“Firstly, as I already informed your chief, I agree that something is amiss at the Invention Factory. One night, when I chanced to stay late, I heard some rather strange mechanical noises resounding through the building—long after all the inventors had ceased working and left for the day. I never could find a source or explanation for what I heard.”
Margaret gnawed her lip. Another puzzle piece to add to her growing collection. “And the second?”
“I’ve been well acquainted with Mr. Harrison for over a year now, and I don’t believe the man is guilty of the crimes being laid at his factory’s doorstep.”
Margaret’s brows vaulted. Her covert asset was convinced of her prime suspect’s innocence? Rusted cogs, but that was going to make working together rather complicated.
Reverie, the woman Charles already thought of far too often, had a secret. One he was even now wrapping his mere mortal mind around.
Lady Margaret Kingsley—that beautiful moniker being her real name—was not only a titled lady of nobility, but an inspector and tinker for a clandestine organization known as the Daughters of Genius Society. Apparently, she’d been posing as a journalist to investigate a purloined patent case, which had led her to the Invention Factory. He wasn’t angered by this revelation, only stunned. The woman, in all her beauty, was an enigma.
One moment, she serenely sat before him in a wheeled chair.
The next, she quite literally took to the air. Right over his head!
Soaring in a perfect arc across the parlor, she’d landed with unfathomable grace and then disappeared. This hadn’t surprised him in the least, as he’d witnessed Reverie’s ability to vanish in a blink on their first meeting. Whathadsurprised Charles was being ambushed by five ladies the moment he’d given chase. Surrounding him in skirts, the women had hastened his progress into the corridor and boxed him into an alcove. The tiniest and eldest assailant, one Professor Quimby,had then commenced a swift interrogation of his moral character.
Once appeased in this regard, she’d given him a whirlwind education on the Daughters of Genius Society, Lady Margaret Kingsley, and a clandestine case of patent fraud before saying,“Now that you know our secrets, Mr. Noble, we might as well utilizeyour connections. I assume you won’t mind working alongside Inspector Kingsley until this case is closed?”
He had not minded this notion whatsoever and promptly signed the secrecy agreement for D.O.G.S. covert assets Professor Quimby had drafted on the spot, using the pen and notepad produced by one Lady Louisa. The interim document, which he’d read thoroughly, would serve until the signing of an official contract could be arranged. He was stunned, yes, but he was also the son of a barrister, and no man—or lady’s—fool.
Since his declaration of belief in Harrison’s innocence, Lady Margaret had taken to studying him intently. She blinked. Once, twice. Great Gustav Mahler, but a man could be blown away by those dark lashes. The silence stretched, an unnaturally long pause. Was she waiting for him to say something more? He cleared his throat. “So, when would you like to dispose of me, Lady Margaret?”
Well, perhaps he was one lady’s fool.
Charles swallowed and tugged at his collar. “Should I expect you on Monday? At the factory, that is. To w-work on the case.”Shut up, man!
“Indeed, Mr. Noble. I shall see you on Monday at half past two.” Grasping the wheels of her chair, Lady Margaret rotated toward the door as though to depart, but then halted. She lowered her voice confidentially. “Please forgive my presumption, but I do hope you will tend to your welfare and seek a doctor’s counsel. The glassy twinkle in your eyes and recurring feverish flush may well be symptoms of a seriousunderlying medical condition. It’s no business of mine, of course, but I know from experience the import of having matters of health tended to in a timely manner, so I felt the need to hazard rudeness by speaking up. There’s no shame in seeking help, Mr. Noble.”
Charles smiled. How could he not when Reverie was all sincerity? “Thank you most kindly for your concern, Lady Margaret. I shall take your advice into account.”
Seemingly satisfied, Lady Margaret nodded and took her leave.
Now it was Charles’ turn to blink. Had she truly misinterpreted his embarrassed blush as illness? Could it be Lady Margaret truly had no clue of the effect she had upon him? No notion of his attraction? Of the fact that she enchanted him, body and soul? The thought cooled his cheeks even as it raised a dangerous question. Was this reason for relief or regret that his growing feelings for Lady Margaret were as yet unperceived?
Chapter
19
May17, 1895
Back at D.O.G.S. headquarters in the privacy of Professor Quimby’s home office, Margaret peered through her blue monocle, reading over a written report for the Widow on the unexpected case developments at last night’s Bibliophile Ball. Namely, Mr. Noble’s becoming a sworn covert asset. Nodding approval of the document, she handed it back to the chief for immediate dispatch.
Professor Quimby blotted the covert missive’s invisible ink before rolling the paper into a tube and sealing it with blue wax imprinted with the Daughters of Genius Society seal. She then offered the message to Penny, the miniature poodle who waited patiently beside the desk. The chief issued a command in ancient Greek, and Penny rose onto her haunches, accepting the report between her tiny teeth like a passed baton. On dainty paws, the poodle pranced over to one of the wainscoted walls, which featured decorative medallions andreliefs that resembled Wedgwood Jasperware of frolicking Grecian women holding jars and garlands of flowers.
Against this wall, I.Q. the beagle awaited his orders. The chief gave a command in Latin, and I.Q. executed a practiced boop to one of the medallions, which depressed beneath the pressure of his little nose. One of the Grecian women’s jars tipped as though to pour out water, revealing it to be an escutcheon that concealed a pneumatic tube. Penny slid the covert report into the tube, and I.Q. booped the medallion a second time. The jar-shaped escutcheon swiveled back into place, and immediately, a whooshing within the walls signaled that the pneumatic tube transport system had activated, propelling the message to the Widow’s secret residence by means of compressed air and a partial vacuum. A technological marvel that predated Margaret’s joining the D.O.G.S., which she desperately hoped to be allowed to examine one day. A hope likely to remain unfulfilled as any study of the system would reveal the Widow’s undisclosed location.
Having fulfilled their orders, I.Q. and Penny received a well-deserved treat and pat on the head from Professor Quimby before assuming a protective stance, snouts toward the door. The chief clasped her hands atop the desk. “Now that’s done, let’s discuss next steps. While involving a covert asset isn’t preferable in most cases, I do believe Mr. Noble’s involvement in this particular case will be a boon. Moving forward, I expect you to be proactive about delegating tasks to him and your fellow inspectors whenever possible. I want you to be able to work this case, Inspector Kingsley, not have it work you into the ground. So, be forthright with me. How often do you think you can comfortably visit the Invention Factory to peruse their records?”
Margaret thought long and logically. “If I make my visits of a shorter duration, I believe I could comfortably go to Innovation Park every day without risking another physical crash.”Essentially, the teaspoons normally reserved for tinkering in her workshop would instead be used for conducting her investigation. “I could use the weekends to recuperate, as per my accustomed routine, and if it’s not too much trouble ... perhaps you could come to my home on Sunday afternoons to receive my reports? If it’s too much of a bother, I—”
A raised hand from the chief cut off her words. “If my coming to your home will enable you to conserve and utilize your energy on the more pressing matter of concluding this investigation, it’s no bother.”
After conveying her gratitude, Margaret exited the chief’s office, only to find the corridor occupied. Jane and Helena stood side by side, the former the epitome of stoicism while the latter resembled an overheated boiler with freckles. At their feet, Flopsy Cottontail busied herself cleaning her lop ears, as though to say she washed her paws of whatever was about to transpire.
Helena crossed her arms and arched a brow. “Well?”
Margaret mirrored her friend’s pose. “Well ... what?”
