Beauty and Beastly

by Melanie Karsak

I felt my cheeks redden. No, you would never catch a refined lady eating with her fingers. I grinned. “What? And give you something else to wash. I didn’t want you to get rusty from the exertion.”

  “I’m so pleased you thought of me, mistress.”

  “But of course.”

  The mech laughed again, bowed, then headed back to the kitchen.

  I rose, spreading my papers all around. The sunlight in the dining room, despite its broad windows, was abysmal. The heavy velvet drapes blocked what sun came in during the afternoon. Frowning, I took a sip of the tea.

  He was right. I tasted rosemary, mint, and lavender, but not much tea, per se. All in all, it still tasted fine.

  Then I got to work.

  Opening my journal, I looked at the sketches of the stones and tried to make connections. What similar symbols had I seen? And what commonalities had there been in the Ogham?

  But my mind went back to the conversation I’d overheard. What had Missus Silver been talking about? What had happened to them? And why was it the lord’s cross the bare?

  The lord.

  No. Missus Silver—Aelwyd—had called him something else.

  She had called him Rhys.

  Chapter 20: The Library

  I don’t know how long I spent sorting through my notes, but when I took another sip of my tea it was cold. It was dreadfully dim in the dining room. Frowning, I lifted the papers, trying to see them in the last of the dying sunlight.

  When I looked up, I realized the lord was standing there.

  When had he arrived?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “So I noticed,” he said then motioned to my work. “You’re cataloging the symbols on the stones?”

  “Yes. And the Ogham,” I said then shook my head. “But the light in here has finished the job for the day.”

  The lord nodded thoughtfully. “Collect your things. I have somewhere better for you to work.”

  Curious, I quickly tidied up my papers and journal and stuffed them back into my bag which he politely took from my hands.

  “Come,” he said, motioning to me.

  Grabbing the map, I followed him.

  He led me from the dining room toward a section of the house I had not yet explored. As we walked, I noticed the beautiful oil paintings on the walls. These were not portraits. Instead, they were artistic renderings of fruits, flowers, animals, and even woodland scenes.

  “These are divine,” I said, stopping to eye a painting of a bright red rose. The artist’s use of color and the perceived movement of the strokes reminded me of Van Gogh.

  “The lady of this house was a gifted artist,” the lord said as he studied the painting as well. He sighed heavily then asked, “Is the paint still very red?”

  “Red? Yes. Alive as can be,” I said then turned to him. “Your optics don’t detect color?”

  “Not anymore. This was always my favorite painting. The red was arresting. Now all I see is black, white, and gray. My vision has become much like my mind.”

  “I could have a look at your optics. Perhaps you have a short?”

  The lord laughed. “That is very kind of you, Miss Hawking, but, it’s no use,” he said then turned and continued down the hallway.

  I stopped once more when I spotted a painting of a dog on the wall. The artist was different. This hand had less artistic flow and more realistic symmetry. The dog in the painting had large amber-colored eyes. “This looks like Kelly,” I said.

  The lord paused. His hands behind his back, he considered the painting. “The work of an amateur. But, yes, it does resemble an Irish Setter.”

  “Not an amateur. The style is different from the other artist, but no less creative. The realism is perfect. Look, you can even see a shadow of the artist in the dog’s eyes. No. This is the hand of an observer. And an astute one,” I leaned in and studied the painting. I could see that the figure reflected in the dog’s eyes was male, but not more than that.

  I looked up at the lord who was smiling.

  “What?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Perhaps you are right, Miss Hawking. This way,” he said. He led us down several more corridors then, at the end of the hall, pushed open a set of wide double doors.

  “I think you will find the light much better in here.”

  I stepped into the massive room behind him.

