Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity by Natalie Brianne (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

found, and she left before anyone thought ill of her. She turned back towards her rooms at Campden Grove, the diversion over, but questions still piling in her mind. Who could he possibly be? Why all the notes? Witnesses regarding what airship? She looked up at the airships drifting past above her again. Could he possibly be referring to the accident of 1870? No…he couldn’t be. The disaster was over eighteen years ago. And while she had reason to be curious about it, why would anyone else be interested? Would she ever get answers to any of her questions? She hailed a hansom cab to take her back to her lodgings. Probably not.

Church clocks across London all chimed together to let the world know the sun had reached its apex. And that meant the noonday post was in! With any luck, a letter from her brother, Walker, was waiting back at her rooms!

Was this what she had been reduced to? Following suspicious strangers in the street and living vicariously through the letters of her brother? The cab stopped in front of her rooms and she paid the driver as she stepped out onto the street. Fumbling with her keys, she skipped up the steps and opened the post box. She retrieved three letters and held them close to her as she unlocked the door.

Her cat, Nero, rubbed around her ankles as she entered the sitting room. She set her sketchbook down and appraised the envelopes. One was obviously an advertisement of some kind, the next was from her brother and the last was from the Central News Agency. She bit her lip and picked up the letter opener. “Might as well get the least exciting one out of the way, right kitty?” Nero ignored her and looked out the window from the sill. She turned her attention back to the letter. The advertisement was for electric corsets. She grimaced. Corsets were bad enough without sending electricity through them. What would they think of next? She set the advertisement aside and picked up the letter from her brother with eagerness. She slid the letter opener through the top of the envelope.

My Dear Mira,

I am so glad to hear that our uncle has finally agreed to stop pestering you about moving back to Swan Walk. I believe these last three months living on your own have done you good. Although I’m sure if dear old Uncle Cyrus found out what you’ve been up to, he would move you back right away! I’m pleased to hear about your progress in researching Mum and Dad’s accident. I always thought the story seemed a bit sparse, but with you on the trail we might find out what really happened. Let me know what the newspaper editor has to say on the story. Hopefully it will be good news to help you in your little investigation.

In my own news, my schooling is continuing to go well. Soon enough, I shall be finished with the general studies, and then perhaps I can convince our uncle to allow me to pursue engineering as a career. I am certain if you find out more about what happened to our parents, you can convince him that airships aren’t dangerous in the least. In fact, if you remember, I wrote you all about the one I took to cross the channel! I love you dearly, my Mira, and wish you luck. Don’t envy me too much. It doesn’t suit you.

Au revoir!

Walker Blayse

She placed the letter back into its envelope and threw it on the table. Nero’s ears perked up, and he jumped onto it. The slick envelope skittered off the table and onto the floor. It was hard not to be jealous of Walker. After all, he had the opportunity of a lifetime to go and study in France. If only. France was the center of the arts, and before she could even pick up a pencil she had wanted to go. Unfortunately, France was one of those irrational dangers her uncle kept on about. For whatever reason, Walker could go while she was forced to stay in London. Nero pounced on the letter again, leaving a paw shaped indent near the seal.

She blew her hair out of her face. She knew the reason. Even though she was the exact same age as Walker, give or take a few minutes, she was a lady. Ladies shouldn’t go abroad, at least in her uncle’s mind. Blowing a strand of hair from her face, she tugged the strewn letter from underneath Nero’s lean body and deposited it in a well-worn box on the mantel. The cat watched with curiosity before finding a stray thread at the edge of her skirt to paw at. Mira sat down in her armchair and picked up the last letter. At least her uncle allowed her to have her own set of rooms. And she was doing something Walker couldn’t. She hoped. The envelope felt heavy in her hand. It had been several weeks since she had sent her question to the editor. Would this letter even have the answers she was looking for? She caught the edge of the seal with the opener and held her breath.

Dear Miss Blayse,

I regret to inform you that we have no further information on the airship accident of 1870 aside from the information sent out in the newspaper around the date of the tragedy. We also do not have a copy of the newspaper available to send you. I am aware of several bound editions of our newspaper in the London Library at St. James’ park. I recommend that you consult their facilities and regret that we are unable to offer more assistance currently.

Sincerely,

William Saunders

Mira replaced the letter in its envelope, picked up the advertisement, and tossed them both in the direction of the hearth. This “little investigation” as her brother had called it almost seemed like a fox-less hunt. If it came to nothing, then what was the point of