Of Steel and Steam: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  “No?” He looked at her quizzically. “Don’t you want the grand romance?”

  “First of all, I don’t believe in grand romance. Second, I don’t want someone to die for me. How stupid that would be. If he really loved me, he wouldn’t go off and get himself killed and leave me alone.”

  “You’re very practical,” he chuckled.

  “I’ve had to be.”

  “How so?”

  “My mother died when I was very young, and my father has always been completely obsessed with his work. He’s an inventor, like your uncle, and his specialty is steam engines. He used to design and build steamships and airborne transports, but his first love is clockwork. In fact, he created a clockwork nanny to take care of me.”

  Dmitri’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed. A clockwork nanny? That must have been very cold for a child to interact with.”

  “Not at all. She has soft rubber skin and a personality that’s very sweet. She’s almost alive.”

  “Impressive,” he said, fishing his pocket watch out into the light again. He flipped it open, and she saw the dragonfly again. It lay motionless in his hand, the jewels in its eyes matched by those running down its body that she hadn’t seen the first time he had pulled it out. “I would like to see this nanny of yours.”

  “Her name is Ida, and she’s upstairs, actually.”

  “In your bedchamber?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. “Well… as much as I would like to see her, it is completely inappropriate for me to go upstairs with you.”

  “True.” She turned in her seat. “Come back tomorrow afternoon and we’ll have tea. I’ll introduce you then.”

  He put the pocket watch away. “I would be delighted, Lady Victoria. Shall I bring my uncle?”

  “There’s no need.”

  “Not even as a chaperone?”

  “Ida will do that.” She smiled. “Besides, it’s not a courting tea.”

  Dmitri smiled. “Isn’t it?” He rose and bowed to her. “Lady Victoria, would you do me the honor of this dance?”

  Her feet hadn’t quite recovered, but she found him irresistible. He offered her his hand, and she put hers in his grip. “I would be delighted.”

  They returned to the ballroom and he took her in his arms, guiding her out onto the floor. He danced beautifully, and his shoulder was firm beneath her hand. He looked into her eyes, and she found her heart racing once again. Her face felt hot, and she realized that she was blushing.

  Dmitri smiled at her. “I am no landed English gentry, and I have no scientific background or business prospects. I have nothing to offer you.”

  Her stomach fluttered. “You have yourself,” she answered.

  “A poor substitute for money and position.”

  “Money and position are poor substitutes for good character.”

  He smiled more broadly. “And how do you know that I’m of good character?”

  “Because you’ve been honest and respectful, and because I sense that you would allow me to be myself.” She knew she should have looked away, but her gaze was caught by his and she had no desire to break that connection. “That is more valuable to me than gold or titles.”

  “Good character will not put food on the table, nor will it build a home and keep it warm and dry for you,” he pointed out.

  “No. Hard work that a married couple does together will see to that.”

  Victoria was surprised by the words coming out of her mouth. She had gone into this evening with no intention of catching a mate, but here she was, all but trying to talk this handsome stranger into courting her. There was something about him that made her insides misbehave, and she wondered if he felt it, too.

  She looked away. “I’m sorry. You must think me very forward.”

  “You are,” he acknowledged. “But I find it delightful.”

  The song ended, and she curtsied to him. He bowed to her, and he took a step back as her father came forward.

  “I think it’s time you danced with me,” Lord Charles said, taking her hand.

  “I’d be happy to, Papa.”

  They stepped into motion among the other couples, and Lord Charles told her, “I wanted to see how you got on with Dmitri, but don’t let him charm you. He’s not the man for you.”

  “Why not? And why would you want to see us together if you didn’t want me to like him?”

  Her father’s eyes darted toward Prince Orpov, who stood near the punch bowl. His nephew had returned to him, and the two Russians were speaking quietly to one another. Lord Charles said, “He’s undergoing treatment for a serious injury, and we weren’t certain how he would handle himself in social situations. You, my dear, were the test case.”

  She felt both flattered to be so trusted and annoyed to be so used. “He seems quite healthy. I don’t know what injury you’re talking about.”

  “A horseback riding injury. Hit his head. Lost all of his memory and everything he ever knew. He was like a blank slate two years ago, and Prince Orpov has been working with him intensely since then.”

  Victoria looked over her father’s shoulder at the Russian man in question. Dmitri stood calmly while his uncle sipped punch.

  “He doesn’t look like he’s had anything wrong with him at all.”

  Lord Charles said, “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  She looked back at her father. “I told him about Ida, and he wants to see her. I invited him for tea tomorrow afternoon so that they could meet.”

  Her father almost stopped dancing. “No. I forbid it.”

  He had never forbidden anything before, and Victoria’s mouth fell open in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I forbid it, I say.”

  There was anger in his eyes, and she pulled away slightly. “Yes, Papa. I’m sorry.”

  “Go and tell him now that you can’t meet him,” he ordered, releasing her to stand awkwardly in the middle of the dancefloor.

  She turned to obey, walking through the other dancers until she reached Dmitri and Prince Orpov. The younger Russian had pulled his pocket watch out again, and as she approached, she could see the wings on the clockwork dragonfly begin to beat. Dmitri closed the watch with a snap and he and Prince Orpov quickly left the party, not even taking their leave of Lady Anne. They passed Victoria without a word, and she watched them go, mystified.

