Ghost in the Machine (Steam and Cyber Series Book 1) Read online

  The air grew colder and danker as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Josephine’s feet, covered in hospital socks, stumbled along the uneven stones of the basement floor.

  “I’m cold,” said Josephine, feeling dizzy, as she remained upright. “I need to get dressed in my own clothes. This hospital gown is too thin and drafty.” She stopped to lean on the wall. “I really don’t feel well. I’m confused.”

  “Just put on these clothes and pull yourself together,” said Minnow, picking up the bag and shoving it in her chest. “We don’t need any reasons for you to stand out. No parasols or fanciful hats.”

  Josephine took the bag and reached in for a pair of long pants. Nausea and the shaky post-op effects of the anesthesia hit her again, almost knocking her to the ground. Holding her stomach and trying not to retch, she looked up.

  “You two go. I don’t know how to put these on. Please, leave me. I don’t feel well.”

  “Don’t move,” he said to Josephine. “We shouldn’t take her yet,” he turned to face Minnow.

  “She’s not that sick. We can take care of her ourselves. Then we can return her to London. Honestly, we have got to get her out of here. She’s starting to freak.” Minnow stared at Yeshua with a dark and warning look. “This could mess up everything, and you know it.”

  Josephine began to wrestle into Minnow’s jeans, the roughness of the cloth and the tightness of their cut felt foreign. “These are too small,” said Josephine.

  “They are supposed to fit like that,” said Minnow, grabbing and yanking the jeans up above Josephine’s hips.

  “Very uncomfortable.”

  “Yes, but they look good,” said Yeshua.

  Charley ran in to the basement. Together, Yeshua and Charley lifted Josephine to her feet; she slung one arm around each of their shoulders and was elevated between them.

  “Hold on tight. Don’t let go,” Yeshua instructed Josephine. “Come on, Charley. Speed it up!”

  “Down there!” screeched an officious woman from the third story. “I see her! And her accomplices!”

  “Accomplice sounds so negative, doesn’t it?” laughed Charley as they ran.

  “You are leaving against medical advice,” yelled Norma, from the third floor windows as she ran slowly down the hall. She looked like a bowling ball crookedly rolling down a lane. “Security!”

  Dazed, Josephine looked out over the courtyard that led to the parking lot. As soon as they left the hospital grounds, something was strange. It was the abrupt silence in the air, a dramatic juxtaposition to all the clamorous noise inside the courtyard of the hospital.

  Charley’s car was parked in the side alley, across from the usual patient pick up. He sprinted to the back door and caught his breath. Josephine looked back at the clinic, a row of security guards stood in a line at the doors, but made no further attempt to reach them.

  Josephine awkwardly entered the back of the car, 3 pairs of black sunglasses dangled from the rear view mirror; the plaid upholstery on the seats was ripped exposing cigarette burnt foam. “Buckle up,” said Yeshua.

  “My buckle doesn’t have a bottom latch,” said Josephine.

  “Come here.” As she slid over, unsure of where to sit, Yeshua lifted her on his lap and between his legs. He then wrapped the buckle around them both.

  “It’s a tight fit, but better than nothing.” He pulled himself straight up to give her more room. “Try not to throw up on me though,” breathing in the scent of her hair.

  “No, I won’t. I don’t understand where I am. What happened? Where are Bodhi and Caroline?”

  “Where they are supposed to be,” said Minnow. “Where we are taking you.”

  She stared at the back of Charley’s neck as they drove and jostled through the narrow streets. “You okay, Josephine?” Charley yelled from the front, the open windows blasting sharp air in their faces. She nodded, wishing she could breathe more deeply. She could feel the beginnings of a rattle in her chest as the car bumped along the back roads.

  Yeshua rubbed his arms, mostly bare under the tight sleeves of his shirt. He wasn’t bulky but he had obvious definition. He furrowed his brow and yelled, “Can you put up the windows? We’re getting blasted back here.”

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” answered Charley. “Windows up.”

  The drizzle deepened into a heavy rain as the small motorcar drove unnoticed into the garage of Charley’s shop.

