Steampunk Voyages

by Irene Radford

  I almost envied her his long hard body and his keen focus.

  “Tell me of your day, Miss Ada,” I said in my normal accent, once again the modest governess.

  “Miss Elise, I have had the most wonderful inspiration. I discovered five errors in Mr. Babbage’s calculations and corrected them. I believe he can now proceed with the building of his Difference Engine without hindrance.” She produced a thick notebook, loosely bound, and opened it to a page filled with arcane symbols and numbers.

  “That is good. Mr. Charles Babbage needs to succeed in building his calculation machine to satisfy his investors,” I added.

  “Yes, I know.” Ada dismissed my concerns. “Can you imagine the huge advances in mathematics we can achieve when we have accurate logarithmic tables?”

  “Did you attend your fitting for your evening gown for the musicale tonight?”

  “Um…”

  “You forgot.” I sighed in disappointment.

  “No. I had the fitting, but I found the fabric very ornate and stiff. I’d prefer something lighter in silk chiffon and a more sober colour…”

  Daisy, the maid, nodded to confirm they had indeed visited the modiste.

  “You sound like your mother.”

  Miss Ada closed her mouth with a snap.

  “You helped me with the design of the fabric, Miss,” I admonished her. “The electrical protection it will grant you is necessary.”

  She pouted. “I don’t believe there are any followers of my father still alive.”

  I maintained a firm silence rather than comment. We’d foiled too many plots against her both before and after Lord Byron “died” in Greece ten years ago. I had experienced first hand his depravity, his twisted philosophy, and his obsession with immortality. I knew to what lengths his followers would go to bring him back to life.

  “Can you re-design the soul transference machine?” I asked her.

  “Not without your help. You destroyed the original back in ’16.” The year without a summer. Lake Geneva. A house party. She didn’t have to remind me. “You are the one who knows how the machine went together.”

  “And I will never, ever, willingly help build another.” I clamped my teeth on that statement. I deliberately looked away from my coffee cup, which had begun to hum in the back of my mind. Instead I signalled the barista that I needed a fresh cup. This one had gone cold.

  “If we must attend the musicale, I suppose we should return home to change.” Ada didn’t look happy about that. “I presume you found the components for the miniature Leyden jar during your errands?”

  “Yes.” I dismissed the barista with a gesture. “But I think I would like to consult your solicitor on the way. I have an interest in buying this property. I could do much with the ambiance, the space above and below stairs—and I would serve better pastry.” Lots and lots of lovely space above for living and entertaining. Even more space in the cellars for my special project. I’d peeked.

  “You are a wonderful cook, Miss Elise. But surely you will remain with me. You don’t need a business. I will take care of you.” Ada took my arm, holding me close to her side.

  “But soon you will marry.” I’d seen it in the dancing coffee. Dancing while the world burned to cinders . . . . “You will not need your old governess when you have a husband and children. You barely need me now.”

  “You are more than my governess. You are my greatest friend. And… and I’d like you to stay with me forever, as my companion. Not that I believe I shall ever marry. I’ve never met a man more interesting than the mathematical challenges Mr. Babbage presents me. And I doubt that Mother will ever approve of any suitor. My father frightened her so badly she doesn’t like men much at all.”

  We both knew the truth of that.

  <<>>

  “Glass beads, Elise? Surely my wardrobe budget extends beyond glass beads!” Ada stamped her foot and glared at me as I put the finishing touches on her ensemble. She lifted the chain of crescent moon bead with disdain. Each bit of copper-coloured glass bore the impression of an eight pointed star—a Romany symbol of safe haven. “My father was a baron. My mother is the Baroness Wentworth in her own right. We have a position to maintain.”

  “Yes you do. And you can’t do that if you are dead, or held captive by the enemy.” I drew a copper wire from the pendant bead—a disc cunningly designed so that the brilliant red-gold starburst in the centre drew the eye and the clear background disappeared—and touched it to the top of the miniature Leyden jar secreted in Miss Ada’s scant cleavage. Fortunately, this year fashions called for frilled tuckers draped over the shoulders and nesting at the top of the bodice. Plenty of places to discreetly hide the components of my inventions—or weapons.

