by Lev AC Rosen
“They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery.”
“Don’t defend him,” she said.
“Very well. I offended Cecily today.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. She told me she was in love with you and I laughed at her.”
Violet began to laugh, as well, which made some of the weight on her lift. “You’re joking,” she said. “You’re just trying to make me laugh.”
“Quite serious. She asked me for help in winning your heart.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That you were so devoted to science that you had little time for matters of the heart.”
“Ah,” Violet said, suddenly feeling sad again.
“She said I was trying to get between the two of you, because I love her.”
“She is clever to notice,” Violet said wryly.
“Well, she actually said that I only thought I was in love with her.”
“She must be very clever, then.”
“Don’t doubt my devotion,” Jack said. “I love her dearly.”
“Dear boy, I wouldn’t dream of doubting you,” Violet said, mocking him. “After all, what truer love can exist than love at first sight? Of all the senses, sight is surely the most romantic. I have heard once or twice of love at first smell, but I don’t think it worked out in the end.”
“So now I must persuade her that I am her friend,” Jack continued, ignoring her. “Then, at the end of the year, when you reveal your masquerade, she will realize I was the right man all along.”
“I’m not sure that’s a sound plan, Jack.”
“It is just as sound as yours, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Violet said, then sighed. “I miss my brother.”
“We shall see him tomorrow.”
“I know. It just hasn’t been the week I expected.”
“What did you expect? Praise from all corners, appreciation of your genius, and no effort required to hide your gender?”
Violet did not answer.
“You are brilliant, Violet Adams,” Jack whispered. It was the first time he had used her real name all week, “but you cannot expect everyone to know that just by looking at you, especially not when you must hide so much of yourself so as not to attract attention.”
Violet sighed again. “So how are you going to befriend Cecily?” she asked.
Jack knew that entertaining his scheme was her way of thanking him. “I don’t really know.”
“Ask her about her work. She is a very smart scientist, but I would imagine most men who have courted her have paid little heed to anything but her face and figure.”
“Actually, she said something similar when we argued.”
“That is probably why she is in love with me … with Ashton … with me-as-Ashton. Because I talk to her about science. When the duke refused to discuss the scientific principles of the flowers with me, I became quite annoyed with him.”
Jack laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“That all you would see in flowers are scientific principles,” he said, “even when a man tried to show you their beauty.”
“But that is their beauty,” Violet said, pursing her lips. “Really, I don’t know what it is with your gender, that they must divide science and beauty into separate fields. As if the stars and planets themselves are lovely, but to map the way they turn takes that away from them. In my opinion, the way a planet spins only adds to its beauty.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Jack said.
“Of course I’m right,” Violet said.
“The duke tried to talk to you of the beauty of flowers?” Jack asked, his voice full of innuendo.
The room was silent for a moment as Violet considered what he meant. “Oh, do be quiet and let me sleep,” she said, taking one of her pillows and throwing it at him, before turning over and ending the conversation. Jack chuckled in the darkness.
XIV.
ASHTON Adams, the real Ashton Adams, had had a wonderful week. He had attended four poetry readings and two séances, as well as an extraordinary art exhibit showing exclusively paintings of young men bathing. He had even met several of the models for the paintings, though he hadn’t yet gone bathing with any of them. He supposed that would have to wait until summer. The house was in order: running nicely, thanks to the cook and the maid and Antony, all of them quite pretty, quite friendly, and quite discreet. He had a plate of cucumber sandwiches, cake, muffins, and bread and butter ready for Violet and Jack. He marveled at how he missed his sister, despite the short time they’d been apart, and how busy he’d kept himself.
