A stout, white-aproned woman appeared at the end of the hall. She briefly made eye contact with Mr. Frick and Miss Haynes, who moved off to join her. A large ring of keys jingled from her belt as she turned and held the door. This was the housekeeper, the woman who would be acquainting Mr. Frick and Miss Haynes with the rules of the household. Chloe noticed a small stone among the keys, smooth and white. It had a single hole through the center, through which a thin chain attached it to the ring of keys.
Through the door, Chloe caught a glimpse of a serving mechanical. It was the height of a side table, and its flat top was bordered by a thin brass railing around the edge to keep items from sliding off. A tea tray set on top with small triangular sandwiches arranged on a china plate. No doubt it would be making its way down the hall shortly to serve tea.
Unlike ordinary household mechanicals, Giles had little decision-making capability. He was not like the simple clockwork finches, rabbits and butterflies with which ladies in London adorned their hats. But he was often mistaken for a simple decorative item because, unlike a household or industrial mechanical, he had no practical use. The household mechanicals had a limited number of activities, stored on spools within their bodies. They were able to wind, execute and rewind these spools, enabling them to perform activities like cutting and carrying wood or moving about a house to carry items from one place to another. Industrial mechanicals were similar. They shoveled coal on steamships and railway engines, lifted and hauled freight and were able to tie and untie mooring lines for airships and sea-faring ships.
Any complex or autonomous activities were beyond them. Like them, Giles also had spools of information, but with basic electrical power, Chloe had given him a series of simple electro-neural pathways and a decision engine that provided some degree of autonomy.
Chloe paused, drawing a breath at the thought of Camille’s contributions to her own creation of Giles. Her friend had proved invaluable in recommending improvements and reviewing schematics. Without Camille, Giles would never have come into being. But there were still improvements to be made. Giles still had a simple battery system that could never be recharged. Replacing his parts was expensive. If Camille’s discoveries could be widely used, electrical mechanicals could become widespread.
Mistaking her pause for distraction, Ambrose took her elbow and led her down the dark-paneled hallway after Alexander. Ian followed behind. The house was expensively decorated and fully equipped with modern gaslights. Everything from the rich carpets to the carved and polished banister spoke of wealth. But Chloe noticed a few threadbare spots on the carpet and some of the picture frames showed their age as well, flecked with patches of peeling finish. Ian excused himself at the bottom of the staircase, and Alexander led them upstairs to their rooms.
“We have two adjoining guest rooms,” he said, opening the door to the first. Two servants were exiting the room, having left Ambrose’s trunk at the foot of the bed where Mr. Frick would later unpack it. His room was a standard guest room, complete with a large, if aging, bed, wash stand, writing desk, small sitting area and armoire. The room was decorated in browns and golds, giving it a masculine feel that she knew Ambrose would like.
She opened the door to the adjoining room to find a more feminine room decorated in shades of pale green and cream. The layout was a mirror image of her husband’s. A large rosewood bed covered by a lace bedspread dominated the room, while two pale green upholstered chairs and a small marble-topped table made up the sitting area. There was also a nightstand, a washstand with a jug of water and basin, a rosewood armoire and matching dressing table. Upon the latter was an ivory mirror and comb which were not her own, most likely provided on the orders of the lady of the house, Alexander’s wife, Beatrice.
Alexander was standing in Ambrose’s room, shifting his weight slowly from one foot to the other and gazing out the window. Of course he would hesitate to enter or even look into a lady’s bedchamber, even if she had only taken possession of it a moment ago. Ambrose was standing in the doorway and she did not want to keep them waiting. Upon her crossing the threshold from her room, Alexander turned.
“Is the room to your liking? If there’s anything you need, anything at all, just ring the bell and we’ll have it brought for you.”
There was one thing she needed that was not present in the room: a large table or desk for her work. She did not intend to be idle for a month while Ambrose was absorbed in his research and writing. Rather, she had shipped two crates of mechanical gear, agonizing over how much she had to leave behind in her London laboratory. She fervently hoped that she could either purchase any missing items from a local mechanical shop, or perhaps borrow some of Camille Granger’s supplies.
“You mentioned the use of a room for my work?” said Ambrose.
“Ah yes, it’s just this way.” Alexander led them to a door across the hall. “It used to be a study, but it hasn’t been used in quite some time.”
The room had two large windows that looked down over the front drive. Sparsely populated bookshelves lined one wall.
“Most of the books are in the library,” said Alexander, following Chloe’s gaze. “My brother Robert pulled some books from our library and put them in here for you. Apologies if they aren’t what you will need.”
Ambrose ran a finger over the spines, scanning the titles.
“Robert has read most of them,” said Alexander.
“Has he now?” Ambrose’s face was lit with a smile before he turned back to perusing the titles. “And he’s just sixteen, eh?”
Chloe looked at her husband and determined that he was too engrossed in his own thoughts to have noticed a critical detail.
“Do you think we could get an extra desk? Perhaps over there?” She pointed to the opposite side of the room from Ambrose’s desk.
Alexander was confused. “Do you not think one is enough?”
“For me,” said Chloe. “I’ll need some space for my work as well.”
