The Alloy Heart

by Quinn Loftis

  “Just a friend,” said Zach, his head now pounding but his vision returning to normal.

  “What friend?” barked Watt.

  “Nobody. Just an old friend from the war. What difference does it make?”

  “Why did you bring him to the Dragon?”

  “He was in a hurry,” responded Zacharias. “Just passing through, you see. And I was working late that night, reattaching some dirigible lines. We didn’t have time to go anywhere else.”

  Watt narrowed his eyes, as though trying to gauge the truth of the tiny man’s words. He held Zach in place again growling down over him, staring into the mechanic’s frightened wide eyes.

  “What did you tell him about the guild?” Watt asked finally.

  “Nothing. I’m not an idiot,” replied Zacharias quickly. “Nothing.”

  “You are an idiot, Zachy. You know what happens to mechanics with loose tongues around here, don’t you?” growled Watt.

  “I swear, Watt. I swear on my daughter. I didn’t tell him anything.”

  Watt smirked, a greedy look passing over his face. “Your daughter, huh? How is the little petal? I sure do miss her.”

  This brought a bit of fight back into Zacharais, and he pushed away from Watt, breaking free from his grasp and backing up a step. “She’s none of your concern, you bastard.”

  “Tut, tut, Zachy. No need to for name calling. I’m just concerned about your sweet daughter’s wellbeing. And you should be too. It’d be a shame if something were to happen to her father. Then who would take care of her?” Zach’s eyes were spewing daggers at Watt, but he held his tongue. “And something will happen to you, Zacharias, if you don’t watch yourself. I’m going to find out who this person was at the Dragon, and if it turns out that you’ve been flapping your gums, well … don’t worry, I’ll check on Lily for you.”

  Zacharias clenched his fists and took a step toward Watt, who held up the wrench, his muscles tensed, stopping Zach in his tracks. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Watt. One day soon, you wait.”

  Watt cackled. “Oh, I plan on getting what’s coming to me, little man. You have no idea.” With that he flung the wrench onto ground, its ringing echoing throughout the warehouse, and walked away laughing.

  Chapter Nine

  Thursday, 5th May 1887

  Sometime around 7:00 p.m.

  Sophia Hill stared at herself in the mirror and frowned. “Why are you being such a silly girl.” She growled at the reflection. “You’re acting as though you’ve never been around Jackson Elliot.” Sophia was irritated with herself because of the childish excitement and nervousness that she couldn’t shake. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake, and it was just a date. The dress she wore was a little on the edgy side, but according to her sister, who would certainly know, it was the latest London fashion. The corset of the dress wrapped tightly around her and was secured with steel fasteners descending vertically along the front. The shirt beneath it had a sharp V-cut and was ruffled on the edges. The back of the skirt was long, nearly dragging the floor, while the front stopped just above her knees, which would have been scandalous if not for the over-the-knee boots she was wearing. The footwear was dark brown with buckles adorning the outside from the heel to the top. She looked fierce, and Sophia had to admit she liked it.

  “You are allowed to be giddy, you know,” Olivia said as she added a few bobby pins to Sophia’s hair. “You are going out with a handsome and, dare I say it, very sought after bachelor, and you look amazing. Be excited.”

  Sophia laughed. She was being ridiculous. Why couldn’t she allow herself to just be excited? “What if he discovers that I’m not who he once loved? Or what if he changes his mind? What—”

  “What if your carriage gets struck by lightning, catches fire, and singes all of the hair on the horse’s mane, causing it to panic, running you headlong into the river?” Olivia asked, interrupting her sister. “You cannot live your life on what ifs.”

  Both girls came to an abrupt halt when they heard a throat clear. Olivia looked over her sister’s shoulder at the door. She grinned and then looked back at her sister.

  “He’s standing in the doorway, isn’t he?” she muttered.

  Olivia, with the grin still in place, nodded. “And he brought flowers.”