In truth, he was also worried. Dressing Violet like a man and teaching her to walk funny had seemed amusing at the time, but a week in, he wondered if she had been, or would be, found out. And what would happen if she was. Society was not forgiving of trespasses like gender reversal. Society was only forgiving of reversals of fortune, and then only when the rich became poor, because that made excellent gossip. To have the poor become rich was rather distressing, and to have a woman become a man was perverse. Ashton himself had once been beaten just for associating with a certain sort of people, though he’d told his father and sister that the attacker had been a thief. He had always believed that the best thing you could do for your life was to live it fearlessly, and so, had done so. But how much worse would it be to see horrible things happen to his sister. He wouldn’t ask her to stop, of course. He would just fret quietly from offstage and hope that she remained at her best.
She did not seem at her best when she came in, though. Ashton could see that as soon as they were through the door. Her skin was pale, her eyes red with dark circles under them. But she was smiling.
“Oh, Ashton,” she said as soon as the door had closed behind her and Jack. She ran to hug her brother. “How I’ve missed you.”
“I can see,” Ashton said, the wind knocked out of him. When Violet had finished squeezing him, he also gave Jack a pat. “You don’t seem to be taking very good care of her,” he said.
“That’s not my fault,” Jack protested. “She’s the one who spends all day in the lab.”
“We all spend all day in the lab,” Violet said. “It’s required.”
“Well, you didn’t have to come drinking with us last night.”
“You begged me to go drinking with you.”
“I think begged is a little strong. We merely requested your ever-charming presence so that we might gaze at your pretty mouth and hear what clever wit next emerged from it. Like when you told us all that so much of who you were depended on where you were—if you were in a bar, you were a bar person; in the street, a street person. Or when you began to imitate how Mrs. Wilks would play the horn.”
“You’ve gone drinking?” Ashton asked.
“She was quite the lushington the other night. But don’t worry, I took her home okay.”
“You took me to the basement to go hunting for vicious killer automata.”
“Well, yeah, but it was at home.”
“You’ve been getting drunk and going hunting for vicious killer automata?” Ashton asked. “That makes my first week in town seem positively dull by comparison.”
“Yes,” Violet said proudly. “The bizarre mechanical creatures of the basement have tried to kill me on more than one occasion.”
“Me, too,” Jack added.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Ashton said, “There are muffins and cucumber sandwiches.”
“You didn’t eat them all already?” Violet asked, walking into the kitchen. She was relieved not to have to concentrate on keeping her voice low, or on how she walked. Who knew that being a gentleman would require as much effort as being a lady? She sat down and helped herself to a muffin.
“So,” Ashton said, eating a cucumber sandwich, “you’ve been chased by murderous automata?”
“Yeah,” Jack said, “during our initiation, and then again when we got knackered and decided to explore the basement
to see if Volio’s secret lab was behind the mysterious door.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Volio,” Violet continued, “is a horrid second-year student whose brother was nearly expelled for producing weapons, and who is now blackmailing Miriam because he knows that she goes out with us at night.”
“Who’s Miriam?”
“Cecily’s governess,” Jack said, and sighed, thinking of Cecily.
“He’s in love with Cecily,” Violet said, buttering a muffin. “Cecily is the duke’s cousin and ward.”
“This is very complicated,” Ashton said. “Why don’t you just tell me about your week, from first day to last.”
“Very well,” Violet said, and she did.
A few hours later, Ashton was also a bit paler with dark circles under his eyes.“This is needlessly complex,” he said.
“And that’s just the first week,” Violet said.
“So, will you write a fake love letter from Cecily that will keep Volio appeased?” Jack asked.
“I suppose,” Ashton said. “I do enjoy a good prank, but you must promise me something.”
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“And Violet, too,” Ashton said, his voice suddenly a shade more serious. Violet nodded. “You must promise me you will stop looking for trouble. The basement sounds dangerous. Stick to your studies. And the drunkenness.”
“But if it is Volio’s lab, then we’ll be able to blackmail him and make him leave Miriam alone!” Violet said.
