Cogs in Time 2 (The Steamworks Series)

by SJ Davis

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said calmly. “I woke with this quite remarkable bruising. Completely unexplainable and inexplicable.” Without thinking, her hand touched the swelling. She pushed into the puffed up area and flinched. “It’s as if I had surgery in the night. Ouch,” she said as her upper jaw vibrated with pain from the slight pressure.

  “I was going to let you try my new goggles, but I’m afraid they may hurt your injury.”

  “Oh, let me see them anyway!”

  He passed her a custom version of his latest ocular invention. The magnification of the new goggles could be extended to twenty times the normal field of vision. A slight curve of the lens kept the goggles more flush to the face, more intuitive, with an adjustable refraction. A tiny round crystal bulb was attached to the upper right for added illumination, and the power switch was attached by a thin wire on the chinstrap.

  Josephine ran her hands across the smooth chin strap and stretched the goggles around her head, elongating the area that would normally touch the right side of her face, avoiding her bruise.

  “Bodhi! These are simply amazing!” The left lens lay so close to her eye, it was as if the goggles were a natural extension of her own field of vision. “The magnification is quite extreme.” She looked about the room, tiny dust particles and strands of hair appeared enormous.

  “Remarkable. I am quite stunned at the clarity.”

  “Next thing you know, we’ll see the future through your goggles,” she joked.

  “The idea has crossed my mind; but the execution eludes me.”

  “Bodhi, I was joking. Such a thing is impossible.”

  “The greatest ideas and inventions come from impossibility, Josephine.”

  She scanned the room, the goggles magnifying every crack and pore in the wall. “I can read a note with these, across the hall. Let’s see…” she squinted and adjusted the lenses by rotating the magnification.

  “Don’t be so curiously meddlesome, Josephine. They aren’t for spying.”

  “Oh but these could be,” she said, reading his note. “Bodhi! You are going to the Prime Minister’s to repair his clock? Is not someone appointed by Her Majesty to handle such repairs?”

  “One would think so.”

  “Well, I remember him as a lovely man, in spite of raising a rather spoiled daughter,” said Josephine as memories rushed upon her.

  She looked into the grief stricken face of Bodhi, a taller man than most, and more of a Londoner now than a refugee from India. He picked up scattered papers and straightened the edges on the table.

  “We were children. People change. You are quite a different person from when you were a child.”

  “My childhood was robbed from me, of course I would change.”

  “Yes. Well,” said Bodhi uncomfortably, clearing his throat, “life can be difficult.”

  “Life can be most unfair,” she added with stiffness in her usually soft voice. They sat comfortably in silence until Josephine stood to return Bodhi’s goggles. “Now, back to this summons for a house call, don’t make a nuisance of yourself or break anything. And I expect to hear exactly what it’s like inside number ten.” She smiled as she stood to leave.

  “Of course.”

  “And tell me all about Caroline, too,” she added. “It has been a lifetime.”

  Chapter Two

  ~ The Black Seam ~

  Kent, England, April 1865

  The place and the hour usually gave Caroline comfort; it was early evening and the sun was only faintly visible as she strolled the perimeter of her gardens. The sky, golden and pink, peeked through the low hanging mist, while the sunset reflected on the damp grass. Stone benches, long sunken in front of the landscaped bushes were chipped along the edges and wet with rain, yet she chose to sit for a moment.

  A broad swath of uncolored brightness filled the valley alongside her father’s manor. The rest of the world laid still, neither shadows nor sound seemed to exist beyond the hills. Stretching behind her, a long black road led to the house. The path dipped and curved between two rows of perfectly planted trees, all evenly spaced and matched in height. The disrupted turf exposed the natural darkness of the land. Horse hoofs and carriage wheels had burrowed into the mulch and peat, excavating deep patterns and disrupting any semblance of smooth travel.

  Caroline turned towards the main house and caught the stern figure of her father coming marching the hillside through the fog. His black coat and tails flapped behind him, while his tight black satin vest mirrored the small amount of light left from the sun. He wore lace at his cuffs, but his overly elevated top hat and frowning scowl lent him the appearance of a grim reaper.

