The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 8

  “Are you here to visit James or both of us, Eilian?” she called as she stepped into the kitchen to check if the tea kettle she had put on the stove earlier for herself was ready. “He should be up fairly soon. He has been in the cellar all morning conducting an experiment.”

  “I came to visit both of you.” He grinned warmly as he finally took his seat near the hearth. “I couldn’t come to town without calling on my friends. I would like to apologize for the rather short notice, Eliza.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I would have been surprised if you had not stopped by while you were in town. I hope I didn’t look too bothered when I answered the door, but your knock was the tenth today. Our neighbor had new cards printed, and the house number says thirty-six instead of thirty-eight Wimpole Street. This little mistake would not be so bad except he has a rather large practice and is too thrifty to get them reprinted. Now, I’m forced to redirect all his patients.”

  “That explains your delightful new doorknocker.”

  “Yes, it gives them pause, and usually, they check the plaque on the house and go next door.” Eliza loaded the tray with little cakes and snacks as the kettle finally let out a screeching whistle. “I was at the tea house the other day and overheard Mrs. Sorrell talking about how Lady Dorset was hosting a dinner party. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  She continued gathering cups and spoons until she realized he never answered. Eliza repeated her question slightly louder but was once again met with only silence. Poking her head out of the kitchen, she noticed how Eilian’s distrait, grey eyes stared at the cloaked window while his mouth was drawn bitterly straight. It was unlike him to be so somber. As she came in with the tea, she intentionally allowed the empty cups to clink together on the tray. Lord Sorrell snapped to attention and smiled at her as if nothing was amiss.

  “How was the party?”

  The corner of his mouth stiffly curled. “Fine. The food was good.”

  “Who was there?” Eliza asked as she poured her guest some Earl Grey.

  “My parents, Dylan and Constance, the Earl of Bedford along with his wife and two daughters, and the Lord Lisle’s daughter and son.”

  “Which daughter was Lady Dorset trying to marry you off to?”

  Eilian stopped gnawing at the cake and shook his head. “You know my mother too well. The earl’s eldest daughter Maxine was her prime choice.”

  “Well, you know ‘it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,’” she quoted between measured sips of tea.

  “I would hate to disappoint Miss Austen and my mother, but I’m not in want of a wife. What I’m in want of is a ticket out of England.”

  An inaudible sigh seeped from the adventurer’s lungs, sagging his sturdy chest and shoulders. With downcast eyes, he swirled what little liquid remained in his teacup and stared at it, hoping the solution would materialize in the soggy tea leaves. He chewed on his lip. Eliza was someone he could trust with his life, but what happened was embarrassing in so many ways. Eilian looked down as her thin hand curled around his, squeezing it reassuringly. His face was uncharacteristically strained as he met her green-eyed gaze, which finally worked the words free from his mouth.

  “It went horribly. The whole visit was a disaster. Maxine and I were getting on quite well until our fathers decided to bring up the politics of the colonies. Of course I tried to stand up for the native populations, but they twisted it to make me look like some sort of traitor to the crown. I’m glad to have seen her for the vain woman she really is, but it only got worse. To completely solidify her disgust, my own body turned against me at the most inopportune time. My prosthesis fell off as I left the argument. I didn’t think I could look any worse until I was reduced to not only an apostate but a leprous pariah. Upon seeing my dismembered arm, the viscount’s daughter fainted, which then caused a new uproar. All I could do was grab my prosthesis and run upstairs with my tail between my legs.”

  “Oh, Eilian, I’m so sorry.”

  “When did I become this, Eliza? It’s as if all they notice is that I’m missing an arm. Is that such an unforgivable flaw?” he searched, his voice loosened with emotion.

  He gave little resistance when she pulled the teacup from his grip and placed it on the side table before clasping his hand between hers again. “Do you not realize how lucky you are to even be attending a party? You have cheated death and recovered better and faster than any of us could have anticipated. If they can’t appreciate you without your arm, then they serve no purpose in your life.”

  “I know.” Eilian sniffed, pulling himself together. “I will be able to escape them in a few months. Sir Joshua has invited me to go to an excavation with him in the Negev Desert.”

  “That is wonderful. The fresh air and freedom will do you good. If you have something fun to look forward to, why are you still so troubled?”

  “Deep down, I just worry they are right. What if I go to Palestine and am completely useless? I don’t want to be a nuisance. I want to be as useful as I was before.”

  Eliza Hawthorne lightly tapped her spoon against her saucer as she toyed with whether or not to mention Hadley’s project and how much to mention about the craftswoman. How could she get to the heart of the matter without giving her cousin away? The earl-to-be was open-minded, but from her own experience, she knew that a woman’s open-mindedness often exceeded that of her male counterparts.

  “The other day, my craftsman friend, the one you bought your prosthetic arm from, stopped by. While sitting in the very chair you are in, he told me about this revolutionary prosthesis he only recently developed. I think it could solve some of your problems,” she began slowly, carefully monitoring how much she said.