At Alexander’s hesitation, Ambrose broke free of his reverie. “She makes things.” He motioned at Giles, who was partially under the dust cloth that covered a chair. Giles yanked the cloth onto the floor and pawed at the fabric. Alexander glared at him.
“Oh, but there are plenty of things for a lady to do here,” Alexander said. “We are not without amusements. We have a withdrawing room with a piano, you can embroider, draw, paint, or you can even get a book from the library.” He smiled gently at Chloe, but she could still see the confusion, and something else, in his face. He glanced at Giles.
She knew from experience that this topic needed to be broached carefully. Females did not create complex mechanicals. Men were the ones who designed and repaired household and industrial mechanicals. This left any woman with such inclinations to design small decorative pets, like birds that made tinny chirping noises and clung with tiny metal feet to a hat or the shoulder of a dress. Chloe had created plenty of birds and other creatures, including a family of small gray mice that twitched their whiskers and ran on a small magnetic track. She had also made music boxes and a few toys. All of these were appropriately feminine pursuits, but only barely. They pushed the limits of ladylike behavior.
“I suppose I could order up a table,” said Alexander, looking at Ambrose. “Is there anything else she might need?”
“Only the name of the local mechanical shop,” said Ambrose.
Alexander brightened slightly. “It’s Lydford’s. On Hampton Street.”
“We passed it on our way into town,” said Chloe.
Giles jumped onto Ambrose’s new desk and set to pawing at the blotter. Chloe grabbed him and cuddled him to her bosom.
“Let her make her baubles or she’ll be impossible,” she overheard Ambrose say to Alexander. Chloe shot him a furious look and then forced herself to turn away. He was doing his best to secure her not only the supplies and space she needed, but also the freedom from criticism and inquiry that her activities would produce. She was fortunate, she reminde
d herself sternly. He always honored their marriage agreement, allowing her to select reading material without his approval and to work on her projects without interference. In return, she went to great efforts to be discreet and not bring him shame.
She pressed a kiss between Giles’s ears. Ambrose trusted her. She could do her work. It would be enough.
Chapter 4
Chloe descended to supper that evening in a taffeta dress and light matching shawl. She splashed her face with water to freshen up, and Miss Haynes had re-pinned her wild hair so as to be presentable. The family would be evaluating her and she wanted their acceptance, if only for Ambrose’s sake. She was nervous, but despite this, she had developed a healthy appetite since her small meal of bread and cheese on the airship.
The muffled whirring of Giles’s gears escorted Chloe down the stairs as he padded behind her on hand-stitched felt paws. Ambrose was waiting at the dining room door, and she took his arm to enter. He held the door open an extra moment to allow Giles to enter behind his mistress.
The dining room was decorated in deep reds and browns and was dominated by a long oak table, large enough for twenty, but set for nine. Chairs upholstered in burgundy matched the curtains, which were pulled shut to keep out the chill. The fire in the marble-mantled fireplace crackled gently, leaving the room comfortably warm.
All three men at the table rose. At the head was an elderly man, gray-bearded and stout, with the build and bearing of a formerly muscular man. This must be William, the patriarch. Ambrose introduced Chloe to him first. She then curtseyed to Ian, whom she had already met, and Robert, the youngest of the Aynesworth children. Robert was a gangly youth, thin, tall and long of face like his brother Ian.
Ambrose pulled out a chair for Chloe, and Giles settled himself nearby. Four of the place settings were still unoccupied, and a minute later, Alexander came in, his wife Beatrice on his arm. She was a petite woman, finely boned with thin, mouse-brown hair that fell in frizzled curls around her face. She smiled gently as they were introduced and was seated.
“We are so glad you could come and visit us,” Beatrice said. “We don’t often have visitors. I know my mother and Dora will be so glad.”
“I’m certain I will,” said the woman in the doorway. She was tall, like her siblings, with thick dark hair. Her deep red dress was two or three years out of date, but favored her coloring and figure. She had a statuesque beauty that made her look like a young gypsy.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Dora as her father introduced Chloe and Ambrose. She took the seat that Ian held out for her. “I thought I’d be the last one down.” She frowned. Mrs. Malone, Beatrice’s mother, and a permanent houseguest, had not yet arrived.
Chloe watched her husband and their host, William, each try to keep a conversation going. The years of animosity and lack of contact had left them with little to speak of, but Ambrose was trying hard to be pleasant and agreeable. He was uneasy, but only a wife would notice. His left hand remained in his lap instead of gesturing good-naturedly. He took too many sips from his crystal water goblet, which a helpful servant refilled promptly.
“Please tell me,” said Ambrose, “is my old friend John Hammond still in town?”
“He is,” said William.
The two men discussed Ambrose’s friend, whom he had met while visiting his sister Rose in the early days of her marriage, thirty-odd years before. A fellow natural science enthusiast, he and Ambrose had formed a friendship after meeting one day while observing a juvenile meadow pipit trying its wings. Sadly, their correspondence had dwindled and then ceased altogether.
The clock chimed once, indicating a quarter past the hour. Mrs. Malone had still not arrived and Beatrice motioned a servant over and whispered instructions. The servant girl bobbed a curtsey and left.
