Romancing the Inventor

by Gail Carriger

  Imogene nodded.

  “And, poor thing, you had to work up the courage to fix it? And believed you had to hide it from me? Am I so fierce a creature?”

  “Oh no! It’s only, I didn’t want to be thought interfering.”

  “Interfering, indeed. Belle amie, you’ve saved me weeks of work! I only wish you had done it the moment you noticed it.”

  Imogene could not have been more honored. She knew her cheeks must be crimson with pleasure. “I shall not hesitate again.”

  “What is it you English say? That is the spirit!” Madame Lefoux strode over and patted her on the back, despite the duster that Imogene now twirled nervously between two hands.

  The inventor seemed to remember herself and quickly stopped touching Imogene. “Perhaps I was a tad severe on the musicians.”

  Imogene didn’t say anything, but her expression must have spoken volumes.

  “Bah. Do them good. Now, how is it you knew my answer was wrong?”

  Imogene gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I like sums. I’ve always been good with them.”

  “What is three hundred and eighty-six plus forty-seven?”

  “Four hundred and thirty-three,” answered Imogene promptly.

  “Remarkable,” the inventor practically crowed. She cast about for another one. Then gave Imogene some subtraction. Then multiplication. Then division. Imogene answered everything correctly, although Madame Lefoux didn’t bother to check, simply assumed she was right.

  “I knew a boy at university like you. It is a gift, you know?”

  Imogene paled a little. “Is it artistic?”

  Madame Lefoux frowned. “Excellent question. I do not know. Best not to tell the vampires. Unless you are interested in immortality?”

  Imogene shook her head violently. She’d no desire to live longer than one lifetime; her current one was confusing enough.

  “I quite agree.” The inventor was empathetic. Which explained, in part, why she was an indenture and not a real drone.

  “I can simply claim that, with Quesnel gone, I need a little extra help in my laboratory and that you and I get along well. That should keep the queen from concerning herself.”

  “But I’m only a parlourmaid.”

  The inventor waved a hand. “Bah. Someone else can dust.”

  That’s not the point. I’m not worthy of helping. But Imogene didn’t say that. How to explain the English class system to a willfully obtuse Frenchwoman? Madame Lefoux had already shown little regard for the sanctity of musicians.

  Imogene had to admit that it was thrilling, the idea that she might be of assistance to an inventor’s genius. And terrifying that they would share intimate quarters in the shed for longer than they already were.

  Madame Lefoux frowned. “It will have to be Dr Caedes I petition. I know he is vile, but he is the easiest to manipulate. He thinks we share an interest. He fancies himself an engineer.” Her tone of voice suggested she found the vampire wanting in that regard.

  Imogene nodded mutely. She didn’t know Dr Caedes personally, had only met him a few times. He, like the other vampires, was not awake during her working day.

  He had a reputation amongst the maids for coming up to the servants’ quarters to check and make certain there was no unlicensed fraternization. His checking usually involved interrupting the maids during their bathing hour. Imogene had been very quick about her bath since hearing that.

  “Come along, then, no time like the present.” Madame Lefoux went to guide her forward with a hand to her back. Imogene tensed in delighted anticipation. Then the inventor shook herself and simply gestured with that hand for Imogene to precede her from the room.

  * * *

  Imogene stood before Dr Caedes in his private sitting room and tried not to tremble. The burr in the man’s voice was spiked with annoyance.

  “I’m only just up, you vile female. What on earth could you possibly want?” His thin frame and considerable height were emphasized by a long house robe. It was deep red silk, very expensive. It draped in such a way as to emphasize the fact that he wore nothing underneath.

  Imogene found this grotesque and suspiciously intentional. Did he wish to put visitors on edge? Or was he simply the kind of man who liked to expose himself?

  Madame Lefoux was not impressed. “I want her,” she said, pointing at Imogene.

  Imogene was standing, hands clasped before her, head slightly bent, trying not look at the red robe. This bald statement was too much. She was forced to raise her eyes. Surely, the vampire would be shocked by such a statement.

