Newbury cleared his throat, embarrassed. "In that case, Miss Hobbes, after the manner in which you found me in my study the other morning, I do believe we're about equal." He offered her a wide grin. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I really must attend to my wounds. I fear this suit is already beyond saving, but I'd like to give it my best shot all the same."
Veronica laughed, this time not bothering to hide her amusement. "You'll find some fresh bandages in the cabinet underneath the sink."
Newbury stepped into the bathroom and clicked the door shut behind him. He listened to the sound of Veronica's footsteps disappearing along the hallway before undressing in the mirror, setting the tap running, and tending to his raw and bloody wounds. It was only just after ten o'clock in the morning, and already it was proving to be a long, painful day.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The sun was a watery, baleful eye that glared down at the Thames through a bruised eyelid of rain clouds as Newbury, Veronica and Bainbridge rolled over the Chelsea Bridge in the back of the police carriage, on their way to Battersea and the Chapman and Villiers manufactory.
Newbury watched Bainbridge leaning out of the carriage window, straining to take in the sight of the embankment as it hove into view. He followed the other man's gaze. The scene across the river was murky, the mist and rain forming a thick veil across the landscape. The rain had begun to fall not long after they had set out from Veronica's apartment, and the three of them had quickly decided to huddle together in the waiting vehicle. Bainbridge had stopped only to send word to Scotland Yard, requesting uniformed assistance, but they all knew it would be some time before the Yard were able to muster their men. In the meantime, Newbury had been anxious to press on, to head directly to Battersea and confront Chapman and Villiers, before the two of them realised the police were finally on to them.
Newbury looked up at the dark clouds that were scudding across the sky, brooding with intent. The rain would continue well into the afternoon, if he was any judge of the weather.
Across the river, the warehouses of Chapman and Villiers were squat mounds of red brick, imposing even amidst the industrial buildings that sat to either side of them. A number of airships were still tethered to the roofs, tousled by driving wind and precipitation. They bobbed fluidly but remained fixed in place by long coils of rope.
"Impressive, isn't it, Charles?"
Bainbridge turned to look at him, his expression fixed. He nodded. "Bigger than I had imagined."
"Indeed. Wait until you see inside. The manner in which they construct the new dirigibles is magnificent." He allowed his eyes to wander to the floor, biting back his enthusiasm. "If only they'd contented themselves with that, eh, rather than trying to revolutionise the world with their clockwork men?" He shook his head.
"Newbury, people like that will never be content with their lot. Whatever they say, it's not about changing the world. It's about wielding power. They may call themselves philanthropists, but in truth they're just as greedy as the rest of us, just as hungry for money and validation. In this case, probably more so."
Newbury met his friend's eyes. "You're right, of course. About Chapman at least. But I think Villiers is a different matter entirely. I don't see that he's at all interested in money or validation. I think he sees his work as a personal challenge. He has no grand schemes to change the world; he wants only to be left alone to his amoral experiments, as terrible as they are."
Bainbridge sighed. "That may be so, but it doesn't alter the fact that together they've committed the most heinous of crimes. There's no redemption to be had here. They're both for the noose."
Newbury nodded and leaned back in his seat. He glanced at Veronica, who had been listening to the conversation from her place beside him. She didn't seem to have anything she wanted to add to the discussion and instead turned away, pretending to distract herself with the view out of the window. He wondered for a moment about what she was thinking.
Newbury closed his eyes, lulled by the motion of the carriage. His wounds ached desperately. He hoped that the affair would be over soon so that he could spend a few days holed up in his lodgings, convalescing in his study. For now, though, he had work to do, and he knew that whatever evidence the three of them had at their disposal, Joseph Chapman was not going to willingly accept his fate.
The cab rolled on, its wheels clicking loudly on the cobbled road as they neared their destination.
The reception area of Chapman and Villiers Air Transportation Services was devoid of activity when Newbury burst in, followed by both Bainbridge and Veronica. Chapman's clerk, Soames, sat in his usual position behind the mahogany desk, his hands forming a thin steeple on the desk before him. He glanced up nonchalantly as the door clicked shut behind the visitors.
"Ah, good day to you, Sir Maurice." The man's eyes flicked over the faces of three newcomers, like a lizard assessing its prey.
"I am afraid that you will find Mister Chapman is unavailable today. I hope you have not had a wasted journey." He offered Newbury a sickly smile.
Newbury turned to Veronica, inclining his head in the direction of the stairs. She grasped his meaning immediately and crossed the room in a few quick strides, mounting the bottom step and starting up in the direction of Chapman's office.
"Really, Sir Maurice!" Soames stood, placing his hands on the desk before him. "I assure you that Mister Chapman is not here. There is no need to contest my word on the matter."
Newbury glared at him but said nothing.
A moment later, Veronica appeared at the top of the staircase and gave a curt shake of her head. Chapman obviously wasn't in his office. Still, Newbury couldn't find it in himself to trust the clerk.
"Where is he?"
Soames looked exasperated. "I honestly can't say. He arrived this morning as usual, took his tea in his office and then went about his business. I haven't seen him for at least two or three hours. He told me to keep his diary free for today."
Newbury clenched his fists, exasperated.
Bainbridge put his hand on Newbury's shoulder. "What now?"
Newbury shrugged. "Villiers, I suppose."
Soames sighed dramatically. "Gentlemen, without an appointment, I really must insist-" He stopped short when Bainbridge raised his cane, leaned over the desk and placed the tip of it against the man's chest, tapping it gently as if weighing how much force he would need to shatter the clerk's breastbone.
"Look here. If you have any sense about you at all, you will stop with your insipid drivel and make haste away from this place before you find yourself implicated in affairs you'd rather stay out of!"
The clerk looked appalled, then stepped back from the tip of the other man's cane, his legs bumping into his chair behind the desk. He opened and closed his mouth as if unsure how to respond to the threat. "I…oh…"
"Shut up, man! My name is Sir Charles Bainbridge and I am a Chief Inspector with Scotland Yard. My colleagues and I intend to locate Mister Villiers for an interview. You can either assist us by pointing us in the right direction, (or you can choose to create a situation for yourself. I fear the latter option will not work out for the best."
Soames shrivelled away from the Chief I Inspector, clearly terrified by the man. "I believe you'll find him in his workshop on the other side of the manufactory site, sir."
Bainbridge nodded and withdrew his cane. The other man sighed visibly with relief. "Good man. Now, heed my advice and take your leave. I assure you that you do not wish to be associated with this business any more than you already are." He turned to Veronica, who was crossing the room to join them once again. "Are we set?"