Rollo sighed dejectedly, and I hurried to say, “Olive and I will be taking a morning walk before we begin lessons. Would you be so kind as to escort us as far as your school?”
Rollo gave me a frown before saying, “I would be honored.” Lord Henry mumbled a goodbye without looking up from his newspaper. Olive took my hand as we left the house, and Rollo held his elbow out for me to take.
I felt so very grownup and responsible in my first official task as governess. Then I wondered if there was something I should be doing. I supposed I should be getting better acquainted with my charges. “What is your favorite subject in school?” I asked Rollo.
“Mathematics. I want to be an engineer, but Father said that was no occupation for a gentleman. It’s a trade, and a marquis isn’t supposed to pursue a trade.” His eyes lit up. “Maybe the Rebel Mechanics really will start a revolution, and then I won’t be noble anymore and I can do anything I want!”
“I’m telling Uncle!” Olive said. “You’re not supposed to talk like that!”
“Olive, no one likes a tattletale,” I scolded gently. “I am present, and I will decide what needs to be told. I don’t think Rollo meant anything by it.”
After we saw Rollo safely into the care of his headmaster, Olive and I headed home, taking a different route along a more commercial street. That pleased her immensely, as she enjoyed looking in the shop windows, and I was glad of the excuse to do so myself. With such shops selling so many wonderful things, I could see how Flora could have an entire conversation about clothing.
“I got a doll for Christmas from this store,” Olive informed me in a running commentary as we walked. “Flora buys her gloves here. She got a hat here once, but she didn’t like it, and she told everyone else how awful it was, so nobody else bought hats here, and now it’s not a hat shop anymore. It’s a shoe shop. I don’t know if their shoes are good, though. I don’t think we’ve ever bought anything there. Do you like shopping, Miss Newton?”
“I haven’t done much of it.”
“Don’t go with Flora. It’s boring because she won’t make up her mind and she has to look at everything. Maybe you could take me shopping.”
“We’ll see.”
Apparently taking my noncommittal answer as an affirmative, she began skipping and singing, “We’re going shopping! We’re going shopping!”
Although I had worked as a tutor, I hadn’t the least notion of the extent of a governess’s duties. Was I responsible for Olive’s deportment, and what were the boundaries of acceptable behavior? Should I consider skipping and singing harmless childish high spirits or unladylike actions that must be corrected?
I was still wrestling with this dilemma when I heard a voice calling my name. I turned to see a newspaper boy standing on the corner. “Nat!” I said with a smile. It was reassuring to see a familiar face.
“Good morning to you, Verity,” he said. With a glance at Olive, he added, “I take it you got the job.”
“Yes, I did. Olive, this is my friend Nat. Nat, this is Lady Olive Lyndon, my pupil.” I realized that it might be improper to introduce Olive to a nonmagical boy, but since she was only six, I decided not to worry. Olive gave a pretty curtsy and bobbed her head so that her ringlets bounced.
“You’ll want to read the newspaper this morning, Verity,” Nat said with a wink. I felt I owed him at least the price of a newspaper after he’d helped me the day before, so I fished a penny out of my pocket and handed it to him. He presented a copy of the World to me with a bow. My father had subscribed to the Herald, and that had been the newspaper at the breakfast table that morning. Given Nat’s association with the rebels, I assumed that the World must take a more radical editorial approach. Feeling a little uneasy about how acceptable such a paper might be, I folded it with the headlines inside and tucked it under my arm.
Nat’s eyes widened, and he hissed, “Cross the street, Verity.”
There was so much fear and tension in his face and voice that I didn’t hesitate or ask questions. I clutched Olive’s hand and darted with her across the street. Once we were safely on the opposite side, I looked back to see a pair of policemen approaching Nat. One of them grabbed a newspaper out of his hands, read the front page, then rolled it up and smacked him on the head with it.
“What’s this, then?” the policeman snarled. “Selling sedition, are you, boy? This paper doesn’t have the royal stamp on it, so it’s not legal to sell. Did you know that?”
