Steam & Sorcery

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  “I’ll go get them washed up,” Dorothy said. “Tonight I’ve a dinner engagement, but I’ll be here to get you started at least. No panicking, dear.” Before Caroline could speak, Dorothy had bustled out the door and across the hall.

  As Caroline unpinned her hat and laid it atop a lovely cherry wood bureau, a sharp whistle cut through the sounds of laughter and pattering feet. Caroline tugged off her ugly black gloves and checked her hair in a lovely gilt mirror above the bureau. Not too many strands had come loose, thank heaven. She adjusted one pin, securing the biggest lock that had fallen out of her chignon, and washed her hands in the adjacent water closet—goodness, there was even a copper bathtub in here, with its own hot and cold taps. But there was no time now to explore her luxurious new surroundings. Taking one last fortifying breath, she straightened her spine and walked across the hall.

  Chapter Four

  Chaos didn’t begin to describe the nursery. Actually, Caroline wasn’t sure the word nursery was an appropriate designation at the moment. Zoo might have been better—or asylum.

  One corner was littered with machines in various stages of dismemberment, along with a neatly arranged assortment of tools. Someone had at least rolled up the rug and laid down a swatch of oil cloth, but Caroline feared the polished oak floor would never be quite the same.

  Another section of the nursery contained all the typical toys—a rocking horse, soft wooly animals and what appeared to be several armies’ worth of tin soldiers, laid out in an intricate battle, using the soft toys and stacks of picture books as terrain obstacles.

  The room was oddly devoid of dolls. Not even a toy cradle or miniature pram was in sight. Interesting.

  Taking in all these details as she moved through the room at a steady pace, Caroline pressed onward, through a set of open pocket doors into the adjoining schoolroom—walking onto the field of battle, as it were. In here, two harried-looking maids and one footman valiantly attempted to serve dinner to the boisterous throng. Miss Hadrian sat at one end of the table while the place at the other end was laid but vacant. As the table was lower than a normal one—three-quarter sized to accommodate children of various ages—Miss Hadrian’s impressive stature made her look more than a little out of place.

  “Please, won’t you join us, Miss Bristol?” Her tone was even, but loud enough to be heard over the noise. “Boys, it’s customary for gentlemen to rise when a lady enters the room.”

  “Why?” The middle one—Piers?—scratched his head. One of the girls elbowed him though, and he scrambled to his feet, dragging the youngest chap with him. Across the table, Tommy, who was several inches taller than Caroline, unfolded himself from the too-small chair.

  “It’s just one of those things.” Caroline sent Piers a smile and allowed the sole attending footman to pull out her chair. “I don’t know if anyone knows a genuine reason for it, but it is a tradition, and people expect to see it.”

  “It is a sign of respect.” Miss Hadrian nodded at the boys. “And forgetting to do so conveys a lack thereof and insult to the lady in question. You may be seated now and resume your meal.”

  The younger children cocked their heads, while Wink shook hers and translated. “If you don’t stand, it means she’s not a lady, you dolts. You’re calling her a doxy.”

  That they understood.

  “Sorry, miss,” Tommy said hurriedly. The two younger boys echoed the apology, eyes wide with horror.

  “Apologies accepted.” Caroline placed her napkin in her lap.

  Miss Hadrian then introduced Caroline to the servants, who eyed her speculatively but only nodded in response. “Now what has Cook prepared for our dinner?”

  The meal was a simple one, suited for the nursery, but with plenty of food to sustain growing children, three of them boys. A hearty fish chowder was served with slabs of fresh, warm bread for the first course. While it wasn’t precisely normal for a footman and maids to serve separate courses in the nursery, Caroline understood that it was an effort to speed the children’s adaptation to their new social stratum.

  “Which spoon should we use for the soup?” Miss Hadrian asked before she lifted her own. “Nell, can you remind us of that?”

  “Sure.” Nell picked up her soup spoon on the first try. There was a motion under the table as if Wink had kicked her, because she corrected herself. “I mean yes, miss. It’s this one.”

