All Men of Genius

by Lev AC Rosen

  Jack and Oscar continued to stare at her. “Bend over so I can bugger your arse,” Oscar suggested.

  “No,” Jack said to Oscar, “not what I would recommend.” He walked over, knelt beside Violet, and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t recommend running, either,” he said.

  “I’m not running. I’m leaving before I’m kicked out. It lessens the scandal. And this way, I won’t have to see him again. I don’t think—” She stopped packing. “—I don’t think I could stand that.”

  Jack saw her eyes shimmering. “Maybe he won’t expel you,” Jack said. “Maybe your plan worked, just a little earlier than expected.”

  “He didn’t say a word. He just ran off,” Violet said, now leaning into Jack’s arms. “As though he couldn’t bear to be around me. Oh, I’ve ruined it all,” she said, and started weeping.

  Jack had never seen her cry before, so he wasn’t sure how to comfort her, but he wrapped his arms around her, let her cry into him, and stroked her back. “He’s had a whole night to think it over. And to expel you. But he didn’t. Go to class. Act like nothing happened. Let fate come to you. Perhaps it won’t be as bad as you think.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her tears dying down. “I know this could get you in trouble, too.”

  “Well … I’ll just claim extreme stupidity. If they didn’t find you out, I don’t know why I would’ve, just because we share a bedroom. What man pays attention to the person in the bed next to him, anyway?”

  “Don’t let Cecily hear you say that.”

  “Is this really the time to be mocking me about my undying-but-considerably-more-constrained-than-yours love for Cecily?”

  “I don’t love Cecily.”

  “For Ernest, then. I assume that’s why you told him.”

  “Yes,” Violet said, looking down.

  “Well, hopefully you just dreamed the whole thing. If so, you most definitely should not tell him in real life. Go dress. We’ll get breakfast.”

  The duke was not in the dining hall at breakfast, and no one stared at Violet any more than usual, or ran up to her and shouted, You’re a bloody bird, ain’t cha? She still found herself walking through the dining hall hunched over, as if expecting a blow.

  Jack elbowed her as they sat down. “Maybe it was just a dream,” he whispered.

  She knew, of course, that it hadn’t been a dream. It was easy to think of it as one, it had all been so unreal—the chiming of the clock, the shadows, the hard angles of his face as he turned from her. But there were also concrete things, like the dust from the floor she had found in her hair when bathing. It had not been a dream. She had confessed her secret to the duke, and he was surely not at breakfast because he had called the police to arrest her for fraud. Or maybe he was locked in his bedroom feeling hurt and betrayed, and he would come down later and quietly banish her from Illyria, and from seeing him again.

  Violet didn’t know which she could stand the thought of less. She worried not just for herself and her family—the shame she’d bring on her father and his reputation, the collapse of her scheme, and the end of her goals—but for the pain she might have caused the duke. Even if he stripped her of her right to be a student, she hoped he could still love her. To lose both would be terrible. She wondered if he was sitting alone in his lab staring at her letters, before throwing them into the fire and watching them burn.

  When they got to the astronomy tower, Bracknell was tapping his foot nervously and looking out at the duke, who was standing on the roof, still as a statue among the various figures. The morning light turned him a bright gold.

  “He’s been out there all morning,” Bracknell said anxiously. “I think he’s testing me.” He turned to look at the students, who were all sitting at their desks. “All right. Well, let’s give him a real good show, then. Kind, gentle teacher; studious, intelligent students. We’ll both be lying through our teeth, but if I can do it, so can you.”

  The duke didn’t move for most of the first part of class, but Violet kept looking at him anyway. His back was to them, and he was looking out over London. At ten o’clock, the clocks all through Illyria began to chime, and the great clock of statues that the duke stood among started to move. The duke moved with them. First he just stood on the platform, but then his head moved down, staring at his feet. And then, as suddenly as he had last night, he turned and ran for the edge of the roof overlooking the river.

  Violet was out the door to the roof in a second, but she wasn’t fast enough. “Ernest!” she shouted after him. He turned at the last minute and looked her silently in the eye, his expression cold and empty, and then he fell.

