The Key to His Heart

by Barbara Burke

  “The Rose is a beautiful ship,” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anything half so fine. She must glide like a gannet under steam and sail. It just about broke my heart to see her damaged, but I’ve got her back into shape. I’ve polished her up, and I’ve tuned the engine and replaced all her lubricants, poor dear. I’ve checked her sails, and they’re all fine—they just needed a bit of tightening. She’ll purr her way through the skies now.”

  Barbot hadn’t moved during the barrage of information. Arabella suddenly realized that her hand was still held in his. She pulled it away awkwardly.

  “Anyway, I…I think she’s lovely.”

  “Yes, I rather gathered that.” Was that a hint of a smile in his voice? She fervently hoped so.

  “Come,” she commanded impulsively, tugging on his arm. “I’ve recalibrated the thermal fibrillator. I think you’ll find it cuts through that little tickity tick your boiler occasionally hiccoughs out. I’ll show you what I mean.”

  After a slight hesitation, he allowed her to pull him toward the steep ladder that led to the ship’s depths.

  “This is the cleanest engine room I’ve ever seen,” she confided after they’d climbed down. “Much cleaner than I am. I’m afraid I tend to get so wrapped up in polishing brass and copper that I forget all about taking care of skin and hair. It drives my sister crazy.”

  “You have a sister?” Barbot managed to ask. She’d always stood alone in his mind. He hadn’t pictured her surrounded by family.

  “Two, actually. But my older sister lives in St. John’s. I’m talking about my younger sister, Louisa. She’s very much a dainty lady. Not like me!” Arabella grinned.

  “There’s much to be said for a woman who’s not afraid to get her hands dirty,” Bardot said gravely.

  “Well then, I guess I’m good for several long conversations. Now look what I’ve done here.”

  For the next hour, Arabella took him over the ship, pointing out small adjustments she’d made and little tweaks she’d done to The Rose. When they’d finished and were back on the deck, she turned to him with a tentative air once again.

  “Of course it’s up to you, but we can leave at any time. The Rose is as ready as she’ll ever be, and the weather is forecast to be fair for the next few days. I don’t know what your arrangements are. Do you need to call in a crew? How long will that take?”

  “No, we can leave at any time.”

  “Do you pilot her yourself? It must be wonderful to just walk aboard and set your sights anywhere the fancy takes you.”

  Barbot laughed. It was a bitter sound. “You forget to whom you are speaking. More often than not, my destination is forced on me by ties of business. And it is seldom that I am welcomed when I arrive.”

  His hood was still up, and the overcast light of a late December day concealed his face as thoroughly as the gloom below deck had done. Not even a glint was visible in the shadows where his eyes were so effectively concealed.

  Arabella tilted her head to one side, curiosity and speculation lighting her face. She studied him carefully for a moment.

  “I don’t get along with very many people, either,” she said at last. She paused again before adding, “I wish I could see your face. It’s very difficult to hold a conversation with someone hiding under a mountain of old black merino.”

  Barbot stilled. It seemed almost as if the incessant wind itself had stopped blowing the folds of his attire.

  “This old black merino, as you call it, probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. Be careful what you hold in such contempt. We leave first thing in the morning. If you wish, since the ship is ready, you may stay with your family tonight, but be here at first light.” With these words, he turned and was down the gangway before Arabella had time to draw breath.

  ****

  Arabella made sure she was at the airship the next morning well before the sun topped the horizon. Given how close they were to the shortest day of the year, it wasn’t that much of a sacrifice. But she still felt the bitter wind through every seam and patch of her winter coat and boots. The coat had once been quite serviceable—when it belonged to her older sister. And her youngest aunt before that. Now threadbare would be the kindest way to describe it. Her boots were best left undescribed at all.

  I could certainly do with some of that old black merino now, she told herself as she tightened the long scarf around her neck and tucked her gauntleted hands into her armpits to keep them warm. She stamped her feet against the frozen ground as she waited. It was funny, but after encountering Barbot on the airship yesterday, she didn’t feel right about just pulling down the gangway and climbing aboard, even though she had done so without a qualm over the last few days. The Rose was no longer hers to tinker with. It belonged to someone else now. Someone who frightened her by his very strangeness, but also someone she was strangely drawn to. She wanted to know more about Andre Barbot.

  And she didn’t have a clue how to go about it.

  “You should have boarded,” a voice said from behind her. She whipped around to see Barbot standing close behind her. She blamed the wind for the fact that she hadn’t heard the slightest hint of his approach.

  “Not without the captain’s permission,” she said brightly, without thinking. As the words hit her conscious mind and she remembered how she’d gotten into this situation in the first place, she felt herself blush. If there were eyebrows under the dark cowl that seemed to be his habitual raiment, she was sure one of them was raised sardonically. “Or under the most dire of circumstances,” she added.

  Bardot laughed. It was an unexpected sound, light and free of undertone. “I look forward to hearing what you consider a dire circumstance. Meanwhile, let us get aboard.” He picked up the small suitcase that had been sitting on the ground beside her and pulled on the rope to let down the gangway. “After you.” He gestured.

