The Hidden Man: A Phineas Starblower Adventure (Phineas Starblower Adventures) Read online

  The barest trace of a smile tickled the corners of Lovelace’s mouth. “Sir, as far as I know I have never met your esteemed father, I believe he is Mr. Morcombe’s client. I am only aware of my own client’s urgent need of an airship captain and the reasons for that.”

  Jerard nodded at the man’s non-answer and let himself out. He had things to do and a bill to settle at the Broken Piston.

  Lovelace sat back down in his chair hoping he had done the right thing. It was always like this when his instincts kicked in; he had followed them for decades and they had never led him wrong. Drinks at the club with Morcombe tonight would be a sort of celebration; it was not often that two birds could be killed so efficiently with one stone.

  Late Afternoon

  A Gentleman’s Club

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  “Letter for you Sir.” Intoned the starkly dressed footman.

  The seated gentleman uncrossed his legs and set down the newspaper he had been reading. Without a word he picked up the white envelope offered to him on the silver platter. With a stiff nod the footman retired to his station. The gentleman watched him go before he opened the envelope and extracted the note.

  Dear Marquise,

  I am pleased to say we all found work just as planned. After a bit of a scene there was exactly the correct number of openings. Serpentines’ ‘references’ were just what the Doctor ordered. Granite has found a berth easily as if born to the position.

  Glad to know the fishing trip is underway. The papers have been reporting all of the excitement.

  We’re looking forward to getting away from things here but at this point our departure date is yet to be determined. Though I can’t say I relish the idea of the long trip northwards I do look forward to a change of scenery. The herring market is still the place to meet, yes?

  Jade

  Pleased with the news, the gentleman reached past his brandy glass and picked up the notepad from the small table beside him.

  Dear Jade,

  This is good news! I’m so glad you are all settling in, oh and don’t worry about the trip from Aberdeen that's all taken care of. As you have your new work to attend to, you just follow the route we spoke of before. The herring market will do unless a more scenic location suggests itself later.

  I should tell you I had a bit of trouble with a Shopkeeper in Scotland. His interference was outrageous! I must admit his deplorable behavior made me so angry I had to leave early but we’ll have our holiday nonetheless. Watch out for him if you happen to stop in Scotland, I believe his name was Carstares. Too clever for his own good!

  Look me up again when you are able. Though I suppose you’ll have to slip in a message between your new duties now. C'est la vie!

  Marquise

  The gentleman raised a finger to summon the footman who appeared at his side instantly. “I wish to have a reply posted. I shall require an envelope.”

  The footman bowed and left to do the foreign gentleman’s bidding.

  Chapter Two

  11th June 1870

  7:00 am Airship Hangar,

  Mudchute Park,

  Isle of Dogs, London

  Jerard enjoyed the ride out to the Isle of Dogs. The horseless carriage was smoother than most. Its steam powered engine produced a nearly hypnotic rhythm with none of usual clanking and hissing he had experienced in other vehicles of this nature. Watching the soft darkness give way to the clear, cool dawn seemed hugely symbolic to Jerard who had a chuckle at this oddly romantic notion. Especially since captaining an airship was definitely not romantic. It involved a lot of work and a lot of responsibility and Jerard's fancy was giving way to uneasy feelings.

  He had spent a sleepless night contemplating his new position. Would leadership be the same? Were orders given the same and direction taken, be the same? When he was in charge of his ship in the military he always knew exactly where he stood, but where does one stand with an employer? It had occurred to him that for the first time in his life Jerard was an employee and he just did not understand how an employee was to act.

  He also wondered about Miss Smythe-Harris. How likely was she to be involved with the flying of the ship? Probably not much he conceded; women were not really suited to that kind of thing. Which brought him around to the question of how did that little slip of a woman achieve such an important position as Mr. Starblower’s secretary? Young Lovelace had warned him not to underestimate her but then again Lovelace had completely misdirected him about Smythe-Harris’ nature to begin with. He tried desperately to match up Miss Smythe-Harris’ physical description with someone who had authority. She was fine boned and unfashionably slim, more handsome really than what he would call pretty. Perhaps it was the auburn hair? Red-heads were reputed to be of a fiery temperament; however Phillips had not found that to be true in the males he had met. No, the only thing he could really recall about Miss Smythe-Harris was the fact that she seemed angry for no apparent reason. Oh, and what Lovelace the senior had said about her being grumpy when things did not go her way. That was a very curious thing to say, he mused.

