by Sally Orr
One glance at Sybella’s knowing smirk and Meta became more composed. “I’m not, Mr. Drexel. The words are thank you.” She gulped. “Thank you for the escort.”
“Yes, that’s it. Thank you, madam. Everyone involved with the tunnel owes you and the Learned Ladies so much.” His active hands twirled the umbrella. “Will I ever see you again?”
She glanced at Sybella—the small smirk had disappeared. If her friend had suspicions before, her matter-of-fact farewell must have vanished them. “I see no reason for it,” Meta said. “Unless you can persuade Lily to change her mind better than I can, which I doubt.” She held out her hand. “Mr. Drexel, if I don’t see you again, I wish you the best of luck with your tunnel. From now on, I will eagerly look forward to the evening’s newspaper to hear of news of the tunnel’s progress. Farewell, sir.”
“Until we meet again, Mrs. Russell.”
Thirteen
“Sir, I have done it.” George yelled, standing outside the drawing room door. He received no response. Perhaps his father had not heard him, so he yelled toward the upstairs part of the house again. “The card shuffler, I’ve solved it.” He returned to the drawing room and waited, assured his father had heard him the second time.
Staring at the simple oak box on his desk, he swelled with pride at his accomplishment. The box had been a devilish nightmare to invent. It started as a flip comment made while playing cards with his two best friends, Ross and Boyce. His friends probably didn’t recall his promise to build a shuffler, but he remembered. Now years later, fiddling with it in the few precious moments of his spare time he used to relax, he solved the problem of separating the individual cards. The cards had always seemed to hang up upon the metal levers meant to separate them. Today as he studied the problem, his mind wandered to the appreciation of Meta’s appealing curves. Then inspiration struck. The concept of a wheel’s curve turned out to be the solution of his card separation problem. Without her knowledge, she had provided him with assistance, which he knew would please her.
His father entered the room, joined him at the desk, and nodded his appreciation.
George considered his father’s manner upon hearing the good news far too casual. Considering the importance of the accomplishment, he should show more enthusiasm than just a nod, for heaven’s sake.
“Congratulations, Son.” Michael smiled and patted him on the back.
George waited for further praise but received none. While he appreciated the pat, he frankly felt a touch more admiration was due, given the years he had worked on the shuffler. He then remembered Parker was in town, so perhaps his friend would better appreciate his success, since he had suggested the shuffler in the first place. George leaned out of the door, called for Mrs. Morris, and asked her to send a note around to Parker, suggesting they take luncheon together. He returned to demonstrate every detail of the shuffler to his father.
“What are you going to do with it, now that it’s a practical reality?” His father turned the wheel again, opened the box, and pulled out the cards shuffled into four separate compartments. “I recommend you seek a patent. And perhaps we should put more effort into investigating a possible market.”
“Yes, I’ll apply for a patent. Perhaps Burns might consider putting it into production.”
“I agree—at least it sounds like a good start.” Soon after that comment, his father returned to his mother’s side upstairs.
George sighed and shook his head, frustrated that his father had clearly understood and appreciated his success yet only spent ten minutes altogether admiring the clever little machine. He’d have to depend on Parker to show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm during luncheon. He returned to the large desk and tested various positions of the wheel in relation to the deck of cards.
He traced his finger along the curve at the top of the wheel, eliciting memories of Meta—warm, pleasant memories. Quite different from the many pleasant memories he had following his other liaisons. Those tended to reflect conquest or success in some form. In his relations with Meta, his intent started as a celebration of success. But the second time they made love, on that rainy afternoon, he discovered a newfound desire to express gratitude and give pleasure. Please her, yes, like the other women who shared his bed. Except the act became more tender in a manner he could not quite fathom. It differed too because the memory of their lovemaking stayed vivid with him. Every day a sight, like this curve before him, or a sound, like a sigh, or a touch, like that of soft skin, created a flood of tender recollections. She would surely appreciate his shuffler, and he regretted the fact that they were unlikely to meet again.
“Hallo, hallo,” Parker shouted, bounding through the drawing room door. A frequent guest, he never rang the bell, for the stated purpose of saving Mrs. Morris the bother of coming up from the kitchen. “Happy day, what?” Parker bounced over and shook his hand. His friend’s green eyes appeared to sparkle brighter than he had ever seen them. Parker had always dressed in the first stare of fashion. His garments spoke of hours spent with his many tailors and boot makers. Today his drab coat and simple waistcoat hinted that his friend no longer had time to spend on his appearance; therefore, his new marriage must suit him very well.
George slapped his best friend on the back. “Cork brain, come look. Remember that day—what is it—three years ago, when I promised to build a card shuffler? Well, I did it!” He held out his hand. “Shall I demonstrate?”
“Yes, yes, please do.” Parker moved close to the desk and bent down to watch the machine close up.
George placed a pack of cards in a little compartment on one end and then turned the wheel several times. After he felt no resistance on the handle, he opened the opposite end of the box revealing shuffled cards in four separate compartments.
“Well, I’ll be.” Parker straightened and vigorously shook his hand. “Congratulations, ol’ man. Never thought it possible, but I’m not surprised. You always were a clever fellow with the whatnots. What are you going to do with it?”
