The Earl of Brass (The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Book 1) (12 page)

A Velocipede from the Viscount

“Uh…uh…uchoo!” was all she could utter when Patrick Sinclair opened the Gothic ledge-and-brace door, nimbly avoiding her sputum by stepping behind its ancient planks.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fenice. May I take your coat?”

In the short time it took for the craftswoman to blow her nose, a puddle of rain formed around the soles of her leather boots. Hadley peeled off her wool coat, which had gained five pounds of water weight from the walk up the driveway and was beginning to smell of wet dog. Grasping it by the collar, the butler stared at the cloak before turning to the puddle below it. He led her into the parlor and draped her coat on the fireplace screen, hoping it would dry without needing to be wrung out. As Patrick left to fetch Lord Sorrell, she shuddered and rubbed her clammy arms in front of the hearth. Adam’s hand-me-downs clung to her form, chilling her to the bone despite the house’s warmth. With a trembling hand, she removed the oversized cap that hid her braided and pinned hair and laid it beside her coat to dry.

This was the same parlor she had been in during their first consultation, when she was certain the business would soon be gone like her brother. She had been so anxious that she barely registered her surroundings or remembered what she had seen apart from Lord Sorrell’s face at the end of her gun. As Hadley looked around the room, she felt as if the furniture belonged to another man. The ceiling was framed with sturdy beams of timber to form an intricately coffered lattice that matched the dark stain of the floor boards. One wall was dominated by expansive mullioned windows with the heavy curtains drawn back to reveal the drab May afternoon. Sallow, pattering rain beat and slid against the wavy glass, transforming the hills and city beyond into impressionistic blurs of green and grey. The manor stood alone, an anachronistic fortress of medieval nobility in a world of imperial frivolity. Everything that was part of the house itself reminded her of its inhabitant, but the furniture, while of good quality and taste, did not fit the room. While the fire thawed her hands, Hadley tried to figure out what bothered her so much about the room. Then, it dawned on her, it lacked any personal touches or hints of Eilian’s personality. Neither the walls nor the surfaces of the side tables and mantle contained any portraits or trinkets from his travels. The parlor was merely a set, perfectly emulating what would be found in an upper class parlor of any respectable residence.

“Miss Fenice,” the archaeologist cried, breaking her train of thought, “you’re positively drenched!” He reached for the bell-rope but instead turned and yelled down the hall, “Pat, grab a blanket with the tea! Would you like a change of clothes? You can use some of mine.”

“Th— thank you, sir, but I— I’m all right. A blanket or towel will be more than sufficient,” she answered through shivers.

With his arm in a tight sling across his chest, he rummaged through the decorative chest under the window. He was missing his jacket and tie, but somehow this state of under-dress suited him. “What happened?”

“The steamer I hired broke down half a mile from here. Rather than wait for the driver to fix it, I decided to walk. Unfortunately, the rain grew heavier as I grew closer.”

As the butler came in with a tea tray and a crocheted blanket slung over his arm, Eilian Sorrell led her to the armchair near the fire and retrieved the blanket from Patrick’s arm. With one hand, he tried to shake it open and drape it around her but only succeeded in dropping it onto her lap. With a smile, Hadley wrapped the mantle around her shoulders like a shawl before digging through her satchel for the molded and stitched piece of leather that formed the anchor piece of his outer prosthesis.

“How is your arm, Mr. Sorrell?” she asked as he sat on the sofa and poured her a cup of tea, doctoring it the way she liked it with cream.

“It still hurts quite a bit, but I’m no longer taking anything for the pain. Next week, the stitches will be removed if all goes well,” he replied with a grin as he sat back, leaving the saucer behind as he drank. “So what brings you here today, Miss Fenice?”

“I brought part of the prosthesis for you to try on. I made it a little large to accommodate a stocking, but I want to make sure it isn’t too loose. Are you up to trying it on? If it’s too painful, I can come back after your stitches are removed. Before I finish the other pieces, I want to make sure it fits or if I need to resize it.”

“As long as the sutures aren’t disturbed, I should be fine.”

Once they finished their tea, the inventor perched beside Eilian and slowly rolled up his sleeve. She was pleasantly surprised to find that his arm was only swollen near the point at which the titanium rod emerged from his flesh while his upper arm appeared naturally shapely like its twin. Gingerly drawing his elbow from the sling but leaving the metal portion still resting in its cotton hammock, she cautiously began to slide the leather bracer on. The hide refused to budge at all. The opening was so tight she couldn’t even get it onto his arm unless she used force. Without alerting the viscount to the issue, she stretched and cracked the stiff fabric behind her back, but upon trying it again, his arm was still far from fitting into the couter. Hadley had some choice words for her mistake but instead expressed her frustration with a growling huff.

