The Chemickal Marriage

their departure in that dirigible, left awaiting instructions, free will expunged.’
    ‘And I have worked
against
them –’
    ‘Yes, and unintentionally, through your success, delivered the nation from one dilemma to another. When the Cabal’s mission to Macklenburg failed and its leaders were undone, this gridwork I describe was left without command, even without sense. Various minions attempted to take the reins – out of ambition, I make no bones, for I was of their number – Mrs Marchmoor and the Colonel, but there were others too with a scrambling knowledge of what plans had been in place. This second crop was defeated at Parchfeldt, as we deserved – but that victory has only allowed the nation’s sickness to deepen.’
    ‘What sickness?’
    Phelps shook his head. ‘The sickness of rule. The Cabal has hollowed out the
rule
of this land like a melon – and what remains? What remains of the
nation
? In governance there is ever but a narrow margin between acceptance and revolt. Quite simply, Miss Temple, that margin is gone.’
    ‘But why should you care?’
    Phelps stammered, aghast. ‘Because I am guilty. Because others have died without the chance to repent.’
    Miss Temple sniffed. ‘What does repentance do, save ease a villain’s conscience?’
    Phelps turned down a lane of smithies, where the air rang with hammers and the breeze was warm. He spoke abruptly, his voice unpleasantly crisp.‘We went back to Parchfeldt. While Cunsher spied out the factory. Did the Doctor tell you? No. It had been weeks – cold, rain – the
wild
. We went back for
her
. We took the body to her uncle’s on a cart. Dug a grave in the garden.’ He twisted his mouth to a grimace. ‘Who’ll do that for you or me?’
    When Miss Temple spoke her voice was small.
    ‘Did you look for Chang?’
    ‘We did.’ Mr Phelps took her hand to cross the busy road. ‘Without success.’
    Mr Spanning, the assistant manager, was just unlocking the hotel’s front door as Miss Temple and Mr Brine arrived. Mr Phelps and the Doctor had gone to secure a carriage and would meet them outside.
    ‘Early morning?’ Spanning offered, eyes flitting across their rumpled clothes.
    Miss Temple had not forgotten Spanning’s willingness to accept the Cabal’s money, nor her own threat to set his over-oiled hair aflame. He smoothly preceded them to the desk.
    ‘No messages. So sorry.’
    Mr Brine leant over the lip of the desk to look for himself, but Miss Temple was already walking to the stairs.
    ‘Will you want tea?’ called Spanning with arch solicitude. ‘Brandy?’
    By the time Miss Temple reached her own floor the revolver was in her hand. Mr Brine pressed ahead of her with his cudgel. The door was locked as they had left it.
    Inside, nothing had been touched. Miss Temple sent Mr Brine downstairs to wake Marie. While he was gone, she retrieved the two red envelopes and their original contents, tucking them carefully into one of her aunt’s serial novels (
Susannah, White Ranee of Kaipoor
) to protect the glass. Her eyes caught her old ankle boots. The bold green leather had been chosen out of spite, of course, at the disapproval of Roger Bascombe’s cousin. She disliked the memory.
    Miss Temple waited for Mr Brine in her parlour, a growing tension in her hips. Why was she alone? Why was she
always
alone?
    She shifted and felt the seam of her silk pants pull between her legs. How long before Mr Brine came back? With one hand she bunched up her dress and petticoats so she might slip the other beneath. How close had she come to depravity in the barracks bunk, pleasuring herself in plain view of the Doctor, the noise waking every man in the room? Did she not risk the exactsame mortification now, if Brine were to enter with Marie and find her red-faced and gasping? She worked her thumb through the gap in her silk pants and grunted at the spark of contact. And if it was not them entering, but Svenson? She imagined his shock at her brazen need. Was the rest of his skin so pale? She grunted again and shut her eyes, then with a sudden stab of anger pulled her damp hand free.
    Was she such an animal?
    Anything was possible – it was a lesson her blue glass memories made clear – but because a thing was possible did not mean she ought to want it. She had opened her heart to Chang. It did not signify that he was dead (or that she had only been able to do so
because
he was dead). She exhaled through her nose and rose to wash her