“A performer shot from a cannon seems a more accurate simile,” a second voice quipped.
Quite unexpectedly.
Margaret startled with a gasp and dropped the book in her lap. At some junction, Jane had seated herself in the wingback to her left without a sound. She clutched her chest. “Jane! For the love of all, please do make a little noise when entering a room. You know I detest surprises, and I’ve already had my fill tonight, thank you. Besides, there’s no reason for such stealth when you’re not actively undercover.”
Statuesque in an evening frock of pastel pink, Jane blinked placidly. “There’s always reason for stealth, if one doesn’t wish to be noticed.”
Going unnoticed was one of Jane’s most viable assets as a lady inspector. She had a complexion trifecta that was ten a penny among the English aristocracy—fair skin, blonde hair, blue eyes. This, combined with her reserved countenance and hapless designation as the poor relation taken in by more affluent cousins, rendered Jane imperceptible to those in high society whose gazes never deigned to lower past their upturned noses. Unless, that is, they wished to engage in the sophisticated sport of polite ridicule.
An injurious sport that had once driven the three to seek refuge in this very library.
Margaret looked at the bookcases standing sentry over their secluded corner, and then at her two closest friends, overcome with reminiscence. “I don’t think we’ve found ourselves situated thus since the day we met. During the first ball of the Season back in ’83.”
Helena’s freckled cheeks blanched. “Gracious, don’t speak of the date in that manner, Maggie. It makes us sound ancient. Like insects fossilized in amber.”
“More like old newspapers perused for a day only to be crumpled and tossed in the bin the next,” Jane quipped.
Margaret huffed. “I was attempting to be nostalgic, not morose.”
Color returning to her cheeks in earnest, Helena slouched in the wingback, crushing her gown’s moss-green silk. “Cremini, we’re doing a poor job of cheering you up.”
“Your presence always cheers. Always has.” Securing each friend by the hand, Margaret gave them a squeeze, recalling the comfort these women had brought her all those years ago when she’d taken flight to this very library after overhearing disparaging comments being bandied about her disability. Hiding herself away, a young Maggie of just eighteen had wept into the pages of a hefty tome on engineering, thinking herself quite alone. Until she was offered a frilly pink handkerchief by a blonde with a newspaper tucked under one arm, and a plate of macarons by a brunette clutching a botany book gilded with golden mushrooms.
After years of rejection and loneliness, Margaret had suddenly found herself in the company of friends. Better yet, she’d discovered what it was to encounter kindred spirits. Fellow misfits who understood how it felt to be misjudged. Fellow introverts who’d rather read and converse with a few than prattle in a ballroom crowded with hundreds. Fellow bluestockings with intellectual interests and unconventional aspirations. On that night in ’83, in this very library, an alliance had been formed. A sisterhood that promised no matter how many cruel whispers, judgmental glances, or cuts direct they received, they would be there for one another. With encouragement and prayer, with handkerchiefs and macarons.
And to herself, Margaret had sworn not to be the weak cord in their strand of three.
It was an oath she’d avowed again, years later, when their sisterhood increased. An unexpected offer to take tea with the renowned Professor Quimby had turned into an invitation to an exclusive intellectual salon where they’d met Lousia and Iva Leene, which in turn had resulted in their collectively being asked to join a society with a public arm of charity anda surreptitious arm of justice. A society that offered a place to belong and an opportunity to use their minds for the good of others, for the glory of God, the Father of all genius.
On that day in 1890, the five of them had joined the Daughters of Genius society and assumed the role of lady inspectors, changing their lives forevermore.
A change that had led to Margaret’s aforementioned panic and rather dramatic departure from the Periwinkle Parlor not thirty minutes ago. She heaved a prolonged sigh. “Great gadgets, what am I to do?”
“I thought the next course of action quite obvious.” Jane arched an almost imperceptible blond eyebrow.
A gleam flashed in Helena’s hazel eyes, and she crossed her arms. “I still don’t care for this idea.”
Margaret’s head pivoted between the exasperatingly vague pair. “Would one of you please enlighten me?”
Jane’s tone was matter of fact. “You need to recruit Mr. Noble as a covert asset. Just as soon as the chief concludes his cursory interrogation and briefing in the corridor.”
Chapter
18
Margaret’s mind had completely derailed. Great iron wheels spinning in vain as her D.O.G.S. training puffed out of her head like steam from a locomotive smokestack, dissipating in the wind.
She gawked at the library door. Mr. Noble was just on the other side. Any moment now, the chief would conclude her preliminary interview and send him in here, for her to recruit as a covert asset. For her to work alongside on the purloined patent case without the guise of an alias to imbue her with confidence. Yes, she’d still be maintaining her cover at the Invention Factory, but Mr. Noble would be in on her secret now, which meant she’d have to speak to the man as herself.
A gasp of panic triggered a spasm of pain in Margaret’s side. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t flip a points lever and keep chugging along, smoothly switching back and forth between the tracks of her true identity and the railway of her undercover alias. She didn’t have that level of experience as an inspector. Even if she managed to get her mind backon track, she still needed time to prepare. To plan. To gauge if she had enough teaspoons left to not let everyone down. Otherwise, she wouldn’t just derail the night’s impromptu mission. She’d suffer a crash with the entire D.O.G.S. on board.
“Everything is going to be fine, Maggie.” Jane leaned forward on the chair across from the divan without so much as a creak of the wingback’s antique walnut frame. She locked eyes with Margaret, gaze focused and steady as she spoke in hushed tones. “Helena will go apprise your parents of the situation, so they’re not caught unawares, then she’s been assigned to keep an eye on Mumsie and distract her with a new naturalism book, if necessary.”
Margaret nodded her comprehension as Helena squeezed her hand and vanished from the room. Good, good. Her parents would adhere to protocol, and Helena would have no trouble occupying Mumsie with their mutual favorite subject.
“Louisa and Professor Quimby will return to the receiving table to see to the donations and keep up appearances should any latecomers arrive. Meanwhile, Iva Leene and I will be stationed at the library door on standby, should you need assistance, and to prevent anyone from wandering in here. Once you’ve recruited Mr. Noble, I’ll return him to Mr. Harrison’s company before he’s missed, and Iva Leene will see you home via the servants’ entrance before Mr. Harrison catches sight of you.”
Nodding again, Margaret exhaled a long breath and relaxed a trifle. There was some sort of plan. She’d no idea how Jane managed to come up with such a plan spur of the moment, but she could play her part. Hopefully. “Shouldn’t someone make my excuses to Lady Darrowby? She’s sure to notice my absence eventually.”
