Harry gets Her Wings (Iron Pegasus Book 3) Page 2

  All eyes were on them.

  Their father made introductions. They were not required to shake hands, which was probably just as well; only the younger men even looked at her. It was hard to imagine an event any more nightmarish than this.

  The man who had been unable to keep a civil tongue in his head was Admiral Framington. There was a Lt Cmdr Laxton, a Lt Keating, two army majors, and four bureaucrats.

  After introductions there was a period of small talk where everyone spoke in low tones and no one spoke with the girls.

  The food was brought in for a buffet lunch. The Edgbaston family did not maintain a large staff, and this sort of occasion was usually planned well in advance so they could draft in extras to deal with service. This meeting was impromptu.

  No one moved towards the tables with the food, and it took Khuwelsa and Harry a few moments to realise that they were the reason. They had to go first.

  “Come along, my dears,” said their father and took each of them by the arm, guiding them to the table.

  “What’s this about, Dad?” hissed Harry.

  “Newspaper reports.”

  Harry glanced at Sellie behind their father’s back as he leaned over the table to get some food. She looked questioning. Any ideas? Sellie shrugged. None.

  The torturous silence continued while they ate. Sellie had no appetite but pretended to eat. She noticed that Harry was scoffing hers down as if there was no tomorrow. Mrs Hemingway would not be impressed.

  Subsequently they moved to the drawing room which had an attached conservatory.

  Khuwelsa went to the French window and looked out on to the manicured gardens and plantation beyond. The Edgbaston estate, while one of the larger ones in the area, was not huge.

  They cultivated grain with a staff of about thirty on the farm. That staff would all have been slaves at one time, but since the British had taken over slavery was abolished. The workers stayed because there was nowhere else to go.

  “Miss Edgbaston.”

  Sellie turned towards the speaker only to realise that the Miss Edgbaston in question was Harry, and not her. Harry was sitting beside their father surrounded by the gentlemen. Khuwelsa was in two minds as to whether to stay safe where she was or be with Harry.

  Her father solved the problem when he looked up and indicated she should come and sit. Her heart sank but she was an obedient daughter, most of the time, and did as he instructed.

  She sat down decorously, as Mrs Hemingway had drilled them again and again. Perching on the edge and not sitting back. It was impossible to get out of a chair in an elegant way if seated all the way back. Though it defeated the point of there even being a back. Khuwelsa thought she would prefer to lounge like a bohemian than be so prim and proper.

  The air was filled with the scent of cigars and alcohol.

  “Miss Edgbaston,” repeated the admiral, who appeared to be the one in charge. “Can you explain your involvement with the attack on Zanzibar?”

  Harry cleared her throat. “There’s a German lieutenant I like to dance with.”

  There were disapproving mutterings among the group.

  “I met him at a dance organised by our army originally,” she said. “We got on, so we would visit him from time to time.”

  “Without a chaperone?”

  “I had my sister with me,” said Harry. “And there was the whole garrison of soldiers.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Admiral,” said their father. “I understand you wish to discuss the military situation with my daughters. I do not appreciate you impugning their honour.”

  “What? No,” said the admiral. “Not intended.”

  “The point is,” said Harry, “we arrived just as the Zanzibar invasion force was going through the town, and they imprisoned us. We escaped and got to Zanzibar to warn Daddy.”

  “And then you attacked and brought down four Zeppelins!”

  “Outrageous,” muttered someone.

  Harry stood up. “Perhaps you would have preferred we let them attack and invade? Your two boats would not have stood a chance.”

  “But,” said the admiral. “You’re just a girl.” It sounded like gel–with a hard “g”–the way he pronounced it.

  “So what exactly is the problem, admiral?” demanded Harry. “That we saved Zanzibar or that a pair of girls brought down a German fleet with one unarmed ship?”

  Sellie would have applauded but at that exact moment there was an explosion outside and all the windows blew in.

  iv

  Khuwelsa could feel nothing save her blood pounding in her temples, see nothing through choking clouds of dust, and hear nothing but a shrill whistle in her ears. For some reason she felt it ought to be dark in the room, but there was plenty of light filtering through the dust.

  She coughed again and reached out her hand to her sister. There was only an empty space. Where was Harry? She had been sitting right beside her but no longer. Sellie stood up, then sat down again abruptly; the explosion had done something to her ears and her balance was all wrong.

  She did not hear but saw the main chandelier crash to the floor in front of her. One of the men in suits had been seated underneath it. Heedless of her lack of balance she got up again and staggered across to the chandelier, using the other furniture to stop herself from toppling over. Someone laid a hand on her left forearm, trying to hold her back. She shrugged them off.

  The chandelier rope came tumbling down through the pulley. The cable for the electricity still ran up to the ceiling but must have become detached at the other end. The man under the chandelier had his eyes open and his arms were moving feebly as if he were trying to free himself, ineffectually.

  Khuwelsa grabbed the upper arms of the chandelier and pulled. The heavy metal rolled towards her. It was caught on the other side. A hand tapped her on the shoulder. It was her father. He looked shocking, with his black hair a mess and his suit grey with dust. He held up a finger to her indicating she should wait.

