The Ghost Engine

by Theresa Fuller

  When she handed the second letter to Rose, she repeated her instructions but as she went to give her a second note, Rose shook her head.

  “It will be Hen... Hen...” Rose blushed furiously. “Henry’s pleasure, my lady. And oh, here’s the other.” She fumbled in her pocket, pulled the money out, but then as she went to return it, could not look Berd in the face.

  Berd had never seen Rose so embarrassed before, not even when they were at the auction house. When Rose began to twist and worry a section of her skirt, the truth rapidly became obvious.

  “Why, Rose! You’re in love—”

  Rose gave a horrified squeak. “Miss, please!”

  Berd clasped her hand over her mouth, but there was no need to utter another word. The expression on Rose’s face was proof enough.

  Rose was in love with Henry.

  So that was the reason her maid had coloured so beautifully when Berd had pushed Rose out the door and accidentally into his arms. And that was why, Berd bit her tongue, Rose was so upset to leave her employ. It wasn’t her. It was Henry. Rose didn’t want to leave Henry. It was Henry, Rose was pining for. That was the real reason the silly girl was distraught. Only...

  The situation was impossible.

  Marriage was the supposed ultimate goal for every woman. For in marriage, a man received a housekeeper and a companion, while a woman received a household and children.

  Unless that woman was a maid.

  Female servants were deemed the one exception to the rule: able by way of their career to be supported by and to minister to men. Thus they were never expected to marry.

  As the daughter of an earl, I had money enough and rank enough to defy convention. Or at least I did.

  “Oh, Rose, I’m so sorry.” Berd grasped Rose’s cold hands and squeezed.

  Rose hesitated then squeezed back, but it was limp. “It’s all right, my lady.”

  Rose must have been expecting simply to work beside Henry for the rest of her life for Berd doubted a footman’s wage would be able to support a wife.

  How bitter life is for some of us. Though I had thought to fight for emancipation, I never realised all its subtle forms.

  Berd shook her head. That made two of them. Two silly love-sick girls who in their own way were fighting for the men they loved. Their union had to be their strength.

  This time Rose was gone for two hours. When she returned, she handed Berd the envelope.

  Not bothering with the letter opener, Berd ripped it. The letter contained only one word:

  Come.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  GINE.

  Gine had been the single word Berd had written.

  Berd stared at the letter. I’m right. I’m right!

  It wasn’t Charles in the mansion. It was Gine.

  A ghost now walked the streets.

  Any joy at the confirmation was swamped the next second by profound terror, for she knew what she was letting herself in for. And this time there would be no Charles...

  The ceiling seemed to swirl above her head. The green peacock pattern seemed to lift off the wallpaper and to dance as ghostly effigies before her. Together with the charred fumes from the burning candle wicks, she grew so overwrought with dizziness that she staggered backwards and had to clutch at the back of a chair to steady herself.

  The shock passed. Her heart started again. There was the smooth, cool feel of rosewood beneath her fingers. The room cleared. Perspiration dampened her brow, chilling her so that she shivered.

  Berd wiped her clammy forehead. The only way it was possible for Gine to exist outside the Engine was if something had happened to Charles.

  It was only a guess. An educated guess no doubt, based on the few facts at her disposal. Berd had gambled and won this round. She had done it. It was what she wanted. She glanced at the message once more.

  Come

  Four letters that opened a door for her into the unknown. As if to confirm the invitation was real, she smoothed the pad of her thumb over the tail of the ‘e’ and watched as the black India ink smeared over the creamy surface of the paper. Still fresh.

  A horror was in that mansion. She was merely going into the lion’s den so that the lion could eat her.

  The room chilled.

  But it was only way she could get to Charles.

  I haven’t won yet.

  She was stuck in her aunt’s house. And under James’s control. She looked up to see Rose’s eyes glistening with hopeful tears.

  Act as if you have won.