“Mr. Sorrell, is your arm still swollen?”

The young man glanced at his limb and shook his head. It had to be swollen, there was no other explanation. Hadley dug through her bag to find her notebook and measuring tape. After taking the dimensions of the interior of the bracer, she confirmed it was the correct size, so the leather hadn’t shrunk. The craftswoman then looped the tape around his upper arm and sighed. She had been foolish not to realize his arm muscles would shift after the surgery, causing his arm to drastically change in size compared to how it was before the implantation of the prosthesis. According to her measurements, it now nearly matched his intact limb.

“I’m so sorry, sir, but somehow I didn’t take into account the structural changes your arm would undergo after the operation. I won’t be able to do anything until your stitches come out. Recasting the remainder of your arm is probably the only way for me to make a brace that will fit correctly,” she explained with a calm authority that she hoped masked her embarrassment over making such an obvious error.

“Well, mistakes happen. At least you caught it before it was finished. I will send you a note when James removes my stitches, so you can let me know when you have time in your schedule to do the casting.” Eilian’s eyes trailed out to the grey landscape beyond the mullioned windows as the rain and gusty wind pelted the windows. Miss Fenice had already fixed his sleeve and was beginning to pack up when he worked up the nerve to ask, “Would you like to stay for dinner? The weather
is
rather ghastly at the moment, and it would be a shame to drive all the way back to town and arrive after dinner.”

Hadley opened her mouth mutely several times as if the words wouldn’t come. “I— I wouldn’t want to impose on your staff.”

“It really is no imposition. They always make more food than I can eat.” He looked at her with pleading eyes and a wide grin, and her resolve began to crumble. “Please, Miss Fenice? I so rarely entertain guests. Would you indulge me?”

***

Hadley Fenice quietly closed the door behind her, looking over her shoulder just in time to see the bright red steamer chug away, disappearing and reappearing between the light of the streetlamps. As she dropped her satchel onto the coat rack and kicked off her boots, Adam barely looked up from his book in the parlor. Leaning against the doorway, she watched him continually avert his gaze with a wry grin as if she wasn’t there.

“Aren’t you going to ask where I have been all evening?” she asked flatly, mildly irritated by her twin’s lax approach to chaperoning.

“Nope, I know where you were. Either the viscount invited you to stay for a bite or,” he paused to sniff the air, “you went to a place that serves curry, but I know you don’t like to eat alone. The viscount’s payment arrived while you were in Greenwich. I left it in the workroom.”

“Why is it in there? If it’s paid in full, why is it not in your office?”

Adam finally glanced up from
The Woman in White
. “I thought you ought to see it.”

Curiosity drew her toward the messy studio, but apprehension slowed her pace as she finally reached the wooden door, unsure of what could be on the other side. What could Lord Sorrell have possibly sent that could have been of such interest to Adam? He always complained about his coworkers’ scratchy handwriting. Was he so vain that he left the letter for her to gawk at his wrong-handed script? Maybe the viscount used flowery stationary, or maybe he included a notice of dismissal along with his payment. As she turned the doorknob, she held her breath and hoped the viscount had a penchant for poesy patterns on his letterhead.

Hadley stood stunned in the doorway as her eyes ran over a gleaming, black bicycle. Not only did the velocipede have a bell to warn passersby she was coming, but it sported two roomy, wire baskets tethered to either end along with an oil lantern just below the handlebars. She reverently trailed her hand over the steel frame and up onto the leather seat. As she climbed onto the bicycle, she beamed despite the acute discomfort in her coccyx from the hard seat.
He remembered
, she glowed against her better judgment. Lord Sorrell was a nice man, a generous man, but she could not insinuate anything more. The studio was rather cramped, but using the side of the workbench for support, she peddled unsteadily toward the door. It was too dark to take it out for a proper ride, but she promised herself she would do it first thing in the morning. Standing up, she noticed two envelopes were sitting in the front basket. One was written in the butler’s flawless hand while the other was in Eilian’s spidery script. Just as she guessed, the first was the payment for the prosthesis. As Hadley unfolded the second brief letter, she smiled at his child-like script. He had even taken the time to write the note out himself.

