Dawn's Early Light (13 page)

Wellington started. What a peculiar question. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, of course you do,” Edison remarked. “You Brits tend to do that a lot.”

Wellington cleared his throat, fighting a growing prickle underneath his skin. This was more than just an inspiration, but Edison was a pioneer of science. He was also coming across as a complete pillock. “Perhaps, Professor Edison, you can tell me a bit about this Shocker?” he asked, motioning to the automaton.

“A tiny bit, as I have an arrangement with the Pinks.” The flesh-and-bone bodyguard glared over his shoulder at Edison. The look did not go unnoticed. “Is there a problem?”

The mountain of a man looked him over from head to toe. “No, sir.”

“Didn't think so.” He returned his attention to Wellington and Felicity. “In exchange for their services while I tour, I designed these Shockers for the agency. An idea I have for robot soldiers. Not that you would know anything about what goes into such a concept.”

Wellington lifted his eyebrow. “I might surprise you, Professor.”

The inventor scoffed at first, but paused on a second look into Wellington's eyes. “Yes, well,” he stammered, “I designed these automatons around the Pink's motto.”

“We never sleep,” Felicity added.

“Exactly.” Edison chuckled, patting her on the head. “A perceptive one, you are. How delightful.”

Wellington reached his limit with the man's belittling. “Indeed she is. Perceptive as she is progressive. I, in fact, encourage and welcome a woman's presence in the scientific pursuits. We need more women in the sciences. Wouldn't you agree?”

Edison nodded. “I find it admirable to encourage dreams in others”—and he gave Felicity another condescending pat on her shoulder—“even ones as ridiculously lofty as this little lady dares to nurture. The young are so dreadfully unaware of the nature of the world they live in. Never mind—experience will be their teacher!”

That made Wellington and Felicity both blink. The librarian's tone this time was louder, but more with resolution and a hint of anger. “I was particularly fascinated by the ideas of transportation you believe electricity could lead to.”

“Were you now?” The inventor chortled. “And here I thought you would be more impressed with the breakthroughs in housekeeping. I think the ladies will be very excited by some of the inventions coming out of my lab. Less time in the kitchen and more time gossiping.”

His next masked insult was apparently to be directed to Wellington, but was cut short as a gentleman dressed smartly in colours of black and brown stepped up to Edison with no interference from the Pinkertons, gently took him by the arm, and muttered something in Edison's ear.

“Come again?” Edison snapped, loosing a rather cold stare on the man.

The man looked over Wellington and Felicity for a moment, shook his head, and talked into his ear. This time, while his words remained muffled, the man ended his message with the word
Currituck
.

Edison did not look pleased. At all. “Now?” he snapped.

“It cannot wait,” the gentleman insisted before slipping a small card into Edison's breast pocket.

As the gentleman gave his card another tap into Edison's pocket, the parlour's soft light gleamed off a silver ring. Wellington brought the drink up to his lips before turning back to the light display outside.

“I must away,” Wellington heard Edison grumble. He looked back at the inventor, who now held the card and was glaring at the stranger.

Wellington dismissed Edison's demeanour, and said, “I speak for my companion here when I say the brief time you have given us—”

“Of course it is,” he blurted, a curt nod ending his conversation with both of them.

“What a complete bombast!” Felicity snapped. If her sharp words had been uttered loud enough for him to hear, he did not react as he walked through the reception.

“He can afford to be, can't he?” returned the archivist, still watching Edison and his companions acknowledge patrons and supporters as they neared the exit. “Perhaps it is the price of genius.”

“Hardly,” Felicity muttered, slapping her fan hard into the palm of her hand. “Consider your own creation which got us here. It is quite as good as anything he has done, and yet I don't see you primping as Edison did.”

The famous inventor and his second slipped free of view, and that was when Wellington grabbed Felicity by the arm and pulled her out of the flow of chattering bon vivants.

“Excuse me?” Felicity squawked, just before Wellington yanked her down to a far side door. They both narrowly missed careening into a waiter, but Wellington twirled Felicity to one side, giving the servant just enough berth to pivot past them. “Whatever are you—”

“Just follow me!” Wellington hissed as they bobbed and weaved through the bustling kitchen staff.