  He got the other side of the chandelier and lifted while she pulled. It rolled off completely. The electric cable went taut for a moment. Sellie glanced up to see it tear through the plaster ceiling, as the weight of the chandelier ripped the wire further out.

  It hadn’t become disconnected after all. Must have had a lot of play.

  Her father was helping the man in the suit to his feet. He was not completely in his right mind; his head lolled and he staggered with his weight on her father’s shoulder. However nothing seemed to be broken.

  The ringing in her ears faded, replaced by weak cries for help and the occasional groan.

  Sellie looked towards the devastated windows and then the floor. There was remarkably little glass scattered about; it seemed the net curtains had retained most of the shattering windows, though they had themselves been ripped down by the weight.

  The window frames were gone. The dust was clearing and there seemed to be no smoke.

  Where was Harry?

  Khuwelsa tutted. Of the men, most appeared to have recovered the ability to move under their own power, although that meant limping, hobbling and leaning on one another. Two remained. Of those, one man looked as if he might be dead. Sellie plucked up her courage and went over to where he lay on the floor. A pool of blood was forming by his head. His eyes were open but lacked that vital spark of the living.

  She closed his eyes. He was still warm, of course, which seemed strange: if he was dead should he not be cold? She shivered. Something structural snapped and its sound broke the unnatural quiet of the explosion’s aftermath.

  Sellie looked up. A gap several inches wide ran along the ceiling near the shattered wall.

  Even as she watched it lengthened. The ceiling bellied out as it lost it support.

  The final man was Admiral Framington. He was awake, but his eyes were wandering. She hurried over and tried to get an arm under his shoulders.

  “Come on, Admiral,” she said.

  His eyes focused on her. “
Get away from me, darkie!”

  Khuwelsa went cold. For a moment she was tempted to leave him to his fate. But only for a moment. She bent over him, her face close to his. “The ceiling is coming down, Admiral,”

  she said. “Now, if you like, I’ll walk away and leave you here. Or you can let me help you. Which would you prefer?”

  She was surprised how long it took him to come to his decision but perhaps that was because his mind was still befuddled. He grabbed her left hand and let her pull him up. He seemed to have enough strength in his legs, which was just as well since she was not capable of carrying him. He did, however, need assistance with his balance.

  A shower of plaster fluttered down on them as another crack rent the air. Something whipped Sellie’s face, and she caught a glimpse of the end of the electrical wire from the chandelier.

  It was a good thing they did not have gas in the house or the whole place might have gone up from an electrical spark.

  A thunderous roar filled the air as the place went dark and they were again blinded by dust. The admiral tried to stop but Sellie kept him staggering forward by sheer strength. She could not see it, but the outer wall must have collapsed.

  That meant the ceiling would not be far behind; it was already creaking ominously. Every few moments the crack of breaking timbers snapped through the air.

  They must be almost at the door by now, surely?

  Khuwelsa’s arm banged into the wall. Good. The ceiling directly above should be supported by the wall. But the admiral seemed to be trying to move away from her, deeper into the room.

  She held him but found herself being dragged. She realised it wasn’t him, but the floor giving way. There were cellars beneath every room and the floor must be collapsing into them.

  Sellie reached out her arm to find something to grab hold of, and found nothing but empty space where the wall should have been. They must have reached the door. She found the frame and hooked her fingers round it. Her other hand had a grip on the admiral’s jacket, but he was very heavy. Still, she spent her life working with tools and shovelling coal. He was just a man.

  “Help!” she called, though still able to see nothing.

  “Sellie?”

  “Dad! I’m at the door, I’ve got the admiral but the floor’s going.”

  “I can’t see you, sweetheart.” She could tell he was trying to maintain a semblance of calm. “Keep talking.”

  “I’m here by the door. The whole outside wall collapsed and I don’t know where Harry is. Dad, she’s gone.”

  A hand found hers and grabbed her around the wrist. She felt her father move in front of her. He reached out, following her other arm with his hand until he touched the admiral. He took hold and, together with Sellie, they reeled the old man in and through the door to relative safety.

  The air filled with the tearing and cracking of joists and boards as the floor behind them collapsed under its own weight plus that of the fallen ceiling.

  v

  The air cleared as the dust settled in the hall. Their beautiful house was a wreck. They had placed the admiral sitting up against a wall on the far side. He muttered something about anarchists but his eyes were wandering.

  With one bureaucrat dead there remained the other seven visitors. The younger ones were on their feet but still confused. One of the army majors was checking his gun.

  “See if you can find some of the staff, Sellie,” said her father. “We could do with some assistance with this lot.”

  “What was it, Dad?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t want to send you but you’re the only one who knows their way around and”—he paused, considering how to say it—“I don’t trust this lot not to shoot at someone who looked at them the wrong way.”

  “What about Harry?”

  “She wasn’t on the floor anywhere?”

  “I didn’t see her.” Sellie went cold with the thought of Harry buried in the collapse. “I don’t think she was in the room.”

  “No, she was gone by the time I managed to pull myself together.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “We just have to assume she got out of there first.”