  Jerard found his arrival at the airship’s hangar to be rather anti-climatic. It was located near the center the famous Mudchute Farm Park. Although, he thought, god only knows why this patch of grass and mud was famous. The building looked rather like any other military airship hangar; a huge ugly gray metal rectangle set down in the middle of the field. Well at least the grass is neatly cut he noted, that’s quite proper and military.

  There did not appear to be anyone moving about the huge building and the hangar doors were closed. The silence was unnerving, Jerard felt like he should have heard something other than the soft chug of the carriage’s engine. The closed doors were also a disappointment; he had been so looking forward to getting a look at the ship. He slowly stepped down out of the vehicle, still searching for some signs of life other than the sheep he could see grazing in the distance. The driver startled him by suddenly appearing in his line of sight and handing him his bag. Jerard took the bag returning the driver’s “Good Day” and watched him drive off.

  The nasty thought that this was all too good to be true, rose up again like some kind of wicked specter. He had just been set down in the middle of nowhere with not a soul in site. Soul in site, Jerard chuckled, good pun old man. But the amusement died in the wake of darker thoughts. Where was the crew, should they not be lined up to greet him? Where were the hangar workers? He understood they were scheduled to leave soon. Where was the ship? Maneuvering one out of a hanger could take a bit of time. And then the darkest thought of all: What if this is not really an airship, what if he was to be the captain of a cursed balloon? All of Jerard Phillips’ hope, built up in the last eleven hours died a horrible death and he thought about gin.

  Jerard handled the despair by allowing his anger to build. It was, after all, much easier to deal with and so much more familiar; the conscious decision to be angry allowed Jerard to put down thoughts of alcohol and regain some control. Gritting his teeth, he hefted the bag and walked toward the smaller pedestrian door. Three forceful steps later he heard the familiar rattle of pulley and chain. Realizing the sound had come from the other side of the large hangar doors he stopped and waited for his first glimpse of the ship or balloon or whatever was inside. And he waited, and he waited, hm…I must have mistaken the sound he thought and took another step forward.

  A moment later there was a slight hiss of steam and the pedestrian door seemed to glide open completely unassisted. Phillips took several more hesitant steps forward and peered inside the hangar. Who opened the door? Another step brought him fully inside and as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer interior light, he got his first glimpse of the Soul of Discretion.

  Her huge silver gray body rose up into the hangar like a graceful ghost. He noted her nose cone was painted a dark color, a dark green maybe and there was some kind of brass decorations there. The gondola, now resting completely on the floor was definitely a dark green as were the tail
fins; both also sported the graceful swirling brass fittings. From Jerard’s vantage point he could not exactly make out what was painted on the upper tail fin but it looked like the top half of a silvery-white Pegasus. The irony of the image of a flying horse painted on an airship was not lost on him and he grinned in approval.

  “She’s beautiful!” He gasped out loud. “Nearly twice the size of my old Vickers 234!” His excitement rose as he dropped the bag and began to walk around this magnificent vessel. Thoughts and questions ran through his head faster than he could really acknowledge them; She’s new. What’s her top speed? What’s her top altitude? Look at those three strange glass fittings? What are they for? Hm, here is another of them, For the love of god, she has five propellers! That fifth looks out of place? More than one engine? Two? Three?? There on the tail fin--it IS a Pegasus! For God and England! There are union jacks painted on the side fins! Oh my!

  By the time Jerard had completed his breathless circle of the magnificent airship he realized that the gondola doors were open and he could see human movement. Now for the difficult part he thought grimly; the crew, no, MY crew he corrected himself. Jerard Phillips schooled his face into as neutral an expression as he could manage. He found it difficult as the excitement of seeing such a magnificent ship still buzzed through his brain. Never the less with a tug at his jacket and a noticeable straightening of the spine he strode purposefully forward.