Dear Miss Fenice,

Without fail, I’m continually impressed and astonished by your abilities and tenacity. From the time you first entered my home, I have been trying to figure out how to be a better patron to you and the Fenice Brothers. I hope you will accept this gift, which I believe will, from what you told me, reduce costs and make running errands easier for you. Even though you don’t know how to ride a bicycle, I have no doubt you will pick it up without incident, but if you are having difficulties, I can teach you.

Until our next appointment,

Your humble patron,

Eilian Sorrell

Scooping up the letters with a grin, she emerged to find Adam watching for her reaction as she crossed the hall to his office. She let the happiness fall from her face and adopted her usual serious air. Once situated at his desk, Hadley indifferently dropped the bill onto Adam’s ledger and picked up the pen to write a reply to the earl-to-be.

***

Sitting at his well-worn desk, Eilian Sorrell checked his pocket watch. Miss Fenice was probably home by now. The corners of his mouth curved contently as he imagined her reaction upon seeing the bicycle. He had waited for her to arrive in Greenwich before having Patrick send one of the servants to deliver it to her studio to ensure it would be a surprise. It had taken days to find a bicycle that would meet her needs. Patrick had not been able to find a velocipede in London that came with large enough baskets, and one had to be ordered from the manufacturer directly to ensure they would accommodate her tools and materials.

Sighing softly, he turned a small envelope over in his hand thoughtfully. It was the same one he dictated after his surgery, the one he planned to give to her tonight but decided against it. Even though the appointment had not gone as planned, he and Hadley Fenice had an oddly pleasant time together. Over a sweet potato and peanut stew with rice, they finally had the chance to continue the discussion on automatons and archaeology they had begun almost two weeks earlier. Despite being slightly under the weather, Hadley was in good spirits and even told him about some automaton projects she wanted to create in the future. Each word about her future made him want to know more and do more to be a part of her life. All through dinner, the letter had been in the pocket of his waistcoat, but he kept it to himself. Eilian knew how he felt, but they hadn’t known each other long enough for the ever practical Miss Fenice to consider spending so much time with him. With one final, fond look at the missive, he placed it in his desk drawer. There was always next time.

A Surprise Proposal

For a month, Eilian carried his arm in a sling, not even taking it completely off to sleep or bathe. A few weeks prior, the gnarled stitches that adhered his skin to the titanium bone were removed, but he had yet to receive the part of his prosthesis that would make it functional. He looked forward to using it, but ever since the procedure, his arm had ached continuously as the withered muscles were drawn back into their original shape. While he wished he could have ridden his bicycle or traveled, the pain didn’t allow him to do much. Lounging on the sofa before the library hearth with a book on automatons, he smiled. The only perk of being so uncomfortable was that Hadley Fenice stopped by at least once a week to take measurements or check on his healing wounds. With each meeting, he convinced her to stay a little longer with a conversation on mechanisms and ancient history or a tray of foreign cuisine he would dare her to try even though he knew it would take very little persuading for her to taste it. Eilian glanced over the back of the sofa as Patrick knocked before opening the door.

“Miss Fenice is here to see you, sir. Shall I bring her here, or would you prefer to meet with her in the parlor?”

“Bring her here please.”

Hadley appeared through the door in a black and white striped walking-suit and black lace gloves. Her intricately braided and bundled carmine hair popped in the absence of color. The dress was impeccably tailored to hug her corseted form, and while it wasn’t in the latest style, it flattered her more than mutton-sleeves ever could. In rebellion of her fashionable outfit was her clunky, well-loved carpetbag hanging dutifully on her arm. As she entered the study, her light eyes ran over the kimono and the curious objects housed within the cases on the far wall before sweeping over the towering bookcases. Finally her gaze came to rest on Eilian Sorrell standing before the fireplace watching her.

“What brings you to my home today, Miss Fenice?” he asked with a grin as he offered her a seat and took the one opposite her.

“Well, I have finally finished your prosthesis, and hopefully it will fit correctly this time. I don’t know what I was thinking before.” She rummaged through her bag, pulling out several long springs, a swathe of suede, and an elbow of brass and leather that ended in a strap. “I should have known when you had the operation, it would completely change the shape of your arm and the old measurements would have been obsolete. I’m so sorry it has taken so long, but I had to remold the entire thing. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you too much.”

“Not at all. I probably wouldn’t have been doing much anyway except sitting around reading or typing, and I don’t need my other hand for that. At least while I have been waiting, my arm has been given the chance to heal more. The muscles are still stretching.”

Hadley stood up and perched beside him to untie the sling that held his new arm. “Good, maybe waiting wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Now, I won’t have to worry about your stuffing coming out.”

