After breakfast, she wandered back to the kitchens, an act that drew a disgusted sniff from Kate. Somehow, the maid’s attitude bothered her less with the knowledge that soon she would be well away from Kate’s reach.
In a show of emotions that startled both of them, Sam threw her arms around Cook’s robust form. “I’ll miss you, Cook. Mealtime won’t be the same without you laughing as you serve me extra.”
The older woman pulled Sam against her flour-coated apron, neither caring about the mess.
Then Cook stepped back, her hands coming to rest on Sam’s shoulders. “You’re just worried you won’t get enough to eat, though where you put it is anyone’s guess.”
Sam gave a quick headshake at the comment. “You’re thinking of Lily again. My frame’s broad enough to take what you dish out.”
Cook blinked twice, her eyes glinting in the flickers of light from the flame-filled hearth. “You may be sturdy, but no one could call you stout, Miss Samantha. You pack away the food and then burn it just as fast. You be careful out there. Make sure you’ve always got enough to keep you, or you’ll crisp up like a dry twig, you will.”
“I can take care of myself. I swear I can. But no one will cook as well as you do.”
Cook mussed Sam’s tangled hair. “You always were a sweet-talker. How you get away with so much if you ask me. Just keep your mouth shut until you have your bearings. Too many will not take kindly to a precocious girl-child out in the wider world, especially those Continental folks. And don’t you go trusting them either. They’ll sell you a half-weight, all the while claiming it’s worth twice a full pound.”
Sam nodded, hearing the love in Cook’s roughened voice better than if the woman had come out and said it.
“Now you go run along. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than hang out here with the likes of me. ‘Sides, I’ve got the baking to take care of. You can’t be setting out on a carriage journey with an empty belly. As like you’d eat the horses themselves.”
Cook turned her back, but the dabs of flour at the corners of her eyes revealed the tears she’d tried to hide as much as Sam’s blinking showed her own efforts to keep control.
“I’ll miss you,” Sam whispered a final time. She turned to run back through the servant hall to the main house before she could hear a response. She’d been so focused on losing Lily that she hadn’t considered much about the rest of her life until now.
Everything would change, from the moment she woke in the morning to when she rested her head again on her pillow, and for a long time, it wouldn’t be her pillow even, but rather some hostel or roadside inn.
She’d gone to Cook first because she thought it would be the easiest of her goodbyes, at least of those she planned to make. Instead, Cook made her realize what she’d be giving up.
Sam’s feet dragged as she headed back to her room. In all the time she’d lived on Henry’s estate, she had tucked little mechanical creations here or there so she’d always have one in easy reach should the need to transform come over her. She could ignore the cries of minor machines most of the time when an already transformed one lay within range, its soul more complicated and already growing.
But Henry had confirmed her fear the night before.
She would not be able to bring a single one of her creations on the journey. None could be trusted to know the truth about her. Instead, she’d travel as an orphaned cousin on her way to live with an aunt on the Continent. It would be better this way. With none to share in her secret, she had only herself to keep it hidden.
Visions of just how difficult that would prove to be led her to images of her mechanical creations flowing across the roads after her, of them swamping whatever ship Henry found for Sam, or worse, surging into the salty water and corroding as they tried to follow her across the ocean.
For the safety of those she left behind, Lily and Henry, Cook, even Kate for all she mattered only because of her connection to Lily, Sam had to make sure that didn’t happen. They’d be accused of sheltering a Natural when the mechanicals were traced back to Henry’s estate even if no Natural could be found.
More than just her creations were at risk.
Only that knowledge kept Sam going as she rounded up a simple pace keeper that had once been a letter opener, a small statue, and some twine from the fence around the estate. She paused outside the dining room to listen, but no one was within. In the back of a cabinet, she had tucked the tiniest mechanical man she’d made, from a lady’s pocket watch that happened to get lost when Henry had received visitors. Another had been a bed warmer and now had a lead weight that ran through its coils.
One after another, she brought every stray mechanical back to the workshop, where even more lay, stood, or sat on shelves, tables, or the floor.
Some had the look of people, others even Sam didn’t understand what they had wanted to be, but each held a tie to her, an invisible cord of aether that normally strengthened them both. She only hoped it would break if stretched too far, freeing them from the longing and freeing her from the same as well. Sam could make more mechanicals even if it didn’t, but no Natural would appear on Henry’s estate to lay claim to those she left behind.
Finally, Sam wheeled in the last freestanding mechanical.
She could not move those that were too heavy, or were like the steam-powered heater where she had transformed only a small portion of something much larger. But any she could gather now crowded the workshop, a place that had been more of a home to Sam than any other part of the estate.
Her cheek stung as salty tears dripped down past a scrape she hadn’t noticed getting as she stretched and crawled into the spaces where she’d hidden her creations.
They could not speak. Most had too little aether to attain self-locomotion. Few were as sophisticated as the four mechanical men she’d made, counting neither the adopted one nor the mechanical she’d made for Henry from his grandfather’s watch so long ago. Despite her hand in its creation, that one would follow no one but Henry and read the need to hide from his mind.
