by Lev AC Rosen
IV.
ERNEST, the Duke of Illyria, considered the dahlia, and its repulsive effect on women. It had been nearly a month since they had driven away Miss Adams, and now he had a vase of them in the study, and his cousin and ward, Cecily, hadn’t come to see him all day, even though she had only just arrived back the day before last after spending the summer with Aunt Ada.
He knew that it wasn’t really the dahlia’s fault. He had sent Cecily off to enjoy nature as a girl, hair in braids, and she had returned, inexplicably, a young woman. Before, having Cecily in the college seemed fine, for while she was technically female, she was still a child, and that made her genderless in principle. But in those short months, a sixteen-year-old child had become a sixteen-year-old woman. It probably hadn’t all happened while she was in the country. The duke was far too clever a man to think that the blooming roses had resulted in Cecily’s blooming. No, more likely it was just that he hadn’t seen it until he sent her away, and when she had come back it had struck him dumb: suddenly he had a woman in his care, and women were often distracting to young scientists. And so he had politely suggested to her last night at supper that perhaps she should go away to school in the coming year, causing her to become quite upset with him for even suggesting the idea. She had run off to her room without even staying for pudding, and hadn’t come to see him since.
Women, he thought, sitting at his desk, were difficult. Cecily was especially difficult, as she was so many things: a cousin and a sister, for she had been put into his father’s care eight years prior, following the death of her mother and the disappearance of her father, a renowned explorer who had vanished searching for the lost world of Lemuria. And now, Cecily was like a daughter, as he had taken over her care when his father passed away two years later.
But still, the dahlias. He had nearly finished sorting through the applications for the incoming class, well over a hundred this year. When he got to Ashton Adams’s file, he had, without thinking, looked up at the vase of dahlias. It was clear that young Adams was brilliant and deserved an interview, but the duke wondered if he was as peculiar, as fickle, as his mysterious sister. The duke had thought on Violet in the past month or so, remembered the green ribbon around her hat, and the deep silver of her eyes. He was not one to spend hours daydreaming about a young woman, but he wondered about her, and her sudden departure. He was intrigued. She was like a machine that seems to be in perfect working order but suddenly stops. Had he knocked against it? How could he repair whatever damage he had done? It was a puzzle.
He looked at the clock on the wall. Nearly supper time. With a sigh, he stood up and pulled the cord that summoned his footman. The footman, like most of his staff, had first worked for the duke’s father. The duke often felt that he held him in a sort of contempt, that he was not as great as his father. But the duke could never dismiss him, either, because he secretly suspected that he was correct, and it would set a poor precedent to get rid of people just because they were right.
“Please go and bring Mrs. Isaacs, and tell her I’d like a word with her before supper?” he asked the footman, who nodded, and possibly sneered, then vanished from view. Miriam Isaacs was Cecily’s governess, and the duke could consult her on the problem of letting Cecily stay at Illyria. She would know best.
Mrs. Isaacs appeared quickly and silently, her hands clasped in front of her. Though she was younger than the duke—in her mid-twenties, perhaps; she had an ageless quality about her, and he had never asked—she intimidated him.
She was a Jewess born in Persia. Her family had moved to Paris when she was young, and then to London when she was sixteen. She had married, and been widowed, before she was nineteen, and both her parents had died as well. And yet she stood strong and steady, with a certain foreign dignity the duke found far more serious than any local, English dignity. She always wore what seemed to be the same black dress, though it was never dirty, with a high collar and long sleeves, and her thick black hair was always pulled back in a bun. She was thin and dark, with large almond eyes, so she wasn’t what anyone would call fashionably pretty, but she possessed a certain sense of restrained exoticness, and she spoke English—and French, and German, and Persian, not to mention reading Hebrew and Latin—with a lilting, musical tone. She was clever, she had seen the world, and she had loved and lost. For all these reasons, he had hired her. She was also an excellent governess, always calm and serious, but still affectionate toward Cecily. The duke found her to be reassuring, and thought of her as the mother figure he could consult on the rearing of young women, especially when Cecily seemed to hate him.
“You asked for me, Your Grace?” Mrs. Isaacs said, stepping into the room.
“Will you convince Cecily to join me at supper tonight?”
“She is most upset with your talk of sending her away, Your Grace. I’m not sure she can be convinced to attend.” Mrs. Isaacs paused, waiting for the duke’s resigned sigh, which came a moment later. “Should I bring her supper in her room or would you prefer to let her come and eat what is left when you are finished?”
“I would prefer she eat with me, so I can discuss this matter with her. Do you think it is inappropriate for me to send her away to school?”
“Speaking frankly, sir, I think sending her away from the world’s finest educational institution to go to school seems backwards.”
The duke nodded and put his hand to his chin, scratching below his lip. “But she’s a young woman now. Surely it isn’t appropriate for her to spend all her time in an institution filled entirely with young men?”
“I think, sir, that as long as she is chaperoned, that time around young men is normal and healthy. You wouldn’t have her shut up in a nunnery, would you?”
“Well, no. But won’t she be a distraction to the students?”