  He sighed. “I’m not sure. My old prosthesis is what got me into this mess.”

  “This one is very different. It’s not a cosmetic prosthesis but a functional one. It will be custom made for you and secured to your body, so you won’t have to worry about it suddenly popping off like the old one. The best thing about it is, it uses electricity to open and close the hand as if it’s still part of your body. You will probably be able to pick things up and even carry them if they are light enough. It may even appease your family since it actually resembles a normal hand.”

  Before Eilian could reply, the cellar door whined opened, and even without seeing him, it was clear James Hawthorne had finally surfaced from his lab. Preceding his willowy form was the pungent odor of Thames water and putrefied flesh. The doctor was only in his shirtsleeves, but it was covered by an apron that was spattered with fishy, black gunk with the consistency of congealed blood. He pulled off his gloves and washed his hands at the sink. Without turning, he stuffed a large chunk of bread into his mouth and readied the kettle for another round of tea. Eliza Hawthorne cleared her throat, causing her husband to finally face them as he guiltily swallowed the snack whole.

  “Eilian,” he smiled, “I had no idea you were here. I would shake your hand, but I don’t think I should, considering what I have been handling downstairs. Did you tell him about how the new arm Had—” he stuttered as Eliza shot him a sharp look over the armchair’s back, “happens to be for a missing forearm?”

  The young archaeologist shook his head in disbelief. “It’s as if this was made for me. May I have your friend’s address? I would love to pay him a visit before I leave town today.”

  “Oh, that’s impossible. When we spoke, he said he would be going out to the country to give a consultation today and would not be back until nightfall, but I can stop in tomorrow to make you an appointment for the following day.”

  His signature grin of genuine delight spread across his face. “Would you? That would be splendid. I’m planning on heading back to my house tonight, so send him there sometime in the afternoon. If that time doesn’t work for him, tell him to send me a date when he can come.”

  “I’m fairly certain he will be free then.”

  For the fi
rst time in days, joy fluttered through his chest, stretching his features back into their open state and making the scarce amount of light defiantly breaking through the velvet curtains seem so much brighter. He poured each of them another cup of tea and heartily snacked on the Hawthornes’ spread, allowing the warmth of happiness to soak into every part of his being.

  He cleared his throat, stifling his own mirth. “So how is that toy-maker cousin of yours?”

  Chapter Eleven:

  Harold and the New Corset

  The sewing machine whirled as Hadley passed her makeshift corset under the needle for what felt like the hundredth time. The pattern had come from her mother’s trunk in the attic, but she hoped her design would eliminate the pinched waist and merely flatten her entire form. For two days she had ripped out the boning dozens of times, repositioning it until it finally nipped her curves in at the right point. Mid-stitch she took her foot off the peddle. She could have sworn she heard something, but assuming it was Adam, she went back to work with her head down. The window in the alleyway rattled, but Hadley didn’t notice until finally a waving, gloved hand bounced up and down in the high window. Donning her dressing gown, she unlocked the work room’s side door as Eliza Hawthorne strolled in. Her cousin pulled off her gloves with a flourish, but her eyes widened as they roamed over Hadley’s choice of outfit.

  “Do you always sew in your union suit?” she asked with a laugh as she brushed the dust from her skirts and carefully lowered herself onto the chair at Hadley’s old work bench.

  “I’m working on a corset, and I had to keep trying it on to make sure it was working properly. After a while, just staying in my unmentionables was easier than disrobing every fifteen minutes.” She hung her silk robe back on the coat rack and handed the corset to Eliza. “Help me get this thing on. I’m going to dislocate my shoulder if I do it by myself again.”

  With one hand, Hadley held the corset tight to her chest as she used the other to tuck the sides up to her armpits. Mrs. Hawthorne had never seen a corset of such design. Rather than having hooks and eyes in the front and lacing all down the back, the entire corset was one solid piece of material with tight lacing at the top third of her back and snaps running down below. She clicked the bottom portion in place before pulling the laces as tight as she possibly could without knocking the younger woman off balance.

  “What is this for anyway?” Eliza asked, stepping back from her cousin’s form. “It has flattened you like a board.”

  Hadley’s face flushed with delight. “Finally! You can’t imagine how frustrating I find sewing with a machine. Automata clothes are so much easier to do by hand.” She made her way over to the mirror and tested bending over and squatting down. The girdle held, and the padded cotton fabric allowed her to flex more than her normal corset. “You remember how horrible the Harbuckles were when they found out I was a woman? Well, I decided to bend to society a little. If they don’t want a female doing a man’s job, then they will get a man. Close your eyes for a minute.”

  With a slight roll of her eyes, she turned around to face the other wall. “I can’t imagine this is going to work, Had. Your features are too feminine.”

  “You may call me Harold,” she answered in a husky voice.

