Hadley smiled stiffly as she averted her gaze from Lord Sorrell’s lax face. “It was George’s creation, not mine.”
“Yes, but you perfected it and brought it to fruition. You should be proud of yourself. George may have conceptualized it, but you must give yourself credit for finishing it.”
“I’m surprised his family is not still here,” she ruminated, ignoring her cousin’s comment as she watched the nobleman’s chest rise and fall. “I would stay at my son’s bedside no matter how minor the procedure was.”
“They haven’t come,” Eliza whispered as she removed the disintegrating apple crumble from Hadley’s lap and placed it on the dresser.
A gasp inadvertently escaped her lips, but she clasped her hand over her mouth as the sleeping man stirred slightly. “Why? Are they really on such bad terms as to snub him like that? I got an inkling from the consultation that he and his parents did not get along.”
“I’m not certain that he told them about the surgery or the new prosthesis. He asked us not to send for them unless something went wrong.”
“Why do you think he would not tell them?”
She shrugged. “You would have to ask him, but their relationship is complicated to say the least. I think he simply didn’t want them to try to talk him out of it or criticize him for it.”
“He’s an adult and a perfect gentleman at that, so what is there to—”
Their conversation dropped as the coverlet rustled with the archaeologist’s waking movements. The young woman sat very still as he tossed and grumbled incoherently before finally opening his eyes. His grey gaze traveled from Hadley to Eliza and back again as he blinked away the grogginess.
“Miss Fenice, what are you doing here? For a moment, I thought I was seeing double,” he said with a smiled.
For the first time since she arrived at the house on Wimpole Street, the knot in her stomach uncoiled. His voice was much stronger than she anticipated, and now, Eilian’s condition was no longer hearsay. As sleep left his body, she realized he was not death warmed over but simply very fatigued from the previous night’s excitement.
“I came to see how you were doing, and I baked you an apple crumble.”
“Thank you, that was very kind of you. You just get more and more impressive, Miss Fenice. Inventor, toy-maker, and baker.”
She shook her head. “I’m definitely not a baker. I am more of a cake-burner, but I tried my best with yours. You still may want to eat it with caution.”
He chuckled softly as he attempted to raise himself up in the bed but failed to gain traction. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. It smells good from over here.”
Seeing the young man struggle, Eliza and Hadley wrapped their arms around his chest and carefully hoisted him higher on the pillows.
“Thank you, ladies, that is much better. I have grown so accustomed to working with one and a half arms that being down to only one has become quite a hindrance.” Eilian’s eyes darted over Hadley’s blue walking-suit, lingering on the silk tie at her throat and the top hat at her side. “You look very smart today, Miss Fenice.”
“Oh, thank you, it’s one of my favorites,” Hadley replied, running her hand over the vest-like top of the masculine gown. As she returned to her seat, Eliza slipped into the hall. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired, but I feel quite well considering. My arm hurts, but James has been pumping me so full of medication that I’m surprised I can sit up straight. I guess I won’t be riding my bicycle any time soon.”
“You can ride without both arms?”
“It’s easier than one would imagine. I started out riding around my estate on the gravel paths, so in case I lost my balance and fell off, no one would be there to laugh at me. Now, I have become confident enough that I ride around Grosvenor Square or Hyde Park when I’m in London. Until I am fully healed, I’m going to miss the feeling that comes with being able to speed past others, seeing everything as just a blur.” His grey eyes wandered off as if he was pedaling through the park in his mind when, with a shake of his head, he returned to the guest room. “It’s a great way to clear one’s mind. Do you own a bicycle, Miss Fenice?”
Hadley shook her head as she fiddled with a loose string on her mismatched carpet bag. “I have thought about getting one, but I haven’t yet purchased one. A bicycle would probably be very useful for when I run errands. In the long run, I am sure it is a lot cheaper than paying for a steamer cab every few days. The thing is, I don’t know how to ride one.”