  Sophia turned and looked Olivia in the eyes. The young girl had grown up at some point when her older sister had been living in her own head, worried about dying. And the girl had grown into an incredible young woman. “Okay,” she told her. “I’m going to let myself be excited.” Like school girls they held hands, bouncing up and down as they squealed together, anticipating Sophia’s date. It was silly and ridiculous and exactly what she needed.

  “You were taking so long, Sophia,” Thomas’ voice traveled across the room, “that I decided to bring your date up to you.”

  Sophia cleared her throat and let go of her sister’s hands. “How thoughtful of you, brother,” she said as she turned around and faced the two men she cared most about in the world. She prayed that her face wasn’t as red as it felt, but knew it was when Jackson winked at her.

  Olivia pushed her sister forward and Sophia stumbled over her own feet. Sophia turned and glared at her younger sister, seeing her stifle a laugh. Then she turned back to Jackson as gracefully as possible. Jackson, for his part, was smirking as well. Though he did hold out the flowers to her and reach up to brush the back of his fingers against her cheek. The action was so tender and genuine that it took Sophia’s breath away. After a moment, Sophia caught her sister’s eyes and noticed that they had filled with tears. Was Olivia wondering if anyone would ever look at her the way Jackson looked at Sophia? Sophia knew someone would. Someday her sister would find a man would love her just the way she was: healthy, ill, adventurous, silly, and anything else she might be when they meet.

  Sophia took the offered hand from Jackson as she stepped up into the carriage. Her face still felt a bit flushed after having been caught acting like a schoolgirl, but she didn’t regret having that moment with Olivia. She didn’t regret giving herself permission to be excited about a date with the man she so desperately loved.

  “It’s a nice evening for an outing,” Jackson told her as he sat down next to her. Sophia looked stunning. The moment he saw her she took his breath away. He turned his body slightly so that he was facing her and took in her entire form. From her elegant hair done up in an graceful twist to the way her dress hugged her feminine curves. “I almost hate to take you out where others can enjoy your beauty, Ms. Hill. I dare say I would like to keep you for myself.”

  Sophia shook her head. “You’re blinded by your feelings for me, Jackson. I am nothing special to look at.” The truth was, the only time she felt beautiful was when Jackson was the one looking at her. His eyes were so intense and deliberate when they roved over her, she could almost feel it like a physical caress. Sometimes, she wondered if the man possessed some kind of supernatural ability to use his mind to influence the emotions of others because Sophia definitely felt things when he looked at her.

  Jackson reached over and took her small hand in his larger ones. Her skin felt so soft against his own, and he wondered if the rest of her was just as soft. The fingers of his right hand trailed up and down her arm, starting at her wrist and following the curve past her elbow to her shoulder. He loved her response to his touch, loved that he could affect her as she affected him. “I am convinced there is nothing more beautiful to look upon than you.”

  Sophia felt her heart speed up in her chest and thought if it gave out right then, she would be okay. She would leave this world looking into the eyes of the man she loved. “Thank you,” she said simply and squeezed the hand that he had wrapped around hers.

  When they reached their destination, Sophia was a bit puzzled by her surroundings. She hadn’t asked Jackson where they would be dining, but she assumed he would treat her to a nice restaurant. Instead, the driver had pulled the carriage up to the small park that was situa
ted in the quiet neighborhood near Jackson’s home. As she stepped down out of the carriage, her eyes widened when she took in the setting. She tried unsuccessfully to keep her mouth from dropping open.

  The park had been turned into a magical land of flickering candlelight and soft music. She looked at Jackson as he took her hand and ushered her to the path that was lined with candles. “This is unbelievable,” she said breathlessly. “How did you do all of this?” Sophia asked as she looked at the lounging table that had been set up just beneath the largest tree in the park. The branches were enormous, sticking out in all directions, like long arms seeking to embrace any who came near. There was a circular blanket laid out on the ground with pillows stacked in a row. In the center of the blanket was a round table that sat only a foot off the ground. The table was covered in fruit, sandwiches, and desserts, as well as two glasses and a bottle of red wine.