Though the mechanical men were the only creations that might understand her words, Sam passed between them all with soft murmurs and touches until she reached the door once again, her newest creation behind and to one side.
“I didn’t build this for you, and I hope you’ll forgive me for trapping you the way I’ve been trapped, but I can’t chance you coming after me. You won’t be able to without destroying yourselves and everyone I care for on the way.”
None of them showed any reaction to her words, but she thought she heard a moan as she stepped through the door and triggered a lock only she could open. The noise could have come from the springs as they dropped a crossbar into place then shoved bolts in to make the contraption fast. It could have been the wind through the rafters of the workshop.
Sam didn’t think so, and the thuds against the solid oak door a moment later proved her right.
She put both hands to the rough wood, pressing hard enough to feel the grain. “I’m sorry.”
They wouldn’t be able to hear her over the surge of noise beyond. They’d never know what it cost her to lock them away.
Sam knew, and it took all her strength not to trigger the mechanism to open once again so she could climb in there with them.
4
Sam woke just before dawn, her stomach full of knots.
She swung both legs out of bed, untwisted her nightgown, and went to the window.
Last night, she’d gone to sleep at peace with the decision to go. She’d said her farewells and had started looking forward to the journey and to the dream of others like herself.
Now, though, she couldn’t settle.
Then Sam heard the sound that had jolted her from her rest—coughing.
She made it half way to the door before remembering she wasn’t supposed to know how sick Lily was. If her sister found out, Lily would doubt Sam’s reasons for agreeing to go and waste energy she desperately needed worr
ying about Sam instead.
Waiting there in her room took all the strength Sam could muster with little left to keep the urges in check. Her fingers itched to transform, but she’d removed anything she could have used to distract herself.
Sam could only sit on her bed or stare out the window, trying as hard as she could not to strain for the sound of any more coughs.
The sun finally rose high enough for Sam to dress and comb her hair into some semblance of order before running down the stairs to breakfast in as good an imitation of her normal self as she could manage.
The breakfast room stood empty.
No food steamed on the sideboard, and neither Henry nor Lily sat at the table waiting for her. They always arrived before her. Sam made sure of it by waiting that extra little bit each day, but she’d failed this morning. Shaken, she pulled out her chair and sat down, hands folded in her lap.
Henry arrived soon after, his cravat undone and his hair still mussed. He offered a smile, but Sam could tell it wasn’t genuine.
“We’re on our own this morning, Sam. Cook received word earlier that her sister’s labor has started. Family comes first.”
An awkward pause followed his words, but Sam broke it with a sigh. “So no hot breakfast? Or is Lily off making something.”
She’d tried to brush past the unspoken knowledge that they were breaking family rules by sending her away, but Henry’s expression tightened more instead of relaxing.
Another pause then Henry said, “Lily’s lying in. She was up last night working on something or other and tired herself beyond measure.” His words would have been casual if not for the strained tone and the lines on his face.
Sam fought the need to press for answers. She knew he hadn’t told the truth even without his expression to give him away. Though she’d tried not to listen, the coughing that had woken her continued for some time before it eased.
“Well,” she said with as bright a smile as she knew how to make, “I’ll just cook something myself.”
The look on Henry’s face would have been laughable if that very fear wasn’t taking her life away.
“No, don’t trouble yourself,” he said in a rush. “Kate’s putting something together.”
Sam failed to hide her expression before he saw it, no better at stilling her features than he was.
“I know the two of you don’t get along, but she’s a decent hand with a toasting flat. And Cook made some lovely rolls and pastries for our trip.”
Both of them glanced toward the door.
Lily did not appear, no matter how much they wanted her to.
Instead, Kate came through with a smile for Henry and a scowl for Sam, her hands occupied by a platter piled high with the pastries Cook had been making the day before.
“I thought those were for the trip.”
Henry shook his head at her, but Kate ignored Sam’s comment as though she hadn’t spoken.
Sam stuck her tongue out at Kate’s back, earning a choked laugh from Henry.
Here was a person Sam wouldn’t miss one bit. Kate couldn’t fall behind Sam fast enough, in her opinion.
Henry’s eyes sparkled with barely suppressed humor despite his attempt to give her a stern look. The break from worry had been good for both of them, and yet it reminded Sam this would be her last breakfast at the estate.
“When do you think we’ll be leaving?” she asked, trying to focus on the positive.
He glanced at the door again and his brow furrowed. “When your sister is ready. It shouldn’t be too long.”
Sam tried to be patient.
She kept herself from the workshop to avoid upsetting her mechanicals further. She even played a few notes on the grand piano, but had to walk away when the little screws holding each string in place started giving her ideas. Lily’s sitting room called to her, or rather the mantel clock did, but Sam refused to give in to the pull.
The kitchen held no interest with Kate presiding, and her bedroom seemed even emptier than usual with her things packed away.
After struggling with the house as long as she could, Sam wandered outside, but she soon found her feet pointed toward the workshop when she’d meant to go to the nearest field.
