Viridis - A Steampunk Romance

by Calista Taylor

  Moving quietly, she threw on a casual pair of breeches, her scuffed work boots and a shirt, and headed to her laboratory to catch up on some work. She had been neglecting her research since she’d opened Viridis, as the late nights and the day-to-day demands of the business ate away at her free time. When not making batches of Viridis for the club, she had taken to playing around with her formulations, with the hope of creating something new. Indeed, she had a few herbals she was currently experimenting with, many showing great promise.

  Someday soon, she hoped to leave the running of the club in Gabriel’s capable hands, allowing her to pursue more useful outlets for her energy. Her true passion was tinkering with her herbals, though, if she must deal with Society, she would rather play hostess at her own club rather than subject herself to their rules and games outside of work. She shuddered at the thought of being forced to sit through endless evenings of idle gossip and speculation. It would surely push her to the edge of sanity. No, it was not a life she could endure— she needed to use her mind and her hands or she would wither and die— and it was exactly the type of life she would be forced to endure if she married someone like Lord Victor Fenwick.

  The laboratory was located on the upper most floor of their home. Phoebe took the stairs at a jog, anxious to get to work, but stopped on the landing when she found Sarah there, dusting.

  “Good morning to you, Mum.” Sarah bowed, then looked hastily down at her feet, her small frame tense.

  “And a good morning to you, Sarah.” Phoebe smiled at the girl, hoping to ease some of Sarah’s nervousness. She and Martha hadn’t been with Phoebe more than a few months, and with Phoebe spending so little time at home, the girls, perhaps used to more formality from their employers, were not yet at ease around her.

  “Shall I get you some breakfast? I can bring it up to you in the laboratory, if you’ll be working.”

  “Thank you, but I really want to get a bit of work done first. Perhaps in a bit.”

  “As you wish, Mum.”

  Phoebe continued on her way, her mind already running through calculations. Although she’d made enough Viridis to last a typical month, the increase in customers had dwindled the supply faster than she’d anticipated.

  A heavy metal door greeted her at the far end of the hall, which she always kept locked when she wasn’t working. She’d had the door reinforced several months back so that the solid oak door was now plated in heavy brass, thick bolts holding the plates in place. Pulling out a key she had dangling on a chain around her neck, she slid it into the keyhole and turned it, satisfied when she heard the click. Next, she tapped in a complicated series of numbers into a keypad next to the door, each enameled numerical key clicking into place to allow her access into her laboratory. As she touched the last key, she took a step back as a hiss of steam let loose and the massive gears turned, moving the door to the side and out of the way.

  She took a deep breath, slowly letting it out before walking into the laboratory. It was always the same, each time she came here. Though it was now her laboratory, she never ceased to think of it as her father’s, his ghost here too strong to ignore. After her mother’s death, the lab had been the place he had always escaped to, and after his death, it had become her escape too.

  However, Imogene’s death still had her regularly running over the calculations recorded in her journal, wondering if there was something she could have done differently, something she overlooked. Perhaps if she had been smarter, worked harder, she could have saved Imogene. Her sister’s death was a guilt she would always carry with her.

  Phoebe pushed the ghosts back into their graves, and cleared her head, now ready to work. The open space and high ceilings made the room feel larger than its actual size. Soaring windows flanked either side of the lab, with her work desk situated in the center of the room. Row upon row of glass bottles sparkled in the sunlight that poured in from the windows, including the jugs full of essential oils she needed to make Viridis.

  Crossing to her desk, she picked up her journal and referenced her formulations. She put on a pair of brass goggles designed to protect her eyes should one of the liquids splatter or she get hit with a blast of steam. Pulling down several jugs, she measured out her ingredients, pouring them into a massive copper vessel, before wheeling it to the tall tinkering that occupied the center of the room—the distillery. It was physically taxing work, especially for someone her size, but she did not like asking for help when she was still capable, nor did she want others in her laboratory.

  Opening a compartment, she slid the round copper vessel within, the liquid sloshing around as she connected a tube, lit the fire, and adjusted the dials for the correct pressure. The machine groaned to life. She took a step back, a smile upon her face as she looked at the tinkering Seth had built her. It always reminded her of a gigantic metal octopus swimming to the bottom of the ocean— the bulging body had copper tubing coming out of it every which way, only to coil madly towards the sky, the steam encircling it like frothy waves.

  This one batch of Viridis would be enough to replenish most of her stock for the club. Then perhaps she could get back to her research. By changing the concentrations of phenols and by adding other herbs to the original Viridis recipe, she had gotten some new—and very interesting—results. It looked as though the new formula may heighten senses in a way quite different to Viridis. It would still be months before she perfected it, but only if she managed to dedicate more time to the project. There was definite potential for something extraordinary to happen.

  Satisfied that everything was working properly, she slipped off her goggles so they lay dangling around her neck, and then moved back to the shelves, searching amongst the glittering bottles. After several minutes, she found the bottle she was looking for, and grabbing a glass, headed back to her desk.