Slipping through darkened hallways, the two eventually emerged into the Retreat's lobby, where he pushed Felicity back into the shadows and pressed a finger to his lips. The concierge was absent from his desk and the lobby itself empty, but only for a moment. From the other end of the foyer, he could hear Edison and his second, talking over wide strides across the receiving area.

“We have to . . .” But Wellington's words died away as Felicity was undoing her skirts, stepping out of them. For a moment he was struck dumb. Was he in the presence of the American counterpart of Miss Eliza D. Braun? Then he saw what she was about, and he let out a held-in breath. “You're wearing
trousers
under your skirts?”

“Blue jeans, if you must know,” she whispered back. “Bill insisted. He said I needed to be ready for anything out in the field.” She gave the form-fitting denim a quick rub and shrugged. “At least they are very comfortable.”

Wellington looked at his own evening wear, suddenly feeling completely out of place. The truth was, he was far too overdressed for this abrupt outing. Still, following in Eliza's wake had taught him some flexibility in unexpected situations. “Come along then.”

He cast a nervous glance to the lobby desk and then to the parlour. There was no one else in sight. They both remained crouching low, just able to peer from the bottom of the lobby doors' elaborate panes of glass. Through the prism created by the ornate window design, he could make out the two men descending the steps to an awaiting wagon. The Pinkertons were notably absent.

“Fortune favours the bold, yes?” Wellington asked.

“What?” Felicity asked distractedly, trying to keep her ornate hairstyle from coming undone following all their ducking and dodging through the resort.

“Just stay with me,” he urged while opening the door to the outside.

The wagon was rumbling away, which was exactly the reason why Edison and his attendant did not notice Wellington and Felicity running down the steps after them. Wellington feared his fitted trousers might split, but they eventually got close enough to catch the disappearing vehicle. Felicity was gasping, and holding her sides, which were fairly well corseted. The archivist took the hint, and grabbing her around the waist swung her up into the cart. While she slid under a tarp covering the cargo, he heaved himself in after her.

Wellington let out a great sigh of relief as he slipped in under the covers with her. It was more than a little warm and close under here. It could also be an awkward situation. He contemplated how much more so had Eliza been in Felicity's place. He made sure to keep his body as far away from hers as possible. “Well done, Felicity,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she replied. “If I had known tonight's evening involved running, I might have done without the corset. I am not making a complaint, mind you, but nevertheless, this series of events you have put into motion begs a question.”

“Why are we in the back of a wagon under an oilskin surrounded by—” And he took a moment to examine the barrels and crates at their feet. The words “Mineral Oil” were burned in the side of the barrels while the crates bore Edison's company logo, General Electric.

“Mineral oil probably means we're heading to the Currituck Lighthouse,” Felicity stated. She peeked out from under the cover to where Edison sat, and then slid back very close to Wellington. “There was talk that Edison was planning to electrify all the lighthouses along the eastern seaboard.” She jerked her head to indicate the General Electric crates. “But he was supposed to be starting this conversion farther north, and still hasn't received permission from the Department of Treasury to get started anyway.”

“Suffice to say,” Wellington observed drily, “Professor Edison does not always play by the rules.”

“And you do?” Felicity stared at him, her mouth pursed. “You still haven't informed me, exactly why are we following Edison?”

“Did you not notice the ring his attendant was wearing?” Wellington said, making no attempt to conceal his growing impatience.

Felicity's expression fell slightly. “Ah . . .”

He took a deep breath, drawing from the earlier sympathy he had for her, and hurriedly added, “His ring carries the crest of the House of Usher.”

In the dim light under the covers, he observed her slightly befuddled look resolve itself into understanding. “Oh.” Then she blinked again. “Oh!” The second exclamation was exceptionally loud.