  “I will admit,” Jackson said with a small smile. “I had a little help.” Between Olivia, Thomas, the maid, Nora, and a couple of patients who had become good friends, Jackson had been able to put together what he’d hoped would be the perfect first date. He helped Sophia take a seat on the Arabian-style dining rug and then sat next to her. An ornate windup music player sat tinkling beside them. He’d acquired the player as payment a year or so ago from a gentleman in the mechanics guild who couldn’t afford to pay the bill for the surgery to repair his broken arm. The piece was a work of art, a marvel of sight and sound, its brass gears visible behind a glass plate the front. Sophia could see the inner workings gleaming in the candlelight as they shifted this way and that in time with the music. The movements of the machine were almost as melodically beautiful as the songs it produced.

  Jackson couldn’t have asked for a better night for their outdoor dinner. The moon was full and bright in the sky, and the stars cascaded over them like a twinkling blanket.

  “I am in awe, Jackson Elliot,” Sophia said to him as she turned slightly so she could lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, again.”

  “Don’t speak too soon. The food is the main attraction of any meal. It might not be edible,” he warned, which made her laugh, and the sound warmed something deep inside of him.

  “I recognize those cucumber sandwiches, sir. I’d be careful whose food you’re insulting. Olivia’s not the best cook in the world, but her cuisine has come a long way since she was required to take over those duties full time. She would take you to task if she heard you saying such things about her food.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t I know it? I remember when I was…” His brow furrowed as he thought back. “I guess around fifteen or sixteen, having dinner at your house. I hadn’t known that Olivia had begged your chef to help her in the kitchen that day. I made a comment that the soup wasn’t nearly as good as usual. My bowl landed in my lap faster than I could blink. I had to borrow some trousers from your brother.”

  Sophia’s head tilted back as laughter bubbled up out of her. “Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten about that.

  “The most humorous part of the story,” Jackson said as he chuckled, “was that your father simply looked up from his paper, smirked, and went right back to his reading. He didn’t chastise her a wit.”

  “He wasn’t stupid. He didn’t want to be wearing his soup, as well.”

  Jackson pressed a button on the underside of the table, and Sophia heard the clanking of gears and the clinking of a chain somewhere underneath. A small circular section in the middle of the table separated itself from the tabletop and began to rise until it was about a foot above the surface. The separated piece of table was held aloft by a glass chamber, in which small holes had been cut to allow for air flow. Inside the chamber was a single, burning candle. The candle lit their intimate dining area, casting shadows across the table and pillows.

  Jackson grabbed two plates and began filling them with food. He handed one to Sophia and took the other for himself. They ate in companionable silence, both enjoying the quiet night and peaceful setting.

  When they’d finished the meal, Sophia was again in store for a surprise when a man and woman appeared and cleared the table in front of them. She thanked them and sat back, feeling a fullness within her that had nothing to do with the food. “That was simply delightful,” she told Jackson as she leaned her head against the large pillow plumped behind her. She felt as though she were cocooned in a safe alternate universe, like in one of her sister’s books, where nothing and no one could touch her, except Jackson Elliot.

  Jackson turned to look at the beautiful woman he intended to make his wife very, very soon. She sat with her legs tucked to the side of her, her back and head pressed into the pillow behind her. The length of her pale neck was exposed, and he could see the veins that ran under her skin, carrying the precious blood and oxygen to her heart. Most would not think of such things, he knew. Others would see only the loveliness of her skin, but Jackson was a surgeon and nothing to him was ever simply skin deep. For him, Sophia’s beauty was not in the fact that she was lovely to look upon, nor was it that she was incredibly beautiful in her spirit. For him, it was also that he knew her body was built to work in a specific manner, in tandem with all its parts, and all of that combined with the other is what made her Sophia—his Sophia. She was even more precious, more unique, because all of her parts did not work in tandem. Her heart, the very thing that not only represents a person’s physical health, but spiritual as well, was failing. Even now as he looked at her, he could see that her skin wasn’t as pink as it should be. The pulse in her neck was weak and thready, and her breaths weren’t deep enough to take in the amount of oxygen her body needed to function properly.