Henry had retired to his study some time ago. Maybe she’d waited long enough to check with him.
When she reached his room, the door was ajar, giving hope that Lily had come down.
Instead, peeking in, she could see Henry, his head resting on both arms.
She started to turn away, but he raised his head at the slight noise of her shoes against the wood floor. Had she not dressed for the trip, she would have made a better escape.
“You’ve come to see when we’re leaving.”
His voice came out flat, exhausted.
Sam shrugged. “I guess we’re not leaving today? I don’t need anything more than I already have.”
Henry gave her a weary smile. “Your sister is still sleeping. I’ve sent a runner to borrow a steam carriage one of our neighbors recently purchased. Lily will be better rested tomorrow. We can still see you aboard your ship.”
“That sounds grand.” She said nothing more, torn between excitement at riding in a contraption she’d only heard Lily describe once when they still lived in London and the fear that she wouldn’t be able to keep herself under control with such temptation within reach.
Once she attained the relative safety of the hallway out of Henry’s hearing, Sam whispered to herself, “Lily will be there. Lily will help keep me calm.”
Her hands settled against her sides, no longer twitching in anticipation of a complicated working.
If only Lily could calm Sam’s fears for her sister as easily. Lily only needed to sweep down the stairs, laughing at herself for having overslept. Then everything would be all right.
Sam looked to the stair, wishing she still thought Lily pregnant even if that meant believing her sister would cast her aside in favor of a child.
Lily didn’t appear, nor did Sam’s worries lessen, but she’d promised herself that she would not make things worse for her sister, and by extension, for Henry. She wouldn’t question or complain. All this had to happen whatever she thought about it, and she wouldn’t be the one to make it harder.
5
Nat put his pencil down, clamping it within the slot he’d helped the ship’s carpenter build into the captain’s desk. “All done with my paper, Captain Professor, sir.”
“You needn’t be so eager, Nat, my boy. Your parents put you in my hands for a reason, and that had little to do with my sailing skills.” The captain crossed to the desk from his bed and lifted Nat’s paper to catch the dim light coming in the window.
Nat leapt up in time to grab the captain’s arm and steady him against the lurch of their vessel, the Channel still rough after a recent storm.
“Would you look at this, boy? It’s a disgrace. You haven’t a lick of learning in you. Even your script is hasty and poorly drawn. Your thoughts are all on rigging when they should be on the world.”
The lecture he’d heard many times poured over Nat’s head. He understood how the professor felt about being ripped from his university seat, but Nat could find nothing wrong in wanting people to work for a living. He had no quarrel with learning a trade, especially when it meant captaining a ship. The captain had everything Nat had ever wanted, and no interest in the work at all.
Captain Paderwatch gave him a gentle cuff about the ear, nothing like the schooling Dennis Trupt, the first mate, would have managed. “You’re not listening to a word I say, are you, Nat? You’re no different than those fools who think closing the universities will somehow make the world better. Sure, it’s easy to see productivity as work of the hands, but easy doesn’t make it true. Mark my words, boy, it’s the work of the mind that’s needed to take us to the next step. Look at how they handle Naturals. Inhumane it is. Locking them up like that because they can do something no one else can. If the science academies still existed, we could study those
poor souls and discover just how it is they transform basic machinery into something more. A waste throwing all that possibility away.”
Nat nodded in time to the captain’s words, but contributed nothing of his own to the conversation. He’d long learned the captain would eventually run out of steam, and he was a good master. Even the career sailors liked the man, in part because Captain Paderwatch did not see fit to interfere in what he didn’t understand. They were grateful for the captain’s skills in navigation, and his book learning and extensive travels before the age of industry dawned had come in handy a time or two.
It didn’t harm Nat’s position with the crew either that he took the brunt of the captain’s need to educate. The others saw it as a sacrifice on their behalf, and Nat was happy to make it as long as they offered their own brand of teaching once the captain tired of battering Nat’s brain with facts and philosophies he’d never have need of.
“Oh, get on with you, boy. I’m sure Mister Trupt can find something for you to do more to your liking.”
Nat didn’t require a second telling as he crossed to the door as fast as politeness allowed.
He didn’t move fast enough, though, as the captain caught his arm before he could step through.
“I expect you back after supper for some more chart work.”
“Yes, sir!” Nat needed no effort to put enthusiasm in his voice at this command. A paper on the marriage practices of some obscure people the captain met in his voyages held no value Nat could see, but a captain required skills in navigation, and Nat fully intended to reach that stature someday.
“MISTER TRUPT, THE CAPTAIN PUTS me in your hands,” Nat announced, planting his feet as the first mate had taught him.
The man might look like he just stepped out of a bare-fisted boxing ring, complete with a poorly healed break in his nose and a scar that marred one cheek, but he’d been nothing but straight with Nat.
They shared a lopsided grin before Trupt sobered. “Get yourself on the rigging and check those sails for storm damage. The last thing we need is the Company taking from our pay to cover repairs another time.”
Secrets (The Steamship Chronicles Book 1) Page 3
