Steampunk!: An Anthology of Fantastically Rich and Strange Stories (42 page)

Sofie frowned. That didn't sound right—surely he didn't despise her so much that he intended to insult her even as he asked her to be his wife. He had to know she
couldn't
accept under those circumstances. But perhaps that was the point. Then he could return to his mother, duty done, and report her refusal. She tried to compose a stinging set-down even as she found herself blinking back tears.

Tears that made her uncomfortably aware that her feelings were less indifferent than she'd pretended.

"Amelia has refused the hand of Sir Thomas Followell. He is a good man, kind, and a baronet with enough of an income to keep her well and pay off my father's debts. My father is livid." He was looking at the road, his jaw set.

"Oh," she said, suddenly aware this was not a proposal at all. She felt profoundly, shamefully stupid. She was the child he thought her.

"My mother wants you to make Amelia see reason." Valerian turned to her at last. "Father wishes to force her into a marriage. It's absurd. If she doesn't want to marry, there is no way to make her want it."

He did not appear to notice her embarrassment, any more than he had noticed her earlier expectations. He seldom looked at her at all, or at least when he did, he wouldn't look at her for very long. She seemed incapable of holding his interest for more than a brief period.

"That is a hardship," Sofie said, sounding harsh to her own ears. "But I don't see what help I can be."

"She has always looked up to you," Valerian said, which seemed unlikely. Amelia and Sofie had gotten along well enough as children, but over the last few years when they had been thrust together, Amelia grew quickly bored. Valerian went on, oblivious, "She has become, well—she's quite attached to her dance instructor. I would appreciate if you would accompany her out on such diversions as might amuse you both."

"But," said Sofie. "Her dance instructor — he's not human."

"Yes," said Valerian with a sigh. "Quite."

So great was her horror that despite feeling quite low over Valerian, she resolved to speak with Amelia.

It wasn't until that evening that she found her chance. Lady Obermann was near the fire, sewing a new ribbon on to a hat, while Amelia had been playing on the pianoforte. When Amelia rose, Sofie followed her. From the hallway she could see into the dining room, where the servants were unfolding the massive serving hand from the dumbwaiter so things could be placed on the table immediately from the kitchen.

Amelia paused on the stairs. "What is it, cousin?"

"He does not love you," Sofie said. "He cannot love you."

Spots of color appeared on Amelia's cheeks. "I don't know what you could be talking of."

"Your dance instructor. I have seen you favor him, making yourself and your family ridiculous."

When Amelia turned to Sofie, her eyes were blazing. "As I have seen the way you look at my brother. Would you thank me if I told you that your hopes were impossible?"

Sofie flinched, then took a quick breath to steady herself. Had she really been so obvious and yet been so oblivious? "The truth is true," she said, "no matter how painful. You need not thank me, only heed my words."

"I don't believe you." Amelia glanced toward the ballroom, where the automaton doubtless waited, leaned against a wall like a statue, gears turning even in rest. "They are not like us, yes, but Nicholas is a gentleman in every way that matters. He hears the beauty in music. He laughs and loves as we do."

"If you believed he was like that, you would never call him by his given name. You would address him properly, like a gentleman." Sofie said.

Amelia stiffened. "It is the only name he has."

"They are made to please us," Sofie said, catching Amelia's hand. "And to counterfeit us. He says what you want him to say and nothing more."

"No," said Amelia. "He has told me he loves me. Why would he be instructed to do that?"

"I do not know," Sofie confessed. "But, Amelia, what will your life with him be? He has nothing. Your father owns him, and your brother will inherit him. He is
property."

"We are all property, in one way or another," said Amelia. "You may wonder at me speaking this way, but is it really better to marry someone wealthy who might be cruel or hateful than a penniless creature who adores you? I get a little income from my grandmother. I could live modestly on that, somewhere, with Nicholas as my servant and companion. Or I could keep house for my brother until he finds a wife. Surely that would be appropriate." She smiled, but it was an uncertain smile. "And perhaps Valerian's wife would let me stay on — an old tabby to help with his children."

