The Doomsday Vault (27 page)

Alice gave Louisa's arm an impulsive squeeze. “What would I do without you, Louisa?”

“Wither and die like the rest of London. What else do we have down here?”

They found a second drawing room, a parlor, a sunporch, a formal dining hall, the aforementioned ballroom, and several exits to the courtyard out back. They also found the kitchen, which was quiet at the moment. A large black stove dominated the back wall. Pots, pans, spoons, skewers, and other implements hung from ceiling hooks. A set of sinks took up most of one corner. Everything was perfectly clean, partly due to the efforts of a large spider, which was currently scrubbing the floor. Several human-shaped automatons in uniforms stood silently by, their blank eyes staring at nothing. One wore a tall chef's hat.

“You could cook and serve an entire feast with them,” Louisa said. “I have to wonder why your dear fiancé employs no human servants. They'd come at less than a tenth the cost.”

“I have no idea,” Alice admitted. “While we were courting, I didn't bring it up because it felt like prying, and now that we're... that is,
he's
home, I haven't had a chance to bring it up.”

Kemp appeared at the kitchen door. He carried a salver with a calling card on it. “Madam, a Mr. Richard Caraway to see you. Actually, he asked for Mr. Williamson. And your father is fine. I brought him another book and a cup of milk with brandy.”

“Thank you,” Alice said. “Tell Mr. Caraway that Mr. Williamson is not at home.”

“He claims to have an appointment with Mr. Williamson, and he says it is quite urgent.”

Alice blinked. “Then tell him—never mind. I'll go.”

“Richard Caraway, Richard Caraway,” Louisa muttered. “Oh yes. Young rake. Father owns tin mines in Wales and recently put Richard in charge of half of them to see how he does.”

“Do you have the entire social register memorized?”

“I told you I like bombastic fiction. Shall I wait here?”

“If you don't mind. I won't be long. Kemp, you needn't come.” Alice started to scurry off, then forced herself to slow to a ladylike pace.

Richard Caraway, a thin, ash-blond man in a dark business suit, all but bolted to his feet as Alice entered the front room. His hat perched on a rack in the corner. He looked both nervous and familiar, but Alice couldn't place him, and she wished for Louisa's gift with names and faces.

“I'm sorry you came all this way, Mr. Caraway,” Alice said after introductions and handshakes, “but my fiancé isn't at home, and my father isn't seeing visitors.”

He blinked pale eyes. “I had an appointment. Wednesday, four o'clock.”

“Oh! There's the confusion, then. Today is Tuesday, Mr. Caraway.”

He blinked again. “I see. Of course. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“What was the nature of your business with him?” Alice asked, genuinely curious. “I would think most people would go down to the factory or to his office.”

“It was...” He swallowed, staring at her, and Alice felt a little uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, Miss Michaels, but I don't know how much your fiancé involves you in his daily business, and I don't feel quite right about—”

“Quite, quite,” Alice said, mystified. Did it have something to do with munitions? Or some other secret project? But if that were the case, why would this man come here rather than go to Norbert's factory? She wanted to ask further, but manners didn't allow. “I could offer you some tea. We have some lovely—”

“I should go.” The hat rack handed him his hat as he approached the door. “Please tell your fiancé I was here. So sorry.”

The moment he turned his back to walk out, Alice remembered him. He was one of the men who had left this very house on the day Norbert had proposed to her. It piqued her curiosity.

“Excuse me,” Alice called, hurrying after him, “Mr. Caraway, I remember seeing you here before, with another gentleman. Don't you run a mining concern in Wales?”

He stopped and turned. His face was pale. “Why do you ask?”

“It's rather unusual for someone of your stature to stop by a private home during business hours, and I was truly wondering—”

“I do have to go,” he said shortly. “Good day, Miss Michaels.” And he fled the house.

 

“What was that all about?” Louisa was sitting at a kitchen table with another cup of tea at her elbow. Kemp stood nearby holding a plate of biscuits. The spider paused in its work to eye the biscuit plate for falling crumbs, then went back to scrubbing.

