Clockwork Gold Page 7
“You want we take the horse back to town for you?”
Nathan hadn’t considered logistics. They had a prisoner now.
“The Blue Wren flies,” Scott said. “We watched Rebecca make it look like an accident. You stay with her.”
“Yes.” Poole could rot in the desert. Nathan wasn’t about to leave Becky to escort him back into town. “Thank you. And thank you for looking out for her.” They shook hands.
“I reckon that’ll be your job now, looking out for her.” Scott tipped his head, a grin lurking. “Good luck.”
Chapter Eleven
Rebecca watched Nathan stroll back around the Blue Wren. His hat was further back on his head and his jacket more dishevelled than usual, but he still looked like a gentleman.
She recalled the promise of death in his eyes when he’d raced towards her, as she’d struggled against Sergeant Poole’s greater strength. He hadn’t looked like a gentleman then.
The adrenaline still pulsed through her body. Until her alarm shrieked out, she’d feared the first of her airship’s new defences had failed. To see Nathan had been like a lost traveller sighting a mirage. She hadn’t dare believed in her salvation.
“On your feet.” Nathan had previously disarmed Sergeant Poole. Now he returned his knife to him.
With his hands bound behind his back, the sergeant fumbled to hold it.
“Why—?” Rebecca began.
“I don’t want him polluting the Blue Wren.” Nathan checked the knot tying the police horse to a low branch. “When we get back to Perth we’ll telegraph for someone to collect him, if he hasn’t already slunk into hiding.”
Perth, the main town, civilisation, and not so in thrall to the sergeant as Kalgoorlie. The authorities there would accept her proof, reluctantly.
“You don’t think we should deliver him ourselves? He could lie trussed up in the cargo space.”
“I don’t want him anywhere near you.”
“Ah.” The edge to his voice sent an enjoyable shiver down her spine. He was protecting her, and although she’d shown she could look after herself, it was pleasant to have him caring for her. “I’d best get the Blue Wren ready to fly then.”
Ten minutes later, they were airborne, farewelled by the sergeant’s glare.
It was then that reaction set in. She shuddered.
Nathan picked her up, slid into the pilot’s seat and sat her on his lap.
“I can’t reach the pedals,” she protested.
“At the moment, all you need do is steer. You can slide forward to reach the pedals when you need to.”
“Hmm.” His arms felt so good around her and his warmth counteracted the chill shivering through her.
He nuzzled her throat and kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear.
Then they simply sat like that while she listened to his breathing and watched the land unroll beneath them.
Finally he sighed. “You scared the heck out of me.”
“How did you come to be there?”
“I was slow,” he said. “But this morning I realised that you’d been a bit too interested in Poole’s movements, and there was your reluctance to take me on this trip with you. You wanted to strand me in town for a reason. I guessed you had a plan you wanted to put into action—one which you knew I’d disapprove of. And you were right, I do disapprove.”
“I wanted…I thought.” Her tongue tangled in knots. “I couldn’t risk that you wouldn’t listen to me, like Dad wouldn’t listen. I had to have proof that Sergeant Poole is a rotten bully.”
“I did believe you, sweetheart.”
“But you stayed in town. You were friendly with the sergeant.”
“It’s called gathering intelligence. It’s what agents of the Crown do.” His arms tightened, squeezing her gently. “Your proof won’t be enough.”
“What?” She jerked around, her attention completely divorced from flying the Blue Wren. “Of course it will. Sergeant Poole might control the Goldfields, but we’re flying to Perth. The authorities there will have to believe me.”
“Maybe. Probably. But there’s a court of public opinion that you’ve forgotten about.”
“The papers will publish the photo of him kicking me. They can take a photo of my bruised face.”
He touched her abused face in a feather-light caress. “Poole will argue that you set him up.”
“So?”
“He won’t present you as the innocent daughter of Sam and Louise Tanner. He’ll argue that you’re a German spy, trying to discredit the one man who suspects you of betraying the Empire.”
