by Ava Morgan
“Merry Christmas.” She handed the red gift to Winnie and the green to Phillip.
“Open them in the sitting room,” said Hammond, ushering them back inside. “They’ve been this rambunctious ever since the academy let out for winter holiday.”
“This is for you and Catherine.” Abigail handed him the wrapped parcel, which contained a loaf of gingerbread, and stepped over the threshold. She beheld the interior space decorated with holly boughs, ornaments, and wreaths of pine and fir. The festive display continued with the mistletoe-strewn entryway of the sitting room and up the bell-laden banister of the staircase. She inhaled of the crisp greenery of pine, mixed with the warmth of plum pudding wafting from the kitchen.
“Abigail.” Catherine emerged from the sitting room, flashing teeth as white as the lace on her taffeta dress. “I thought you wouldn’t make it, with your new work and all.”
“Even medical practices take holidays.”
“Speaking of which,” Catherine said, steering her over to the bottom of the staircase. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hammond has brought us news of your employer.”
“He has?” Abigail didn’t really think Catherine would trouble herself to learn more of Dr. Valerian. Obviously, she was wrong.
Hammond joined them. He glanced at the children in the sitting room before he spoke. “Abigail, I’ve done some inquiring among my bank clientele and club associates. They had a few remarks about Dr. Valerian.”
“You sound worried.”
“I am.” Hammond tilted his head. “According to other physicians who went to school with him, Valerian is more metal worker than medical practitioner. He doesn’t follow conventional practices.”
“If by that you mean his methods are more inventive, then I suppose you’re right.”
“I mean he’s an eccentric. He doesn’t frequent the gentlemen’s clubs or take part in society as others of his profession do.”
“He’s very busy with patients and college lectures.”
“Does that explain why he’s let his hair grow long, or dress in loose trousers?” Hammond leaned forward, lowering his voice. “One of his Cambridge classmates described his appearance to me. He also said that before Valerian accepted a position as a field medic to India in ‘32, he looked like any other gentleman. Since he came back, though, he grew obsessed with metalworking, even building a blast furnace in the back of his house. He’s thrown himself into nothing but his work. A recluse, estranged even from his own family in Sussex.”
“Egad,” said Catherine. “What do you think it could be? Brain fever?”
“In India’s heat, perhaps.” Hammond shrugged a thin shoulder. “I talked with another associate, a railroad investor. Valerian was engaged to the man’s youngest daughter before he left. Needless to say, she didn’t marry him. He must have gone mad over there and scared her upon his return home.”
Abigail stepped out of the circle of confidants, uncomfortable with what they were telling her and the free manner in which they did so. “I think I’ve heard enough gossip.”
“Hammond only means to tell you this for your own protection,” said Catherine.“Yes,” Hammond affirmed. “I know little of Valerian’s marvel mechanical devices, but judging from what I’ve gathered of his eccentric work habits and unsociable demeanor, you need to be careful.”
Abigail acknowledged that there was an air of mystery surrounding Dr. Valerian, one that left her bemused and sometimes daunted, but she grew impatient with her sister and Hammond’s summation of him. They didn’t know him, but merely relied on the gossip of others to form their opinions. How could they be sure any of it was true?
“I don’t see why you can’t simply go back to working at the apothecary,” Catherine voiced after her husband left to be with the children.
“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”
“What happened?”
“I made a mistake with a customer’s order, but that’s all past. I found new work as Dr. Valerian’s assistant.”
“Oh, I do wish you had taken my advice in the beginning and found yourself a well-to-do gentleman to marry. Then you wouldn’t have to support yourself by seeking this kind of work.”
Abigail proceeded to speak in what she hoped was a calm manner, not wanting to spoil the holiday bickering with Catherine over her choice of employers and reigniting their old feud. “I’ll be careful as you and Hammond asked, but I intend to keep this job. Now, can we please continue with Christmas?”