“I honestly don't know,” Alice replied.

“Biscuit, Madam?”

“No thank you, Kemp. So odd.” She related the details of the conversation. “It's a complete mystery.”

“So many of them in your life,” Louisa said.

A bubble of emotion Alice hadn't been aware she was carrying suddenly burst, and Alice slapped her hand on a worktable. “And I'm tired of it!” she cried. “It's been nearly a year, and I don't know what happened to my aunt, and I don't know what happened to that grinning clockworker, and I don't know what happened to Gavin, and I don't know what's happening in this house, and I'm bloody tired of it!”

“Gavin?” Louisa said. “Who's Gavin?”

Alice paused in her tirade. “Did I say Gavin?”

“You did,” said Louisa, zooming in for the kill. “Who is he?”

“A young man I ... assisted.”

“How exciting! And romantic! Do you like him? Is he handsome?”

The hell with it. “Very handsome,” Alice snapped with an angry toss of her head. “Stunningly handsome. Gorgeous. Blond and blue-eyed and quick and strong, with a voice like an angel and hands that create music to make heaven weep.”

“Did you kiss him?”

This was rather fun. Alice leaned forward with pointed wickedness. “I didn't, but I wanted to, and more, even though I had just given my hand to Norbert only hours before. I still think about him all the time. When I fall asleep, I see his face in the dark, and when I wake up, his memory is in my dreams. How do you like
that
?”

“I think it's marvelous!” Louisa's eyes were sparkling. “Is he rich?”

“Dirt poor. He's a street musician.”

“Lowest of the low. Shocking! How old?”

“Eighteen when I met him. He must be nineteen by now.”

“Cradle robbing already. Darling! I'm so proud!”

The remark, however, yanked Alice back to reality. The daring anger drained away and she deflated. “It is, isn't it? Good heavens. Even if I weren't engaged to Norbert, I couldn't pursue Gavin. Not in a hundred years.”

Louisa blinked. “Why on earth not?”

“You just said why not. He's nineteen years old, and I turn twenty-three next month. I'm a cradle robber.”

“Oh, please!” Louisa took up a biscuit and angrily bit off a chunk. “These are modern times. How old is Norbert?”

“Thirty. Why?”

“But you're twenty-three? No one bats an eye when a man marries a woman seven years younger, but if a woman looks at a man four years her junior, everyone gets in a tizzy.” She crumbled the rest of the biscuit onto the platter. “If your ages were reversed, would you see a problem?”

Alice thought about that. Louisa had a point. No one would think twice about a relationship if Alice were nineteen and Gavin were twenty-three—or even older. Why should it be any different when it was the other way round? It wasn't as if Gavin acted anything other than like a man. He was smart and resourceful and witty and—

“All this is hypothetical,” Alice said stiffly. “I'm marrying Norbert. Gavin is—was—a passing fancy.”

“I don't think so,” Louisa replied. “Gavin stirs up strong feelings, even after a year. I can see it in your face. Why not walk out on Norbert and pursue him?”

“I
can't.
I even had a chance to work with”—the Third Ward's machine froze her tongue again—“with him. At a salary. And I turned it down.”

“What? Why, for heaven's sake?”

“Because Father owes more than I could hope to pay off on my own. Because Norbert has moved Father in here and is providing for his care. Because the banns have been published, and if I back out of the marriage now, Norbert would have the legal right to sue me for the title I had promised his firstborn child. Logic dictated I turn the offer down.”

“You're a woman, Alice, not an automaton.”

“I don't want to discuss it anymore.”

“There's more to this than mere logic,” Louisa said shrewdly. “I can tell.”

There was, but Alice refused to think about it. “I said I don't want to discuss it anymore.”

“You have a lot of things you don't want to discuss,” Louisa replied. “Well, what do you propose we do?”

“I want to clear up some of the mysteries in my life,” Alice said. “I want to know at least one thing that's going on round here. I want to take apart one of these blasted automatons and find out why Norbert is so fascinated by these things.”

“
You're
fascinated by them.”

