Sweet Victoria: Airships, #1

By Michał Krzyżan

Adventures, Victorian gentlemen and airships!

 

Mary Clipwood is a young and inexperienced inventor wishing for a life full of adventures. When her father's friend, Edward Harrington, builds a prototype airship and organizes an expedition following the tea route from China to London, she can't resist but to join.

There are, however, forces that do not wish the expedition to reach its destination. When political enemies clash and old grudges come back to life, Mary will find herself between fighting giants. She will have to learn to put everything at stake in order to succeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michał Krzyżan
• Release date: Oct 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201328023

Book preview

Chapter I

The port clerk counted another stack of hundred-pound bills while workers carried wooden crates from the ship's deck. It wasn't just any unit. The Titania was a long, slender, black-painted clipper ship. The three tall masts housed a series of rails from which ropes hung as if just waiting to unfurl the sails. All the gathered onlookers associated the unit with a vicious mare waiting for an opportunity to gallop.

The Titania was showing signs of wear. The paint on the sides and the bow had peeled off, the wood was scratched, and the deck was faded and trampled. However, this did not diminish her charm. On the contrary, the clipper was the first to sail to the port of London, following the tea route from China. Its owner was rewarded with the best tea contracts and writing his name on the pages of history. That's how business was done here. The brave won, and the winners took everything.

Away from all that harbour noise, there was a house on the outskirts of London. It was not just a house: it was far from the crowded tenement houses of factory workers or smoky flats by railway tracks. It was a comfortable, two-story building with a small garden, typical of highly qualified employees, bankers or, as in the case of the owner of this particular place, inventors. The Clipwoods lived there.

There was an atmosphere of a quiet evening in the living room of this apartment. Candles from an old, ornate chandelier brightly illuminated the modest but well-kept furniture. The table setting had already disappeared to the kitchen, leaving only a memory of a wonderful dinner.

The man of the house, Robert Clipwood, wearing a green bonnet, was sitting in his armchair, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. His eye crinkled to hold the monocle in place, making his grey sideburns and his already balding hair stand up. Newspaper headlines announced: Diplomatic Crisis in Suez.

Mrs Clipwood, wearing a dark grey dress, sat next to him in a chair doing the embroidery. Her greying hair was arranged in a bun, which gave the sedate woman a look of seriousness. Their daughter, Mary, was reading a book on the couch in a position that was comfortable but not befitting a young lady. Her straight, blond hair flowed gently down her blue dress.

The silence of the afternoon was measured only by the quiet ticking of the clock, and the aroma of tea and the warmth emanating from the fireplace made it an idyllic afternoon that could not be interrupted.

At that moment, a servant entered the room and interrupted the idyllic afternoon.

Sir, he said, Mr Harrington is here on an unannounced visit. Will you allow him in?

Mr Clipwood's face tightened. He looked up at the servant from the newspaper and was clearly considering something.

Yes, he finally replied. Let him in.

Half a minute later, Edward Harrington, a tall, grey-haired man, entered the living room. He looked quite predatory thanks to his short moustache and impeccably selected frock coat. Robert jumped up from his seat. His wife also rose but with greater refinement. The guest kissed the hands of the lady of the house and her daughter and then shook the man's hand. They both had fixed expressions.

Perhaps we should move to the office, suggested Mr Harrington.

I'd like to, but... Mr Clipwood cleared his throat nervously. There is a slight disorder there.

I don't think a few papers will disturb us in business, the guest noted.

Most of the space is taken up by my new machine.

I think that somehow we will accommodate...

It is impossible to open the door.

Mr Harrington gave up, sighed and got down to business.

It's not good, Mr Clipwood. Your investment has completely failed.

Nonsense! the host protested. Submarines will be very popular! Give them some more time!

Mr Harrington shook his head.

I'm telling you this as an inventor to an inventor. The project is lost. And with it the loan I gave you.

Honey, said the wife, what is he talking about?

Unfortunately, I will have to take back your property, concluded Mr Harrington. I'm sorry, but this is the lot of those who have lost.

Mr Clipwood stared at his visitor like a deer would at a pack of wolves. The women were staring at the scene as well, but with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

I must admit, Mr Harrington, you arrived just in time, the daughter said unnaturally calmly.

Excuse me?

The guest was surprised.

You solved our problem, Mary continued, getting up from the couch and taking her purse. We have been planning to renovate the living room for a month now, but we couldn't afford to decorate it properly.

Mr Harrington looked in surprise at the girl and the host but found no answer in any of these places.

So if you insult my father again... she took a revolver from her purse and put it to the guest's throat, I will personally decorate the salon with your very efficient brain!

Mary's mother screamed, Robert stood in shock, and Mr Harrington tried to look down at the girl's furious eyes.

Nice revolver, he decided to lighten the atmosphere. How did you get it?

I've made it myself! You don't believe it, do you?

Mr Harrington smiled, baffling everyone.

You've got talent after your father. I'm sure you can hit the centre of the target from a hundred yards.

Even out of two hundred, the girl said aggressively, sheathing the gun.

You also have character...

Oh yes, she has... muttered her father.

I'll come back about the debt. Maybe we can find a way to pay it off. Meanwhile, duties are calling.

Mr Harrington took the hat from the servant and headed for the door. Mary looked at her father with satisfaction.

What? She was surprised, seeing his expression. I saved our property, didn't I?

We'll come back to it later...

