by A. M. Morgen
Fresh air filled the room and George’s chest. Ada studied him like an equation she hadn’t yet figured out. The effects of the factitious airs weakened. Don Nadie snorted awake at the same time the rest of the audience regained their senses.
“Estelle,” Don Nadie said woozily, as if waking from a dream.
Meanwhile, a chaos of giggles and shouts erupted as people awoke to find the organizer of the conference handcuffed along with several of his cohort.
Ada climbed onto a chair and stood with her arms spread wide. “Calm down, everyone. There’s no need for alarm. This man was trying to steal your inventions, but he’s been stopped. C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S. is safe.”
George spread his arms wide, too, like a shield, to protect his great-uncle until his head was cleared of the factitious airs. Behind him, Don Nadie pulled himself up on the podium to stand on his stilts, staggering like a baby giraffe finding its feet. An occasional hiccup caused him to nearly fall over. But with a sudden jerk of his arm, his eyes flashing, the tall man’s fingers reached for the walking stick on his hip. A fearful wave of doubt made George recoil—but Don Nadie’s hand hesitated. Instead, he only snarled, “Don’t listen to this girl. She’s a known associate of this boy, the most wanted criminal in the British Empire, the Truffle Assassin.”
All sleepy eyes turned to George. Confusion and fear spread through the audience at the mere mention of the Truffle Assassin. The room erupted into a beehive of activity as the audience looked for a way to escape. Scientists crawled to the windows only to find them shuttered and locked.
“Unhand me. No, no, no—”
Someone grabbed George and shoved him toward the door to the parlor. He broke free and dove at Don Nadie’s stilts to keep him from walking away. Ada grabbed on to his other stilt. She began to tie his legs together with a rope, but it was like wrestling a praying mantis.
“QUIET, EVERYONE!” A commanding voice caused a hush to fall over the crowd as surely as a blanket. Beaming, Oscar leaned over the balcony. “Go on, George. Continue your speech.”
“Thank you, Oscar.” George climbed onto a chair so that he was closer to Don Nadie’s height. He looked into his great-uncle’s eyes, trying to see inside his mind. “Is this what you wanted? Do you hate me so much that you want to see me locked away just like you were? You want to turn me into a Nobody? Well, I’m not a Nobody, and neither are you.”
Don Nadie paused, and George saw a flicker of humanity in his eyes. But the words that came out of his mouth were hard and cold. “Don’t pretend that you care what happens to me.”
“But I do care. If you’ll listen, I can explain—”
“ENOUGH! ENOUGH OF THESE GAMES!” Don Nadie snarled. He broke free from Ada’s hold long enough to jerk his walking stick backward, pressing it into a hidden panel in the wall. On the other side of the room, an iron gate descended from the ceiling, cutting off the entrance. They were all trapped inside together.
Ada tightened the rope around Don Nadie’s stilts to keep him from moving any further. “I told you, George! He’s shown you exactly who he is over and over. He’s just a brute who wants to take what doesn’t belong to him and use it for evil. Science shouldn’t be a weapon. Trust me, George. I know exactly what kind of man your great-uncle is. Your grandfather knew, too,” she snapped, tightening the rope yet more. “Don Nadie doesn’t deserve to be free. Now stop this, before you ruin everything!”
George turned to Ada. “You’re smart, but you don’t know everything, Ada. People can change. I changed.”
“You were never going to hurt anyone,” Ada said stubbornly.
“No, but Don Nadie has been hurt, too.” George took a deep breath and let all his feelings spill out of him. “Don Nadie isn’t a machine. He’s a human being. You solve problems with your brilliant inventions. But Don Nadie isn’t a problem. Do you remember what Oscar said on the beach? Don Nadie isn’t a villain or a hero. He’s somewhere in between. He’s—he’s my family.”
Ada cocked her head, mouth pinched in a tight line.