Wellington winced, covered her mouth with his hand, while his own finger quickly came up to his lips. Both their eyes turned upwards, to peer through the tiny gap in the cover. Edison's head never swivelled about at all, his lack of hearing now suddenly a blessing. The Usher agent, though, was another matter entirely; he was looking left and right. He stared into the surrounding shadows for a few minutes, drew from his pipe, and then cracked the whip. Their cart lurched forwards again faster.

When Wellington's hand came away from her mouth, Felicity appeared on the verge of panic.

Two quick chirps and then a long, shrill whistle brought both their attentions back to the Usher agent. His call was answered by one chirp, a long whistle, and two more chirps. Wellington could just make out the head of a bearded gent walking alongside the wagon, and the barrel of the rifle he carried. The men tipped their hats to one another before they rumbled onwards.

He tapped Felicity on the arm gently and motioned with his hand to his foot. Slowly, he used it to lift the tarp a few inches. They could just make out the pale sands of the Carolinas and the dark horizon of the Atlantic. Between them, one lone gunman kept his watch. He became smaller and smaller, until their cart turned a bend and he was out of sight.

Wellington motioned for Felicity to follow his lead as he began to slide closer to the edge of the cart. He had pictured in his mind their egress from their stowaway voyage to be far more graceful than what it truly was.

The archivist managed to turn himself around with minimal disturbance to the tarp above them, but tumbled into the sands, his landing knocking the wind out of him. Felicity didn't fair any better; plopping onto the beach on her backsides. However, the sand managed to cushion, as well as muffle, their fall.

He went to stand and suddenly felt a jabbing pain in his hand. Adjusting his spectacles in the moonlight, Wellington noticed three small pods attached to his hand, two on his index finger and one in the heel. Bringing his hand closer to his face, he could just make out tiny thorns protruding from the seed's wall, pointing in all directions. The thorns weren't deep into his skin, but the ones that were not clinging on to him looked quite sharp.

“Sand spurs,” Felicity said, reaching around his hand to carefully pull one of the seeds free from his finger. “Welcome to the Outer Banks,” she chortled as she removed sand spur number two.

“How utterly—” Wellington winced when Felicity tugged on the last one in his palm heel. Apparently that had been where his hand had hit the hardest. “—charming.”

“You should consider yourself lucky you didn't land on one of the larger bushes.” She got her fingernail underneath it and pried it out of Wellington's palm, and the archivist marvelled at how the pod, instead of flying off into the darkness, had lodged itself just enough into Felicity's fingernail to remain there. “The seeds are more of a nuisance than anything. The actual plants are quite nasty.”

“I see.” Wellington stood, quickly inspected his person, and, finding himself absent of any unwanted beach dwellers, produced his pocket watch. “Right then, thirty minutes to midnight. Highly doubtful we will be meeting anyone else at this hour, apart from henchmen of a secret society, a dogged detective agency that is now employing automatons, and one of the greatest minds of science. Should make for interesting nocturnal company.”

As he crept further into the brush, he avoided dark shapes—fully grown sand spur plants. Wellington motioned with a free hand, but Felicity bumped into him anyway. He nearly ended up falling forwards into a rather large sand spur bush but a hard tug from behind wrenched the archivist back. Felicity's hold on his waistband was quite the iron grip, and it was enough for Wellington to right himself. He took in a long, deep, but quiet breath.

A “thank you” nearly left his lips, but Felicity turned the tables on Wellington as she slapped her hand across his mouth. This role reversal made him truly long for his proper partner, and he wondered exactly where she was at the moment. Perhaps she and Bill had returned from their investigation, and she was enjoying the king bed he had arranged for her.

Hopefully, yes.

Felicity was about to say something when her eyes grew wide. She turned Wellington's head to look to his left where he observed a long fence, and an approaching Shocker stomping along its length. They crouched even lower into the surrounding brush, but their concealment he knew was minimal at best.

Wellington shook free of Felicity and moved silently against the sand and brush, remaining low as he followed the length of the fence. The Shocker shuddered to an awkward halt, and its head made a complete, slow three hundred and sixty-degree turn from where it stood. Once the head locked back into place, the automaton stepped back, then to its right, then forwards, heading back in the direction it came.