All Men of Genius

by Lev AC Rosen

  “Something tells me we’re going to be great friends,” Cecily said. “I already like you more than I can say, and my first impressions of people are never wrong.” Violet found she could not stop staring at Cecily, at her audacity. She had to force the panic from her throat as she nodded. “And I hope you will call me sister,” Cecily said. “You see, I love your brother, and I am going to be his.” She sighed and leaned back into her chair.

  “May I offer you some tea, Miss Worthing?” Violet asked, standing. She felt extremely uncomfortable, and suspected that Cecily could see it in her body. “Perhaps some cake, or bread and butter?”

  “No thank you, Miss Adams,” Cecily said. “But I fear what I have said has caused you discomfort. I suppose I was too brusque in my manner. I should say that your brother has not yet proposed. But I do hope he will. I have come here with the express purpose of becoming your friend, so that when your brother and I become engaged, you and I will already be thick as thieves.”

  “Ah,” Violet said, sitting down. She hoped Mrs. Wilks was not listening. She was unsure of what to do—she could probably break Cecily’s heart with the right lie, but she did want to be her friend. “Well, I hope we shall be great friends, too,” she said carefully, “but let us not talk of my brother.”

  “Are you arguing?”

  “Yes,” Violet said, thinking fast. “We had quite a row when he got back. He wanted to take the letter our father sent us from America with him to read on his trip, but I had been saving it for him, so we could read it together.” Violet was ashamed of how well she could lie, but relieved.

  “That does seem rather selfish,” Cecily said, her brow creasing with confusion. Violet suddenly realized how she could break Cecily’s heart and still be her friend.

  “He is quite selfish,” Violet said. “I should tell you, Miss Worthing, for I like you as well, that my brother can sometimes be quite a brute.”

  “No!” Cecily said.

  “He has a great many lady admirers,” Violet continued. “I suspect I may already have an illegitimate nephew.” Cecily gasped. “My poor, wounded, Cecily,” Violet said, and laid a hand on her knee.

  Cecily clasped it in her own. “But he seems so sensitive.”

  “He is,” Violet said. “But men are many things, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” Cecily said, looking up at Violet, her eyes wet, “and thank you for telling me. I now know what I must do.”

  “Yes?” Violet said, clasping Cecily’s hand.

  “I must change him,” Cecily said with complete resolve. Violet held back a sigh. “Like a poor, diseased plant, I will take the good parts of Ashton, the parts I have seen, and help them to grow, while cutting off the disease. Yes. I understand now that love is a difficult thing, but I am prepared for the battle ahead. And I hope you will aid me in it, my sweet, wronged Violet,” she continued, clasping Violet’s hand to her chest, “for he has hurt you, too. But with you as his sister and me as his friend, we will change his deceitful ways, will we not?”

  “Yes,” Violet said weakly. Her plan had failed her.

  “And now,” Cecily said, dropping Violet’s hand and standing, “if you don’t mind, I will have some bread and butter.”

  “Of course,” Violet said, defeated, and rang the bell.

  When Mrs. Wilks came in, Violet asked for some bread and butter for both of them. Upon her return, Mrs. Wilks stared at Cecily for a long while before setting down the bread.

  “How do you know Violet, if I may be so bold?” Mrs. Wilks asked, forcing her mouth into a clownish grin.

  “Oh,” Cecily said, “we’ve only just met. I know her brother, Ashton.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Wilks said, and nodded, as though this somehow made more sense to her.

  “Perhaps you could leave us to talk, Mrs. Wilks?” Violet asked sweetly. Mrs. Wilks nodded again, and left.

  As they were eating, Cecily started to tell Violet about her scientific projects, which Violet knew about already, but managed to seem interested in nonetheless. A few moments later, the men came back in and Violet felt herself stiffen.

  “It’s a lovely astronomy tower,” the duke said, “and your cousin knows all the details of the construction.”

  “As do I,” Violet said.

  “I’m sure,” the duke said, coloring slightly.

  “We were just having some bread and butter and tea. Would you gentlemen like anything?”

  “I will have some,” Jack said, sitting down next to Cecily. “Do you have any muffins?”

