Chapter 4

London was bright and cheery as Phileas and Melody rode a carriage through the city. It looked to be newly washed from a strong rainstorm, too. There were still puddles everywhere. The air smelled fresh rather than its usual pungent combination of coal soot, animal dung, and dirt. Phileas felt at home with it and relaxed.

To Melody, it was all new, as she had been away from England for years. She spent most of the ride looking out the windows, taking in all the sights and sounds.

"Melody?"

"Yes Phileas?" She turned with a start to the sudden sound of his voice.

"I haven't told you anything of my home yet, have I?" Phileas said, thinking to settle basic arrangements between them quickly.

"You have said you have a house here in London. You have one close living relative, Rebecca. Your family has a manor house in the country near Sheffield. You said you don't spend much time there."

"Ah, well… My house in London is a townhouse," Phileas said. "There are three bedrooms on the second floor. Mine, one set up for visits from Rebecca and a guestroom. Have I spoken to you much about Rebecca?"

Melody smiled. "Yes, often, and warmly. I think I will like her. She sounds like such a wonderful lady."

"Yes… well, you may take the guestroom when we reach the house."

"Yes, of course," Melody said, accepting the arrangement. "Do you expect your cousin to return from Egypt soon?"

"Not for at least a week, maybe longer."

The conversation suddenly turned uncomfortable.

What did I say about Rebecca? What is Melody expecting?

Phileas lapsed into silence, trying to ignore a growing headache by reviewing his interview with Melody's family, a different source of discomfort and headaches.

Melody told him she had never met or received letters directly from her sister-in-law. Charles Anderson had married only two years ago while she and her father had been in India. If she had, Fogg wouldn't have wondered at her leaping into any marriage to escape the woman. A more self-centered, domineering witch, he had rarely had the displeasure of meeting.

Thinking back on his first sight of the woman, Phileas remembered how he had stood back to give Melody a chance to greet her family before telling them the news of their marriage. Valentine Anderson had been a beauty standing beside her husband, a confection in pink. She was one of those beauties who knew her power and used it to manipulate others. Phileas had known several such women in the past and had learned to avoid them. After greetings, the woman had taken over the homecoming, going into a honeyed welcome that had progressed into a laundry list of duties that would be expected of her dear sister-in-law.

Despite his inner suspicions against his bride, Phileas felt a sudden urge to shield her. He had listened at a distance until he had had enough. He stepped forward, interrupting the woman's dialog, to make his introduction and inform them all of Melody's new status as Mrs. Fogg.

The alabaster blonde could not hide her disappointment. She stepped back, made a comment on the suddenness of the announcement. Being deprived of her new servant, Mrs. Anderson lost interest in Melody entirely. She claimed the rocking of the ship made her queasy and left to await her husband on the docks in their hired carriage. A move to assure Melody's reunion with her brother would be brief.

The brother, Charles, in contrast, was not a bad fellow. Separated from his wife, Charles Anderson had given his sister a warmer welcome. He was twenty-seven, a deputy to the magistrate in Kent, tall and lean in build, with a quiet, competent bearing. His hair was darker than his sister's and his eyes were a deeper brown with a pronounced aristocratic look. Brother and sister looked similar, but not very much alike.

Charles Anderson settled down to hear how all this had come about. He had not been overjoyed to hear of his sister's romance at sea. As Melody had related the story, they had agreed upon. The man's brown eyes narrowed in suspicion and suppressed anger. He hadn't interrupted his sister's explanations. He had just looked from her to me, assessing. Phileas had felt his pedigree, worth, and manner toward Melody being measured. He did what he could to appear friendly, but it had been difficult under such strained circumstances.

In the end, Charles Anderson had granted Phileas a temporary stay of execution. There would be formalities to be dealt with, references to be produced before the dowry would be turned over, a visit to his sister's new home. It had all been managed civilly, just about what Phileas had expected of the man, and on the far good side of what might have happened.

There had only been one show of temperament during the interview. Charles had taken Melody outside onto the deck to speak to her privately before leaving. They had settled within view through the large observation windows. He stood over his sister at the rail. The look on Charles Anderson's face caused instant alarm. Training took over. Phileas had long since mastered the art of reading lips as a matter of spy craft.

