Ghost in the Machine (Steam and Cyber Series Book 1)

by SJ Davis

  “Perhaps.”

  “I will confess, Caroline, that perhaps you are too clever a girl to find satisfaction and happiness as lady of any man’s house. And I don’t think there is a fix for that.” The Prime Minister took out his handkerchief to dry the excessive wetness from his shoes. “But, the evening’s event is almost at an end and I do expect more from you than this,” He looked into her eyes. “I need more from you, than this. Tonight.”

  “I am more than an ornament, Father.”

  “Oh, of course you are much more, my sweet pet. And I have always encouraged your mental flourishes. Occasionally, I may have over-encouraged you, resulting in these occasional flights of free-thinking rowdiness.”

  “I will make my apologies to your guests, Father. Then retire to my room for a few moments, to add veracity to this ruse of feigned illness.”

  “Good thinking, my dear.” They continued the short walk back to the party in silence, entering the back door through the servant’s access door. The boisterous cackles of the cook and serving girls quieted immediately to a silent hush as Caroline and the Prime Minister entered unannounced.

  “Enough!” yelled the cook to the young staff, clapping her hands, flour flying into the air. “Be off with you. Get back to work, all of you.” She cleared her throat, smiled, and curtsied to Caroline and her father. “Good evening sir,” she said. “A lovely dinner party indeed. All your guests are certainly in high spirits.”

  “Yes, thank you. Your execution of this evening’s dinner was superlative, though we ran out of the vegetable medley earlier than I would have preferred,” he replied, exiting the kitchen area to the parlor. The cook’s jovial expression fell at the sudden criticism.

  “Dinner was lovely,” Caroline whispered as they walked out. She smiled over her shoulder at the cook and her staff. “Your criticism of the vegetables was unnecessary.”

  “A successful dinner party enhances social status, Caroline,” he whispered to her. “I would be remiss if I didn’t point out the areas of opportunity in the meal in order to ensure an execution of future improvement. It’s how we achieve excellence. Now, I need you to go upstairs to ‘recover’ so that you might rejoin the ladies in after dinner conversation.”

  “I won’t disappoint.” She kissed her father’s cheek.

  “Caroline,” he stopped in the middle of the hall to speak seriously, as a man to another ally. “I need to bring England forward. I am struggling to bring her as a progressive nation, sometimes against the people’s will. I need to gain allies towards this goal, which is why we must entertain certain people. Your role is every bit as important to England’s future as mine.”

  “But I won’t be remembered as making the difference, Father. You, the Prime Minister will be remembered, not your daughter who flitted about your gatherings.”

  “But without you, I would fail. I need these political alliances.”

  “You would have more alliances, Father, if women had the vote.”

  “One day, Caroline. Perhaps one day.”

  “I hope in my lifetime.”

  “For your sake, Caroline, I hope so too. I would put you up against any man.”

  “Thank you.”

  They continued walking towards the main area of the residence, but stopped at the stairs in the main entryway to the parlor, not daring to speculate about the conversations of the guests in their absence. The Prime Minister’s face was pale underneath his beard yet wind-burnt along his nose and cheeks. His hand trembled slightly on the balustrade as he reentered with his errant daughter.

  “Hello, all!” he said with a forced exuberance. “Caroline has virtually recovered from her sudden departure and is on the mend. I found her in the gardens, almost back to her usual high spirits, merely needing a touch of fresh air after a sudden headache episode.”

  Caroline smiled beside her father. “Indeed. Pesky headaches. However, I do need to retire upstairs momentarily to regain full strength. My apologies, but I plan to return and enjoy your company momentarily.”

  Both branches of the stairs, on the east and west side of the large entryway, ran up to a common landing. Each staircase was made of the finest tulipwood, with an usher standing either side to direct the guests. Emerald velvet curtains dressed the front windows, along the sides of the main entrance. Wherever sun fell, broad bars of light slanted through the open lattices of the shutters, as if striping the floor. A group of ladies gathered in front of the parlor, their backs to Caroline. Two sisters stood on the fading oriental carpeting by the buffet tables and their simian noses protruded unnaturally distant from the rest of their countenance. They glanced over their shoulders towards her, both of their beakish and oversized noses upturned, eyebrows raised, and lips curled in a smirking smile of superiority. Two men across the room quickly directed them to look away immediately.