  “Exactly.” Dorothy stood. “I’m dining out this evening, so I must take my leave. I do hope you’ll all behave for Miss Bristol. After all, we’d like her to stay, would we not?”

  The children nodded, none of them pausing to speak.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said with a smile. “Good night, Miss Hadrian.”

  Miss Hadrian tipped her head, a wry twist to her narrow lips. “You’re not going to call me Dorothy, are you?”

  Caroline smiled back and shook her head. “No, Miss Hadrian.”

  “Can we settle on ‘Miss Dorothy’? That would work for the rest of this lot as well. I’m tired of being Miss Hadrian in my own household.”

  “I believe that will work nicely.” Caroline turned to the children. “Say good-night to Miss Dorothy, please.”

  Each of them did, and to Caroline’s amazement, the older woman took a moment to bend down and somehow touch each child—a tousle of the hair for Piers, a chuck on the cheek for Jamie, and a squeeze of the shoulder for Nell, Wink and Tommy. With that, she left Caroline in charge.

  What an odd household this was—and how lucky Caroline felt at that moment to have been invited to be part of it. “So tell me a little about yourselves.” She made eye contact with each of the children. “I come from Somerset, in the west of England. What about each of you? Are you all from here in London?”

  Five heads nodded without pausing in their inhalation of the soup. “We’re from Wapping, miss.” Nell spoke after she swallowed. Caroline recognized the name of a London slum, though she’d never been there. “Most of us was born there.”

  “Exceptin’ Wink.” Tommy helped himself to more soup from the tureen. “She didn’t come ’ere till her da’ died.”

  Caroline debated correcting his grammar, but decided information was more important at this juncture. “I’m sorry for your loss, Winifred. Was it recently?”

  “No, miss. It was…” The girl nipped her lower lip while she calculated. Her golden brown eyes were striking with her auburn hair. “Six years ago? I was nine, then. When my papa was alive, we traveled all over—so I can’t really say I came from anywhere.”

  “So you’re fifteen now?”

  Wink nodded.

  “And you, Tommy—Miss Hadrian—Miss Dorothy said you’re fifteen as well.”

  “Aye, miss.”

  “What about you, Nell? Is Nell short for Eleanor, by the way, or for something else?”

  The dark-eyed girl looked down at her plate. “It’s Eleanor, miss. I’m twelve, close as I can figure. Piers is two years younger, and Jamie’s nine.”

  Well, that was a start. “So tell me, which of you can read and write?”

  Wink lifted her hand. “I can, in English and a little French and Italian.”

  “I can read.” Tommy looked down his long nose. “I’m not a baby.”

  “Of course not.” Caroline took a moment to savor a bit of the soup. “But I know plenty of adults who never bothered to learn much beyond their own names. I need to know where each of you is starting out, so I can begin to plan your lessons—though Tommy, I believe you’re to have a proper tutor.”

  “Aye.” The boy nodded, then winced. Another kick from Wink? “I mean, yes, miss.”

  “I can read.” Piers spoke up shyly. “Wink taught me while I was sick. Used to fix machines to get books for me, and medicine.”

  Wink shrugged. “People pay me to fix up their clockwork and boilers. Sometimes they’d give me a book to go with the blunt.”

  Caroline filed away that tidbit of information. “Wink, did you build the dog—George, you said his na
me was? He’s quite lifelike. You must really have a talent with machines.”

  “Yes, miss. Well—not his outsides. I found those in a dump and built him new insides.”

  “I’m impressed.” She was. Anyone who could make machines work had her admiration. “Jamie, please don’t reach across the table for the salt. Ask someone to pass it to you.”

  “Sorry, miss.” The boy twitched restlessly as the footman removed the soup plates and the maids laid a main course of roasted chicken with carrots, peas and potatoes.

  The children fell on the meal like a starving horde. The scents were heavenly, and it was all Caroline could manage not to do the same. “I believe that tomorrow morning I shall spend a little time with each of you, going over things like reading, writing, mathematics and geography, just to assess where you’ll need to begin your lessons. After luncheon, I prefer to take a walk in the park, if that is acceptable. Then in the afternoon, we shall get down to business. After teatime, there will be an hour or so of playtime, followed by some shared reading. Any questions?”

