“He’s playing the piano. He’s a prototype for a doll I need to make.”
“A doll you need to make?”
I grinned. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Most enthusiastically.”
“I’ve been apprenticing with the doll makers in Twickenham. I’m helping them with a commission. Someone ordered a doll to sit and play at the piano. I have the piano worked out; it’s just a modified music box, but getting the arms to move in a delicate manner was giving me fits.”
“Well done, Miss Rossetti. It looks like you have it. How very kind of you to help the doll makers.”
“I enjoy the work. There’s something exciting about doing such fine, detailed craft.”
Master Boatswain laughed as he pulled up a seat beside me. “You don’t have to tell me that. It’s an ingenious invention.”
I realized then that he’d been holding a notebook. He set it down in front of me, turning it so I could see. At the top, he had written The Scarlette Automaton. Underneath, he had noted the date and my full name beside the word, Tinker. Underneath, he’d sketched the clockwork design I’d used for the gnome. “You are appropriately credited,” he said.
Tinker. Me? “Why my first name? The Scarlette Automaton.”
“I thought it sounded poetic.”
I chuckled. “Maybe a touch sinister.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t detect anything sinister about you, Miss Rossetti. Am I missing something?”
“Only time will reveal that.”
Archibald lifted one of the gnomes. “What a funny creature,” he said. The little gnome he was holding was wearing a fox pelt for a hat, red shorts with suspenders, and a patchwork shirt. “What do you intend to do with the rest of them?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve fussed with this gentleman so long, I didn’t think about what to do with the others.”
“Hmm,” Master Boatswain mused. “Well, clearly, your clockwork gnome is the leader. He’s the conductor. Let’s give him some accompaniment. We’ll assign music to these four,” he said, setting three of the gnomes beside the gnome I had already tinkered. “As for these brothers, let’s make them useful: one for sewing, one for cutting cloth, one for painting, and the last for hair and makeup. Sound about right?”
I chuckled. “Make mechanicals out of all of them? I’ll never have time to accomplish it by dinner.”
Archibald started digging in the basket of decorative bits and bobs I’d borrowed from the sisters. “I agree that there’s no time to tinker, but we have plenty of time to give the others a festive flair.” From the trimmings basket, he pulled out a tiny toy drum, a gold-painted wooden trumpet, a miniature harp, and a flute. I recognized the pieces. They were leftover bits from a wreath the sisters had made. He also removed red and green ribbons and silk holiday flowers and berries.
I slid the box toward myself and selected a button, needle, and spool of thread, a small paintbrush, scraps of cloth and leather, and some other bits I could modify into beautician’s tools. From the leftover clockwork bits, I found items to make a pair of tiny scissors and tools.
I glanced at the grandfather clock. “Dinner is in an hour.”
“Then you better get to work.”
I giggled. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because you, Miss Rossetti, have created the first automaton in miniature. The Scarlette Automaton. Who wouldn’t want to help with that?”
“It’s just a clockwork gnome.”
“Just a clockwork gnome. Why is it geniuses always discount their own work?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you have some insight into the matter. Didn’t you just doodle a new invention on the ride here?”
He chuckled. “Point made.”
I glanced up at the clock once more. “We’ll never get the others done on time.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Does it? All right. It’s a challenge. And the winner gets?”
“And what would you wish for, Miss Rossetti?”
I laughed. “Bragging rights. I will proclaim to the world that I out-tinkered Archibald Boatswain.”
He laughed. “Very well. You may shout it from the rooftop if you like…but only if you win.”
“I will win. In fact, I’ve undone this seam while you were considering the matter, Master Boatswain.”
He smiled softly at me, his green eyes sparkling. “Please, call me Archie.”
“Archie?”
He nodded.
I grinned. “I’m Scarlette.”
“Well, Scarlette, what are you waiting for?”
