Her Own Devices (18 page)

Claire tucked her winnings in the wallet secured to her corselet by a chain, and wished the players good night. It wasn’t until she was descending the steps to the ballroom again that she remembered the supper waltz, which she had promised to Lord James.

Oh, dear.

From the clatter in the dining room, it was over and done some time ago. She would apologize profusely, and consider it a bargain. After all, she had made enough tonight to pay for her first term at university, not counting books.

She collected a plate and arranged a nice selection of food on it, then turned to look for James. Ah, there he was, deep in conversation with Lord Wellesley. She would not interrupt that for the world. Instead, she was content to sit with three elderly ladies behind an arrangement of lilies and enjoy her dinner.

Once she had taken meals like this for granted. But no more. She appreciated every bite.

“—find it most distressing to think of,” one of the ladies said.

“It’s worse than that.” Her companion did not seem to mind that a stranger had joined their party. With everyone masked, an odd sort of anonymity prevailed. “I heard she is to be admitted to a private sanitarium.”

The curried prawns turned over in Claire’s stomach. Had Dr. Craig been apprehended in the midst of leaving the country?

“Well, the family couldn’t very well send her to Bedlam, could they?” Her companion tucked into her salad with enthusiasm. “She’s the wife of an earl.”

Claire resumed her dinner, relieved. Who on earth were they talking about?

“The poor girl. She’s been going downhill ever since that precious child disappeared. I suppose it was only a matter of time before—”

“Oh, go ahead, Alethea. Just say ‘before she made an attempt on her own life’ and be done with it. We are not schoolgirls any longer.”

Lady Dunsmuir. They were talking of Lady Dunsmuir, whose son had disappeared from the garden while his mother entertained a princess to tea. “She tried to take her own life?” Claire leaned forward. “When was this?”

“Two days ago. Such a pity. She’s a shadow of what she once was, poor girl, and no hope of getting better. The only thing that will cure her is seeing her boy again, and that’s not likely.”

“Not after all the time that’s passed.” Alethea shook her head. “It’s certain he is dead.”

Alethea. This was Julia’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess, and a crony of Claire’s great-aunts Beaton. Claire withdrew, and the ladies went on with their observations of the guests without her.

Poor Lady Dunsmuir. She should send a tube to her mother and let her know how things stood. They had been great friends once, before all the troubles. Perhaps Lady St. Ives would be able to give her some comfort.

Claire accepted another glass of punch from an obliging waiter and watched the dancers for a while, but then began to feel restive. She had never liked large crowds, or small talk, or the kind of empty social events that were more about being seen than about greeting friends. She was good at the latter, and abysmal at the former.

She would go out to the mews and see if she could find Gorse.

Her rig was designed for concealment. She slipped down a passage behind the roar of activity that was the kitchens, and into the rear courtyard. The sound of muffled wood on metal took her to a carriage house, where she found a man in livery beating a curve into what looked like a fender.

“Gorse!” She slipped off her mask and hooked it to her belt.

His jaw fell open and it was a moment before he could say, “Miss Claire!”

She was so happy to see him that she threw propriety to the winds and hugged him fiercely. He smelled of wool and engine oil and bay rum. “Are they treating you well here? Is this Lord Wellesley’s four-piston Henley? What are you doing to it?”

“Slow down, miss, I haven’t caught up with you yet. What are you doing here, and in that getup to boot?”

“It is a fancy-dress ball, Gorse. I had to wear something. But you didn’t answer me. Are you well?”

“As well as can be expected, what with Silvie downalong.”

“I was down to Gwynn Place this week with Lord James. Silvie is very well, and most of that hug I just gave you was from her.”

“Lord James? Ah yes. I did hear a little news along that line. Are you happy, miss?”

“I’m very happy.” Lord James had only a little to do with that, but Gorse did not need to know. “Thank you.”

He gazed at her, then looked at the metal in his hands. “I’m trying to bend this fender back into shape. I’m afraid his Lordship isn’t as handy with the engines as you are. He had an unfortunate tangle with a tree this afternoon.”

“I hope it wasn’t serious?”

“No, merely a brush, but enough to bend this here almost back to the fuselage.” He gave it another whack with the wooden hammer wrapped in cloth.