  The other students had by now come out onto the roof, screaming and unbelieving, running to the edge to see where the duke had fallen. “Christ!” Lane said.

  Violet was the first to reach the edge of the roof. She looked over it just in time to see Ernest plunge into the river and not come up again. She felt dizzy, but Jack was beside her, leading her away from the edge.

  “Bloody hell,” Bracknell said.

  “Why would he do that?” Merriman asked. Violet knew the answer, but she couldn’t say it aloud. Instead, she just leaned against Jack and said nothing. But in her mind, she was saying the answer over and over: He did it because of me. He jumped because of me. He killed himself because of me.

  XXXVII.

  WORD spread quickly around Illyria that the duke had thrown himself into the Thames and not come back out again. Classes stopped immediately. Servants began cutting black armbands for themselves and the students. All of Illyria was in mourning.

  Cecily broke down crying in Miriam’s arms when she heard, and Miriam had Professor Curio send for Ada immediately. After crying awhile, Cecily finally gave in and fainted, which meant Miriam and Curio could move her to a divan in her residence. When she came to, she was groggy and confused about where she was, but she heard Miriam and Ada speaking.

  “It can’t be true, can it?” Ada was saying. “You didn’t see it with your own eyes, did you?”

  “No, ma’am,” Miriam said, “but several students did, and so did Professor Bracknell.”

  “Bracknell!” Ada said with disdain. “That man can barely pick out the stars. I’m sure if Ernest did throw himself off Illyria, then it was only because he couldn’t stand another moment breathing the same air as that loathsome brute.”

  “I don’t know why he did it, ma’am,” Miriam said softly.

  “I know, Miriam. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

  Cecily opened her eyes and saw Ada wringing her hands in front of her. “Cecily!” Ada said, hugging her, and pressing her face close to the young lady’s. Ada’s cheeks were wet—she had been crying, too.

  “Where’s Shakespeare?” Cecily asked. She very much wanted to hold the rabbit, knowing that Ernest had made it. Miriam quickly left the room, came back a moment later with Shakespeare in her arms, and handed him to Cecily. Cecily cradled Shakespeare, pushing her face into his cool fur and listening to the ticking gears that served as his heartbeat.

  “I suppose,” Ada said, resting her arm around Cecily’s shoulder and sitting beside her, “that I should make some sort of funeral arrangement. I’ll make sure it’s a good service. And I’ll make sure that when they find his—” She started to cry. “—when they find his body, that it is treated with respect.” Cecily burst into tears again, which caused Ada to cry harder. Even the stoic Miriam had tears running down her face.

  The rest of the day passed in a haze for Cecily. She didn’t seem to eat, or do much of anything besides lie on the divan and stare vacantly into space. Once, she thought she heard Miriam turning someone away at the door. She asked if it was Ashton, come to comfort her, but Miriam only shook her head.

  In fact, it had been Jack, who had spent much of the day convincing the grief-stricken Violet it was not her fault that the duke killed himself, that there were clearly things they did not know or understand about him. When Violet fell asleep, Jack had instan
tly gone to check on Cecily. Miriam met him at the upper door to the residence, on the bridge over the Great Hall.

  “Please, Miriam, we’re friends. Just let me talk to her.”

  Miriam shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Jack. Ada is here, and I need to keep my job if I’m going to be able to be a comfort. Ada told me no visitors, so no visitors. As soon as Cecily is up to seeing people, I will let you know, I promise.”

  Jack kicked the edge of the bridge. The sound echoed through the empty hall. He put his hands in his pockets. “All right,” he said, “I understand.”

  “Je suis desolée,” Miriam said, looking down.

  Supper was served to a noisy dining hall. Everyone wanted to know why the duke had done such a thing. Some thought he might have discovered a dark secret about his father, some thought he was merely insane, but most felt he had thrown himself off the roof because he felt he could never live up to the family name. The professors ate silently, except for Valentine, who sobbed dramatically over his plate. No one knew what to say.

  * * *

  LATER that night, it began to rain dark heavy drops. They battered the windows and ceiling, and the sound of them, hammering, almost blocked out the sound of the gears. Cecily was asleep, but Miriam found herself restless. The duke’s suicide was another mystery she couldn’t solve, and this one so much more awful than the others. Why had he done it? How could he do this to Cecily?