  Caroline retreated up the stairs to her room. She dug quickly and silently through a mound of clothing on the floor left in a heap by her armoire. She dropped her damp cloak, leaving it next to the heap. Digging deeper, she threw a crinoline skirt across the room, pushed aside two corsets, bunched and tossed two pairs of starched pantalettes, and with total disregard kicked away a beaded cropped cape with fur lining. Buried underneath all of this, at the bottom, she excavated a pair of olive men’s long pants, secretly altered to fit her more petite measurements.

  “I love these trousers,” she said as she held them to her chest.

  “Oh my! I shouldn’t wear those now if I were you,” said a serving girl, sent up with a tray of tea. Caroline turned, shooting angry eyes at the uninvited and unexpected girl.

  “Well, first of all, you aren’t me. Second, I wasn’t planning to, at this moment. And third, your duties in this house do not include advising me regarding my wardrobe.”

  “Quite right, so sorry,” said the young girl, her eyes darted around the room. “I was just surprised by the long pants and with your recent unpredictability...” The girl’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh dear. Me and me big mouth.”

  “Perhaps you should acquire and practice your inner monologue, Abigail. It will serve you well, trust me.” Caroline appraised the girl in front of her, frozen in the doorway, still holding the tray of tea. “Well, bring in the tea, but please announce yourself in the future.”

  “Yes, mum,” Abigail spoke in a soft but strong tone. “But your door was open, Lady Caroline. Should I have cleared my throat or knocked on the door anyway?”

  “Oh, it’s no matter anymore.” Caroline’s arms flew dismissively up. “You’re here now, in my room, still holding my tea. Who sent you up here?”

  “The cook. She thought it might brighten you a bit.”

  “Is this Earl Gray?”

  “Yes.”

  “You brought honey?”

  “Yes, on the right side of the tray.”

  “Good. So, Abigail,” she inhaled deeply through her nostrils, “since you are here, interrupting my thoughts and barging in unannounced…” she trailed off for a momentary silence. “You can tell me what everyone is saying about me behind my back.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said in a hurry. “I am expected back to the kitchen immediately. Enjoy the tea.” She dropped the tray in a clatter, spilling half of the cream. “Oh damn!” She covered her mouth. “Oh dear, me and my bloody mouth.” She started sopping of the excess with her apron.

  Caroline smiled. “Stop all of that mopping up, it is of no matter. But answer my question. What is the latest speculation regarding me?”

  “I only hear what the servants say.”

  “Fine. You may start there.”

  Abigail reach for the velvet backed chair next to Caroline’s vanity and brought it over by the tea. She reached back and securely closed the door. The crystal-cut glass doorknob reflected the lights in the room. Abigail chewed her thumbnail and picked up Caroline’s discarded and mud encrusted cloak left by the bed and gently folded it to take downstairs for laundering.

 
“Why do you wonder? It isn’t as if you seem concerned with the opinions of others.”

  “True, I’m not. Well, I am now, just a bit, actually. But only for my father’s sake.”

  Abigail walked over to Caroline’s bed and straightened the rumpled bedclothes on the cherry four-poster bed and she pulled up the linens with crisp tucks and pats. She smoothed the duvet and placed the decorative pillows in a quick and ordered fashion. She gave each pillow a fluff and then stood with her hands behind her back, easing slowly backwards to the door. Caroline thrust her own cold hands into her plush lined pockets, sighing. A tightly folded piece of paper interrupted the soft feel of the velvet as her hand pushed further down. She wrapped her fingers around the small piece of thick paper, folded several times over into a secure square. The paper’s texture was not quite as thick as parchment and it was far smoother than the paper she used for her everyday writing. Peeking into her pocket, she saw a strange typesetting on the paper; an almost comical and exaggerated font addressed the note. She closed her fingers tightly around the mysterious missive as she turned her attention back to Abigail.

