The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 7

  “I will be right back. I have an idea.”

  Eliza disappeared up the stairs to her husband’s study before returning with Gray’s Anatomy tucked under her arm. She thumbed through the book, stopping on the anatomy of the arm, before tracing the muscles from their origin to their insertion points. With a frown, she flipped to a picture of the leg musculature. A smile crossed her lips as she looked back at the arm diagram again. It could work.

  “I think I have a solution for you. The ends of the muscles, in my opinion, cannot be bound to the materials being used to create the prosthesis, but if you were able to get the Achilles’ tendons from a fresh corpse, you could use them to create a capsule around the elbow joint and form an anchoring point for the muscles to attach to. Tendons don’t really need a strong blood supply to survive, so they would be the perfect material to use. Natural yet strong.”

  “How am I supposed to get tendons from a corpse? I’m not a resurrectionist.”

  She drew closer to her cousin’s ear and whispered, “Surely James could arrange a donor once you have a client. These things need to be fresh.”

  “While it’s ingenious, it’s still quite a grisly thought. Waiting for a man to drop dead only to pick him over for scrap parts sounds so— so crooked.”

  Eliza chuckled. “James is accustomed to searching through scraps, and it’s not like the dead man is going to need it. Hadley, I think the tendons will aid in supporting the prosthesis, but the muscles that remain in the upper arm may have atrophied over time from a lack of use. Do you have any idea as to how we could counteract this?”

  “That was one of George’s concerns as well. The weight of the titanium bone could be an issue because we don’t want it to pull the tendons and muscles out, but if I built some sort of external brace around the joint, I could install springs and thick rubber bands to aid in supporting the arm. I think the brace would be beneficial since the prosthesis is designed to be able to carry the weight of an object, which may not be insubstantial.” She gingerly picked up the drawing again, smiling at her brother’s ghostly writing. As she read the tiny notations and pictured him explaining to her each detail and nuance of his design, she could hear his voice again. “I wish I had his talent, Eliza. George taught me everything, and I just wish I could be as good as he was.”

  Eliza patted her cousin’s hand as she watched the corners of her blue eyes sink with melancholy. “You are, and one day you will be even better. You’re still young and have years of learning ahead of you. If I found this, it would have taken me hours if not days to decipher what all these calculations and cryptic little scribbles meant, yet you instantly knew what he intended to make. You know what they say, the student surpasses the master, and you had a very good master to learn from, my dear.”

  The tainted London rain dripped down the glass of the conservatory, casting a green tint over the medicinal plants blossoming in their balmy terrariums, unaware of the sickening vapors and hazards that lay only a pane of glass away. Hadley looked around the house in the gloom. James Hawthorne’s cabinets of medical curiosities in the parlor suddenly resembled fodder for tawdry Whitechapel sideshows. The progression of skulls from conception to old age that lined the mantle reminded her of relics from the Italian catacombs she had heard so much about when Eliza had visited them years ago with her father. A house that was ordinarily so full of life had contracted the pallor of death the moment the city had grown cold. As a shudder swept through her, Eliza flipped on the gas-lamps, and the funereal trappings melted away.

  “I have one problem,” Hadley began gravely. “To begin this project, I need someone who is willing to submit themselves to experimentation. I cannot have the titanium bone or elbow joint cast without knowing the client’s size. I have been rejected once recently for a normal prosthesis. How am I supposed to find someone willing to buy something so radical from me? I mean, they have to go through surgery. I don’t even know if I would be willing to do something like that, and I am the one who is making it.”

  “I think I know someone who may be willing to be your test subject.”

  “Really? They are missing their forearm?”

  She nodded as she drew a pad of paper and a pencil from the sideboard and scribbled down a name and address. “He was one of your brother’s clients. He is in London and will probably call on us tomorrow or the next day. I will see if he is willing, and if he is, I will send him to you.”

  Hadley Fenice stared down at the name in disbelief. Out of all the people her brother worked with, why was his name always the one to appear?