  “Do we have to work every day?” Jamie’s lower lip jutted out and trembled. “You said you’d play with us.”

  “And I shall.” Caroline smiled. “There will be some time for play every afternoon. We’ll take Sundays off completely, and we’ll try to set one day a week aside for an educational outing of some sort. Thursdays will be half-days, with the afternoons free, at least for now.”

  Mary, one of the maids, rolled her eyes and muttered something about asking for Thursdays off.

  Which is when Piers used his spoon to shoot a pea at the maid.

  Pandemonium erupted. Clearly, twenty minutes was the maximum length of time for this brood to behave.

  Mary shrieked, was hit in the mouth by a gob of potatoes, then ran from the room in tears. Caroline didn’t see the culprit in that case, but the angle suggested Wink.

  Jamie knocked over his milk in the process of punching Piers, who retaliated with a barrage of multiple peas at Jamie, then another at Nell.

  Mashed potatoes appeared on Piers’s face, then on Tommy’s. His elbow knocked Wink’s plate to the floor, and she dumped her glass of milk into his lap.

  “Enough.” Caroline rapped her spoon on her water glass to cut through the chaos, and the children went silent. “That will be quite enough of that.” Caroline stood and glowered at each of them in turn. “Clearly, everyone is finished with their meal.” She turned to Johnson, the footman. “Can you please remove the rest of the food? Including any sweets. They shan’t be needed.”

  “Yes, miss.” With a crisp nod, the footman and Sally, the remaining maid, began to gather the scattered components of the meal, ignoring the wails of protest from the two younger boys.

  Caroline stood and surveyed the children with a stern look. “Now, each of you children shall retire to your bedrooms, change out of any soiled clothing, wash your faces and hands, and then meet me in the nursery in ten minutes. Understood?”

  “Yes, miss.” Wink hung her head.

  The others just nodded and filed toward the door.

  “Piers, would you remain here a moment? And Tommy, please assist Jamie if he needs it.” While her words remained polite, her tone was as icy as she could manage.

  Tommy followed Jamie out the door while Piers returned to stand in front of Caroline.

  The boy stared down at the toes of his scuffed black boots and coughed. His already pale complexion whitened even further. “Yes, miss?” The poor thing was terrified, but not, Caroline somehow sensed, of a physical beating. She got the feeling that being switched wouldn’t have bothered the lad in the least. Interesting. What was he afraid of?

  “Since you were the one who started that ruckus by shooting a pea at Mary’s head, it seems only fair that you should do her share of the work in cleaning up, doesn’t it? After all, Johnson and Sally shouldn’t have to do her work too, not because of something you caused.”

  He shuffled his foot on the carpet. “Yes, miss.”

  “Very well, you may assist Johnson and Sally in clearing the table and sweeping up the mess. Then you may go wash your hands and join the rest of us.”

  Caroline smiled at Sally, a sturdy young woman who looked annoyed and amused, rather than terrified. “Please make sure that Piers does his share of the cleaning.”

  Sally grinned wickedly as she bobbed her head and began to help load dishes of food back onto the rolling cart. “Of course, miss.”

  Piers nodded and knelt to pick up some shards of broken crockery. Immediately, Johnson was there with the automated sweeper. “Use this, lad, so you don’t cut your hands.”

  Caroline watched until she was certain that the servants were carefully guiding the boy, making him work, but ensuring his safety and not putting extra onus on him out of spite. Then she took Sally aside and asked that some brown bread and butter be sent up to the schoolroom later. None of these children should go to sleep hungry, but there needed to be some punishment. After the maid agreed, Caroline moved into the playroom, where Tommy and Jamie had already returned, freshly washed.

  “Tommy, what is your usual bedtime?” A glance at the mantel clock showed it was presently a quarter past eight.

  “Nine, for the younger two,” he admitted, glancing down at Jamie’s fair head. “Miss Hadrian’s been letting me and the girls stay up a little later, reading or whatnot. Lights out by eleven though, even for us.”