  “Welcome aboard the Soul of Discretion Captain Phillips!”

  Jerard looked at the man before him as he stepped through the gondola’s portal. He was perhaps forty five Phillips guessed, well manicured with a tightly curled black and grey beard shrouding the lower half of his face. The military styled uniform was a nice touch he thought. The very dark green, nearly black, trousers and long jacket had a modest amount of gold piping on the leg and sleeve cuffs. Matching gold buttons marched down the front of the double breasted jacket. Pressed firmly down on the man’s head was a peaked cap of the same color that sported a gold badge in the shape of a rearing Pegasus like the one Jerard has seen on the ship’s tail fin. Whom ever had chosen this uniform had demonstrated a pleasing restraint in the use of trimming. While granting a nod to fashion with the use of the new Windsor knot to tie the subtly striped green, gold and white tie. A crisp white shirt and comfortable looking highly polished black shoes completed the ensemble. Jerard found himself nodding in approval although god only knew what the shoulder flash insignia meant but hopefully this smiling chap would explain soon enough.

  “Glad to be aboard, Sir” Jerard replied, automatically accepting the man’s outstretched hand of welcome. Jerard searched the officer’s face for any signs of contempt. Hmm, either this fellow has not yet heard of my reputation or doesn’t care. Time would tell. But for now I will accept his smile as genuine.

  Jerard’s eyes moved across the ante-chamber to the rank of the ship’s crew assembled two deep. Officers in front and what he assumed were the simple crewmen behind. His eyes continued their circuit of the space. This was definitely the most elegant boarding chamber Jerard had ever seen. The walls were painted the now familiar dark green. Several line drawings of different airships framed in a light wood were scattered tastefully along the panels.

  “Is this everyone present then Mr.... err..?” He let the question hang in the air a moment to prompt the fellow to begin the introductions.

  “Nichols Sir, Lance Nichols, Senior Engineer for the Discretion. Junior engineers Wright and Dortsmorn are still undertaking repairs aft Sir, all the senior officers and the rest of the crew are here as you see, Sir”

  “Very good Mr. Nichols” He acknowledged. A part of Phillips’ mind approved of the ship's repairs being continued and not interrupted by the ceremony of his formal coming aboard. Another part of him disagreed and wished the whole crew had been assembled, if only to get the inevitable over with. How many of these stoic looking faces were secretly looking down on him he wondered? Squaring his shoulders he stepped decisively towards the first in line and looked coolly into the man's eyes, one eyebrow arched in mute question.

  “Pruette Sir. Archibald Pruette, Navigation.”

  Jerard studied his face but the man was a blank slate, nothing of his emotions escaped those cool gray eyes framed by wire rimmed spectacles. His uniform was spotless and virtually uncreased, marking him a stickler for detail. A good trait in a navigator perhaps, but something about the man set Jerard a little on edge. I wonder if he plays cards? With a mien like that, you’d never know his hand, Jerard speculated ruefully.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Pruette.” Jerard saluted the officer and moved on to the next in line.

  This gentleman was not caparisoned in the dark green flight uniform of the airship. Instead an immaculately tailored dark dinner jacket stretched itself about his broad frame. “Jon Howell Sir, Chief Steward of the Discretion. Directly behind me are my staff Mr. Phelps and Mr. Tanner.”

  “Ah, a pleasure Mr. Howell.” Phillips said, taking Howell’s proffered hand and nodding his acknowledgment to the under stewards clustered behind their supervisor.

  Howell continued. “In addition to my regular duties I supervise the cargo loading of the Discretion if we are about to go on one of Mr. Starblower’s expeditions. If you need something Captain, I expect I can find it for you…someplace.” He said with a quick wink.

  “I’ll bear that in mind my good Sir.” Phillips replied wondering exactly what the deuce the man meant.