  “Thank-you Rose. And thank Henry for me. Tell him he has performed his task splendidly. One last thing. Ask him one question.”

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “Ask Henry what he noticed in the house.”

  Rose knotted her brows together as if the words did not make sense.

  Berd was sure they didn’t, but then Rose had never met Gine. Lucky girl.

  “Is there anything in particular you mean?”

  “No. Just that. Ask him what he noticed when he was in the house.”

  Rose gaped, bobbed and was gone. When she returned, she stood before Berd, clenching and unclenching her fingers as if trying to rid herself of some unseen dirt. “Henry said ... Henry said that he was only allowed in the entry hall.”

  Berd nodded. That much she expected.

  “So he didn’t actually see much of the house. I mean it was a grand house and all seeing as it’s also in Mayfair. Lots of pictures on the walls. Statuary. I believe Mr Fotheringay’s family are in banking and they had connections with the East India Company and—”

  “Rose! What did Henry notice?”

  Rose flinched. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Berd stilled, not believing her ears.

  Rose trembled, absorbed in the polished sheen of her black boots. “Well ... he didn’t see much, but he ... umm ... he...”

  “What did he notice, Rose?”

  “He heard a humming,” the words fell out.

  It was the answer Berd expected. But the tension did not ease out of her, if anything it tightened as if a key had been turned and locked it into place. She remembered the infernal hum within the Engine. In her ears it now buzzed louder and louder...

  No! Berd shook herself mentally. Stop it. You have to fight Gine and win.

  She smiled at Rose, pretending to be well-pleased. “Good girl.”

  Rose beamed.

  “Go get my brother. Tell him I wish to speak with him.”

  Rose scrambled for the door, forgetting to bob in her haste.

  Breathe. Breathe. Fear was seeping into Berd, touching her bones with cold. She fought her terror as she settled herself briskly at her desk, attempting to look as business-like as possible for when her brother arrived. James was the prelude to Gine.

  Minutes later a knock rattled her door.

  She straightened and composed herself. “Come in, James.”

  If anything, James’s demeanour was contrite as he entered her bedroom, even slightly embarrassed. She decided that he was probably feeling guilty about his earlier behaviour, his decision to commit her to an asylum.

  It didn’t matter; Berd steeled herself. She was playing the game of her life and the risks were hefty. One wrong roll. One mistake and she would pay with everything. “James.”

  “Berd.” James eyed her guardedly as he stood in the middle of her circular turquoise carpet.

  Berd waved at the chaise longue; this was her room after all, but he shook his head and remained standing.

  “If you are worried, don’t be. I won’t repeat my behaviour in the library.”

  James’s brows shot up as if he wasn’t expecting this level of honesty from her. “Well, I, um, well that’s good to know. It’s late. You wished a word with me?”

  “One word,” she said mischievously then handed him the letter.

  James’s brows creased in perplexity as he read it.

  “Fotheringay is a man of one word. However, did you get him to—”
He raised the letter to his view again, “And today’s date, too, to communicate with you?”

  “I wish to speak with him.”

  “Berd! How many times do I have to tell you that he does not—”

  “The letter in your hand says otherwise.”

  James shook the letter. “How do I know this is legitimate?”

  She gave a coy smile. “We can always go and ask.”

  James dug one fist into his hip as he scowled at her.

  “What have you got to lose?” she challenged him. Besides a sister and her trust in you? “Or are you so keen to commit me to the asylum already?”

  “How on earth did you—” Then he slammed the letter against his thigh. “Rose. Those blasted servants know everything.” He shoved the letter back at her. “If I concede, and we go, and Fotheringay decides he does not wish to speak with you---”

  “Then I am at your disposal and will do whatever you wish. Without a whimper. Wales. But no Harold. And no madhouse.”

  James screwed his mouth up as he studied a corner of the ceiling.

  Berd held her breath as she waited. She did not think that James wanted the shame of committing her. She was not mad and she was sure that by observing her, he was aware.

