The Zeppelin Deception, page 27
He nodded.
Mother continued. “Suffice to say that whilst Irene has done her duty to her own nation as well as lending her assistance to the Crown here in England, I’ve also been involved. That is how Sir Mycroft and I came to be Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.” She gave my father a brief smile, then turned to me. There was something in her eyes that told me there was more to the story. And a silent assurance that she would tell me later.
“To put it bluntly, Oligary built his business illegally, and continued to grow it via illegal means,” said my father. “Smuggling, counterfeiting money, and other illicit trades that need not be described for—er—the delicate ears of young—”
“Oh, bloody hell, Myc, the girls have nearly died over the last year—not to mention seen and experienced more than most men. I would venture to say their ears—and the rest of them—can hardly be described as delicate.”
I stifled a delighted gasp at my mother’s blunt words and exchanged looks with Evaline, who appeared ready to burst into applause at any moment. Grayling shifted next to me, and I glanced at him to see his mouth quirking in a smile of what I hoped was agreement and not shock.
Sir Mycroft gave Mother a look of censure, but continued. “Without going into details, we—the Home Office and our Imperial Security Department—have been aware of Emmett Oligary’s criminal tendencies for two decades. But it’s been impossible to prove. Still, we’ve had him under our surveillance and have been gathering evidence in order to build a case.”
“But twenty years?” I said again. It seemed like a very long time.
“As Sir Mycroft said, Emmett was very, very careful. And Isabella took advantage of her friendship with him and knowledge of his less-than-legal means of doing business as she began to develop her plans to disrupt the relationship with Betrovia.”
“The relationship between England and Betrovia, as you are aware, has not been very friendly over the last fifty years,” said Sir Mycroft. “Since the last state visit—aside from the recent one with Princess Lurelia—”
“Which also ended badly by her disappearing,” Miss Adler said. “And taking up with Isabella in her persona as the Ankh.”
“Indeed,” Sir Mycroft continued. “In short, and without going into too many confidential details—national security matters, you understand—Isabella Cosgrove-Pitt was determined to disrupt the relationship even further in order to promote Betrovia’s strength over our fair England’s. She had been feeding national secrets, gleaned from her husband, back to the Betrovians for at least the last three years.”
“Not to mention trying to raise an Egyptian goddess and use her powers to acquire immortality,” I said dryly.
“Yes, well,” Sir Mycroft said, “while that was certainly a bold and dangerous thing to do, it wasn’t as much of a threat as when she began controlling her husband Belmont and attempting to utterly destroy relations with Betrovia on a national level. With her chess table shenanigans and luring Lurelia to her side, she nearly brought us to the brink of war.”
“That was her intention,” I said. “She told us that was the case, and in fact she has been developing a very dangerous, far-reaching weapon that would have destroyed all of London.”
Sir Mycroft’s eyes bulged a little, and I wasn’t entirely certain whether it was because I’d interrupted him, spoken at all, or given him information he didn’t have. “Yes. Right, then, Alvermina.”
“I can only assume the concerns over our relationship with Betrovia are the reason you were out of the country secretly this past week,” I said, silently adding when I needed you to keep me out of jail.
He speared me with his eyes. “And how did you know about that? It was supposed to be a state secret.”
I lifted my chin and looked at him. Delicate ears, my eye!
“This is all much too confusing,” Evaline complained. “I have some questions, and if you keep bogging us down with all of these international details, it’ll be next week before I get the answers.”
“All right, then. What do you want to know, Evaline?” Mother asked.
“I want to know how you managed to be under Isabella Cosgrove-Pitt’s nose for two years, in her house, without her knowing!”
Mother smiled. “A lady like Isabella Cosgrove-Pitt never notices her servants. Especially the chambermaids and scullery maids. She hardly looked at me on the rare occasion we were in the same room, and I took care to ensure she didn’t get a good look any way. I also adjusted my appearance very slightly while I was there—wearing glasses that made my eyes look bigger, and allowing my eyebrows to grow quite thick and bushy, things of that nature.”
Apparently, my mother was well aware of the subtleties of disguise. I nodded approvingly, and she gave me a smile. “Mr. Smith here was quite adept at disguising himself as well.”
“The first time I met Daisy—as she was called—when she was undercover was during the Yule Fête,” Edison said. “We were both dressed as chambermaids and we were both sneaking around Lady Isabella’s study. At the time, I didn’t realize she was the same woman I’d met in Oligary’s office.”
“And then, when Isabella had Edison abducted from the jail, I had occasion to see him. He remembered me, and that was how we began to help each other.”
“You helped me,” he said. “The first day when you made certain the wires on the battery device came loose on me was the beginning of helping me to resist the control.”
“Isabella and Emmett planned for everything to go as it did at the masquerade ball, except they didn’t realize Edison wasn’t under the control of the device,” Mother explained.
“But he pretended to be for obvious reasons, because if anyone else had been holding that gun in the balcony, Evaline would be dead,” I said flatly.