“It really isn’t too difficult to teach yourself. Learning how to balance is the worst part, but once you have it, everything else comes easily. You should get a bicycle with a large basket you can carry your supplies in and that massive bag of yours.”
“I don’t think there is a basket large enough for it,” she laughed. “Enough about bicycles, are you looking forward to using your new prosthesis, Mr. Sorrell?”
“Very much so.” The carefree smile slowly dissolved as he stared down at the metal arm and tugged the cotton sling over it with his other hand. “I guess I’m still worried.”
“About what?” Her cheeks burned as she noticed the toned, bare flesh of his breast.
He sighed softly. “I worry that as good as this is it will not fix anything.”
“You will regain a lot of the function your hand had before you lost it. Hopefully, your pain will lessen as well once the arm is connected to the circuit. If that is what you are worried about, Mr. Sorrell, I’m sure you will only gain from this procedure.”
“I know you and James have integrated this prosthesis with my body perfectly, so that is not what I’m worried about. I worry that I won’t be fixed,” Eilian replied with downcast eyes.
Hadley saw the same pained, defeated look on his face that had appeared during their consultation. “Do you like who you are?”
“Yes.”
“Then what is there to fix?”
Eilian met her steady, blue-eyed gaze. She did not scrutinize him but only struggled to see the flaws which, to others, were so glaring. Could she not see that he was an irresponsible, overly emotional, ignoble nobleman who only brought disappointment to his family? Surgery could return the function of his arm, but it could not make him into what they wanted him to be. There were no drugs or treatments for the wanderlust that drove him to the far reaches of the earth. Maybe it was the medicine that made him feel so melancholy all of a sudden, but when he looked up with moistened eyes, she smiled softly and reached across the bed to hold his hand.
“Take it from an inventor, there is nothing about you that needs fixing.”
The top step squeaked as Patrick Sinclair walked toward the guest room, but upon seeing Miss Fenice speaking intimately with his master, he unobtrusively stood off to the side of the threshold out of sight. Spotting the butler’s white head in the hall, Hadley smiled again as she let her hand linger in his warm grasp before finally letting go. Eilian couldn’t be sure if it was the morphine or her touch, but a strange warmth spread from his stomach and abruptly waned as she withdrew.
“I should get going now. I hope your recovery is swift, Mr. Sorrell. In a week or so, I will send you a letter asking for a time when I can stop by to size the outer prosthesis.”
“I guess my note hasn’t been delivered yet. You needn’t bother with the letter. You can stop by whenever it’s convenient for you. Dr. Hawthorne has advised me not to go into London or crowded places until my stitches are removed, so I will be at home exclusively until then.” A pleasant grin crept across his countenance as she reached the door. “I will be looking forward to your visit, Miss Fenice.”
“As will I, Mr. Sorrell.”
Chapter Fifteen:
A Velocipede from the Viscount
“Uh…uh…uchoo!” was all she could utter when Patrick Sinclair opened the Gothic ledge-and-brace door, nimbly avoiding her sputum by stepping behind its ancient planks.
“Good afternoon, Miss Fenice. May I take your coat
?”
In the short time it took for the craftswoman to blow her nose, a puddle of rain formed around the soles of her leather boots. Hadley peeled off her wool coat, which had gained five pounds of water weight from the walk up the driveway and was beginning to smell of wet dog. Grasping it by the collar, the butler stared at the cloak before turning to the puddle below it. He led her into the parlor and draped her coat on the fireplace screen, hoping it would dry without needing to be wrung out. As Patrick left to fetch Lord Sorrell, she shuddered and rubbed her clammy arms in front of the hearth. Adam’s hand-me-downs clung to her form, chilling her to the bone despite the house’s warmth. With a trembling hand, she removed the oversized cap that hid her braided and pinned hair and laid it beside her coat to dry.