  Unable to suppress a gasp, I stared in wonder. Reaching two stories in height, I stood at the entrance to a massive library. The u-shaped room had floor-to-ceiling windows. At the top of each window were mosaics in colored glass which sent shimmering rainbows of light on the floor. Between each window, on both the first and second floor, was a bookshelf. Winding stairs on both sides of the entrance led to a balcony on the second floors. Bookshelves reached from the floor to the ceiling. The top shelves were only accessible by the ladders on the balcony. At the opposite end of the room was a massive fireplace. A portrait of a man, woman, and child—all dressed in regal fashion—hung over the fireplace. A long table ran down the center of the room. The sweet scent of old books filled the air.

  “Missus Silver mentioned you had some books with you and that one had been ruined in the shipwreck. I asked her to learn the titles of your books. Please forgive the intrusion. She said there was a volume on Hero of Alexandria.” The lord went to the table and set his hand on a stack of five volumes in blue leather. “These books are on the Greek inventors, including Hero of Alexandria. And this is a tome by Mister Graves on Celtic knotwork. He mentions Ogham in passing. It’s not much, but a start. Please feel free to use the library as you wish. Were you planning to go out into the forest again tomorrow?”

  “I... Thank you. Yes.”

  He nodded. “I will accompany you,” he said. He set my satchel and papers on the table then picked up another book that had been there and tucked it under his arm. “Do you need anything else?”

  I shook my head. “No. I hardly know what to say. It’s so lovely,” I said, looking around once more. My head was spinning. And I had thought Mister Denick’s shop, the little Library of Alexandria at Hungerford, was a sight to behold. This place was a million times grander.

  He smiled. “I’m glad it pleases you. The library is yours,” he said then turned and headed back down the hall.

  Gratitude swelling in my chest, I gazed after him. He had such a regal walk and stance, and despite being made of cogs and gears, there was a kindness to him that I couldn’t put my finger on.

  Odd.

  Swallowing an excited squeal, I set the map down and lifted the small book on Celtic knots, opening the book and inhaling deeply. Perfection.

  Maybe being lost on this strange little island wasn’t so bad after all.

  Chapter 21: Mirror, Mirror

  Mister Flint brought my dinner to the library where I sat working later into the night. The gas lamps overhead and on the walls bathed the room in light. The grandfather clock in the hallway had just struck midnight when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Miss Hawking,” Missus Silver said. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll leave your work here just as you have it.”

  Yawning tiredly, I rose.

  “Yes, you’re right. The fire is burning down anyway,” I said, casting a glance toward the fireplace. My eyes went once more to the portrait above. “Missus Silver, who are they?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s our late lord and lady and their son,” she said, sounding suddenly overly dismissive.

  I eyed the painting carefully. The fashions depicted in the picture, much like everything else in the castle, were dated. But there was something more. The lord in the painting...his face looked somewhat familiar. The lord stood with his hands behind his back. The lady stood with her hand on her son’s shoulder. The small boy had bright gray eyes, curly black hair, and a bright smile.

  “So you were under the lord’s employ?”

  “Yes, until he passed. And then his son.”

  “A
nd the lady?”

  “Passed away not long after the portrait was made.”

  “And the young lord?”

  A strange click emitted from Missus Silver. “I almost forgot. I brought you a shawl, Miss Hawking. It’s very cool in the hallway,” Missus Silver said, setting a warm wrap around my shoulders. “Now, why don’t you head up to bed? I’ve laid everything out for you. I’ll be by in the morning to see if you need anything.”

  “The young lord,” I said, turning back to the portrait once more. “Is he still alive? If not him, his family? Does the family know you all are here on your own? Perhaps someone in the family should be informed of your condition. When I return to London, I can write to the estate and inquire.”

  “Never mind that, Miss Hawking. Our master knows where we are and looks out for us as best he can. Now, off to bed with you.”

