Answering the Call

by M J Moores

Still, the realization he worked on manipulating the weather—the very rain in the skies—sparked an explosion of a different type inside Louisa’s head.

  A Mother’s Curse

  L ouisa stepped in a puddle and cursed under her breath. That was not water—they were on the cusp of another drought. She shook her booted foot and moved away from the row of dilapidated terrace houses, keeping within the darker shadows of the night. A drunkard snored at the base of an unlit streetlamp. The lamplighter either hadn’t made it this far yet or didn’t want to go within smelling distance of the rookery with a cutpurse about. Neither did she, but thanks to her mother, Louisa would always live within spitting distance of workhouses and slums.

  A steam-powered landau chugged by, perhaps a couple streets over, but in its wake, the night did not resume its former melancholy. A cry split the air down the alley she usually took as a shortcut to work in the mornings—never at night. But she still had to pass by to get to her room at the boarding house.

  More shouts made her acutely aware of her tenuous position, alone in this neighborhood.

  Why didn’t anyone tell me we could go home early? She bit her lip. Had she not been working late, Master Bennett … Still, it left her rather exposed. Louisa listened as two male voices, punctuated by grunts and coughs, cursed and hollered. The men’s feet shuffled and scuffed on the back-alley road.

  She stayed out of it. She didn’t need that kind of trouble.

  Louisa tucked the only thing of value she carried deeper into her skirt pocket. The meat pie warmed her leg in the nip of the early autumn air. In the end, she waited until only haggard breathing and a slight whimper announced the thieves had taken what little was had and ran. Her heart went out to the poor sot, but really, he should’ve known better than to venture down a dark lane at night.

  She hurried past the open end of the alley, cursing her straying gaze. The darkened, hunched-over form looked too much like the young boy who lived two buildings over from her.

  As it was, she went hungry after all.

  Trodden Toes

  “I simply don’t have time to do everything,” Isabel flustered as she bustled about the kitchen alongside two sets of borrowed hands kneading dough and braising beef. Louisa claimed the silver pitcher from the cook as she pirouetted around the extra bodies, imperfectly, but with the grace of her age and experience diverting disaster in the kitchen.

  “I’ve got this. You focus on what you do best. But, isn’t the dinner tomorrow night?” Louisa asked, stepping just to the other side of the open archway.

  Isabel sighed and pressed her lips together. Louisa had done it again—another barmy question.

  “We cannot create a masterpiece feast for fifty guests of refined dignity in anything less than twenty-four hours. And since we are only three in this kitchen, it will take twice that time. Now, off with you.” She gave a wave and spun back to her duties.

  As Louisa passed through the foyer toward the stairs, dust motes glistened in a band of early morning sunshine. She sniffed. A tinge of smoke lingered, but she and Henry had worked throughout the day yesterday airing out the townhouse. Louisa thought to try a lemon spritz on the walls, but Isabel put a stop to that. Apparently, lemon juice would pull the color from the wallpaper—Louisa needed to use a lavender mist.

  Five steps up, a small explosion nudged the chandelier in the sitting room. She hurried up the steps. Normally, she wouldn’t think twice about the master’s experiments, but the fiasco from two days ago refused to leave her. Louisa glanced inside the workshop as she set the pitcher on the hall table.

  No smoke.

  No fire.

  No yelling.

  Things were back to normal.

  “Louisa, come here a moment,” Master Bennett called.

  Maybe she’d spoken too soon. Louisa stepped just inside the room.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you paint?” He spoke with his back to her, facing the main worktable.

  “No, sir.”

  “Work pottery or sculpt?”

  “No, sir.” Her voice nearly disappeared in the whisper. She had, but couldn’t confess it.

  He glanced up, looked over his shoulder, and blinked twice. “Of course. Forgive me. Perhaps you’ve handled crepes and washed fine china?”

  “Yes, sir,” the strength of her voice rose.

  “I have not.”

