I had a lovely time speaking to the various other guests at the reception. I did not circulate much, as my attentive husband settled me in a chair halfway between the gallery where my illustrations were displayed and the refreshment rooms. I was very gratified that so many sought me out to converse.

The Shorrock ladies were there, having been escorted by Inspector MacGreggor–he attended them in a most gentlemanly fashion. I spoke with Mr Scuddamore at some length, of course with Mr Trowdon, with an expatriate French aristocrat named Comte Montelimar, and in fact with the French Ambassador, Vicomte DeMulineaus.

The Comte Montelimar had read the Moth Paper, and was very interested in questions of pollination, as he cultivates grapes. The Ambassador flattered me quite absurdly, and laughed when I confessed to writing all the papers attributed to Peter Sinclair (this ruse was the only fact about me which he seemed not to know already).

I was alone for a moment, having sent Mr Frazer off to discover the significance of some disturbance among my colleagues, when I found a note stuck to the bottom of a glass of lemonade which had just them been given me by a very quiet footman. It read "the Young Cobb's organisation is not defunct." At least that's what it looked like, the ink had been blurred by the condensation on the glass. What a singular note! Anyone who would know that I would have the faintest idea what the note meant should also know that we do not suppose that the mentioned organisation is completely finished. It sounded like a warning, but why?

The evening really went astray from that moment on.

While I was considering this note, calling Mr Frazer over and then showing the note to Sir Cosmo, a footman had been found out in the alley, divested of his uniform. This explained the unnerving silence of the man who gave me the lemonade– he was not really a footman at all, but some kind of agent. I set to sketching the man's face--I had been suspicious at the time and took care to remember his appearance.

We had general uproar among our party. The Mystics rushed in to look at the injured footman. Mr Frazer and Mr Salmalin examined the alley and looked at the blowgun dart Mr Salmalin found–Mr Frazer has tentatively identified the compound on it as a soporific from China.

Inspector MacGreggor reported that Mr O'Flaherty had received an anonymous note inviting him to some kind of sport. He, Lt Wooster, and Sir Spencer had headed off in the Cuthbert's carriage without so much as a by-your-leave. If that weren't bad enough, Prince Lukas of the Netherlands, who has been friendly with Sir Spencer during his visit to England, had gone along with them. How could I doubt that they would become embroiled with some trouble and risk the life of a foreign noble, causing an international incident.

Since they hadn't reported their destination, the Mystics performed a scrying ritual and determined that the gentlemen were at a particular location in Pickled Herring Street. Not surprisingly, in an unsavoury neighbourhood.

The Mystics then took the note I had received and the blowgun dart, but were unable to learn much of the person who had brought both. At least they were able to divine a location for the miscreant, and lo and behold--Pickled Herring Street.

Inspector MacGreggor advanced the theory that this was all engineered to trap or distract us, but we had no way of knowing what it would distract us from. It certainly served to set us all buzzing about and arguing. At last all we could decide to do was to go find our errant sportsmen, and perhaps rescue Prince Lukas from a possible trap.

When we reached the location in question, we found an illicit pub or club in an "abandoned" warehouse. Most of our group went inside, but I was detailed to wait with the carriages and watch the doors, along with Inspector MacGreggor, Wilhelmina, Emily, and George.

The cheering and clashing of tankards from within changed in tone, and I heard what I more or less expected-- the eruption of a brawl. Before long, I heard the thunderous voice I have come to associate with Miss Ch Lady Cowperthwaite when she is much provoked.

Wilhelmina and I wasted no time and changed our clothes. This was more awkward than I would have liked--although I have carefully maintained convertible ensembles as my Condition has progressed, this is the first time I have had to make a quick change in months--I could scarcely reach all my fastenings.

The ruckus was intensifying, and Emily, once sure that I had our Charge in hand, made for the back door. The rest of us repositioned the carriages in case a swift remove was needed. I heard a strange thrumming from above, and realised that the dark mass that I had taken for a water tower was actually some kind of balloon, and it was preparing to cast off. I saw a small group of the all-too-ubiquitous black-clad foreigners emerge from some kind of hatch in the warehouse roof, and rise into the balloon on a winched-up platform.

I restrained Edward from using one of the rocket guns from the carriage with a reminder that these aero-craft use flammable gasses to float. For once, he listened.