"But your reputation —" Sofie began.

"I would give it up for love!" Amelia declared. "I will wind up on the shelf, an eccentric. Perhaps I can never marry Nicholas, but I can grow old with him, and his beauty will never change. Surely in that I must be envied." She tossed her curls.

"But
he
might become different. In a different house, with a different central hub. The automatons are all connected to this house. If you were to move him, he might change."

"Anyone might," said Amelia, her voice brittle. "You certainly have. But Nicholas
loves
me."

"He anticipates your desires like any servant," Sofie says. "He feels nothing—he only acts according to your wishes. I can prove it."

Amelia hesitated, and in that moment, Sofie saw how much Amelia already doubted her suitor.

Sofie's plan was simple.

"You will show me how to dance the way you show Amelia," Sofie told the automaton.

The dance master bowed and extended his hand to take hers. His grip was light, and when he turned his handsome face to hers, she realized it had been sculpted to be carefully blank. How could Amelia see anything but herself reflected in metal?

"Do you like to dance?" Sofie asked, trying to relax in his arms. He was clearly skilled, sweeping her across the floor as though the tinny music coming from inside his chest was an orchestra.

"Yes, my lady," he said, perfectly polite.

"Am I as good a dancer as Amelia?" she asked.

"You are both quite good," he said. "But she will benefit from dancing with more partners."

"That won't make you jealous?" she asked with a small smile.

"I am jealous of every moment Amelia spends outside this room," the automaton said.

Sofie stopped dancing. "That's absurd. Admit it, you only say that because you think she wants you to."

He said nothing.

"You must do what we say," said Sofie. "You must admit it because I tell you to. You cannot disobey me."

"I cannot harm one of you, either," he said. "I cannot hurt Amelia."

"There, you admit it," Sofie said, pulling away from the dance and pointing a finger at him. "You only say the things you do because you must not hurt her."

"I do not know why I am as I am," said the automaton, but Sofie knew that even his voice was made from the contractions of a bellows, forced by gears. "I can only respond as I was made to."

It was impossible to read anything into his sculpted face. He was as he was made to be.

"What if I wanted you to kiss me?" Sofie asked.

He seemed to hesitate.

Sofie took a deep breath. "Kiss me. I command it."

At the feel of his cold lips against hers, she flushed with triumph. She had thought her first kiss would be different from this; she had nursed girlish fancies about Valerian. But this mattered, and those fancies would come to nothing.

"How could you?" Amelia said, walking out from the doorway where she'd hidden herself. She told the automaton he wasn't real.

She told him he was useless. She told him that she'd have him ripped from the wall and sold for parts.

Sofie left the ballroom quickly, reminding herself that Amelia's words could not possibly touch Nicholas. He was only metal and steam.

The next morning, when Sophie awoke, there was no servant to help her dress or stoke the fire in the grate. By the time she arrived at breakfast, Lady Obermann was in great distress, pointing at the table.

In front of her were the remains of cups of chocolate, set down so hard by the dumbwaiter's serving hand that they broke.

No apology came from the walls. Chocolate oozed over pieces of broken floral-print china; slices of plum cake were scattered over the planks of the floor.

"What's happened?" Sofie asked.

"The house is angry. It scolded us!" Lady Obermann clutched an embroidered napkin to her bosom. "Where is Valerian? Where is Henry? Someone has to do something!"

"Scolding us? But that's impossible," said Sofie. "They're not made to be able to —"

"It did," Lady Obermann insisted tearfully, cutting her off. "It said that it loved Amelia and Amelia loved it, too."

"She's in love with the house?" Valerian asked wonderingly, walking into the room. "The
whole
house?"

Sofie could not help laughing, which made Lady Obermann give her a dark look.

"It's that dance instructor," said Lady Obermann. "Or I thought it was. But the house seems to feel . . . invested."

"I do hope that she at least will refrain from letting
my room
court her," Valerian said. "That would seem particularly treasonous on its part. I'm not sure I could stand for a betrayal like that."

"How can you jest at a time like this?" chided Lady Obermann.

