The Cave

Clockwork Nessie, part 2

With no worries of water-logging my shoes, I could wade through the shallow water instead of taking the longer route over higher ground. Sarah and Thomas chose that path, putting them even farther behind.

My father discovered the coastal cave years earlier. Because its entrance faced inland and could only be reached at low tide, I doubted many knew of it. I only discovered its existence after his death by reading his journals and deciphering his encoded entries. Why Papa had felt the need for such secrecy, I found perplexing.

Resigned to exploring the cave on my own, I broke into an easy jog, and soon reached my destination.

Beyond the tidal pools and into the winding curves of the cave, nearly one hundred eighty degrees to its entrance, lay a much larger body of water. I had tested its depths enough to know it to be quite deep. Its edges extended beyond the reach of the natural light, but a small aperture in the overhead rocks illuminated its nearest shores.

A hiss followed by a geyser of water from the usually placid subterranean lake sprayed me where I sat taking measurements of a colony of sea urchins.

“Darwin’s devils!” I scrambled back from the water’s edge.

(To be continued)

The Beginning…

Clockwork Nessie, part 1

1914 Inverness, Scotland

As was our habit of late, my servants and I partook of the briny air and walked the full length of the rocky beach at Inverness. Although the sun struggled to break through the mist and fog, its victory was imminent.

Despite my urgings to hurry, Thomas and Sarah lollygagged behind, examining the odd seashell or beached jellyfish they discovered. Thomas had insisted on joining us on my scientific expeditions after my father’s death a month prior, despite my assurances that we did not require a male’s protection. I’d never encountered anything more dangerous than a cantankerous crab.

I stopped to gauge their progress. “Come, come. It’ll be high tide soon; we mustn’t tarry!”

“You go on ahead, Miss Blake. Sarah is tired, but we’ll catch up.”

I’d rolled up my pant legs to keep the water from soaking the fabric. The scandal-mongers were already tittering about my preference for men’s attire when at work. Baring a bit of ankle couldn’t be that much worse.

At seven and twenty, I had long ago chosen science over matrimony. The anemic attempts by the local gentlemen at persuading me otherwise had only strengthened my resolve.

(To be continued)