A Dance Like Flame (Of Magic & Machine Book 1)

by Tammy Blackwell

  Bits had seen Sally Maids before. They were quite the rage in London. Nearly every aristocratic household owned at least one, and some families went so far as to purchase a new model every year. Still, it was a shock to see one here.

  The Nash’s Sally Maid was well made. Her uniform was the typical black servant’s dress, but the material was some of the finest cloth to be had. The porcelain face had been painted with an artists’ love of detail, giving the illusion of life. The eyes were painted with the same precision, and the blinking lids, a recent development in Sally Maid mechanics, were decorated with gleaming dark lashes. The hair was not only human, but a golden color that had to have cost the maker more money than most other Sally Maids cost in total.

  How had Ezra afforded such a luxury? His home wasn’t a hovel, but it was certainly modest, especially in comparison to the homes of the ton. Even the richest of families considered a standard model Sally Maid to be a major investment. This model was far from standard. Bits would have wagered she had cost more money than the surgeon would see in his lifetime.

  “You have a Sally Maid.” As far as stated observations went, it was a rather obvious one, but she still couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

  All emotion drained from Ezra’s face. “We do.”

  “If you could leave it here, Rose,” Lily said, indicating a low table positioned in front of her settee. “I would like to pour for our guest.”

  “And you’ve named her.” She hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but she had never heard of such before. Naming a Sally Maid? Weren’t they all called Sally?

  The muscle in Ezra’s jaw jumped. “We did.” He watched as the automaton left the tray where Lily indicated and then excused herself back to her duties. “I assume you have experience directing Sally Maids and will need no assistance in getting Rose to do any tasks you may have need of her accomplishing for you,” he said once the door closed again.

  “Actually, I do not, but—”

  “You don’t?”

  “No, the Braxton and Keaton estates only employee human servants and standard serving drones.” They may have well been the only aristocratic households in all of England to do so. Yet even Sarah, who wanted nothing more than the approval of the ton, refused to allow one in her home.

  Bits had been there when the first Sally Maid was unveiled twelve years ago. She was fourteen, not quite old enough for a clockwork exposition, and most certainly not the right gender to receive an invitation, but her father was the indulgent sort. He had pulled her along with him, daring any of the dozen or so men to say a word to the Earl of Braxton about his chosen guest.

  She had worn her hair up for the first time that day, feeling every bit a young woman instead of a child. Her manners were still awkward, and she was already well aware of the fact she was not a rose of the first water as her sister was, but her father put her at ease. She prided herself in not gasping loudly or fainting to the floor like poor Mr. Young when the Sally Maid first stepped on stage.

  Automatons had long been used for service in England, but those had been mere serving drones. The Sally Maid looked like a giant doll come to life, but she moved like a person. The Sally who began it all had walked out with a tray in her hand, appearing to be nothing more than a very large and elaborate serving drone. It was when she had set the tray down the murmuring began. Then, when she picked up the teapot and poured a cup at Mr. Filmore’s command, chaos erupted.

  Bits had been as impressed as everyone else. Until that point, drones could do no more than repeat a single task over and over. The Sally Maid wasn’t just capable of multiple tasks, but also of following whatever command she was given, which Mr. Filmore had demonstrated by allowing various audience members to call out jobs at random for her to complete. Bits had sat in rapt fascination throughout the demonstration while her father muttered under his breath about the aether and energy sources.

  When it came time to unveil the mechanics hiding beneath the plain servant’s dress covering everything below the porcelain neck, her father had suggested she leave the hall. A small argument had ensued, but in the end, she had prevailed.

  At first she could see nothing beyond the wheels and cogs sitting inside the iron frame shaped into the form of a woman’s body. It was the most complex machine she had ever seen, which was saying quite a bit since she spent the majority of her time in her father’s shop. She was trying to identify individual parts and feeling quite superior for not succumbing at the first sight of the automaton’s internal workings like her father feared when Mr. Filmore removed the gold plate to reveal the energy source. The next thing she was aware of was her father’s face staring down at her from above as someone remarked on there being a reason women, and especially little girls, were not allowed to practice clockwork.