I picked up a red-headed gnome. He had wild, curling locks and a bushy beard that nearly swallowed his face. The sisters had fashioned him with small ears like a squirrel and a bushy tail to match. He also had two porcelain buck teeth hanging over his bottom lip.
“Handsome lad,” I said, wiggling the tail at Archie.
He chuckled. “That one looks like a troublemaker. And a bit more like a brownie than a gnome.”
“Really? Are you an expert on fairy lore?”
He shrugged. “I’ve dabbled in the topic. Your uncle has an excellent collection of books on the subject,” he said, motioning to the bookshelf.
“I’ve made my way through the Roman, Greek, and Mesopotamian gods. Haven’t gotten to fairy tales yet,” I said with a grin.
“Well, there is always time after dinner.”
“Of course. As Uncle Horace says, I am never idle.”
“Aren’t you? That’s very good. Idleness breeds a dull mind.”
“Then you aren’t of the opinion women should be idle?”
Archibald laughed. “Goodness, no. What an absurd idea. As far as I know, women have minds too.”
Well done, Archie.
Grinning, I turned my attention to the little gnomes, determined to get my work done well before Archie. The first gnome, the wild looking chap, I assigned the job of a tailor. I placed a needle in his hand then fashioned him a little pouch to carry his spool of thread and spare button. When I was done, I set him aside then eyed Archie. Even though he was working on decorating his gnome, he turned again and again to his sketch of my clockwork design. With his free hand, he made some additional drawings as he worked.
“Don’t get distracted,” I warned.
He chuckled. “My hands are working on different tasks.”
“How is that possible?”
“A mystery even to me, I’m afraid.”
I lifted the second gnome, a funny little chap with striped leggings and antennae like a bug. Pulling some jingle bells from the trimmings basket, I attached the bells to the end of his antennae. I then outfitted him with a paintbrush and added on some festive red and green ribbons. I set him aside just as Archibald lifted another gnome and began adjusting his arms so he appeared to be playing the trumpet.
Lifting the third gnome, determined to be done before Archie, I got to work. This little gnome was designed to look like an old man. Wearing a pair of spectacles, a green doublet, and tan trousers, he was a stoic creature.
“Scissors for you,” I said then lifted the tiny bits of metal I’d salvaged from the clock parts. Focusing hard, I fashioned a tiny pair of scissors. Using a file, I shaped the metal then screwed the arms together. Struck by new ideas as I worked, I also made him a tiny hammer, screwdriver, and another clockwork device that I envisioned punching holes into leather. I attached them all to the gnome’s tool belt.
When I paused for a moment to stretch my back, I heard other voices in the house. Apparently, Uncle Horace’s other guests were beginning to arrive.
Archibald set a gnome, whose hat covered his eyes, his floppy shoes far too large, in front of me. He was playing the flute.
“I’m gaining on you, Scarlette,” Archie said with a good-natured chuckle.
“Not at all. I’m so confident that I’ll win that I knew I could pause a moment to stretch. I think the house is filling. If you think your grandfather might need you, we can
postpone our race.”
“Are you conceding?”
“Never.”
“Then you’d best get back to work. But thank you for your kind thought. Besides, we are nearly done.”
“That we are.”
“We make an excellent team, Miss Rossetti. What do you think?” he said then paused. “Automatons by Rossetti and Boatswain,” he said, motioning in the air as if gesturing to a sign.
“Our workshop name?”
“Of course.”
“Master Boatswain III, you must be careful, or a girl might think you’re proposing.”
“Maybe I am.”
I chuckled. “Tease.”
“Am I teasing? Are you sure?”
I paused and looked at him.
He grinned at me but said nothing more.
I lifted the little gnome pianist. “What do you think?” I asked the gnome. “Cheeky, isn’t he? What should I answer?”
Archibald grinned at me.
I tipped the little gnome toward my ear as if to listen.
“Ah, I see,” I said. “Thank you for your good counsel.”
Archibald laughed. “Now who is teasing?”