  I looked at the smirking smile of the child once more. The boy was full of mirth. I could see it behind his eyes, but still, he sought to temper his smile. When I looked up at the elder lord in the painting, I could see why. From his hawkish expression to his firm stance, everything about the elder master showed him to be a hard man. The lady, however, had a free and open face. The mirth in the boy’s eyes was reflected in his mother’s. Sighing, I thought once more about the conversation I had overheard earlier that day. There was undoubtedly trouble here if the mechs thought they were cursed. Perhaps their circuitry was not capable of handling what appeared to be their total abandonment. Despite her assurances, I needed to help them. The lord—Rhys—took care of the others, but still. I must be able to do something for them.

  Sighing, I pulled the shawl around me, grabbed my journal and a candle, then smiled at Missus Silver. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, dear,” she said then turned and went to the fireplace.

  I headed back down the hallway. It was chilly in the castle and very silent. I paused when I got to the main foyer. There was noise coming from the hallway that led to the east wing. Tiptoeing, I went to investigate.

  Light poured from around the door to the room where I’d found the windup keys. From inside, I heard someone shifting metal. Someone was digging through the keys. I debated. It was the lord, I was sure, and I knew what he was searching for. I could help him. I could easily make a mold of his key, but that would require his permission. Something told me that while he was warming up to me a bit, it didn’t pay to push.

  Turning, I headed back upstairs to my chamber.

  I set my candle and journal down on the writing desk and changed into my dressing robes. Someone had kept the fire stoked, and the room was warm. I went to the writing desk. A clockwork rose like the one my father had taken which had earned the mechanical lord’s ire was sitting in a vase on the desk. I lifted the rose. I would need to spend some time studying the mechanics inside. Perhaps tomorrow, after my study of the forest, I could open the bloom and inspect its mechanics. Of course, I would need the lord’s permission. He was so particular about everything. I shook my head. I was trapped in this place until my father returned, but what a place in which to be held captive. From the standing stones to the mechanicals to the library, everywhere I looked, I found something that excited my curiosity beyond measure. I blew out the flame on my candle but was puzzled when a bright light shone into my eyes.

  A corner of the wrapping on Elyse’s magic mirror—I still chuckled thinking of that one—had slipped aside. The mirror was reflecting the bright moonlight pouring in through the window. I unwrapped the mirror and looked within. I was a terrible mess. My hair had fallen into a messy bun. Apparently, at some point, I had stuffed a pencil behind my ear for safekeeping. And there was a leaf in my hair. Had that been there since I’d been outside earlier today?

  “What man could ever love a fright like me?” I said with a laugh.

  The moonlight in the mirror glowed bright, and for a moment, the silver handle shimmered blue. To my astonishment, my reflection faded from the looking glass as the image turned smoky. Wide-eyed, I stared as the image sharpened once more.

  I saw the ruins of the little hermitage in the forest. As the image cleared, I saw a man standing on the veranda overlooking the beautiful pool of water. He was poised before an easel, painting the beautiful scene.

  Lifting my hand tepidly, I reached out to touch the looking glass.

  The man in the image stopped and turned, looking out of the glass at me.

  I gasped.

  Hands shaking, I quickly set the mirror back on the table, covering it once more with the scarf.

  It...it couldn’t be. My heart pounded in my chest. It couldn’t be. The man in the mirror had been the mechanical lord himself, but in the flesh. A real, living man. And he had smiled sweetly at me, his eyes full of love.

  Hands trembling, my breath quick, I went to the window and set my forehead on the cool window pane.

  I was tired. That was all. I had worked too much, was too distraught. And I had hit my head in the shipwreck. I’d been practically unconscious for days. I had over-exerted myself today. I was just seeing things.

  Yes. I was seeing things.

  I was seeing the lord, the mechanical, as a living man. A young, handsome lord with dark hair and silver-colored eyes. A young lord dressed in an antiquated fashion.

  Leaning back, I shook my head. It made no sense. First, how could the mirror even show such an image. And then, how or why would it show me that?