  “My family has ethical objections to the use of Sally Maids,” she said, swallowing down the acid burning the back of her throat at the memory of that long ago day. Ezra’s gaze slid to his sister, and she raised her eyebrows in response. Realizing what she had implied, she quickly added, “I meant no offense to you, obviously. I mean, I certainly would never—”

  “To what does your family object?” he asked, thankfully cutting her off before she could make her situation any worse.

  “It’s the energy source.” Very few people knew their Sally Maid ran not on steam or kinetic energy, but something much more primitive and powerful - a human heart.

  Her father had been livid at Mr. Filmore for what he called a “immoral and unforgivable act.” When Mr. Filmore offered the other Smiths and Ironmasters in attendance the opportunity to work alongside him and gain riches beyond their imagination, her father had railed against the man and any in attendance who would agree to create such abominations just to fill their coffers.

  The next day, he had set out with her mother to speak with the Queen and beg her assistance in stopping Mr. Filmore’s enterprise, but they never made it to the palace. Their carriage was overtaken by highwaymen. When Bits learned of their death, she had laughed, certain it was the most horrible joke her father’s man of business had ever attempted to tell. It wasn’t until days later she finally allowed herself to believe the truth and cry proper tears.

  Something passed between the Nash siblings, a silent conversation to which she wasn’t privy. She was no stranger to such discussions. Her own siblings were experts at them. Sarah was fluent in must-you-embarrass-me-so sighs and head shakes while Henry spoke this-is-all-so-very-stupid-and-beneath-me eyeroll like a native. She had also sat on the outside of many such conversations, usually of the who-invited-her eyebrow raise and the do-not-leave-me-alone-with-her lip compression variety. Yet, despite being somewhat of an expert in things people said without saying a word, she was unsure of what the looks between Ezra and Lily could mean. She was greatly relieved when Lily’s impassive expression melted into a soft smile.

  “I am ever so glad you’ve come to stay with us, Bits,” the girl said with so much sincerity emotion clogged her throat and pricked her eyes.

  “As am I,” Bits quickly agreed. “As am I.”

  Chapter 8

  The next morning Bits woke to the sound of Mrs. Green moving about in her room. “Sorry to wake you, my lady,” the housekeeper said as she shut the door of a wardrobe that had seen better decades. “You’ve had some clothes delivered.” The older woman walked over to the end of Bits’s bed, adjusting her cap over a mass of ash-colored hair. “I imagine you’ll be wanting to finally rid yourself of that poor, abused dress and have yourself a nice, warm bath.”

  Bits’s body was still offering sanctuary to the poor, abused dress in question. All of her luggage had been lost in the accident, and without proper nightclothes to change into, she had decided to remain fully clothed rather than strip down to her undergarments. At the time it had seemed the reasonable, proper thing to do, but under Mrs. Green’s gaze she felt foolish.

  “I would like that very much,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as loud a
nd desperate to Mrs. Green’s ears as it did her own.

  She was surprised when Mrs. Green led her to a washroom tucked between the room she’d been given and Lily’s. There were even pipes to bring the water in, although no furnace had been installed to heat the water. She was puzzling over how to discreetly inquire about having some warm water brought in without sounding ungrateful when Mrs. Green started lighting candles and placing them around the edge of a circle painted on the floor. Bits had no idea what was happening, and therefore no idea how to act. She stood awkwardly, overly aware of how her body took up space, and watched as Mrs. Green lit the final candle and stepped into the middle of the circle.

  “Mrs. Green?” her voice shook, but not as powerfully as her hands. Mrs. Green’s eyes had gone silver and glowed brightly even though sunlight spilled into the room from a nearby window.