Still, we could not let them escape! George was the swiftest to leap to the balloon as it rose. Edward used one of the rocket-powered belts, but I wouldn't let him go without a promise to let down a rope for the rest of us to come to his aid immediately.

Unfortunately, the balloon--or dirigible, actually-- began to move off very swiftly, and the Inspector and I could only try to pursue in the fastest of the carriages. Edward was true to his word and dropped the rope from his perch at the top of the craft, but it was already off along the street.

To my horror, I could see one of the black-clad enemies creeping up the side of the gasbag toward Edward, using the netting. Edward was much occupied with cutting the canvas with a knife, releasing the internal gas cells, with the undoubted object of forcing a landing.

I took Very Careful aim and shot at the enemy with my pistol. It was too far for me to hit my target, but the noise seemed to have alerted Edward. Edward had a weapon as well, and forced the creeping enemy to hold his place.

Meanwhile, George was wreaking some kind of havoc in the gondola, because there was smoke pouring out of it.

Just then, the Inspector and I, atop the box of the carriage, came up closer to the rope. The Inspector was trying to drive the horses and grab for the rope at once. The man would not listen to me as I told him to let me grab for the rope. Never mind that I am lighter, and a very able climber, and that I can't drive a carriage. He was prepared to crash the carriage rather than let me take the rope.

At last, with the fear that the dirigible would get away and that George and Edward would be alone with who-knows-how-many enemies, I took the reins and let the Inspector grab for the rope. He was instantly pulled off the box of the carriage and dragged away. I kept the horses in pursuit as best I could as the poor Inspector was bounced off the sides of warehouses, trying to find something to catch the rope around and anchor the dirigible.

I was so very angry! The Inspector had taken over my responsibility to protect Edward in the most high-handed manner I could imagine. I was shouting the most ungentle remonstrances at him as I careened down the street.

Fortunately for me, the horses had the good sense to slow down as we approached the riverside, and they stopped in time once I saw it too and reined them in. But there I was, stomping my foot impotently on the box of the carriage as my Charge and my friends were carried away. If that weren't fearful enough, I heard shots coming from away off behind me. The brawl was getting worse, I thought.

Then I noticed that the dirigible was lurching a bit after each shot--someone was shooting at the dirigible!

At last (a few seconds later) Sir Cosmo and Lady Cowperthwaite, along with Mr O'Flaherty, came clattering up in the clockwork carriage. We watched as the dirigible drifted off, then began to sink somewhere off by the West India docks. I could no longer see the Inspector clearly--only tiny spidery forms on cables. I thought I saw a floating clump detach from the dirigible, approach the tiny figure on the rope, and take him away. I wished for Mr Frazer's spyglass.

As the miniature balloon drifted off, the larger one collapsed and then exploded into an horrific fireball. The noise was tremendous. I stood aghast, hoping that the tiny balloon had signaled the escape of Edward, George, and the Inspector. If any of them were killed...

Thank goodness, they weren't.

With Sir Cosmo's help in managing the carriage, we turned about, going back to the warehouse, which was now only the remnants of a spectacular conflagration. We retrieved the rest of our party.

Lt Wooster, Sir Spencer, and Prince Lukas had been shooting at the aero-craft--they were wagering on it, no less! I was furious. What if they had hit the gasbag? The entire thing might have exploded with our partisans aboard! But I contained my ire, rather than shout at the Prince. At least they are all very good shots, and had fairly well disabled the engines.

Mr Frazer and Mr Salmalin had been much occupied with bringing people out of the burning building.

I had a moment's anxiety when I saw that Emily was in a state of collapse and Mrs Salmalin was watching over her protectively. My mind was eased when I realised that Mrs Cuthbert was moving about among various strangers who had been brought out of the building--she would not have left Emily's side if the latter were in any danger.

When all were gathered in, we proceeded toward the West India docks, where the great dirigible had left blazing fragments on the water.

I was consumed with anxiety for Edward, George, and the Inspector. How could I have let the Inspector take the risk of grabbing the rope? It had been my idea, and my responsibility. The Inspector is very capable, but if he were killed or injured, it would be my fault. How would I face Helen? I had been almost helpless to prevent it--but not quite. Should I have knocked him down to take the rope myself? That would surely not have helped.

As we rode along in the carriage, and the excitement of battle ebbed, I was forced to reflect on the fact that if I had taken the rope, I might not have been able to climb it--that I am not as agile as I was nine months ago. He took the risk to protect me and the babies. How infuriating!

