by Lev AC Rosen
“That sounds frightening,” Violet said passively. Her eyes went back to Toby’s hand on Miriam’s arm—back and forth it went, like a pendulum.
“Except that Valentine kept tellin’ him it wasn’t allowed, because it would be a weapon. So instead he seethed silently, then worked on fusing boar skin to a cat, at which point the Scot, Leslie, rushed forward and told him he was being cruel.”
“Les is my year,” Drew said. Apparently he had been listening in. “He thinks cats is smarter than people. Doesn’t really do much to them. He says he waits for the cats to ask him to do somethin’ first. Last year, for the faire, he made a cat that could walk upright. He dressed ’im up, too, in a little suit. He said the cat loved it. If ya ask me, the cat was none too happy about it. Kept wobbling around, looking like it was afraid it would fall down.”
“That sounds absolutely marvelous,” Jack said, grinning. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated this Leslie chap.”
“Good evenin’, gents,” said a woman, sidling up next to Jack. “I noticed some of you are lackin’ company, so me and my friends thought per’aps you’d care ta buy us some drinks?” Violet looked up at the woman. She was at least fifty, probably older, and had caked her face in thick makeup. Her dress seemed off somehow: too tight, too old, perhaps out of fashion—she couldn’t be sure without asking Ashton. The woman laid her hand on Jack’s. Two other women, one large and certainly not younger than sixty, and the other quite thin, with huge eyes that didn’t look capable of blinking, stood behind her.
Jack grinned. “My heart belongs to another,” he said. “But if the other lads—”
“No!” Violet said quickly. “My heart … um, also … yes. Just no. No thank you.” Violet looked down at her drink and then took a long swig of it.
“I doubt I’d be very interesting to you,” Drew said. “I tend ta fall asleep.”
“Oh, do you?” said the woman, her voice syrupy with concern. “Well, I’ll have to make sure I don’t bore you, then.” She circled the table and put her arms around Drew’s neck, then sat down next to him, still clinging. The other two women she had been with drifted away toward other men in the bar. “So, will you buy me a drink?” the woman asked Drew. Drew nodded. The woman adjusted herself on her seat and brought the barmaid scurrying over with a gesture. “Champagne, the best you ’ave.” The barmaid disappeared, and the woman sighed happily and began stroking Drew’s hand, much as Miriam was stroking Toby’s. Soon, Violet noticed, they seemed to have settled into a pattern, Miriam’s hand up on Toby’s shoulder while the woman’s hand was down on Drew’s wrist, and then they switched back again.
Violet sighed and turned to Jack, who was drinking his ale and smiling. “I’m surprised you turned away companionship,” she said tartly.
“Ah, since I’ve seen Cecily, no other will do.”
“Is this really how men behave?” Violet hissed under her breath.
Jack nodded. “And you, I suppose, are still pining over Gwendolyn?” Jack said, perhaps a little louder than necessary.
Toby and Miriam glanced over. “Does Ashton have a girl back home?” Toby asked with a grin.
“Ah, no,” Violet said. “Jack is just teasing.”
“Well, who is Gwendolyn, then?” Miriam asked, her eyes narrowed. “I promise not to tell Cecily.”
“I certainly don’t care if you tell Cecily or not, because it’s of no concern. Gwendolyn, is … uh…”
“The maid,” Jack said, pursing his lips. “And Ashton has yet to tell her how he feels, because he thinks it improper, and that he would be taking advantage.”
Toby roared with laughter and pounded the table with his palm. The strange woman, who was by now sipping her champagne while halfheartedly patting Drew’s hand, glared at him.
“Well, come on, lad, take advantage,” Toby said.
“I really … Jack is exaggerating,” Violet said, feeling a sudden urge to hit him.
“Hmmm,” Miriam said, leaning back into her chair and looking at Violet intensely.
“What do you think, Mir?”
“I think maybe he doesn’t want to reveal the details of his love life to new friends. Give him time, and I’m sure he’ll tell us all about how Gwendolyn broke his heart.”