  As the wires touched chemicals in the jar, electricity arced through the beads and down the copper wires woven into the white gauze overlay on the dress. The younger son of a lord who dabbled in these things had promised me that as long as the circuit was complete, the carbon fibre within the necklace would react with the glass and the copper.

  I didn’t understand it all. But I trusted Andrew Fitzandrew to know what he was doing. Sir Drew always knew what he was doing. Delicious man.

  Ada gasped as the glass beads glowed and the gown shimmered. “It… it is gorgeous, Elise.” Amazing, how she took interest in her appearance, once we started the dressing process. I trusted that she would also become interested in men once presented with one who had an adequate understanding of mathematics.

  “I have it on good authority that Princess Victoria will attend the musicale tonight.”

  “Merde!” Ada exploded. Her left hand went to the beads and threatened to rip them from her throat. “That means her mother will be there, and therefore my mother and her furies will also be present.”

  “Your Lady mother has high hopes to become a lady in waiting.…”

  “And all London knows that will never happen. My father’s scandals will prevent either of us ever being fully accepted in society.”

  “Ah, but one can always be a fashion setter and slide into society by a back door,” I soothed her. I’d already begun the process for myself.

  “I know that half smile and lowered eyes, Elise. What are you planning?”

  “I am only a simple governess. I haven’t the means or cunning to plan anything more elaborate than a lovely gown for my charge.” I could not meet her eyes.

  “And will Miss Elise fade into the wallpaper while Madame Magdala stands at the centre of the room, demanding more attention than the soprano hired to entertain?” She smirked.

  Embarrassment heated my face. “I did not know that you knew.…”

  “Of course I know. Now, what are you planning and how does it involve the Café du Paris?”

  “The way light changes when passing through the windows of the café made me think about how the room will change if we replace those thick and wavy panes with larger, thinner, and clearer ones.”

  I needn’t say anything more. Miss Ada’s fertile imagination started thinking about light and the mathematics of light and how to apply them to some new invention.

  I disconnected the wires on the gown’s electricity and shooed her out into the evening fog. A real pea-souper rolled through town tonight, cold sea mist mixing with the coal smoke that permeated the air. We covered our faces with finely woven veils to keep as much of the poisonous air out of our lungs as possible. All the new inventions required power, power generated by steam, fuelled by dirty coal. “We’ll take a real handsome cab with a real horse pulling it,” I announced.

  “But the steam carriages are so much more efficient, and warmer,” Ada protested, coming out of her abstraction for a moment.

  “A real horse can smell the presence of other vehicles and avoid crashing. A steam machine cannot,” I huffed.

  “Machines will always prove more efficient,” she returned.

  The horse got us to the private residence of the Countess of Kirkenwood in good time. We passed thre
e steam carriages that had collided with each other, with gas lamps, and with pedestrians along the way.

  <<>>

  “If I’d known you intended the necklace for another, I would not have given it quite so much tender, loving care,” Sir Andrew Fitzandrew whispered from behind me. I felt more than saw the heat of his gaze on my lace-draped decolletage. Society might dictate that a mere governess needed to wear sober black. That didn’t mean I had to remain meek in an ugly gown.

  I’d noted Sir Drew’s arrival just as we took seats for the performance. That he was the only person present taller than me helped in my observation. The countess had converted the space into an auditorium with straight lines of straighter chairs made barely comfortable with red velvet cushions. As chaperone to Miss Ada, (Yes, this position should have been her mother’s or at least handed off to a high born relative but Lady Byron didn’t like any of the candidates and didn’t trust them with her daughter) I had to sit next to the girl in a prominent place in the third row, no matter how tight and uncomfortable the crowding. I couldn’t see behind me to discover if Sir Drew had bothered to try and fit on one of the chairs, or if he stood against the wall instead.