  Nichols introduced the next man as Jerard broke his handshake with the ebullient Howell. “My second Sir, Mr. D'Arcey”

  Jerard saluted the thin faced man automatically, and was gratified to see the gesture returned smartly and with precision.

  “Honored to serve with you Captain,” the man stated warmly, his English was good but he was not quite able to mask the continental accent.

  “You are a former military man I’d guess Mr. D'Arcey.” Phillips commented taking in the textbook parade stance of the second engineer.

  “Oui, Captain. I served two years in the Imperial Aerial Scouts based out of Boulogne.”

  A Frenchman? Phillips wondered, good heavens what next? Out loud he simply commented, “Really? I know of them, what made you leave the Imperial French army, if I may inquire Sir?”

  “Alas, I was impolitic enough to admit that I did not care for some of ‘iz Highness's directives. It seemed my momentary lapse was an excellent way for my fellow officer to gain a promotion at the expense of my career. In short, I thought it best to take an extended leave from my beloved France, for my ‘ealth Sir, you understand...”

  Phillips certainly could understand. He knew first hand how politics and prejudices could blind the officer corps to the quality of their own men. So despite the man being unashamedly French he felt a twinge of empathy with him. “Damned shame Mr. D'Arcey, my sympathies. Let us hope this crew will be a new and favorable fresh start for us all.”

  The young man next in line of the officers was visibly nervous to Jerard’s practiced eye, but his voice was clear and his salute passable. “Wallace Sir, William H.; ship’s Pilot” The man said managing to look Phillips directly in the eye as he did so.

  Listening to the burr in the man’s voice Phillips replied. “Good to meet you Mr. Wallace. What part of Scotland do you hail from Sir?”

  “Lothian Sir, me family’s lived in Linlithgow for as long as we canna figure.”

  “Is that anywhere near Mr. Starblower’s estate then Mr. Wallace?”

  “No Sir that’s t’ tha west nearer t’ Glasgow.”

  “I see, how did you come to fly an airship then Mr. Wallace?” Phillips was curious as to how such an apparently young man came to be in such a key position.

  “Well Sir I be from a nautical-like family. Was raised up on me Da’s fish’n boat an learned t’ pilot ‘bout the time I was outta short pants. I done well in me studies and earned a scholarship to Edinburgh University.

  I studied the theories of Aeronautics there
Sir, top o’ me class. An only one o’ four students given access t’ the University’s research blimp. From there I was offered a job at Beardmore’s factory as assistant pilot. Mr. Starblower offered me a position shortly after he purchased the Discretion from them Sir.”

  “Indeed? So Beardmore & Co. were not upset at losing a promising pilot then.”

  “I think Mr. Starblower made the supply o’ a trained pilot part o’ his purchase order Sir.” Wallace admitted a little sheepishly. “But it’s been a good experience for me as I’ve seen a lot more o’ the world in these few months than ever I would ‘ave waiting me turn as test pilot.”

  “Very Good Mr. Wallace. We’ll talk more later.” Jerard concluded with a nod to the energetic younger man. I like him, Jerard thought, although he was holding further opinion until he could see the youth at the helm.

  Stepping along the line, this time Jerard spoke first. “How do you do Sir?” He offered as introduction.

  “Very well Sir, thank you. I am Aneurin Jones, assistant navigator Sir” The man replied in a clear voice.

  “Good to meet you Mr. Jones. Is Mr. Pruette a demanding taskmaster?” Jerard half teased. A part of him was curious to see how they both reacted to this, and he chanced a look back at Pruette.

  “Firm but fair Sir, he is exacting, but there’s no place for careless in navigation Sir.” Obviously, Jones had opted to play it safe and by the book, his reply was prompt and as expressionless as possible.

  “Very true Mr. Jones. Our journeys depend on your diligence after all. Carry on Sir.” Phillips concluded as he stepped up to the last in the front line of senior crew.

  This man was obviously not of British descent, his skin was a clear olive tone and his clean shaven cheeks had the faintest shadow of beard. “Greeting Captain, I am Paulo Vinnetti, Chef and Provisioner. And this Sir, is my assistant Donald McPherson behind me.”