Toby guffawed again. “I guess that’s woman’s intuition for you,” he said, and laid his arm around Miriam’s shoulder. Violet looked down at her mug and took another drink. It was less bitter this time, and more refreshing, so she kept drinking.
“Whoa, now,” Jack said, putting an arm on Violet’s shoulder.
“I guess we’ve stirred up some memories that need to be drowned, eh?” Toby said. Violet licked her lips and put down the nearly empty mug.
On the other side of the pub, the man went back to singing at the piano, and the group turned to watch. Pianos, Violet thought, were remarkable inventions. Their mechanisms had an elegance that suited the idea of music. As the man played and sang, she could hear, over the din of the pub and the conversation that resumed among Jack, Miriam, and Toby, the small wooden sounds of the moving pieces. It seemed to Violet that the piano was playing itself, or should be, not in the inelegant way that the popular mechanical pianos did, but with a sort of intelligence, able to sense its own tones and respond to them. After all, the notes of the music were just vibrating strings, and vibrations fall at different lengths. It wouldn’t be hard, she reckoned, finishing her ale, to create a piano that responded to its own vibrations, building on them. You could press one key, and the piano would then compose a random variation of harmony, based entirely on its own sound. Violet smiled as she thought of it, and then tilted her head, a memory suddenly skirting around the edges of her mind.
“Do you enjoy music?” Miriam asked.
Violet turned to Miriam, suddenly realizing that she was being addressed. Drew was asleep on the table, his companion having abandoned him. “I like the piano,” Violet said. “My bro—” Jack elbowed her in the side. “—er, my cousin plays it quite often. He enjoys them. I enjoy the mechanics of them. I thought of building one once, but decided the price of ivory was too high for something I would never really perfect.” Violet swallowed. She had nearly slipped up. She had to be careful.
“Cecily plays the pianoforte. Perhaps Jack should ask her to play it for him sometime,” Miriam said with a grin. Toby smirked.
“Do you think she would?” Jack asked.
“I think the duke would box your ears,” Toby said, “so that if she did, it would hurt to listen to it.”
“Ah,” Jack said.
“She enjoys music,” Miriam said. “She once spent three months trying to create a music box that sang like a chorus of birds, but with no success.”
“I doubt strings and metal could reproduce an adequate birdsong,” Violet said.
“Hm,” Jack said, nodding.
It had grown quite late—far past the school’s curfew—and the pub was emptying out. Drew snored softly into his arm.
“Well, it’s been a lovely night,” Miriam said, stroking Toby’s shoulder, “but you all have class in the morning, and it would be a great injustice to your new friends to keep them out so late that they suffered and were scorned by their professors.”
“I suppose,” Toby said, grunting. He leaned over and poked Drew in the ribs, causing him to bolt upright like a puppet.
“Oh?” Drew said. “Did I miss anything?”
“No more than usual, lad,” Toby said. “We’re heading back.”
“Right,” Drew said, taking out some money and handing it to Toby. Toby rose and everyone followed suit, Drew stretching a little. Toby gave money to the barkeep, and they all went out onto the street. The cobblestones felt particularly rough under Violet’s shoes, and the smell of smoke was heavier than she remembered. She envied the way Miriam lifted her skirts, oblivious of the catcalls of nearby drunks, and walked elegantly forward, toward the end of the street, where a tall electric light stood, buzzing. A group of cabs was waiting, and she climbed i
nto the first one, Toby just behind her. Violet hoisted herself up next, and soon they were all crammed into the carriage. Violet found herself smiling as they took off over the bumpy streets. These were now her friends, it seemed, and she was warm and content. How nice it must be to be a man, she thought, and to always be able to acquire this feeling. Jack threw his arm around her shoulder and brought her head close to his with a fraternal squeeze.
* * *
AFTER the short trip home, they stumbled out of the carriage—well past midnight—and back to the secret door into the school, softly hushing each others chuckles.
“It’s been a fine night,” Jack said to Violet, and she nodded. Drew shushed them. “Look at the stars, and the river and the moon,” Jack continued. “This is our life, these our inspirations. I feel this is going to be a very good year.”