  She wiggled the cork out of the bottle, and poured out a few tablespoons of the viscous amber liquid. It had been one of her first herbal formulations and quite simple to make, created shortly after Seth first started courting her. The tincture, a combination derived from smartweed, pomegranate seeds, and the seed head of Queen Anne’s lace, smelled bitter and tasted even worse. Managing to get it down, she had all but forgotten how horrible it was. Perhaps someday she would no longer need it, but for now, her circumstances were not suitable for starting a family.

  Of course, these types of herbals had always existed, for as long as there were people coupling, there were also people not wanting to get with child. And though they usually did not persecute women as witches for things as simple as this, her reputation had already taken enough of a beating, and she thought it best if it were kept a secret from everyone but Seth. Quite frankly, she’d much rather not die tied to a stake and engulfed in flames.

  Getting back to work, she paged through the leather-bound journal, worn with age and use. It was there she kept all her methods, her observations, her secrets. While the liquid distilled she jotted down her numbers and measurements for that day’s batch, knowing it was crucial to keep meticulous notes on everything she did.

  Lost in her work, she was startled when Seth ran a hand down her back. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you come in.” She usually left the door ajar when she was working to help with the fumes. Opening the windows normally created too much of a cross breeze and chill, slowing down the process in the cold of winter.

  “Working, I see?” He smiled at her, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “I woke up alone. For a second I thought I was back in the Outlands, and you had been just a dream.” Seth looked at her, and she blushed at the thought of what she must look like, fresh out of bed— her hair disheveled and loose, the outline of her erect nipples embarrassingly visible through the diaphanous fabric of her shirt— her body’s response to his mere proximity.

  “Come back to bed, Phoebe.” Leaning on her desk, he reached out and ran his hand down her cheek, his fingers just a little rough and calloused from his work.

  Phoebe swiveled her chair tow
ards him. “I just started the distillation, and can’t leave it for long. Thought I’d take a bit of time to run some new calculations. I could have some breakfast brought up though, if you’re hungry. I could do with a bite myself.”

  She looked up into those turquoise eyes and had the urge to abandon her work and take him up on his offer. His shirt was half open and untucked, suspenders dangling neglected at his sides. Half hidden under the cotton of his shirt was an expanse of smooth skin over work-hardened muscles, dark hair curling its way across his chest before trailing in a narrow line down his abdomen.

  “Food wasn’t what I had in mind, but I reckon I’ll take what I can get.” A smile filled with mischief tugged at his mouth. Obviously still hoping to change her mind, he pulled her to him when she stood. He motioned with a tilt of his head to the tinkering in the center of the room. “How has it been working for you? Any problems?”

  “It’s been working grand. No problems at all.”

  Standing before the massive contraption, a smile lit her face. Indeed, if she had not searched him out to have the tinkering built, they would have never met. Before she met Seth, she’d struggled for months with a traditional distillery, trying in vain to reach the high temperatures she needed, fast enough and with the precision required to control and maintain the exact pressure for extraction. When her efforts fell short, she sought out a tinkerer for help. Seth had come highly recommended and was considered one of the best, his designs and tinkerings regarded with the utmost respect.

  He’d labored away for months, trying to get the distillery just right. The result was a one of a kind— a Seth Elliot original— a masterpiece without which she may not have been able to accomplish what she had, in so little time.

  He had started courting her from the very beginning, using the tinkering as a guise to spend more time together, though his excuses were short lived. With many interests in common, they not only found each other romantically but also developed a deep friendship. He had been unlike any other man she’d met, appreciative of her opinions and her mind, encouraging her when she was ready to give up. Never had he tried to change her or bend her to society’s norms.

  Not long after they met, Seth introduced her to Gavin and he soon joined their adventures, the three of them inseparable. Their friendship offered Phoebe a much needed escape from the reality of her world, a glimmer of normalcy and hope in what had been a dreary and difficult life.

  When he’d finally finished the distillery, Seth had asked Phoebe to marry him. But with Imogene’s health taking a turn for worst, she refused his offer, which put a strain on their previously close bond. Things became even more strained for them after Imogene’s death. He had tried to be there for her, yet she had pushed him away in her pain, unable to let him—or anybody—get close to her, unable to forgive herself for not being able to save Imogene.

  And yet she had been unable to see the distance she had put between them until it was too late; Seth left for the Outlands soon after, his commitment made, leaving Phoebe to drown in regret and despair.

  “Will ye not come back to bed, my love?” His fingers twined around hers, as he pulled her to him, his lips just a whisper away. Do you know that, for that blasted long year, you— my memories and your photo— were the only thing keeping me warm in the arctic cold?”

  “You weren’t the only one alone.” She hated to think of how desperate and lonely she had been. Gavin had been away in the colonies when her sister died, and Seth’s departure for the Outlands came only a month after, leaving Phoebe with no one but her brother. There were days when she couldn’t even muster the strength to get herself out of bed, and she did not think she would have survived it if it hadn’t been for Gabriel’s constant attentions.