  So, she had said a few unwise words to her aunt. He knew she would never repeat them. She waited.

  James pounded his fist again as he snapped out of his thoughts. “Agreed. And if Fotheringay turns us away at the door you will come quietly away.”

  Berd almost melted with relief. “Thank-you.”

  He bowed. “Tomorrow then. At eleven.”

  “James, no, please. We need to go now. Immediately.”

  “It’s almost midnight. We go tomorrow or not at all. Good-night.” James pressed his lips into a determined line. “You said you would obey. Obey me now.”

  Before she could respond, he bowed and was out the door.

  Fool! Berd bit back the remark as a lump fisted in her throat. It had been a victory of sorts.

  Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow was too late. Only James didn’t know that. She had to go now or who knew what Gine would do to Charles. The guess that it was Gine in the mansion had been her last hope.

  Somehow Gine had sucked Charles back into the Engine when she had left the stables. For if there was one thing of which she was sure, it was that Charles would never have betrayed her.

  Berd paced the length of her bedroom. No doubt Gine had already concocted some dastardly plan. She needed to be prepared when she confronted him. But by now she had been in her room a very long time. A room in which all doors and windows were kept shut and where the sole light came from burning candles. She felt herself descend into the inevitable headache brought on by a lack of oxygen.

  Minutes later, Rose bustled in. “Would you like me to turn over your bed, my lady?”

  Absorbed in her dilemma, Berd waved vaguely in the direction of her brass bed.

  Rose set to work and with Hilary’s help, she began to turn over and to shake the feather mattress.

  Too late did Berd realise she had made the wrong decision. She had never been present when her bed was turned to see what needed to be done. The resulting commotion made it impossible for her to concentrate. She longed to send Rose away, but then there would be no one to run her errands, be her eyes with what was happening outside. No, she needed Rose close at hand, so she gritted her teeth and waited.

  The bed was remade with fresh linen. And the door soon closed behind Hilary. But then as if it were her maid’s intention to further pique her, Rose started to tidy up. That in itself was not too bad.

  Until Rose began to hum. Her off-key pitch further needled into Berd’s head.

  Berd raised a finger to her lips.

  Rose nodded, picked up a sampler and started to sew.

  Berd had just pressed cold fingers to her hot temples when Rose spoke.

  “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, my lady, but after seeing the state of your clothing when you got back, I think I can believe anything. We burnt them all.” Then she clapped her hands. “Oh, but your rendezvous with Mr Fotheringay is so romantic.”

  It was all Berd could do to stop herself from snapping. Somehow she managed to grate out, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, when you speak with Mr Fotheringay tomorrow, well of course he’ll propose,” Rose explained boldly.

  Rose could be such a dunderhead. Pain made Berd perverse. That, and the idea of marrying Gine. “Don’t you know anything, Rose? Even if Mr Fotheringay proposes for the second time, it doesn’t mean I’ll accept.”

  “But… but didn’t you speak to his lordship? I heard his lordship order the carriage. Isn’t everything set to right again?”

  So Rose had overheard James give the order. That was how she knew what was going on. And if Rose had eavesdropped, she would certainly not be alone. It was further proof the servants had been listening not just during this climactic period, but throughout her entire life.

  Nothing she did was private.

  The thought that even here in the real world, she had been spied on sickened her. It was too close to being back in the Engine with Gine spying on her. “We are going to visit Mr Fotheringay. That is all. And even that I cannot guarantee as it depends on whether his lordship changes his mind. Or if Mr Fotheringay changes his.”

  A man’s prerogative.

  She snorted.

  “Oh!” Rose’s eyes welled with tears and she collapsed sobbing onto the chair at the writing desk.

  Berd’s mood altered instantly. The last thing she wanted was to upset Rose. “Why, Rose? What’s wrong?”

  Her maid’s face was buried in her skirt. “I thought, I thought everything was going to be all right.”