Catherine’s lips thinned in a pink line, but she nodded. Abigail followed her into the sitting room, where Winnie and Phillip played with their new toys. The tension between the three adults remained, leading Abigail to speculate sadly that she had been invited to her sister’s house only for the children’s sake. And to hear Hammond’s findings on Dr. Valerian.
She wondered if the doctor was in his cellar working even now. She hoped that her small gift would give him a moment’s respite from his work, at least.
#
Jacob followed his nose out of the cellar and into the dining room, where the warm, spicy scent of cinnamon finally succeeded in tearing him away from his research. There, he found Maria setting a pot of tea on the table. Beside it rested a tray of freshly baked cinnamon bread, his favorite.
“Maria, you didn’t have to do this. I gave you and Struthers the day off.”
“It wasn’t my doing, Doctor. This cinnamon loaf came from the bakery. The boy that delivered it said it was paid courtesy of Miss Benton.”
How did Abigail know he liked cinnamon bread? He looked at Maria.
She shook her head of gray hair. “I knew nothing of it.”
“I shall thank Miss Benton when she returns to work tomorrow.” Jacob approached the table and prepared to cut a slice. He truly didn’t expect Abigail to present him with anything for Christmas. She only started working at the practice a month ago, after all. He paused, holding the breadknife over the cinnamon loaf.
“Something wrong, sir?” Maria asked.
“No, I was just considering.” He began to cut a sizeable slice. Abigail’s small gesture of the Christmas spirit was the first of such he had received in years from someone other than his patients. His estranged family never sent Yuletide greetings.
Images of them shot through his mind, the father that disowned him upon learning that he lost his leg in India. You’re a cripple, unsuited to inherit the familial estate, Jacob remembered his exact words. His mother and two brothers stood by the Valerian patriarch, not arguing in Jacob’s defense.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Doctor.” Maria cut through his thoughts. “You said you were considering something.”
Jacob brought his faculties back to present. “I was considering the pleasant aroma of this cinnamon bread.”
“Ah.” Maria nodded with the demeanor of one who knew better.
“And,” Jacob continued as he poured himself a cup of Darjeeling. “I would be pleased if you and Struthers took the holiday to rest. You needn’t spend the day here with me.”
“Our friends have taken holiday outside of London.” Maria pushed the sugar cubes and small pitcher of milk his way. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, the husband and I don’t think anyone ought to be alone on Christmas.” She raised her head upon hearing a rustling in the kitchen. “Ah, speak of the husband, I hear him now. He’s returned with roasted ham. We’ll get it on a platter. Enjoy your tea and bread, Doctor.” She bustled back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind her.
Jacob chewed on a warm morsel of cinnamon bread when the doorbell rang.
He heard Struthers and Maria talking in the kitchen, their words interspersed with the clattering of dishes and the clinging of silverware. They did not hear the doorbell. Jacob pushed his chair back and went to the front of the house to answer it himself.
“Hello, Dr. Valerian.” A giant of a man stood before him. He had the appearance of the Welsh, black of hair and dark-eyed, and spoke with the lilting cad
ence of one who made his home near the Swansea docks. He held a large box in his arms. “I’m COIC agent Rhys Cartret, and this is my wife, Lydia. I know the Secretary briefed you on her work.”
“The celebrated machinist.” Jacob’s eyes fell onto the woman at Rhys’s side. She had olive skin, dark curls, and unusual gold-green eyes. “Come in please.” He stepped aside so that they could enter. “Lady Dimosthenis, I read of your work with the voice-responsive automatons. Most extraordinary.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Valerian, but my name is Lydia Cartret now.” She spoke in a Greek accent. “My husband and I just wed Saturday.” She trained a smile at Rhys, who lifted his eyebrows suggestively. The silent exchange between them spoke volumes.
“Congratulations.” Jacob felt like he was intruding, even though they came to see him. “To what do I owe the occasion of your visit?”
“We come bearing gifts.” Rhys raised the large box. “The Secretary approved of your findings from the ether solvent test of the Aspasian metal alloy sample. Here’s a larger supply for you to work with.”