The craftswoman supported his metal hand as she gingerly removed the cloth sling. He feared that upon the sling’s removal, his new forearm would be too heavy and would fall straight out from under his elbow, but it held as she unbuttoned his vest and shirt with her free hand. Eilian’s pulse quickened at the brush of her hand against his flesh and at the thought of having a woman so close and so unafraid to touch, and even undress, him. Each time she entered his home without a chaperon or ventured behind closed doors to take measurements, he feared what deceitfully scandalous things people would say about her when all she did was her job and nothing more. She never mentioned it. Either she had learned to ignore their barbs or after learning she did men’s work, there was nothing left to gossip about.

As she leaned back, Eilian looked down at the intersection where titanium met flesh for the first time since the stitches had been removed. It still startled him to see a piece of metal jutting out of the fleshy stump, but to know it ended in a hand that would soon come to life was one of the most beautiful things he had experienced since he came back to England. Hadley drew a long toe-less cotton sock from her bag and worked it over the titanium hand and bone before rolling it up the length of his arm. She then wrapped a piece of suede around the elbow joint for added protection and grabbed the leather and brass apparatus from her chair.

“I almost did not recognize you when you came in,” he remarked as she placed the L-shaped leather piece against his elbow before tightening the laces section by section like a corset. When she looked up at him with furrowed brows, he continued, “I have never seen you dressed so femininely before.”

“Oh.” Miss Fenice glanced down at her outfit as if she just realized what she was wearing. “I usually wear dresses when I’m going out. Men’s clothing is just more practical when I’m working since I don’t mind getting it dirty. I must admit that wearing this makes me feel self-conscious. In recent years, I have grown oddly accustomed to trousers.”

“While trousers probably suit your needs better, you look incredibly beautiful today.”

Her cheeks burned as she smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Sorrell, you are too kind. The dress is old and probably out of fashion, but it’s comfortable to work in, at least when I’m not moving too much.”

Once the brace was secured, she hooked the strap over his shoulder and began to attach the tight springs to the small rings that flared from the wrist of the hand. Threading them through a set of titanium rings and two of brass, she hooked them onto the top of the brace. A set of springs ran up the front of the arm while a second bundle ran down the back in place of the muscles that had been lost to the HMS
Albert
. The craftswoman fed the battery pack through a hole in the leather before securing it with a snap.

“I brought extra stockings for you since they should be changed daily.” Hadley probed the springs to make sure they were properly secured. As she finally moved away from his side, she explained, “I can always adjust the tension in the springs, but I want you to try to raise and lower your arm.”

Eilian Sorrell tensed his muscles and tentatively pulled his artificial arm up until the cold, hollow fingers brushed his cheek. With a relieved grin, he brought his arm back down until the porcelain fluidly rolled across the trochlea of his humerus. When he looked up, Hadley was smiling at him, holding a battery. Holding his breath, he closed his eyes as she slid the battery into place. This was the moment of truth. Finally he stared down at the clenched hand and commanded it to open. The stiff mechanisms squealed as the fingers bloomed digit-by-digit until they straightened. He held it for a few seconds before his fingers retracted back to their clenched position. With near giddy delight, the Lord Sorrell searched the room for something to pick up before spotting an empty teacup sitting on his desk. Hadley watched from the sofa as he slowly reached out, carefully maneuvering his outstretched fingers until they wrapped around the delicate handle. That charming, child-like exuberance she loved flushed every feature of his face as he picked the cup off the desk, lifted it to his lips, and set it back. Tears of joy snuck from the corners of his eyes as he turned toward the glass cases and stared down at his reflection. His titanium bone had morphed into a real arm, complete with spring muscles that transitioned into brass and leather as it joined with his flesh. He ran his hand over the cap at the back of his elbow, his fingers slipping over the brass plate that protected the delicate joint against impacts.

An elated sob escaped his lips as he settled beside her. “I do not know how to thank you, Miss Fenice. Thank you so much for all you have done.” He smiled, wiping his eyes. “You can’t know how happy I am. What do you think I should I do with my old prosthesis now? I don’t think I’m going to need it.”

“I— I was wondering if maybe I could keep your old prosthesis. It was the last thing George made before he died, but I’m not expecting you to give it to me, I would like to buy it from you.”

He met her pained, blue eyes as they lingered on his arm. “You need not pay for it. I would never charge you for something that is precious to you. I was hoping to donate it to someone who needed it, but I will have Patrick give it to you before you leave today. Would you be willing to stay for lunch? There is something I would like to discuss with you.”

“Of course, what is it?”