This was the same parlor she had been in during their first consultation, when she was certain the business would soon be gone like her brother. She had been so anxious that she barely registered her surroundings or remembered what she had seen apart from Lord Sorrell’s face at the end of her gun. As Hadley looked around the room, she felt as if the furniture belonged to another man. The ceiling was framed with sturdy beams of timber to form an intricately coffered lattice that matched the dark stain of the floor boards. One wall was dominated by expansive mullioned windows with the heavy curtains drawn back to reveal the drab May afternoon. Sallow, pattering rain beat and slid against the wavy glass, transforming the hills and city beyond into impressionistic blurs of green and grey. The manor stood alone, an anachronistic fortress of medieval nobility in a world of imperial frivolity. Everything that was part of the house itself reminded her of its inhabitant, but the furniture, while of good quality and taste, did not fit the room. While the fire thawed her hands, Hadley tried to figure out what bothered her so much about the room. Then, it dawned on her, it lacked any personal touches or hints of Eilian’s personality. Neither the walls nor the surfaces of the side tables and mantle contained any portraits or trinkets from his travels. The parlor was merely a set, perfectly emulating what would be found in an upper class parlor of any respectable residence.
“Miss Fenice,” the archaeologist cried, breaking her train of thought, “you’re positively drenched!” He reached for the bell-rope but instead turned and yelled down the hall, “Pat, grab a blanket with the tea! Would you like a change of clothes? You can use some of mine.”
“Th— thank you, sir, but I— I’m all right. A blanket or towel will be more than sufficient,” she answered through shivers.
With his arm in a tight sling across his chest, he rummaged through the decorative chest under the window. He was missing his jacket and tie, but somehow this state of under-dress suited him. “What happened?”
“The steamer I hired broke down half a mile from here. Rather than wait for the driver to fix it, I decided to walk. Unfortunately, the rain grew heavier as I grew closer.”
As the butler came in with a tea tray and a crocheted blanket slung over his arm, Eilian Sorrell led her to the armchair near the fire and retrieved the blanket from Patrick’s arm. With one hand, he tried to shake it open and drape it around her but only succeeded in dropping it onto her lap. With a smile, Hadley wrapped the mantle around her shoulders like a shawl before digging through her satchel for the molded and stitched piece of leather that formed the anchor piece of his outer prosthesis.
“How is your arm, Mr. Sorrell?” she asked as he sat on the sofa and poured her a cup of tea, doctoring it the way she liked it with cream.
“It still hurts quite a bit, but I’m no longer taking anything for the pain. Next week, the stitches will be removed if all goes well,” he replied with a grin as he sat back, leaving the saucer behind as he drank. “So what brings you here today, Miss Fenice?”
“I brought part of the prosthesis for you to try on. I made it a little large to accommodate a stocking, but I want to make sure it isn’t too loose. Are you up to trying it on? If it’s too painful, I can come back after your stitches are removed. Before I finish the other pieces, I want to make sure it fits or if I need to resize it.”
“As long as the sutures aren’t disturbed, I should be fine.”
Once they finished their tea, the inventor perched beside Eilian and slowly rolled up his sleeve. She was pleasantly surprised to find that his arm was only swollen near the point at which the titanium rod emerged from his flesh while his upper arm appeared naturally shapely like its twin. Gingerly drawing his elbow from the sling but leaving the metal portion still resting in its cotton hammock, she cautiously began to slide the leather bracer on. The hide refused to budge at all. The opening was so tight she couldn’t even get it onto his arm unless she used force. Without alerting the viscount to the issue, she stretched and cracked the stiff fabric behind her back, but upon trying it again, his arm was still far from fitting into the couter. Hadley had some choice words for her mistake but instead expressed her frustration with a growling huff.
“Mr. Sorrell, is your arm still swollen?”