She gasped. “No. It’s ridiculous.”
“He’s already laid the groundwork of suspicion. That’s why Patrick Murphy sent me the message to come home.”
“But this was meant to finish Sergeant Poole.” She clutched Nathan’s jacket, crumpling it. “I have to use the evidence against him…even if…people couldn’t really believe that I’m a spy?”
His mouth curved, both tender and cynical. “There are people who will pretend to believe whatever suits them. Aunt Louise’s letters to me included news of you and clippings from the papers on your fame—rescue flights bringing medical help to the miners, your defiance of the law’s attempt to commandeer the Blue Wren to track that bushranger, the fact that the Blue Wren can outfly anything else in the air. Becky, the other dirigible owners see you as the worst kind of competition. There is nothing the envious like as much as to see the incorruptible presented as corrupt.”
She stared at him, shaken. “Are you saying they hate me? the other pilots? the engineers?”
“Not hate. I walked through the airfield with you. They’re not sure what to make of you. You’re an independent woman who has mastered a new technology. You could be a threat.”
“I don’t belong anywhere.” She stared back at the sky, automatically reaching out to correct the Blue Wren’s flight path. “The ladies don’t want me in their drawing rooms, and I can never be one of the boys.”
“Now, you’re exaggerating. The miners respect you. They’re big supporters. So are men like the chemist. And you told me about Miss Singh’s tea rooms and how you normally eat there with other working women. You have your own circle of friends and supporters.”
“But you don’t think it will be enough—even with the proof I won—to defeat Poole.”
“I think you need to give me a chance to do my part.” He eased himself out of the pilot’s chair and sat in the passenger’s seat.
Rebecca missed his warmth and strength. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to find the German spy, and then, we’ll take down Poole.”
They arrived home late afternoon. Rebecca landed the Blue Wren, switched off its engine and sat back, more tired than she could remember being. Her face hurt, her spirits were depressed and she didn’t think she had the energy to explain everything to her parents.
“You need a hot bath, hot food and some fussing from Aunt Louise,” Nathan prescribed.
She got stiffly out of the chair and collected the precious photographic plate and phonograph recording. “First I’ll have to answer a lot of questions. I can feel the bruising on my face. I must look awful.”
“I’ll explain everything. Trust me, Becky.” He waited for her at the bottom of the ladder, then put an arm around her for the walk to the house.
She leant against him in a way she couldn’t have imagined trusting him just two days before.
Her mum met them halfway down the path.
“I saw the Blue Wren and I—” She saw Rebecca’s face. “Heavens above. Sam!”
“It’s all right, Mum.”
But Louise Tanner wasn’t taking her word for it, or listening to Nathan’s attempt at reassurance. “Sam!”
Her husband arrived at a run, out of breath, large and—when he’d seen Rebecca’s face—furious. “Who did it? Who attacked you, love?”
“Sergeant Poole.”
He glared at Nathan.
Rebecca got all the fussing he’d prescribed for her, and he was right. It did make her feel better, even if her face was now shiny and ick with herbal salve. Love was better than any tonic. This was her family, and they’d go to war for her—right after they finished yelling at her for tackling Sergeant Poole alone.
“Although it’s my fault,” her dad said heavily. “I should have believed you.”
She patted his shoulder. “Sergeant Poole fooled a lot of people.”
“But for you, a little slip of a girl, to tackle him alone.”
“Scott Campbell and his brother were there,” Nathan said.
They all stared at him; Rebecca, with her mouth open.
“They guessed Becky was planning something from all the questions she asked, and they trailed along to look out for her.”
“Thank goodness,” her mum said. “The Campbells are good folks. I’ll be calling on Mae to thank her.”
“Mrs Mae Campbell?” Nathan queried.
Louise nodded. “She’s a widow. Her husband died a few years back. A good woman. She’s raised a strong family, a close one. With all the grandkids coming along, she’s just moved into a bigger house. It put some noses out of joint that a Nyungar bought a new house with a view of the sea. Bigots.”
