Clockwork Gold Page 8

  Nearer to, a couple of abandoned dirigibles sat in the paddock beside the Blue Wren. One had listed over, possibly from being set down too close to the Blue Wren, which had its own defences. An oily smell of smoke hung in the air. Paraffin as well as cordite. A shotgun roared from the house. Men shouted and sirens reached an unearthly pitch.

  There were bodies down there in the garden, a couple moving purposely, taking shelter behind trees and the garden shed, finding gaps in the ring of fire and intent on gaining the Tanners’ home. Other bodies lay on the ground, unmoving. Poole had brought enough men to make a statement, and if he lost some, well Poole wasn’t the sort of man who’d care.

  It was insane. The sergeant couldn’t believe he’d get away with this. Western Australia might be isolated, but it was part of the British Empire. The rule of law held sway, not might-is-right.

  “Fly over the house,” Nathan shouted.

  The pilot, Georgia, looked at Patrick, who nodded. “Do it.”

  Nathan readied himself. “Get as close as you can and I’ll go down the ladder and jump onto the roof.”

  The ladder rocked with the movement of the airship. Nathan held on tight, feeling for each rung before glancing down and judging the distance. He landed in a crouch on the roof. A thud behind him announced Patrick’s arrival. They ran down the slope of the roof towards the back veranda. Nathan swung himself down and onto the wooden boards.

  A man slamming a shoulder into the kitchen door turned and fired. Missed.

  Nathan fired in turn.

  The man went down.

  Nathan kicked away the man’s gun. “Open the door! Becky!”

  Inside the house, a woman screamed.

  The doorframe splintered as Nathan hit it a second time.

  “Drop your gun,” Poole said. His own gun pointed at Aunt Louise’s head. He had an arm around her throat. The flames from outside flickered and gleamed on the brass buttons of his uniform. His face was shiny with sweat. “You, too, Murphy.”

  Ignoring the order, Patrick ducked back, out of sight.

  Nathan drew a steadying breath. By keeping his gun, Patrick would guard his back—unless Poole’s men came through the house. Nathan’s gaze darted to the door between the kitchen and dining room. He couldn’t hear anyone, but then, with the sirens wailing he wouldn’t.

  Nor could Poole and it was making him nervous. He cursed Patrick. “Damn Murphy.” Poole backed towards the sink, trying for what cover he could find. Despite Patrick’s defiance, Poole wouldn’t shoot Louise. He needed her because there were greater threats than Patrick and his gun, and they were in the room with Poole.

  Nathan took a moment to assess his family and their state of health.

  Becky stood by the stove, a poker in her hand. Sam was straightening from putting his shotgun on the floor, his agonised gaze on his wife. Both were tense with the need to save Louise.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Poole?” Nathan demanded. “Two dirigibles of men to kidnap one girl.”

  “Not men. Policemen. I’m taking her up on charges of espionage and resisting arrest. Judge Cleeve signed the warrant.”

  Signed his own condemnation, but Nathan would deal with that later. The rats had shown themselves. But at what price? “Let Louise go.”

  “I intend to.” Poole’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “I came for Rebecca and I won’t be leaving without her.” He glared at Becky. “Drop the poker and come here, girl. Now, or I kill your mum.”

  The poker clanged to the floor.

  Sam took an impulsive step forward even as Louise stomped on her captor’s booted foot.

  It was the only chance Nathan had. He flung his dagger straight at Poole’s throat and followed it across the room.

  The dagger missed. But as Poole shoved Louise into Sam and swung the pistol round to shoot Nathan, Nathan’s flying kick connected. Poole’s jaw snapped shut, his back cracked against the stone sink and he slumped down unconscious.

  Nathan stepped over him and held Becky hard against him.

  A huge whoomph shook the house.

  Becky pulled back from him slightly. “That wasn’t me. At least, it wasn’t any of my defences.”

  Nathan scooped up his pistol. She collected the poker. Sam picked up his shotgun and kept an arm around Louise. As a family, they ventured out.

  Patrick met them midway down the garden path. He grinned. “Don’t worry. That was Georgia. Apparently Poole’s comrades abandoned him. They were planning to lift off in the remaining dirigible. Georgia scuttled that idea.”

  “Good for Georgia,” Becky said.

  By daylight, the house and property were an abandoned battlefield.

  Aunt Louise regarded her vegetable garden in total disbelief. “Rebecca, how many defences did you hide in here?”

  A line of scorched earth encircled the house where jets of controlled flame had burned. Great mounds of sand lay disturbed where Becky’s hidden army of mechanical snapping turtles had burrowed out and churned the ground, biting with steel jaws anything that got in their way.

  Becky shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t realise there were so many. When I think of something, I build it. Like the mechanical echidnas that protect the chickens in the orchard. Last night when Nathan said there was still a risk from Poole, I activated all the defences. Not all of them worked. Some must have rusted.”

  “Enough worked.” Nathan grinned at her with admiration and relief, amused by her professional disappointment at the effects of rust. “Patrick says the men in the cells are still talking about the nightmares that came out of the ground and the brimstone from hell.”

  “From a fire pump,” Becky said. “I hid it in the water fountain.”

  “Where else,” Louise said weakly. “Did the men all survive?”

  “Yes.” Nathan had spent what remained of the night with Patrick, wrapping up affairs. It had been safe to do so. Neighbours had rallied around, as had friends, family, nosy journalists and police Patrick had handpicked, men he could trust.

  There remained, however, one more wrinkle to iron out before the whole affair went public.

  “Becky, I need you to come for a drive with me.”

  Nathan refused to answer any questions about their proposed destination, merely waiting on the veranda, talking blandly with the visitors who’d swarmed to the house to satisfy their curiosity. He straightened from the railing when Rebecca emerged. “Ready?”