“Patent it first. I don’t want anyone to steal it.”
“No, no, shuffling cards is so troublesome, you’ll probably make a packet on it. Mum’s the word.”
George smiled, delighted his friend understood and celebrated at the appropriate level his achievement deserved. “A packet would be welcome. We could use some extra monies around here at the moment.”
“I must show this amazing box to my wife.” Parker closely examined the interior of the machine. “She would understand what a great thing this is, since she is keen on new machines.” His friend straightened to his full height and smoothed his hands over his unruly brown curly hair. “But you will have to show this to Eve yourself to explain the technical bits. She will be thrilled like me, of course, but she will understand your accomplishment better. Lucky to be married to such a clever woman. Would have become married in a tick if I had known about this business of connubial bliss. Yes, yes, married in a tick.”
“Happy then, married to a lady of science?”
His emerald eyes flashed with delight. “Never happier. Do you know what she did the other day? She organized all of my waistcoats according to the color, or rather the color in relation to what she calls ‘the visible spectrum.’ Not quite sure myself what that is, but I’m sure it’s a bang-up thing to do with a fellow’s waistcoats.”
George grinned and motioned for them both to take a seat. “You know, I have truly never seen you happier.”
“Yes, yes.” Parker wore a boyish grin. “Pater is extremely fond of my wife, more fond than he expected, and more fond of her than of any of his other daughters-in-law. The consequence is that he and his friend, the general, call almost every other day. Not surprising someone accomplished like Eve has him wrapped around her finger, what?”
“No, not surprising in the least. Your wife is remarkable,” George said.
“Remember how we used to play tough, mock each other about being leg-shackled? What a bunch of silly schoolboys
. I tell you, a wife is just the ticket to happiness. No more dalliances that turn needy, home and servants run like clockwork, and a fellow happy to boot. Not to mention the waistcoats given the scientific treatment. Seems to me now that the rumors spread about being leg-shackled as nothing more than trouble and grief are probably meant as a decoy. Clearly greedy men spread these false rumors to frighten young men, so they can pick all the best wives for themselves. Doesn’t signify now though, since in the end I got the best one.”
“You sound just like Ross. He seems to be in some sort of heaven up in the North. And everyone I know considers Heaven and the North mutually exclusive terms. Have you had a letter from him recently?”
“Yes, yes, a week ago. He’ll travel down to London at the end of July, so we must all meet. You can tell him all about this tunnel of yours, and I can tell him about m’ waistcoats. Currently, he’s buying furniture for the Mater and planning more sons. I told him it might be a girl this time, but all he wants is sons.” He leaned close. “Serve him right to have a girl. Probably turn into a bowl of jelly at first sight of the little lullaby cheat. The toughest men usually do, you know.”
“I’ll take your word on it.”
“How about you? Leg shackle on the horizon?” He glanced in the direction of the story above them. “Or just not the thing at this time with your mother’s illness?”
George had been asked about his matrimonial intentions many times. He had even considered it as a young man, solely as a general concept. But when he did, he could never place a face on the woman lucky enough to be his wife. Seconds after Parker asked him that question, for the first time his mind pictured a lady—Meta. Funny thing, that. Since he had no desire to marry, he quickly dismissed it as a consequence of his lack of visitations to his current lover. “Will marry someday, I suppose. Right now I have no time for females. Every waking hour is spent on working toward my future, starting with the tunnel.”
“Yes, yes, I want to hear about that. What an accomplishment. All of London is making bets on whether or not it will succeed. I have fifty on it myself at White’s. Any chance I can get an inside account? Will it succeed?”
“What was your wager, success or failure?”
Parker feigned a wounded expression. “Success, of course. Know you can do it. Bound to be problems though. Tell me about this diving bell. Some sort of giant bell on a barge out in the middle of the Thames? I don’t quite understand what dangling your feet on the bottom the river will do to help you build a tunnel.”
“The diving bell was hired in case of a major leak. We do not know the thickness of the band of clay we are digging through. We also know the Thames was dredged recently. So as we dig out the dirt in the tunnel, if we break through to the river, a diving bell will be used to inspect the hole. But most of all, it will tell us where to dump the hundred bags of clay we have waiting to plug up any leak.”
“Don’t tell me you are going down in that bell thing? Must be dangerous, hard to breathe.”
“There is an air pump, you know. I already have been down once without any difficulties. Recently, Isambard Brunel went down in the bell to map a low spot in the Thames. Like me, he’s without a wife and kids, while other men have dependent families. It’s common practice for only single men to descend in the bell. Let me tell you how much I admire Isambard. I cannot wait to introduce the two of you. No man has such dedication to a project or unceasing courage. Working by his side, I have learned more than I care to admit.” He lowered his voice and said, “I’m likely up for a promotion. Don’t spread the word, since it may be premature, but if it comes to pass, it will please my father no end.”
Parker leaned close to whisper, “Consider it a secret then.”
“Have you talked with your brother recently? Is he still planning to publish a second edition of The Rake’s Handbook: Including Field Guide?”