  “Have not what, sir?”

  “Have not the skill to handle or create delicate pieces. Come here, please. I require the use of your hands.”

  Louisa stepped up to the table beside him. A glob of sticky, shiny filaments sat misshapen on the surface of the table.

  “See that wicker ball there?” He pointed with his less-sticky pinky finger.

  She nodded.

  “I need to make a thin, woven coating using these materials and formed into that shape with a small opening at the top to be corked. As you can see, my own attempts are less than fruitful.”

  Louisa glanced over his work surface. Neither of them could make a perfect sphere without first something to hold it in place …

  “Sir, I would require a few more supplies, I think.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Waxed cloth and oil with some twine.”

  He looked from the ingredients spread out on the table to the wicker ball and back again. Finally, a smile lit his charming features, flitting something peculiar within her chest.

  “Yes, of course. Like a zeppelin, only instead of gas, oil. Then you’ll plaster the mix like a gesso around the outside of the balloon. Excellent deductions, Lou.”

  He washed up, and by the time she returned with the additional supplies, he was back measuring a variety of substances into small glass beakers and corking them. Louisa set up two spheres of oil from a jar, using Isabel’s thinnest wax-sealing preserve skins, and then studied the materials she had to coat them with.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  Based on the papers she’d read of his work the other night, Louisa figured he needed a dispersal system for his experiment, and having exploding shards of glass raining down on civilians was out of the question.

  “What’s the ratio of the ingredients you’re looking for? I mean, I know the spheres need to be thin, but how can I do that and not risk them cracking before you can use them? What am I working with here? Um … sir.”

  He smiled, set aside his tiny portioning spoons, and shifted to stand beside her again, a lightness to his step.

  “These small, clear, thread-like sticks are glass fibers, and this is the bonding agent I’m using. They are strongest when woven or placed across each other …”

  As he explained the ingredients present and how they acted as agents to both insulate and create static electricity, he never once talked down to her. They discussed his proposed density, the power of the explosion to be generated, how to initiate it, and the need to make everything as safe as possible for people, plants, and animals. The man wanted to make it rain, nothing more, and nothing short of a miracle—to most people.

  And so, she set to work on a few experiments of her own.

  * * *

  The next morning as Isabel passed Louisa the water pitcher, Missus Courtright crossed her arms over her girth and frowned, blocking Louisa’s path out of the kitchen.

  “Don’t go disappearing on us again today. You’re needed to help with preparations for tonight’s function.”

  Louisa curtsied and nodded her head. It hadn’t been her idea to help Master Bennett all day yesterday, but she held her tongue—for multiple reasons. Courtright held the power to dismiss her, permanently, and Louisa quite enjoyed the new challenging work—maybe even had an affinity for it.

  Upstairs she hadn’t even set the pitcher down when Master Bennett’s soft voice made her think twice about who or what he spoke to. “There you are.”

  Certain he addressed a missing tool or some equally inanimate, yet vital, object, Louisa did her duty and pi
voted to return downstairs.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, glancing up but not over his shoulder, as he had the other morning when he’d asked for help.

  “Umm … me, sir?”

  “Yes you, Lou. You’re late. I expected you here at the start of your shift.”

  “Y—you did, sir?” Louisa peeked over her shoulder and down the stairs. She wasn’t sure how to take his repeated informality, either. There’s no way she’d ever venture to call him Andrew or, God forbid, Drew. “Missus Court—”

  “Oh, she can get along just fine without you. I need someone to bounce ideas off, and you’re the only one available who understands what I’m trying to do here.” He tilted his head to the side a moment, then he did look over his shoulder at her, boyish charm alight in his eyes. “And how is that?”

  Louisa stepped into the workshop and over to the table beside him.

  “How is what, sir?” She stood, waiting, hands folded over the front of her apron.

  “How is it you could accurately categorize and sub-organize my notes after the fire and deduce the various potential ratios regarding the dispersal orbs you constructed?”