  Sellie glanced around and then decided she didn’t care what the strangers thought. She flung her arms around her father and squeezed. It just felt so good to have him there and real before she headed off again.

  She felt his arms enfold her and then he whispered in her ear. “I love you, daughter.” She thought she might be overwhelmed from the feelings his words generated.

  But emotions would have to wait. She stopped squeezing and he did the same; she stepped back. Normally he would have been smiling after a hug, but not on this occasion. Both of them were deadly serious.

  Sellie had a sudden thought. “Mrs Hemingway?”

  “I think she retreated to her rooms.” Both of them glanced at the stairs.

  “I’ll go,” said Khuwelsa.

  “No, it’s too dangerous,” he said. “I’ll send one of these chaps.”

  “I’m the lightest and, as you said, they don’t know their way around.”

  He pursed his lips as he reached for an alternative, but he did not consider too long. He nodded.

  She headed across the room at a fast walk. Running in the dress was almost impossible and now that the urgency was decreasing she began to feel the ache in her midriff where the corset pinched. She had been doing things in it that a proper young lady would not even contemplate. And for good reason, as corsets were simply not designed for those things.

  The stairs creaked as she reached the halfway point. She glanced back. The men were all looking at her from the dusty wreckage of the hall. She noticed them looking above her head, she followed their gaze. The ceiling here was also cracked with a gap running the length of the wall.

  “Gentlemen, we should move outside,” said her father. “If two of you would care to assist the admiral?”

  “Your girl?” said one of them, he clearly could not bring himself to say daughter.

  “She’s finding her tutor.”

  Sellie turned the bend in the stairs and they were lost to view. She reached the next floor.

  The passage ran the length of the house in both directions. There were suites on the same side of the building as the demolished outer wall. Those would be dangerous and the ones closest might not even have a floor.

  On the other side were more bedrooms, and at the far end three rooms set aside for Mrs Hemingway. Harry and Sellie had two rooms which they still shared. Their father had offered them separate rooms but they did not want them—much to Mrs Hemingway’s disapproval.

  Their tutor had to make do with the hope she could get Harry into a ladies’ college at Cambridge. Sellie would have no chance of following her then.

  But despite the woman’s animosity, she needed rescuing.

  Sellie hurried down the passage, her footfalls muffled by the carpet. She paused outside her own bedroom. Did she have time to get out of the corset? As if in answer the house groaned. Khuwelsa shot the wall an angry look as if it was deliberately forcing her to remain trussed up.

  She looked back along the passage. It did not look entirely vertical. The way the whole corridor twisted convinced her she needed to move. She lifted her skirts and trotted the remainder of the distance.

  At the last moment before ploughing directly into the room she decided to knock. She banged hard to make sure she received a response.

  “Who is it?”

  Sellie felt the floor shift.

  “It’s Khuwelsa, Mrs Hemingway,” she kept her voice calm and normal. “I’ve come to escort you to safety.”

  “I am indisposed,” came the reply. “I’ll come down later.”

  Khuwelsa stared at the door.

  “Mrs Hemingway, you really need to come now.”

  “Go away.”

  “The house is collapsing and you will be buried alive.”

  “Nonsense.”

  The hou
se groaned and something cracked like a tree being felled.

  Khuwelsa grabbed the door handle and pushed. For a moment she thought Mrs Hemingway must have locked it. But it opened slightly. The moving house had warped the frame and it was stuck. Sellie jammed her feet into the carpet and put her shoulder to the door. She shoved hard and it flew open only to come up short as it slid at an angle into the carpet inside.

  Nothing was straight any more.

  Sellie squeezed through into Mrs Hemingway’s sitting room.

  vi

  Mrs Hemingway was one for frills and flower patterns. Lace covered every flat surface; an impressive aspidistra stood in the corner with its broad leaves folding out to catch the light while, by the window, there was another potted plant with patterned leaves.

  Mrs Hemingway sat at a writing desk next to the door and her back to the window opposite. She was attempting to close it but the sliding cover seemed to have stuck. The reason was quite obvious from where Khuwelsa stood. The floor was warping and the otherwise sturdy desk was twisted slightly from the true.

  “I told you I was busy,” said Mrs Hemingway. Her voice was shrill, unlike its usual commanding tone.

  “We have to get out, the house is collapsing.”

  Mrs Hemingway continued in her attempt to force the cover down across the desk. It was stuck tight. Sellie could see an unfinished letter, already covering several sheets, which her tutor had broken off from writing halfway down the page.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said again.

  From the corridor beyond Khuwelsa came a low, thunderous roar. She glanced over her shoulder. Dust was billowing from under one of the opposite doors. Further along the corridor a door simply fell away and daylight poured through.

  Khuwelsa shook her head. What idiot had built this house? Then she sighed. Who in their right mind would have expected it to be bombed? The fact was that the cellars undermined the entire building and the place was falling in like a house of cards.

  “What have you done?” hissed Mrs Hemingway. Finally accepting that something was wrong, she gave up with the desk, grabbed sheets of the unfinished letter, and stood up.