by Lev AC Rosen
“Now, finish your breakfast and get changed,” Mrs. Wilks said. “People will probably begin to arrive around noon, and it is already nearly eleven. I shouldn’t have let you sleep so late, but it is your birthday…”
Ashton and Violet both changed quickly and met in the hall. Ashton was surprised to see that Violet was wearing a dress of light blue and purple, which their father had gotten her before he left and she had made fun of behind his back. She had also clearly done her own hair and powder. It was charming, perhaps a little romantic, with her hair pinned out of her face and falling down her neck in curls, and her skin pale and fine, her natural color coming through at her cheeks, as though she had just come in from the cold.
She smiled at him as he studied her. “What is it?” she asked.
“You look very lovely,” he said.
“I have found,” she said, taking his arm, “that all this isn’t very troublesome at all. It’s almost a pleasure how easy it is to put on a little powder and do my hair. Even the corset is simple, if I don’t tie it too tight. It’s all rather a relief, actually, compared to what I have to do to disguise myself at Illyria. And looking like this … seems to make everyone else rather happy. Even Fiona smiled when she saw me, and I was waking her. I find I like it when people are made happier by my presence.”
“I assure you, your toilette has nothing to do with that,” Ashton said. “That’s just a family talent.” He took a walking stick from the stand and picked up the bouquet of lilies that Mrs. Wilks had left on the entry table, and they walked out the door.
Since their mother had died giving birth to them, their birthday had a bittersweet air about it. Growing up, they had dealt with this by trying to fit the sorrow into one moment, and spending the rest of the day as happy as possible. That moment was when they walked out of the house and past the bench where their mother used to sit. The violets were blooming and lent the air a heady scent, and the ash tree was green, waving in the chilled spring air. They paused there a moment, arm in arm, and looked out over their estate, each wrapped in their own thoughts. They continued around to the back of the manor, walking another ten minutes or so before they came to the family graveyard. Ashton didn’t know what it looked like the rest of the year, but he was sure Mrs. Wilks arranged for the gardeners to make it look pristine on their birthday. It had a low stone wall around it, and a wrought iron fence. Inside, it was all elaborate tombstones and bright green grass. A few vases with fresh flowers were placed at the corners. They walked to their mother’s grave, and Ashton laid the flowers down on it. They stood silently for a few moments, the wind running through the grass and trees the only sound, like rushing water.
“We’re here, Mother,” Violet said. “We just wanted to talk with you. And say we miss you. I miss you very much this year, I think. I have been … Well, from where you are, you can see what I’ve been up to. I hope you’re proud of me, and not ashamed. I wish you had been around more. I wish you could tell me how to behave, especially with … if the duke plans on courting me, as he said he would—I don’t really know how to behave. I think I might be in love with him, but if I embarrass myself, or him, when he comes round … I don’t want to ruin anything. But I’m trapped now. I have a plan, and if I don’t fulfill it, I’d have to spend the rest of my life lying to him, and I don’t want that. I wish I knew how to make sure he will want me after I show him the truth. I wish I knew how to act around him. And I think you could have taught me that.”
Ashton was staring gape-jawed at Violet when she looked up at him, blinking wetness from her eyes. “Don’t you have something to say?” she asked him.
“I have a great many things to say to you,” he said, “but, as for Mother…” He turned to the headstone. “I hope you would be proud of me, too,” he said. “I had a poem published. Not in a major journal or anything, but people read it, and liked it, I think. I hope you can read it from wherever you are. I miss you deeply, Mother. We both do.”
They stood a few moments more, sniffling and regaining their composure. There was a light breeze that wavered through their hair and over their faces, comforting them. Then they turned around, looking back at the house.
“The duke plans to court you?” Ashton exclaimed.
“You had a poem published?” Violet countered.
“Well,” Ashton said, smiling, “yes, I did.”
“That’s fantastic, Ashton!” she said, and threw her arms around him in a loving embrace.
“Thank you. Now, tell me about the duke.” He took her arm and they began walking back to the house.
