for the rest of the day. Today, of all days, he needed to head back to his lodgings and try to relax, to ponder all of the disparate elements of the case and see what shape they were beginning to take. Not only that, but in answering one mystery he had inadvertently opened up another. He now knew what had agitated the Queen so much about the airship disaster, but he was faced with an even more difficult question to answer: What was a Dutch royal doing onboard a passenger-class vessel bound for Dublin? He needed a breakthrough, and, at the moment, he wasn't sure where to look next.
Newbury placed the glass back on the mantelpiece and moved to fetch his coat and hat. Somehow, Sandford was there before him, and he thanked the butler as he helped Newbury on with his coat. "Sandford, my thanks. I'm sure it won't be too long before I'm giving myself over to your hospitality once again."
Sandford nodded. "Best of luck, sir." He opened the door for Newbury, momentarily allowing a gust of air into the room, stirring the newspapers that lay on the table. It was cold out, but the day was still young. His head buzzing with thoughts and the warm glow of alcohol, he stepped out into the grey fog and slipped away into the busy streets of London.
Chapter Eleven
The visiting room was cold and impersonal; clinical, even. Veronica was convinced that it wasn't supposed to feel so unwelcoming, even for a hospital. Her parents were paying a small fortune towards the upkeep of the place, after all. The least they could do would be to provide a few cushions and a bit of colour around the place to brighten things up. No wonder the majority of the patients were so miserable and lifeless. Veronica firmly believed that people were inspired by their surroundings, and that a dull and dreary hospital would reflect badly on the mood of the patients, especially in an institute such as this, which catered for the clinically insane. She knew Amelia would agree. She resolved to make a point of talking to Dr. Mason about it at the next available opportunity.