  For answer, she tied the ribbons of her best straw hat beneath her chin. She ignored the stares directed at her bruised face, returned a few greetings and let Nathan hustle her into the buggy. It was a relief to escape.

  Once they were on the road and beyond eavesdroppers, he said. “I’ve solved the question of espionage.”

  She stared at him. “So quickly?”

  “With Patrick’s help. It turned out a telegraph operator had noticed certain information he was transmitting was arranged in a very simple, easily deciphered code. It was commercially sensitive information that allowed the recipient in London to made some timely deals on the stock market.”

  “So the operator gave you the person’s name?”

  “No.” Nathan urged the buggy to the side of the road as another vehicle approached. The road was too narrow for two-way traffic. “The operator set up a situation so that when the information was sent in future, he deciphered the code, re-coded it with far more sophistication and telegraphed it to some very appreciative German businessmen.”

  “Oh my goodness.”

  He nodded. The other cart passed and he shook the reins. “If the telegraph operator hadn’t gotten involved, the small volume of stocks being traded on the Exchange wouldn’t have been noticed. It was the Germans’ greed that exposed the situation. The original conspirators were far more restrained. Very cautious women.”

  “Women? Ouch!” Rebecca winced as her exclamation hurt her bruised face.

  “A friend of yours, in fact. And that’s where we have to do some fine
ssing. We owe the Campbells for Scott and Mack watching over you.”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you realise? It was obvious. Who else has a network of informers spread across the Goldfields. Mrs Mae Campbell put her family’s travelling to good use.”

  “Leaping lizards.” The childhood expletive slipped out as Rebecca stared at him.

  Nathan appeared honestly admiring. “She was very clever and organised. Mrs Campbell worked out what the information meant, then she transmitted instructions to buy or sell to her sister-in-law, Mrs Greene, in London. Mrs Greene is a solicitor’s widow. She employed a broker to make her deals.”

  “No wonder Auntie Mae could afford a new house. How enterprising of her. It’s not really illegal, is it?”

  “Not illegal.” Nathan frowned. “But you know people’s attitudes. Any number won’t like that a Nyungar woman made fools of some of the largest mining companies.”

  “Too bad for them. Nathan, you have to make sure Auntie Mae doesn’t have any trouble with the authorities.”

  “That’s why we’re driving over to see her. Patrick and I spoke about it. The telegraph operator is being deported. No fuss, no publicity. But just to be sure, I need to speak with Mae about ceasing her activities for a few months. I need you with me because she trusts you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’ve finished playing the stock exchange, anyway,” Mrs Campbell said once she’d finished exclaiming over Becky’s bruised face and listened to the reason for their visit. “My sister-in-law Fiona is selling her London house and coming to live here with me. She has no children, so she wants to be with family. We’re going to have a fine time.”

  Nathan hadn’t thought it would be so simple, or that Mrs Campbell would be so calm about suspicions of espionage and potential threats. He reflected wryly that he underestimated women. Becky, for instance, had unleashed Armageddon to protect her family.

  Mrs Campbell smiled at the two of them. “When’s the wedding?”

  He choked on his shortbread.

  Becky flushed bright red.

  “No sense in waiting,” Mrs Campbell told her. “Sue, my daughter-in-law, sent me a message. Said you’d finally found yourself a man. Now you need to make some children—marriage first.”

  “Excellent advice.” Nathan drew on all his training and experience as an agent of the Crown and seized the moment. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll get started.”

  “Nathan!” Becky exclaimed.

  “Arranging a special licence.”

  “Oh.” A long pause. “Oh.” She darted a look at Mrs Campbell, who was all smiling benevolence. “We’d best be going.”

  “Good-bye, dears.”

  Becky punched him as the door closed behind them.

  “What’s that for?”

  “You’re meant to ask me to marry you. You have to…”

  “Tell you that I love you and that you mean more to me than life itself?”

  Her breath caught. All her own love and uncertainty showed in her honest blue eyes. “Yes.”

  “I will, Becky. I will.” He glanced back and saw a lace curtain twitching. She followed his gaze. “When we have some privacy.”

  “The Blue Wren?”

  “No, sweetheart. Somewhere where I can have your undivided attention.” He helped her into the buggy.

  “I don’t want to wait, Nathan. And the house will be full of people.”

  “Trust me.”

  He halted the buggy just off the road where the river curved and bush hid a small clearing from prying eyes.

  Rebecca had never felt so nervous. It was ridiculous. She knew he loved her, knew she loved him. She’d known it without doubt last night. He would come for her through the fires of hell itself, and she’d fight for him with equal passion.

  He put two hands to her waist and swung her down. Hand in hand, they walked to the clearing. The soft lap of the riverbank and the chirrup of insects and birds surrounded them.

  “Becky, is your face still sore?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Then I’ll kiss you gently.”

  She sighed as mouth whispered over her eyes, her unbruised cheek, her lips.

  He lingered at her lips, tenderly insistent. “I love you, darling. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  He captured her assent as it left her mouth. His arms tightened around her, still careful of her injuries.

  Her own arms had found their way around his neck. She was shamelessly pressed up against him. “I love you.”

  Ten minutes later, he uttered a soft, shaken laugh. “I’d better arrange that special licence.”

  She blinked at him, aware of the languorous urgency in her body, the disarray of her hair and the desire burning in his eyes. She pulled him back to her. “Yes. Later.”

  Note from the Author

  If you enjoyed Clockwork Gold, I think you’ll like another of my novellas, Curses and Confetti, which also has a light steampunk sense of fun and is set in Western Australia in the late Victorian era.

  Jenny

  Website: http://authorjennyschwartz.com