  So the earlier confidence was a sham. “Rose, it’s not that simple. I wish it were.”

  Rose’s words were muffled, growing more and more high-pitched. “I understand, my lady. Truly I do.”

  “Is it Henry?”

  At the beloved name, the held back wail finally erupted. “It’s nothing, my lady. Truly, it’s nothing.”

  “It can’t be nothing. You’ve been in tears twice now. What’s wrong?”

  Rose shook her head vehemently.

  By now Berd was prepared to strangle her maid. She did not have time for this. Charles’s life was in the balance. “Yes!” she demanded. “Tell me.”

  “Why? You don’t really care.”

  Berd blinked, stunned. “What?”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? You care, in a way. But I feel as if you care for me only as if for a pet.”

  “I... I...” Berd stammered, unsure as to how she had got herself into this mess. This was one detour she hadn’t seen coming.

  “Oh, my lady. I’m sorry. I know you do care. And in fact many consider me lucky because you even care that much.”

  But the irony was that Rose was right; most employers did not care for their servants. Berd was in a way unusual. She cared, but not deeply enough. Exactly like James.

  She could only stare at Rose. At the truth revealed. Feeling as if her chest had been sliced open and her shallow heart exposed.

  “You see, it’s true. It doesn’t matter now. I was fired this morning. I thought that after you had words with his lordship that things had been put to right. But I was wrong. And now you’re upset. And I’m being perfectly stupid, but I’ve had enough. I’ve borne and I’ve borne and I can bear no more.” Rose sobbed.

  The problem was that Berd did understand her maid. She may not have understood what it was like to lose a job, but she did understand the universal language of being powerless over her own fate. And of having been in love and to lose the one she loved.

  Pain brought kinship.

  Berd schooled her voice to gentleness, determined to learn. “No, I won’t be. I was upset, but I promise I’ll listen.”

  Rose raised her tear-stained face to Berd, two spots of colour clear in her cheeks.

  “Yes, I’m sure
. Now what is wrong?” Berd insisted.

  Rose cocked her head dubiously. “Well, you see, it’s to do with my lady.”

  “Me?” Berd was totally mystified.

  “It’s just that you’re the sign. I think that if Mr Fotheringay proposes tomorrow and you accept, then everything would be all right between me and Henry.”

  “Heavens! Are you using me like a crystal ball? Rose!”

  “Oh, no, my lady. Much more than that.”

  “Explain.”

  Rose blew nosily into a handkerchief. “Well, I mean, everyone wants to be you, my lady. We all have dreams and such like, but to be you, the daughter of an earl! So we dream. We watch you as you go about your life. When you went to your first ball, why after the event I held your gown up against myself to see how it would look. I didn’t try it on, honest, my lady. Well, just the sleeves. And I smoothed the bodice against my breast. But I had a wash that day, my lady, I did. So you needn’t worry about any fleas jumping onto your dress. And then I unpinned that beautiful violet silk, sponged it, pressed it and oh so carefully put it away... Oh! Oh, what have I done?”

  Horrified, Rose held up her hands, realisation showing on her face that not only had she admitted her guilt, but that she had also gone through the motion of holding and outlining the gown against herself. She blushed strawberry-red and looked so woebegone and repentant that any repulsion Berd had initially felt on someone handling and donning her clothing in such a familiar fashion vanished. She had no heart to reprimand her maid.

  So in a way James was right. Not only did servants know every intimate detail of employers, they tried in their own vicarious fashion to live it.

  It was another glimpse into a shadowy world Berd had always known existed; an alternate world where men and women lived who served; a world she was hoping to replace by servants of metal and electricity.

  Two worlds.

  A world for those who served.

  And a world for those who were served.

  And those two worlds were presently colliding.

  The computer was Gine’s world. He, the servant. Now she understood what he wished to accomplish. What he was attempting to do through Charles.