“He asked my permission,” Violet said. “Really your permission, I suppose.”
“And you gave it on my behalf?” Ashton asked. “How very kind of you.”
“I felt sure you’d approve.”
“Did you?”
“Well, I approve, and the thought of someone needing your permission for something to do with me is absurd.”
“Of course.”
“But,” she said with a sigh, “it might all be for naught. Once I reveal myself at the faire, he probably won’t want to have anything to do with me any longer.”
“You said he kissed you when he thought you were me.”
“Yes, but he said he was thinking about someone else at the time. I think it was me. I mean, me as Violet. I hope it was.”
“I suspect that your revelation may bring him more relief than anxiety, but it is a difficult spot.”
“Which position do you think is more difficult? An awkward courtship, or being rejected?”
“Dear sister,” Ashton said, “your courtship was bound to be awkward, even if you hadn’t met your beau when he thought you were a man. If he doesn’t reject you after the faire, I suspect your courtship will go very smoothly, as you discuss mechanics, science, and such. The way you talk about it, it may as well be love poetry.”
“Oi!” came a call from the distance. They were nearly back at their mother’s bench, and Jack was coming toward them, holding two large boxes.
Ashton and Violet waved. “Don’t tell Jack,” Violet said softly. “I’m not sure how he’ll react. And besides, I don’t want him thinking he and the duke are now friends, and winking at him, or such.”
Ashton snickered. “Of course.”
Jack reached them and held out the two boxes. Each had a ribbon wrapped around them and a bow on top, one in green and the other in purple.
“Happy birthday!” Jack said. The box with the green ribbon suddenly shifted, as though something inside it was trying to escape. Ashton sighed.
“Let’s get inside before Ashton’s present suffocates,” Violet said, heading toward the house. Inside, Mrs. Wilks had hung looped paper ribbons and set up a large cake on one side of the dining room table. The other side had a mountain of presents on it. A few guests who had arrived early were milling about in the drawing room, staring through the open doors at the cake.
“I’ll put these with the rest,” Jack said, and headed for the presents.
“Shouldn’t Ashton open his now?” Violet called.
“Nah, don’t worry. It’s got air holes,” Jack called back. Ashton sighed again.
“I hope he didn’t give you Oscar,” Violet said.
“Who’s Oscar?” Ashton asked.
Mrs. Wilks appeared before them and took their coats and hats.
“People are waiting in the sitting room,” she said. “I know they’re your father’s friends, and it might be a bit awkward since he isn’t here, but try to be sociable.” She looked at them both proudly, then headed back to the kitchen to oversee the serving of drinks. Violet and Ashton looked at each other, then headed for the sitting room.
Ashton was surprised by how well Violet handled herself. He had expected her to become shy and talk little, but she managed to keep the conversation going nearly as well as he did. She was complimented on how fine she looked, and she told them it was all her brother’s influence. Their father’s friends were kind, and usually
of the befuddled scientific type, whom Violet could engage in intellectual conversation while Ashton charmed their friendly and overly protective wives. Jack joined Violet in entertaining the scientists, so that when Fiona poked her head in, she saw a swath of gray-bearded men laughing at something Violet had said, and a group of tittering ladies fanning themselves around Ashton. She grinned and went back into the kitchen to have a drink with Mrs. Wilks.
Mrs. Wilks was very happy these days. She was no longer picking up after the children, and her invention had eased her anxieties, both physical and, with Laetitia’s help, financial. Mrs. Wilks had no intention of retiring, and her pay was probably more than fair, but now she had a little extra that she could use to buy herself things, such as pearl earrings. She felt lovelier than she had in years. And as she relaxed, so did her mannerisms, so she and Laetitia got on quite well.
In short, the birthday celebration was perfection for everyone. Cake was eaten, wishes made, and presents opened. Jack had not given Ashton Oscar, but rather a small bluejay that had been trained to rest quite passively on the shoulder or wrist, and whose feathers had been replaced so that the bird was not just blue, but also purple and green—a beautiful creature. Finally the guests returned to their homes, remarking to one another what fine young adults the Adams children had grown into.
