Her Own Devices (11 page)

“Abigail, that can’t be true,” the other girl said. “Claire would never engage herself to a man like that.”

Abigail. Yes. That meant the other one had to be Charlotte. They were cousins, but for the life of her, Claire couldn’t remember their surnames. “Certainly not,” she said. “I feel perfectly safe with him.” As long as she had her lightning rifle to hand.

“You shall be Baroness Selwyn,” sighed Abigail. “A perfect match, since you are the daughter of a viscount.”

“The sister of one, presently,” Emilie corrected her. “Claire, do tell us how this came about.”

Oh, dear. “He wrote to my mother informing her of his intentions, and then he proposed.”

“Oh, you comical person. But was it terribly romantic?” Charlotte wanted to know. “Was it outdoors, in a pavilion, or indoors, with a bouquet of flowers?”

Flowers. Paper. In the hearth. “Indoors, with flowers.”

Charlotte clasped her hands in delight and subsided.

“So you will be comfortably situated and I can stop worrying,” Emilie said. “I take it you are with your grand-aunts Beaton in Greenwich?”

“No indeed.” So Emilie’s mother was still monitoring her correspondence, and she had not received Claire’s tube sent days and days ago. “I wrote to you some time ago to let you know my situation. Perhaps I miscoded the tube.” She smiled for the cousins’ benefit, while Emilie’s smile faded and her lips thinned. “I am employed as assistant to a scientist, and am supervising the education of a number of young persons.” She nodded toward the Mopsies, who were signaling the waiter with imperious energy. “Two of the girls are over there, by the window.”

“They look delightful,” said Abigail. “What pretty dresses. Who are they?”

“Orphans. They are, however, very intelligent and their lessons are coming along briskly.”

“Fancy you a teacher,” Abigail said. “I never would have guessed.”

“Claire has always done well in school,” Emilie said loyally. “I wouldn’t have passed Mathematics were it not for her.”

“What I meant was, with the Arabian Bubble and everything ... well, let’s just say it’s quite a surprise you’re the first of our class to be engaged. And don’t think that hasn’t frosted Lady Julia’s turned-up nose.” Abigail’s smile was triumphant, as if she had produced a baron herself. “I hear she actually threw china.”

“Lady Julia is far too well bred for that,” Claire said. Though she could certainly believe it.

“Maybe she wanted Lord James for herself,” Abigail mused.

“If she wanted him for anyone, it was for Gloria Meriwether-Astor. That girl is looking for a title to go with all her father’s money, and Julia made no secret out of how amusing it would be to find one for her.”

“I’m sure the gentlemen appreciated that,” Emilie sniffed. “What are they, Bengal tigers to be bagged and mounted?”

This produced a round of giggling, and Claire felt herself flush as heads turned toward them. “I must be getting back to my charges before they order everything on the menu. Emilie, I trust I may write?”
You must get to the mail before your mother does.

“Yes, do.”
Never fear, now that I know what she’s been up to.
“I hope I may come and call?”
Don’t visit our house, though. She’ll toss you out just as she did before
.

“My situation doesn’t allow it, but I would love to meet for tea. I must attend my duties at the laboratory in the mornings, but I am free in the afternoons.”
Please don’t deny me your friendship. I could not bear it.

“I shall look forward to it.”
Never. We are friends forever
.

When she got back to her table, the Mopsies were digging into a plum trifle, one on either side of it. “D’you think Granny Protheroe could make summat like this, Lady?”

It took a moment for Claire to cross the gauzy border between old life and new. Granny Protheroe. The cottage. Yes.

She arranged her skirts and addressed herself once more to her soup. “I’m sure she could. People can surprise you with what they know.”

So the news of her engagement was out. She had not said a word, so James must have taken it upon himself to announce it. And since Emilie did not move in his circles, it must indeed be all over London if it had filtered down to her.

Well, she had accepted James’s proposal knowing that this could work to her advantage.

What she had not expected was how trapped it would make her feel.

*

“The boots are a touch on the large side, but no matter.” Dr. Craig tried to see more of herself than the single cracked mirror in Claire’s room would allow. “I shall wear thicker stockings. You have a good eye for fit.”