  “Let’s stay in here until the storm blows over,” said Charley.

  Inside the garage, the choking stench of burning plastic and blown dust filled the air. Josephine’s airways scraped with each sharp breath of air. The smell took root on the back of her tongue and slid down her throat like a serrated pill. Grabbing a handkerchief, she held it over her nose and mouth as she coughed. Nothing helped; she kept coughing, unable to catch her breath.

  “Damn it, Minnow. We need to take Josephine back to the clinic. I never should have listened to you.”

  “How would we take her back to the hospital? What would we say, anyway?”

  “Money talks, Minnow, we don’t have to say anything. One phone call and another cash exchange. It’s an underground clinic for God’s sake.”

  Josephine interrupted the bickering. “Stop it, please, I’ll be fine

  “Here,” said Minnow, throwing an inhaler at Josephine. “Push down on the top and breathe in deeply. Hold it in as long as you can. It’s albuterol and pulmicort. It’ll relax your bronchial tubes. You’ll be able to breathe better.”

  “After she goes back, get her checked by a medic,” said Charley. “To make sure there weren’t any aftereffects.”

  Yeshua nodded. He hadn’t given a great deal of thought to aftereffects. He sat on an old frayed stool in the garage and starting playing nervous rhythms on his knees with his hands.

  Josephine and Minnow sat silently, still in the car. Charley walked through the pouring rain to his shop while Yeshua found a bottle of water and leaned against the wall to drink it. He unscrewed the cap; his dehydrated body downed the water in quick big gulps. Closing his eyes, he felt a pit of fear in his stomach.

  Charley ran out of the shop with three umbrellas. He was soaked and his T-shirt clung to him. “This should help so we don’t have to stay in my dusty garage. Not that my shop is any palace.”

  “I’m sure it’s just fine,” said Josephine as he handed her an umbrella.

  “It’s not a parasol, sweetheart. But it’ll do,” he said, spitting into a circle of muddied water.

  London

  July 2nd 1865

  “I don’t like to be touched,” the man insisted as he entered Francesca’s parlor. The red carpet had faded, yet the drapes had retained their original hue. He was a shorter man than her usual visitors, barely five feet tall, and his clothes were tailored and cut in a fashion unseen by her before.

  “I must say, I do not hear that very often.” Francesca led him into her greeting room, a place where she learned more about the men’s expectations and negotiated the services she could provide. She rang a small bell with a most delicately gloved hand. “I am calling some girls for you to meet. Then you can tell me, more specifically, the details of what you desire.”

  Three young ladies of various body sizes entered the room. The first curtsied and giggled behind her ornate fan. She was squeezed into a garish yellow dress, the color of sunshine, and her own complexion contrasted with an unhealthy saffron-olive hue.

  “No,” said Tran, flat and without emotion, as if evaluating a stock purchase.

  The second girl, in a muted shade of sky blue, stepped forward and twirled behind her parasol. Built like a boy, tall and muscular, her eyes stared forward with a bold defiance.

  “Absolutely not,” he repeated. He pulled a shiny metal toothpick from his inside coat pocket and began to suck on it. He pulled his lips back in a sneer as he repositioned it to the other side of his mouth. “More submissive type is what I’m after.”

  Francesca sighed and motio
ned for the third girl to step forward. “My name is Emily.” The girl seemed to shout as she spoke. The right side of her face twitched in a nervous tic as her eyes bulged forward.

  Francesca put her finger to her lips, indicating silence. The girl blushed a deep crimson, a deeper shade that the red of her dress. She held her hands delicately in front of her but her mouth remained open as if to speak.

  “Is she right in the head?” asked the man. “Is she defective?”

  “She is perfectly healthy and capable to the best of my knowledge,” answered Francesca. “She was part Prime Minister’s kitchen staff, until she was found in a certain condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “Unwed. Expecting.”

  “Perfect.”

  Francesca waved the young women from the room and pulled a golden cord on the wall to summon tea.

  “What are you hoping to find here?” asked Francesca.

  The man narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what sort of services would you like?”