“I do, too,” Violet said happily.
“I’m sure it will be very, very good,” Miriam said, creeping down the stairs into the college basement, “but we can talk about that another time. For now, we must be quiet, or else we’ll all get into some trouble.” She paused on the stairs, and Toby, who was walking behind her, nearly crashed into her. “That doesn’t sound right, does it? Some trouble. Some … grave punition … grave trouble? No. Hm.” She put her chin down and they continued walking down the steps, and then back up the lift to the ground floor, where they all got out and headed to the stairs.
Miriam smiled to herself. She felt that lightness of foot from being just the right amount of drunk. She had made new friends, the year was beginning again, so she would see more of Toby, and the London fog had been light tonight, more like a soft rain. Miriam loved the rain.
“It has been a lovely evening—une belle nuit,” Miriam continued. “Such a pleasure meeting you both, but I must retire to my own room now.”
“You slut,” came a harsh whisper from up the stairs. Everyone stopped and held their breath, looking into the shadows. Slowly, Malcolm Volio descended, his eyes glowing with a dark fire and a sneer playing on his thin lips. He wore a grease-stained jacket and shirt, and his hands were dirty.
Miriam’s blood chilled. She had been discovered. But she pushed her shoulders back in defiance. She’d been called worse than slut in her time, but Volio radiated such arrogance, she had to hold her wrist to keep from slapping him.
“Volio!” Toby half shouted. “You’re barely worthy of wearing the dirt on your hands. Now, go back to bed.”
“I don’t think I will,” Volio said. He had finished walking down the stairs and now stood smirking at them in the small foyer. “I thought it odd to hear a woman’s voice in the basement tonight, so I came round the corner. And what should I see, but you, dear Mrs. Isaacs, the woman entrusted with our lovely Cecily’s upbringing, cavorting with—” He gestured at Toby. “I don’t think the duke would approve of such behavior.”
Miriam felt her chest go cold and her mouth weak. He was right, of course: The duke would not approve. Her eyes burned with a hatred as hard as iron. She loved her secret life, loved being outside society. It gave her freedom. As long as she crept along the lines between class and race, no one paid her any attention; she was dark-skinned, so no one minded her being unaccompanied at rougher drinking houses. She was educated, so she could be a governess. She was a widow, so she belonged to no man, and wasn’t waiting to be given to one. The only group who had tried to claim her had been her late husband’s family, but they hadn’t protested when she walked away one night and didn’t come back. All this gave her the freedom to do as she pleased, provided she was careful. She inhaled slowly.
“You won’t tell him,” Toby said to Volio. “And even if you did, we’d all say you were crazy. Right, lads?” Toby turned to look at the others. Drew nodded quickly, and after a moment, so did Jack and Violet. The room was dark in the dim electric light, and shadows edged around the bronze, long and engulfing.
“I will tell him,” Volio rasped, “and he will believe me. Or, at the very least, he will put Mrs. Isaacs under careful watch. But I think he’d be more likely to end her employment, just in case. He’s a careful man, the duke. He’d probably tell anyone else who tried to hire you afterwards, as well. If anyone else were willing to hire an Arab Jewess for a governess.”
Miriam could see her freedom slipping away from her. All her life she’d been told what to do—by family, by husband. She hadn’t really been free until she was the only one left, and even then she had been terribly alone until she realized that freedom meant she could go out at night, could associate with brilliant and funny young men like Toby, could fall in love, and no one would really care, as long as she was careful. With all that gone, all she would have would be solitude. A life as a woman in a high-collared black dress, looking after other people’s children, an outsider and a shadow. She fell to her knees.
Violet felt herself gasp in sympathy, for she could see the tears welling up in Miriam’s eyes and knew what she felt. She wanted to go to Miriam and place her arms around her neck, as a sister would, and tell her that it would be fine, that no one was going to lock her up or throw her out. She could still be herself, and free. But Violet was a man now, and such a gesture was not allowed.
“Please…,” Miriam said. Toby approached Volio and threw a fist at him. But Volio, not having spent the night drinking, quickly sidestepped it and approached Miriam.