  Miriam donned her cloak and looked into Cecily’s room to make sure she was still sleeping. She loved the girl. It was a silly thing to admit to herself, but it was true. She was like a little sister. The closest thing to family she had, besides Toby.

  Miriam used the secret passage to get out into the garden, the cloak of her hood up, the rain falling in heavy curtains around her. She walked up to the river, where she normally stood, and stared into the water. It was a tomb now, and yet it looked so alive, the rain rippling it in a furious dance. Interlocking, ever-widening circles overlapped in strange hypnotic patterns like a language she didn’t know.

  The rain made thick sounds when it hit her cloak, like the beating of a far-off drum. For a while it was her alone with the river and the sound of drums. She felt sad, after all that had happened, but happy, too. The rain always made her happy; it washed everything else away. It made her feel apart from the world. Alone.

  Then she felt Toby’s arms encircle her from behind. She didn’t mind that, though. Of all the people in the world to be alone with, Toby would be her first choice. She sighed and leaned back into him.

  “I thought you’d be out here,” he said. She didn’t reply, but leaned back into the weight of him. “What are you thinking about?”

  “The rain,” she said. He knew what she meant.

  “Ah,” Toby said, “the rain.” They stood in silence for a while before he spoke again. “Days like these, it makes you realize you need a roof to protect you from the rain. Maybe I could buy one for you. And a house to go with it.”

  “I rather like standing in the rain,” Miriam said. “And I don’t mind getting a bit wet.”

  “Please, Miri, why won’t you let me buy you a flat, near mine?” He stepped around to face her. “You wouldn’t have to work at all. I’d take care of everything for you.”

  Miriam turned around, smiling, and put her hand on his cheek. “Do you love me?” she asked.

  “Wildly.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re unlike any other woman I’ve met,” he said. She raised an eyebrow, but kept her hand on his cheek. “Other birds, they’re either stuck-up women of high society—some are smart, sure, but not smart enough to be really different from the dumb ones. And the lower class girls are often uneducated, and just want my money. But you … you’re separate, different from any of them.”

  “And if I began taking your money, and living off you, would I still be different?”

  “It wouldn’t matter,” he said.

  “It would matter to me.”

  “Miri, you can’t be Cecily’s governess for the rest of your life. Especially now. Is it … do you want to get married? Because you know I—”

  “No,” Miriam said, staring past Toby at London. “I’ve been married.” They stood in silence after she’d said it. They rarely talked about her husband, her life before Illyria. “I’ll stay on as long as Cecily needs me, but I should leave next year, I think. She’ll be inheriting Illyria. She doesn’t need a governess. I have plenty of money saved up. I should have enough to rent my own apartment for a year or so, until I find new work.”

  “But—” Toby began to say.

  Miriam put her finger over his lips. “Can’t we just love each other, and be independent, too? Isn’t that enough?”

  “As long as you love me,” Toby said, “it will always be enough.”

  Miriam reached up and kissed him softly on the lips, and let her breath pass into him. The rain soaked them through as they held each other. For that moment, they were both under her hood, and all she could hear was the beating of rain and her heart.

  * * *

  CECILY finally felt up to eating again at dinner the next day, so Ada and Miriam led her to the dining hall. Classes had started back up again, on Ada’s orders, but everyone was somber. Cecily was colorless with sorrow and dressed entirely in black. When she entered the dining hall at midday, it instantly fell silent, something she was keenly aware of as she walked to her table. Before sitting, she turned to the students, who stared up at her expectantly.

  “My cousin”—her voice was weak, but it still echoed through the dining hall—“would not have wanted us to be so dreary. He would have wanted us to continue learning. To finish the school year, to do our best. His memory will live on in all your works this year, so don’t disappoint him by saying your sorrow stifled your intellect. Work harder in his honor. We shall all recover.”

  Then Cecily turned and sat down at the head of the table. Ada reached out and patted her hand gently. “That was a fine thing you did,” Ada said. “Ernest would be very proud.”