  Lord William King sat in our row. I’d made sure of that, and that Miss Ada could translate the Italian of the aria for him, if he required.

  During the intermission, I stood near the wall beside the dowagers where I could watch the entire room and make certain that Lord William King made polite conversation with Ada and two other young couples, but did not become too forward.

  “I needed all of your tender loving care to go into that necklace,” I replied to Sir Drew. He stood a little too close for propriety. His body warmth filled my back and slid through many of my senses. Lovely man.

  “She does glow quite nicely,” Sir Drew admitted. “Brilliant idea, touch her gown and the too forward admirer suffers a shock. Aim a pistol at her and you can’t be certain where she is or was or will be because of the afterimage. Lord William is entranced. But does he see the young woman beneath, or merely the lovely shimmer that lingers every time she moves?”

  “Excuse me.” I cursed in every one of the five languages I spoke. Mr. Charles Babbage wandered into the ballroom, stout, clumsily dressed, red-faced, and stinking drunk. He clung to a sheaf of papers and headed straight for Miss Ada.

  “This is not the time to discuss business,” I said sternly as I took his elbow with both hands and steered him back to the dowagers’ wall.

  “But I must—”

  “Not now, Mr. Babbage. You will make a fool of yourself.” I put all of Madame Magdala’s force of personality and authority into my words and my grip on him, even though tonight I was supposed to be the invisible governess.

  Sir Drew had turned away. Good. I needed a few private words with the inventor.

  “How are you progressing with your Difference Engine?” I asked, standing squarely between him and the rest of the party.

  “It is of no consequence. I have new plans, a new machine that is even better.” He gestured widely, sending several pages skittering across the floor. “I must enlist Lord William King as an investor. This may be my only opportunity.…”

  “You do not have the opportunity tonight,” I insisted. “No one will invest in your new machine until the first one is built and proven successful.”

  “But… my Analytical Machine is so much more important….”

  “Not to men who want to see a return on their investment before giving you more money.”

  We argued for several more minutes. The man was more inflexible than my corset! He had brilliant ideas and some aptitude, but no follow-through. I felt sorry for his wife.

  “Excuse me just one moment,” I begged, searching frantically for Sir Drew. He stood only five steps away, speaking flirtatiously with our hostess.

  “Sir Drew,” I said a little too loudly. Still holding Mr. Babbage by the elbow, I dragged him behind me. “Do you have a moment to—um—explain the concept behind Miss Byron’s unique necklace?” I didn’t have time to wait for a reply. I had to intercept the newest arrivals.

  I hurried to the door.

  “Lady Byron.” I dipped a curtsy directly in front of my employer. “What a surprise to see you here. If you had informed Miss Ada of your plans, perhaps we could have shared a carriage.”

  Lady Byron’s Furies—er—two companions, the delicate Mrs. Carr, and the fierce Miss Frend, tried to edge around me, barely acknowledging me with a nod. They had their sights set on Miss Ada and Lord William. From their frowns, I knew they disapproved of him. But, then, they disapproved of every male of the species. In the ten years I’d been with Miss Ada, I’d never heard a kind word about any man from these three. They rarely graced Lady Ada’s establishment with their presence. Lady Byron preferred adult female company to that of children.

  “What are you about, Miss Elise?” Lady Byron hissed.

  I suppressed the angry growl in the back of my throat. Tonight I had to present myself as a civilized human, not a tigress defending her cub in the wild jungles of India.

  “About, Lady Byron?” I used my superior height to look down my long nose at her. Once, she’d been beautiful and vibrant, once. Lord Byron had destroyed that. “Why, I’m paying my respects, as is proper. I’m sorry you missed the first aria. Madame Louisa has amazing range and breath control.” She also had an impressive bosom. Sir Drew was making note of it right now.

  A quick glance showed me that Princess Victoria and her mother, the Duchess of Kent, had just emerged from the refreshment room with an entourage of ladies.