“Teasing? Why it’s always good to find wise counsel, and doesn’t he look wise?”
“The epitome of wisdom. So, what advice did he give?”
“Why, Master Boatswain, you know the counsel between an advocate and a client is private. And you only have fifteen minutes. Back to work.”
“Now how the Rossetti and Boatswain partnership might work,” he said with a grin.
“You know I can’t stand idleness.”
“Idleness? In a Boatswain household? Never.”
I laughed and got back to work, but my heart was beating hard, and I could feel the sting of red in my cheeks. If the conversation went on a moment longer, we might be announcing our impending nuptials by dinner. Hardly suitable since my father was still out of the country. And to think, I had just met Archibald Boatswain III that very day. Was it possible to become enamored with someone in an instant? Perhaps, if a little gnomish magic was at work.
Chapter 4: Hagstones
The clock chimed seven as I fixed the final button on the final gnome. Archie and I completed our little collection in unison. I set my gnome alongside the others. Then, pulling out my windup key, I rewound the clockwork gnome and stood him in front of the others. Though I knew the design was really intended to replicate the playing of a piano, on the gnome, it looked like he was conducting the others.
“A natural born leader,” Archie said with a grin.
I tapped my finger on my chin as I thought.
“What is it?” Archibald asked.
“Verisimilitude. They have the semblance of life but…”
“But no life. That, Miss Rossetti, is a problem I cannot solve.”
“Nor I. But they are adorable all the same,” I replied, grinning at the little gnomes.
“That they are. But now we have a problem.”
“Which is?”
“We are tied. We finished our wager in tandem.”
“Well, we shall have to think of a new wager.”
At the entrance to the library, a footman coughed politely. “Miss Rossetti, Master Boatswain, they’ve rung for dinner.”
“Heavens,” I said. “We’re late.”
“Then shall we?” Archibald said, offering me his arm.
I took it. Gladly.
When Archie and I arrived in the parlor, I was surprised to find the room full of people. Everyone was milling about, drinks in their hands, and looking as though they were in no rush for dinner. Artisans, tinkers, and philosophers were an easily sidetracked bunch, much to Mister Edwards’ consternation. The butler was waiting at the door for everyone to go through. I could easily imagine him considering how quickly hot food would chill and cold food would warm. The furrowing of his brow suggested my guess wasn’t far from the truth.
“Come, meet my grandfather,” Archie said, leading me to an elderly gentleman sitting by the fire.
“Archibald, my boy. I was wondering where you went,” the old man said, smiling at his grandson.
Master Boatswain, Senior was a sweet looking man, his face deeply lined, his hair a mass of white, wispy strands. He moved to rise, but his grandson motioned for him to stay seated.
“Father, may I present Miss Scarlette Rossetti?”
“Ah, Miss Rossetti. Pleased to meet you. I was just looking for your father.”
“He should arrive by Christmas Eve, sir. He’s just returning from the continent.”
“Very good, very good. Well, Archibald, where were you off to?”
“Miss Rossetti is quite the tinker, Grandfather. She’s constructed the torso of a working automaton.”
The old man gazed at me. “Has she?”
I chuckled. “Master Boatswain makes too much of it, sir. I’m simply helping the local doll maker with a project.”
“Is that so?” Master Boatswain said.
“She underestimates herself, Grandfather,” Archie said then handed his notebook to him.
Master Boatswain pulled his spectacles from his pocket and slipped them on. He studied the notebook pages carefully.
I felt my cheeks grow redder and redder. I felt like a toddler at the knee of a giant. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s really nothing. Just a simple design.”
“Miss Rossetti, where did you get the idea for this model?” Master Boatswain asked.
“Oh,” I said, feeling more than a little intimidated. Surely, I hadn’t done anything all that clever. “From this,” I said. I dug into my pocket and pulled out a copy of the advertisement of the piano playing doll. I handed the paper to the master tinker.
Master Boatswain, Senior nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve seen this design. Eckhart?” he asked his grandson.