  Her blood froze. Louisa had not used her real name on the application form for a reason. Now it looked as though it might come back to trip her. She shook her head and gave her shoulders a little shrug.

  “My … my mother taught me my letters.” Louisa’s chest tightened and her throat closed. She didn’t like where this was headed. Whenever her mother got involved, nothing went right.

  “Did she teach you to think as well? One needs more than just their letters to understand science.”

  “Yes. She also taught me to think.” It was one of the two things she’d cursed Louisa with, and now, it might just be her undoing.

  She could see it on the tip of his tongue—that question … And how was your mother, of low birth, able to provide such teachings? But he never asked, and she never had to explain she wasn’t of low birth. She exhaled slowly when all he did was nod and point to the singed papers before him.

  Less than twenty minutes later, a heavy set of footsteps mounted the stairs and paced toward the workshop. A chill worked its way up Louisa’s spine with every footfall. As she shivered, her hand clenched tight around the dispersal ball she and Bennett analyzed.

  Missus Courtright’s deep voice cut through the once amiable silence. “Miss. Wicker.”

  The ball shattered.

  Louisa looked across the table to Master Bennett. Her face paled as the blood raced to her toes to hide. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  “Good thing you tested that one.” Master Bennett returned to refining the ratio of his powder.

  “Excuse my intrusion, sir.” Courtright pulled herself up to her impressive height, her frame filling the doorway. “Miss. Wicker is—”

  “—is right where she’s needed, thank you. She will work with me from now on. I find I have need of an assistant.”

  Louisa’s heart leaped. She dared not look at Courtright, nor dare she trust her ears at that moment. An assistant? She tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Take it easy. Steady, even breaths. Now, clean up the mess you made. But her hands remained frozen just where they were when the sphere broke.

  “She will report to me each day. You have leave to hire a new hand to replace her. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not be interrupted again. We have much to do to prepare for this evening.”

  When Courtright was gone, Bennett glanced over at Louisa. “And I expect you to attend the function tonight. Now, pass me a sphere and let’s see if we can’t generate a blast of electricity.”

  Louisa blinked. She couldn’t process which idea scared her more: blowing something up or attending the gala … either way, sparks would fly.

  Mistaken Identity

  L ouisa stood in the growing shadows of the streetlamp twenty paces away from Master Bennett’s townhome. Another steam-powered landau puttered up, and a couple dressed in business attire made their way to the guest entrance.

  I should’ve worn my serving frock. This is ridiculous.

  She turned to leave just as an older gentleman with a walking stick drew level. He gave Louisa a smile that reached kind eyes and held out his arm.

  “In need of an escort inside, my dear?”

  “Well, I—I don’t …” she let her voice trail off. She didn’t know what she was in need of—a head examination?

  “You are here for the demonstration?” He nodded toward Master Bennett’s door.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, come then.” He slid her lace, fingerless-gloved hand over his jacketed arm, led her past the lower servants’ entrance and up the three steps into the front hall. Her gut tightened. This wasn’t right. She had to get out of here. But Marion, a borrowed maid from the neighbor, didn’t spare Louisa a glance. The gentleman tipped his chin toward Louisa in salutation and left to speak with a group inside the lounge.

  Marion did a double-take and stared from beneath lowered lids as she registered the black lace overskirt and matching fitted leather bodice Louisa wore. A pheasant feather from her headband tickled her ear. Too much. Turn around. Just turn around and leave already. No one’s recognized you yet. Get out while you can.

  She swiveled back toward the door just as a firm grip claimed her elbow. The hold tightened and spun her toward the base of the stair, past the sitting room. She stumbled in her too-tight boots and looked up into Missus Courtright’s livid face.

  “What on earth are you doing coming through the guest entrance? And what are you wearing?”

  Louisa balked and forced herself to swallow her frayed nerves.