  But the doctor only sneered, unsurprised. “Well, you can have her and be done with it. What’s that to me?”

  Madame Lefoux looked mortified. “Oh, dear me, no. I was not…” She turned to Imogene. “No offense meant, Miss Hale. I am not… I would never take advantage like that! That is, she is not…” The inventor took a moment to collect herself. “I want her to assist me with my work.”

  Imogene knew she was nearly as red as that appalling robe. Now she was being rejected as undesirable in front of a vampire.

  Said vampire gave an exaggerated sigh. “Why on earth would you want this country bumpkin in your laboratory? For goodness’ sake, woman, find yourself some nice young university chap.” He licked his lips. “Perhaps one of the rosy blonds they produce in the south. Strapping. Big… teeth. Proper blue blood and a good education is what you need.” His lip curled. “And male. You can’t waste your time on that.” He waved a hand at Imogene. Who was looking at her feet. “I wager she can’t even read. Can you, girl?”

  Silence.

  “Well?”

  Imogene’s voice was barely above a whisper. “No, sir.” Couldn’t he just eat her and be done with it? It’d be less painful.

  “There, see?” The vampire’s tone was smug.

  Madame Lefoux’s eyes narrowed.

  Imogene was beginning to realize that her inventor was not the kind of woman who tolerated having her will thwarted.

  “I do not want anyone with his own agenda or outside interests. This girl will suit me perfectly. I merely require an extra pair of hands.”

  “Then I shall assign you one of the footmen.”

  “No, they are bumbling fools.”

  “Not our footmen, or I shall know the reason why.”

  Madame Lefoux looked close to losing her temper again. “I want this girl. Why are you being difficult about it?”

  “Why do you want her in particular?”

  “She is quiet and calm and she does not interfere.”

  The vampire looked back and forth between the two. “You want to seduce her?”

  Madame Lefoux let out a breath. “Just because your mind is in the gutter, Doctor, does not mean mine so resides.”

  The vampire stood at that. Looming. He let his fangs show in annoyance. Madame Lefoux was not his equal, she was only an indenture, and she’d taken things too far.

  “Request denied!” he said. “Now get out!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In Which Werewolves Come Calling

  Madame Lefoux puffed out her cheeks. “Well, that did not go well. I do not understand why he was so insistent. It is possible he has his eye on you, choupinette. I should be careful if I were you. Lock your door at night.”

  “Servants aren’t allowed padlocks.”

  “No? Of course they aren’t.” The inventor gritted her teeth. “Then wedge some furniture against the knob.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  “Miss Hale, I am sorry that did not work out.”

  “Me as well. I should have liked to be of assistance. I still will try, when I bring you your tray. If you’ve something you need me to calculate.”

  “We need more time than that. I want to teach you the whole theory of algebraic mathematics. Then I can throw the entire slate at you, and you can find my mistakes.”

  That sounded glorious to Imogene. The moment she�
��d first seen that slate, she’d wished for nothing more than to understand it. Well, maybe a few things more.

  “We will have to formulate another strategy. I have not given up yet!”

  Imogene smiled. Then tried not to notice that this made Madame Lefoux flinch. “I appreciate your faith in me. He was right, you know. I can’t read.”

  Madame Lefoux waved that off. “Then I shall teach you. You are a smart girl. You would apply yourself.”

  “Diligently. I’d be the first in my family. It’d be an honor.”

  Madame Lefoux looked sad. “For now, we must bide our time. I may have miscalculated, bringing you to the hive’s attention.”

  “I’m not afraid of them,” said Imogene, staunchly.

  “No, you aren’t. Why is that?”

  Because they could never be worse than the thing I fear I already am. Imogene shrugged.

  “Very well, keep your own counsel.” The inventor ran a hand through her short, wavy hair distractedly. “About that other thing. It was badly done. You know I am not” – she winced – “like him in that way?”