At last, we found all three of our lost sheep, trudging wearily down the road. As soon as the carriage stopped, I leapt out (in retrospect I am surprised I didn't fall), and marched over to the Inspector, vibrating with indignation.

He handed me a charred and roughly cut length of rope--"Your rope," he said. I was overcome with all the evening's fears and furies. I embraced him, and burst into tears.

I had nearly recovered from this bit of hysteria (though not from the embarrassment it caused me) when we reached the Embassy of the Netherlands, where we intended to leave the Prince in the care of his attendants. But we found the place crawling with police!

The Embassy had received an anonymous note saying that the Prince had been kidnapped, specifying that Sir Spencer had done the deed.

So, we were tied up there for some time while Prince Lukas convinced his protectors that he had gone out for an evening's sport with his English friends, and he regretted that he hadn't thought to inform his man, but he had been perfectly safe with Sir Spencer and his retinue. The Anonymous note was (publicly) put down to the agency of some practical joker or a sincere but misinformed observer.

We were anxious to examine the note, however, and we found obvious similarities to the notes received by Mr O'Flaherty and by me--similar paper, ink, and writing.

Although the foregoing account relates most of what I observed during the course of yesterday's events, there are a number of events and facts which I did not personally observe, or which did not seem to have direct bearing on the most prominent events but may prove important later...

1) The Boxing Match:
The note received by Mr O'Flaherty, written in the same hand as the note I received, read as follows: "If you are looking for some sport, go to the Rusty Nail." When Mr O'Flaherty showed it round to a few of the gentlemen, only Inspector MacGreggor recognised Rusty Nail as the sobriquet of the criminal Niall Malloy. How could the Inspector have predicted that Mr O'Flaherty and the others would find this a tempting invitation?

I learned from Lt Wooster what transpired at the warehouse-turned-pub. When that group found their way to this warehouse, they were introduced to Niall Malloy, who welcomed them in the most friendly fashion and invited Mr O'Flaherty to go a round in a boxing ring with the current leading fighter. I can't imagine how Mr O'Flaherty thought that this would be a good idea, when it had so plainly been set up. The gentlemen even drank spirits at the bar, little considering the possibility that they could be drugged or poisoned.

Mr O'Flaherty, unable to resist the lure of pugilism, took up the challenge, and won in what I am told was a fair fight. Our gentlemen (and the Prince) were gleefully collecting their winnings when the rest of us arrived

And thus was the trap sprung. The enemies, whose purpose in the attack is still unclear to me, had not planned on the surprising prowess of our partisans. We managed to destroy the dirigible and destroy "Rusty Nail's" warehouse pub, while all of us emerged mostly unharmed and our partisans rescued several possibly innocent bystanders.

One of the oddest matters is that Lt Wooster, upon seeing my sketch of the enemy agent disguised as a footman, declared it to be the very man who had faced Mr O'Flaherty in the ring. Mr O'Flaherty had beaten him senseless (how sporting), and he was removed by his partisans-- through a back room and then up into the dirigible. He had been named as "Mr Box." A strangely obvious pseudonym for a pugilist.

I can only regret that we did not capture any of the black-clad fighters from the dirigible. I did not even get a very close look at them. It is not clear to me if they were another branch of the Moriarty thuggees or a troupe of the "ninjitsu" such as we fought in the mine in Bury. I'm sure George or Mr Salmalin will be able to tell me.

2) The Malloy Connection
I am also uncertain as to whether Niall Malloy is a participant in the enemy plan, or an unwitting pawn. They could scarcely have moored their dirigible to his warehouse roof without his knowledge. Yet, they were quite prepared to depart in their balloon and leave Malloy and his pub to conflagration.

I continue to be perplexed by Niall Malloy's purpose in contriving the boxing match. No doubt Malloy could have made a tidy sum on all the wagers. So why would he then attack our partisans, and cause the destruction of his own venue? Perhaps the real instigators of the attack tricked him as well.

3) Peculiar Notes:
A significant tactic by our enemies has been the use of notes to entrap and to misdirect.
The writer of the notes clearly has a great deal of knowledge of us. The note delivered to Mr O'Flaherty was very carefully aimed at his particular interests in sport. Did the writer of the note predict the addition of Sir Spencer and Prince Lukas to the party?