“Now that you can go about, you can exchange them,” Claire replied. She did have rather a good eye. The skirt could have been made to order. There was even a little room for the scientist to gain some weight.

“I shall not waste my time on boots when I have a debt to pay.” Dr. Craig abandoned the mirror. “Shall we begin?”

“I am taking the children to church this morning, but we may certainly begin this afternoon. Then tomorrow morning I shall introduce you to Mr. Malvern, my employer.”

“I have given some thought to your awkward position. I shall merely say that I have been released, and in the interests of science offer my modest talents to his venture.”

“Do you think he will believe it?” Claire couldn’t help but think that the coincidence of timing might be considered suspicious.

“From what you have told me, I think he is becoming desperate at his inability to harness electricks for his purposes. Expediency will overcome suspicion, you may depend upon it.”

Claire rounded up the Mopsies—giving them strict instructions that on no account were Sunday pockets to be picked—and Willie. Jake was lounging on the porch overlooking the river when they emerged.

When he got up as if he intended to come with them, Claire tried to hide her astonishment. “Are you joining us this morning?”

“Snouts gave orders one of us ought to go with you anytime yer out.”

“But it’s Sunday morning, Jake. I am hardly likely to be set upon at St. Peter’s. And we were out most of yesterday without protection.”

“Snouts, ’e’s nervous since ye sprung th’ Doc. Figures she’ll draw attention we don’t want.”

Claire gave up. “Very well. Since we are walking, I suppose he is quite right.” And perhaps an hour in church would be good for Jake, though the good Lord had His work cut out for Him there.

The Mopsies weren’t happy about giving up a morning’s work on the walking coop, wriggling and whispering to distraction, but Willie was quiet in the pew beside her, gazing up at the ceiling and examining the carvings.

And to her enormous surprise, he attempted to sing during the hymns.

The Mopsies gawked, and even Jake looked amazed. “Willie, you can so speak!” Maggie whispered, elbowing him. “Why don’t you say anyfink at t’cottage?”

But silence claimed him once again, and throughout the service, Claire wondered if Dr. Craig could be right. Had something happened in his early years that had deprived him of the will, but not the ability? And how would one ever find out, since he did not answer any question put to him using words, no matter what the subject?

After lunch, she put this puzzle aside in favor of another one. She fetched the lightning rifle and handed it to Dr. Craig, who took it in both hands with care, as if it might explode, and examined it minutely. “I see,” she murmured. “No finesse, but it is obviously operable.” She looked up. “I am surprised you have not reverse engineered it and duplicated the device yourself.”

“I would have, had I not feared I could not put it back together again. The connections are straightforward, but the device itself ... since there is only one in existence, I did not want to risk it.”

With fingers that were hesitant at first, then more confident, the scientist began to disassemble the rifle. Claire clamped her lips shut on a protest. If the inventor of the device could not reassemble it, then no one could.

“There, you see?” Dr. Craig held up the cell. “Released from its servitude. Now, let me show you how it works.”

“I am most interested in how it converts elec—”

“Oh, no.” Dr. Craig had the brass cover off. “It’s not electricks. It uses kineticks.”

“I know, but there must be some conversion process that—”

“No. See?” She laid the pieces on the worktable, each tiny gear and bit of clockwork placed in order. “You understand how lightning is created in the natural universe?”

Lewis, who had been leaning over to watch, recited what Claire had taught them verbatim. Jake elbowed him none too gently in the ribs. “Clever-clogs, stop showin’ off.”

“Think of this device as a miniature heaven. Kineticks move the particles, which build up the charge, which causes the rifle to fire the bolt.”

The assembly fell into place in Claire’s head. “That’s what is wrong with Mr. Malvern’s chamber.” She locked eyes with Tigg across the table. “He is trying to apply electricks to the coal when what he should be doing is creating a charge in the chamber, the same way it is created in this device.”

Tigg wasted no words, simply fetched a bit of brown paper and a pencil from her case. Claire sketched the changes that would be needed in the chamber. “We can bring this to him tomorrow. That way, Dr. Craig’s visit can be shortened to the absolute minimum necessary for politeness. His laboratory is too close to St. George’s Fields for my comfort.”