  As soon as she stepped onto the main deck, she could feel the difference in the ship. It was as if it were alive, humming and eager to be off. She stopped in the middle of the deck, her head cocked to one side, listening as if she could hear what the change was.

  “What is it?” Barbot asked.

  “Things are different,” Arabella replied. “It looks the same, but there’s a change in the air.”

  “Very astute,” Barbot’s voice held a hint of admiration. “The ship has been prepared for our journey. I hope you’ll be comfortable. As you probably know, there are three rooms aft. One each for the two of us and a third common room. I’ve done my best to have your room made suitable.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure what a young lady needs.”

  Arabella laughed. “Don’t ask me. I’m an engineer, not a young lady.”

  “You are both,” Barbot said firmly. “Do not believe you have to choose one over the other.”

  It was a curious thing to say. Arabella had spent most of her life fighting the notions of other people that ‘mucking about with machines’ as her sister termed it, was something less than desirable for a female; that if she chose that path she would inevitably close herself off from another, more conventional one. She had accepted that this was the case. After all, boys had not exactly beaten a path to her door, so it didn’t seem much of a loss. Yet Barbot seemed to suggest that, to his mind at least, there was nothing mutually exclusive about the two roads.

  On the other hand, it would be devilishly difficult to climb under an operating rotor dressed in a wide skirt and corset. Not to mention dangerous. And the steam coming off a boiler would definitely make short work of a fancy hair do.

  Barbot clearly didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “I don’t need much,” she said. “And what I do need is right here in my case. Thanks anyway, though.” She turned toward the ship’s stern. “I’ll just drop this off, and we can be on our way.”

  Her cabin, though small, was in every way more luxurious than anything she’d ever experienced before. The mattress on the small bed was thick and soft when she sat down. A compact
table held a washstand, mirror, and a small cake of soap that smelled of roses when she lifted it to her nose. Even the gozunder was made of the finest porcelain. Across from the bed, barely a step away in the small space, a rich wood wardrobe loomed. Arabella tried to make herself believe it wasn’t actually mocking her small, shabby suitcase as she reached to open it and store away her few items of clothing.

  When she opened it, she realized her mistake. Rather than the empty shelves and rails she had expected, it was packed with clothes, beautiful clothes in bright colors. Dresses and skirts and gowns; blouses and jackets and even trousers; silks and velvets and finest lawn; auburns and ochres and deepest greens. Arabella had never seen such profusion. She closed the door carefully, amazed she could do so, that the wardrobe wasn’t bursting at the seams, and placed her case on the floor.

  Turning abruptly, she went back out into the fresh, open air. “Would you like me to start the boiler?” she asked. “I’m sure you’d like to get off as soon as possible.”

  Barbot had been standing in what seemed to be his usual place at the prow. He turned toward her, and in the light of the rising dawn, she could just make out his eyes. They were indeed golden.

  “You aren’t dressed for the high altitudes I prefer,” he said. “There was a cloak in the wardrobe for you. Not black merino. You must put it on. And the lined boots and gloves as well. You’ll freeze elsewise.”

  Arabella looked at him blankly for a moment. “You mean those clothes are meant for me?” she squeaked.

  “Of course.” Arabella was sure she could see a frown beneath the dark cowl. “They are in your cabin. For whom else would they be?”

  “I…I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me. I guess I thought I was just using someone else’s cabin. Why would you buy me clothes? Especially such beautiful clothes?”

  Barbot turned away, back to the endless vista of the open Atlantic. “You are on my ship. That makes you my responsibility. You clearly cannot perform your tasks if you are half frozen to death. I expect you to wear what has been provided. I was told it would be suitable for a—”

  “Don’t call me a young lady.”

  “Don’t deny you are one.”

  Arabella shook her head. “I’m not a young lady any more than you’re a—”

  “Young man?” Barbot interjected bitterly, and his head dropped. “I assure you, I’m well aware of my…inadequacies in that regard.”

  “I was going to say…monster. But that would be rude.”

  “But I am a monster. You should know that. Everyone knows that.”

  “You’re a man. You have the mind and the soul of a man. It doesn’t matter how your heart beats.”

  “If that were true, your father would never have allowed you on this ship alone with me. That’s proof enough of how I’m regarded.”

  Arabella knew that was true. It didn’t stop her arguing. Just because it was true didn’t make it right.

  “And how you’re regarded doesn’t alter the truth of who you are. But it can alter how you see yourself. I’ll wear the clothes. I’ll wear them to show you that I believe your vision of me is possible. In exchange, I want you to believe that people calling you a monster doesn’t make you one.”

  Barbot raised a hand. “My heart is made of metal. It does not beat. It ticks. It needs to be wound up regularly like a clock. People are right to think me…inhuman. Wear the clothes or not as you wish. I make no bargains.”

  Arabella studied his back for a long moment before returning to the cabin. When she reappeared a few moments later, she was tucked into a long velvet cloak of royal blue and a pair of sturdy, but soft, black leather boots.

  “I hope you don’t expect me to wear this getup in the engine room,” she said gruffly. “I feel enough of a fool as it is.”