“I don’t know anything about stamps,” Nat cried. “I just sell papers.”
The policeman backhanded him across the face, then sent him sprawling with a rough shove. I was so outraged to see a child treated this way that I ran back across the street to go to his aid, entirely forgetting that I still held Olive’s hand.
IN WHICH I AM A RESCUER AND AM RESCUED
“Leave that boy alone!” I shouted as I ran. “He’s not responsible for what’s in the newspaper.”
When the policemen turned their attention to me, I belatedly realized that I’d dragged Olive into the confrontation. She stood beside me, staring wide-eyed at the proceedings. “And who might you be, miss?” one of the policemen growled at me as, behind him, Nat climbed to his feet and brushed himself off.
I didn’t want to associate my employer’s name with my impetuousness, but that became a moot point when Olive said, “She’s my governess and I’m Lady Olive Lyndon. You were being mean to that boy, and that’s wrong. Uncle says if you hit people who are weaker than you are, you’re a bully.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep a straight face, and Nat looked as though he might burst from holding back laughter. The policemen were stunned into silence, which Olive then filled by adding, “And I have magical powers.” The situation was so ridiculous that the tension eased.
The policeman who’d addressed me gave Olive a courteous bow and said, “My apologies, your ladyship.” To Nat, he said, “I’ll have to confiscate your papers.” He and his partner picked up the stack of newspapers at Nat’s feet and, with one last glare at the boy, headed off.
“Thanks, Verity, you’re a real piston,” Nat said.
“No, she’s not. She’s a governess,” Olive informed him.
“I’m sorry about your newspapers,” I said.
He shrugged. “I can get more.” He added with a grin, “This happens all the time when you’re selling an unauthorized publication.”
“What’s ‘unauthorized’?” Olive asked.
“It means the government hasn’t approved it,” I explained. “Come along now, Olive. Good day, Nat.”
“Good day to you, Verity, and Olive, my heroine.” He gave her a formal bow.
“What’s a heroine?” Olive asked, resuming her skipping as we crossed the street.
“It means you’re a very brave young lady who stands up for what’s right.”
“Oh, Uncle will like that.” I groaned inwardly. I didn’t want Lord Henry to know that I’d brought his niece into conflict with the police on my first day, but the way Olive talked, he might not hear half of what she said, and if I asked her not to tell, it would look even worse if the story came out. “Why did that boy call you Verity?” she asked.
“That’s my name.”
“I thought your name was Miss Newton.”
“My Christian name is Verity, like your name is Olive. It’s Latin for ‘truth.’” My name was rather ironic, given my origins. I suspected my name had been my father’s cruel joke on my mother.
“Verity, Verity, Verity,” she chanted as she skipped. “Will I learn Latin?”
“Yes, you will.”
“All of Uncle’s bugs have Latin names.” She giggled. “You have a Latin name, so maybe you’re one of Uncle’s bugs!”
Lord Henry nearly ran into us on the front steps when we returned to the house. He had his nose in a book, and an older man behind him caught him by the back of his coat in time to prevent a collision. Lord Henry didn’t seem to notice. The man with him nodded a “g
ood day” to us before he released Lord Henry’s coat.
“That’s Matthews, Uncle’s valet,” Olive informed me. “Rollo says his job is to make sure Uncle remembers to eat, sleep, and get dressed and to keep him from walking into walls.” I got the feeling that one should never say anything within earshot of Olive that one didn’t want repeated.
As far as I could tell, Flora still wasn’t out of bed, but Lord Henry hadn’t mentioned any routine for her other than my engaging her in conversation, which we could do later, and her afternoon music and drawing lessons, so I decided not to worry about her. Up in the schoolroom, I set Olive to working on her handwriting by copying a page from the science text. While she worked, I unfolded the newspaper I’d bought from Nat. Now I understood why every newspaper I’d seen before had the royal seal stamped on it. This one definitely took a different editorial approach than the newspapers I’d read. The main story on the front page was about the steam engine winning a race against a magical carriage. The story went on to describe the implications of bringing mass transportation into a restricted area. The article was vividly written, with a perspective that could only have come from someone on that bus. The author’s name was Elizabeth Smith—the Lizzie who’d sat next to me, I guessed.