Jacob indicated for him to set the box on the settee in the parlor. While Rhys and his wife removed their coats, he raised the box lid. “There’s enough of the copper alloy and cast iron here to craft a working armor device.”
“We thought you’d be happy,” Rhys remarked, with a droll smile.
“I’m impressed with your findings, Doctor.” Lydia came beside Jacob and lifted one of the small samples of the copper alloy. “When I created the automatons, I thought the voice-responsive function worked simply because sound can be conducted through metal. I had no idea that the compounds of the copper alloy were what actually allowed the automatons to follow orders.”
“Compounds that can only be found in your country of Aspasia,” Jacob added.
“Yes. Fortunately, it takes just a very tiny portion of the alloy to make use of the function.” Lydia held the copper alloy sample between her thumb and forefinger. “I would say this is enough to give that capability to half a dozen devices, depending on their size.”
Jacob lifted a sample of the cast iron, about the size of his fist. “And this will provide a conduit. I’ll have to find a way to incorporate as small amount of iron as possible in the armor. COIC agents have enough heavy firearms to carry.”
Rhys stood behind the settee and looked down at the sample case. “Do you think voice-responsive weaponry will give our agents stationed in France the upper hand against Broussard’s men?”
“It’s working with the automatons in India. Based on COIC reports I was granted access to, they’re defending the mercantile holdings in Madras and Bombay against French mechanized forces. The need for infantrymen has been reduced.”
“My hope is to do the same for London’s factories,” Lydia said. “Having an automaton operate the boilers or some of the more dangerous machinery would reduce the number of accidents.”
Jacob agreed. “We could surely do with a change. I’ll be visiting one of the laborer’s hospitals in January. Each month the factory-related injuries get worse. But I digress.” He closed the lid on the metal samples. “Thank you for these. Now I can begin crafting.”
“You should ask the Secretary for clearance to work at headquarters,” Rhys ventured. “My wife may even lend you an automaton to assist you. Of course, you’d have to instruct it beforehand.”
“The offer is generous, but I have already invested in training an assistant. Last month, I hired her.”
Rhys looked up and to the side as though he were consulting his memory. “Is she the same lady you chose from the audience to assist you during that demonstration?”
“She is. I take it you were there or are an avid reader of the papers?”
“I wasn’t there, but the Secretary commented on the potent mixture of nitrous oxide she deployed from the gauntlet gun. See, Lydia, yet another woman who’s not afraid to make a statement with a firearm.” Rhys teased his wife.
Jacob straightened his collar. “It caused more alarm than anything else. I should have better explained to my assistant how the weapon worked, but there wasn’t enough time onstage.”
“Pay no attention to my husband, Doctor.” Lydia gave Rhys a mock scowl. “He enjoys bantering with me.”
Her husband’s eyes twinkled at her. “I’ve had my own share of firearm mishaps. That’s how she and I met. It was on a beach. White sand, sun high in the sky. And this lovely woman comes up to me, but before I can doff my hat and greet her like a proper gentleman, I find myself staring down the barrel of a very big blunderbuss.”
Jacob witnessed a bronze blush creep upon Lydia’s cheeks. Again, he felt as though he were intruding upon the couple’s unusual, though humorous, flirtation. “Well, things have improved for the two of you, I’m sure.”
Rhys and Lydia continued to stare into each other’s eyes. Jacob was certain that he and the settee were the only things keeping the two of them from embracing.
An odd sensation sprang within him. He recognized it as loneliness. Seeing the newlywed Cartrets, with their display of love and playful affection, served as a poignant reminder of an aspect of life that managed to elude him.
Thank heaven for the ringing of the dinner bell. The sound broke through the trance of the spell the Cartrets had upon each other, and allowed Jacob to change the subject without seeming rude. “My housekeeper and valet have Christmas dinner ready. Would you care to join us?”