“Adamson, I think. The American. His work it rudimentary; it’s all up and down,” the younger Boatswain said, imitating a simple movement. “Miss Rossetti has sophisticated his work. Joints, fluid moves, elevated clockwork. On another level,” Archie said, pointing to sections of the design where I’d formed the shoulders and wrists on the gnome’s clockwork skeleton.
Grinning happily, the old man handed the advertisement back to me. “Well done, Miss Rossetti. You’ve improved upon clockwork design thirty years in the making.”
“Surely you jest, Master Boatswain.”
“Not at all.”
Mister Edwards, who had disappeared into the dining room for a few moments, reappeared at the door once more. He rang his bell—again—calling us for dinner.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Uncle Horace called. “I hate to disrupt such lively conversation, but I’m afraid my butler will go into a full rebellion if we delay much longer.”
Archibald offered his arm to his grandfather, helping him up. The old man balanced himself with his cane and moved slowly toward the dining room. We adjourned within, the footmen guiding us to our seats. To my great disappointment, Archie and his grandfather were seated at the opposite end of the table from myself. Archie gave me a soft smile.
“See you later, partner,” he said.
I grinned at him then went to my seat beside Uncle Horace.
“And where have you been?” Uncle Horace asked as I settled in beside him.
“The library. Master Boatswain III and I were working on a project.”
“Is that right?” Uncle Horace asked, his eyes glancing over my face. I saw a mischievous twinkle in his gaze.
My cheeks flushed red. “I wanted to show him a bit of clockwork I’d been playing with.”
“Hmm,” Uncle Horace mused. “Well, that’s very good. Very good indeed. Fine family, the Boatswains. Can’t see your father having any objection to that.”
“Really, Uncle Horace, we were just talking,” I said, but my stomach was unsettled by nervous butterflies.
Uncle Horace laughed. “That’s how it always begins, my dear. With lots and lots of talking.”
I glanced toward Archie. He and his grandfather were looking at Archibald’s notes on my creation.
Had I really invented something…unique?
The dinner passed quickly. Conversations on art, music, philosophy, clockwork, airships, and tinkering swirled around me, a delight for the mind. Uncle Horace was deep in a conversation on Gothic architecture with the man seated on his other side when the dessert trifle was served. I ate quickly then looked for a reason to excuse myself. At ordinary homes, ladies and gentlemen would separate after dinner, but this was not such a house. Even after dinner was over, everyone lingered, the ladies and gentlemen mixing together to talk as they pleased.
Uncle Horace soon left me to join another pair further down the table.
Sensing my escape, I slipped out a side door and headed back to the library where my gnomes waited. I needed to return to the doll shop first thing in the morning to work on the porcelain piano-playing doll. It was far too busy at Strawberry Hill for me to be gallivanting about Twickenham. Not to mention, my father would arrive soon.
I repacked the box of clockwork parts, the basket of extra sewing bits and bobs, and was about to set the gnomes back in the basket when I heard voices coming down the hallway.
I turned to find Archie and his grandfather.
“I told you we would find her here,” Archie said.
His grandfather smiled. “I’ve come to see your automaton, Miss Rossetti.”
I motioned to the gnome. “Here he is.”
The elder Boatswain chuckled. “Gnomes indeed. I almost didn’t believe you, Archie.”
Taking the windup key, I wound the little gnome who began moving at once.
Master Boatswain, Senior nodded as he watched it move. “As you said. Very fluid. Still need movement in the legs, but she has the balance right. Remarkable.”
“Master Boatswain, are you jesting?” I asked the renowned tinker. “It’s just a doll. And sadly, quite lifeless.”
“Oh, well, that’s an easy problem to remedy. Your gnomes have no hearts, you see.”
“Hearts?”
Master Boatswain dipped into his pocket and produced…a stone.
His grandson watched him carefully.
Frostbitten Fairy Tales Page 33