Edison gave me a look of gratitude and continued. “I intended to announce what truly happened the night Hiram Bartholomew was killed, but I needed to make them think I was under their control for a while. They realized almost too late that something had gone wrong, and that’s when Isabella made the distraction—she tripped a server; I saw her do it—so Emmett could—uh—shoot Marie Antoinette.”
The entire time he was speaking, Edison was not looking at Evaline, or even acknowledging her. He spoke smoothly and confidently, but his hands were curled in his lap so tightly that the knuckles were white.
“And instead of killing Evaline—I don’t know why Isabella actually intended for that to happen; perhaps she thought it would be enough if she was shot at in public by the murderer of Hiram Bartholomew—”
“Or she assumed I would survive a gunshot,” Evaline said. “And then she would have the benefit of a public assassination attempt and me, recovering, in her clutches—”
“And Edison Smith, who could expose Emmett Oligary during the murder trial for Hiram Bartholomew, would be dead, himself shot after he opened fire at the ball,” I said. “Isabella nearly got everything she wanted. If it weren’t for that special corset you were wearing—who did you say fashioned it?”
“It was Madame Trouxeau’s assistant. Her name was Lady Warren or Wayren or something like that.”
“Ah, Wayren,” Mother murmured with a quiet smile.
“Yes, well, as it happened, everything turned out fine,” Sir Mycroft said in a trifle too-loud voice. “And thanks to Desirée and the last two years she spent—er—what is it? Undercover?—we have a significant amount of information related to Isabella as well as Oligary and other of their cohorts both in England and in Betrovia. The only unexpected and untimely event was the death of Princess Lurelia. Now, Desirée, I realize you need to speak with Alvermina, so perhaps you might go into my office and commence with that.”
He gestured to a side door. Mother gave me a look that could only be described as uneasy, which of course made me feel nauseated.
But I rose and followed her from the room. What on earth could she need to speak with me about—besides, I supposed, everything?
I expelled a long breath as I walked through from the meeting room to a very well-appointed office that, apparently, belonged to my father.
“So it was you who coshed Evaline on the head outside Cosgrove Terrace,” I said quickly, before Mother could speak.
“Yes. I felt bad that I had to hurt her, but I couldn’t let her go inside and disrupt things. We knew Isabella and Emmett were close to making their final move—and escape—and I was afraid if anything went wrong they would leave before we could get all of the evidence and information we needed.”
“You must have been at the masquerade ball, then—to see how things went on. And you gave us the messages to ‘be ready.’ You must also have been the person who was there when they first ran off the balcony—Evaline thought it had to be Miss Adler, but it must have been you.”
She nodded, smiling. Were her eyes glistening with tears? What was it that she had to tell me? Did I want to know? Was she going to leave me again—was that it?
“There’s nothing that slips past you, is there, Mina? I’m so very proud of you.”
“I’m a Holmes,” I said.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Actually, Mina, you aren’t.”
“I’m…not… What?”
“You’re not a Holmes.”
Miss Holmes
~ Revelations ~
You’re not Mycroft Holmes’s daughter?” Evaline shrieked. Thank heavens we were in the cellar of the British Museum and no one else could hear her. “But whose daughter are you? How can that be?”
It was two days later—two days after the most exhausting, tension-filled days I can remember.
I’d spent the days following our airship escape in a much more relaxed manner than the preceding ones. I was with Mother mostly, while Evaline spent her time soothing Florence and Bram over the cancellation of her wedding and accepting all of the condolences from society over the death of her fiancé and his brother. Ned Oligary’s funeral was tomorrow, and I fully intended to be there, standing with Evaline as she pretended to mourn for her fiancé and his murderous brother.
Today, however, we (Evaline, Miss Adler, Dylan, and myself) were gathered in the British Museum for what would likely be the last time. We were sending Dylan back to his proper year, and he would never return. But it was the first opportunity I’d had to speak to Evaline about the shocking news my mother had given me, and of course she’d demanded to know what it was Mother had taken me to the next room to tell me.
I could hardly believe it myself—not only that I wasn’t truly a Holmes (which was both incredibly devastating and, in some ways, liberating), but because of who my father really was.
“Emmett Oligary was my father,” I said.
Evaline’s jaw dropped, and she goggled at me for a full thirty seconds before she closed it. I could see the thoughts and questions darting around inside her head, and I sympathized, for I had had all of the ones she could conceive—and more.
“Quite simply, my mother had a liaison with Emmett, and when she realized she was—er—in a family way, she knew she didn’t want the child to be raised by such an evil person.” I reflected on the fact that I found it easier to speak of my father as evil than I did Isabella Cosgrove-Pitt; I supposed because I understood her more than I ever understood him, and because the fact that he was my natural father was still very foreign to me. He was merely Emmett Oligary to me unless I reminded myself otherwise.
“Why did she have a liaison with him if he was so awful anyway?”
Trust Evaline to ask the most pressing question, and ever so bluntly.
“She didn’t realize the extent of his perfidy at the time—but by the time she realized her condition, their liaison had long ended. And she knew she didn’t want him to—well—be my father. And so—”
“And so Sir Mycroft came to the rescue and married her?” Evaline scoffed as Miss Adler snickered. “I can hardly imagine that.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Miss Adler said with a smile. “The entirety of London society was flummoxed when that wedding occurred. But Desirée knew Mycroft would protect her—and you, Mina.”