“When my grandfather was a boy, he lost his parents. Instead of turning their backs on him, the Devonshires made him family. Somewhere along the way, that family got broken. They stopped fighting for each other and they stopped forgiving each other. Some families may be too broken to be put back together, but I don’t think this one is. There’s still hope. I know there is. Maybe that’s why my grandfather never gave up on my father, no matter how much of a disappointment he was. He was trying to tell me that family is the most important thing, whether it’s a family that you’re born into or one you make with friends. It’s more important than money, than fame, than power.”
George looked at Don Nadie, who was also George Devonshire, who was also once a boy who lost his parents and his sister. He was angry, but that anger was a mask hiding a deeper pain. It was like looking into a mirror, if mirrors reflected what you could become—and what you once were.
Leaning toward his long-lost great-uncle, George said, “All I’ve ever wanted was my family back. If one of these scientists invented a machine that could reverse time, I’d use it to change how my parents and my grandfather died. But until then, I’m going to do my best to put the family I have left back together. I think you want the same thing.”
Don Nadie swallowed. The fog in his eyes cleared, if only slightly.
George took a deep breath. “All this time, you’ve only wanted to be the 1st Lord of Devonshire. You chased me across the world for a piece of paper that gave you your name back. Well—Don Nadie didn’t have a family, but George Devonshire does.” George gestured at the childhood portrait of Estelle and George Sr. behind him. “Your sister is alive.”
Don Nadie looked at the portrait quickly, then dropped his eyes to the ground. “How dare you speak of my sister,” he said, but his voice was no longer booming. “She’s been dead for forty years.”
“That’s not true,” George insisted. “She survived the sinking of La Isla. She’s been living on Chatham Island ever since. My grandfather left clues behind, but you didn’t see them.” He swallowed back tears. Beside him, Ada grabbed his hand, giving him strength. “But I’m the biggest clue of all.”
Don Nadie scoffed. “How so?”
“He gave me your name,” George said. “He named me after you, not himself. He wanted us to find each other. I’m sure if he were still alive, he’d tell you the same. That he loved you, and that he was sorry for everything that happened.”
“I don’t believe you. You only want to see me lose,” Don Nadie said bitterly.
“Don’t you see? There’s nothing to win or lose. Do you want your name? You can have it. Do you want No. 8? It’s yours. Do you want your family back? We’re right here. All you have to do is ask. Ask me to be your grandson. Ask me to take you to your sister.”
George Foote stepped down from the chair and knelt next to George Devonshire. He clasped his hands together like a beggar. He’d never felt so exposed or vulnerable, like one of Mrs. Daly’s baby rats, pink and defenseless and hoping not to be eaten by something with sharp teeth. But he’d also never felt so free. No matter what happened next, he’d done his best to save his great-uncle. Warmth climbed up his back—and soon fuzzy orange arms curled around his neck. He smiled. Ruthie always knew just how to comfort him.
Don Nadie looked as though a frog had jumped into his throat. He stared down at George, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “You want me to be your—your grandfather?”
“I want us to be a family,” George said.
“And so do I,” said a quiet voice.
Their heads snapped in the direction of the sound.
Estelle.
Chapter Thirty-One
Estelle’s younger self looked out serenely from her portrait while her real self stood nervously in the middle of No. 10, wringing her hands. She still wore her faded apron, as if it were armor she couldn’t bear to take off. Don Nadie squinted as he looked beyond the wrinkles and creases to recognize the
sister he thought had been lost forever.
“Estelle,” Don Nadie breathed, collapsing forward onto the podium. He blinked several times. “Is it really…” He trailed off breathlessly.
Estelle only smiled in response, which was all it took to answer his question. The 1st Lord of Devonshire’s face contorted further while tears began to stream down his cheeks.
Don Nadie, George’s great-uncle, was crying.
Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Ada and Oscar rousing the remaining scientists, who had managed to continue napping through the recent excitement. Estelle took a few cautious steps toward her brother until they stood only inches apart. “It’s been a long time. You’ve grown quite tall.”
Don Nadie stomped each foot in response. His stilts retracted beneath his shoes, bringing him down to earth. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I thought I had lost you.”
“I didn’t want to be found,” Estelle said.
Softly, George asked, “What changed your mind?”
