The Key to His Heart

by Barbara Burke

  “Nothing too dreadful. I’m just wondering about this mysterious crew that seems to run the ship? The engines start as if by magic. Food appears on the table when no one is looking. Yet I neither see nor hear a single soul.”

  Arabella could feel him studying her while she waited to see if he would answer. She stared back at roughly the level she imagined his eyes to be, chin raised.

  “There is no crew,” he said at last. “At least no crew you would recognize as such. The work is done by a team of mechanical servants, each designed to perform certain tasks. One keeps the boiler stoked, another runs the engines, and so on.”

  “That’s fascinating. May I see them?”

  “Most people are nonplussed by the idea of inanimate objects acting in such a way. They find it…”

  “Yes, yes, I know, repulsive.” Arabella waved her hand dismissively. “Especially if they take a humanoid form. Can we just get past that? I’d really like to see them in operation.”

  “Then you may do so tomorrow. Let us dine now.”

  Over dinner they discussed everything from federal politics to favorite childhood stories. The plates were cleaned in no time as they chatted, and Arabella found herself almost forgetting she was speaking to a patch of darkness where a face should be.

  “It will take us another two days to reach Montreal,” Barbot said, when the meal was finished. “So far the ship has been running beautifully. I commend you. You have indeed done as your father said and improved its performance.”

  “Thank you,” Arabella said. “The ship is so lovely. I’m afraid I quite fell in love with her as I was working.”

  “You cannot fall in love with a machine.”

  Arabella laughed. “You sound like my sister. But I think you’re both wrong. There are many things in the world to love that are inanimate. Trees. Sunsets. Books. Why can’t we love machines as well?”

  “Because they can’t love you back.”

  “Not yet.” Arabella’s words ended in a yawn. “Will you excuse me? I must get to bed.”

  Barbot rose immediately. “Of course. I will see you in the morning.”

  ****

  The next two days passed as quickly as the wind in the sails. Arabella made herself comfortable in all parts of the ship. The mechanical crew fascinated her, and she had several suggestions about how they could be improved. And, of course, as Barbot noted wryly, she named every one of them as if they weren’t, after all, just machines.

  When they arrived in Montreal, Arabella was amazed at the length and breadth of the airdocks. It seemed to stretch almost to the horizon, and ships of every description, from the smallest private yachts to the largest commercial airliners, were moored in the vast field.

  “Where did all these people come from?” she marvelled, staring in wonder from the deck of The Rose.

  “Everywhere,” said Barbot from behind her. “Montreal is one of the largest cities and greatest ports in the world.”

  “It frightens me,” Arabella realized. “I’m glad you’re here with me. If this is what the port is like, what must the city itself look like?”

  “Like nothing you’ve ever seen, but exciting for all of that.”

  Arabella looked unsure. She reached out and laid her hand on the strong arm beneath its black covering. “Can we stay on the ship tonight? We’ve been traveling all day, and I’m not sure I’m ready for the city.”

  “If that is what you wish.”

  Although it was completely inappropriate, Arabella pulled the beautiful royal blue gown out of the wardrobe to wear at dinner that night. She tied her hair up and let its curls cascade down her cheeks. She even did her best to get her fingernails clean.

  When she entered the salon, she saw that Barbot, too, had made an effort to dress with more formality than usual. Although the cowl was still in place, she thought he looked magnificent, and she could feel an unexpected blush creep over her face as he pulled out her chair and her body brushed against his.

  “Tell me about your father,” he said when they’d finished their meal. “Why did he feel the need to steal my ship? As I have listened to you talk about your life and your family over the last three days, it strikes me as increasingly unlikely that he would do such a thing.”

  Arabella put her fork down. “I know it was wrong, but really it was my fault.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “No, really, it’s true. My mother died when I was eight. It was the week before my birthday, and of course, we were all heartbroken and in no mood to celebrate. When I got up on the morning of my birthday, my father wasn’t home. That was very unusual, and I got frightened. I started to cry, thinking he had left me too. Of course I was just being foolish. He had only gone down to the shops to see if he could find something special to serve for my birthday breakfast. He wanted to bring some joy to the occasion even if we were all miserable. When he got back, he found me sitting on the step in the cold with neither coat nor footwear, crying my heart out. He picked me up, carried me inside and sat me down on his lap in front of the fire. Then he swore that he would never, ever miss my birthday. No matter what the circumstances. And he’s kept that promise ever since.”

  “When is your birthday?” Barbot asked, beginning to understand.

