by Lev AC Rosen
He lifted the sketch he was examining up to the light. “A clockwork engine that doesn’t need winding!” He coughed. “Very clever. You’ll need to account for the wear on the gears, though, fashion it out of something that won’t wear easily, and won’t need regular oiling. If it needs regular oiling, that sort of defeats the principle of the thing, doesn’t it?” Violet nodded as Bunburry coughed viciously for a moment. “And while the engine itself would be quite an accomplishment, if you hope to make a real impression among the nobility at the faire, and achieve funding for future projects, you’ll need some sort of visual display. Perhaps a dancing girl who can keep dancing for eternity. The upper classes tend to like that sort of thing.”
Violet pursed her lips and frowned. “I had just hoped to do something more original,” she said.
“The engine will be original,” Bunburry said. “You must focus your energies.” Violet nodded, and Bunburry patted her on the back, a fatherly gesture. “Such narrow shoulders,” he said, and then walked off, limping past Malcolm to Gregory. Malcolm watched as Bunburry ignored him, and then saw Violet noticing as well. Color rose in Malcolm’s face, and he quickly turned back to his work to conceal it. Violet smiled slightly to see that Malcolm had made himself so generally unpleasant that the professor avoided giving him advice.
While she waited for further inspiration, Violet worked on a design for a dancing clockwork girl. Violet was sure it would be lovely, but not particularly striking—already she could picture the mustached gentlemen in top hats scoffing at it. Another dancing clockwork girl, they’d say, and keep walking. As she finished the sketch she was working on, she noticed that it was almost time for supper.
“Don’t leave your stations messy,” Bunburry hacked out before leaving for the dining hall himself.
Her shoulders slumping, Violet put down her pencil and began to roll up the sketches for the dancing clockwork girl. She frowned to herself, thinking on it—what else were women supposed to do other than dancing and bearing children? She and this potential clockwork dancing girl were the same. Not much else had ever been expected from her, but here she was, painfully binding her gender and trying to prove that she deserved an equal hand in the scientific world. If only a dancing girl could prove something like that. Perhaps she could make it a clockwork dancing boy—no, that would just be ridiculous. But there must be something.…
For a moment, she felt as though she could break out of this redundant creation, could shatter the dancing girl and reassemble it as something new, but the moment passed as her stomach growled. She finished cleaning up her space and headed up to the dining hall. Only Malcolm stayed behind, gathering his work together in a pile on the table. In the dim lights, he looked sinister and hulking.
X.
JACK was already seated when Violet found him. Toby, Drew, Lane, and Merriman were sitting around him, listening to him talk.
“When I was finished,” Jack was saying, “I had a snake with three tails. It looked quite disturbed by the whole thing, really.”
Toby burst out laughing, and Drew chuckled manically. Lane and Merriman just looked stunned.
“Telling stories?” Violet asked, sitting down.
“Just telling everyone what I did with my independent study time today,” Jack said. “I made a three-tailed snake. Valentine said it was courageous, but lacked subtlety. What did you get up to down in the mechanical lab?”
“Nothing much,” Violet admitted, staring down at her food. “I spent the first part of my time fixing a toy for Cecily.”
“For Cecily?” Jack asked. Violet nodded.
“She spoke to you?” asked Drew. Violet nodded again. Everyone around the table was looking at her, wide eyed, waiting for more of the story.
“It was a clockwork rabbit the duke made for her,” Violet continued slowly. “It was really an ingenious design—the leash, when tugged, pulled the spring so it would hop after her—”
“What was she like?” Jack asked.
“The rabbit? I think it was a he. Cecily called it Shakespeare. It was beautifully made. The duke is really quite—”
“No,” Drew interrupted, “what was Cecily like?”
“Well, she was very friendly,” Violet said, confused.
“She’s so beautiful,” Merriman sighed. Lane nodded in agreement.
“You’re lucky she spoke ta you,” Drew said. “She’s never even noticed me.”
“Did you mention me?” Jack asked.
“Are you all so in love with her?” Violet asked. All but Toby nodded.