“Don’t flatter yourself into thinking it was you,” Estelle said to George laughingly. “Well, it was a little bit of you. And some of Stella and my daughter. Mostly, it was time.”
Estelle helped her brother, the notorious Don Nadie, into an armchair. He sank backward and gazed up at her. “Am I dreaming? Just yesterday… I—I can’t believe it.”
George watched as Estelle sat next to Don Nadie. They began to speak in hushed tones. For so long his heart had been grieving for his lost family, but now it was full in a way he’d never imagined it could be. An immense feeling of pride almost barreled him over. He had brought his family home. No matter what happened next, he knew he’d done what his grandfather wanted.
Estelle wiped a tear from Don Nadie’s cheeks with her sleeve. “You have a niece and a grandniece, too. They came with me to England, and they want to meet you.”
“Where are they?” Don Nadie asked, looking around the room anxiously.
George was about to ask the same question when two things happened at once:
A loud crash made his head turn. The iron gate rattled as it was beaten from the other side with the hard knock of a battering ram. Knock. Knock. Knock.
At the same time, one of the sleeping scientists groggily sat up and bellowed, “ADA BYRON! GET OVER HERE THIS INSTANT!”
“Pardon…” Ada trailed off as the small scientist ripped off his bowler cap to reveal a shower of dark curls done in the same style as Ada’s. He—or she, George realized—raised a single dark eyebrow. “Augusta Ada Byron, where have you been?”
Ada went completely pale. “Mother! What are you doing here?”
George’s jaw dropped. This diminutive woman was Ada’s mother. Though he’d heard Ada talk about her, he’d never seen her, and she wasn’t at all the way he’d pictured. She was as dainty as a kitten, though Ada had always spoken of her as if she were a tiger.
Another loud noise came from outside. This time it was a crash as a shutter was ripped from its hinges, flooding the dim room with light. “Erm, Ada—”
Lady Byron completely ignored George, crossing her arms. Her high voice was as crisp as a gingersnap. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? According to Mrs. Somerville, you’re supposed to be postponing your enrollment in school to spend more time with your mother, but according to the newspapers, you’re supposed to be dead.”
Ada crossed her arms back. “Well, you’re supposed to be in Vienna with Frobisher.”
A blush flashed across Lady Byron’s face, then was gone. She and Ada each drew up to their full heights, their chins jutting out at the same angle, the same stubbornness stamped across their brows. George took a tiny step back. If mother and daughter were about to wage war, he didn’t want to be caught in the cross fire.
Another thud echoed in the room. Both shutters ripped away from the window, and soldiers in red coats and tall, furry hats peered in through the glass.
“After a day or two of mud treatments, I started to wonder how my only daughter was adjusting to her new school. I think you can guess what happened when I wrote to Mrs. Somerville to inquire after your health. If I didn’t know you so well, Ada, I would have been very worried. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist the most prestigious scientific symposium ever assembled if you were indeed in the land of the living. It would have been nice to have heard the truth from you instead of having to spy on you like a busybody eavesdropping from behind a curtain in some silly melodrama,” Lady Byron said, waving a C.R.U.M.P.E.T.S. invitation like a lawyer presenting evidence in a courtroom.
Ada put her hands on her hips. “Spying is your favorite pastime. Admit it. You knew I’d never get into the carriage to go to Mrs. Somerville’s school. As long as I’m not embarrassing you in front of your friends, you don’t care what I do.”
“Embarrassing me?” Lady Byron repeated, bringing a hand to her mouth in dismay. She shook her head. “Ada, I’m prouder of you than anything in the world.”
“I—I…” Ada stuttered, all the defiance on her face vanishing into a look of surprise. George had never seen Ada at a loss for words.
Outside, soldiers began to bash the window with their bayonets, sending glass shards crashing to the floor. Ada and her mother shouted, “Be quiet!” at the same time, but George quaked with every boom and clang of the soldiers’ weapons striking the poor façade of No. 8–10. Once again, Ada’s plan had worked well. Too well. Not only had Princess Victoria showed up, she’d also brought an army with her.