  Seth nuzzled her ear for just a moment, before his lips found their way to hers, his kisses soft and sweet as they stirred in her a heat only he could quench.

  “Phoebe, why won’t you marry me?” His question was barely a whisper in between kisses.

  She shook herself free, the moment lost with her frustration. “We’ve been through this before, Seth.” She turned away from him, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a sudden chill. It was a discussion they’d had on more than one occasion.

  “Phoebe, I cannot give up the Cause. It’s too important. You know that. Think of all those that are suffering; the government and Queen doing nothing to stave off the illness, the poverty.”

  She knew he spoke the truth, and her problem was not with the Cause, only the way in which he chose to help. “How could you think that of me? I am not asking that you give up the Cause. I only want you to help in a way that will not take you away from me for months at a time and put your life at risk.”

  He paced the floor, his frustration evident. “I help the way I know how. I thought you of all people would understand that. You’ve seen the faces of the poor, all hope extinguished from their eyes. It’s the Cause that has finally rekindled that flame, given them hope for a better life, and it’s the Cause that will demand change from those in power, whether they want it or not. The poor have suffered and been oppressed for too long, Phoebe. You know that.”

  “Do you think I don’t understand? Have I not also helped and done what I can?” Her temper was up in a flash. She had seen the suffering, had been by his side while they offered what help they could to those who had nothing.

  “Phoebe…”

  She felt the air around her shift as he came to stand behind her, her tears threatening to fall. “I can’t do it, Seth. I watched my father struggle alone after my mother’s death. It was that loneliness that slowly killed him, tore him apart. I refuse to take that path willingly. You were gone over a year, and I cannot do it again. I’ve lost so much…I couldn’t stand to lose you, too. And I should not have to.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.” He ran his hand down the length of her arm.

  “You know they’ll keep sending you on missions as long as you let them. I’d never ask you to give up the Cause— but there are other ways.”

  As much as she wanted him to stay, she needed that decision to be his own. She would not risk him blaming her for tying him down when he’d be happier leading a different life. She had no tolerance for others telling her what to do, and she would not be a hypocrite.

  He had always promised to be by her side, and though she may have pushed him away after Imogene’s death, it had still been his choice to leave for the Outlands, his promise broken, though she could not say it was entirely his fault.

  “I give the only way I know how.” Frustration, hurt and anger were all evident in his voice. “Phoebe, please. Why can you not see that? I would give it all up if it would make you happy, but I cannot believe that is what you truly want. Do you want the Cause to fail? For the innocent to continue to suffer?”

  Angry and incredibly hurt that he would think her so selfish, she spat, “How can you say that?” She turned to look into his eyes, her heart aching. “Do you think I’d stand idly by and watch others suffer? Do you not think I’ve done my share to help in your absence?” If he didn’t already know that she’d do her part to help, then what hope did they have?

  “Missions aren’t the only way to help, Seth, but you’re never willing to find a happy medium.” She turned away from him. “I shouldn’t have to ask you to stay.” A tear slid down her cheek. “And if you cannot figure that out, if you cannot figure out a way to keep us together, then maybe you should leave.”

  She didn’t turn to watch him go— she couldn’t; for all she wanted was for him to take her in his arms and tell her he would not leave, tell her all would be right. But instead she heard his quiet footsteps as he walked out of the room, just as he had done a year before.

  Chapter Five

  After making sure the body was delivered to the morgue, William had gone to Lord Niles Hawthorne’s place of work, though he had little luck. Lord Hawthorne’s employers would not grant him access to the cases he’d been worki
ng on as a solicitor, but said they knew of nothing that would lead to his death and of no one who would wish him harm.

  William had sent out requests to those that may be able to help, calling in what favors he could to gain copies of the case files. It would take some time, but he did not doubt he’d eventually have any information pertinent to the case, so he could follow up on any leads.

  The coach pulled up to Lord Niles Hawthorne’s home. The flat was located in the decent yet trendy neighborhood of Bedford Square, in a spacious and elegant home. A footman, already expecting him, escorted him to Lord Hawthorne’s quarters.

  The décor was distinctly male— deep burgundies accented with rich browns, leather and velvet— the colors and fabrics were well-chosen, darker and heavier in appearance than rooms designed by a woman—or with a woman in mind. A bachelor himself, he was all too familiar with how a woman’s touch could lighten a room and add a sense of charm.

  All too often, William thought of how nice it would be to have someone to come home to after a hard day at work, especially in the cold and wet weather—someone to talk to, share the day with. But an inspector’s life was one of long hours, limited compensation, and little respect. Not exactly what a woman would be looking for in a husband.

  The flat consisted of a large sitting room, a library, and the sleeping quarters. Each room could hold a clue that would help him with his investigation, but spotting the desk in the library, William decided to start there.

  Rifling through the drawers, William found a few pieces of personal correspondence, but a cursory review proved it to be nothing out of the ordinary. He continued his search, and was ready to move on to the bookshelf when he came across a playbill, listing the upcoming shows at Viridis. It appeared that William’s original conclusion as to why Lord Hawthorne had been in the area was indeed correct.