The Electrifying Exploits of the English Three

Book 1: English Three

by Elysabeth Williams

Genres: Steampunk; Time Travel

Synopsis

English Three, #1

Can three women stop the destruction of the Tower Bridge?

Eliza, Miriam, and Jillian are friends by fate, employment, and society. In the London of 1894, they receive a directive from their mysterious boss to investigate, and stop, the Countess Wilmont's plot to destroy the newly erected Tower Bridge.

Delving into a secret world of masterful training in martial arts, curious new technologies and weaponry, the women are armed and very dangerous.

Their investigation reveals a terrible truth about two of their husbands, and along the way they meet three men who will change their world. . .and show them that gentlemen aren't always what they seem.

Content warning: Sex and violence.

56,000 Words

Release date: January 3, 2011

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 205

Sample

 

Chapter 1

 

Eliza turned the tiny knob slowly. The tick tick tick of its internal mechanism was just loud enough for her heart to keep time. Three to the left. Seven right. Tick tick tick. Fourteen left. Eliza twisted the smooth brass handle and with a resounding thunk, the black-painted steel case opened. Inside laid her test of the day–quite possibly the test of her life. She retrieved the missive with a gloved hand. The colonel’s red wax seal meant big business. Why he decided to put it in someone else’s safe was beyond her understanding, but the man had a mean sense of humor.

She had attended the musicale at Baron Willoughby’s residence only because she had earlier received word there would be directions here somewhere.

Eliza’s only clue, three numbers, left her confused.

After hours of fruitless exploration through the baron’s more public rooms, she had excused herself from the festivities for a brief moment. As she’d passed by his study, she’d seen the shiny black safe peeking from behind his desk. Without thinking, she had dove head-first behind the furniture to try the numbers. She didn’t care how she appeared, with her skirts almost up over her head, straining to see.

She plopped down in front of the safe, broke the seal, withdrew a yellowed parchment, and unfolded it.

 

Mrs. von Wilstrom,

I do hope this note finds you well. It has been a difficult time in India, and I have not been able to respond to your inquiries punctually. Please accept my most humble apologies.

The point of my letter is thus: It has come to my attention that a Countess Millicent Wilmont has been a bit peculiar recently. She has apparently not been sound of mind, and in her not so delicate condition has let us believe she plans to destroy the newly erected Tower Bridge.

Her motives are still unknown. Therefore we must investigate the matter discreetly and swiftly.

If you are up to the task, please send the usual response post-haste.

Yours,

Lt. Col. Griffin Cuthbert

British Royal Army, India Division

 

Standing, Eliza folded and tucked the missive into her cleavage, adjusted her upturned skirts and pulled her shawl over her shoulders. She secured the safe just as she heard the door close behind her.

“Mrs. von Wilstrom, did you get lost? We’d grown concerned about you in the parlor.” Baron Silas Willoughby’s eyes narrowed on her. She righted herself and tried to smile as sweetly as possible. She hoped she was convincing.

“No, on the contrary. The parlor was stifling, and I thought to remove myself before I fell over.” Eliza flashed a winning smile at the baron and bustled past him on her way back to the parlor.

Silas closed the door behind her and followed closely. “Did you find anything of interest?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Baron.” He was close enough now to step on her dress.

“Why else would you choose to gather air in my personal study rather than walking outside to the garden?”

“Because the air in London is putrid. I would have fainted dead away. Your study door was open, and I noticed a book title that interested me. Please accept my apologies if I’ve inconvenienced or offended you.”

“No, of course not.”

She stopped in the hallway and turned to him. “You don’t believe me?”

“Oh, but I do. I wouldn’t ever think of you causing trouble in another man’s home.” He smiled crookedly.

Eliza feigned shock, touching her throat with her hand. “Silas Willoughby, I should be insulted.”

His laugh was too loud. She looked around to make sure no one was coming and put her hand on her hip.

“How do you manage to infuriate me with a simple laugh?”

“It is a gift, my lady.”

“A gift worth returning,” she said under her breath.

“You are a cheeky tart.”

“You are wise to believe it, Baron.” Eliza lowered her lashes and grinned.

“Would it be impudent to inquire where you are going this evening?”

“Why, yes, it would.”

“Are you going to tell me anyway?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back. Eliza couldn’t help but notice his broad shoulders as they drew taut. He towered over her slight frame in what she thought to be an attempt at peacocking. Perhaps it was enough to intimidate most, but not her. Her jaw relaxed, and a sigh escaped her lips before she realized it. He cocked an eyebrow in question. She coughed, trying to hide it, and scowled.

“I should think not, considering the circumstances.” She turned back toward the door. “However, if you must...” She leaned in closer to him and whispered, “You may find me at my residence.”

“Your residence?” He feigned surprised. “How bold.”

She dismissed him with the flick of her hand and smiled from beneath her lashes. “Cheeky tart, right?”