  When Eliza turned, she was greeted by a thin boy with a gaunt face and clothes that were too large for his frame. Gone were Hadley’s freckles and long, henna hair, which had disappeared beneath a layer of ceramic dust and a newsboy cap. The only thing that was blatantly her own were her blue eyes, which, despite the coating on her cheeks, still shone with her familiar bright determination.

  “I’m impressed. You may want to pick a less burly voice as you’re much too skinny for it, but otherwise, you look the part. I spoke to Lord Sorrell yesterday. At a dinner party the other day, he had a particularly bad experience with his old prosthesis, but when I suggested the Fenice Brothers could make him a better fitting, more functional one, he nearly drove down here that afternoon. You better finish your corset today because he would like it very much if you could go to his estate tomorrow to have a consultation with him. He is pressed for time and would like it before he leaves for a trip in a few months.”

  She stifled the urge to smile prematurely. “You told him about the surgical aspect?”

  “No, I thought I would leave that to you. You are a lot more persuasive than I am, and I know I would just go into the gory details and make the blood drain from his face. He would like you there sometime in the afternoon. Even though I didn’t tell him everything, I’m fairly confident he will agree to it. He seems rather desperate, and that really is not like him.”

  ***

  Hadley paused before the mirror by the front door. She had taken great pains to look as boyish as possible, even applying extra powder to her eyebrows to make them appear fuller and rounder. After confirming she was aesthetically ready to set out, she transferred the contents of her carpet bag into one of George’s old satchels. As she reached the last few items in her bag, her hand brushed against the cold steel of her derringer pocket pistol. She had bought it around the time of Jack the Ripper’s killing spree for protection, and even though she never ventured into those neighborhoods, a young woman could never be too careful. Staring down at it, she thought about leaving it home in the bag, but instead, she opened her shirt and stuffed it between her flattened breasts for safe-keeping. When Hadley stepped out into the street, she paused, expecting someone to notice her or call her out for being a fraud, but no one noticed. The passersby of London’s streets continued on.

  ***

  As the hired steamer rattled through the Greenwich greenery, Hadley pored over George’s notes once again. She couldn’t afford to miss anything when she delivered her speech about the experimental arm. Over the hill appeared a small, Gothic manor house built of weather-beaten stone and framed with Cathedral-like spires and mullioned windows. Immediately she recognized the house, but she could recall very little of the inhabitants or what she had done during her original visit. Taking a deep breath as she walked to the front door, she once more prepared for her consultation. It was imperative that she not use her own name during the introductions and deepen her voice. Within moments of ringing the bell, a young-faced but white-haired butler with a pair of pince-nez glasses nestled on his narrow nose opened the door. He never asked her for her card or spoke to her mechanically as many other servants had, but instead, with an air of casual civility, he led her into the parlor to allow her to start setting up.

  Laying the drop cloth on the nearest table, she carefully placed her jars of Vaseline and plaster of Paris on it to keep them from staining the viscount’s furniture. Hadley reached into the bottom of the satchel, but as she drew out her notebook, the scraps containing George’s notes fluttered from its binding. With a sigh, she bent down to grab the parchment. One piece landed under the side-table, but as she strained to reach it, she heard the sickening pop of twelve snaps blowing open across her back. She clutched her arms around her middle, but the back of the corset tented under her shirt, making it appear as if she had sprouted wings.

  “Lord Sorrell will be down momentarily. Is there anything you require?” the butler asked as he stepped back into the parlor.

  Hadley straightened up, keeping her back toward the wall and her hand around the two edges of the fabric. “May I use your lavatory?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  As he led her through the corridors, she kept her back against the wall. After the butler had disappeared back down the hall, Hadley ducked inside the bathroom and whipped off her vest and shirt. The tightly laced top was all that kept the corset over her breasts as the back shamelessly flapped apart to reveal her pale, freckled flesh. Spinning around, she tried to catch both edges and pull them back together, but the moment she closed the first snap, the doorknob squealed behind her. Without thinking, she reached into her corset and pointed the stubby-nosed gun at the startled young man standing in the doorway. He was wiping a wet napkin aga
inst a curry stain on his shirt when he finally brought his eyes to the stranger in his bathroom.

  “Whoa!” he cried, raising up his arms in defense and dropping the cloth.

  “You saw nothing, you petty servant,” she growled, clicking back the hammer of the derringer while still clutching her girdle with her free hand. “If you tell Lord Sorrell what you saw, I swear I will make your life a living hell.”

  “I think there has been a mistake.”

  No explanation was necessary as her eyes trailed to his right arm, which terminated at the elbow. The inventor stared at him mouth agape as the tiny gun nearly fell out of her hand. “I am so sorry,” she stammered as she tried to grab her shirt without letting go of the corset. “Please don’t call the authorities. I will leave.”

  As she moved toward the door, Eilian Sorrell stepped in front of her with his arms crossed. “If I’m not mistaken, you are the craftsman who is supposed to be fitting me for a new arm?”