  “We do,” Ashton said. “I’ll get them myself.”

  “I thought perhaps you would honor me with a tour of the grounds,” the duke said to Violet. “I saw what looked to be a lovely cluster of ash trees by a pond.”

  “Yes,” Violet said. “It was my mother’s favorite spot.”

  “And Ashton said that violets grow there in spring—is that what inspired your name?” the duke asked, smiling.

  “Yes. I’m afraid the violets are not in bloom, however,” Violet said.

  “I’m well aware, Miss Adams.”

  “And yet you bring them up anyway. Tell me, Miss Worthing, does your cousin talk of nothing but flowers to you as well? When I met him, it seemed he was quite incapable of discussing anything else.”

  “Well, Ernest does like his flowers…,” Cecily began nervously.

  “I believe you overestimate my interest in botany, Miss Adams,” the duke said with an arched eyebrow.

  “I believe you overestimate mine, sir,” Violet responded, her eyebrow equally arched. Her heart was beating quite rapidly, and she felt her face flush.

  “Oh, just show him the trees, Violet,” Ashton said, coming back in with a plate of muffins. Mrs. Wilks followed with a tea tray and several more cups. They placed their respective platters down on the table.

  “We’ve never had such grand company here before,” Mrs. Wilks said. “Ashton, how is it you know—?”

  “Very well,” Violet said, standing, “I’ll take you outside, if Miss Worthing doesn’t mind being left alone in the company of two such rogues.”

  “Jack is perfectly harmless,” Cecily said, “and I’m sure your cousin is quite charming.”

  “Cousin?” Mrs. Wilks asked, looking at Ashton.

  “I am,” Ashton said, with a wink. “I’m very little besides, in fact.”

  “And I am harmless, as she says,” Jack said with large eyes.

  Violet rolled her eyes.

  “Who is your cousin, Violet?” Mrs. Wilks asked again.

  “Why don’t you put on the kettle for more tea, Mrs. Wilks,” Ashton said, grasping Mrs. Wilks’s shoulders and directing them toward the door. Mrs. Wilks walked out, shaking her head.

  “She sometimes becomes confused around the holidays,” Ashton said. “But she’s been working for us for so long, she’s like part of the family.”

  Cecily nodded sympathetically.

  “Will you show me the grounds, then, Miss Adams—even if they are covered in snow?”

  “I suppose,” Violet said.

  The duke offered his arm to her, and she took it lightly, nearly pulling away as their bodies touched and a strange sensation crept from her arm to her spine and made her shiver. She kept her face stern, however, and tried to look bored. Nonetheless, the cold wind that blew over them as they stepped outside was a relief to her, as it cooled her face, which had grown quite warm. Violet felt confused. She was angry with the duke. Seeing him again while in a woman’s guise, she remembered the last time they had so met, and how he had talked of nothing but flowers, as though she were a silly-minded girl. But she also remembered the experimental kiss, and though she could see no logical reason to continue that experiment, the results of it lingered in her mind and body.

  “These, then, are the trees,” Violet said when they had reached the cluster of ash. She pulled back her arm to gesture at them.

  “They look quite lovely,” the duke said. “I should like to come see them in the
spring, perhaps.”

  “You should feel welcome to, sir. You needn’t even bother stopping in. Just drive your coach up, look at the trees awhile, and leave again.”

  “I sense, Miss Adams, that you do not like me.”

  “I do not like that you seem to only be capable of broaching subjects floral or arboreal when you speak to me.”

  “I apologize,” the duke said sincerely. “What would you prefer to talk of?”

  Violet looked at him for a moment, evaluating the situation. “My brother,” she said, “wrote a most clever essay on space travel. He tells me you disagree with his points. Why?”

  “Ah,” the duke said, looking a bit hurt by the bluntness of her statement. “It is not that I disagree with his points. I feel only that his scope is limited. While a spaceship powered by a mechanical spring and electricity is possible, a better craft could be made by using all the sciences harmoniously. And I do feel quite strongly that a chemical reaction of some sort would be required for launching such a vessel.”