  The rest of the summer season passed without another visit from Dmitri or Prince Orpov, although both Russians met up with Lord Charles in his London workshop. Victoria suffered through other balls where other girls were presented and she was along for the party, the second and third ranked debutante of the evening. After the fifth such ball, she swore she would never dance again.

  Lady Susannah’s father announced her engagement to one Reginald Barkley, a baronet from Northumberland, just before the season was over. Lady Anne glowered with disapproval every time she looked upon Victoria, probably annoyed that no such announcement was coming from their household.

  Sir Neville Smythe came to call a few times, and he was one of three gentlemen that Lady Anne invited to tea. Victoria sat with them and did her best to chat and be social, but it was clear to all concerned that she had no interest in any of the men who came to the house. Lady Anne was beside herself, and one night Victoria heard her arguing with Lord Charles about what was to become of her. If she ended the season without becoming affianced, then she would die an old maid. Lady Anne seemed to think this was the worst possible fate. To Victoria, it sounded ideal.

  One morning Lord Charles left the house before the sun had risen, and Victoria, who was having difficulty sleeping because of the summer heat, saw him go. As always, he walked with one eye on his watch, perpetually watching the time and just as perpetually late. She wondered what so important, and what engagement he could possibly have had at that hour.

  She rose from her bed and quickly washed her face and hands, then wound up Ida to wake her. The nurse blinked at her, the mechanized movement almost natural, and
she rubbed her eyes.

  “Is it morning already?”

  “Yes. I need you to keep Lady Anne away from my room today.”

  “Why?”

  “Tell her I’m sick.”

  Ida frowned. “Are you sick, my dear?” The gears inside her head whirred.

  “No. But I’m not going to be here, and it’s better if she doesn’t know I’ve gone out.”

  “Out?” Ida echoed. “But… out where?”

  She talked as she dressed. “To Papa’s workshop.”

  The automaton seemed to digest this information, her internal hydraulics bubbling with air that had become trapped in the lines during her immobility. As she moved, the bubbles would pop, and she would sound less mechanical.

  “Very well.” She rose stiffly. “Oh, my joints need oil!”

  “I’ll see to it when I get back.” She finished dressing, pulling on her woolen day dress and brown boots. She tucked gloves into her belt and kissed Ida on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Ida shuffled out into the hallway and sat down in a chair outside the door. Her mimicry of human behavior was perfect, as always. Victoria was impressed all over again by how lifelike her father’s creation had been made. While Ida took up her guard position, Victoria hurried out of the house, letting herself out through the kitchen.

  She knew the way to the workshop, and she walked quickly. It was still dark, and there was always a risk to a young lady walking alone. She kept a wary eye on the shadows around her and hurried down the street, past shuttered storefronts and dark, hazy alleys. A solitary cab rolled by, the pistons and exhaust pipes hissing, and the driver on the bench atop the machine doffed his cap to her. Victoria nodded back, and then he was gone as if he’d never been there. She saw some working men beginning to stir, but for the most part, the city was quiet and almost like a ghost town.

  She reached the building where her father worked after a twenty-minute walk. The pace she’d kept had left her breathless, and she leaned against the wall beside one of the windows to rest. The workshop was located in a reclaimed warehouse that her father had purchased for a song. He’d been thrilled with the investment and had brought her to show off the building when he’d first bought it. She hadn’t been here since.

  Victoria peered through the window, her shoulder pressed to the wooden planking of the wall, and saw Prince Orpov and another man standing with Lord Charles. They surrounded a workbench that was covered with blueprints, and the strange man, a small fellow with a bald head and a glass eye, gesticulated wildly while he talked.

  She couldn’t make out what the men were saying, but it was clear that the discussion was angry, judging from the sharp, slashing motions Lord Charles made with his hand when it was his turn to speak. Prince Orpov threw his hands in the air and turned away, and the little bald man glowered. Lord Charles rolled up the top blueprint, and then the three of them left the room.

  Victoria sensed her chance. She opened the window and climbed into the building. Halfway in, she snagged her skirt, but she tugged it free without undue noise. Once inside, she hesitated, listening. When she was certain that the men were gone, she hurried to the workbench and looked at the remaining blueprints.

  The framework that was sketched there, with gears and bars and metal joints, was familiar. It was humanoid in structure, but not like Ida, whose metal parts were a sort of rubber-coated exoskeleton around her pistons and hydraulics. The sketch that Victoria was studying had metal bars exactly where a human’s bones would be, and a complex network of hydraulic tubes mimicked the human digestive and circulatory systems. Where the heart should have been, there was a cut-away sketch showing a complicated apparatus of wires and electrodes, shaped exactly like a human brain. There was no brain, but instead a blank box labeled “diagram 13.”

  It appeared that her father was building a new automaton, an improvement over Ida, who was herself the state-of-the-art. Victoria was amazed by the complexity of the model she saw sketched out before her.