“Precisely.” He nodded, grinning. His smile faded slightly and he cocked his head to the side to ask, “What, pray tell, are you doing here anyway?”

“How very curious you are, sir.” She tsk’d. “What a lady, much less a married lady, does in her idle time should not concern you, should it? Truth told, I was invited by my friend Jillian Johnsworth, who was invited by...you.”

“Ah. Makes perfect sense,” he conceded. “Yet I cannot help but question you after finding you in my study–on your knees, even–rather than in the parlor,” Silas said, shaking his head. The smile had returned, yet he feigned disdain.

Eliza laughed despite herself. Too bad she cared more about her work than her social status. People would be falling over themselves if they knew she would spend time alone with Silas Willoughby. Yet she didn’t care. She held on to hope that her husband, Patrick von Wilstrom, would eventually leave her alone for good.

In her current situation, she couldn’t answer the baron’s question. She could never explain the colonel’s letter. Secrecy was of the utmost importance. Though she wondered how long Silas had been standing there watching her. It was troubling and quite possibly incriminating.

“Unfortunately this is where we must part ways, Baron.” She put her hand on the doorknob to the parlor.

“More’s the pity, dear Mrs. von Wilstrom.” Pausing, he placed his hand on hers, wrapping around the doorknob as well. He stepped closer to her, their bodies almost touching.

This close, he smelled of patchouli and spices, obvious remnants of his Curzon cologne. She took a deep, slow breath of it as a souvenir.

“Does your other offer still stand?”

She smiled wryly. Business-minded she was, but ultimately Eliza was not one to turn down an opportunity. “I would have not offered had I not meant it, good sir.”

He backed away–putting distance between them–bowed at the waist and opened the door for her. They entered to find the rest of the dinner party surrounding the upright piano. Eliza’s friend Jillian sat behind it, playing. Jillian turned to face the newcomers and stopped.

“I have found our Mrs. von Wilstrom,” Silas said to the onlookers.

Jillian touched her earlobe and raised her eyebrows. Eliza winked and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders tightly.

“I was unaware she had gone missing.” Mr. Dashing yawned, turning a bored look on his paper.

Eliza smiled at the handsome man and sat beside him on the settee. “I, for one, am so glad someone was concerned about my whereabouts, Mr. Dashing.”

He looked up and winked, then returned once again to his paper. Eliza turned to Silas. “If you could be so kind as to ask for my hansom to be brought around, I should probably retire. It has been a very long evening already, and I fear I shall fall over if I stay for too much longer.” Silas bowed and called for a servant.

Jillian’s song ended, and she turned to face her friend. “Oh, Eliza, please don’t leave just yet. It’s still quite early.”

“I have pressing business to attend to.”

“Pressing?”

“Yes. Very.” Eliza touched her ear. Jillian nodded discreetly.

The servant returned and told Eliza her carriage was ready.

“I shall walk you out, Mrs. von Wilstrom.” Silas again opened the parlor door for her. She said her goodbyes and left. Silently, they wound through the hallways to the front entrance.

Without turning around, she spoke over her shoulder as she opened the front door. “I shall see you later this evening, then?”

“Yes, if the offer still stands.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t.”

Eliza shook her head in annoyance. Silas grinned. Eliza walked out onto the dark curb and stepped into the waiting carriage. She found herself looking forward to her late night visitor. The smell of him still tickled her nose. Smiling, she settled in her seat and motioned for the driver to begin their ride back to her townhouse.

Once out of the constant glow of the gas street lamps, she searched through her black beaded lace reticule. She removed a circular, palm-sized leather device and hooked it onto the back of her ear. She flipped the front piece to mold over the curve of her ear, showing intricate workings resembling a watch’s interior: a puzzle of brass and silver cogs and wheels. From the bottom, a small copper screw jutted out a quarter inch. With a twist, it and the watch piece cogs began to spin, whirring to life with a hum. A golden stem stretched from her ear to her mouth. She twisted the screw again, and a small speaker began to emit a long, low tone into her ear.

* * * *

In Silas Willoughby’s parlor, a chime came from the general vicinity of Jillian’s reticule, which rested on the piano. Jillian watched as Devin Dashing looked up from his newspaper toward the clock. Frowning, he looked back to his paper. Jillian shot a glance at him, then her purse, and–hearing the noise again–began to cough over the sound. Devin looked at her curiously. Jillian excused herself from behind the piano and took the reticule to the bathroom. A tiny tinkling chime emitted from it again. She pulled the strings open to reveal an earpiece identical to Eliza’s. She clipped it to her ear and twisted the screw, waiting for the cogs to spin.

“Hello, Eliza?” She spoke quietly into the golden stem.

“Yes, Jillian. I cannot talk long. I received the missive from Colonel Cuthbert.” Her voice crackled and popped through the device, but Jillian did her best to make out what she was saying.

