The Inventors and the Lost Island

by A. M. Morgen

  George’s hand flew to his eyebrows.

  “Thank you for the advice, Uncle. I’ll remember that,” Princess Victoria said. She turned to Ada. “Can you confirm that this is the entire Society?”

  Ada bit her lip, looking between George and the King. George spotted Roy and Rose in the crowd, exchanging meaningful glances and silent nods. Suddenly, the two of them stood and bolted for the door, only to be bowled over by soldiers with bayonets. “We captured them before they could do any harm,” Ada said.

  “Well done,” Princess Victoria said. “Guards, take them away.”

  The guards roughly took hold of the prisoners and began marching them one by one out through the window.

  George couldn’t bear the thought of his new family member spending the rest of his life in a prison cell. “Where are you taking them?” he asked.

  “To Newgate Prison,” Princess Victoria replied. “We have all the evidence we need to charge them with a number of crimes.”

  “But this man has just spent forty years in prison—” George began.

  His uncle cut him off. “Save your breath, George. I knew what I was doing when I started this venture. I may belong in prison, but the rest of the Society doesn’t. I can’t be your grandfather, George, until I’ve done right by my family.”

  Without his stilts, Don Nadie was able to kneel down in front of George without much effort at all. They stared at each other at eye level for the first time since they’d met inside the house with no door. From this distance, George was able to make out the sparks of lightning flashing in his great-uncle’s eyes. “You do look like him, you know.”

  “I know,” George whispered, voice strangled with tears. He wished this moment didn’t have to end.

  “I can tell you about him one day. If you want,” the older George said hurriedly.

  George nodded. “I’d like that.”

  Smiling, Don Nadie turned to the King. “Your Majesty, I’ve taught these thieves how to steal, how to lie, and how to pretend not to care. If anyone deserves the blame for their actions, it’s me. They were young and angry, too malleable for their own good. I shaped them into what they are, so how can they be held responsible for what they’ve done? Send me to prison, but let them go. I am the one—the only one—who should be punished for these crimes.”

  When he had concluded his plea, everyone turned to the King to see if his heart had been softened. George held his breath expectantly. The King patted his hands on his rotund belly. “Was that supposed to impress me? Take them all out of my sight.”

  The King of England turned to climb through the window as regally as he could, and it wasn’t long before Ada was chasing after him. George broke into a smile when he caught the phrases “Now really,” and “Let’s be reasonable, shall we?”

  George and Estelle flanked Don Nadie as he was led into a prison carriage waiting outside. George didn’t know if he’d ever see his great-uncle outside prison walls again, but somehow, that was all right. His grandfather had made him believe that it was his duty to protect a priceless treasure for the rest of his life. But that priceless treasure was his family, and now that he’d found them, they had nestled into his heart for him to carry around wherever he went. He didn’t have to solve any more mysteries to feel whole. He had a new life to start, one without secrets waiting to surprise him. He could finally stop looking for his grandfather’s legacy. Now he could become it.

  “I’ll see you soon,” George promised Don Nadie. “I think we have a lot of stories to tell each other.”

  Epilogue

  The best endings are not happy endings. The best endings are a little bit sad, and they teach you something about how to be a better person. That’s what Granny says. She says in the story with the little girl in the red cape and the wolf, it’s a little bit sad because the wolf eats the girl but it also teaches you not to talk to strangers or you’ll die,” Stella explained.

  George stopped sanding the wooden podium that had once been made for Don Nadie. Estelle had adjusted it by sawing off several feet from the bottom. She was in the backyard with Frobisher, adjusting more furniture that Don Nadie had made. “That’s not how I remember the story,” George said. “I thought a brave woodcutter killed the wolf and saved Little Red Riding Hood.”

  Stella shook her head. “That’s not a good ending! It’s too happy. What does it teach you?”

  “Watch out, Stella!” Ada cried from atop the neck of a mechanical giraffe she was riding so that she could reach the ceiling of No. 10 with her paintbrush.

  Stella danced out of the way just before a glop of yellow paint dripped where she had been standing. It splashed onto the marble floor, and a drop hit George squarely on the forehead. Ada had insisted on painting the walls of No. 10 yellow because it was apparently the best color for encouraging learning and stimulating the brain.

  “I’ll clean it up,” Stella said.

