Dragons & Dirigibles Read online

  Farnsworth nodded. “That poor child. I do wish he’d let me examine her again. She had a bit of a breakdown after her parents died and I’m concerned that she’s not recovering as she ought. Only to be expected, I suppose, after losing her parents that way.”

  Melody shrugged. “She seemed perfectly sane to me. Grieving still, naturally. Who wouldn’t after losing both parents so young?”

  He tucked his stethoscope into his bag. “It isn’t just the loss, it’s the method. The poor girl was in the carriage, you know. Some say it was she who pulled on the reins, just before she jumped clear.”

  “Did she tell you this, or is it just speculation?” Melody’s attraction to the doctor faded considerably. There was no need to gossip like this, especially to a virtual stranger. Something felt off.

  “I just wanted to warn you to be careful while you’re here. Just in case the child is dangerous. Her last two governesses have disappeared. I’d hate to see a young, lovely lady like you come to any harm.”

  Melody nodded, doing her best to keep her expression blank. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll certainly keep my doors locked and Birch by my side. Your concern is most appreciated.”

  “You’re most welcome, my dear. I have to admit, I’d feel more comfortable with you located in the village rather than out here. In fact, you’d be more than welcome to stay with my sister and myself. It would be a much more pleasant place to recover, I promise.” He smiled again, this time in a warm, even suggestive, manner. “I do hope I’ll have a chance to get to know you during your enforced rustication. You’re quite the sensation here in our little corner of the country.”

  “I’ll imagine I am.” She held up her arms in their ugly quilted covering. “Thank you, Doctor. I’m waiting to hear from my employer about how he’d like me to proceed. At the very least, I’m hoping he’ll send along a suitcase.”

  “I understand. Try to keep the foot elevated, and use the crutches only when you absolutely must. No going up and down stairs.” After a raft of further instructions and another, rather more lingering kiss on the hand, he took his leave.

  Absently, Melody scrubbed the back of her hand against the coverlet. She wasn’t used to being fawned over, and while it was nice to be noticed by a handsome man, it left her a little perplexed. There was a mirror over the washstand. She knew how frumpy she looked in her borrowed nightclothes, and her hair was in desperate need of a wash. What could he possibly see in her? “Maybe there simply aren’t that many women in this rugged little patch of coastline,” she muttered as she wiggled around to get comfortable and picked up one of the novels her host had left behind. The title made her laugh. “Frankenstein. Perfect for someone trapped in a grim cliffside manor.” She leaned back against the pillows and began to read.

  “Miss, it’s your dog—he’s sick.” About two chapters later, Alec came barreling into Melody’s room. “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

  Melody sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”

  Loud footsteps thudded on the floor of the corridor, as Mr. Hatch, the butler, led a rather shaky Birch into the room, Emma close at his heels. “I think he’ll be fine,” the older man said. “Just got a little something into his stomach that didn’t sit well. Seems to have stopped bringing things back up now. What’d he eat this morning, young Bates?”

  Alec wrinkled his nose. “Some meat in the kitchen. And a bowl of porridge. Cook didn’t want it to go to waste.”

  Hatch shrugged. “’Haps the milk was spoiled. Or he found an animal out in the field. He starts to seem sick again, send one of the youngsters for help.” He helped Birch up onto the foot of the bed.

  “Thank you for bringing him to me.” Melody bent over to scratch Birch, who whined and thumped his tail in response. She held her ear to his chest. “His breathing seems good. His heart is beating a little faster than usual.” Growing up with a would-be doctor for a sister, Melody had watched Genny “practice” on all the family pets.

  Birch yawned and plopped his head down on the bed, his eyes still bright and watchful.

  “By the way, Mr. Hatch,” Melody said. “Lady Emma here told me something interesting. Did you know this house was once on the teletext line?”

  His sharp gaze turned to the child. “That true, milady?”

  Emma nodded, repeating what she’d told Melody earlier.

  Hatch tipped a nonexistent hat as he left.