  “Perfect.” Caroline beamed. Once the others came in, she took a seat in a rocking chair near the hearth, a strong wire net in place to keep little fingers away from the coals, and spoke. “Could each of you find a chair and come sit in a circle?”

  Obediently each child fetched a stool or chair from some corner of the room and arranged them in a tight circle.

  Caroline put on her sternest expression. “I know that living in a house like this one takes some getting used to, and there are going to be times when we disagree about how we’re to go on. I’ll always try to be fair, but you must know that if you disobey me, there will be consequences. Tonight will be no exception. Is that completely clear to everyone?”

  Five heads nodded soberly.

  “Are we being sent away?” Nell’s barely whispered words went straight to Caroline’s heart as she spied fear in all five sets of eyes.

  Ah. That was what they feared worse than a beating. This, Caroline thought, she could safely address. “No. Do you really think Sir Merrick has so little honor that he’d go back on his word, no matter how much you provoke him?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “So it might behoove you to stop testing his tolerance. He isn’t going to throw you back on the streets. As for tonight,” Caroline said, “instead of having some time to yourselves between supper and bedtime, you will be writing letters of apology, to Johnson, to Mary, to Sally, and another to Cook, for wasting such a lovely meal. The fifth will be to Miss Hadrian, for breaking your promise to behave. You may decide among you who shall write which letter.”

  “Jamie can’t write, miss.” Wink kept her eyes downcast. “He’s just now learning his letters. I can do his for him.”

  “Jamie did his share of the poor behavior, so he shall do his share of the punishment, though his version of a letter may certainly differ from those of the rest of you,” Caroline acknowledged. “Perhaps one of the recipients would appreciate a drawing, with the word sorry, which he can copy. Shall we adjourn to the schoolroom? Who can show me where the paper, pens and ink are located?”

  Tommy lifted his hand. “I can, miss. And I’ll write to Miss Hadrian.”

  “I threw the pea at Mary,” Piers said glumly. “I should apologize to her.”

  “Excellent choice, Piers,” Caroline said.

  “Cook likes pictures,” Jamie noted. “Gots one in the kitchen she said was from her grandson.”

  “Very well. Wink and Nell, that leaves Johnson and Sally.” Caroline stood. “Now come along.”

  They all obediently followe
d her into the other room. Tommy showed her the cabinet containing writing supplies, and she removed six slates and chalk, along with pens, pencils and paper. She distributed the slate and chalks first. On the sixth, she wrote, “I’m sorry for wasting food,” and handed it to Jamie. “Practice copying those words,” she told him, then to the rest, “I want to see your letters written out on the slates, so we can make corrections before you commit them to paper and ink.” She had no intention of making this too easy for them.

  As they worked, Caroline patrolled the outside of the table, pointing out errors in spelling or wording, as well as suggesting possible additions to the letters. Eventually she handed Jamie a piece of foolscap and some colored pencils, watching as he carefully wrote his five words at the top and his name at the bottom, then began to draw.

  She filled inkwells and distributed paper to the older children once their longer, more detailed apologies had been approved, based on age and skill. Piers’s to Mary was brief and to the point, but Caroline was satisfied that it was heartfelt and hoped the maid wouldn’t end up resigning over the contretemps. Finally, Caroline helped them fold the letters and seal them with small globs of candle wax. Just as they finished, Sally carried in the tray of bread, butter and tea which the children all regarded hopefully.

  Shyly, Nell handed Sally her letter as Caroline had instructed. “We’re sorry. We’ll try not to do it again.”

  The young woman quickly hid a grin. “All right then. Reckon things happen, sometimes.” Caroline made a mental note to ask if that particular maid could be assigned to the nursery full-time.

  “The rest of you will deliver your letters in the morning,” Caroline said. “Now, while we have our snack, I’d like to begin a habit of reading aloud in the evenings. I’ll start off, then perhaps we can eventually take turns. I see a shelf of books over against the far wall. Jamie, do you have a favorite story?”

  “Hansel and Gretel, miss. My mum used to tell me that one.”

  “And is there a copy of that over there?”

  Piers nodded. “I’ll get it.” He hurried over to the shelf and returned with a book of faery tales. “It’s in here.”