  “Caroline,” her father, England’s Prime Minister, said with a disapproving brow. “I must insist that you return to the house immediately. Leaving our guests in the middle of our dinner engagement is scathingly unbecoming. It’s as if you’ve forgotten yourself entirely.” His hands flew in the air, yet his voice remained in control. “I can hardly understand your behavior.” He turned away and looked up into the trees. “Here I am, responsible for securing all of Great Britain and for maintaining order! But in my own house? Utter anarchy reigns!”

  “Indeed, I must have forgotten myself,” she answered without expression. “I am quite aware of the expectations of me, as the lady of your house.”

  “It has been difficult for me also, Caroline,” he cleared his throat, “all of these years, since your mother passed.”

  “Of course it has,” she said in a softer tone, his statement stung. She rose to hold her father’s hand. “I apologize for my selfishness. I must also tell you, I cannot find Mother’s cameo.”

  “Your mother’s cameo? It is always locked up. It is quite impossible that it’s missing.”

  “I’m afraid it is.” The air sounded empty around them, devoid of life.

  “First things first, come back in, and we shall invent an excuse for your odd behavior,” he said, trying to mollify her. “We shall explain how your outburst was most out of character.” Her father had brought her cloak and draped it around her shoulders. “We shall say you were suddenly confounded by a blinding headache,” he whispered gently. “You were in dire need of fresh air without delay.” He patted her back and awkwardly kissed the top of her head. “Then we will find the missing cameo.”

  “Whatever you wish.” She shrugged.

  “Please, darling. It is not whatever I wish.” He put his hand under her chin. “Everything I wish is for you and for your benefit.”

  “Your hard work has served our family and England well,” she answered. “We are most fortunate, and I do not mean to appear ungrateful, but I feel like there should be more. I don’t mean more material acquisitions, but something utterly intangible and unquestionably more than what exists now. For me, anyway.” Caroline walked with her father, her arm tucked firmly under his. “I wish I had better talents in conveying how I feel.”

  She no longer wore the pouty face of a child; her pale hair showed beneath the hood of her cloak, placed carefully to not agitate her chapeau, and was as fine and as silken as a young girl’s. Her eyes, usually as lively as a brilliant cloudless sky, were unexcited and dulled; her outfit, with ornate laces and ribbons knotted about the waist and hips, strangled each of her steps. Her skirt clung tightly to her body and sported a bustle and violet train while a floral lavender top was fitted over a suffocating hourglass-shaped corset.

  “I feel as if I am going to faint. I feel like I am in a coffin.” She tried to stretch her lungs and ribcage but was a prisoner of her clothing.

  “Do you need a new wardrobe?”

  “It’s not the clothes. It’s my life! I can hardly breathe!” She reached up to her head, adjusting her flared, miniaturized top hat—which featured shiny purple velvet stripes with a coordinating grosgrain ribbon band under her cloak. “Well, it all looks so silly to me right now. I feel irrelevant.”

  “You’ve always loved beautiful things, Caroline.
Your love of fine art, designs, and fashion are inherent to your very being. I don’t understand your sudden change.”

  “I do like beautiful things. Really, I do. But tonight, listening to the men discussing topics of unemployment, factory conditions and child labor, and knowing that I am an unwelcome participant, made me feel like a piece of fancy nonsense. And when Lord West completely dismissed granting women the vote, I could stand not a moment more. No one takes someone who wears a hat like this seriously.”

  “It isn’t your clothes and accessories, Caroline. It is the nature of your gender. It is a general consensus that female thought processes, and especially political opinions, must be shaped and determined by a trusted male figure. Ideally, your conversations should be kept to appropriate topics of housekeeping and the arts with others members of your gender. How you look isn’t the issue. It is the gender you were born to.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I will confess, Caroline, that perhaps you are too clever a girl to find satisfaction and happiness as lady of any man’s house. And I don’t think there is a fix for that.” The Prime Minister took out his handkerchief to dry the excessive wetness from his shoes. “But, the evening’s event is almost at an end, and I do expect more from you than this,” He looked into her eyes. “I need more from you, than this. Tonight.”