  Melody looked at Birch. What had happened to make him ill? Instead of a gothic romance, had she stumbled into a murder mystery instead? She could almost hear thunder booming as some villain twirled a mustache and a sense of foreboding crawled over her skin.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, we have a teletext cable?” Victor ran a hand through his hair—it needed a trim—and scowled at Barnaby. “Why the hell haven’t we been using it?”

  Barnaby lifted an eyebrow in silent rebuke. “As Lady Emma told our guest, the cable does exist. Apparently your brother, the previous earl—”

  Victor ignored the visual scolding. “I know perfectly well who my brother was. What’s going on with the cable?”

  Barnaby remained unflustered. “It seems he had it disconnected. Gossip belowstairs says he was afraid his wife was texting a lover. After a particularly violent argument, he physically yanked the cable from the wall and threw the text machine off the cliff.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Dick. He was never volatile as a boy.” A little adventurous perhaps, but not violent. He brushed that aside—other things had changed too—like Richard drinking and gambling away half the estate. “Can we get a new machine?”

  “I’ve already sent to Plymouth for one. And put in a request to be upgraded to telephone, like you asked.” Barnaby snorted, as if insulted by the suggestion that he hadn’t followed through.

  “Good.” Victor gritted his teeth. “And the advertisement for a new governess?”

  “Already sent.”

  “Fine. Why don’t you go take a look at the wreckage? I’m going for a walk down on the beach. Somewhere down there is the damn smuggler’s hole. Sooner or later, we’re going to find it.”

  “May I make a suggestion, Captain?”

  When had Barnaby learned to sound like a stuffy English butler? Victor raised an eyebrow, mimicking the older man’s new mannerisms.

  “You may wish to take the large dog with you. I presume a run on the beach would be good for the creature, after his misadventures this morning. And his nose may give us information our own senses don’t.” Then Barnaby scratched his head and the impression of proper butlerhood vanished.

  “Good idea.” Whatever the woman’s leanings, the dog seemed well-mannered enough. Victor didn’t think the animal would be a problem on a ramble, even if they did run into smugglers. In fact, he rather hoped they did. After all the rubbish he’d dealt with since coming home, a good old-fashioned brawl would be just the thing.

  He sent the stable boy up to get the dog, not wanting to chance another encounter with Miss MacKay. When the lad returned, he asked if he might tag along. “Just to make sure he isn’t sick again.”

  “Don’t you have work you should be doing?” The boy followed him out through the kitchen garden.

  “No, milord. I’m done for the afternoon.” He kicked a pebble off the garden path. “All I had left to do was walk Birch.”

  Victor shrugged and slowed his steps. “Aren’t you afraid of me, Mr. Bates?” Most of the servants were, and Victor still hadn’t figured out why, even with Barnaby’s superior snooping skills belowstairs.

  Alec shook his head. “No, my lord.”

  “And why is that?”

  The boy stuck his hands in his pockets. “I dunno. You’re nice to the dog. Seems like you’re a decent sort, I guess.”

  “Not a bad way to judge a man’s character,” Victor mused. “Lived here at Black Heath all your life?” He struggled to remember anyone in the house or village by that name.

  The boy sh
ook his head. “Mum came here after me da died. He were a fisherman from down by Plymouth.”

  “I’m sorry. How long have you been here?” Victor lifted his face into the breeze as they trod the path down the side of the cliff, the deerhound sniffing ahead of them, tail waving like a flag. The salty scent of the sea in his nostrils soothed him, like a good ale on a cold night.

  Alec shrugged again. “A year, mebbe. Not long.” That was the end of the conversation, it seemed, as the lad darted off to pick up a flat stone and skip it out over the waves.

  What the hell? Victor let the dog off his lead and picked a skipping stone of his own. The two humans competed in silence, but Victor saw the lad copying his moves. It was no different, he told himself, than helping a new cabin boy get acclimated to seaboard life. Alec and his mother were part of his staff, therefore Victor’s responsibility. Like it or not, he’d traded his command for an even larger crew. He’d look for the smuggler’s hole another time when he was alone.