The other articles covered injustices in the city, the impact of taxes, and suppression of technological progress. I’d thought I was well-informed, but I had been entirely unaware of many of these issues. The only story this newspaper seemed to have in common with the paper Lord Henry and Rollo had discussed at breakfast was the Masked Bandits’ robbery, only this paper seemed far more in favor of it. Editorial cartoons depicted magisters wearing wizards’ robes and pointy hats covered in stars, and these magisters lived in remote castles, ruling from on high. I had to put down the newspaper when Olive brought her work to me. “Very nice, Olive,” I told her. “Now let’s do some math.”
The morning passed quickly. Olive was an apt pupil who was eager to please. I had already seen how readily she memorized anything she heard, and that applied to her schoolwork as well. I seldom had to tell her anything twice. She also had an inquisitive mind and asked thoughtful questions. I understood why Lord Henry was reluctant to send her to the typical school for girls of her class. Flora finally emerged from her room for lunch and very pointedly refused to make conversation with me. After several attempts, I gave up and focused on Olive.
I got a respite after lunch when the music and art teachers arrived. It was a fine September day, so I put on my hat and gloves and crossed the street to the park. I’d read about New York’s Central Park but hadn’t realized it was so vast. I had only to walk a short while before I was able to forget I was in the middle of a city, in spite of the occasional magical carriage passing by. It was easy to imagine that I was out on a country lane. I might be a grand lady with a great estate or the daughter of a prosperous farmer, someone who didn’t have to worry about securing or maintaining employment, who knew her place in the world instead of being a misfit in any place.
I was so caught up in my reverie that I was taken entirely by surprise when someone grabbed me bodily and lifted me off my feet. I couldn’t find the air to scream, and I couldn’t seem to move my arms and legs to fight back. Then a vehicle raced past, right through the spot on the lane where I’d been standing. It was a magical open-topped roadster, so it made little noise other than a soft hum and the crunch of wheels on gravel. The driver, who was dressed like a fashionable dandy, didn’t slow at all and appeared entirely unaware that he’d nearly run down a pedestrian. He wore his hat pulled low, and a pair of driving goggles obscured his face, but I got a glimpse of reddish hair before the roadster disappeared from view.
“Why, it’s Verity!” a female voice near me said. I blinked in confusion, unsure why anyone in the park should know who I was. Then I recognized Lizzie rushing to my side. “Verity, are you all right?” she asked, her brow creased with concern.
The man holding me asked, “Are you able to stand on your own, miss?”
I turned to look at him, and when my eyes met his, I forgot everything else: my recent near miss, Lizzie, the park. All I saw was his green eyes boring into my soul. From the way he looked at me, I guessed that he’d been struck the same way. We were frozen together in that moment.
While I was incapable of speech and had even forgotten that I’d been asked a question, Lizzie answered for me. “Let’s get her over to that bench, Alec. My legs are shaking, and I wasn’t the one almost run down.” They walked me between them to a nearby bench, where they settled me. I only realized I must have had tears springing to my eyes when the man handed me his handkerchief. Lizzie then said, “Alec, go get her some lemonade. She’s had quite a shock.”
I was unable to find my voice in time to protest before Alec darted off across the park to a refreshment stand. I dabbed at my eyes with a shaking hand, then clutched the handkerchief and tried to will myself into overcoming the combined shock of the near accident and the rapturous moment I’d just experienced. Lizzie sat beside me on the bench and squeezed my hand. “It’s fortunate that we came along when we did and that Alec has such excellent reflexes.” Her voice sharpened. “Those magpies think the city belongs to them. They don’t look out for anyone else. I don’t know how many times I’ve nearly been run down by magpie dandies out for a spin in their fancy little roadsters.”