“I have a woman already,” Toby said with a satisfied smile, “and she pays plenty of attention to me.”
“I can’t see other women since I’ve met her,” Jack said.
Violet glared at him. “You first saw her yesterday, and there haven’t been any other women to see since then.”
Jack gave Violet a pointed look, and she realized that of course, there was her. She felt her cheeks warm, and hurriedly took a bite of the mash on her plate.
“She’s the most beautiful, sweet, darling girl in the world,” Drew said.
“You’re all fools,” Violet said. “You should focus on your studies, not your … your…”
“Pricks?” Toby offered.
Violet felt herself blush again.
“Too much of a gentleman to use that sort of language?” Toby asked, noticing Violet’s shock.
“Ashton’s got a delicate soul,” Jack said, goading Violet.
Violet narrowed her eyes at him. “Bugger off, shite-for-brains,” Violet said. Jack looked shocked, but then laughed. Violet felt proud for a moment, then guilty. She didn’t mind working in her lab late at night, but she had always felt the use of foul language was somehow below her, as a woman. The boys around her were laughing at her outburst, and Jack clapped her on the back. This was apparently how young men talked, no matter their rank. She would have to get used to it. “Any closer to your hangover cure?” Violet asked Toby, once the laughter had died down. She was happy to be blending in, but didn’t want attention to linger on her for too long.
“Perhaps. I won’t know for sure until tomorrow,” he said with a grin. “Speaking of,” he said, taking a pocket watch out of his jacket, “I’m going to go upstairs and change into something a bit more presentable. Have a nice night, lads.” He nodded and left the table.
“I should probably be going, too,” Drew said, looking around nervously. “I’m done with my food, anyway.” Everyone stared at him for a few seconds, and he nodded and left as well. Violet waved them good-bye. They were an odd pair. Merriman and Lane soon excused themselves, wanting to study for Bunburry’s class tomorrow.
“Should we make ourselves presentable?” Violet asked Jack across the table when she had finished eating. “I’m not sure where we’re going tonight.”
“We should probably wash up, in case there are ladies,” Jack said, amused.
“I thought you didn’t notice any ladies but dear Cecily any longer,” Violet said.
“Well, had I noted you as an exception, I think there might have been some trouble for you.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Violet grinned, despite herself. Jack was seldom flirtatious with her, but she enjoyed his attention anyway, especially when she felt so odd and not like herself in these tight men’s clothes. Becoming a man, it seemed, had made her long to be a woman again, though when she was a woman, she had been all too anxious to become a man. Perhaps she was never going to be really satisfied.
“Let’s go wash up, then,” Violet said, rising.
Upstairs, Violet rinsed her face with cool water from the sink and washed her hands thoroughly with a soap that smelled like pine—from Pale Perfumes, she noticed. Perhaps Drew’s family supplied the school with soap. She chose what Ashton had said was the best of her suits and, with a grunt of pain, tightened the bindings around her chest till she ached. She put on the suit and a clean shirt and gazed at her reflection in the looking glass. It had been only two days, and already
she wanted to shed these ridiculous clothes and slip into the simple comfort of a dress. She wanted to feel the long curls of her hair falling over the nape of her neck again. She wanted to recognize the person in the mirror.
She set her jaw and furrowed her brow. Only two days! She would have to toughen up if she was going to prove herself. If she were to abandon the plan before its success, she would not just be letting herself down, but, in the most melodramatic sense, all the women of the world. The truth would come out sooner or later; she just needed to make sure it was later, after she had made her genius so clear that the world could no longer scorn or punish her for what lay between her legs. That was the only way to avoid humiliation, or worse. She swallowed, thinking of her brother’s lecture in the carriage, and sucked her lips in. She needed to focus on her strength, she knew, not her vulnerability. Build a machine around the strongest parts—the firmest pistons, the hardest steel—and it would last and work. Build it around a flimsy spring, and it would fall to pieces. She needed to be an iron rod.
“Are you ready, or are you going to keep staring at yourself in the mirror?” Jack asked. “You make a pretty boy, to be sure, but I always pictured you more interested in the kind of man who had intelligence in his eyes.”