Lady Byron addressed her daughter. “I only wanted you to get all that silly adventuring out of your system and devote yourself to your studies. But instead of furthering your academic training, you built another one of your slapdash machines to go on a wild-goose chase. And this time you faked your own death! How do you think that makes me feel?”
Ada’s curls quivered, though when she spoke, her voice had softened. “When have you ever cared about feelings? You’d turn me into an automaton if you could. Your perfect little daughter with the well-rounded mind and perfect manners who never causes a fuss and never makes a mistake.”
Lady Byron’s arms dropped to her sides. “Darling, that’s not true. You only hear what you want to hear.”
“I hear what you say! Nothing I do is ever good enough for you. Just now you insulted my machines. You called them slapdash! You said you’d take them all away if I made any more.” Ada pointed her finger at her mother’s chest. “And you called my adventures silly.”
“In the case of your machines, I was referring to the incredibly dangerous mistakes you made in constructing them. I can’t believe you took that whale out into the water. Did you adjust the hull thickness for the increased interior radius of your new design?”
Ada’s cheeks glowed pink. “I hadn’t considered the pressure differential.”
“Then slapdash was a generous term, don’t you think? Do your friends know you could have killed them?”
Ada turned to George, her eyes regretful. “It was worth it, though. Wasn’t it, George?”
George had no clue what Ada and her mother were arguing about, but he was going to take Ada’s side regardless. “Yes, absolutely. If I was going to be killed by anyone, I’d hope to be killed by Ada.”
Ada’s spirits seemed to lift. She stood on her tiptoes. “And I won’t be shipped off to Somervile’s School for Ladies of Substance when my friends still need my help.”
Lady Byron eyed the window, and then the entrance, where soldiers were still scurrying to knock down the iron bars. “I’m declaring a temporary cease-fire. We can continue our battle later. Until then, come here.” Chin still stuck in the air, Ada folded herself into her mother’s chest. Lady Byron kissed the top of her daughter’s head and said into her hair, “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Open up in the name of the King!” a voice shouted. After another loud thump, the soldiers lowered a wide plank into the open window like a drawbridge lowering over a mo
at. A squadron of red-coated guards thundered into the lecture hall, carrying another board, which they laid to make a ramp into the lecture hall leading from the window. They formed a blockade in front of the exits and turned their bayonets on everyone in the room.
“No, please,” Estelle said, holding up her thin hand against the weapons. The sight made George dart between her and the bayonets.
Suddenly, Stella skipped into the room through the shattered window. She was holding the hand of another girl about her age who was covered in ruffles and had a doll-like face framed by perfect golden curls. “Granny, I made a friend!”
The little girl smiled. She let go of Stella’s hand, pushing her shoulders back to stand tall. A man of enormous girth squeezed through the window behind them. The buttons on his waistcoat strained to remain closed. George had seen those portly jowls before—on his sixpence. It was George IV, the King of England.
The guards saluted and Ada curtsied. George just stared.
“These are your friends, Vicky?” the King asked incredulously.
Blood rushed to George’s head. He was in the presence of royalty. He dropped to his knee. “Your Majesties,” he murmured.
The King peered down his nose at George. “Good heavens, isn’t that boy the Truffle Assassin who’s been trying to kill me? Is everyone in this room trying to kill me? Vicky, I’m very displeased you’ve brought me here. The first rule of being a monarch is to stay alive. If I teach you nothing else before you become queen, I hope I’ve taught you that.”
Princess Victoria shook her golden curls. Although she looked like a doll, she sounded quite grown-up when she spoke in a thin, clear voice. “The boy isn’t the one who tried to kill you, Uncle. I have tried to tell you a million times. We’re here because of the Society of Nobodies. They were plotting to form an army to take over the government. The vice-chancellor was part of it.”
“Ah yes,” the King said. “Terrible name for a society. I never liked that Shadwell, either. His eyebrows were too bushy. That’s another lesson for you, dear. Never trust someone who doesn’t trim their eyebrows.”