Maddie Hatter and the Deadly Diamond by Jayne Barnard
Authors: Jayne Barnard
Tags: Steampunk
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suit. She would ask outright for a reassignment to a European city, and she knew just which one. As luncheon and gossip wound down and the residents dispersed for postprandial naps or brandies, she dropped her napkin onto her plate and stood.
Clarice rose too. “Miss Hatter, may I accompany you upstairs? I feel quite in need of a rest today.” They’d barely left the dining room before the girl brought up Sir Ambrose Peacock. “Is he still coming? Have you heard anything? We are booked to leave in two days! If I were to miss him here! I shall feign illness if I must, to delay our departure.”
“I’ve heard nothing of his impending arrival,” Maddie said. “All the aeronauts I’ve interviewed say his uncle is most likely to be found in England or France. He may well have seen fit to remain in that region.”
The girl drooped. “Thank you,” she said, and listlessly wandered off toward the ascender.
Maddie went straight to the message desk and printed out a fast telegraph form for CJ: Rqst immdt reassg 2 Vnc Itly. She handed it over and asked with some trepidation about incoming messages. There were none. The heavy hand of paternal ire had not fallen today, and would not, she hoped, until she could show Father evidence of the imposter and possibly a way to track the woman down.
She collected a British newspaper from a newly-printed stack on her way upstairs, on the scant chance that she had been credited for something, somewhere, on the many pages she had skimmed past at the brass monkey’s vest. Twenty minutes later, she crumpled the newspaper with both hands, threw it to the carpet, and stamped on it. TD’s little head tilted sideways to peer down at the sheet. The frowning face of a middle-aged woman glared up. Maddie stamped on it once more, but the screaming headline could not be eclipsed:
AMERICAN HEIRESS BADGERED
FOR BATTY BARON’S BILLS
Following the discovery of Baron Bodmin’s abandoned airship, the Jules Verne , his American investor is being urgently billed by London merchants who supplied the missing adventurer’s expedition. The total owed is estimated in the thousands of guineas. On being informed the baron had not paid his bills before departing England, the lady used a word unprintable and fled the reporters.
The only surviving child of the sole owner of the White Sky Line of trans-oceanic airships, Mrs. Midas-White is presently residing at Claridge’s Hotel, London. Merchants’ bailiffs are encamped on the street outside, with more arriving hourly. Foreign creditors are expected to join the throng. Merchants in Cairo claim the Midas-White name was pledged in Egypt for luxurious lodgings and lavish parties as well as outfitting the Jules Verne for desert travel.
How much the heiress had already advanced in support of Bodmin’s latest dream is unknown. A few inquiries would have shown the venturesome baron’s previous investors were long since soured by his unfruitful quests for legendary treasures.
“They only found Mrs. Midas-White because I told them who to seek,” Maddie seethed. “Merchants in Cairo indeed. I could be a brass monkey for all the advancement my investigations have wrought.” She stomped across the room and back, and jabbed a finger toward the crushed paper on the carpet. “It serves them right if she refuses to speak to any male reporters. For all her tight-gloved reputation, I bet the baron charmed her into parting with money, and she is crushed by this evidence of his betrayal. She might tell a sympathetic woman reporter a sad and cautionary tale. Oh, if I were in London today! I could get that interview.”
She was not in London, nor likely to be. CJ might approve her relocation to Venice but working in London, where the risk of being recognized as Lord Main-Bearing’s missing daughter was exceedingly high, was never in her future. No, she was in Cairo another few days at least, and had stories to file.
She spent the afternoon
Clarice rose too. “Miss Hatter, may I accompany you upstairs? I feel quite in need of a rest today.” They’d barely left the dining room before the girl brought up Sir Ambrose Peacock. “Is he still coming? Have you heard anything? We are booked to leave in two days! If I were to miss him here! I shall feign illness if I must, to delay our departure.”
“I’ve heard nothing of his impending arrival,” Maddie said. “All the aeronauts I’ve interviewed say his uncle is most likely to be found in England or France. He may well have seen fit to remain in that region.”
The girl drooped. “Thank you,” she said, and listlessly wandered off toward the ascender.
Maddie went straight to the message desk and printed out a fast telegraph form for CJ: Rqst immdt reassg 2 Vnc Itly. She handed it over and asked with some trepidation about incoming messages. There were none. The heavy hand of paternal ire had not fallen today, and would not, she hoped, until she could show Father evidence of the imposter and possibly a way to track the woman down.
She collected a British newspaper from a newly-printed stack on her way upstairs, on the scant chance that she had been credited for something, somewhere, on the many pages she had skimmed past at the brass monkey’s vest. Twenty minutes later, she crumpled the newspaper with both hands, threw it to the carpet, and stamped on it. TD’s little head tilted sideways to peer down at the sheet. The frowning face of a middle-aged woman glared up. Maddie stamped on it once more, but the screaming headline could not be eclipsed:
AMERICAN HEIRESS BADGERED
FOR BATTY BARON’S BILLS
Following the discovery of Baron Bodmin’s abandoned airship, the Jules Verne , his American investor is being urgently billed by London merchants who supplied the missing adventurer’s expedition. The total owed is estimated in the thousands of guineas. On being informed the baron had not paid his bills before departing England, the lady used a word unprintable and fled the reporters.
The only surviving child of the sole owner of the White Sky Line of trans-oceanic airships, Mrs. Midas-White is presently residing at Claridge’s Hotel, London. Merchants’ bailiffs are encamped on the street outside, with more arriving hourly. Foreign creditors are expected to join the throng. Merchants in Cairo claim the Midas-White name was pledged in Egypt for luxurious lodgings and lavish parties as well as outfitting the Jules Verne for desert travel.
How much the heiress had already advanced in support of Bodmin’s latest dream is unknown. A few inquiries would have shown the venturesome baron’s previous investors were long since soured by his unfruitful quests for legendary treasures.
“They only found Mrs. Midas-White because I told them who to seek,” Maddie seethed. “Merchants in Cairo indeed. I could be a brass monkey for all the advancement my investigations have wrought.” She stomped across the room and back, and jabbed a finger toward the crushed paper on the carpet. “It serves them right if she refuses to speak to any male reporters. For all her tight-gloved reputation, I bet the baron charmed her into parting with money, and she is crushed by this evidence of his betrayal. She might tell a sympathetic woman reporter a sad and cautionary tale. Oh, if I were in London today! I could get that interview.”
She was not in London, nor likely to be. CJ might approve her relocation to Venice but working in London, where the risk of being recognized as Lord Main-Bearing’s missing daughter was exceedingly high, was never in her future. No, she was in Cairo another few days at least, and had stories to file.
She spent the afternoon
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