"Melody," Charles Anderson had said, standing close, holding her hands. "I'm no fool. There is more to this than you are telling me. If the man forced you into this, just tell me now and I will take you home with me and damn any complaints on his part. I will see to it this marriage doesn't stand. I have the contacts to see it annulled, whatever the circumstances. Speak now, and you will never lay eyes on the man again."

Melody's back had been turned to him, so Phileas couldn't tell what she said in reply. At the end of the conversation, Charles Anderson had given his sister a hug, kissed her cheek and brought her back to the table. Phileas was still dying with curiosity about what she had said, but he wouldn't ask.

When their carriage reached Savile Row, Phileas's relief was profound. Home. He came out of the carriage first to help Melody to the pavement. Upon descending, she just stood looking all around for a moment, smiling in fascination. "What a fine-looking street."

Fogg looked about, wondering what she found so fine-looking. Savile Row was a passably fashionable neighborhood, but ordinary and lacking in character. The townhouses looked exactly alike all the way down the street. The only thing that broke up the monotony was a stone planter or other ornament set out near a doorway.

"You must think me silly," Melody said, noticing his reaction. "Father served in some primitive places during the last five years. Such modern neighborhoods with fine homes, I haven't seen in a long time."

Phileas accepted the explanation. He would have to question her about that later. Much later. The events of the day had him quite worn out. His headache had grown from a dull irritation to a major nuisance.

He unlocked and opened the door, let the coachman could carry in their luggage. Phileas's two travel bags and Melody's small trunk were all they had taken with them in the carriage. Her other baggage would be brought to the house later. She had been traveling with all her belongings and household goods. Most of it, she and her brother would have to go through during a succession of visits. Hopefully, without Valentine Anderson in attendance, Fogg hoped, and made that a prayer.

Inside, Phileas ushered his bride into the study.

He practically lived in this room. The rest of the house, Passepartout, kept up. He would have been hard pressed to describe the dining room or the front parlor. Melody looked about, looking pleased with what she saw. He invited her to sit down as he headed for a glass of his favorite painkiller.

"Have you servants to care for the house for you?" Melody said.

"I have a valet who acts as a man of all work," Phileas said as he poured his drink. "Passepartout is presently on loan to my cousin. Until their return, there is a domestic service I can request. I take meals at my club most evenings. I've never requested a cook, as Passepartout manages what meals I take at home and aboard the Aurora."

"You have a ship then?" She said.

Phileas smiled despite the heavy tension in the room. "I have an airship, a dirigible," he said with pride. "Passepartout is its pilot. That is why he is on loan to my cousin. Rebecca is in Alexandria on–family business. I had Passepartout escort her there."

"What a wonderful thing to have!" Melody said. "And you are so generous in lending it and your servant to your cousin."

Phileas now wondered if his circumstances had ever been discussed. She should have known about the Aurora. He dressed per his station, so there shouldn't be any doubt of his means, just not the extent of it. I told her the family owned the manor house? Does she not know it is mine? Maybe I pressured her into a sham marriage after all. But what was I protecting her from?

Life would have seemed an uncertain thing for a spinster returning alone to live with a brother she had not seen for so long. Yet to escalate matters into a genuine marriage would require her to know enough to be sure of me. If she had spent the last five years in primitive backwaters with her father's commands, catching no one's eye, would she have considered her prospects in England equally unpromising? Phileas's suspicions brought a frown to his face, which intensified the strained look of his features the pain was causing.

Melody turned back to him after looking over the room and saw it. "You are in pain again," she said, looking at him with renewed concern. "You shouldn't overdo. It will cause another spell."

"I am tired, but not overly so," Phileas lied, feeling none of the dulling effects he had hoped from his brandy.

"Nonsense, I can see as plain as day that you are in pain," Melody stood. "Have you a medicine box, Phileas? I can mix up some willow bark tea for you if you do. We should call on your doctor after you rest. Give me his address and I will send for him. I can make our dinner tonight with whatever is available in the kitchen."

Before his eyes, Phileas's reluctant bride became an army sergeant, demanding supplies and issuing orders. She had the direction of his doctor out of him in the next moment, along with the location of his household medicines. He was bewildered by the transformation and too pained to argue. He took his order to go upstairs, gratefully fleeing to the peace of his room.