  While George wiped the paint from his face, Ada touched up the last swipe of yellow near the ceiling. “I heard a different version of the story,” Ada said. “Little Red Riding Hood pushes the wolf into the fireplace and saves herself.”

  George ran his hands along the edges of the podium, which were now as smooth as glass. “Why are we talking about endings, anyway? My speech is going to be about beginnings. Beginnings are the most difficult thing, according to oratory. You have to grab your audience, be sympathetic, give background on your topic, and present your position. That’s very tricky to do. Endings are easy. If you run out of time, all you have to do is stop and say ‘the end.’ It’s not the best way to do it, of course, but it works.”

  Ada slid down the neck of the mechanical giraffe and landed without a sound. “I don’t think we should be talking about beginnings or endings. We still have a lot of work to do before the greenhouse can open. Oscar doesn’t even know about it yet! He said Captain Bibble would be leaving at high tide, which means he should be here within the hour. What else is on the list to do before he gets here?”

  The to-do list was sitting on the podium. Naturally, George was the keeper of the list. He read the items that had not yet been crossed off: “Ask Oscar if he wants to stay here and start his school. Make a sign for the school. Hang the sign outside. Get a proper front door. Find students.”

  “Find students for what?” Oscar asked, suddenly poking his head through the door from the parlor. His gap-toothed grin was sunnier than the yellow paint on the walls. Ruthie’s orange head peered from behind his tousled brown hair.

  Stella darted over to the doorway and pulled him inside No. 10. “Students for the school,” she explained.

  Oscar turned around in the big, open room. His eyes lit up with wonder at the gleaming marble floors, the butter-yellow walls, the bookcases, and the podium in front of the fireplace. It was bright and inviting, and was starting to feel like part of the new No. 8–10 instead of the terrible nightmare it had been in George’s imagination.

  “It looks incredible. I was only on the Ordek for a few days, and you’ve done so much work. I hope when I open my greenhouse for the mind, it looks just like this,” Oscar said wistfully. He stared up at the portrait of Estelle and Don Nadie as children hanging over the fireplace, right next to the oil painting of George’s grandfather.

  “It will. I mean, it does. That is, if you still think that’s where you belong.” George stepped forward. He opened his palm and showed Oscar a freshly cut iron key.

  Oscar’s eyes darted from George to Ada to Stella in utter confusion. “How—what?”

  “Every greenhouse needs a gardener. No. 8–10 seems to have everything you’d need. What do you say? Will you open your School for Somebodies here?”

  Oscar gaped, unable to form words.

  “We only have a few more things to do and it will be all ready for you,” George continued. “Ada is going to be starting at her new school soon, so she won’t be around to get you into any more trouble. I’ve given Frobisher the original key to the house. He’s
going to be responsible for keeping the members of the Society away from crime when they get out of prison in a few months. I think a school for finding their talents is just the thing they need to help them lead productive lives as law-abiding citizens.”

  “And his uncle George has agreed to take correspondence lessons from Newgate Prison,” Ada said.

  George’s heart still beat double time at the mention of his great-uncle. Though the villain formerly known as Don Nadie would serve ten years in prison for his crimes, the King had agreed to give George and Estelle special visitation rights. On Sunday, George and his family had luncheon in the prison yard, which was surprisingly lovely. The brother and sister had agreed to write each other often and to avoid any puzzles in their letters or regrets about the past forty years.

  “You’re serious? You did all this for me?” Oscar asked, his voice squeaking as he held back tears.

  “You can have a place of your own. A place where you can paint and keep your rock collection where it will never sink,” George added.

  “I’ve made sure this is the sturdiest house in London,” Ada said.

  Oscar looked around the room bewildered. “I don’t understand. You really did all this for me? But where will you live, George? Aren’t you going to stay here? What about your truffles? This is your house. I don’t want to take it from you. I’ve asked my father to take me to the islands of Polynesia when Ruthie goes home to Borneo. Won’t you mind if I’m gone?”

  “One question at a time!” George laughed. “You’re not taking the house, I’m giving it to you and Frobisher. You can do whatever you like with it. I can’t stay because I’m going to take a trip with my family. Estelle has asked me to escort her and Stella back to their home in the Galápagos. Our bags are packed and our ship leaves soon.”

  “And then what are you going to do?” Oscar asked.