  “You don’t agree that a large enough spring could propel such a craft out into the æther?”

  “I think it could work, but the energy required to turn such a spring is tremendous. Why not just use a chemical reaction?”

  “It could damage the ship, and carrying fuel will weigh it down more.”

  “You and your brother seem to feel that a chemical reaction necessitates some sort of damage to the ship. But we could easily account for such a thing, and for the weight. The chemical sciences make such a thing fairly easy to predict and prepare for. Besides, then the ship would be able to take off again from the planet’s surface, something you haven’t taken into account at all.”

  Violet smiled. He was finally treating her with respect, but she was too cold to enjoy it fully. “Let’s continue this inside, by the fire, shall we?”

  “Of course,” the duke said, offering his arm. Violet took it in hers and laid her other hand on his elbow. “You really don’t like flowers, do you?” he asked as they walked toward the manor.

  “I like flowers just fine. I dislike being thought the sort of lady who thinks of nothing but flowers.”

  “Ah,” the duke said, looking contemplative. “I apologize for ever having given that impression.”

  “Argue with me some more,” Violet said as they reached the door. “Convince me that my brother’s theories are wrong.”

  They debated for about an hour longer, while Cecily, Jack, and Ashton played cards. When the sun turned a deep orange, the duke and Cecily bade everyone a friendly farewell. Violet admitted that the duke’s reasoning on space travel was well thought out, but would not concede that it was better than her brother’s theories.

  “May I write you, and try to convince you in my letters?” the duke asked.

  “You can try,” Violet said.

  The duke grinned and stepped into his coach, and he and Cecily rode off into the snow.

  * * *

  “WHO were those people?” Mrs. Wilks asked after they left. “And why did they think you were cousins?”

  “I’m the cousin,” Jack said quickly. “I confess, I masquerade as their cousin in town when we go out. Much more regal sounding than son of their estate manager. You won’t tell, will you, Mrs. Wilks?” Jack got down on one knee and looked pleadingly at Mrs. Wilks.

  “But she said ‘Jack and your cousin,’” Mrs. Wilks said, looking confused. “Which would mean Jack and your cousin were different persons. I’m almost sure.”

  “No,” Ashton said, “she said I was charming, and that Jack was harmless.”

  “Yes…,” Mrs. Wilks said.

  “Dear Mrs. Wilks,” Jack said, taking her hand, “I would be ever so grateful if you didn’t mention this to anyone.” He looked up at her imploringly.

  She blushed slightly and nodded. “Of course not,” she said. “Goodness, if I met a duke, I’d be so flustered, I might say I was the Queen.” Mrs. Wilks shook her head and went back into the kitchen for more tea. Violet, Jack, and Ashton breathed in deeply and let their shoulders slump in relief. Mrs. Wilks came out and refilled their cups. “What a Christmas. My sister will never believe me when I say there was a duke here.”

  Ashton chuckled. “Have some tea, Mrs. Wilks,” he said. She nodded, sat down, and began to sip the cup of tea she had just poured for Jack. Everyone laughed, drank, and enjoyed the heat from the fire. In the sparks from the logs, Violet thought she saw the arc of a launching æthership, leaping away from earth.

  XXIII.

  THE New Year came and went quickly, and then it was time to drive back to London. Fiona left them there, with her payment, a promise to play the part again come Easter, and a kiss on the cheek for Violet. She had, in the end, enjoyed her Christmas, and Violet had never once asked her to pick up her clothes, or treated her like a maid in any way.

  The next day, Violet trimmed her hair, bound her breasts, and dressed in men’s clothing once more. She had forgotten how uncomfortable it was, and gasped as she pulled the cloth tighter and tighter around her bosom. Then, with an odd feeling in her stomach, a mix of excitement and dread, she and Jack walked back into Illyria and returned to their room.

  Little had changed. The gears still cranked on in their spots, and the bronze halls were still filled with the sound of them. Violet was surprised by how easily she slipped back into her routine of lying. She made up elaborate stories about her trip to her aunt’s for Cecily, who now often worked statements about following one’s “natural goodness” into conversation. She went out drinking with Toby, Drew, and Miriam, and they all talked of their various holidays. Classes proceeded as they usually did, though now the work was harder and faster, and sometimes even Violet had to work on Bunburry’s assignments during her independent time.