  “December 17. This year he was in St. John’s in the weeks leading up to my birthday. He had planned to take the coastal trader back home on the 16th, but there was an emergency and the ship, along with all the others in port, was called out on a rescue mission. The train had already left. He scoured the city, but there was no transport available anywhere.”

  “So he took The Rose.”

  Arabella hung her head, food forgotten. “Yes.”

  “Arabella, do not be ashamed of an act of love. It is a rare gift.”

  “Have you never known love, then?” she asked, pity rising in her throat.

  “Only of a cursed kind.”

  “Tell me,” she said softly.

  She didn’t know if he would answer. He sat, head bent, for what seemed an eternity, one hand on the table slowly turning the salt cellar over and back again. She waited quietly, hoping he would speak but not daring to break the silence herself. Finally the words came, reluctant and slow initially, then gaining speed as the tale grew.

  “My mother also died when I was eight. It was an airship crash, and I was on board with her. I remember the wind and the captain shouting that we would hit the rocks if we couldn’t clear the cliffs. I was frightened, but only because of the shouting, not because I thought we were in any danger. That’s all I remember, really. The shouting and my mother commanding the captain to risk the rocks and be damned to him.

  “He did as he was told, and perhaps he was indeed damned, and her too. All I know is that I came awake much later and I was…changed.” His fist clenched, salt cellar forgotten. Arabella reached out and placed her hand over his. It was warm, and she wrapped her fingers around the taut knuckles. She didn’t know if he was looking at her. She just wanted to ensure he knew he wasn’t alone.

  “My father told me that we had hit the rocks just as the captain warned. By the time the rescuers got to us, I was the only one still alive, but my body was broken. Broken beyond repair or so the rescuers thought. But my father wouldn’t have it. He ordered them to bring me back to his lab, and he started to work. If he couldn’t repair torn flesh, he decided, he would replace it. And by doing so, he turned me into a pariah, a monster even the servants had to be bribed to tend.”

  “He must have loved you very much.”

  Barbot rose abruptly. “He thought only of himself and his empire. After the repairs were done, he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with me.” With those words, he wrenched the door open and was gone before Arabella could speak.

  Quickly grabbing her cloak, she dashed out after him. He stood in his habitual place at the prow, looking up at the stars.

  His cowl was thrown back over his shoulders, his face bare in the chill night air.r />
  Arabella didn’t hesitate. She was across the deck in no time, and before he could stop her, she had her hands up on either side of his face, forcing his head down to look at her and allow her to look at him for the very first time.

  By the light of the docking lamps around them, reflected in the snow that had begun to fall, she stared into his eyes.

  “They are golden,” she said in wonder. “Just as people said.”

  He stared back, unblinking. He hadn’t blinked in twenty years.

  “My parts are made of reinforced gold so they don’t rust,” he explained, his voice weary and resigned, as if waiting for her inevitable revulsion to manifest.

  Instead she stood closer still. Her raised hands cupped his cheeks, which were cold in the winter darkness. She could feel the edge of a scar under her fingers. It ran from his hairline down to his brow and across his face to disappear beneath sharp cheekbones into the shadows of her hand. It must once have been horrific. Now it was thin and slightly puckered. His mouth was flawless.

  “You fraud,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with your face. You have the eyes of a tiger and a scar. Nothing more.”

  Before he could stop her, before he could pull away or worse, push her away, she reached up and slowly pressed her lips against his. They were soft, and warm, and oh so human. And best of all, after an initial hesitation, they were kissing her back.

  The kiss didn’t last an eternity. It didn’t even last a lifetime. But it lasted long enough for Arabella to know that she had found the place she belonged.

  When they broke apart, Andre spoke as if forcing himself to protest. “Don’t do this, Arabella. I have no heart.”

  She smiled at him and shook her head. “Don’t be foolish. You have a heart of gold. And remember, mechanical things need love, too.”

  Then she kissed him again, and this time he didn’t hesitate to kiss her back.

  ****

  When she woke up the next morning in her own bed, she could feel a familiar hum beneath the planks of her bed. Wondering, she sat up, and her eyes fell upon an envelope propped up on the night table. Inside was a key and a letter.

  I am sending you to be with your family for Christmas where you belong, it read. My ‘crew’ is perfectly capable of piloting the ship so do not worry, although if you wish to take the wheel I have told them to allow it. However, you will need to fly day and night to get there in time, so I urge you to leave them to it. The Rose will return for me when you are safely home. Look for me in Hope Harbour before the new year. I will wait for you at the great house. If you have changed your mind, I will understand and lay no blame at your door.

  It was signed, simply, Andre. Beneath his signature in smaller letters was written: Know that you hold the key to my heart in your hands.