  George looked at his friends and family, everyone he loved. They were all safe and happy. Being with them made him feel more at home than he’d ever felt. This was where he belonged. Not in a certain house or in a particular place, but with his friends and family. He wished he could freeze time and stay like this forever. In that moment, he felt like the luckiest boy in all of London. He’d flown over continents, sailed the seas, and lived to tell the tale. The adventures of George, the 3rd Lord of Devonshire, had been wonderful and strange. It was time now for George Foote to find his own way in the world, whatever that might be.

  “I don’t know exactly where I’m going,” George said. “But one day, I’ll be able to tell you all about it.”

  THE END

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  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  I find myself writing yet another note of apology to you. This book, like the first, contains many lies. There are always lies in fiction; most of them are necessary to entertain you.

  Some parts of this book are based on real places, real inventions, and real people—therefore, you might be tempted to think that every detail is correct and historical. Many of them are, and many of them are not. The Alhambra is real, and so are the Galápagos Islands. However, a voyage to the Galápagos like the one described in this book would have taken several months under the very best of conditions, not several weeks. Long sea voyages aren’t very exciting, though, so I hope you’ll forgive me for this misrepresentation.

  Another misrepresentation that I must confess to making is that the Mrs. Somerville in this story was in no way vile, nor did the real Ada Byron avoid the chance to study with her. Mary Somerville was a self-taught mathematician and scientist. Her first husband did not approve of her studies, but after his death, she dove into studying mathematics with full passion. At the relatively advanced age of forty-five, Mrs. Somerville published her first scientific paper and quickly gained a reputation for possessing an extraordinary mind. Soon after, she moved to London, where she met Lady Byron, Ada’s mother.

  Without Mrs. Somerville, Ada Byron might have remained a footnote in history instead of being recognized as the scientific genius she was. It was Mrs. Somerville who tutored Ada in mathematics, and it was Mrs. Somerville who introduced Ada to Charles Babbage, the inventor of a calculating machine that would change the course of Ada’s life. Instead of being obsessed with building flying machines, at eighteen years old, Ada became obsessed with Babbage’s invention until the end of her life.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Somerville’s own career was far from over. It was just beginning! She became interested in the stars and wrote a textbook explaining the mathematical movements of the solar system. The book was an instant success. She went on to write four more scientific textbooks over the next four decades. She lived to the ripe old age of ninety-one.

  Without Mrs. Somerville’s textbooks, generations of scientists might never have been inspired to explore the natural world. Planets would have remained undiscovered; electromagnetism might have gone unexplained. Indeed, scientists might not have been called scientists at all without Mrs. Somerville. They would have been called men of science, but the gender-neutral term scientist was coined instead because Mrs. Somerville and other women of science were too talented to be excluded.

  I must of course give the final word to the real Ada Byron. She and Mrs. Somerville wrote each other frequently about their shared love of science, as in this letter Ada sent to her on July 8, 1834:

  I think you must be fond enough of these [machines] to sympathize with my eagerness about them. I am afraid that when a machine, or a lecture, or anything of the kind, comes in my way, I have no regard for time, space, or any ordinary obstacles.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, dear Reader, for returning to read this second book about Ada, George, Oscar, and Ruthie. As a second child, I have always been keenly aware that firstborn children get all the excitement and fanfare. Therefore, I am grateful that you have given this book the same time and attention as the first.

  This book would not exist without the wonderful team at Glasstown Entertainment. For supporting me and giving me the opportunity to tell these characters’ story, I do not have adequate words to express my gratitude. Many talented professionals at Glasstown have helped shape this book: Kamilla Benko, Lexa Hillyer, Lauren Oliver, Emily Berge, Diana Sousa, and Stephen Barbara. But my deepest thanks go to Alexa Wejko. She is the genius behind the curtain, and this book is equally hers.

  But wait, there is another team to thank! Thank you to Lisa Yoskowitz and Hannah Milton at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers for their editorial vision. Thank you to everyone at LBYR who has worked on and ever will work on this book: my publicist, Katharine McAnarney, as well as the copyeditors, marketers, and interns who work behind the scenes. Thank you also to Iacopo Bruno for creating another incredible cover illustration.

  Thank you to my wonderful community of family, friends, and coworkers who have cheered me on and supported me in big ways and small, especially all my new friends in the Electric Eighteens.

  Finally, thank you to my foster daughter for teaching me what it means to be a family. You are the bravest person I have ever known.