  A loud bark startled him out of his thoughts and he turned to find Birch pawing at a pile of something on the rocks at the shoreline, perhaps fifty yards farther on. The dog whined and barked over at Victor. Alec dropped his rock and ran, so Victor strode behind him.

  “Probably just a dead seabird or fish,” Victor said. “Better get him back on the lead before he rolls in it.” None of his staff would be happy about bathing the giant beast.

  Alec stopped and picked up the lead, which gave Victor time to reach the dog first. He grabbed the beast’s collar and tugged, looking down to see what had caught its attention.

  Not a fish. Victor swallowed hard. Not a bird either. “Alec, toss me the lead. Then run up to the house and send down Mr. Hatch, please.” He clipped out the order in the same manner he would have on board his ship, brooking no room for disagreement. “Now.” Alec obeyed.

  When the boy was partway up the path, Victor let go of the lead and hauled the body all the way onto the beach. Slowly, a face was revealed.

  “Who are you?” Victor muttered. The face was bashed in and covered with bruises, the deep brown eyes glazed and vacant. The man’s complexion seemed to be the deepest brown of polished walnut, overlain with a short beard, a crust of salt and the dullness of death. There was little decay, so he probably hadn’t been dead long, though Victor was no expert on such matters.

  He did know that he’d never met the man before, though he’d encountered sailors from all over the world. Even in the Queen’s navy there were men from Jamaica or South Africa with similar features and coloring, but Victor had a knack for remembering faces.

  “Where did you come from, my friend?” Had he been washed up from a boat or fallen off a cliff? His clothes were little more than rags and had probably been so before he’d gone into the water. There were no buttons or ornaments to be seen. His feet were bare and he bore no remnant of coat, waistcoat or tie. At a guess, he was a low-level sailor or plantation worker from somewhere. So why had he washed up on Victor’s beach? And what did he have to do with the smugglers?

  When Barnaby arrived, they quickly decided that hiding the body would serve no purpose. Instead, Victor himself would take the corpse to town and see to a decent burial, watching to see if any of the villagers showed signs of recognition. It would be easier to move the man by boat, rather than hauling the corpse up the cliff to a wagon, so while Barnaby went for the dinghy, Victor finished examining the body.

  Whoever this man was, he hadn’t drowned or died by falling. The bullet hole in his chest was too perfectly centered, and the man’s entire shirtfront was the dark reddish-brown of dried blood. Victor didn’t have any actual evidence, but in his gut, he knew who was responsible. Apparently the smugglers had no particular aversion to murder.

  Chapter Four

  “Did you hear, Miss MacKay? Uncle Victor found a dead body down on the beach.” Emma bounced on the bed, sending spikes of pain through Melody’s ankle. “Nobody knows who it is, but Uncle thinks it’s one of the smugglers.”

  Melody rescued her supper tray just in time to avoid Emma toppling what was left in the teapot. Once she had the dishes safely on the bedside table, she turned back to her new friend. “Sit still, Emma.” Finally, Emma settled at the foot of the bed, with Birch’s head in her lap. “How do you know what your uncle thinks?”

  Emma shrugged. “I listen. No one takes much notice of me, so it’s easy to hear what everyone is saying.”

  “You know that’s not polite, don’t you?” Melody fought back a grin. She’d done the same thing as a child. Being smaller and quieter than her two boisterous red-haired siblings, it had been easy for her to blend in with the background, as it were, and go unnoticed.

  “I know.” Emma sighed. “But how else am I supposed to know? Nobody ever tells me anything.” She leaned her head down on top of Birch’s.

  Melody nodded in sympathy. “I understand. It’s hard when others don’t think you’re old enough to comprehend things. But you have to remember that sometimes people have secrets for a reason. It’s important to respect people’s privacy.”

  “Like when Mama and Papa used to fight.” Emma’s voice was muffled by fur. “I hated overhearing that.”

  “Of course you did.” Melody shifted to rub the girl’s back. “But everyone has arguments from time to time. I’m sure they didn’t mean anything. The important part is to remember that they loved you and you loved them.”