Lord Nelson, of those Nelsons, as he always said, was walking hurriedly down the corridor of his company headquarters. The oil lamps had already gone out, and the aristocrat was moving, unstoppable in the twilight. His coat flaps fluttered in the rhythm of his footsteps, and his white-gloved hands gripped the gentleman's staff and the newspaper. The slightly wrinkled face was hiding predatory blue eyes and his head was decorated with perfectly cut grey hair.

He swung the door open and entered the room with haste. His employees were already gathered around the table with a single oil lamp.

You're all here, good, he greeted them casually.

We arrived as soon as we could, sir, said the chairman of the board. What's the problem, if you'd be so kind?

Nelson threw the newspaper on the table. The headline stated: Diplomatic Crisis in Suez.

You must have read it, he said to his subordinates. Is there anything I should know?

The Turks have made demands to Great Britain for the island of Bahrain. Until they get the colony, they intend to block the canal.

Thank you, Mr Harris, I know how to read, the Lord rebuked him. I want to know how this situation will affect our interests.

We cannot say, but we suspect that the crisis will last... several years.

Several years? Nelson exclaimed in shock. Are you telling me that the new steamboat fleet, on which we have spent all our capital, will not come with tea because the Turks are blocking the canal?

Yes, sir, the chairman agreed timidly. If we can’t come up with anything or a miracle does not happen, our company will face spectacular bankruptcy.

Fantastic, muttered the unhappy Lord.

Chapter II

The test of the machine was successful. Edward Harrington looked proudly at his handiwork as it slowly settled into place. Clouds of steam hovered around it, smelling of charcoal and grease. The man inhaled these fumes with delight. They smelled like victory. And he, Edward Harrington, always won.

He was in an abandoned train depot outside London. A few months earlier, he had bought it for next to nothing from the British Railways to start his epochal project. Now he was reaping the fruits of his long work.

At one point, a servant came up to him. Without a word, he placed his cup of tea and the morning paper on the small table. Edward picked up the journal, but before looking at it, he was still enjoying the sight of the workers tying the invention to the handles on the hall floor.

A wonderful machine, sir, said the servant.

Wonderful? It will revolutionize the world.

Of course, sir. I just want to remind you how much you have invested in it. The next steps should be cautious if you don't want to end up like, say, Mr Clipwood.

Clipwood is an old idealist. He knows mechanics but knows as much about investing as the pigeons in Trafalgar Square.

Of course, sir, the servant agreed. You have proved more than once that you know which door to knock on.

And it is so this time as well, Edward said with a smile, glancing at the newspaper. I think I just found the right door.

He showed the servant the front page. A loud headline read Steam & Tea Company Trouble.

I think it is time to pay Lord Nelson a visit.

The servant silently agreed, and they both stared at the machine that the workers had just been shutting down.

If you want to sell her, she'll need a good name, the servant remarked.

"Good point. It has to be a name that associates well. One that looks good in the headlines. Maybe in honour of the queen?

He thought for a moment.

Sweet Victoria. How does it sound?

Wonderful, sir.

Bordington, can you explain that to me? Mary asked angrily.

Mister Bordington, her father corrected.

Since Mr Harrington's last visit, relations at the Clipwood house have gone bad. The father immediately suppressed the daughter's outbursts of anger, which naturally led to even more frequent outbursts of anger. Breakfast that morning was no exception.

Yes, miss? asked the servant faithfully, coming up to the table and not showing that he knew what awaited him.

I asked for soft-boiled eggs, explained the girl, and I got them hard-boiled! Bordington, can't you do anything right?

Mister—

Father, don't correct me. He's just a servant, and he should know his place.

Robert hit the table with his fist, making the porcelain rattle. The saucers were brown with spilt tea. The unfortunate Mr Bordington had decided that this was the perfect time for a discreet retreat to the kitchen.

Listen to me carefully, daughter, said the father, being very careful not to raise his voice, you should learn where your place is. You have no respect for anyone. You should learn to behave in a manner that befits a young, well-mannered lady.

Father, you yourself always said that I should decide my own fate. And that's what I do. I don't let anyone else decide for me.

Deciding fate is one thing, her father was beginning to lose control of himself, and an affair over an egg is quite another. Mary, you're now an adult, and you're acting like a five-year-old girl! Your brothers left long ago and started their business! If you ever want to inherit my workshop—

So that's what this is all about! the girl noticed. You're angry because your sons did not follow in your footsteps!

Mr Bordington, who was eavesdropping, hissed in terror. It was a low blow.

You're not going to talk to your father like that! Mr Clipwood shouted.

Mary, sensing the threat, took it down a notch. She picked up a spoon and became interested in the egg, but she had no appetite whatsoever. A tense minute of silence passed, after which the tense emotions slowly began to subside.

Listen to me, Mary, Robert said finally. He seemed very old now. "Your mother and I have decided to send you to study at Mrs Griffin's School for Girls from Good Houses.

A boarding school? Mary exclaimed.

This is the best way if you want to achieve something in life.

You just want to get rid of me! I hate you!

Mary stood up so abruptly that the chair tipped over behind her. She threw the napkin on the table, ran out of the dining room, and slammed the door so hard that the glass rattled dangerously. Mr Clipwood sighed hopelessly and hunched over.

Don't blame yourself for her character, his wife said gently. Raising a child is a tough job.

Why is it so difficult with her? Robert asked rhetorically.

Maybe she needs a little taste of the hardships of life to be more humble. Mrs Griffin's school is probably a good idea.

I guess you're right... finished her husband. He felt very tired.

The streets of London were wet with the afternoon drizzle. The chill autumn wind