  There was a small metal box holding down one corner of the blueprint, and she opened it carefully. When she saw what was inside, she gasped and dropped the lid, releasing the box with an involuntary cry of horror. Victoria looked around quickly, hoping that she had not been heard. When none of the men came back, she dared to look into the box again.

  There was skin inside, thick as a human epidermis and studded with dark hair that sprouted from very natural-looking follicles. When she touched it, it felt like human skin, and she recoiled. It showed no sign of decay or injury, and when she looked at it more closely, she could see tiny wires running through it. This skin was artificial. Beneath the skin was a layer of red material that looked and felt like muscle fiber, but it, too, was man-made and boasted filament-thin wires. She wondered if those wires conducted electricity, and if they were meant to stand in for nerves.

  Her father wasn’t building an automaton. He was building a human.

  She closed the box and put it back where she’d found it, careful to match the position to the best of her ability. She heard voices in the office at the front of the workshop, and she crept closer to hear better.

  “It works. You cannot deny that it works!” Prince Orpov said. “We have the proof before us!”

  “Yes, it works for now. But what happens when we use less savory sources for our raw materials?” It was a voice she didn’t recognize, one with a heavy German accent.

  “It doesn’t matter what the sources are,” Lord Charles argued. “These machines are not intended to last forever. Need I remind you of their intended uses?”

  “Yes. Warfare. Mining. Dangerous occupations,” the German said dismissively. “All very noble, I’m sure. But if you use materials that are contaminated, then you will get sullied results.”

  “These mechs will save human lives,” her father insisted. “No more senseless deaths. No more mourning families. We can send a whole cadre of them to Cornwall to go into the tin mines, and then no man need be crushed to death again!”

  “And all of those men in Cornwall will be out of work and their families will starve,” Prince Orpov pointed out. “Have you thought about that contingency?”

  There was silence, then her father said, “We can employ them in the building of these machines.”

  The German sniffed, “If they can be taught.”

  Lord Charles replied archly, “Most men can be taught.”

  Victoria crept closer.

  “And so can these machines,” Prince Orpov insisted. “Their brains are hu - what was that?”

  At the front of the warehouse, there was a scraping and rattling sound as someone opened the door.

  “Hide the blueprints,” the German commanded.

  Her father grumbled, “Bloody hell.”

  Victoria shrank into the dusty shadows beneath an idle workbench, hiding from whoever was coming in and from the Russian prince, who had emerged from the office to investigate. She couldn’t see anything but the wooden leg of the bench, but she could hear the prince.

  “Ah! Dmitri. What brings you here today?”

  “I was in the area and wanted to know if you gentlemen needed anything. I know how you forget to eat and drink while you’re working, uncle.”

  His voice was as rich and warm as she remembered, and hearing it made her stomach flutter with something not at all like fear. She was instantly annoyed with herself.

  “You’re kind, but no. We’re quite fine.”

  “Well… all right.” She heard a few footsteps approach, then Dmitri spoke from a position even closer to her than before. “I was thinking that I owe Lady Victoria an apology.”

  She was surprised to hear her name, and she was intrigued.

  “For what?” Prince Orpov asked.

  “She invited me to tea, and I never attended. I never even sent my regrets.”

  “Hmm. Yes, that was a serious oversight. Propriety demands that you make amends.” She could hear a smile in Orpov’s voice. “You fancy her, perhaps?”<
br />
  Dmitri chuckled. “She’s lovely, of course. And I like her spirit. I’d like to get to know her better, with your permission.”

  “You have my permission. The one whose permission you need most is Lord Charles, and I doubt he’ll be as kindly disposed.”

  She frowned.

  Dmitri walked closer still, too active to stay in one spot. She could see the dark fabric of his trouser legs and his polished shoes. Just before he reached the bench where she was hiding, he stopped and walked back toward his uncle. “Do you know what I’ve done to offend him? He’s disliked me since the moment he met me.”

  “You’ve done nothing, my boy. He’s simply mercurial. Go and make your apologies. That much is surely appropriate. As for anything else, well… when the time comes, if the time comes, then I will smooth the way for you.”

  She heard them embrace with solid backslapping. “Thank you, uncle.”

  “Of course.”

  The prince stayed in place, just outside the closed office door, while Dmitri left the warehouse. Victoria crept out from beneath the bench.

  “What did he want?” Lord Charles asked, put out.

  “To discuss his afternoon plans and to offer us food and drink if we needed it.”

  “Very considerate,” the German said. “Did you prompt him?”

  Prince Orpov sounded proud. “Not at all. It was his own thought.” He paused, then repeated, “His own thought.”

  “Hmm.” Lord Charles sounded unconvinced. “So apparently he does have compassion after all.”

  “And a conscience.” Prince Orpov said, “I tell you, he is my nephew through and through.”

  Their conversation began to settle upon the price of wires and the right kind of brass to make the frame of their project, and Victoria thought it was time for her to leave. She exited the workshop the same way she came in, and the same nail caught her skirt again, leaving her briefly exposed from the knee down. She hurriedly pulled it free and covered herself again, looking around to be sure no one had seen. When she was convinced that she had avoided any embarrassment caused by the brief indecency, she hurried off down the street, headed back to the house.