  “Did they? Mama was always too busy for me.” She gave Melody a wistful smile. “Papa was fun when I was little. He used to play with me in the secret passages and take me sailing and read books to me, books my governesses didn’t like. Then he started being angry all the time.”

  “I’m sure they both loved you very much, just like your uncle does. Now, what time are you supposed to be in bed, young miss?” Melody had no idea if what she’d just said was true, but it seemed like the right thing to say. For all her brave words about experience with children, she didn’t have any with ten-year-old girls, other than having been one once herself.

  “Now.” Emma grimaced. “I snuck out again, after Mrs. Bates tucked me in.”

  “So Mrs. Bates has been assigned to the nursery?” From what Melody had seen, that was a good choice, at least until a new governess could be found.

  Emma shrugged. “I suppose. She brought my supper and made sure I took a bath.”

  “Oh? And did she put you in a nightgown that was streaked with cobwebs?” Melody brushed one out of the girl’s hair. “Where have you been crawling about since you were supposedly put to bed?”

  “Nowhere.” Emma wrinkled her nose. “I just came down to make sure you didn’t need anything. I am your hostess, after all.”

  “Yes, you are.” Melody laughed but then turned a serious look on Emma. “And it’s very bad manners to lie to a guest. You weren’t outside, were you? You know how dangerous that can be.” Especially for a child caught snooping, if there really were smugglers about.

  Emma turned serious too, as if she’d come to the same realization. What a bright little girl. “No. Just the kitchen, then here.”

  “And you walked through the halls like that? Didn’t anyone stop you?” Honestly, Lord Blackwell really needed to do something about the attentiveness of his staff.

  “Not exactly.” A grimace passed across Emma’s expressive face.

  “I imagine she came in through the secret passages that riddle this old place.” The deep voice was laced with amusement and resignation.

  Melody turned to see her host standing in the doorway. How much had he heard? And how badly was he going to punish his niece?

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Am I right, Emma?”

  She hung her head. “Yes, Uncle Victor.”

  He eased into the room. “Weren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” The words came out on a long-suffering sigh.

  “Do you want Mrs. Bates to get in trouble for failing in her task?”

  Emma gaspe
d. “You wouldn’t. Would you?”

  The earl sighed. “Not this time. But next time, think about the effects of your behavior on others, as well as on yourself.”

  “Yes, Uncle.” Tears glistened on Emma’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Confusion and affection warred in his expression as he reached out and tousled her hair. “Now run along. I’d like to talk to your new friend for a few moments. You’d better be tucked up in bed when I get there. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” She hugged Birch and then Melody before scampering from the room, this time through the main doorway.

  Without asking, Blackwell slid down into the chair across from the bed. “I hope she didn’t disturb you?” His voice was rough and his cheeks hollowed. Dark shadows bloomed under his eyes.

  “No.” Melody shook her head. “She’s actually been very good company. I’m not used to being confined, so I’ve appreciated seeing a friendly face throughout the day.”

  He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Thank you for warning her to stay indoors. It terrifies me to think what would happen if she chanced on the smugglers.”

  Melody nodded. “The same thought occurred to me. She’s so bright and inquisitive that it could easily lead her into trouble.”

  “Exactly.” He grimaced. “I wish I could find a decent governess, but so far I’ve had no luck at all.”

  “What happened to the one before Mrs. Cranston?” This was her chance to see if the doctor’s hints had any basis in fact.

  He wrinkled his nose. “Frogs in her bed. Then the next night, a spider in her tea. She stormed off, threatening lawsuits.”

  Ah. So she hadn’t just disappeared. Perhaps the details just hadn’t reached the village. Melody let herself chuckle at the vision his story conjured.

  “The one before that believed the house was haunted and took off on foot at daybreak. Strange sounds in the night. Her things moved about. Tapping from inside the walls. I don’t know why I didn’t think of the passages earlier. Obviously Emma was using them to pull her pranks. I don’t know what happened to the governess she had before I came home. When I got here, she divided her time between running wild and staring silently out a window.”