  Chapter Nine:

  The Dinner Party Debacle

  Thus far, Eilian Sorrell had been pleasantly surprised by how his mother’s dinner party was turning out. The conversation at dinner had revolved around what parties and which balls each group would be attending, and it appeared as if his father and brother intended to be on their best behavior as no one had even mentioned Eilian except for his mother and Maxine. Since he had seen her last several years before, her features had grown finer, and she suddenly didn’t seem like the clingy girl who stalked him at every party. Her manners were impeccable, even better than Constance’s. Her voice was well manicured to sound level and thoughtful, and when paired with her beautifully coiffed hair and exotic, cat-like eyes, she was a sight that no man in the room could take his eyes off. When dinner was served, he gladly proffered his left arm to her as they walked into the dining room with the others, and he hadn’t noticed her staring at his prosthesis or scrutinizing him as Virtiline did from across the table.

  As graceful and stylish as Maxine was, Virtiline was equally high-strung and frumpy. Her eyes were magnified by her thick spectacles to the point that she reminded him of a pop-eyed goldfish with frizzy blonde hair that seemed to grow bigger as the evening went on. From the moment she had entered his parents’ house, she had fluctuated between staring at his arm and completely averting her gaze as if he was the scene of some dreadful yet intoxicatingly curious steamer accident. Eilian had heard from his mother that she had been raised by a neurotic great-aunt because her father was often ill or away on business, and it showed in the way she fussed at every little thing. When the vegetables were brought around the table, she went on a tangent about her digestion, and when the other young ladies discussed the latest dance they were all eager to learn for the next big ball, she complained about how learning new things affected her nerves so adversely. Of all the young women he had met, he had never met one who acted so dreadfully old as Virtiline.

  On the other hand, her brother Cecil was as highly polished as any young, eager aristocrat, and to his mother’s delight, he seemed to bond well with Maxine’s little sister Martha, who watched him out of the corner of her eye and beamed each time he spoke to her. Both were only a few seasons out and were eager to be paired-off or to at least have a suitor for the season. Halfway through dinner, Eilian confirmed that the Earl of Bedford and his wife were carbon-copies of his parents. He watched them discuss current events and politics, and of course, they were always of the same conservative opinion.

  After the course-laden dinner was finished, Millicent Sorrell led the party into the parlor for some coffee and tea. As Eilian stood up, his prosthesis slipped down, chafing the raw skin on the inside of his arm. The previous night he had noticed that his scarred skin was being bruised and rubbed red by the leather bracings of the prosthesis and hoped it would dissipate by the time the party began, but when Patrick had tried to affix the arm that afternoon, the limb had swelled so much that he had to buckle the straps one hole looser than normal. Eilian tried to walk behind the others as if nothing was wrong, but with each stride, the arm swung rhythmically, smacking him in the chest. As the sounds of the piano playing and Constance’s shrill singing filled the hall, he sidestepped the doorway and attempted to tug up the belt, but the arm didn’t seem to become any more stable. If only Patrick was around, he thought, knowing his butler was probably below in the servants’ hall eating his di
nner or upstairs tending to his clothes. Unfortunately, he would be missed if he slipped away. Using his other hand, he carefully tucked the prosthetic arm closer to his body and headed into the parlor, hoping no one would see that one arm was longer than the other. He quietly settled beside Maxine, who smiled at his approach and moved her skirts to allow him to sit near her.

  “I heard you went to India recently. Did you enjoy your trip?” he asked politely with what he hoped was an amiable grin that would mask his anxiety.

  “It was… interesting,” she replied slowly, looking down at her coffee. “I found it dreadfully hot and frightfully dull. My uncle was always busy, and none of the servants could speak a word of English. I sat inside trying not to burn my skin or catch anything from all the insects. Mother told me you love India, but honestly, I don’t know how you can.”

  He searched her face, hoping for some hint of sarcasm or jest but found nothing. The glow that attracted him to her was rapidly waning. “You just need a proper guide. If you do not have anyone who knows the culture, then you will never get past the British part of India. Did you see the Taj Mahal or any of the temples?”