"I assure you," said Valerian, "I am not jesting. I am much affected. But you know Amelia—when she gets in a taking, there's nothing for it. I don't understand any more than you do, but it's not worth all
this."
He gestured to the ruined breakfast.

Lady Obermann fixed him with a glare. "You are horrid! Think of your sister!"

"Let's ask Wexley what he thinks," said Valerian, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Come on, Sofie." He said it like they were going on an adventure together.

Wexley wasn't in his normal spot in the hallway. When they finally found him, he was standing in the dancing hall. The dance instructor wasn't there, although he should have been.

"What's the meaning of all this?" asked Valerian.

"Master," said the butler. "We are sorry for any inconvenience, of course."

"Did one of you raise your voice to my mother?" Valerian asked.

"We are made to grow to serve you better. We respond to the needs of all the family members in concert. Sometimes these needs conflict. Sometimes we may even act in ways that seem disobedient, but be reassured that we can never truly defy you. If you feel that we are no longer behaving as you wish, you may alert our makers and have our demeanor altered."

"Yes, yes," said Valerian, waving his hand in the air. "But what can all this mean?"

"Nicholas loves Amelia, though she is far above his station." There was nothing more terrifying to Sofie than the way that metal mouth grated out those impossible words.

"His
station?"
echoed Valerian wonderingly. "But he has no station."

"Yes," said the butler.

"And aren't you all one — one person?" Valerian asked. Sofie felt he was being generous with the word
person.
"If Nicholas loves her, does that mean the house loves her—as my mother said? Does it mean you love her?"

"We are the house and we are also ourselves, our part of the house. Nicholas loves her, and we love her because Nicholas loves her."

"But you can't be both!" said Sofie. "You're either individuals or you're not."

"We're not like you. We do not work as you do." The butler turned to Sofie. "You did Nicholas a bad turn, using him as you did."

"Sofie?" prompted Valerian. "Did something happen?"

"I did no more than show Amelia he could not love her. If I desired him to kiss me, he would kiss me. He had no natural feelings to prevent it. Just as he only says he loves her because she desires to be loved."

"You kissed Nicholas?" Valerian asked, his voice full of bafflement and something else underneath.

She sighed with exasperation. "He's not
human.
I hoped to save your sister from what befell my father. Surely the cost to my reputation was nothing compared to what she could lose."

Valerian reached his hand toward Sofie, a gesture that seemed oddly out of place. He never touched her. "But your father's death surely can have nothing to do with the automatons?"

"You mean that he died of drink, but he died in the arms of creatures like that, creatures that poured the drinks that killed him, creatures who would deny him nothing and could deny him nothing, because his dying could never matter to them. They feel nothing. They are nothing." She was surprised by how loud her voice had become.

"Wexley," said Valerian. "My cousin is obviously upset, but whether she's right or not about what Nicholas feels, his actions cannot be supported. He can't go asking for my sister's hand. It's just not the thing. So if you're all and one, that's perfect, because I can have this conversation with you. It's got to stop. I'm not bamming, now. Tell Nicholas that he's got to break it off with Amelia."

"I cannot, Master Valerian." Wexley sounded regretful, but firm.

"Well, why can't you?" Valerian demanded.

"Amelia wouldn't like it."

"Well, Amelia's had enough of what she likes," said Valerian. "This house serves the rest of us, too."

"We serve all the Obermanns," said Wexley, "but we love only Amelia."

Valerian threw up his hands in exasperation. "Come on, Sofie. There is no profit in this endless palaver."

She followed him into the hallway. "What can you mean to do?"

"I am sorry about your father," he said. "That's the devil of a thing for a young girl to see."

"I imagine it is no different for anyone, young or old." She looked away; she didn't want him to see that there were tears standing in her eyes. Again. His company was terrible for her composure. "I'm perfectly fine."

But maybe he'd already noticed, because he went on. "And now this, harrowing up all those feelings again. But let me say this, my father is not so different from your own, and the Cyprians who pour drink down his throat may be living women, but they have no more sympathy for him than automatons."