  The Furies tugged at Lady Byron’s sleeve to direct her attention toward the real purpose of their visit. All three hastened toward the guests of honour. The dyed ostrich feathers in their gauzy turbans bobbed like the top knots of officious rare birds.

  I sighed in relief. Miss Ada and Lord William had progressed to finger brushing as he relieved her of an empty wine glass. Time to return to Mr. Babbage and my purpose tonight. Sir Drew would have to wait until later, presuming he didn’t grow impatient with me and make a liaison with the soprano.

  “The Difference Engine and its ability to calculate and print accurate logarithmic tables will be a tremendous boon to navigation,” Sir Drew said idly.

  “I cannot make the Difference Engine work,” Babbage finally admitted in a tone so quiet I had to strain to hear him.

  “Miss Ada found the errors in the mathematics this afternoon. She can make it work,” I jumped into the conversation as if I’d never left.

  Babbage’s eyes widened with hope. Sir Drew’s mouth quirked up in an affectation of boredom. I’d have believed his expression if I didn’t see the sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

  “Then Miss Ada must go over my designs for the Analytical Machine this very evening,” Babbage insisted, taking a step toward my charge, his sheaf of papers held before him like a talisman. He wobbled. Sir Drew easily guided him back to the wall.

  “Not tonight.” I checked over my shoulder. Our hostess rang a little crystal bell to gain the attention of her audience. Ada and Lord William made their way back to their chairs, looking expectantly toward the countess. Lady Byron and her Furies hovered on the fringes of the crowd around the princess and her mother. They’d be mightily disappointed when they found all the chairs in the first and second rows filled with higher ranking guests.

  That would put them in the third row with Miss Ada. I couldn’t have that.

  “Mr. Babbage,” I said firmly, gathering my courage. “Will you allow me to oversee the building of the Difference Engine, thus freeing you to design other projects?”

  He dragged his gaze away from Ada and back to me.

  “You have the funding. I have some knowledge of things mechanical.” I also had access to some talented Romany traders who could make anything work. “Miss Ada has corrected the problems in the early design. Let me help you with this, and when it is done and working, your investors will throw money at you for a m
achine that stores and retrieves information—after the manner of the cards some libraries are adopting.”

  Oh yes, I had plans for the little café that I had directed, this very afternoon, my solicitor to purchase. “The properties of light and refraction seem to be ideal for such a machine.” I didn’t know that for certain, but the distortion of images in the thick window lights of the café had given me an idea. The swirls in my after-dinner coffee had seemed to confirm that idea.

  “Light? Prisms?” His gaze turned inward for a long moment.

  I wanted to shake him back into his senses and I take my place beside Ada and Lord William and edge out Lady Byron and the Furies. As I watched the way Lord William tilted his head toward my girl, listening attentively—probably to a dissertation on ratios, algebra, and abstract calculations well beyond me—I hoped the eighth Baron King would have the courtesy to call upon us tomorrow and reserve the first dance at the first ball of the Season.

  Babbage came out of his reverie and stared at the papers in his hand. “Light and prism. Yes. That is the solution. May I call upon Miss Ada tomorrow to go over my calculations?”

  “Will you give me the supervision of the Difference Engine?”

  Sir Drew frowned at me.

  “Yes, yes, do with it what you can. I no longer have the time.” Mr. Charles Babbage wandered back out the way he’d come, still stinking of drink but no longer drunk.

  As I turned to take my seat, Sir Drew offered me his arm in escort. That alarmed me. Polite society expected him to take a mistress, but never to identify her in public. He endangered my reputation by such a gesture, and thus my ability to protect Miss Ada.

  A commotion came at the doorway, loud voices of protest halted everyone in their tracks. The Countess Kirkenwood ceased her introduction of the next aria in mid-sentence. All eyes turned toward the towering white and gilt double doors at the entrance to the room as they slammed open, banging and reverberating against the walls. The sight of one hundred bodies whirling in protest of the disturbance sent me spiralling into the looming darkness of a vision.