  The servants brought out turkey and salad, and Cecily ate, though she did not feel hungry. She did not even eat much of the strawberry shortcake they made for dessert, knowing it was her favorite. She felt oddly uncomfortable in the head chair. It was for a bottom larger than hers, and longer legs. She looked out at the students. Jack was patting Ashton on the back, as Ashton, who looked as bad as Cecily felt, cried silently over his plate. Such a sensitive soul, Cecily thought; such a good young man. Her heart leapt weakly in her chest, like a crippled deer. Even romance was dulled by Ernest’s absence. She stared vacantly out over the students as they ate. The soft sounds of clinking glasses and silver seemed hollow, louder than usual. She let the noise of them enter her mind, and tried not to think.

  When dinner was nearly over and the students had begun to stand to leave the room, the doors burst open with a resounding and enthusiastic slam, and in walked Ernest, Duke of Illyria. Cecily stood with a gasp. The hall once again fell silent. Cecily felt quite sure that she was hallucinating. Perhaps a side effect of one of the chemicals in the lab, or perhaps she had merely fainted with sorrow and was now dreaming up what she longed for the most.

  “Ernest?” she said, and reached out a hand.

  “Cecily?” Ernest asked with a smile on his face. He was covered in grime, and his face was dirty, but glowing with happiness. “I trust this garb of woe does not betoken some terrible calamity?” Ernest asked.

  “You’re alive,” Cecily said, and then turned to Ada. She was staring at Ernest as well, equally shocked. So was Miriam, whom Cecily had never seen shocked in her life. Everyone was seeing him.

  “Of course I’m alive,” Ernest said.

  “Oh, Ernest!” Cecily exclaimed, and ran forward and held him hard and fast in front of the entire school.

  “Ernest!” Ada followed suit, rushing up and throwing her arms around Ernest’s waist.

  “While I am delighted by such an enthusiastic reunion
,” Ernest said, “I see little cause for it. I’ve been gone only two days. I apologize for not telling anyone I was going, but it was quite unexpected and—”

  “You were dead!” Ada exclaimed. “The students, and Professor Bracknell, saw you leap off the roof and into the Thames. And you did not resurface.”

  “Dead?” Ernest asked, and began to laugh. “What nonsense. Why would I leap off the roof and into the Thames?”

  “We didn’t know,” Ada said. “We had no idea.”

  “When was this supposed leap of death?”

  “Day before last,” Cecily said, “in the morning.”

  “Well, I don’t know what they all saw,” Ernest said, “but here I am, as alive as you.”

  “Oh, Ernest,” Cecily said, burying her head in his chest. She was crying again now, with relief and joy. She looked up, and her eyes searched for Ashton’s, so that Ashton could share in her happiness. But when she found Ashton’s eyes, they were locked firmly on Ernest, wet with joy, and no matter how long Cecily looked, they would not budge. Instead, to her surprise, she found Jack staring back at her, smiling broadly, and his green eyes sparkling to see her once again filled with delight.

  XXXVIII.

  THE night before last, Ernest had stepped cautiously out of his father’s train. The ride had been long—he had forgotten to put his watch back on after the bath, so wasn’t sure how long—and he might have fallen asleep once or twice, he wasn’t sure. He was eager to explore, but his brain told him to be wary—he did not know where he was, or who for certain had built the train to begin with.

  The room was dark, but from the feeling of the air and the echo of his footsteps, he could tell it was large. The light from the train, and from his lantern, barely made a dent in the darkness. He walked forward slowly, lantern in front, and soon came to a set of elegant but dirty stairs that seemed to be made of marble, with graceful curved banisters. He laid his hand on one of them, intending to start climbing, but the moment he touched the banister, the room sprang to life with an audible electrical snap. Lights came on from wall sconces and a chandelier that hung from the ceiling. The platform was large, and many boxes were piled up on one side of it, as if they had recently been delivered. Up the stairs was a landing lined in marble columns that went from floor to ceiling, giving it the appearance of a cage. From somewhere beyond that, the sound of an out-of-tune violin scratched softly in the air. After a moment, an out-of-tune piano joined it. Ernest felt a bead of sweat run down his neck, and heard his heart beating faster. Where had he come to?