  “Master Bennett invited me to atten—”

  “You can’t be serious. If the master asked you here tonight, it wasn’t to play dress-up but to work. We have a full house.”

  She half-lifted Louisa in the air, moving her toward the kitchen. Once inside, Courtright grabbed a half-apron from a peg on the wall and shoved it at Louisa.

  “Put that on, grab a tray of hors d’oeuvres, and get upstairs.”

  Louisa’s stomach dropped. She gasped small, tight breaths, curtsied and did as she was told.

  I should have known better. Bennett hadn’t invited her. She was his assistant—not his apprentice. Not his equal. His servant. Louisa never should’ve looked at the back of her closet. She never should’ve imagined she’d ever be anything more than a blight—a reminder of her mother’s disgrace. She should’ve sold the dress along with every other lingering reminder of the life her mother would never again be part of.

  Louisa hadn’t learned the first time, dancing on the stage at the Opera House after rehearsals when she should have been cleaning—at least, that was the official notation for her release. And now, she stood a mockery in her master’s house. She had to stay away from the workshop at all costs.

  With Courtright’s gaze boring into her, Louisa left the kitchen but headed for the sitting room on the main floor. She didn’t want to run across the kind gentleman who’d escorted her in, so she avoided the lounge. But the moment she stepped inside the open archway, a bell chimed from above and everyone migrated toward the stairs.

  Caught in the flow, Louisa’s frenzied tango between guests only led her farther away from the first floor, up the stairs toward the living contradiction that would end her.

  “A maid in a gown? Bennett must be doing better than he lets on,” a gruff voice chided to a nearby man in leathers dressed for travel. A pilot perhaps? A pair of goggles dangled half-in-half-out of his jacket pocket.

  But of course. Master Bennett needs funding for the cloud-seeding project just as much as he needs aeronautic engineers and pilots to support him. In that split-second of distracted thought, the growing crowd swept Louisa up the stairs, onto the second floor, and in through the workroom doors. Master Bennett looked up from the papers on the other side of his desk—right at her.

  Abracadabra

  B ennett’s brows furrowed as he took
in her attire from toes to fingertips, all black lace and leather, balancing a tray on her fingertips, and wearing a white kitchen apron. Louisa’s face blanched and then grew hot.

  I won’t ever be able to come back.

  Bennett left his desk and strode over to her, a hundred questions igniting his eyes.

  He linked arms with Louisa and whispered, “Where have you been? Put that down and come help me.”

  Louisa slid the tray onto a sideboard. His arm lingered around hers long enough to guide her through the growing crowd but slipped away as he entered the demonstration circle they’d marked out earlier. He nodded toward the particle spheres displayed across the center of the worktable. She hurried without seeming to rush, something her servant training and her mother’s poise lessons had both taught her. Dozens of gazes burned into her back. She wished she could disappear, that all this was just a frightening illusion.

  Louisa swapped the kitchen bib for her leather work apron. She slipped three of the eight spheres into the pockets, turned and faced Bennett who faced the crowd.

  “Welcome colleagues, friends, learned gentleman and ladies. It is with great pleasure that I invite you to witness this inaugural demonstration for my cloud-seeding invention.” He went on to explain, without revealing the details of his ingredients, how the spheres were made, how they created a static-electric charge, and how they dispersed the necessary particles into the clouds to encourage them to rain. All this without causing harm to the citizens below.

  As he spoke, he commanded the room’s attention, and Louisa’s prayers were granted—she disappeared. Until he pointed right at her.

  “My assistant will show you. Ladies, you might want to cover your nose with a fan or kerchief.” He looked at Louisa and raised his brows.

  He wants me to do it? Blazes, this is insane.

  She cocked her head slightly to the right and raised a single eyebrow in question.

  He smiled and nodded.

  Louisa removed one of the thin spheres from her pouch. Well, might as well make the best of it.

  Bennett’s gaze rose to the ceiling.