“Let me help. If I hold it, then you can apply more pressure.”

“But your ball, miss. Won’t you be missed?”

“I hardly think so. I danced once, spoke to my hostess, played two hands of cards and won both, and had my supper. My social obligations are fulfilled. I would like to help.”

They spent a very satisfying half hour repairing the fender, and then Claire got a personal tour of the four-piston’s more sophisticated inner works.

“Do you still have the landau, miss? Ever since that night of the riots, I’ve thought of you and wondered how you were. I did get the one note, but that was all.”

“I am very well. I live in Vauxhall Gardens, in a cottage by the river, and am governess to a number of orphan children.”

“Are you now, miss?” His eyebrows rose. “And what does your lady mother have to say to that?”

“Plenty.” She grinned at him. “But she is in Cornwall, so I cannot hear it.”

“And his lordship? Mrs. Morven seems to think you will be living in Wilton Crescent again soon.”

“His lordship may. I am going to the University of London to study engineering, as I’ve always told you I would.”

“You’re a singular young lady, miss,” he said, admiringly. “I always thought folk underestimated you.”

She only smiled. As the card players now knew, folks’ underestimating a woman was often her greatest advantage.

On Monday, she sent a tube to Lady St. Ives tell her about the ball and the sad news about her old friend, omitting the part about the lecture James had read her on the way home. Apparently, the card players had not taken their losses like gentlemen.

Then she and Tigg drove to the laboratory with a sense of anticipation.

They found Andrew already there—did he sleep in the equipment loft?—and the chamber already humming. “Ah, I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “The coal is ready in the chamber. Tigg, will you do the honors?”

“Me, sir?” Tigg’s eyes widened. “But you’ve been working at it all this time.”

“With your assistance. Go on. Throw the switch. I must observe down at this end.”

“Yes, sir.”

He grasped the lever and jammed it upward with the flat of his hand. The chamber’s hum increased, much the way the lightning rifle’s did, and Claire clasped her hands at her breast. Would it work? Would the months of failed experiments now finally come to fruition?

A glow began to form in the glass chamber, surrounding the coal. “Yes!” she heard Andrew whisper. But before the word was fairly out of his mouth, the glow intensified, and then with a
pop
it went out.

She and Andrew looked at each other.

“Is that it, sir?” Tigg finally asked. “Should I shut it off?”

“Yes. Let me inspect the coal.”

He unscrewed the cowling and the bottom of the chamber lowered, revealing coal that looked very much like ... coal.

Andrew touched it. Examined it. Took it over to a microscope and gazed at it under the magnifying lenses. Then he sat rather abruptly on the unused chair.

Claire couldn’t hold back another second. “Well?”

“Nothing. As far as I can see, the coal is completely unchanged.”

“Try it again. Perhaps it needs more than one treatment.”

They tried again. And again. And by noon, Claire could bear it no longer, and made Andrew stop. “Mr. Malvern, please. You will do yourself harm. It is clear that there is some error in our calculations.”

In reply, he threw the innocent coal so hard against the wall of the warehouse that it bounced halfway back again. “I don’t understand. Your drawings were perfect. Everything that Doctor Craig said was necessary is in that chamber. What did I do wrong?”

“We will find the error,” she assured him. “We must apply our minds to it until we do.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon on it, and when she and Tigg returned to the cottage, the two of them disassembled the lightning rifle and studied the pieces. “It’s the same, Lady,” Tigg said. “The chamber is just a bigger version of your glass globe, ’ere. The cell is the same—I’ve looked at it often enough.”

Claire pushed her hair off her hot forehead. “We can do no more tonight. Let us reassemble it so that Granny Protheroe can bring in our tea. Perhaps the answer will take us unawares.”

After supper, Claire took her usual spot in the garden, Willie on her lap, the two of them watching the chickens nibbling the last few bites of grass while the walking coop stumped over to its resting place next to the back porch.

She gazed at the machine, then turned and called in the open door, “Lizzie? Will you come here a moment?”

Lizzie came reluctantly, having just discovered a cache of cookies. She brought some with her and offered one to Claire and one to Willie. “Wotcher want, Lady?”