“Cuthbert? What does he want this time?”

“He hasn’t given me many details, but there’s a Countess Millicent Wilmont who needs attending. I couldn’t wait to get out of Silas’s house to call.”

“Millicent Wilmont? Wasn’t she the crazed old bat who tried to burn down Parliament because it smelled like day-old fish?”

“Yes, one and the same.” Eliza laughed. “She’s taken it upon herself to rid us of the new Tower Bridge.”

“What? Why ever for?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, dear friend. I’ll have to find out from the colonel.”

“This should be a fun task.”

“Indeed. How is the rest of the dinner party?”

“Dreadful. Devin Dashing finally finished reading his newspaper, but he refuses to put it down. Instead, he’s taken to staring at me over the top of the pages for the past fifteen minutes, as if I am but a scone to eat. Silas keeps going back into this office and returning, most annoyed. Where did you find the missive this time?”

“In his study.”

“Naturally! That’s why he’s annoyed. He probably thinks you stole something.”

“Oh, posh. He has nothing to steal.”

“Only his virtue,” Jillian snickered. She listened as Eliza laughed again.

“I should turn this thing off before my driver thinks I’ve gone mad.”

“Shall I come tomorrow morning to discuss the details?”

“Yes, do. Also, be sure to send word to Miriam. We shall meet around noon.”

“Noon? Why so late?”

Eliza cleared her throat. “I have a prior engagement.”

“Oh, do tell. Has Mr. von Wilstrom returned, then?”

“Jillian, please. He shan’t grace my doorstep again. I’m merely waiting for him to divorce me so I can be done.”

“Eliza, honestly. You think he would divorce you? Whatever would people say?”

“I don’t care what they say. After our next assignment, I figure I’ll have enough income to support myself. Perhaps I’ll go overseas.”

“You cannot leave me!”

Someone knocked on the door to the restroom, and Jillian dropped her voice. “I must go. I’ll see you at noon.” She took out the earpiece and tucked it back into her handbag, the little device’s cogs spinning to a halt.

“Ms. Johnsworth, are you all right?” She heard Mr. Dashing on the other side of the door.

“Quite. The parlor was too warm. I needed to refresh myself.” She stepped out to find herself face to chest to the man. He took a step backward, allowing her to exit.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.”

“No bother. I was just about to call for my carriage.”

“Do you have an escort this evening?”

“Why of course. I always do,” she scoffed.

Devin Dashing bowed again and allowed her to pass.

* * * *

“Those two women are up to something,” Devin Dashing said, folding his newspaper and putting it down. All the visitors had left and only he and Silas remained. They moved into a smaller room in the front of the house, where the bar was located.

“Of course they are. They’re rarely up to nothing.” Silas chuckled, preparing himself a much stronger drink than tea. “Was Jillian all right after her coughing fit?” he asked, still smiling.

It was Devin’s turn to smile. “Why yes. She was oddly fine. Perhaps she was a bit chatty in the loo, but otherwise fine.”

Silas raised an eyebrow and took a seat. “I found Mrs. von Wilstrom in my study earlier, either searching for something or thieving. I haven’t decided which yet.”

“Did you find anything out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing was out of place. I did happen to walk in on her while she was skirts-up behind my desk. I’m not certain of her reasons for being there.”

“Must have been a beautiful sight.”

Silas nodded. “Yes, yes it was.” He paused to take a drink, and then snapped his fingers. Pulling a watch from his coat pocket, Silas looked at the time. “Mr. Dashing, I hate to be rude, but I have a late engagement to keep.”

Devin raised an eyebrow and stood. “Oh? Does it include upturned skirts?”

“I am ever hopeful,” Silas responded with a wicked smile.

 

 

Chapter 2

 

Eliza sat in her drawing room half-dozing, wondering if she would be able to stay awake before her evening caller arrived. The house had been quiet and devoid of hired help for the last few days, since Mr. von Wilstrom had decided he needed their assistance in the country. Eliza knew he’d taken them just to make her angry, and with the specific intent of forcing her to return to him. She knew better, and refused to fall for his trap. She refused to bow to any man, including her husband.

Patrick von Wilstrom was much older than she, a match made by her parents, who feared her becoming an old maid after years of searching for a perfect mate. The gossip around the city was rampant when she didn’t leave to live with him in the country, but she didn’t care. She’d borne no children and refused to, given her distaste for her husband and his debauchery. His constant gambling and whoring left little to be desired. Besides, he was overbearing and generally rude. Had she not wanted to remain in good graces with her parents, she would have denied him too. However, her father–a duke–had said he would allow them a country and city home if she would just agree–so she did.

Patrick hated the city now, since he’d been cast out of all known gentlemen’s parlors for defaulting on gambling debts. He escaped to the country not only to force her hand, he also had enemies far and wide throughout the city. At one point, he’d . . .