The Affinity Bridge

CHAPTER Thirty-One





Veronica glared at the pile of unsorted papers on her desk and sighed. The office was deathly quiet, lacking the banter she had become accustomed to, with only the constant tick-tock of the grandfather clock and the occasional sound of Miss Coulthard shuffling papers in the adjoining room punctuating the monotony.

She leaned back in her chair and glanced over at Newbury's empty desk, which had lain undisturbed since they were last in the office together the previous week. Correspondence had temporarily been forwarded to his Chelsea home whilst he spent time convalescing away from the museum, and the lack of his usual cheer lent the place a mournful air, as if it were missing something fundamental, the heart of it temporarily removed. The office itself had been restored to something approximating order, following Miss Coulthard's return to work and the removal of the automaton remains by Scotland Yard, who were keen to gather evidence for the case against Chapman. Not that they needed to worry, Veronica considered; she was certain that they would be able to uncover enough at the manufactory to send him to the gallows ten times over, especially when one took into consideration the testimonies of Sir Maurice and Sir Charles, both respected members of society and gentlemen to boot.

Veronica leaned back in her chair, drumming her fingers idly on the desk. The days following her visit to the asylum had passed in a sedentary fashion, and whilst she had enjoyed hearing tales from an effervescent Miss Coulthard about the return of her brother, Jack, in truth she was finding it difficult to give her administrative tasks their due attention. It had only been a handful of days since the apprehension of Joseph Chapman and the resolution of the case of The Lady Armitage, and she already found herself speculating on what the future may hold. She longed to see Newbury again, to lose herself in another mystery. She knew it was idle speculation, but it helped fuel her motivation for the laborious research work she was obliged to carry out whilst she waited for Newbury himself to return to work.

Deciding that she shouldn't put it off any longer, she set to work, skimming a stack of manuscript pages from the top of the nearest pile and leafing through the content in an effort to identify any references that Newbury might find useful in the writing of his most recent essay, regarding the ritualistic practices of the druidic tribes of Bronze Age Europe.

There was a polite rap on the inner door. Veronica looked up to see Miss Coulthard hovering in the doorway, a large sheaf of papers clutched tightly in her arms.

"Miss Hobbes, I'm just running these along to the museum archive. I'll be back shortly if you find you have need of me."

Veronica smiled. "Of course. Thank you, Miss Coulthard." She indicated the large stack of papers on her desk. "I won't be going anywhere for a while."

Miss Coulthard gave her a knowing sigh and then left, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor. Veronica returned distractedly to her reading.

A few minutes later she heard the door open and shut in the adjoining room, followed by the sound of footsteps on the threshold of the office. She continued reading, her eyes flicking over the carefully crafted copperplate on the page before her. "You were far quicker than I'd imagined, Miss Coulthard. Now, if you could find it in your heart to put the kettle on the stove..." She looked up at the sound of a man clearing his throat, her voice trailing off. "Sir Maurice! I—we weren't expecting you back so soon!"

Newbury smiled. "My dear Miss Hobbes. There is only so long a gentleman can sit in his rooms, staring at the walls, before the experience becomes entirely unbearable." He removed his hat and indicated his desk with a wave of his hand. "Besides, that essay isn't going to write itself." He beamed at her, his eyes twinkling.

Veronica grinned. "Tell me. How are you feeling? Are you recovered?"

"A little stiff. My wounds are healing well enough, although it's a damnable irritation. Still, I imagine I'll be back to my usual self before long. Provided, that is, that I don't find myself scrabbling around on the top of any moving ground trains in the near future."

Veronica laughed. "Well, sit yourself down and I'll prepare a nice cup of Earl Grey. Miss Coulthard should be back soon. She's just popped along to the archive to file some papers." She climbed to her feet, stretching her back after spending too long sitting hunched over her desk.

"Indeed. I ran in to her in the passageway. It's most excellent news about the safe return of her brother. I understand that you were instrumental in seeing him home?"

Veronica came out from behind her desk. She shrugged. "Yes, I suppose you could put it that way. I happened upon him in the most unlikely of spots, and having seen one of Miss Coulthard's photographs, I was able to place him. His memory has yet to return, but I'm told he's otherwise in good health."

Newbury nodded. "So how did you find Amelia? Is she bearing up?"

Veronica tried to maintain her smile, but her face faltered. "Not well, I'm afraid. She grows weaker with every visit I make. I don't know what else I can do for her. I think just being in that place is enough to suck the life out of her."

Newbury stepped closer and tenderly placed his hand on her arm. "We must see what we can do to help. I'll give the matter some attention directly."

Veronica's breath became shallow. She edged nearer to Newbury, her heart hammering in her chest. Her lips were dry. "It's good to have you back, Sir Maurice."

"I--"



Then the door swung open and Miss Coulthard bustled noisily into the office. Veronica hurriedly stepped back from Newbury, smoothing her dress. Her face flushed.

Miss Coulthard seemed not to notice anything untoward. She smiled. "Good to have you back, Sir Maurice." She glanced at them both in turn, and then shuffled over to the stove. "Tea, anyone?"

Newbury laughed. "Yes please, Miss Coulthard. That would be perfect." He crossed into the other room and dropped his hat on the stand, shrugged out of his coat, and then, moving gingerly so as not to put stress on his wounds, he wandered back through to his desk and lowered himself into his chair.

Veronica returned to her seat. They eyed each other across the office, neither of them knowing what to say. Miss Coulthard whistled tunefully in the other room as she set the kettle on the stove and searched around in the cupboard for some cups and saucers.

Newbury was first to break the silence. "Did Bainbridge stop by to inform you of my theory about the Dutch Royal cousin and The Lady Armitage?"

Veronica nodded. "Indeed he did. He was rather less than forthcoming when it came to detailing the activities the man had been pursuing in the Whitechapel district, but I was able to tease out enough information from his inferences to work out what he was trying to say."

Newbury laughed. "That certainly sounds like Charles. He never could talk to a lady."

Veronica looked suddenly serious. "I suppose that explains why all of the passengers had been tied to their seats on the airship. The fact that they were plague victims, I mean."

"Yes, I suppose it does."



Veronica toyed with the corner of one of the manuscript pages on her desk. "So how did Her Majesty take the news? It's rather a scandalous affair for the family, isn't it?"

Newbury shrugged. "I visited the palace yesterday. Her Majesty seemed to take the news impartially. She was rather too busy admonishing me for the state of my health, if truth be told." He chuckled. "I doubt there'll be any word of it in the press. Whether the facts are deemed appropriate for the boy's mother, we'll have to leave for others to decide." Veronica nodded. "So, what's next?"

Newbury laughed again. "Druids. The Bronze Age. Pages and pages of arduous notes." He leaned back in his chair. "After that, who knows? I'm sure that something will turn up." He turned to see Miss Coulthard entering the office, bearing two cups of Earl Grey on a wooden tray.

Veronica smiled, reaching for another sheaf of papers on her desk. She shuffled them into a neat pile before her. Looking up, she met Newbury's eye from across the room. "I do believe it will, Sir Maurice. I do believe it will."