  But as she spoke she realized for the first time that the deck beneath her feet was humming gently. There was no need for her to light the boiler. The ship was already prepared to sail.

  “I don’t need you to work the engine,” Barbot said. “I have a…” he hesitated before continuing “…crew of my own. A crew familiar with the workings of The Rose.”

  “Then why am I here?” Arabella asked.

  “In case,” he replied. “Just in case.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No.” Barbot’s voice seemed to hold regret. “But you don’t need to. You just need to be here.” He turned to the great wheel that stood squarely in the middle of the deck and grasped it firmly. “The wind sits fair behind us. We’ll be off now.” He hollered a command into the mouthpiece that stood by the wheel and soon the ship began to lift, the great sailing wings pumping as they caught the wind from the east. Montreal lay ahead.

  ****

  Despite Barbot’s preferences they stayed relatively low in the sky. December in the northern latitudes was no place for comfort in the upper reaches, especially when the wind blew from the north east. Although he had suggested she retire to the lounge, Arabella preferred to stay on deck. She had traveled between St. John’s and Hope Harbour many times, but this was the first time she had crossed the country of Newfoundland from east to west. It was vast and empty of people. She and Barbot may have been the only people in the world. Or above it. She didn’t bother to try to contain her wonder, and Barbot made a surprisingly sympathetic listener to her exclamations.

  “The world is larger than anyone in Hope Harbour can dream,” he told her. “Your trips between an outport and a rather small capital city have not exactly prepared you for what else is out there waiting to be discovered.”

  “Have you been all around the world, Mr. Barbot?”

  ‘You must call me Andre.”

  Arabella cocked her head to one side and studied him, or at least studied his silhouette. “It seems odd to be on a first name basis with someone whose face I’ve never seen. Why do you hide under all that black merino?”

  “I have been to a good many parts of the world,” he said in reply to her initial question. Arabella thought he was going to ignore her rather impertinent follow up, but after a moment he said slowly, “In these clothes I am merely eccentric—perhaps a little intimidating. Without them I am…repulsive.”

  Arabella’s response was quick and warm. “I don’t find you repulsive.”

  “You have not seen me.”

  “Of course I have. I’ve seen you forgive my father for something he could spend years in jail for. I’ve seen you fill a wardrobe with clothes to keep me warm and comfortable. I’ve seen you listen to all my questions and exclamations with a good deal of patience.”

  “You see what you want to see. Not what is really there.”

  Arabella shook her head. But she said no more.

  By late afternoon they had traversed most of the island. Barbot explained that they would put down for the night so they could cross the water in the daytime.

  “And of course you must sleep,” Arabella said. “You can’t keep this up all day and night as well.”

  “I could if I had to, but I prefer not to. We have everything we need onboard. Do you mind putting down away from a town? It will make it easier to get off quickly in the morning.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “I wish I could believe you think so, but my mind is full of doubt,” he replied, and Arabella could hear a smile in his voice. “I know a spot not half an hour’s flight from here that will do very well. We’ll dine as soon as we touch down. In the meantime if you’d like to freshen up, I will meet you in the salon at—” he pulled a large timepiece out from under his cloak “—six o’clock.”

  “Nonsense,” Arabella exclaimed. “You’ll need help getting the ship powered off and battened down for the night. I’m not swanning off like some lady of leisure to powder my nose and tighten my corset while you do all the work.”

  “And yet less than one minute ago you informed me, with a completely straight face, that I was the boss.”

  “But that was—”

  “It
was not different,” he interrupted. “I know what I’m doing. Go.”

  Arabella went.

  When she entered the salon a little more than thirty minutes later, it was to find Andre already there.

  He had discarded his heavy woolen cloak and wore a bottle green frock coat over a fine lace shirt and embroidered waistcoat. Buff trousers and tall boots polished to a mirror-like shine almost completed the ensemble. Almost. A cowl was arranged on his shoulders and over his head. His face was completely obscured.

  “How are you supposed to eat like that?” she demanded as he rose to greet her.

  ‘’The same way a lady wearing a very tight corset eats. Carefully.” He gestured to a chair and waited while she seated herself before pushing it up to the table.

  Arabella had taken advantage of the luxuries the wardrobe had afforded her, partly because she was sure he had expected her to appear in her own serviceable but worn gear. It was, in its own way, an act of defiance. The satin of the emerald gown she wore tightly pulled in at the waist, shone in the light of the gas lamps almost as brightly as her hair, which she had brushed to within an inch of its life. It hung in auburn ringlets almost to her waist and was held off her face with velvet ribbons that matched the colour of her dress.

  “You look very fine,” Barbot said. “Except for the scowl on your face.”

  “Well you look very fine, too,” Arabella replied. “Except for the cowl on your face.”

  Barbot snorted. “So does this meal. Shall we call a truce?”

  There were several dishes on the table, and just as had been the case at Barbot’s house, they were filled with exotic foods Arabella had never seen before. And she was very hungry.

  “Will you tell me one thing first?”

  “That depends on what you want to know.” The suspicion in the deep voice was almost palpable.