“Sir, she has been a distraction to the students for the past two years, when she first started becoming a young woman. You notice it now only because she has begun wearing her hair up, instead of in braids.”
The duke nodded again. “I suppose you are right.”
“Sir, you must do what you think is best for both Cecily and Illyria. If you choose for her to remain here, I assure you I shall keep guard over her virtue and instruct her in proper behavior. If any of the students try to take inappropriate liberties with her, I will report them to you immediately.”
“Yes, of course. I trust you, Mrs. Isaacs.”
“You honor me, Your Grace,” Miriam said with a small curtsey. “And may I also point out that Cecily is approaching the age where suitors are not uncommon. Would it be such a terrible thing if her suitors were among the most brilliant scientists in the world?”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t…,” the duke said.
“Your Grace hasn’t noticed any decline in the aptitude of the students these past years, have you?”
“No.”
“And yet Cecily has received over a dozen love letters last year alone,” Miriam said with an arched eyebrow.
The duke started up in his chair, leaning forward with shock. “Really?”
“Yes. And may I suggest that perhaps an optional poetry class be offered? Some of the letters are really quite droll.”
The duke smiled. Miriam found the whole thing amusing, he could tell, and that made it all seem like harmless children’s games. The students were young, after all: the eldest was twenty-one. Let them woo Cecily. If their grades declined, he would expel them.
“Thank you, Mrs. Isaacs. You may bring a tray up to Cecily if she does not feel like coming down for supper.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Miriam said. She bowed, then turned to leave.
“Oh, and Mrs. Isaacs…,” the duke called after her.
She spun back around, her hands still clasped in front of her. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Do women find the dahlia to be a particularly repulsive flower?” he asked.
Miriam stared at him for a moment. “I wouldn’t know, Your Grace,” she said, a
nd walked back into the shadows beyond his door. The duke looked back at the dahlias in the vase, glowing pink and yellow in the light of the gas lamps. He took one out and put it in his buttonhole before heading down to supper.
V.
VIOLET had a suit, and it fit her quite well, but she still couldn’t speak like a man. This was a problem, since she interviewing at Illyria tomorrow. She was so excited to finally enter those golden halls that she could barely focus on her brother’s talk of pitch and timbre. She wondered how they would look: Would they be hung with portraits of famous inventors? Would there be a test of her mechanical mettle right there in the chamber in which she was to be interviewed in front of all the professors?
“Your o’s must be heavier,” Ashton said. “They are a bag with stones in them.”
“Stones in them,” Violet repeated, slowly and deeply.
“Not bad,” Jack said. They were sitting at Mother’s bench, with books in hand, to make Mrs. Wilks think they were performing parts of a play for themselves.
“It is bad,” Ashton said. “It is terrible. You have already met the duke. You must prevent him from recognizing you. And while I admit that with the suit we have for you, and the false sideburns, you look like a boy slowly breaking into the halls of manhood, and you do rather have the walk down—”
“I just think of slow-moving gears,” Violet said. Jack smirked.
“—your voice is still quite feminine,” Ashton finished.
“So maybe it hasn’t changed yet,” Violet said, her hands on her hips.
“At seventeen?” Ashton asked. “That would be a scientific discovery in itself. Now, come on, try it again.”
“Stones in me’ pockets, stones that weigh me down,” Violet said.
“Better,” Ashton said, “but there’s no need to adopt a lower-class accent.”
“I wonder what the inside of the building will look like,” Violet said, still in her masculine voice.
“A man opened the door when I turned in my application,” Jack said. “I didn’t see much behind him, but it looked like high, vaulted ceilings in gold and bronze, and I could hear this clicking noise.”
“The entire school is powered by the waterwheel, with gears to repeat its effort,” Violet said, “or so the duke told me.”
“Slower, speak slower,” Ashton said. “You sound too mincing.”
“You don’t speak slowly,” Violet said.
“I am a man. I don’t need to pretend to be one.”
“Maybe I’m your sort of man, then,” Violet said. “It would make sense—we’re twins. Were I a man, I would be quite like you, I think.”
“No, you must be a boring man,” Ashton said. “Average, plain, so that no one will think you are a woman.”
“Won’t being dull just draw more attention to my feminine eccentricities?” Violet asked. “Shouldn’t I hide everything in plain sight? Be a feminine dandy? Then they would just think I was a man who acted like a woman.”
“No,” Ashton said. “Scientists are rarely dandies, and not very good dandies when they are.”
“I beg your pardon,” Jack said. “I could be a bit of a dandy.”
“You are a jokester, a jester, a comedian,” Ashton said, “which are all very much like a dandy, but not actually a dandy.”
“I think I’m a bit more than all that,” Jack said sulkily.
“Of course you are. We all are more than what society calls us, but if society is to call us something—and it will—we may as well choose what. And you, dear brother Violet, must be the sort of man society calls plain. Brilliant, to be sure, but average in all other respects. The sort who will marry and have children named Mary and John—”
“I beg your pardon,” said Jack again.
“—and while he may be noted as a brilliant mind, will never be seated next to the host at dinner parties, because his conversation is always quite predictable.”