Sam wasn’t interested in local gossip. “What do you plan to do?” he asked Nathan.
Bathing, food, anointing Rebecca’s injuries and sharing the story had all taken time. It was now evening, the sun gone and the room lit by gas lamp. They sat around the kitchen table, cups of tea in front of them, and slices of fruit cake on a plate.
“I have a couple of ideas I need to check out.”
Sam’s fists clenched and unclenched. A muscle twitched in his jaw when he looked at Rebecca’s face.
“I’d like you to stay with Becky,” Nathan continued. “Poole’s cronies shouldn’t be stupid enough to try and attack her. There’s no gain in it, and there are neighbours across the river who could raise an alarm.”
She stared at him, unsure if it were a real fear or if he just wanted to keep her dad occupied. The problem was she was too tired to think clearly. “Won’t you be staying?”
“I’ll be back.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I need to talk with Patrick Murphy.”
“The lawyer?” Louise’s anxious gaze went from them to follow her husband’s exit from the room. He returned with his shotgun. “Oh my.”
Nathan squeezed Rebecca’s hand and released it. “Patrick’s an old friend, and I need some help, some answers. Becky, may I take the phonograph recording and the photographic plate with me? Patrick can get the photograph developed.”
They all looked at the evidence, forgotten on a corner of the dresser. Evidence Rebecca had paid for in pain. Her hand crept to her bruised cheekbone, touched the sticky ointment and dropped. “All right. But Nathan, be careful.”
“I’ll be fine.” His chair grated as he stood. “You go to bed. Sleep well.” He bent and kissed the top of her head.
Sam followed him out, saying he’d help with saddling the horse.
“Well.”
Rebecca smiled at her mum’s expression. Then winced. “Nathan and I are…friends.”
“Hmm.” Louise was deeply thoughtful.
Rebecca preferred the match-making gleam to the fear and distress in her mum’s eyes. “I think I will go to bed. I didn’t sleep so well last night.”
“And no wonder.” Her mum helped her up from the table and down the hallway to her room. “What a thing to attempt. You could have been badly hurt.” Her voice broke. “Killed.”
“Instead, I’m safe home.” It would be heaven to climb into her bed and be left alone. She’d be free to stop pretending that her side didn’t ache like the bleedin’ heck from Sergeant Poole’s kick. At least her ribs weren’t broken. She stretched out gingerly on her back and stared at the ceiling.
Her mum tiptoed out.
Through the window Rebecca heard a horse ride out. Nathan.
Footsteps returned and there was the low murmur of her parents’ voices. She had worried them. That she regretted.
She crept out of bed.
Chapter Twelve
Nathan tracked Patrick down to a comfortable house in the city. Lawyering must pay well.
“You used me,” he said at the end of the tale of his and Becky’s exploits.
Patrick nodded. He stared into his whisky glass with a grim twist to his mouth, then tossed off the contents. The glass thudded when he replaced it on the table beside his armchair. Solid crystal, the glass withstood the rough treatment. “I’m damned sorry. I didn’t think there was any danger to Rebecca.”
Anger raced through Nathan. He hated being manipulated. But he also had to be fair. “Becky intruded herself.”
“She’s quite a girl.”
“My girl,” Nathan said.
“Yes.”
Nathan raised an eyebrow at the easy agreement.
“We grew up together, Nate. Then you moved on. Oxford. The world. You only returned here for Rebecca.”
“Am I so obvious?”
Patrick shrugged. “I doubt anyone else thought of it. They just considered you a dutiful foster son.”
“But you always looked deeper, wanting to know people’s motivations.” He finished his own whisky, feeling it burn. “You’re right. Becky is the most important person in my life. I’ll do anything to protect her.”
“So why did you let Sergeant Poole go free?”
“You can pick him up anytime,” Nathan said. “But if we’re to round up everyone involved in his corruption, then I had to let the rat free to run back to its nest.