The young man glanced at his limb and shook his head. It had to be swollen, there was no other explanation. Hadley dug through her bag to find her notebook and measuring tape. After taking the dimensions of the interior of the bracer, she confirmed it was the correct size, so the leather hadn’t shrunk. The craftswoman then looped the tape around his upper arm and sighed. She had been foolish not to realize his arm muscles would shift after the surgery, causing his arm to drastically change in size compared to how it was before the implantation of the prosthesis. According to her measurements, it now nearly matched his intact limb.
“I’m so sorry, sir, but somehow I didn’t take into account the structural changes your arm would undergo after the operation. I won’t be able to do anything until your stitches come out. Recasting the remainder of your arm is probably the only way for me to make a brace that will fit correctly,” she explained with a calm authority that she hoped masked her embarrassment over making such an obvious error.
“Well, mistakes happen. At least you caught it before it was finished. I will send you a note when James removes my stitches, so you can let me know when you have time in your schedule to do the casting.” Eilian’s eyes trailed out to the grey landscape beyond the mullioned windows as the rain and gusty wind pelted the windows. Miss Fenice had already fixed his sleeve and was beginning to pack up when he worked up the nerve to ask, “Would you like to stay for dinner? The weather is rather ghastly at the moment, and it would be a shame to drive all the way back to town and arrive after dinner.”
Hadley opened her mouth mutely several times as if the words wouldn’t come. “I— I wouldn’t want to impose on your staff.”
“It really is no imposition. They always make more food than I can eat.” He looked at her with pleading eyes and a wide grin, and her resolve began to crumble. “Please, Miss Fenice? I so rarely entertain guests. Would you indulge me?”
***
Hadley Fenice quietly closed the door behind her, looking over her shoulder just in time to see the bright red steamer chug away, disappearing and reappearing between the light of the streetlamps. As she dropped her satchel onto the coat rack and kicked off her boots, Adam barely looked up from his book in the parlor. Leaning against the doorway, she watched him continually avert his gaze with a wry grin as if she wasn’t there.
“Aren’t you going to ask where I have been all evening?” she asked flatly, mildly irritated by her twin’s lax approach to chaperoning.
“Nope, I know where you were. Either the viscount invited you to stay for a bite or,” he paused to sniff the air, “you went to a place that serves curry, but I know you don’t like to eat alone. The viscount’s payment arrived while you were in Greenwich. I left it in the workroom.”
“Why is it in there? If it’s paid in full, why is it not in your office?”
Adam finally glanced up from The Woman in White. “I thought you ought to see it.”
Curiosity drew her toward the messy studio, but apprehension slowed her pace
as she finally reached the wooden door, unsure of what could be on the other side. What could Lord Sorrell have possibly sent that could have been of such interest to Adam? He always complained about his coworkers’ scratchy handwriting. Was he so vain that he left the letter for her to gawk at his wrong-handed script? Maybe the viscount used flowery stationary, or maybe he included a notice of dismissal along with his payment. As she turned the doorknob, she held her breath and hoped the viscount had a penchant for poesy patterns on his letterhead.
Hadley stood stunned in the doorway as her eyes ran over a gleaming, black bicycle. Not only did the velocipede have a bell to warn passersby she was coming, but it sported two roomy, wire baskets tethered to either end along with an oil lantern just below the handlebars. She reverently trailed her hand over the steel frame and up onto the leather seat. As she climbed onto the bicycle, she beamed despite the acute discomfort in her coccyx from the hard seat. He remembered, she glowed against her better judgment. Lord Sorrell was a nice man, a generous man, but she could not insinuate anything more. The studio was rather cramped, but using the side of the workbench for support, she peddled unsteadily toward the door. It was too dark to take it out for a proper ride, but she promised herself she would do it first thing in the morning. Standing up, she noticed two envelopes were sitting in the front basket. One was written in the butler’s flawless hand while the other was in Eilian’s spidery script. Just as she guessed, the first was the payment for the prosthesis. As Hadley unfolded the second brief letter, she smiled at his child-like script. He had even taken the time to write the note out himself.
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 11