“Do you think your mother is unwell?” asked Chloe.
“Unlikely,” said Beatrice with a weary smile.
William motioned for the first course of asparagus soup to be served. A servant placed a bowl of soup at Mrs. Malone’s empty place.
“Have you decided on the trim for the dress?” Beatrice asked Dora.
Dora lifted the lid of the cut crystal butter dish and spread butter on her bread. “I think so. I do wish Father would allow me to go to London and have a proper dress made up.” She shot a glare down the table at William, who was nodding over something Alexander said. “The dressmaker in town lacks the imagination for a truly fashionable dress. Too much time spent making wedding dresses for the daughters of farmers and tin miners, I think.”
Beatrice smiled and turned to Chloe. “Dora is getting married in just three months. We’re so excited—well, Mother and I mainly. You see, Dora wants a unique dress, but can’t make up her mind on what she wants. And the dressmaker is not much help, as she doesn’t know the very latest fashions. Even so, Dora will be beautiful. I just know it.” She smiled fondly at her sister-in-law.
Dora’s cheeks colored. She would indeed be a lovely bride with her regal carriage, raven’s wing black hair and piercing dark eyes. If Chloe’s calculations were correct, she was in her mid-twenties, old enough to have serious concerns about becoming a spinster. Chloe understood that feeling all too well. She had been twenty-seven when Ambrose had asked for her hand, and she had long since given up any hope of marriage.
“Who is the lucky gentleman?” asked Chloe.
“His name is Patrick Baxter. He’s American,” said Dora.
“And not a pauper by any means,” said a new voice.
The stately older woman standing nearby was sturdily built, but not heavy. Her iron-gray hair was tastefully styled and she inclined her head politely as the men at the table rose. She set aside her elephant-headed cane and slowly lowered herself into the chair that Alexander pulled out for her. She took her time arranging her napkin before allowing her son-in-law to push in her chair. Her sharp blue eyes narrowed as she scanned the family while they ate their asparagus soup.
“He made a handsome fortune in the Yukon,” said Dora. “He found gold up the river. He had an actual Indian guide. Can you imagine?”
“An outdoorsman then,” said Chloe, a touch uneasy discussing a man’s financial status over a meal. “Has he traveled extensively?”
“Oh yes,” Dora said. “To the Continent, Northern Africa, Scotland and of course he came here. And once we’re married, I’ll be able to go with him all over the world.” She looked pleased at the prospect, and Chloe couldn’t help but feel pleasure for her.
“It’s cold,” said Mrs. Malone, jabbing a finger at her soup and motioning over a servant who took the bowl and brought a replacement a few moments later.
“Tell her how you met,” said Beatrice, glancing uneasily at her mother who was now scowling and blowing on a steaming spoonful of soup.
Dora explained how she and Mr. Baxter had met at a party thrown by a local family who Mr. Baxter knew through some complicated series of events. Chloe was only half-listening, but she tried to look interested.
As the women continued on about wedding preparations, flowers and punch recipes, Chloe listened in on the men’s conversation. Ambrose was telling his nephews about his papers on English flora and fauna, and Robert was rapt with attention. She noted that Robert’s questions to Ambrose were intelligent and that he knew more than a fair amount about the local plant life.
“I would like to send a few letters in the outgoing post,” said Ambrose. “I have colleagues in London as well as at Oxford. And I would like to write to a certain Mr. Brian Graves Senior. I heard that his son was working in your employ as a tutor.” He smiled broadly at Robert. “And I think he’s done a fine bit of work.”
Robert’s eyes flicked down to the tabletop.
“Mr. Graves is no longer in our employ,” said William. “His mother took ill months ago and he had to leave.”
“I see,” said Ambrose. The soup bowls were cleared and their main meal of lamb with herbed potatoes was served.
Beatri
ce turned to Chloe. “Alexander mentioned that you make little mechanical animals and things.”
Chloe nodded.
“And can you repair them? I have a little robin that pins to a hat, and it isn’t working anymore.”
“I’d love to look at it. You can have it brought to Ambrose’s study and I’ll examine it. My materials won’t be here until tomorrow, though.”
Ian leaned in toward his father and murmured something into his ear. William gave a sober nod and his mouth tightened.
“Ian has assured me that you all have been informed of Mrs. Granger’s death.” He swallowed. “Unfortunate. Most unfortunate. I’m certain Mr. Granger will send a notice and inform us of the date of her funeral.”
“Do you think it proper for us to attend?” Beatrice asked.
When no one spoke, Robert looked back and forth between his older brothers, confused. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“She was murdered while walking on the moor,” Beatrice said gently. “Alone.”
Chloe paused for a moment, not immediately understanding the implication, then drew in a breath, disgusted. Ambrose was looking down at his meal, but she saw the tension in his posture.
Robert shook his head in bewilderment. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“You see, we don’t know what she was doing out there,” said Dora.
Chloe glared at Dora, then at Beatrice, but all eyes at the table were on Robert. Understanding dawned on his face, and he nodded. He glanced at his father, who looked deeply unhappy, and then Robert took a nervous sip from his water goblet.
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