“Not in the same way. Kemp, bring me my tools. And if you see Click, tell him to—oh. Here he is. How did you know I wanted your help?”

Click, who had jumped up to the kitchen worktable, didn't respond. In a few minutes, Kemp returned, wheeling a walnut cabinet the size of two steamer trunks. Brass fittings gleamed, and every surface was carved to show gears, pistons, rotors, and other bits of machinery. One of the rubber wheels left a small mark on the floor, and the spider rushed over to work on it with frantic movements of the scrub brush. Alice twisted the cabinet's handles, and the doors sprang open, revealing rotating shelves of tools and dozens of tiny drawers for spare parts.

“Well!” Louisa said. “This is a step up from your garret.”

“An engagement present from Norbert,” Alice said. “It's a definite improvement.”

“If you like ostentation, Madam,” Kemp put in with disapproval.

“Madam didn't ask your opinion.” Alice crooked a finger at one of the motionless footmen standing against the kitchen wall. “You! Are you awake?”

“Yes, ma'am.” The automaton's voice was flat.

“Come.”

The automaton obeyed. It had a female shape, and it swayed when it walked. Its black-and-white uniform clung to a curvy brass body, and its skirt swished with every step. Somehow it seemed more naked than Kemp, whose clothes were only painted on.

“What is your function in this house?” Alice asked.

“I serve whatever function is required of me,” the servant said.

“Helpful,” Louisa observed. “You don't suppose . . .”

“What?”

“I've heard about automatons that serve a certain purpose.
You
know the one I mean.”

“Oh, Louisa.” But the protest was halfhearted. “Such . . . congress between men and machines is strictly illegal. Besides, Norbert wouldn't.”

“Really? I know this is a little harsh, but how well do you know him? Until you came along, he lived alone in this huge house. He had no social life to speak of. What do you
think
he was doing in here?”

Alice was going to protest again, then decided against it. What was the point when she was thinking the same thing? A sick feeling roiled in her stomach, and she wanted to flee the room. But no—she had asked for answers, and she was going to have them. “Let's get this over with. Help me get her—its—dress off, Louisa.”

They did. The automaton stood for it without protesting, and Click batted at one of the sleeves. The last layer of undergarments was shed, revealing brass skin broken only by regular patterns of rivets. It looked less human this way, like a mannequin or dressmaker's dummy. Alice quickly examined it and found only unsuspicious, smooth metal.

“Well,” she said, straightening. “This is a bit embarrassing.”

Louisa was holding Click. “Perhaps other methods were employed?”

“Hm. Just how suspicious am I allowed to be?”

The spider, which was the size of a hatbox, finished removing the scuff mark and was turning to scuttle away when Click abruptly leapt from Louisa's arms and pounced on it. The spider squeaked, and its scrub brush skittered across the floor. The two of them rolled about, Click's eyes reflecting phosphorescent glee.

“Click!” Alice scolded. “Stop it! Leave it alone!”

Click abruptly snapped free and strolled away, tail in the air. The discombobulated spider lay on its nose, its backside in the air.

“That cat,” Alice said, leaning down to right the spider. “I don't know what I'll—”

She halted and stared.

“You'll what?” Louisa said.

Alice didn't answer. Instead, she lifted the hatbox spider onto the table, spun it around, and used a screwdriver to lever open a small door mounted on the rear.

“What are you doing?” Louisa asked.

“This spider has two panels to access the inside instead of one,” Alice said. “Unusual. Hold still, you.”

The door popped open. Alice and Louisa both leaned forward to look inside. There was a moment of silence. Then Alice reached inside and pulled out a device, the shape of which made its function quite clear.

“I don't suppose,” Louisa said, “that this object has some machine-related function not so obvious to a layman.”

“I'm afraid not.” Alice shut the spider down. Her hands were shaking, and she felt about to throw up. She remembered Mr. Caraway and the other man she had seen leaving the house during business hours, and she remembered that Norbert had been home. “Kemp, please bring every inhuman automaton in the house to the formal dining room. And don't let Father know.”