Violet folded her arms and turned to glare at Jack, who grinned back. “Bloody jackass,” she said.
“You’re getting pretty good at the foul language,” Jack said, “and I suspect an evening with the lads in London will further perfect your skills. So let’s go to it, shall we?”
Jack cocked his head toward the door, Violet nodded, and the two walked out together. There were some students in the lounge, but they ignored them as they headed for the stairs and out into the entry foyer, where they had waited for their interviews. Drew and Toby were there already, not looking very different, though perhaps smelling better. Drew seemed to be doused in lavender, and Violet wondered if he was testing a new version of his perfume on himself.
“Good,” Toby said, heading for the lift. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep my lady friend waiting.”
“Lady friend?” Jack asked.
“Where are we headed?” Violet asked as they all got in the lift.
“Special way out,” Toby said. “No one watches it. Good for leaving and returning past curfew.”
“Lady friend?” Jack repeated.
“It’s not Cecily,” Violet said, rolling her eyes. She was growing tired of Jack’s obsession with Cecily and his ridiculous hopes of somehow spending time with her. The lift descended to the basement, and Drew exited, making a sharp right, away from the labyrinth they had wandered through the previous evening. He pulled on what looked like a darkened gas lamp, and a door swung open, revealing a stairway and the smell of the river.
“Found it my first year,” Toby said proudly, and headed up the stairs. Everyone followed, and they came out quite near the river, in the garden, not far from where she and the duke had stood together months before. In the early evening, the Thames shone blue black through the fog, and the smell of coal and smoke was cut through by the smell of running water. The sound of the great waterwheel clanked loudly.
“Did he tell you he found it his first year?” asked a low female voice. Violet and Jack turned. There was a woman waiting for them under a tree, her gray cloak loosely open around her shoulders, revealing a low-cut green dress underneath. Her face and the mass of curls around it were still in shadow. “I found it, years ago. I just showed it to him his first year.”
The woman stepped out of the shadows and Violet stared at her. “This is Jack Feste and Ashton Adams,” Toby said to the woman. Violet knew she recognized her, but could not place her.
“Pleasure, Mr. Feste,” the woman said, “and good to see you again, Mr. Adams.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Jack said.
“This is Miri,” Toby said, and Violet couldn’t help but gasp. She saw it now: This was Miriam Isaacs, Cecily’s governess. With her hair down, and in something other than her high-collared black dress, she looked completely different. Her dark skin glowed against the narrow green dress, and though her features were still oddly exotic and her frame still unfashionably boyish, she possessed a sort of wild beauty that Violet found herself envying. And she stood differently, too. She still seemed strong, Violet thought, but whereas as a governess she was docile, a support beam, now she was almost gaudy, like a statue of the Magdalen. In fact, she seemed to have a bit of the demimondaine about her, with her loose cloak, her slim dress, her dark eyes, and easy smile. And what was she doing sneaking out at night with the students?
“You’re … courting her?” Violet asked.
Toby laughed, and Miriam smiled forgivingly. “I hope you won’t tell anyone,” Miriam said, “but I am a widow, without family, and I do not think it particularly improper for me to socialize with the young men of the school, as long as it does not interfere with their studies. I know how it must look, but I assure you, I am an honorable woman, in my own way.”
Violet bit her lower lip. She couldn’t blame Miriam for taking such freedoms, as Violet had taken more than a few herself. She nodded. “We won’t tell anyone,” she said.
“Thank you,” Miriam said. She took Toby’s arm and they walked off through the garden in the dull moonlight. The rest of them followed after. At the edge of the garden, far from the school itself, was a small gate that Toby unhooked and led Miriam through.
At the corner beyond, waiting in the dim gaslight, was a cab. The driver raised his hat at them, and Toby grinned back at Violet and Jack. “As you can see, we do this sort of thing rather frequently.”
They boarded the cab, and though it was tight, they all fit.
“Where are we going?” Jack asked.