“Good news on that front. He understood our objections, and said he would postpone the publication. However, he hasn’t ruled it out altogether. Because our little tome earned him a small fortune, if his publishing firm has an attack of the duns, he might print another edition. Hope not.”
“That’s good news indeed.”
“Funny that; Ross said the same thing. Seems we all want that book as good as forgotten.” Parker stood in preparation to leave for luncheon. “Congratulations again. Suppose you’re off building England now. You’re tunneling the way to the future, and Ross is powering that future with his small steam engines. Mighty proud of my friends, yes, yes, mighty proud.” He placed his hand on George’s shoulder and patted it. “Well done.”
“Thank you.” As he grabbed his coat to leave, an extreme flash of pride swept through him, replaced by a pang of regret. Damnation, he wished Meta had been present to hear Parker’s compliments on his shuffler. He then headed upstairs to tell his father the good news that another edition of the field guide would likely not be published.
* * *
After dinner that same evening, George became distracted by the sounds of a visitor at the front door. Hoping the new arrival had no business with him, since he needed to deliver a new set of plans tomorrow, he tried to ignore the sounds now coming from the hallway. Unfortunately, the possibility that the tunnel might flood meant he must be on alert and available at all times. Even though he failed to recognize the voice chatting with Mrs. Morris, he searched for his coat and gloves, in case he had to venture out into the night due to a leak.
To his surprise, Mrs. Morris announced James Codlington.
George received him and bade the young man to sit down by the fire.
Once James sat under the light from the oil lamp next to him, George could discern his ashen skin and sunken features. James began the conversation before George had a chance to sit in the opposite chair. “You must forgive me for bothering you at this time of night. You see… I don’t know how to put this. I realize I may be imposing.” He stopped to take a deep breath before sitting fully back into the deep cushioned chair. “I apologize. I must appear mad to call at such a time of night, but my reasons are sound. You see, after a tremendous row, I have been asked to leave Codlington House.”
“Pardon?”
“Mother asked me to vacate my rooms. It seemed my continued refusal to choose a spouse of her liking, this time a Miss King, has enraged her enough to order me from the house at last.”
George shook his head. “Her own son?” He stood and moved to the drinks cabinet. “Something stiff? A brandy?”
“Yes, much obliged. The fact that I’m her son is the heart of the problem. As the heir to the Codlington estate, she demands obedience in all matters. My steadfast refusal to end my addresses to Miss Broadsham led to an irrevocable estrangement. Ironic, isn’t it? Especially since Miss Broadsham refuses to accept my apology over the misunderstanding in regard to your field guide. Still, any gentleman worth his weight in salt must stick to his guns. My choice of wife will not be dependent on a woman my mother deems suitable. I’ve learned to demand better.”
“Quite.” Since his friend Parker was a lord, George had been naturally envious of his friend’s title. But the trappings of the aristocracy—titles and estates—came with serious responsibilities and a position in society to uphold. George enjoyed his freedom too much to be envious any longer and doubted he could easily wear the shackles of a title.
James took a long draw of his brandy. “On my way out the door, I explained to her that this is the nineteenth century, not the eighteenth.”
“Hear, hear.”
“All that happened this morning when we argued, and I left in something of a miff. So I spent the day engaging rooms in the new Fenton hotel, but they won’t be ready for three days. I could stay with friends or my relatives, but they might share her sympathies or, even worse, inadvertently reveal my whereabouts. So I popped on over to see if you could put me up for a few days. I’ll be at court or purchasing items for my new lodgings, so I shouldn’t be too much trouble. Any chance you h
ave a spare room?”
He smiled. “Of course. I’ll have the housekeeper make it suitable immediately. But you must understand we have only four servants. Will you bring your man?”
“No, I’ll leave him at Codlington House until I am ready to permanently relocate. I expect to return home to pack a few things when I know my mother will be absent and then come on over in the morning, if that’s all right with you? My needs are simple, just a bed, since it will be for such a short time.”
George was frankly delighted to have James reside in the house. His new friend would appreciate his card shuffler and many of his other mechanical ideas. So he looked forward to discussing his accomplishments with a like mind. “I’ll tell Mrs. Morris tonight, and the room will be prepared immediately. Do you require any special conveniences? We don’t have stables—I stable my horse nearby—so if you have cattle, they will have to remain at home too.”
“Thank you for putting me up, but I plan to leave my horse in her nice warm stall. Don’t see why she should have to suffer from my decision to live elsewhere. At least for the time being.”
“Right.” George gulped his brandy, relishing its warmth. “Seems like moving is a lot of bother.” How would Meta receive this news of James being kicked out of his house? He could not determine with any certainty what her reaction would be. He did know, however, that she still desired the reconciliation between James and her sister. Maybe if he could smooth the waters on that score, it would go a long way in repaying her for her many successful efforts to further his future. “Is there no hope that your mother will ever accept Miss Broadsham? She seems like such a…pleasant young lady. What is her objection to the match? The flummery about the field guide has been discounted and forgotten, so it should be a moot point by now.”
James sighed deeply. A small smile flitted across his lips before he rose to pour himself another brandy. “May I?”