  “Sophia, love,” he said gently, not wanting to startle her.

  “Hmm?” she asked, seemingly unwilling to open her eyes.

  “How have you been feeling?”

  “Are you asking me as a concerned lover or as a doctor?”

  Her question made him smile. “Both,” he said dryly. He could tell by the way her lips tightened that she didn’t want to answer him. She always became a bit prickly when someone asked about her health. “I’m a doctor, Soph. Regardless of the fact that we are courting, I am always a healer and those instincts are strong.”

  Her eyes finally opened, and she turned her head so she could look at him without raising it from its resting spot. “I don’t expect you to stop being who and what you are just because you’re with me.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry if you don’t like talking about it, but knowing how you’re feeling will help me understand how your heart is holding up.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Sophia took a deep breath. “I’m tired, honestly. It doesn’t seem to matter how much sleep I get. I’m always tired, no matter what. My toes and fingertips get cold and tingly. Sometimes my brain feels foggy, like I can’t quite remember things or grasp ideas because I can’t clear the fog.”

  “Do you have a hard time waking up from sleep?” Jackson asked. Already the things she was telling him were hard to hear; they were not good signs. Her symptoms indicated that the disease was progressing quickly.

  “Sometimes,” Sophia admitted. “It feels like I’m digging through quicksand to come out of a dream.” Sophia could tell by the look in Jackson’s eyes that what she was telling him was upsetting. She was sick and getting sicker, probably more quickly than they’d thought she would. There was nothing she could do about it. She had no way to stop the damage that was being done to her heart, and she wasn’t going to sugarcoat it for the one person who would know the truth simply by looking at her. But she had answered his questions, and now was done talking about it. She scooted closer to him until her body was pressed against the side of his and then shifted so her cheek was lying pressed against the pillow and she could look up at Jackson. “Tell me your dreams, Jackson. No more talk of sickness. Tell me what you see for us, for our family.”

  * * *

  Jackson’s stomach clenched at the idea of ev
en daring to dream for a future with Sophia. He would rather simply live in the moment. From where they sat, the future was simply too much to hope for. “My dreams are coming true as I sit here beside you, Sophia,” he told her. “Finally having you as my own, that is all I have ever wanted. Anything else is simply icing on the cake.”

  She sighed gently. “I dream of a wedding, children, and growing old beside you. I dream of arguing with you and then making up. I dream of being a terrible tease to you until we breathe our last.” And she did. Sophia longed for those things above all else.

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him until her head rested on his chest. Her warmth seeped into him and brought light to the places inside that seemed to be continually dark and cold. “Being a man of science, you might not believe this,” he began.

  “Believe what?”

  Jackson tapped her on the nose playfully. “Don’t interrupt and you’ll find out.”

  Sophia laughed. “Fine, Dr. Elliot, carry on.”

  “As I was saying, being a man of science, you might not believe that I believe in miracles, the unexplained, and the farfetched,” he paused, giving her time to let that sink in. What he was saying was true. Not many men who called themselves scientists, who depended on facts to answer their questions, would ever declare to believe in miracles. “But I do believe in them, Sophia.”

  “What if I don’t believe in them?” she asked.

  Jackson pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Then I will believe enough for both of us.”

  Inspector Hill sat a pint down in front of his assistant, John Foster, and eased into the booth opposite him. With the previous day’s painful hangover still a vivid memory, Thomas had bought himself only a mineral water. Both men retrieved their respective notepads and began to deliberate about the two missing women. The Lady of the Lake pub, even at this its busiest time of evening, when its gentleman clientele were settling in for a pint after dinner, was far from bustling. Its patrons were mostly older men, discussing business and brandishing the latest copy of the London Times financial section like clubs, claiming monetary victories based upon the day’s trading, or bemoaning their losses due to the skullduggery of their counterparts. It was an ideal place to wait for Zacharias and discuss their current homicide investigation.