  “I don’t want anyone to touch me. And I don’t want to touch them. I don’t like the feeling of flesh.”

  Francesca’s raised her brows slightly and cleared her throat. “Are you sure you have come to the right place. I am in the service industry.”

  “Yes. Can you accommodate me?”

  “You want to watch? I am unclear.”

  “I want someone to chat with.”

  “Nothing abusive.”

  “Of course not. I am not a violent man, but I would like to have access to the house. I don’t want to be stuck in a filthy-fleabag, bed-bugged bedroom.”

  Francesca nodded at the odd request and led him into the dining room. “Emily, this is, I’m sorry what is your name?”

  “Tran.”

  “This is Mr. Tran. He would like to spend some time talking with you.”

  The other two young women giggled and ran from the room, leaving Emily alone.

  “What do you want to talk about?” Emily asked.

  “I will leave you to your enjoyment, Mr. Tran. Emily, please take Mr. Tran to the second floor.”

  Emily led Tran up the newly waxed and polished wooden floors. An airship hung in the sky, outside the window and suspended over the trees. The propellers moved slowly yet held the massive balloon aloft.

  “Shall we sit on the bed?” asked Emily, leading him into a tastefully decorated crimson colored room.

  He closed the door. “I want to know all about the Prime Minister’s House. I am writing a story about a bomb, about a bomb in his home.”

  Emily raised her eyebrows with alarm and sat quietly.

  “Would you like to help me write it?”

  Gravesend

  July 4th 1865

  “I’m worried about Josephine. We never should have agreed to let her go,” said Caroline, breaking a long silence. She bent over to retrieve a teal embroidered pillow that fell from her lap. “I wish we knew something.” Her fingers picked at the loose pillow threads. “Anything.” A storm outside the window whipped the tree branches onto the panes of glass, like wet angry arms.

  “It is strange. They must realize that Nico is missing,” said Bodhi. “Maybe it’s too dangerous for them to come back for him.”

  “Maybe they were discovered,” said Caroline. “Or maybe they got what they wanted and forgot all about him.”

  Caroline wore a tiny bonnet adorned with a lion and tiger. A giraffe and zebra also perched atop her small felt hat, behind miniaturized artificial bushes.

  “Let’s have some wine,” said Bodhi, clapping his hands as he stood up. He stared down at the petite zoo upon Caroline’s head and placed his goggles in his pocket. “It will pick up our spirits.”

  “No. No wine. I can’t,” protested Caroline. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.”

  “Precisely why wine is in order.”

  The butler, an ancient companion of Caroline’s father, knocked and announced a visitor. The butler was tall and hideously gaunt. He walked with his head held back. His eyes, constantly peering down, and his perpetually raised eyebrows with half-closed lids, emphasized his haughty demeanor.

  “Yes, Harold. Who is it?” asked Caroline.

  “A certain, ah, a Madame Fran-ces-ca,” said Harold awkwardly, pronouncing Francesca with a slow and truncated enunciation.

  “Oh my,” Caroline shook her head, as her eyes seemed to pop from their sockets. “Excuse us just a moment, Harold, please.” As Harold nodded and left, she looked to Bodhi. “What do I do? Do I let her in? Meet her outside? Should I say we aren’t receiving visitors?”

  “Don’t panic. Treat her as you would treat anyone who has been of help to you, Caroline. Bring her in and be a gracious hostess. I would expect nothing less from you.”

  “Of course, you are right.” Caroline straightened the cushions of the settee, and put some stray books back in the mahogany bookcases.

  She picked up her long black satin gloves from the table and put them on. Caroline and her father remained in their private residence, awaiting the completion of repairs at Downing Street. Bodhi had taken up residence in the sphere, the futuristic studio of Rolls’s, hidden on the grounds of his property.

  “Harold, please ask my guest to join us in the library,” said Caroline, clearing her throat. “And bring us some tea, please.”

  “Certainly,” replied Harold as he stood regarding the entire situation with disdain.