Jack lounged in one of the sitting room armchairs with his legs over one of the arms and a lit cigar in his hand. He, of course, had not gone home. Violet lay on a divan, staring at the unexpectedly tasteful bracelet that Fiona had given her. She had been surprised by the gift when she saw it, and looked up questioningly at Fiona, but Fiona had only winked, and gone back into the kitchen. Ashton was feeding his new bird. Mrs. Wilks swept into the room with a tea tray, removed the cigar from Jack’s hand and stubbed it out in a nearby ashtray in one movement, and left.
“Hey!” Jack called, a little late. Mrs. Wilks swept in again, this time with a few more presents that Ashton and Violet had not seen yet.
“You shouldn’t smoke in front of ladies,” Mrs. Wilks said to Jack, then turned to Violet and Ashton. “These gifts are from your father, and these are from me. I thought you’d want to wait until the others were gone.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wilks,” Violet said, “and I don’t mind Jack’s smoking.”
“I do,” Mrs. Wilks said, pouring tea for all of them. Fiona came into the room and stood quietly. Mrs. Wilks handed her the teacups to pass out, and then they both sat. “So, open them!” Mrs. Wilks said.
Ashton leaned forward and took the two boxes marked for him. In the first, from Mrs. Wilks, was a silk smoking jacket. “It’s lovely,” Ashton said. “Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. The gift from his father was an assortment of pipes and tobacco, with a card explaining the make of each pipe and the origin of each tobacco.
“When I saw your father’s gift,” Mrs. Wilks said, “I decided to give you something complementary.”
“Thank you. It’s splendid.”
Violet reached forward and opened her own presents. From her father was a large mechanical globe, around which were glass rings with the constellations marked on them in jewels. When a button was pushed, the globe and stars rotated, and a light came from within the globe that shone out on the constellations, making them glow. Violet loved it instantly. From Mrs. Wilks was a beautifully crafted dress of copper and purple. Violet held it up and stood, pressing it against her body.
“Check the sides, at your waist,” Mrs. Wilks said. Violet did so. There were pockets, surprisingly deep ones, which led to a series of well-concealed padded pouches. “I had it especially made for you,” Mrs. Wilks explained. “You can keep all your tools and gadgets in the pouches. But don’t go getting grease stains on it!”
Violet was astounded. It was clever and beautiful. Why hadn’t she thought of this? She hugged Mrs. Wilks tightly.
“There was one more present,” Fiona said, sipping her tea.
“There was?” Mrs. Wilks asked.
“Oh, aye,” Fiona said, “it arrived late, by personal messenger. For Violet. Shall I go an’ get it, then?”
“Well, of course,” Mrs. Wilks said. Fiona grinned, got up, and left the room. “Could it be from one of your new friends in town, Violet?” Mrs. Wilks looked intrigued. Violet shrugged. Fiona came back in holding an elegant package. It was well wrapped and had a seal pressed into its side. Violet recognized the seal instantly: it was from the Duke of Illyria.
“Oh,” she said, and took the box from Fiona. “It’s from the duke.”
“The duke who visited over Christmas?” Mrs. Wilks asked. “I thought it was the girl you were friends with, Violet.”
“I…” Violet didn’t have a good explanation, so she just opened the present. Inside was a cluster of bronze pieces and a note. She dumped the pieces out onto the floor with a clatter and knelt beside them.
“Not very well packaged for a duke if it broke on the way,” Fiona said.
Violet read the note to herself.
Miss Adams,
I hope you do not think me too bold for sending you a present on your birthday. Knowing, as I do, the workings of your mind, I thought perhaps the best present for you would be one that you found stimulating and intriguing, as I find you. I will tell you no more than that. When you have put the pieces together, the rest of your gift will be clear.
—Ernest, Duke of Illyria.
“It’s a puzzle!” Violet exclaimed, her heart beating quickly. “A mechanical puzzle.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Wilks said, sounding a little confused.