  “Do I have such a dreadful reputation that you want to slither out of my room unnoticed?”

  “It’s not so bad, at least not outside of the house.” Abigail slapped her forehead. “Oh codswallop! It isn’t bad at all, I mean. I’m just expected to return immediately back to help with the gathering. I have much work to do, even if you don’t.”

  “Abigail. Remember what I told you about having an inner monologue? You could use one right now.”

  “I must go, but all I really know, and have heard spoken, is the butler saying you went to that school. That London College School.”

  “North London Collegiate School,” Caroline corrected.

  “He said the school gave you ideas.”

  “Really? The school gave them to me? And what do you think of that? Are we, as girls and young women, not capable of forming our own ideas and elucidating the truth if given proper facts and instruction?”

  “Blimey. I don’t know. I only know I need to clear the cutlery.”

  “Well you should know. And the answer is we can. I want women to be able to vote in all political elections and have property rights.”

  “I overheard downstairs, I think it was Lord West, saying if women voted, political power would be in the hands of giddy, ill-informed, and ill tempered young girls.”

  “I believe he said ‘ill-conducted girls’,” said Caroline. “But no matter. He is an idiot.”

  “Did his opinion make you run out?”

  “I didn’t ‘run out’, I couldn’t stomach his inability to argue effectively.” Caroline threw herself on her bed, face up and her arm across her eyes. “You can go Abigail. I’ll be down in a moment.”

  Abigail nodded and left, closing the door with an imperceptible click behind her. Caroline ran to lock the door, turning the brass latch to the right. She pulled the note from her pocket. Unfolding it, the typeset of the words seemed exaggerated and oversized. “St. Botolph’s. Tuesday evening. 7:30.”

  Caroline refolded the note and buried it deep in the back of her bedside table. She pulled down her covers, the downy softness reminded her of her mother, and she closed her eyes. In her mind, she heard her mother’s voice, “Leave no stone unturned and you will find what you seek.” Caroline added as she lay back and rested her head, “and never quit before the fight has begun.”

  Gravesend, England

  April 1865

  Josephine shivered, but not miserably, for she enjoyed the walk from her house to the neighboring manor. She called on the Stratford family three times a week, tutoring their children in French and Latin, but the lessons often merged into current events or recent scientific theories. The manor was modern, large and made of stone, and possessed a central steam heating system that the children enjoyed as the banging of the brass radiator burped and gurgled throughout their lessons.

  Josephine hurried to the gate of the house, her books and lessons under her arm. She caught sight of the quiet gardener, a short and portly man with a round and reddened face, like a cherub. He minced quietly in the greenery, walking with delicate steps with the timidity of a cat weaving in and out of the avenue of bushes.

  “Good day, Miss Rolls,” he called to her. “Looks like a sunny day, indeed.”

  “Yes, Edward. We seem to be most fortunate today, with the fine weather.”

  “You all right, Miss Rolls? You hurt yourself?” he asked, looking with concern at the bruise along the side of her face.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Edward. Just a bump, a small accident at home. Not to worry!”

  “Be careful. Most deadly accidents happen when we are in our very own homes.” He picked up his large gardening shears and hid behind a bush, peering at her through the dense branches.

  “Thank you, Edward,” she hurried away, waving him off and entering the side entrance of the house without announcement. A strange visitor lurked quietly in the foyer of the serving quarters and sat on the bottom stair. She felt a pang of fear as his dark eyes, screwed tightly into a sea of wrinkled skin, looked back in her direction. She left her hat and scarf on, turning her bruise away from the man, foreign in his tightly fitted dress and detached and observing demeanor.

  The children ran from the front of the house to greet her. A chorus of “Miss Rolls” tumbled from their mouths.

  “Hello, children!” She put her arms around each of them. “Ready for lessons?”

  “No,” said three voices, objecting in unison. “Did you bring any new inventions?”

  “Maybe after we practice declining nouns we will discuss the inventions. But no groaning or there will be no inventions,” she warned. “Now, what are the five declensions of Latin nouns?”