“I quite agree with you,” the scientist said. “Now, my dear, if you would reassemble this device for me? I shall watch in case you take a wrong turn.”

On her third attempt, which involved using a toothpick as a tiny screwdriver, the scientist nodded. “You’ll do. Now, mount it in the rifle.”

This was much easier. Claire had it back together in seconds.

“Excellent. Now, take the rifle apart again and put it back together—blindfolded.”

Tigg let out a yelp of laughter as Claire allowed Maggie to tie her sash over her eyes. It was difficult, but the workings were laid out in her head. She would be able to assemble the rifle in the dark.

How odd that the scientist had thought it right for her to prepare for such a thing.

When she was finished, she pinned Tigg in place with a glance. “Your turn.” The smile fell from his face. Smugly, she tied the blindfold on him herself.

Dr. Craig enjoyed her second trip in the steam landau much more than she had her first. “This is such a novelty,” she called over the wind, holding her borrowed chiffon scarf in place under her chin with one hand. “Even at his most successful, my father could never have afforded one. He was a horse and carriage man, in any case.”

“It is all I have left of my father,” Claire confessed, watching the road. “He was a forward thinker.” It was such a pity he had not applied his thinking in the right direction. It still hurt, deep inside, knowing he had gambled the safety of his family and the futures of his children on something as frivolous as the combustion engine. Were they not worth more to him?

In the end, however, even life was not. Only she and her mother knew he had taken his own life in despair when the Arabian Bubble burst.

At the laboratory, Dr. Craig and Tigg climbed out while Claire shut the engine down. And then the awkward moment that she had dreaded was at hand.

*

Andrew Malvern stood by the cold chamber, gazing at it disconsolately. He had not even put on his leather apron yet, and he hunched into his frock coat, though the morning was pleasant.

He would not have believed it was possible to be so miserable. Not only was he out of ideas, he was actually considering smashing the chamber to bits, dissolving his partnership, and offering his services as a mechanic on an airship to Australia.

He might just do it, too. If Claire was going to be James’s wife, he didn’t want to be here to watch.

The familiar singing sputter of the landau came down Orpington Close, and he braced himself to see her.

“Mr. Malvern,” she called when the door opened, “we have a guest this morning.”

James, probably. Though he was no guest. Still, there was no way on this earth he would allow James to see how much his engagement had hurt him. So he struggled to shrug off his blue devils and don civility like another garment.

“Dr. Rosemary Craig, may I present Mr. Andrew Malvern, of the Royal Society of Engineers.”

Andrew’s mouth fell open in sheer shock, and it wasn’t until Dr. Craig stepped fully into the light from the skylights and extended a hand that he came to himself with a start. “I beg your pardon ... I am honored ... but how—I thought—that is—”

“I made the acquaintance of Lady Claire some time ago, and when I was released from hospital recently she had the goodness to call.”

“Call.” He did not release her hand. She could not be real—this genius, this icon of engineering. But no, there were her fingers in his. Gently, she pried them out of his grip.

“Indeed. In the course of our conversations, she let slip that you have a conundrum of the mechanical kind here, and was good enough to bring me by to see it.”

“See it.”

Dr. Craig seemed unaware that Andrew was sounding more and more like a parrot. Or an echo. He could not seem to get his brain working. “Yes. Is this the apparatus here?”

The scientist walked toward the chamber, unwinding her scarf as she went, and the prosaic gesture seemed to clear his fog. “I say, Dr. Craig, how is this possible? I mean, of course the state of your health is none of my business, and I’m delighted to see you—honored that you would, um, honor us, but ... ten years? And you walked out of there just recently?”

How was it possible he had not heard of it? The papers should have been screaming the news in headlines two inches high.

Standing next to the chamber, she smiled over her shoulder. “Yes, ten years. I must say, the modern treatments are most efficacious. Now—” She indicated the control panel with its levers and alarm horns. “—I understand you are attempting to increase the carbon density of coal by means of pure current, for use on the railroads?”