  Perhaps...perhaps the true lord of this castle had created the automaton in the family image. Was there a real lord somewhere, a man of flesh and blood, who looked like his machine? Was I meant to find the real lord of this castle and return him to this place? Yes, that had to be it. Somewhere a living man existed. His creator had fashioned him in the family image, that was all. I needed to find him.

  And say what?

  How do you do, Lord Somebody. So, I discovered a forgotten island that appears to belong to your ancestors. Lost the map there, did you? Well, the mechs there have taken charge of the castle, one of them calling himself the lord of the place. I’m sure he’s just trying to keep everything in order. He seems very nice, really. Comes off a bit beastly at first, but quite a gentleman if you give him a chance. Anyway, they do seem like a good lot, but they are in need of repair and your castle is falling apart. Shall I take you there? Oh, and I do love the place beyond all measure. Since you appeared to me in a magic mirror, I think we are supposed to be together. Why don’t you go ahead and marry me and make me Lady Whatever and move me to your little island where we can live happily ever after?

  Right? So. No. I exhaled deeply. Elyse’s fairy tales, exhaustion, and my concussion were working an enchantment on me. I needed to sleep.

  I slipped into the bed and tried not to think about the lord in the mirror. I tried not to think about the twisting feeling I got in my stomach when he had smiled. I tried not to think about how everything inside of me wanted that unknown man, unknown person, without reason.

  And I desperately tried not to think about the fact that the living lord looked exactly like the mechanical lord downstairs.

  No. I would definitely not think about that.

  But when I closed my eyes, I imagined that young lord putting his hand in mine, and it was everything I had ever dreamed of.

  Chapter 22: Matilda

  I woke the next morning feeling foolish. I’d been half asleep when I’d returned to my chamber the night before. I’d let visions and superstition get the better of me. Thinking of it no more, I redressed in my walking clothes and headed back downstairs. Stopping first at the library, I collected some of my papers and notes and packed them into my satchel. I eyed the painting over the fireplace once more. Fairy stories. I’d have to amuse Elyse with tales of the effect her magic mirror had on my wits when I got back to London. Readying myself, I headed to the main castle foyer.

  The lord and Kelly were waiting, the lord dressed for an outing. It seemed odd to see a gentleman wearing a wide-brimmed Cavalier hat
in the style favored by King Charles. Well, man was a matter of speaking. This was an automaton. And trapped on this island, he would have no sense of fashions of the time.

  “I packed you a breakfast, Miss Hawking,” Missus Silver said.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I thought it was such a lovely morning that maybe you’d enjoy breakfast outside,” the lord said.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Taking the basket from Missus Silver, he signaled to Kelly, and we headed outside.

  “Yesterday you had a look at the northern quadrant?” he asked.

  “Yes. I thought I’d begin at the hermitage and go northwest today.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “You will find stones there. I can show you.”

  I smiled up at him, surprised and puzzled to see him looking down at me, a smirking smile on his mechanical face.

  My stomach knotted. Surely, the tinker who’d made him had modeled him after the family. I forced my attention away from the lord and back to the forest. Papa would return soon, and I wouldn’t have to trouble myself with any of this anymore. Very soon, an airship would appear over the castle, and it would all be over.

  We headed out, passing the perfect garden arrested in metal then back into the forest. It was quiet amongst the trees. The weather was warm and sunny. We walked along together in quiet contemplation. The silence felt comfortable.

  Kelly ran ahead as we neared the hermitage.

  From inside the lord’s body, I heard a series of clicks.

  He coughed uncomfortably as if to hide the noise. “Here we are,” he said. “She still stands.”

  “You don’t come out here?”

  “No. Not in many years.”

  We stepped into the opened structure, really more a gazebo than a home, and walked to the veranda overlooking the pond. The lord stopped and gently touched one of the roses growing on the column. I watched as his optics focused repeatedly.

  “It’s orange,” I said. “Like the sunset. A mix of orange, yellow, and pink. The colors bleed into one another.”