  About three weeks into the new trimester, Cecily came rushing into the mechanical lab, so excited that Miriam had to run to keep up with her. Panting, Cecily placed a shining white gear in front of Violet. “It works,” Cecily said. Violet stared at the gear a second or two before it sank in, then she picked it up. It was smooth, light, and felt like glass. She slammed the gear down on the table. It didn’t break. It didn’t dent. It was completely undamaged.

  “Brilliant!” she said, forgetting to lower her pitch for a moment, which probably made Ashton seem manic with excitement. “Can you make the rest of the pieces?”

  “I have already begun creating the molds for them.”

  “This is quite amazing, Cecily. You should go show your cousin. I’m sure he’ll be very proud.”

  Violet had received one letter from the duke, sent to the house in London, then sent back to Illyria by Ashton. It was an oddly dry letter, filled with scientific argument, almost cold. Violet had responded in kind.

  “I will show him, but I wanted you to see it first. Now you can create your engine.”

  Violet was so excited she nearly jumped. “Thank you so much, Cecily! Together, we will outshine everyone at the faire.”

  “You will outshine them, Ashton. And then, when the world sees how brilliant you are, you can truly become the man you were meant to be: one of noble mind and noble spirit.”

  “Perhaps,” Violet said, “but I must do my part, now that you have done yours.” Violet turned to the metal on the table before her as she said this. She was barely halfway finished with creating the actual machine.

  “I trust you shall, Ashton,” Cecily said, laying her hand on Violet’s briefly. “Now I am going to tell my cousin of my achievement.”

  “Thank you again, Cecily,” Violet said as she walked away.

  Cecily looked back over her shoulder coyly. “No need to thank me, Ashton. It is indeed a pleasure to work with you.”

  And then she left. Violet picked up the gear again and dropped it on the floor. It clanged, but didn’t break. Violet was impressed. And now she was all the more aware that she had to work harder.

  * * *

  THAT evening, she was going over plans in her room, fi
guring out how best to proceed with her work, when Jack came in, holding a larger-than-average cage. In it was a nervous-looking mottled gray-and-white bunny with floppy ears and a twitching nose. Violet dropped to her knees to look more closely at the rabbit, which was adorable, with large black eyes and soft fur.

  It looked back at her and twitched its nose curiously. “Fuck off,” said the rabbit in a squawking voice.

  “This is Oscar,” Jack said as Violet backed away, frowning. “Valentine said I couldn’t keep him in the lab because his language is undignified.”

  “Oh, bugger,” said Oscar.

  “I transplanted the voice box of a parrot into him. But the parrot was brought to England by sailors, and apparently picked up a few things.”

  “Oh, bugger,” repeated Oscar. The voice was definitely parrotlike.

  “The parrot, meanwhile, can no longer talk, but seems to sniff a lot, and has shown a sudden fondness for carrots.”

  “So the foul-mouthed rabbit stays with us?” Violet asked.

  “I hope it won’t offend your delicate sensibilities too much,” Jack said.

  “Shite,” said Oscar, wiggling his nose. Jack set the cage down and opened it. Oscar nervously stepped out, sniffing the room, then bounded under Violet’s bed.

  “Fuck off,” came the muffled voice from underneath.

  “Well,” Violet said, looking at her bed, “that’s going to make sleeping a little more difficult.”

  “I find it soothing,” Jack said.

  Violet shook her head in exasperation and turned back to her plans. They were for the engine itself. Cecily had finished the pieces, and it was now up to Violet to assemble them.

  * * *

  WHICH she did, a few days later. Violet and Cecily stood over the finished engine and stared down at it, breathless with anticipation. The final product was not very impressive to look at: just a bronze orb, about the size of a head. Out of one end came a stem-winding key, and out of the other, a rod with a gear on it. Cecily had a pocket watch out and was looking at it. With a nod, Violet turned the key three times and then stood back. The engine started to tick and rattle slightly, but did not roll off its stand.