Rhys regarded the grandfather clock. “We were going to find a food vendor at the rail station before leaving for our honeymoon. What do you think, Lydia? The doctor’s kind invitation to dinner promises better than what the station has to offer.”
“I would enjoy sampling British holiday cuisine.” Lydia smiled. “And we can finish discussing the properties of Aspasian metals. Please lead the way, Dr. Valerian.”
Jacob showed them into the dining room, pleased now that he, Maria, and Struthers would have additional company.
For the first time in years, his dining room was filled with the sounds of lively conversation. But even as the wine flowed and the Christmas ham was passed amongst them, Jacob thought of Abigail.
“This cinnamon bread is delicious,” Lydia said, after taking a bite.
“My assistant had it sent from the bakery.” Jacob consumed his first slice and was onto his second.
“She had good taste. I look forward to meeting her if she comes to the COIC.”
“Miss Benton would complete our gathering.” Jacob spoke the words before he fully comprehended them. “For our discussion of the metal properties, that is.” He raised his glass to his lips to relieve his suddenly parched throat.
The Cartrets and the Strutherses continued to dine as though nothing odd was said. Jacob attempted to do the same, but his mind now filled with thoughts of his slender, auburn-haired assistant, with her warm smile and kind nature. Whatever caused his minor lapse in semantics, he hoped it wouldn’t occur again tomorrow with Abigail, for he had much to discuss with her on the day that marked the end of her trial employment.
Chapter 9
Abigail returned to Dr. Valerian’s residence the day after Christmas at eight-thirty. Struthers greeted her and took her coat. “I saw Dr. Valerian go into his practice early this morning,” he said.
Could that mean her evaluation was set to start immediately? Abigail smoothed the front of her dress before traversing the short hallway. All month long she had done her best. She hoped it was good enough.
The door to Dr. Valerian’s practice was locked. Through the window panel, Abigail saw that no one was inside. The gas lamps were on, as though someone recently entered and then departed. Abigail wondered if he simply hadn’t made it downstairs from his upper rooms yet. She returned to the front of the house. “Struthers, he isn’t in his office. The door is locked.”
Struthers was gone.
A loud clang made her turn towards the hallway again. It sounded like it came from the cellar.
&nbs
p; A softer noise ensued from below half a minute later. It repeated itself thrice, calling to Abigail’s mind the sound of sharp metal striking and scraping against another metal. Long-winded hissing followed.
She went towards the cellar door. It was not fully closed. The hissing began again, just before the space below the door shone a bluish light.
Was Dr. Valerian in the cellar? She’d never heard such sounds emitting from the house’s foundation when he was down there any other day. A prickly sensation crept along Abigail’s arms. What was behind that door that kept the doctor tirelessly at work?
She touched the door handle as the blue light flickered again, following the hissing. She shifted her eyes to the well-lit practice and to the parlor. She could still choose to wait up here and see from which direction Dr. Valerian would appear. She could still wait by the door of the practice and not venture into parts of the residence that she was not given access to.
She could still pretend to not be curious about the mystery and eccentricities surrounding Dr. Valerian.
The continuous flashing of blue light beneath the door put a stop to her hesitation. She opened the door and went down two stone steps into the cellar just as the light disappeared and plunged her surroundings in black.
Abigail clutched the cold iron railing as she remained on the step, not daring to move in the dark. The cellar smelled of copper, iron, and something recently heated. The tiny sliver of light from the hallway above offered her one last chance to venture out the way she came.
Abigail waited for the blue light. It came, enabling her to view the brick inlay of the walls encasing the stairs and above her head, cementing the foundation of the house’s first floor. She counted eight steps. The rest beyond that remained in darkness.
She learned the timing and pattern of the light. It flashed roughly every six seconds, lasting for four. She took two steps down each time it came on, pausing when it disappeared. Her foot found the bottom of the stairs in shortly under a minute. Abigail waited for the light, but this time, it flashed at three seconds, much brighter than previously.