  “I am more than an ornament, Father.”

  “Oh, of course you are much more, my sweet pet. I have always encouraged your mental flourishes. Occasionally, I may have over-encouraged you, resulting in these occasional flights of free-thinking rowdiness.”

  “I will make my apologies to your guests, Father. Then retire to my room for a few moments, to add veracity to this ruse of feigned illness.”

  “Good thinking, my dear.” They continued the short walk back to the party in silence, entering the back door through the servant’s access door. The boisterous cackles of the cook and serving girls immediately quieted to a silent hush as Caroline and the Prime Minister entered unannounced.

  “Enough!” yelled the cook to the young staff, clapping her hands, flour flying into the air. “Be off with you. Get back to work, all of you.” She cleared her throat, smiled, and curtsied to Caroline and her father. “Good evening sir,” she said. “A lovely dinner party indeed. All your guests are certainly in high spirits.”

  “Yes, thank you. Your execution of this evening’s dinner was superlative, though we ran out of the vegetable medley earlier than I would have preferred,” he replied, exiting the kitchen area to the parlor. The cook’s jovial expression fell at the sudden criticism.

  “Dinner was lovely,” Caroline whispered as they walked out. She smiled over her shoulder at the cook and her staff. “Your criticism of the vegetables was unnecessary.”

  “A successful dinner party enhances social status, Caroline,” he whispered to her. “I would be remiss if I didn’t point out the areas of opportunity in the meal in order to ensure an execution of future improvement. It’s how we achieve excellence. Now, I need you to go upstairs to ‘recover’ so that you might rejoin the ladies in after dinner conversation.”

  “I won’t disappoint.” She kissed her father’s cheek.

  “Caroline,” he stopped in the middle of the hall to speak seriously, as a man to another ally. “I need to bring England forward. I am struggling to bring her as a progressive nation, sometimes against the people’s will. I need to gain allies towards this goal, which is why we must entertain certain people. Your role is every bit as important to England’s future as mine.”

  “But I won’t be remembered as making the difference, Father. You, the Prime Minister, will be remembered, not your daughter who flitted about your gatherings.”

  “But without you, I would fail. I need these political alliances.”

  “You would have more alliances, Father, if women had the vote.”

  “One day, Caroline. Perhaps one day.”

  “I hope in my lifetime.”

  “For your sake, Caroline, I hope so too. I would put you up against any man.”

  “Thank you.”

  They continued walking towards the main area of the residence, but stopped at the stairs in the main entryway to the parlor, not daring to speculate about the conversations of the guests in their absence. The Prime Minister’s face was pale underneath his beard, yet wind-burnt along his nose and cheeks. His hand trembled slightly on the balustrade as he reentered with his errant daughter.

  “Hello, all!” he said with a forced exuberance. “Caroline has virtually recovered from her sudden departure and is on the mend. I found her in the gardens, almost back to her usual high spirits, merely needing a touch of fresh air after a sudden headache episode.”

  Caroline smiled beside her father. “Indeed. Pesky headaches. However, I do need to retire upstairs momentarily to regain full strength. My apologies, but I plan to return and enjoy your company momentarily.”

  Both branches of the stairs, on the east and west side of the large entryway, ran up to a common landing. Each was made of the finest tulipwood, with an usher standing either side to direct the guests. Emerald velvet curtains dressed the front windows, along the sides of the main entrance. Wherever sun fell, broad bars of light slanted through the open lattices of the shutters, as if striping the floor. A group of ladies gathered in front of the parlor, their backs to Caroline. Two sisters stood on the fading oriental carpeting by the buffet tables and their simian noses protruded unnaturally distant from the rest of their countenance. They glanced over their shoulders towards her, both of their beakish and oversized noses upturned, eyebrows raised, and lips curled in a smirking smile of superiority, and two men across the room quickly directed them to look away immediately.