“I don’t think I want to be that sort of man,” Violet said. “I think I much prefer being a woman to that, Illyria or no.”
“Well, then, at least speak like a plain man. Then you may act however you wish.”
“All right,” Violet said, again in her manly voice. “I am Ashton Adams, and I speak as though I am the most boring man on the globe. Which I’m sure you find very comforting, as those who speak as though they are boring are inevitably the ones trying to cover up some scandal, and those who speak as though their life is naught but excitement usually are quite dull, and know it.”
“Quite good,” Ashton said. “Good enough for the interview, I think. It will be hard to maintain it for a whole year, but it’s really just the first few weeks that matter. After that, no one will suspect anything, because to do so will mean they were tricked in the beginning.”
“What invention did you submit for the interview?” Jack asked.
“My perambulator,” Violet said. Jack had seen her begin building it last summer.
“Ah, quite good. Though perhaps a bit practical for some of the professors.”
“I know. Which is why I have also devised a row of clockwork ducks that follow each other without strings.”
“Did you? Can I see them?”
“Of course. They’re in the laboratory. I used real feathers.”
“How extraordinary.”
“Shall we all take a trip to my laboratory right now?”
“Let’s,” Ashton said, and headed back toward the house. “Mrs. Wilks can’t stare at us from a window down there.” Ashton smiled and waved once at Mrs. Wilks, who had taken to watching them from the windows even more frequently than usual.
Violet was excited and happy as she walked back toward the manor. Her suit was more comfortable than she had expected. Her perambulator was in perfect condition, and the magnetic ducklings were finished and worked beautifully. And she felt quite sure that tomorrow, at her interview, she would gain entry to Illyria.
Ashton, meanwhile, was looking forward to a season in London as a bachelor. There were shows he wanted to see, and pubs in the bad parts of town he wanted to try. And of course, dinner parties and affairs and small scandals that, if he could not take part, at least he could watch from afar. Ashton, like any dandy worth the title, enjoyed a good scandal, if only because he enjoyed watching his elders run around with shocked expressions. He was still at the age where shocked expressions meant that he had somehow made a difference in someone’s life, not yet realizing that a tiny smile can signal a much more significant impact.
They went to the laboratory and played with Violet’s mechanical ducks, and soon thereafter ate and went to bed. But Violet found it nearly impossible to sleep. Instead she turned about in her bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of what little she had seen of Illyria. When she fell asleep, she dreamed that the duke was giving her a tour of the college proper, and not just the gardens.
* * *
IN the carriage the next day, Violet clung to her handbag and practiced for her interview.
“The mechanics of space travel,” she recited in a low and husky voice, “are within our reach, though they would require significant funding, and much experimentation. But the principles are all well established.”
“Good,” Ashton said, “you sound quite right. Now, try not to move your mouth so prettily, or pout. Keep your lips thin and your jaw stern.”
Violet raised her eyebrows, for she had never thought of her mouth as having pretty movements before. Much to her own surprise, she had awoken nervous about the interview. Her confidence, so often overwhelming to those around her, had wavered and deflated at the time she needed it most. What if this disguise was ridiculous and she ended up looking like a clown in front of the most brilliant minds in the world? Or, worse, what if they did believe she was a man, but simply not good enough for Illyria? That would be the crushing blow. If that happened, she secretly vowed, she would give up inventing altogether, start dressing like the pretty mindless thing Mrs. Wilks wanted her to be, and marry some dul
l, respectable member of Parliment within the year. If she didn’t die of grief first.
“Try it again,” Ashton said. Violet looked up from her worries and tried to put on a brave face. But Ashton could see through such faces. “You’re worried, aren’t you?” Violet nodded. “Well, I don’t know why you should be. I’m sure my opinion counts for very little in terms of science, but Jack is quite brilliant and says the flame of his genius is but a candle next to your bonfire.”
Violet smiled. “Jack is modest,” she said. “He is much cleverer than I. I could never make a flying ferret.”
“And he could never make a handbag as useful as the one you’re now holding. You each have your own strengths. And you’re quite passable as a man, if I do say so myself. An odd sort of man, but in an endearing way. You’ll do fine, and I’m sure you’ll be walking through those halls come October.”
“Thank you,” Violet said, and laid her hand on his. They rode like that until Antony stopped in front of their town house and opened the door for them. They stepped out into the cooling early autumn air, tinged with the smell of smoke and dying leaves.
“Now, Antony,” Ashton said, “we’re about to do something quite shocking. It is vital you tell no one about it, especially not Mrs. Wilks. You will do that for me, won’t you?” Ashton laid his hand on Antony’s shoulder. He had often suspected that the young carriage driver had a particular affection for him. He had even wanted to indulge it on occasion, but was unsure if that would be improper. To make love to someone else’s help seemed perfectly acceptable, but to make love to your own help seemed a mite graceless, as though you couldn’t find lovers outside your immediate household. But his smile had the desired effect on Antony, who nodded, wide eyed and faithful, as Ashton and Violet went inside to transform Violet into her twin brother.