“Thank you, dear.” She indicated the coop. “I’ve been looking at your coop and observing that it doesn’t have the usual mechanisms to power the legs. Was that an improvement made by Doctor Craig?”

Lizzie nodded. “She said the steam engine wot went with these legs was too big for our coop, so she made us one of ’er cells, like in the lightning rifle.”

“Did she, now. That was clever. I’m surprised she remembered how, after all those years.”

“Me, too. But it don’t work right away. Jake an’ Lewis made us one o’ them little engines what power the firelamps, only bigger. That gets it goin’.”

“Why should that make a difference?”

“Dunno.” The child finished off her cookie with relish. “But it does. It don’t start to glow without the coop movin’ a bit first.”

Moving.

Kineticks.

The rifle was usually in motion when she used it.

Great Caesar’s ghost.

She set Willie on his feet and seized Lizzie in a hug that made her gasp. “That’s it! You have solved it, you brilliant child—you and Jake and Lewis. Oh, I foresee many roasts of beef and Yorkshire puddings in this house in the future. Run and get Tigg. We are going back to the laboratory immediately.”

Willie roared at this disruption in their evening routine. He clung to her skirts as she fetched her hat and her engineering notebook, and even as she prepared to climb into the landau, he wept and clutched her legs through the practical twill.

Finally Tigg said, “Come on, old man. ’Op in and you shall go with us.”

He subsided in the passenger seat on Tigg’s lap, hicupping and sniffling, his hand twisted in Claire’s skirt. Without the busy day’s traffic, they reached the laboratory in record time, only to find it locked and empty.

“’E’s likely gone ’ome, Lady,” Tigg said. “Do you know where he lives?”

Claire had not filed hundreds of papers without noticing that some had gone to his home address. The wind of their going practically lifted off her hat as they crossed the Blackfriars Bridge and turned left on the Victoria Embankment, then headed north for Russell Square in Bloomsbury.

She pulled to a stop in front of a neat row house with a shiny black door. The son of a policeman and a cook had done well for himself—all due to his wits and ambition. Warm yellow light glowed from the windows, and as Claire shut down the landau’s boiler, she belatedly wondered if he might have company.

Never mind. This was too important to sleep on. “Come along, boys.”

Andrew answered the knocker in slack-jawed surprise. “Claire! And Tigg and Willie. What—is everything all right?”

“More than all right,” she assured him. “We have a discovery we must share with you immediately. It will not wait until morning.”

“Come in.” He led them into a cozy parlor, then to a dining room the size of a handkerchief, where the table was set for two. A woman rose, setting her napkin aside. “Lady Claire Trevelyan, may I present my mother, Mrs. Jane Malvern. Mother, this is my laboratory assistant, of whom we were just speaking.”

Mrs. Malvern began to dip into a curtsey, but Claire forestalled her with a handshake. “I’m so happy to meet you. And these are my charges, Tigg and young Willie.”

Willie sidled out from behind Claire’s skirts and both he and Tigg bowed. Bless their hearts, how proud she was of their manners.

Mrs. Malvern stared at the boys, her greeting dying on her lips when Claire turned in excitement to Andrew. “Please sit and continue with your dinner. Mr. Malvern, we—that is, Lizzie and Jake and Lewis and Doctor Craig—have made the most astonishing discovery. It was in front of me all the time and I did not see it until this evening.”

“Claire, the suspense is killing me.” Andrew did not pick up his knife and fork.

“It is simply this—we are using
kinetick
energy now. Movement. Andrew,
the chamber must be in motion
in order for the cell to work.”

“What?”

“Lizzie pointed the anomaly out to me not half an hour ago. Doctor Craig installed a lightning cell in our walking coop. But it won’t activate until a preliminary engine—which we designed for a project not long ago—gets the coop in motion.
Kineticks
, Andrew. We have been predicating everything on
electricks
. No wonder we made such an error.”

“Great Caesar’s ghost.”

“My sentiments exactly.” She laid her engineering notebook on the table. “We must modify the chamber again.”

“I agree. Mother, did you hear? Such a breakthrough! I almost want to—”

“Lady Claire.” Mrs. Malvern’s face had gone as white as the table linens. “Who is this child?”