Eilian shook his head. “It can wait until lunch.”

As he tried to slip his arm back into his sleeve, the hand caught on the seam, but before he could tug it loose, Hadley freed it. She automatically buttoned up his shirt and vest, just as she had done so many times for George when he was too ill to dress himself. Eilian Sorrell watched Miss Fenice’s eyes glaze as if she had slipped back into another moment in time as she helped him redress. Smothering the throb in his stomach, he thanked her and rang the bell-rope in the corner to signal to Patrick that they were ready for lunch. Even though she knew the way, Eilian ignored his aching muscles and led Hadley arm-in-arm to the dining room. Before Patrick could intervene, Lord Sorrell pulled out her chair and carefully pushed her in, using both arms for the first time in over six months. A grin passed across the butler’s face as Eilian waved to him using his new arm. Even if he couldn’t articulate the wrist, it was still refreshing to be able to gesture with a hand he could always feel but now could finally see. A few minutes after sitting at the head of the long, empty table, Patrick carried out two plates, each with a neatly folded pastry dusted with confectioner sugar. Through the folds of the dough rose the warm aroma of chicken, ginger, and almonds.

With a satisfying crunch, Hadley cut her fork through the crisp pastry. “What exotic dish are we having today?”

“It’s called pastilla au poulet,” he replied as he brought a forkful to his mouth.

She made an exaggerated gasp and playfully scoffed, “Only French today? When I stay to lunch with the Viscount Sorrell, I expect Indian or Japanese food at the least, something that would shock the sensibilities of the masses.”

“Actually, Miss Adventurous, it’s Moroccan, and it’s delicious.”

Eilian watched her from the corner of his eye as she blissfully ate, but when Patrick came in to refresh the teapot, he motioned for him to fetch the letter he left in the hall for Miss Fenice. The butler discreetly slid the envelope under his master’s plate, but as Lord Sorrell turned it over in his hand with a pensive frown, Hadley couldn’t help but notice that it had her name on it.

“What did you want to discuss, Mr. Sorrell?” she asked with hesitant curiosity. Her mind raced through the numerous outcomes of what could be in the letter, all of which ended in disaster.

He opened his mouth to begin but instead handed her the letter. “Here, before I say anything, read this. It has all the particulars.”

With trembling hands, she opened the envelope and unfolded the letter within. Unable to believe the words written in the butler’s hand, she went back and reread it several times. Suddenly, she let the paper drop and stared into his grey eyes with furrowed brows. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I have been thinking about for quite a while. Actually, I dictated that letter right after my surgery. Will you go?”

“What would I do in Palestine at the dig? I know nothing about archaeology, and don’t the women just stay back in the nearest city and shop?”

He bit his lip as the pain radiated up his arm but waned as he watched the mechanism open and shut. “My plan was that you could go disguised as a man. You could be my artist since I can no longer sketch with my right hand, or you could pose as my apprentice. I thought it would be a good experience since you have never been out of Europe. By being a man, you would be able to explore and travel on your own. The ticket would be paid for, so there is no need to worry about the cost. I know it’s an imposition, but it is about three months away, which would be plenty of time to get your affairs in order if you agree to go.”

Hadley reread the details again. They would leave by airship on the twentieth of August and arrive in Palestine in early September. The freedom to explore and have total anonymity were concepts she never thought possible, and they would always be impossible in London, a place with over five million people where everyone seemed to know each other if not by name then by reputation. Being free for the first time would be daunting, to step into a man’s shoes for maybe months, to step into an imaginary life. She knew prostheses, she knew dolls, but she never knew true freedom. What would people say if they knew? Who had ever heard of a woman dressed as a man, sharing a tent with other men unsupervised?

“I— I would need to discuss this with Adam,” she stammered, swallowing hard.

Eilian’s heart sank. “That’s fine. I wasn’t expecting an answer today. I know you need to secure your business first.”

“That isn’t it. I—” What did it matter if Adam approved? Adam was her twin brother, not her handler, and even if he disapproved, it wasn’t his business. “How long will we be there?”

“As long as you want to stay.”

Hadley considered the possibilities. It was probably a once in a lifetime opportunity for someone like her, and there was no way she could ever plan this on her own. She couldn’t afford to go around the world, and deep down she knew she wasn’t brave enough to go to a place she had never been before by herself. Each time she visited Lord Sorrell, she asked about his travels, and with each story, she felt her heart yearn more and more to see something beyond the familiar binds of European society. He was trustworthy and had never acted inappropriately no matter how compromising the position.