  “No, but I really did not care to. After going to the market, I really did not see any point as I didn’t enjoy myself. The streets are entirely too crowded, and the whole time I was there I didn’t see a single steamer or airship. I would have much preferred to see the country from above than on the ground with all the dirty natives.”

  Eilian cringed at that word. “It really isn’t that bad. Obviously, the people live much differently than we do, but we cannot discount their way of life.”

  “It is our duty as Englishmen to lead these people to a better life,” the Earl of Bedford added with a nod to his daughter. “Our queen is their empress, and with her rule, they will move toward a more civilized way of life.”

  His father chuckled. “Lord Bedford, you are wasting your time. There is no way to get through to him. He sympathizes with the savages no matter where he is. Did you tell them where you are running off to next?”

  “The— the Negev Desert in— in Palestine,” he stammered, feeling his face flush as the men stared at him.

  Maxine’s face suddenly brightened. “Do you have a diplomatic post there?”

  Before he could open his mouth to speak, Harland Sorrell replied, “He is going there to dig in the dirt with Sir Joshua Peregrine to find some petty trinkets.”

  “Father, I’m going there to dig for artifacts. Before the British Empire came in, they lived for thousands of years without outside interference. They made technological advancements long before our culture had even thought of them. While we were in the dark ages, they were flourishing.”

  “Obviously, they didn’t run their civilization very well, or they would be the ones colonizing us and we would be wearing pajamas all day.”

  The two older men laughed together as Eilian looked on in stricken horror. Somehow he never expected so much blatant racism in his mother’s house, yet at the same time, he wasn’t particularly surprised.

  “Do you really think it is fair that we pillage their land for the things we need while giving them nothing in return? The colonies aren’t even allowed to have steamers or dirigibles of their own by the queen’s decree. How do we expect them to modernize and be like us if we don’t give them the tools needed to flourish? It’s obvious that the government doesn’t want them to reach our status. They only want them to be endless depositories England can take from whenever she needs to.”

  “Who would want them to? The queen and parliament would have to be out of their minds to give them the means to possibly overthrow us. If they had airships or steamers, they could make them into weapons and rise up against the empire,” Lord Bedford replied matter-of-factly between sips of coffee.

  “Some species are just more advanced than others, Son. As an advanced species, it is the duty of an Englishman to instruct the lesser peoples on how to effectively live respectable lives.”

  “But, Father, who are we to judge them as lesser? Civilizations wax and wane. It’s a natural cycle, and one day the sun will set on the British Empire.”

  “The sun never sets on the British Empire,” his father snapped.

  With a start, Eilian realized all eyes were on him. He shifted under their gazes, causing the arm to swing slightly. “I just think people deserve to have their customs and way of life respected rather than having them forcibly Anglicized.”

  “Oh, it sounds dreadful to go overseas,” Virtiline piped up, her hands trembling nervously, splashing little droplets of coffee onto the saucer. “You have to get accustomed to the new food, new air, different water, and all those new people breathing all around you. I don’t think my constitution could handle it.”

  “Well, I don’t think my constitution can handle all this talk of politics and anti-British sentiment,” Maxine chided as she got up and stood beside Dylan at the piano where her sister and Constance still played blissfully unaware.

  Eilian sighed softly. He had never meant for it to go this far, but he couldn’t help himself. On his travels, he had seen too much cruelty and unfounded prejudice. He loved the variety of people he met, learning about their cultures and religions, and seeing what their ancient ancestors could teach him through the artifacts he found beneath the earth. A grin crossed his face as he revisited the dig sites he loved and the tents he stayed in under the stars. Even the scorpion that had terrified him when it wandered into his cot now brought a smile to his face.

  “Lord Sorrell,” Lord Bedford called, “you say the Empire offers nothing to its colonies, but does it not give them protection and prestige? Without the queen’s influence, they are nothing and are constantly feuding amongst their many rulers. Could they function without our intervention?”