“And if your bindings come undone while you’re running and he’s watching, then he will blackmail you, too,” Ashton said. “Not to mention the physical peril you put yourself in. Imagine how Father would feel if he returned from America to find his daughter impersonating not only a man, but a dead man. I’m sure for a moment he’d be quite impressed by your incredible impersonation skill on both fronts, but when it was revealed to him that the latter was the truth, his heart would quite shatter.”
Violet looked at her feet. Jack turned slightly pink.
“And you,” he said, turning to Jack. “I would hope that as my dear friend, you would perhaps be a little more careful with your life. True, you aren’t hiding anything about yourself, but it would still be a great disappointment to me were you to die.”
“Yes,” Jack said, looking at his own feet now.
“I don’t mean to be gloomy,” Ashton said, “and I certainly never want to be serious—I’m not old enough to be serious just yet. I believe one must be at least sixty before one can even consider being serious. So, come, smile, and let’s start on this letter of yours. That is a piece of tomfoolery I can approve of. I don’t think we can have Volio change his wardrobe just yet, but I’m sure I could persuade him to always look down when Cecily enters a room, or some gesture that would cause you a little amusement. After all, when a man is truly in love, as you say this Volio chap is, then he is as easy to lead about as a bull by the nose ring.”
“Actually,” Jack said, “Toby, Drew, and Miriam said they’d be spending the day at White’s Club on Saint James’s, and that if we convinced you to assist in the letter writing and wanted company, we should send a messenger and they would join us.”
“A chance to meet your new friends?” Ashton said, a wide smile on his lips. “Sounds splendid. And they sound like quite my type of rogues if they are not only members of White’s, but have also somehow managed to sneak a woman in.”
“I was curious about that, as well,” Violet said. “Remember, though, Ashton: I’m also Ashton, and you’re my cousin.”
“Two cousins named Ashton? They didn’t find that curious?”
“I said it was a family name. Still surprised it worked, actually. Shall we send Antony out to White’s with a message?”
“Antony?” Ashton asked, looking down. “No, no. Antony is resting. I’ll step out and have one of the pages run over. Besides, it’s beginning to rain, and Antony looks so sad when his clothing is soaked.”
Jack and Violet exchanged a glance. “Send the note however you wish, fellow,” Jack said. “To Sir Toby Belch, at White’s. Let them know that Mr. Adams requests their company for mischief.”
Ashton nodded, and penned a quick note before running out into the rain, flagging down a young urchin, and giving him a few coins and the note. The boy went dashing off.
Jack and Violet watched this from the window. “It must be odd having a lover as a servant,” Jack said.
“You mean a servant as a lover,” Violet said. “What you describe is merely how most men view marriage.”
Jack snorted as Ashton came back in.
“It will be quite a storm tonight,” Ashton said, brushing his jacket down. “Now, let’s get out some brandy and playing cards and prepare for our guests.”
By the time they had set up the card table and gotten out glasses, the others had arrived. Violet greeted them at the door, and they smiled at her through the rain, Drew holding an absurdly large umbrella over them all.
“Come in,” Violet said. “Ashton has agreed to help and is eager to meet you all.”
“And,” said Ashton, stepping up behind Violet, “I’m eager to hear how you sneaked a lady into White’s.”
“Ah,” said Toby, taking off his jacket, “that’s a clever scheme on my part. You see, you ask for a private room for a private game, but on the ground floor, in the back right corner.”
“The farceur has me sneak in through the window,” Miriam interrupted, “and duck under the table whenever one of the stewards comes in. Which is often, with the amount of hot chocolate these two gros garçons order.”
“It’s so good and creamy,” Drew said, closing his eyes.
“You are already one of my new favorite lady friends,” Ashton said to Miriam. “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of hot chocolate, but we do have plenty of other refreshments. And I’ve set up the card table. What were you playing at the club?”
“Poker,” Toby said. “Shall I deal?”
“Certainly,” Ashton said, “but I need to know more about what you’d like from these false love notes to Volio, so I may write them as you play. What they should say, what you’d like him to do, and such.”