“Sir Mycroft knew all along, though, didn’t he?” Evaline asked.
“He did. And Desirée confided in me as well,” Miss Adler said.
“Apparently, Sir Emmett was also aware. That must be the reason he tried to force me to escape from the airship with them. And I suspect Isabella knew as well,” I said.
Miss Adler looked at me. “She said something to you?”
I nodded. “When we were at The Crow that evening, Isabella and I spoke alone. She said, ‘I never expected to be as challenged as I’ve been with you and Miss Stoker. The two of you make a formidable team.’ And then she added, ‘Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing from whence you spring.’
“I responded, ‘The Holmes mental acuity and deductive abilities are, indeed, formidable.’ And she…she laughed. And sort of brushed it off. Then she said, ‘Holmes? Forget what the men have told you, Mina. I was speaking of your mother.’”
Miss Adler drew in a breath and nodded. “Yes. She knew. Somehow, she knew.”
“Well, I for one am glad you weren’t raised by Emmett Oligary, Mina,” Dylan said. He was looking sober and sad, and yet excited at the same time. I knew he was eager to return to his time, and there was no reason to delay it any longer.
This farewell, I knew, would not be the same emotionally charged goodbye as the last. At least for me—I suspected Miss Adler would be rather disconsolate to bid her great-great-grandson farewell.
“Thank you for everything, Mina,” Dylan said as he embraced me. “I’ll never forget you—hey, didn’t we already do this once?” he asked with a watery laugh.
I appreciated his levity because I had been so emotionally wrung out over the last several days that I could hardly bear it. “I think we did. Be safe. And thank you for all you’ve done for me, as well. I care for you very much, you know.”
As we hugged one last time, he murmured, “I’m pretty sure Grayling’s going to step up now that I’m gone. So don’t stomp on his heart too much.”
I pulled away to look into his blue eyes, which were dancing with humor. I wasn’t certain I completely understood his slang, but I got the general idea. “I don’t know about that,” I said dismissively.
“Oh, believe me. He will. He couldn’t wait to see me go,” he said with a laugh. “Why do you think he was willing to help me get the scarab when we were on the airship?”
Oh. “I thought he was just being nice,” I said.
Dylan laughed heartily and kissed me on the mouth in that easy way of his. “He was, but he was also being nice to himself.” He turned to Evaline, who flung herself into his arms.
“I suppose you’ll miss Olympia,” she said in a hopeful voice. “You two seemed very taken with each other—working on the project.”
“Olympia? No, I don’t think I’m her type,” Dylan said with a funny smile.
Evaline’s face fell. “Oh.” Then she frowned. “What do you mean by your type?”
“I mean the kind of person she’s—you know—attracted to.”
“Oh. So I suppose she likes dark-haired men instead of blond-haired men. Mysterious cads instead of nice ones?” She tried to smile, but it wavered. I knew she was thinking about Edison.
Dylan shook his head, laughing. “No, no, I mean, I don’t think she likes men at all. I mean, that way. Olympia likes females.”
Oh. I tilted my head thoughtfully. Why, that did make sense. I knew (mainly from my association with the man who was no longer my Uncle Sherlock and from listening in on conversations he wasn’t aware I was listening to) that there were individuals who preferred to associate intimately with members of their own gender. And apparently, Olympia Babbage was one such female.
Fascinating. I found it most curious and enlightening, and decided I would have to have an extended conversation with her about this at the first opportunity.
In the meantime, the expression on Evaline’s face was so shocked—and then pleased—that I couldn’t contain a smile of my own.
How could she have thought for one minute that Edison Smith could prefer Olympia Babbage to Evaline Stoker? It was ludicrous. The man was completely enamored with her—although, I admit, it was only because I am an excellent student of human behavior and a practiced observer for even the slightest of clues that I knew this about Edison. For he certainly didn’t make it obvious.
In fact, the casual observer would believe he was quite indifferent to Evaline, perhaps even felt enmity toward her.
By now, Miss Adler was kissing Dylan on both cheeks as she bade him farewell. As before, he took the blue scarab and placed it in the base of the Sekhmet statue—the one that had launched all of our adventures nearly a year ago.
There was a shimmery sort of light, a little zip of energy, and a pop.
And he was gone.
Miss Adler knelt to pick up the scarab, and, as Evaline and I watched, she took a hammer and smashed it into smithereens.
Miss Stoker
~ Condolences & Confessions ~
I had to attend the funeral service for Ned and Emmett Oligary. I had no choice.
It seemed as if myself and the entirety of London were there, bursting at the seams of Westminster Abbey.
If I could have avoided being there, I would have done so. I considered pretending to be prostrate with grief, but I didn’t think even that would work with Florence.
The worst—the absolute worst—part about all of it was that now I was supposed to be in mourning! For a man I’d never wanted to marry and his brother who’d tried to kill me!