  Bits had been stupid to want to stay in Corrigan. Everyone knew it wasn’t safe for the Untouched to be within its walls, and yet she’d practically begged the Oberon, the King of Faeries, to let her stay. True, he had done something to compel her to tell him what she most desired, but she was a fool to desire it in the first place. The fate awaiting her in Scotland was nothing compared to being turned into a frog or vanished from existence or whatever it was Mrs. Green was about to do to her.

  “I’m only warming up the water, my lady.” Mrs. Green’s barely suppressed smile and soothing tone made it clear she knew exactly what Bits was thinking. “How warm do you like it? Just enough to take the chill out, near boiling, or somewhere in between?”

  “Something in between,” Bits replied, still not completely comforted. “But closer to the boiling side, please.”

  Mrs. Green’s head fell forward, her chin resting on the pillow of her bosom. She chanted something softly beneath her breath in the musical language Alice had used on the train. A charge went through the air, causing the little hairs on Bits’s arms to stand on end, and then the candles all extinguished at once.

  “Give it a feel and see if that will do, my lady,” Mrs. Green said, her eyes once again a mundane muddy green. With no small amount of trepidation, Bits walked over to the tub, which was now steaming, and dipped a finger into the water.

  “It’s perfect,” she said, the words coming out hushed with reverence. “How did you—”

  “Magic,” Mrs. Green said with a wink. “And if you’re going to be staying around here, my lady, I suggest you grow accustomed to it.”

  Bits didn’t think she could ever grow accustomed to a world where magic touched every aspect of day-to-day life, but it only took a few days to be proven wrong. Despite Mrs. Green’s display that first morning, it was actually used rarely within the Nash household. What Bits did have trouble becoming accustomed to was the intimacy of being in such a small home with so few people. Her life had been lived in sprawling estates filled with servants. With so many people and so much space she was able to fade into the background, moving about unseen. There had been entire days when she had not spoken to anyone other than her maid.

  The Nash’s home did not give one an opportunity to go unnoticed. The first floor housed the kitchen, a dining room, the parlor where she first met Lily, and Ezra’s study. The second held four bedrooms, and the top was reserved for the servants. Since sequestering oneself in a man’s study in order to regain one’s equilibrium was deemed unacceptable behavior, Bits was forced to spend her days in conversation.

  That was not to say she did not enjoy spending time with Lily and Alice, or listening to one of Mr. Green’s stories and Mrs. Green’s assertions that half of what he said was a fantasy of his own making. She did. Immensely. In fact, she had never been so included in her life. But spending time with people, even people whose company she enjoyed, left her drained. By the time Ezra returned home each evening, she was too exhausted to do more than smile or frown at the appropriate places as he relayed the events of his day.

  Of course, part of her nightly silence may have also been due to the way Ezra grew more and more perfect in her eyes with each passing day. Her attraction to a man’s physical appearance she could overlook once the shock of it had worn off, but a person who devoted their life to helping others? One who fought tears when he could not ease an old man’s suffering and laughed as he recounted how he discovered a young girl’s “bruises” were the result of trying to hide the berries she’d filched from the kitchen in the bend of her arm when her mother came looking?

  It was hopeless. She adored him, and unfortunately, adoration closely resembled mental deficit in Bits.

  The days quickly took on a pattern. Lily was confined to either her bed or the settee in the parlor, and moving from one to the other required Ezra to carry her. Every morning, Bits would awake to the rumble of Ezra’s voice in the next room. If she was quick enough about donning her clothes and twisting her hair up into a style that was serviceable at best, she would pass him as he made his way out the front door. He always smiled at her and remarked on how well she was looking that morning. Of course, she knew the opposite to be true, but it didn’t feel as if his words were meant as a taunt. Sometimes it almost sounded as if he actually believed them. Those mornings her breath would catch in her lungs and her heart would be beating so hard Lily would feel the need to inquire about her health the moment she entered the parlor.