The note delivered to the Netherlands Embassy is plainly an attempt to blame us for the kidnapping of Prince Lukas. But was this the purpose of the whole evening's adventure, or was the writer of the note simply quick to seize the opportunity to take a royal hostage and sow confusion and suspicion?

Was the note I received intended as a lure as well? It was not addressed specifically to me, and might have been delivered to me as the first of our group to be relatively isolated at an opportune moment.

This note could be planned to aim our suspicions at Thuggees, and divert our suspicions away from other sorts of agents.

Which naturally makes me suspect the ninjitsus.

4) An Excess of French Notables
I have already described meeting Vicomte DeMulineaus, the charming but alarmingly well-informed French Ambassador. Likewise Comte Montelimar, who is assuredly on bad terms with the Ambassador, if only because he is the mouthpiece of "the Pretender." Each would happily disgrace the other.

The Vicomte, on hearing that some of our party had gone off on a peculiar errand, took some pains to mention that he thought that he had seen a conveyance following Sir Spencer's--and that the Comte's man was directing it. Could this be a similar sort of misdirection to the peculiar notes? Why would an Ambassador concern himself with the doings of common carriages?

Comte Montelimar is reputed to be rather mad, though I found him perfectly cogent as we discussed matters of Pollination. He has the usual style of affectations of the expatriate French aristocracy, including carrying a swagger stick with a blade concealed within.

It is difficult to be sure if these intrigues have any relevance to us or if they are just the usual minor sort of French treachery.

5) The Estranged Sister
Another unexpected occurrence was the appearance of Madame Lillian DeVere at the reception. This woman is Mrs Cuthbert's sister, and looks so much like her that they were mistaken one for the other during the evening. The two of them are on chilly terms, and remarkably unlike in character. Neither one was aware that the other was in London, as Mrs DeVere has been living in France these many years and she thought that Mrs Cuthbert was still abroad in Africa with Sir Spencer. Mrs Cuthbert has told me that her sister is several times widowed, and that she may be hoping to find a titled husband next. I thought immediately that she might be hoping to snare the Vicomte. He might yet be one too many for her, though.

6) Wayward Submersible
As soon as matters began to go oddly at the reception, Inspector MacGreggor escorted the Shorrock ladies back to their cousin's house for the night. This duty accomplished, he happened to look down the street to a visible portion of the river. He thought he saw a boat or a ship slipping down under the water. There was no alarum to indicate an accident. It simply, silently, slipped out of sight.

Upon his return to our company at Burlington House, he inquired of Sir Cosmo and Edward if any Sinkable Boats were deployed or undergoing testing in that area of the river. None are.

Who else might have a sinkable vessel? The ninjitsus already have a dirigible, perhaps they have a submersible as well.

The government of the Netherlands has also just lodged a complaint that when the Griffin salvaged the Untersee boat, it was taken without the knowledge and consent of the two surviving crew, who had been rescued. This is palpably nonsense, as all the salvage operations were obvious to anyone aboard the Griffin. We might have hidden it from the French, but that's different.

I just find it odd that the Netherlanders should bring this up now, just as we have seen what might be another submersible vessel.

So, we will proceed to the shipyards and to the area where the Inspector saw the unexplained sight, and investigate.

7) Egyptomania
Not all of us will be setting out for the riverside, however. Wilhelmina and Mrs Salmalin have secured an invitation to visit Sir Matthew Whemple, so recently the author of The Legacy of Egypt. We have all read this book by now, since Sir Cosmo was asked to review it.

I only hope that Wilhelmina will not be rude. She must have behaved well enough last evening, when she and Mrs Salmalin met Sir Matthew at the reception, as she managed to receive an invitation. I imagine that Sir Matthew is eager for a sympathetic audience, since this book has been ridiculed by most of the serious archaeologists in England, and no doubt abroad as well.

I hope we will be underway soon, if I sit here much longer I will fall asleep. After all of yesterday's excitement, I was terribly tired, but I could not settle comfortably. When I finally found a satisfactory arrangement of cushions, one of the little fishes decided to poke its toes into my ribs--a sensation which cannot be ignored. I am feeling the effect of insufficient sleep most severely.

Ah, that sounds like the carriages, at last...

Proceed to Ominous anonymous warnings

Return to Miss Sinclair's Diary Index

Return to Main Menu

Contents this page copyright 2004 by Ieva Ohaks. All Rights Reserved.