  “Pardon?” Imogene didn’t follow.

  “A predator.”

  Of course not. You’re no vampire. “I never thought you were.”

  Madame Lefoux stumbled on, strangely unsure of herself. “You are too young, even if it were not a breach of trust. And, of course, you have shown no inclination.”

  “I’m twenty-nine, as of yesterday,” objected Imogene. She knew she didn’t look her age, but in this she wished to be clear. It seemed to matter a great deal to the inventor.

  “Oh, dear me. Your birthday? I did not know.”

  Imogene tilted her head. “It’s of no consequence. Another year has passed.”

  “Still, that does complicate matters.”

  Imogene blinked. “It does?” She’d thought her being older than she looked would be a good thing. But now Madame Lefoux seemed even more worried. She was nibbling her lower lip with fine white teeth.

  “You are a parlourmaid.”

  I know!

  “And you are an innocent.”

  Not for lack of trying. I joined the hive house for a reason.

  “I am not inclined towards corruption.”

  Corrupt me, Imogene wanted to cry out. For goodness’ sake! Please?

  “And now there is Dr Caedes to consider. Oh dear, how do I get myself into these messes?” Madame Lefoux moved closer to Imogene in the hallway. It being a public thoroughfare, it was a miracle no one had yet stumbled upon their conversation.

  For one glorious moment, Imogene thought (Imogene hoped) that the inventor intended to kiss her. She stopped breathing.

  But it must have been a trick of the light, for instead, the inventor said, “Remember the chair under the doorknob this evening, Miss Hale.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  * * *

  Imogene remembered. For three nights running she remembered. Her roommate gave her funny looks when Imogene had to wake to let her in.

  Alone, Imogene lay listening for vampire-soft footsteps. But if the doctor had his eye on her, it was from a distance.

  She replayed the conversation in her head. Madame Lefoux doesn’t want to corrupt me. Does that mean she is inclined? Perhaps she wants me as I do her and it’s only her scruples that keep us apart. Is it our age difference, or my position and lack of education that repulse her? Something else? Something about me? Imogene couldn’t deny that the inventor avoided touching her. But did she do that because she was disgusted, or tempted?

  Imogene decided it would be better to know than not, because if the inventor was tempted, Imogene intended to be as tempting as possible.

  * * *

  “It’s all over the house that Lefoux went after you for personal maid and was denied.” Henry was positively smirking. “The fangs didn’t consider you good enough for her.”

  Imogene concentrated on loading one of the trays. Mr Wetherston-Ponsford had ordered a repast in his private chambers.

  “I didn’t take you for the type to cast yourself at a tom. Yet here you are, pretty as all get-out, nose in the air. I’m thinking it’s not that you believe you’re too good for us lads – too good for me – it’s that you ain’t that particular. Did you expect to get the countess and settle for the inventor? Poor Imogene, you ain’t good enough for her, either.”

  The scullery maid stepped out to check the washroom, leaving them alone together.

  Imogene tensed.

  Henry came around the table to press close – rubbing himself flush against her hip. “What you need is a lesson in sausage-making. Then you’ll stop pining after a two-bit hack with nothing more upstairs than she has down below.”

  Imogene jabbed him with her elbow.

  He hissed and backed away, but more because the scullery maid had returned than out of fear.

  Imogene was fiercely angry. Not for being exposed before him (that made her scared, not angry, and he couldn’t prove anything) but for his insult to Madame Lefoux’s intelligence. “She is brilliant, and you’re a ratbag. Are you after me because you can’t catch another girl’s fancy?”

  The scullery maid gasped at that.

  Henry was generally well regarded by the maids. He was, after all, a first footman, and vampires always traded on looks. He had a square jaw and dark hair, broad shoulders and muscled thighs. Many a lass about the kitchen would be honored to walk out with him.

  Two spots of color appeared on his cheeks. Imogene wondered if she hadn’t shot near the mark. Some men, and she knew it well from her village, preferred an unwilling lass.