  Caroline retreated up the stairs to her room. She quickly and silently dug through a mound of clothing left in a heap on the floor by her armoire. She dropped her damp cloak, leaving it next to the pile. Digging deeper, she threw a crinoline skirt across the room, pushed aside two corsets, bunched and tossed two pairs of starched pantalettes, and with total disregard, kicked away a beaded cropped cape with fur lining. Buried underneath all of this, at the bottom, she excavated a pair of men’s olive long pants, secretly altered to fit her more petite measurements.

  “I love these trousers,” she said as she held them to her chest.

  “Oh my! I shouldn’t wear those now if I were you,” said a serving girl, sent up with a tray of tea.

  Caroline turned, shooting angry eyes at the uninvited and unexpected girl. “Well, first of all, you aren’t me. Second, I wasn’t planning to, at this moment. And third, your duties in this house do not include advising me regarding my wardrobe.”

  “Quite right, so sorry,” said the young girl, her eyes darted around the room. “I was just surprised by the long pants and with your recent unpredictability...” The girl’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh dear. Me and me big mouth.”

  “Perhaps you should acquire and practice your inner monologue, Abigail. It will serve you well, trust me.” Caroline appraised the girl in front of her, frozen in the doorway, still holding the tray of tea. “Well, bring in the tea, but please announce yourself in the future.”

  “Yes, mum,” Abigail spoke in a soft but strong tone. “But your door was open, Lady Caroline. Should I have cleared my throat or knocked on the door anyway?”

  “Oh, it’s no matter anymore.” Caroline’s arms flew dismissively up. “You’re here now, in my room, still holding my tea. Who sent you up here?”

  “The cook. She thought it might brighten you a bit.”

  “Is this Earl Gray?”

  “Yes.”

  “You brought honey?”

  “Yes, on the right side of the tray.”

  “Good. So, Abigail,” she inhaled deeply through her nostrils, “since you are here, interrupting my thoughts and barging in unannounced…” she trailed off for a momentary silence. “You can tell me what everyone is saying about me behind my back.”

  “I don’
t know what you mean,” she said in a hurry. “I am expected back to the kitchen immediately. Enjoy the tea.” She dropped the tray in a clatter, spilling half of the cream. “Oh damn!” She covered her mouth. “Oh dear, me and my bloody mouth.” She started sopping of the excess with her apron.

  Caroline smiled. “Stop all of that mopping up, it is of no matter. But answer my question. What is the latest speculation regarding me?”

  “I only hear what the servants say.”

  “Fine. You may start there.”

  Abigail reached for the velvet backed chair next to Caroline’s vanity, brought it over by the tea, and securely closed the door—the crystal-cut glass doorknob reflecting the lights in the room. Abigail chewed her thumbnail and picked up Caroline’s discarded and mud encrusted cloak and gently folded it to take downstairs for laundering.

  “Why do you wonder? It isn’t as if you seem concerned with the opinions of others.”

  “True, I’m not. Well, I am now, just a bit, actually. But only for my father’s sake.”

  Abigail stood up, walked over to Caroline’s bed, straightened the rumpled bedclothes on the cherry four-poster bed and pulled up the linens with crisp tucks and pats. She smoothed the duvet and placed the decorative pillows in a quick and ordered fashion. She gave each pillow a fluff and then stood with her hands behind her back, easing slowly backwards to the door.

  Caroline thrust her own cold hands into her plush lined pockets, sighing. A tightly folded piece of paper interrupted the soft feel of the velvet as her hand pushed further down. She wrapped her fingers around the thick paper, folded several times over into a secure square. The texture was not quite as solid as parchment, and it was far smoother than the type she used for her everyday writing. Peeking into her pocket, she saw a strange typesetting—an almost comical and exaggerated font addressed the note. She closed her fingers tightly around the mysterious missive as she turned her attention back to Abigail.

  “Do I have such a dreadful reputation that you want to slither out of my room unnoticed?”