My wits finally returned, and I remembered that I was in the company of a rebel. But she didn’t look like a radical. She could have been any girl out for a stroll in the park. She wasn’t even wearing the red ribbon and gear of the Rebel Mechanics. “I saw your article about the race,” I said, finding my voice. “At least, I presumed you wrote it.”
“Yes, ‘Smith’ is my nom de plume—or nom de guerre, as the case may be. It wouldn’t be safe to use my real name when reporting on such topics and for such a newspaper.”
“Being a journalist must be very exciting.” When I had to find a way to support myself, I hadn’t even considered journalism, although I could write quite well. I supposed there were far too many books about well-bred, educated young women being governesses and too few about young women being reporters.
Alec returned with two glasses of lemonade, one of which he handed to me with a bow, and the other to Lizzie. “Verity, I’d like you to meet Alec Emfinger,” she said. “He’s our genius who created the steam engine. Alec, this is Verity. She was one of your passengers yesterday. Oh dear, I don’t know your surname, Verity. That’s what happens when I let my brother make introductions.”
So Alec was my savior. I hadn’t seen him without his goggles yesterday. I had to fight to find my voice. “I’m Verity Newton,” I said, answering Lizzie without taking my eyes off Alec. I added to him, “Thank you for saving my life.”
He doffed his hat, revealing neatly trimmed fair hair, and gave me a slight bow. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Newton. I’m glad I came along at the right time.” He looked like he was about nineteen, and he reminded me of the university students I’d known in New Haven. He certainly didn’t look like the radicals pictured in newspaper cartoons. None of them looked at all heroic or noble the way he did.
“Verity, you must tell me, did you get the position?” Lizzie asked, placing her hand lightly on my arm.
I dragged my gaze away from Alec to answer her. “Yes, I did. And I must thank you both for the ride. I might not have been on time for the interview otherwise.”
“Which household employed you?”
I tensed, unsure I should tell the rebels where I worked, but not answering would be rude. “I’m working for the Lyndon family,” I said.
“The marquis?” Alec asked.
“No, the marquis died in an airship accident a little more than a year ago,” Lizzie said. “Don’t you remember? You said that ship had a design flaw, something about the balloon material, and you expected a disaster. You gloated for days after it happened.”
“The current marquis is one of my charges,” I said
. “My employer is the children’s uncle. He’s their guardian.”
Alec sat on my other side, and his proximity sent a warm flush through my body. “You landed well, then,” he said. “That’s one of the highest families in the colonies.”
“And not just because of the title,” Lizzie added. “Do you know who the children’s grandfather is?”
“It hasn’t been mentioned,” I said.
“Their mother was the daughter of Samuel DeLancey, the royal governor.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“You didn’t know this before you applied for the position?”
“No. I only wanted to find a position in a good home.”
Lizzie nodded. “I understand. Women like us can’t afford to be choosy when we must make our own way in the world. You’re fortunate to have found such an excellent position. I may even be a little envious.”
“But you’re a newspaper reporter!”
“You’re a governess for one of the highest families in the American colonies. I suppose they also want you to act as chaperone?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ll be going to balls and parties and meeting the most important people in the colonies, maybe even people visiting from England.”
My job suddenly seemed a lot more interesting. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
Alec chuckled, and I turned to see him grinning at me. He had a nice smile that transformed his face from studious to boyish. “Aye, you’ve landed well. And to think you arrived in this new life on my machine. I’m honored to have been allowed to help.” His voice was soft and husky, and he gazed at me with the same intensity as before. For a moment, I felt like the two of us were alone in the park, but then I remembered Lizzie. They’d been walking in the park together—was he her beau? She didn’t appear to take offense at the way he focused so intently on me.
I smiled back at him, sure my cheeks must be flaming. “It’s better than any magical pumpkin coach.”
Rebel Mechanics Page 5