  “Please, go, Harold, don’t keep our visitor waiting any longer.” Caroline stood firm. “How did she find this house?” she asked Bodhi as Harold walked out. “My father’s private residence? I suppose it’s better she came here than to #10 Downing. Good heavens, what could she want?”

  Francesca entered as Caroline was finishing her diatribe. Bodhi stood until everyone found a comfortable place to sit. They poured their tea in near silence.

  “Do you take sugar in your tea,” Bodhi asked Francesca, holding the sugar bowl in her direction.

  “No, thank you. Just a hint of milk, if you please,” Francesca answered.

  “The fog seems to have abated,” said Caroline blankly.

  “Indeed, the rain seems to have freshened the air up a bit,” agreed Francesca, matching Caroline’s monotone.

  Francesca set down her tea and cleared her throat. “I wanted to inform both of you,” she glanced at Caroline and nodded at Bodhi also, “that the gentleman left under my care is improving quite nicely.”

  “Yes? Well that is encouraging news,” Caroline answered.

  “Has anyone been inquiring after a missing man?” asked Bodhi, reaching for a napkin.

  “Not to my knowledge, but I keep my nose in my own business. A businesswoman in my particular line of work can’t be bothered with unfounded gossip. And who am I to judge the proclivities of others?”

  “Indeed,” agreed Caroline, amused. Bodhi’s disapproving face reflected in the window. “It’s no one’s place to judge,” she added quickly.

  Francesca’s pallor faded in the gas lighting of the room.

  Caroline’s expression remained calm and composed as she lifted a teacup to her lips. “So, no one has come around to claim him?”

  “He is not yet in any condition to be claimed, Lady Caroline. Besides, the general public is ignorant of this strange man who has taken root in my home. My girls are certainly discreet and he has become a bit of a secret pet. The girls enjoy caring for Nico, someone who doesn’t want anything from them.”

  “Maybe he finds them all revolting. Not his type,” commented Caroline.

  “Caroline,” whispered Bodhi, fingering a doily. “Please.”

  “It’s fine,” reassured Francesca.

  “I am sure your employees are tending to him quite nicely,” rephrased Caroline. “And I am sure many people, ourselves included, appreciate your discretion and keen judgment.” Francesca smiled at the compliment

  Caroline picked up her painted wooden fan, which matched her deep burgundy
and gold accented jacket. The back split over the bustle of her burgundy skirt as she rose to view the gardens. She clasped her hands in front of her and turned back to Francesca. “Is there something we can do to help you, Madame Francesca? You have shown us such kindness,” she paused to breathe deeply, “and we are so eager to repay your generosity.”

  “Actually, yes,” answered Francesca. “It’s Nico. He shows an agitation in his conduct and demeanor, yet he remains quiet about his accident. Perhaps if you visited, he would settle down. I am sure he would appreciate a visit from friends.”

  Caroline and Bodhi look at each other. “Of course,” answered Bodhi without hesitation.

  “Another thing,” Francesca cleared her throat and stirred her tea slowly.

  “Yes?” asked Caroline. “Money?”

  Bodhi shot her a warning look. Caroline ignored it.

  “No,” answered a nonplussed Francesca. “One of my girls caught the rumblings of a recent visitor. He must remain anonymous, of course, as I run a very confidential business.”

  “Of course, Francesca,” said Bodhi. “Does it concern us somehow?”

  “Just whispers and hints of another break in, similar to the one that occurred at #10. Most likely here, some sort of invasion.”

  “Who would threaten such a thing? And how can you not tell me who is behind it?” Caroline stood in anger. “Is it Anson? Or Henry?”

  “The wisest thing for you both to do right now is to take leave of your father’s house. You are welcome to stay with me again.”

  “Are you certain you have good information, Francesca? There are many rumors circulating, most are innuendo with no factual basis,” asked Bodhi.

  “Over the course of my life, I have become able to ascertain fancifully idle threats from the truth,” answered Francesca. “This visitor was foreign, with strange ideas. I thought it right to share this information with you. Take it as you will.” Francesca picked up her teacup from the side table. “I have been keeping your items safe for you, and I have been tending to your friend. You have every reason to believe me.”