“Thereby revealing the nest.” Patrick grimaced. “That’s good sense, but I’d have hated like hell to do it. How did you convince Rebecca to let him go?”
“I told her the truth. I didn’t want him in the Blue Wren or anywhere near her. But when you do pick him up, can you hold him once you have him?”
“With this evidence, yes.” Patrick looked at the phonographic record. They’d both listened to it. The obscene abuse had required whisky to wash out the taste. “And if you’re thinking of the accusation that Rebecca has been responsible for leaking commercial secrets, I’ll take care of that, too.”
“How? Your message to me in India implied there was evidence enough to convict her.”
“I exaggerated,” Patrick said shamelessly. “Although it would be easier if we had another culprit to present to the public.”
“Yes, otherwise Poole will use the accusation to try to discredit Becky.”
The two old friends eyed one another. Patrick asked slowly. “Do you have any ideas?”
“I need confirmation on a couple of points.”
“Whatever I can do. I know I got you into this mess.”
“I need to look at the Telegraph Office’s books.”
The telephone rang.
“I can arrange it.” Patrick crossed to his desk. He picked up the telephone.
“Tonight.”
He nodded. Then as the import of the caller’s message dawned, Patrick’s eyes widened. His voiced cracked like a whip, cutting across whatever else the caller had to say. “Have the pilot of the Fast Response waiting. We launch in five minutes. Any delays and I’ll crucify everyone involved. And Joe, you were right to telephone me. I’ll remember.”
The handset rattled as he dropped it back in its cradle. Patrick jerked open a drawer. “Two dirigibles attacking the Tanners’ house. Their neighbour across the river telephoned in the attack.”
“Damn Poole.” Nathan exploded out of the chair. “I forgot he had access to dirigibles. I thought it would take him longer to get organised. I thought we had the night.”
“Leave your horse,” Patrick said.
Nathan spun around in the doorway.
Patrick pushed him deeper into the house. “
Out the back door. The alley leads through to the Court House. The Fast Response police dirigible is kept ready at the makeshift airfield behind it.” The door crashed shut behind them. They ran through the darkness. “Fifteen minutes by air will get us to the Tanners.”
“Can we trust the pilot?” Nathan asked. “There’ll be those in the police force who side with Poole.”
“Not Georgia,” Patrick said. “She’s our pilot. Newly hired from Sydney. She thinks he’s dirt.”
“She’s right.”
They rounded the corner of the Court House and heard the whoosh of the Fast Response dirigible powering up. Dark figures surrounded it. Three men. The tallest of them started towards them.
“Stay out of this, Murphy,” the man growled. He wore a sergeant’s uniform.
“My authority is from the Governor.” Patrick pitched his voice loud, projecting over the noise of the dirigible and ensuring the other men could hear him. He grabbed Nathan’s arm, holding him back. “That means I give the orders here. Get out of my way.”
“I canna—”
Patrick hit him square on the jaw, a scientifically delivered blow that knocked him out.
The other two men took a step forward and froze. Patrick had his pistol out. “Constables, don’t even think about it.”
Nathan climbed into the Fast Response.
The pilot looked up from the controls and her teeth flashed in a grin, not at him, but at Patrick boarding behind him. “Nice punch, boss. Bet that felt good.”
“It’s been a long time coming,” Patrick agreed grimly.
The dirigible shot upwards, as reckless as Becky’s manoeuvring of the Blue Wren. Perhaps it was women pilots? Nathan didn’t care. He gripped the railing. The sooner they got to Becky and his family, the better.
Hell. He should have twisted the rat’s neck while he had him.
Fast as the flight was, it seemed endless. The river ran below them, a silver thread in the night. It lead to Armageddon.
They saw the flames and heard the sirens first. A sullen red glow ringed the ground around the house, skirting Louise’s garden but otherwise forming a close perimeter. The sirens’ noise emanated from the house itself.