“Don’t worry,” Volio said, “I won’t say a thing. Not about your loose morals, your drinking, your pleasures, your inappropriate associations with students … It will all be a secret.”
“For what?” Miriam asked, her mouth tight.
“Just give this note to dear Cecily.” He produced a note from his pocket and handed it down to her. Miriam glared up at him. He hadn’t just heard a woman’s voice. He had been waiting for her. He had been prepared. He had known for some time about her sneaking out.
“What is it?”
“It’s a love note.”
“The duke will not approve.” Miriam stared at the paper and sniffed.
“Then we won’t tell him, will we? I do hope I get some sort of response, and soon. Otherwise I will suspect you have not done me this favor.”
“I cannot make her write to you!” Miriam said, throwing the letter to the floor. “What if she doesn’t care for you?”
“Then you will tell her of my great virtues,” Volio hissed.
“I cannot make her love you,” Miriam said softly.
“I trust you will do your best,” Volio said, leaning in toward her. Their eyes locked. Violet, watching from the side, thought that at any moment, one of them would strike the other. Instead, Miriam lowered her eyes and Volio walked away triumphantly, back up the stairs. “Good night,” he called behind him.
“Bastard,” Toby said. “Bastard!” he repeated before slamming his fist into the wall, which made a soft metal ringing.
“Toby, stop,” Miriam said, standing up from the ground. “I’ll do what he says as best I can. Or I’ll…” She shook her head. “To bed. All of us.”
Drew headed into the lift. Jack followed Drew and pulled Violet along with him, but Violet couldn’t stop staring at Miriam, standing alone in the glowing brass room, suddenly vulnerable, looking as if she were staring down a great wave that would undoubtedly sweep her away. As the lift rose, she watched as Toby went to Miriam and wrapped his arms around her. Then the lift was on the second floor and she saw no more.
They silently padded down the hall to their rooms, waving good night to Drew when they parted. Inside the room, Violet let out a long breath, almost a wail, and fell onto her bed. “I hate him,” she said.
“You’re not alone there,” Jack said.
“The way he talked to her—the way she’s being treated—is horrible. And unfair.” Jack nodded in the dim light, taking off this shoes. Violet sighed.
“Vi,” Jack said, not looking up.
“Yeah?”
“It’s your situation, too.” He let that hang there for a momen
t, then took his socks off and lay back on the bed. “I just mean … maybe this isn’t the best idea. You can still drop out. With people like him wandering the halls … if he found out, you’d be ruined. He could try to take advantage of you.… I mean, I wouldn’t let him, if I could, but I’m just one bloke, and…” He stared down at his hands in his lap.
Violet smiled softly. “You’re sweet to worry about me,” she said, sounding braver than she felt. She knew he was right. She felt unsafe, as though the walls could collapse on her at any moment.
“Not just you,” Jack said, sitting up and looking at her. “Your father. He’s been good to my family; he’s like an uncle. And your brother … Well, in his circles, it would probably improve his reputation, actually. But your mother—”
“No,” Violet said, cutting him off. “If she were here, she would support me completely. I know it in my heart.” Jack stayed silent. “I just won’t be caught, then,” she said finally, standing up and going into the water closet. There, she removed her various vestiges of masculinity, unbuttoning her shirt and trousers and letting them fall in a pile on the floor before beginning the process of unwrapping the tight bindings around her chest. With each circle she unwrapped, she could feel the air come into her lungs a little easier, until, by the time she was unbound, she was taking heavy, ragged breaths. She let the bindings fall to the ground as well, and slipped a man’s long nightshirt on. She looked at herself in the glass over the sink. Her eyes and skin were red, so she splashed some water on her face before heading back out into the bedroom.
Jack had dimmed the small electric sconce on the wall. “Sorry,” he said from his bed.
“For what?” she asked, slipping under the covers of her bed. She reached up and turned the sconce the rest of the way off.
“I just wish there were some way we could get back at him,” he said. “But I suppose that at this point, any of my pranks would just land us in more trouble.”