“Can you arrange for him never to speak?” Violet asked. “His voice is most tedious.”
“I will assist Ashton,” Miriam said, then cocked her head. “Cousin Ashton, I mean. The rest of you play cards. You are all so generous in helping me. You don’t need to do any more.”
“Excellent,” Ashton said. “Let us write, then.”
Over the next hour, Miriam and Ashton worked on the missive to Volio and then joined the others in playing cards. It had begun to rain very hard outside, but there was much laughter as Ashton told them of his various adventures at the art galleries. He also praised Miriam’s literary skill in writing the love letter, and soon they were all fast friends. A little before supper, the party left, Miriam clutching the note she was to deliver to Volio that night.
They hailed a cab and piled in it, heading back to Illyria.
“Your cousin’s a real swell,” Toby said to Violet in the cab, “but I’m not sure I liked him praising Miri so much.”
Jack snickered. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
Miriam nodded. “Your jealousy is attractive only if well placed, Toby,” she said.
Toby furrowed his brow, confused, but decided to accept this answer.
“He’s a molly, Toby,” Drew said.
Toby’s eyes grew wide. “Oh!” he said, and everyone burst out laughing.
* * *
AT the entrance to Illyria, Miriam peeled away from the group, Toby sneaking one kiss before heading into the college for supper. Miriam walked to the garden beside Illyria and up to the riverbank. The rain was falling even more heavily now, so she lifted the hood of her cloak and watched the storm fall into the water. She had been having trouble sleeping of late, and was haunted by the automaton in the basement with the face of the duke. Surely
it had been her mind playing tricks on her. She took a deep breath, smelled the river and the wet grass and the rain, and pushed thoughts of the cellar from her mind. Let them wash off her.
As a child in Persia, Miriam had not been allowed to play in the rain. In Esfahān, the Jewish ghetto was marked by rough fences, and the streets were worn layers of dirt, which in the rain became puddles of heavy mud that splashed as the water hit them. Miriam would stare at them through the windows and long to go outside and play in them. The water from the sky looked so inviting, almost magical. To be drenched by the sky sounded delightful to her. She was only six, and was just beginning to understand that there were rules, and they were either to be obeyed or broken.
Her parents were not watching. The street outside the window was empty. Mother was sewing by the fire, and Father was going over his accounts. Business was not doing well. Recently, a group of local youths had broken into his shop and taken many of the goods. The police had done nothing, since there were no Muslim witnesses. Miriam glanced around and slowly, quietly lowered herself off the bench she had been kneeling on to look out the window. She crept to the door, reached up to the handle, and opened it. The sound of the rain intensified, droplets hitting the dirt, heavy and thick. She could barely see more than a few feet in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she ran out into the rain.
She was soaked instantly. Her dress became plastered to her body. Her long hair, which had been pinned back under a scarf, fell loose under its own weight and pressed down on her head. She laughed. The water felt cool and good, and ran down her face. She couldn’t see anything besides the rain and mud. She was alone in the world, and didn’t need to worry about the Muslims, or even the Jews, her family, the rules of behavior. She was free and separate. For the first time, she felt she was not like a small part of a bigger whole she’d never volunteered for, governed by its rules and standards, but like Miriam, just Miriam, completely. She laughed louder and looked up at the sky. The droplets zoomed toward her out of a silver background.
But then her father had swept her up in his arms and run back inside with her. “What were you doing?” he yelled, putting her down. Her mother had been standing just inside the door, her hands clasped anxiously, but now she went to work, stripping Miriam as her father yelled, and placing her clothes over the fire to dry. “Do you know what the Muslims would have done if they had seen you?” her father continued. “They would have killed you!” Miriam was naked now, and shivering. Her mother moved her closer to the fire. Her father sighed and lowered his voice. “To them, we are dirty. When we go out into the rain, this invisible dirt that they claim is on us washes down into the mud. They could step in it, and get their boots dirty. For that, they would kill us.”