  Since Lily was bound to the settee, Bits was bound there as well. Their entire day took place inside the small room. They would sew or read the hours away. Most days Alice joined them for tea and shared whatever gossip was on the tongues of Corrigan. Sometimes she would bring Robert along with her, and he would sit so still and quietly that his presence was often forgotten by anyone who had not given him life. During those first few days Bits would try to get her friend to reveal more about what really took place on the train and who the men with the guns were, but Alice batted it all away by claiming things outside of Corrigan’s walls were of no import here.

  Ezra would return sometime in the early evening and spend the time before dinner freshening up in his room. At dinner, Ezra would carry Lily to the table, where he and his sister would spend the meal talking and laughing while Bits tried desperately to not spill soup down her front or chew too noisily.

  Then it was time in the study for Ezra, more time in the parlor for the girls, and then bed for them all.

  And then the next day would follow in the same fashion, over and over, until Bits thought she might go mad from it.

  She’d been in Corrigan for nearly a fortnight when she walked downstairs one morning to find the parlor empty.

  “Mrs. Green?” Bits walked back towards the kitchen. “Mrs. Green? Mr. Green?” she called out. “Is anyone home?”

  Where could they be? Was it some sort of Touched festival day? If so, what had they done with Lily? And why had they left her here all alone, without so much as a note to ease her mind?

  “Mrs. Green?”

  “Sorry, my lady,” Mrs. Green said, wiping her hands on her apron as she came through the back door. “Mr. Nash was called out on an emergency very early this morning and required Mr. Green’s help.” She grabbed a pot and began to fill it with water. “Without Mr. Green here, I had to tend to the garden this morning, and I’m running frightfully behind. But don’t you worry. I can have you something good to eat in just a few moments time.”

  “Oh, don’t bother yourself. I’m not all that hungry,” Bits lied. “I was merely concerned when I didn’t find Miss Lily in the parlor.”

  The corners of Mrs. Green’s lips tugged down and she gave her head a small, sad shake. “Poor thing will have to spend the day abed. I truly hate it for her. I know how much she enjoys being able to see out into the garden from the parlor. But without Mr. Nash here, there is simply no one able to carry her down. Even if Mr. Green was home…” Her shoulders sagged. “We’re not as young as we used to be, and Mr. Green’s knees—”

  “There is no need to apologize or offer excuses, Mrs. Green. I know Mr. Green would walk across th
e desert with Miss Lily on his back if he could. I’m sure she doesn’t expect it from him either.”

  Mrs. Green’s face folded up in an affection-filled smile. “No, she does not. She doesn’t expect anything at all from anyone, even after everything that has happened. She’s a fighter, determined to be as independent as she was before.”

  Bits eyebrows flew towards her hairline, and she fought to pull them back down. This was the first she’d heard of Lily having a before. She’d assumed — erroneously apparently — that Lily had been born without legs. She’d wondered about it, of course, but there was no way to politely ask why someone didn’t have parts of their body, and Bits cared much too dearly for Lily to gossip about it.

  “That’s why I hate for her to spend the day up in that room. Days like this crush her spirit, and I’m afraid one day her mood won’t be able to return from the dark place it winds up when she’s up there.”

  Bits could not imagine Lily in a dark mood. Her charge was everything a young woman should be - beautiful, bright, and filled with kindness. Whatever tragedy had claimed her legs must have happened a very long time ago for her to be so fully recovered from it.

  “What about the Sally Maid? Can she not transport Miss Lily down the stairs?” She hated to ask it, the idea of assigning a task to one of those abominations turned her stomach, but if the thing already existed, there was no use in letting the opportunity to help someone in dire need of assistance slip past.

  “Rose’s coordination isn’t perfect. She’s afraid she’ll drop her.”

  Frustrated, Bits concentrated on a group of decorative metal tiles inlaid on the counter. The angles did not quite meet up, and she mentally pushed and prodded to make the lines nice and tidy.

  “What about a chair? The kind with wheels so we could at least move her around?”

  “Mr. Nash ordered one from London. He used every bit of savings he had, but when it got here, it was broken. Wouldn’t budge an inch. It’s out in the stables now. Mr. Green sits in it on occasion when he does too much with horses and needs a bit of rest.”