  Arabella smiled and clutched the letter to her chest. It was like him to do such a thing, believing it was for her best. She would enjoy Christmas and all the traditions her small family had developed over the years. But it would be the last one she would spend without him.

  Her family couldn’t have been more delighted to see her. Her sister Marie was up from St. John’s with her husband and small baby, and the house was filled with laughter and song and tales of childhood. Arabella took part willingly, but her father noticed how her eyes would stray to the window, searching for lights shining from the great house on the hill. And she walked every day, sometimes twice or thrice, to the docks to watch for the arrival of The Rose.

  “I should never have let you go with him,” Mr. Pike finally exclaimed. “Better to serve my just sentence than lose you to him.”

  “You say that because you don’t know him,” Anabella replied serenely. “You will learn better.”

  Two days before the new year, a storm blew up the likes of which had not been seen in many a year. Though the old ones said it reminded them of their childhood, when they often walked to school in such weather, no one else could remember such howling and such snowfall. Arabella could barely tear herself away from the window as she watched the storm rage, and she held on tightly to the key she had strung on a ribbon and wore under her bodice and against her heart.

  “Don’t fret,” Louisa admonished with a hug. “He’ll not be traveling in this weather. Look for him when the skies clear.”

  In the middle of the night, at the very start of the new year the wind stopped howling and the sky cleared. For the first time since it had started, Arabella was able to sleep, secure in the knowledge that Andre would now be on his way to her.

  When morning came, she looked out the window without expecting to see a change. The great house stood as it had always done, cold and unwelcoming, with no light shining from its many windows. Nonetheless, she could wait inside no longer. Wrapping herself in the great new cloak and sturdy warm boots that Andre had given her, she made her way up the hill through the piles of drifting snow. It was obvious no one had entered the Barbot house in some time. Snow lay unbroken before it, swept high onto the porch steps and against the door. She hadn’t really expected him to be there. He must have waited out the storm in a safe haven. She would see him tomorrow, she told herself. Or the next day for sure.

  As she turned away, she saw something in the distant sky. Something moving closer and closer. She lifted her skirts and ran toward the docks, hope high.

  As the ship came closer, she could see it was The Rose, but in such shape as it had never been before. The sails were tattered and poorly patched, and the ship listed to one side. As it neared the ground, Arabella could hear the engines complaining in harsh, angry clatters. It landed with a screech, sliding into its dock drunkenly. It was then Arabella noticed that Andre was not at the helm.

  She rushed aboard as soon as she could do so, searching frantically.

  He was lying up against the cabin wall, his golden eyes concealed by gray lids. His skin held a sickly pallor, and she could not see the rise and fall of his chest.

  “Andre!” she cried and knelt before him, tears rising. There was no answer and his cheeks were cold.

  “No,” she sobbed. “Do not die on me. I won’t let you!” She reached under his cloak and felt a slow, slow beat pulsing in his neck. It was not too late. But what to do? Then she remembered the letter. Quickly she pulled the key out from beneath her dress and ripped his jacket and shirt open to reveal a small hole in his chest. Carefully she inserted the key and turned it gently. Once. Twice. Three times. She turned it until her wrist ached. And then she turned it some more.

  His eyes flickered open.

  “I thought I was too late,” he whispered. “When the storm came, I was still too far from you.”

  “I’m here,” she said, drying her tears. “And I’ll never leave you again.”

  The blood pulsed back through his body. and he regained his strength rapidly. Sitting up, he buttoned his clothes and reached for Arabella. She threw herself into his arms, laughing in relief and holding him tightly.

  “Why did you give me the key? You could have died!” she admonished.

  “Why would I want to live without you?” he asked. “You know what my life was before. If I can’t have happily ever after I want nothing at all.”

  He rose slowly to his feet, raising her up with him. This time when she kissed him it was for eternity. It was for a lifetime. It was where she was meant to be.

  “Then I’ll have to make sure that’s exactly what you get,” she said at last.

  And that’s just what she did.

  A word about the author…

  Barbara Burke's peripatetic life means she’s lived everywhere from a suburban house in a small town to a funky apartment in a big city, and from an architecturally designed estate deep in the forest to a cedar shack on the edge of the ocean. Everywhere she’s gone, she’s been accompanied by her husband, her animals, and her books.

  For the last ten years, she’s worked as a freelance journalist and has won several awards. She was a fan of Jane Austen long before that lady was discovere
d by revisionists and zombie lovers and thinks Georgette Heyer was one of the great writers of the twentieth century.

  She lives by the philosophy that one should never turn down the opportunity to get on a plane, no matter where it’s going, but deep down inside wishes she could travel everywhere by train.

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