“I have to figure out how it goes together. I don’t know what it is, or what it will do or look like—I have to intuit all the pieces and the way they fit.” She started picking up the pieces and examining their mechanisms. “And I suspect that as I assemble it, I shall have to alter the pieces. Attach a few, pull a switch, and the pieces will re-form so I can add on more. It’s brilliant. Incredibly brilliant.”
“Sounds more like a test than a gift,” Fiona said.
“Oh no,” Violet said. “It’s perfect.” And it was. Violet’s mind was already assembling the pieces before her, trying combinations, examining what could happen when two were joined. She smiled broadly to think of the duke creating the present, bent over his table, working out the best disguise for each piece, imagining her all the while. She suddenly felt as if she could not breathe: her heart seemed to become full and light, and her eyes became watery. Then she picked up a piece and began trying to fit it to another.
“No you don’t,” Mrs. Wilks said. “We have to eat supper. You can start on this after that. Why don’t you take everything up to your room for now?” Violet stared at the piece in her hand for a moment longer, then put it down in the box it had come in. She gathered the rest of the pieces and the note and put them in as well. Then, with Fiona’s help, she brought all her presents up to her room and went back down for supper. Down the hall, Ashton delivered his own gifts and found a bouquet of red roses on the bed. He put one in his buttonhole. He would thank Antony after supper.
Violet did her best to pay attention to the conversation during supper, but everyone could tell her mind was on the puzzle. Ashton chuckled to himself. This duke really knew Violet. He would make a good match for her.
After supper, Violet went straight upstairs to work on the duke’s puzzle. It was intoxicating, like being a young inventor again, attempting to figure out how things worked, or how a certain effect could be accomplished. And, like a young inventor, she fell asleep at her desk, the pieces scattered around her elbows.
The next day, Violet wore the dress Mrs. Wilks had given her, with a purple hat with a flower in it, to Easter Mass. Ashton wanted to wear his smoking jacket, but one look from Mrs. Wilks told him that it would probably be better to wear his morning suit. The service, as always, was long and tedious. Afterwards, they walked back to the manor surrounded by a group of their neighbors, all in their pale Easter finery.
&nb
sp; Violet had long ago created a machine that would dye eggs quickly and easily while still allowing them to be creative. Cranberries, beets, spinach, and lemon peels were ground and mixed with water and vinegar to dye the egg, which a small mechanical hand would grip and dip into each color at the press of a button. Fiona found the contraption delightful, and played with it for the entire afternoon, while Violet worked on the duke’s puzzle. They were together at the table in the sitting room, the windows open to let in the breeze. Ashton had gone off for a walk with Antony, and Mrs. Wilks seemed content to lie back on the divan, sipping tea while Fiona and Violet tinkered around her.
By supper time, Fiona had dyed two dozen eggs, and Violet had assembled what seemed to be the base of the contraption. It was a beautiful base, the pieces of bronze weaving together as they reached upward. After dinner, Violet continued working, even when Jack appeared and asked her if she wanted to go out fishing with him and Ashton. Mrs. Wilks tried to tempt her away with a sugar candy bunny, but Violet just took it and munched on it as she worked. Her heart and soul had plunged into the puzzle. It was more than delightful; it was an actual pleasure every moment she worked on it, and she longed to know what it was the duke had sent her. Eventually she was persuaded to go to bed, but when she woke the next morning, she went straight to work.
She finished it on the third day. It was a large bronze flower with an unopened bud and a key to wind the mechanism. After the key was turned, the flower bloomed and a soft melody played. The flower twirled, and suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, a small envelope emerged from the petals and fell to the ground.
“It’s beautiful,” Mrs. Wilks said, clasping her hands together. “A beautiful piece of art.” Violet nodded, and opened the envelope. Inside was another note.
Violet,
I do not mean to tease you with more flowers. I only wanted to show you the beauty of them, and thought that you would see it most clearly if you built one for yourself. You’ll find that the construct is true-to-life, the petals all perfectly placed so that it is a large replica of your namesake. I wished to show you that violets are beautiful, though not as beautiful as Violet. I hope you do not hate me for this.