Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices

down the stairs. Malvern darted after her, but Lord James caught his arm and their raised voices followed her out of the warehouse, muffled only by the slam of the exterior door.
    She ignited the landau and drove back to Wilton Crescent as fast as she dared, where she found Mrs. Morven in the kitchen preparing dinner.
    “Mrs. Morven. Are you still set on taking employment with Lord James Selwyn?”
    “Yes, miss.” The cook eyed her disheveled state, for she had not stopped to put on her motoring duster at the warehouse. “Why do you ask?”
    “My advice has changed. Ask for twenty-five percent more, Mrs. Morven, not ten. And you have my congratulations and my deepest sympathy should you get the job.”

Chapter 12

    Friday brought two more depressing confirmations that governessing was not the career for which she was destined, and Claire began to give serious consideration to returning, hat in hand, to the British Museum. But that, she thought, glancing at the twilight sky, would have to wait until Monday. She ought to just make it home before the street lamps came on.
    As she made the turn off Grosvenor Crescent into Wilton Crescent, she heard the same roar as before—as though hundreds of voices were expressing their outrage—at Hyde Park Corner. Pulling into the mews behind Carrick House, she released the landau’s steam and listened.
    Birds, singing their adieux before dark.
    The clash of cutlery from the town house next door, whose kitchen windows were open.
    And in the background the roar of a huge crowd, getting louder.
    Footsteps. No, an all-out sprint, booted feet slapping on the cobbles, coming down Wilton Crescent as though—
    Gorse pelted into the mews, his driver’s cap gone and his coat unbuttoned. “Miss! Lady Claire—oh, thank God. They’re coming, miss. You must take the landau and run to Miss Emilie’s without delay.”
    Automatically, her hands began the ignition sequence. “What is happening, Gorse? Tell me!”
    “It’s a huge demonstration at Hyde Park,” he panted, the words coming out in chunks. “The Arabian Bubble investors. They’re rioting, miss. They swear to loot Carrick House. To get something out of their investment. Now. They’re coming here now.”
    The landau clattered to life and she made sure the brake was set. “Help me get my trunk out of the house. And Mrs. Morven. We’ve got to get her out, too.”
    “Miss, there isn’t time for possessions!”
    “Come on, Gorse!”
    But Mrs. Morven had left a note that she had gone to take victuals to the Foundlings’ Home. Thank goodness for that. “Gorse, you’ll have to go over there and prevent her return.”
    “As soon as you’re away, miss.”
    They pounded up the stairs. The house was practically naked, with the china, plate, and paintings already on their way down to Cornwall on a dray. The looters would have a tricky time getting the heavy furniture out the doors. With Gorse in front and Claire in the rear, they lugged her trunk and traveling case down the stairs. With a pang, she thought of her pretty bookcases and all her books, which she hadn’t got around to packing quite yet. Maybe someday she would come upon them in a stall in Portobello Road, once the looters lost interest in books about biology and engineering.
    Wedging themselves through the kitchen door with the trunk, they could hear the sounds of individual voices at the curve of Wilton Crescent. “Hurry, miss. Go and don’t look back.”
    “But you’re coming with me!”
    “No, miss. I’m going to send a fast tube to Sir Robert Peel’s policing force and try to hold them off at the door. If I can’t do that, I’ll take to my heels after Mrs. Morven.”
    “Gorse!”
    “No arguments, miss. Mrs. Morven and I shall see you at Miss Emilie’s.” He secured her trunk to the rear with a pair of leather straps, and slapped it twice. “Now, miss! Quickly!”
    The first of the rioters poured into the mews and gave a great shout of triumph when they caught sight of the landau. Claire’s heart leaped in her chest and she pushed the steering lever out as far as it would go. The rioters closed the forty feet between them in less time than it took to gasp, so that by the time the landau had completed the turn, they were already on her. She gave it some steam and the landau took off like a racehorse at Ascot, bumping over something she didn’t want to think about and eliciting a scream of rage. Hands and fingernails scraped at the