  Lovely, she thought, hoisting the tray. Now I’ve two reasons to block my door at night.

  Giving them a nervous glance, the scullery maid nipped out once more.

  Henry took that as an opportunity to shove Imogene towards the massive iron range. She avoided a severe burn by twisting aside, but bashed her ankle on the coal scuttle. She managed, by some miracle, not to drop the tray.

  She made good her escape, but her ankle had swelled to twice its normal size by the end of the day.

  She vowed to keep her mouth shut around Henry. When I do decide to talk, it inevitably gets me into trouble.

  * * *

  The next day Imogene got a glorious little stint in the potting shed at luncheon. Madame Lefoux was undertaking a new set of calculations, and she asked Imogene to look over some of the more complex sums. Everything seemed sound this time.

  The inventor avoided looking at Imogene, with a will. She stiffened whenever Imogene approached, holding herself aloof.

  Trying to protect me? Imogene wondered. Or has she changed her mind? Does she regret having asked Dr Caedes for my services? It was all so confusing.

  Imogene tried to be tempting, except she’d no experience with flirting. The boys of the village had always chased her. Even if she’d known what to do with a man, how did one tempt another woman? She tried batting her eyelashes, but the inventor never looked at her long enough to notice. Or perhaps she thought Imogene had soot in her eye.

  It was over too soon. Madame Lefoux returned to absentminded mode, but she did bestow upon Imogene a dimpled smile and sincere thanks for her help. Imogene glowed with it.

  The inventor touched her hair and then made a funny little sound in her throat. “Off with you now.”

  Imogene headed for the door.

  A sudden clatter and a flutter of movement had Madame Lefoux standing next to her, one arm about her waist.

  “You’re hurt!” Those two words were more heavily accented than Imogene had ever heard.

  Imogene’s breath hitched. “I hit the coal scuttle with my ankle.”

  “It is not like you to be clumsy. You move like silk.”

  I do? She watches me move? Oh, God, she watches me move. Self-consciousness swamped her, making her shake. What should I do?

  The inventor knelt at Imogene’s feet, cool hand
s gently stroking her swollen ankle above the top of her old worn shoe, testing the bone. “And here I was, trying not to think about your...”

  What? Imogene wanted to scream. Trying not to think about my what?

  “I almost missed this. It doesn’t seem broken. You should stay off it and cool it in the lake.”

  Mute with shock, Imogene nodded. Of course, she could do neither; there was dusting to do.

  The inventor’s fingers lingered on her stocking-covered leg. Imogene wished the stocking to perdition. What she wouldn’t give for skin on skin. She was flushed with the touch, and horrified that the inventor was kneeling at her feet!

  “Madame, you shouldn’t… that is… it’s not right for you to…”

  The other woman stood and practically leapt away. Which was absolutely not the reaction Imogene had intended. Why do I ever open my mouth?

  “Bordel de merde. I am so sorry. I should never have touched you so. I do apologize.”

  “No,” cried Imogene. “No, it’s fine! I don’t mind that at all, but you were kneeling at my…”

  She trailed off. The inventor was backing away and muttering to herself, apparently in anger.

  I should go now, decided Imogene. And so she went, feeling both crushed and elated at the same time.

  * * *

  When she returned to the house, Henry pinched her again. Imogene was so out of temper that she decided to miscount the silver on purpose. Let Henry explain that to his superiors. Unfortunately, what on most days would have been a minor annoyance threw the entire household into a tizzy, thinking someone was after werewolves.

  “Don’t know why they’re making such a fuss. It’s only a teaspoon. Can’t kill a werewolf with a teaspoon, not even a silver one,” complained Henry.

  “Oh, yes, young man.” The butler was having none of Henry’s lip, today of all days. “And what do you know about killing werewolves?”

  Henry modified his tone. “Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.”

  Apparently the London Alpha and his lady wife were calling that very evening. Missing silver was of serious concern in any household, but especially a supernatural one. Imogene cursed herself for bad timing.