“A surprise, lads,” Toby said with a grin. Miriam let out a deep murmur of laughter, and lay her head on Toby’s shoulder as the cab took off.
The smells and sounds of London at night came pouring in through the windows. Human musk, ale, smoke, and dirt, the sounds of cackling laughter and pea-pod men calling out their wares and clanging their pots, and the occasional moments of song, all things that Violet hadn’t experienced before. She gazed out the window, her eyes wide at the display of people: in rags or suits, tumbling drunk on the street or cowering in an alleyway. London at night was no place for a lady, she could hear Mrs. Wilks saying. Far too dangerous. The cab stopped deep within the city, a part of it she didn’t know, next to a pub with a wooden sign hanging above it, which showed a large-bosomed woman with an easy smile holding out a roast pig. Inside, the lights were bright and Violet could hear laughter and music.
“Well, get out, then,” Toby said from behind Violet. She opened the door and stepped down onto the street. For a moment, she was happy to have trousers on, and boots to tuck them into, as the hems of her skirt would surely get filthy walking through the ankle-high muck of the streets. When Miriam descended, she merely lifted up her skirts, apparently unconcerned that a man in rags could see her ankles, and even her shins, and was whistling at her. Toby held the door to the pub open for her and then followed her in, leaving the others to open the door themselves and see what awaited them.
“What have we gotten into?” Violet whispered at Jack.
“Don’t worry,” Jack whispered back. “I’m sure it’s just a bit of merrymaking.”
“If we end up in a whorehouse, I shall leave straightaway,” Violet said.
“Right…,” Jack said, opening the door to the pub, “me too.”
Inside the pub, it was warmer than Violet had expected. There was a huge fire in the hearth, and the windows were closed to keep the heat in. The barkeep was roasting bangers over the fire, and the room smelled of fat and meat. At one end, a man played the piano and sang a song whose lyrics Violet couldn’t quite make out, and some men and women danced near him. At the other end, Toby, Drew, and Miriam were sitting down at a table, waving at Violet and Jack to join them.
“What, never been out?” Toby a
sked as they sat. “This is the Well-Seasoned Pig: finest ale in the district, and good bangers and mash as well. Lot better than the slop you get back at Illyria.” Miriam leaned against Toby in a way Violet felt was probably not appropriate public behavior, even between a married man and woman. But looking around the room, Violet saw many other couples behaving in much the same way. In fact, it turned out that Miriam was dressed quite modestly for the establishment. “Sit down, Ash,” Toby said, “and stop gawking. You’re worse than Drew here, and he has to stay distracted or he falls asleep.”
“S’true,” Drew said, staring at a particularly well-endowed barmaid strolling past, “gotta stay distracted.”
“Well, this is a good place for it,” Jack said, also eyeing the barmaid.
“You fall asleep?” Violet asked.
“Yeah,” Drew said. “If I’m bored. Just happens.”
“Doesn’t that happen to everyone?” Jack asked.
“Happens more ta me,” Drew said. The barmaid returned and placed a frothy mug in front of Violet, who eyed it suspiciously, and one in front of Jack, who quickly started drinking it.
“Drink up,” Toby said. “My treat for being such good fellows about Miriam’s keeping less-respectable company.”
“If a lady goes out drinking with men she’s not married to, it’s she who is less respectable, not the men she drinks with,” Miriam said.
Violet closed her eyes and took a swig. The ale was bitter, but curiously refreshing, and felt warm splashing down inside her.
“I suppose that’s true,” Toby said. “Well, then, it’s for being forgiving of my associating with less respectable company.”
“You really are quite the flatterer,” Miriam said, leaning away from Toby.
“I met the other biology students today,” Jack said to Violet as Miriam and Toby murmured to each other. Violet watched Toby’s fingers trace up and down Miriam’s bare arm and wondered what it felt like to be touched in such a way.
“Oh?” Violet asked, turning to Jack.
“Quite the pair. A redheaded Scot, who doesn’t seem to do much besides brush the fur of his cats while telling them they’re pretty, and an anti-social Russian, obsessed with figuring out how best to attach elephant tusks to a mastiff.”