  “Nominative, Accusative, Ablative…did you bring the airship design?” asked Leander, the oldest boy, his eyes shined with excitement.

  “Later, Leander,” she admonished. “And the other two?”

  “Genitive and Dative,” answered Euphemia, the middle child. “I want to see the aethero-transmitter. Did you bring it, Miss Rolls?”

  “Upstairs, everyone, to the library,” said Josephine. “Lessons first.” In the corner of her eye she caught the peculiar visitor peering at her, his monocle sinking in a nest of wrinkles. “Who is your visitor, children?” she whispered down to them as they went up the side stairs.

  “What visitor?” whispered Matilda, the shy youngest child. “No one is here.”

  “Yes, see? Behind us, in the entrance to the foyer,” answered Josephine. She turned around. No one was there.

  She rushed the children up the stairs, pushing open the door, and then another door, into a crowded anteroom; two walls were lines with bookcases and shelves, a third was lined with desks and rocking horses, and a small marking board and maps covered the fourth. Josephine sat at the longest library table, on a cherry swivel chair mounted on wheels. She moved aside a newspaper rack and multiple time zone clocks and pulled out a large dial from her embroidered bag. The dials had copper hued needles attached to a large wooden base. These thin dulled needles clicked out letters to the alphabet, striking the paper and forming words and paragraphs while Josephine spoke into a curved copper horn-shaped attachment. A feed of paper clicked out the words she spoke, neatly typed.

  “Did Bodhi design this?” asked Leander. He sprung from the other side of his desk, a quickly growing boy of long legs and long arms, he stood a head above Josephine. His pockets were stuffed with pin mounts, jeweler’s tools, and rubber tipped forceps. A small vial of oil leaked through his jacket pocket. As he jolted over the table, a small container of Vinegar Cleanser that he used for removing oils and dust from clogged cogs and gears, spilled on his desk.

  “One cannot even fathom its fullest capacity!” Josephine glanced behind him; the vinegar smell permeated the room. “Oh dear, grab some linens to sop up that spill, Leander.”

  Out of her side pocket, she extricated
a rounded earpiece and attached a small yellow-covered wire into its base. “This is the aethero-transmitter. For audio reception and vocal signals,” said Josephine, holding it up to each child. “This aural device perceives sound by detecting vibrations of speech, transposes the sound waves into an analog pattern, then transmits the spoken words directly to other aethero-receivers via sound waves. Each receiver is assigned a sequence of numbers or code, and each transmission can specify this code, addressing a recipient directly. Terribly clever!”

  “So what you say here in this room might be received and read somewhere else? Miles away even? On another aethero-receiver?” asked Euphemia.

  “Precisely.”

  “When can we see Bodhi’s airship again?” asked Matilda. “Is it finished? Is the brass shiny inside? He said it would be shiny!”

  “Not yet, Matilda. He is still busily working to assemble it into a semblance of working order. It’s hard to imagine it finished, much less shiny. It’s all in bits. Quite an awful mess, really,” said Josephine. “Now let’s get back to our Latin, shall we?” Josephine shoved the aethero-receiver back into her bag, enjoying Bodhi’s inventions as much as the children.

  Leander led the groans as they opened Augustine’s Confessions. Matilda opened her text but kept her eyes on the bay window to her left. Bodhi had sent over an elegant clock mounted on an ivory stand, which struck on the quarters and the hours in most mellifluous church organ tones. The phases of the moon and the date were also displayed, in a fascinating example of his craftsmanship.

  Euphemia took a pencil and began to sketch an underwater sphere with breathing apparatus attached to a primitive stick figure inside the machine. Thick tubes to a grandfather clock, on a ship above the water, connected her invention. Its long clock hands extended from its round perimeter but looked otherwise much like the timepiece in the window.

  “Euphemia and Matilda, pay attention or I’ll need to remove the timepiece from the room,” said Josephine.

  “Miss Rolls, it’s Euphemia. She’s drawing a time machine again,” said Matilda. “It’s much funnier than the last one. This one has fish around it.” Matilda giggled. “It’s under the sea.”