  “Before we came rolling into their lands with weapons and money, they were getting along just fine with their numerous rulers and occasional infighting. We bribed their rulers to be passive. Who do they need protection from except those who would seek to make them subjects of their empires? We aren’t protecting them, we are hoarding them for their resources and making sure they are never economically strong enough to rise against us and break away.”

  “Why should we have them colonize us by giving them an equal share?”

  “Don’t you see? They don’t want to colonize us. Imperialism is a very western concept. We always want more, but they never felt the need to take over all of Asia. Have you ever been to India or the East, Lord Bedford?”

  “No, but I don’t need to travel to understand what is going on. I read the papers every day.”

  “Do you read British papers exclusively?”

  “Of course, what else is worth reading?” he chuckled, giving Lord Dorset a knowing look.

  “If you read the papers from India, you would get a different perspective on how it’s to be a colonial subject. You can pick them up in the foreign districts all over the city. To believe only what you read from politicians is lunacy. ”

  “What you call lunacy, I call loyalty to the crown.”

  As Eilian opened his mouth to speak, he saw his mother’s eyes travel from Lady Bedford to his face, giving him the signal to stand down and drop the argument, but his father’s laughter and the mischievous glint in his eye gave him the impression of a setup. He had meant to humiliate him in front of everyone

  “I think I shall go to bed. I suddenly do not feel myself.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he stood and marched toward the door, making certain not to make eye contact with his father. He couldn’t bear to be pulled back into the unwinnable argument again. His mind ran through the statements he had made but found nothing that would make Maxine disapprove of him and cause him to be deemed disloyal. As Eilian stepped toward the threshold, the leather strap on his arm unfurled. With a crash, the prosthesis hit the floor, skidding toward the middle of the room. A shriek erupted from Virtiline’s lips as she fell backwards onto the couch, spilling coffee down
her dress and onto the cream upholstery. He froze as twenty eyes locked on him in disapproval and shock. Mutely snatching the porcelain arm off the rug, Eilian backed out the room with his right sleeve of his dinner jacket swinging with each harried step.

  Chapter Ten:

  To Quote Miss Austen

  Eilian slowed his bicycle as he passed the glossy, black door of thirty-six Wimpole Street, wobbling slightly as he peddled backwards. He sat back for a minute merely staring at the house before he finally rested his velocipede against the rail and trotted up the stone steps. A perfect touch, he mused as a smile crept across his cheeks. Enthusiastically banging the jaw of the doorknocker, he watched through the gap in the heavily curtained windows as Eliza Hawthorne appeared at the end of the hall. At first, the doctor looked put-out at having to answer the door, but upon registering who was there, her face brightened.

  “Eilian, what a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Do bring your bicycle inside, or one of Mrs. Mercer’s dreadful children will ride off with it. Those little urchins commandeered a vacant steamer last week. Oh, where are my manners? Let me help you.”

  “I can get it myself,” he reassured as he easily hefted it with his left arm, using what remained of his right to support the bicycle’s frame as he half dragged it up to the door.

  He carefully carried it into the foyer and rested it against the steps but made certain the dirty wheels and greased gears did not touch the floral wall paper. As he followed Mrs. Hawthorne into the parlor, he inhaled the musty perfume of the cabinets of curiosities, noting their astringent undertone. It came not only from the preserved specimens but from the vapors rising through the floorboards from James’s laboratory. While the Hawthornes’ collection was much more macabre than his, he used their parlor as a model for his study. Eilian loved how every time he came to call on them, he was greeted by some new object that caught his eye within the shelves or curio cabinets. This time it was a tall jar that contained a human brain and spinal cord bobbing within its formaldehyde bath. There were little nodules of flesh protruding from the nervous tissue, and even though Eilian noticed the abnormality, he knew there was little hope he would ever understand the explanation of the disease if he asked for one. Eliza smiled to herself as she watched her friend’s eyes scan the shelves as he did each time he stopped by. What the adventurer didn’t know was when she knew he was in town, she made sure to have something new out in the open for him to discover.