If he said “Disconnect me” one more time, she was going to shriek.
Percy inched forward again, and her bustle connected with the table. There was a faint rattling of teacups. “Mr. Hamilton, would you please be so kind as to withdraw a few steps?”
Before he could reply, Whitlock grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him backward. Percy made a faint gargling sound as his feet bobbed above the ground.
“Better?” Whitlock asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Imogen returned brightly, scanning the horizon for Evelina to come to her rescue. She was beginning to feel fatigued. She’d never been unduly strong, and the stress of the last few days was wearing on her. “You may set him down now.”
Whitlock released his grasp and returned to his former stance. Stolid. Wordless. Imogen felt herself growing tense even as Percy launched into a new tale of equine glory. She was beginning to think of Whitlock as The Stare. She wondered if this was what rabbits felt right before a fox bagged them.
“Miss Roth.” A third voice made her start. She turned to her left. Bucky Penner was grinning down at her. He always had the look of a man planning an outrage, and right now it was directed at her.
“What may I do for you, Mr. Penner?” she asked a bit tartly. He was Tobias’s longtime friend, and familiarity—not to mention his ceaseless pranks on his best friend’s sisters, like the time he had glued the edges of Poppy’s shoes together when she had fallen asleep under the pear tree—had rubbed away the top layer of good manners between them.
“Your furbelows are blocking access to the tea.” He stared pointedly at her bustle.
“Indeed, sir.” Only he could make a factual statement sound so improper. “Are you even certain of the definition of a furbelow?”
“I know they are an ornament prized by ladies in all conditions of life, and that they have come between me, a humble supplicant of the teapot, and the object of my desire.”
The only thing to do with Bucky was to hand his impudence right back. “Like a goddess of old, perhaps I demand obeisance before letting supplicants pass.”
“Is this man being a bother?” The Stare demanded, proving he could actually speak.
Ignoring him, Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Are you truly going to deprive me of my refreshment, Miss Roth?”
“You cast yourself in the role of supplicant, Mr. Penner. I would like to witness some groveling, if you please.”
“You are a cruel deity, madam, to sport the fair and innocent visage of Venus and yet possess the unforgiving temper of a Juno.”
Imogen folded her arms, starting to enjoy herself at long last. “How badly do you want your tea, Mr. Penner? Homage must be rendered when and where it is due.” And she prepared to stare him down.
Which was a mistake. He shamelessly stared right back.
Imogen’s stomach fluttered and heat rose up her neck and cheeks. How mortifying. She knew her pale skin showed every blush like a bright red flag. Still, she refused to budge.
“I say,” began Percy uncertainly, but no one paid him the least attention. As far as Imogen was concerned, Percy and Whitlock might as well have been struck by a thunderbolt and dissolved to dust.
Imogen had never noticed how delicious a shade of brown Bucky’s eyes were, like the very best dark Belgian chocolate. Or how his hair curled at the tips, begging her fingers to smooth it down. Or how the corners of his mouth quirked with ready laughter. Bucky Penner had always struck her as Tobias’s foil—not as handsome, not as adventurous, but the one with his feet planted firmly on the ground. Now she saw that was only half the truth. Everything about him was full of life.
She was elated by the discovery, as if one part of her soul had figured out what the other half already knew. And she was dismayed, because she wasn’t quite prepared for this. The Season hadn’t even begun. Her heart was supposed to remain in its white tissue wrapping a little longer.
Don’t be a goose. This is Bucky. Even his name is ridiculous. Imogen wanted to withdraw from their contest of wills very badly, but wasn’t sure how to do it without making a cake of herself. Ugh! If this kept up, she might finish by actually liking Tobias’s best friend. Now that would be embarrassing.
Almost as bad as the moment when Bucky swept off his hat and fell to one knee, for all the world like a suitor begging for her hand. “My glorious goddess, you have carried the field. I declare myself undone by your majesty. Is there something you would like me to kiss as part of my supplication? Your hand, or perhaps your feet? I believe I saw that once in a badly rhymed poem—though perhaps we could manage something more befitting your furbelowed glory. An offering of lemon ices and love letters to be spread upon your altar?”
“Mr. Penner! Get up at once!” Imogen gasped, looking about in abject mortification. Bad enough that a young man was pretending to propose, but it was Bucky. Everyone would know he was mocking her. “Stop this foolery and get your wretched tea!”
He was up in an instant, diving for the cups so fast their bodies collided. She felt the solidity of his like a warm, hard wall as she let out a faint “oof!” He caught her arm, steadying her before she fell into the cream.
“Are you all right?” he said, laughing.
“I’ll survive.” Her skin tingled as if he’d doused her in a magnetic field. The heat of her embarrassment gathered in her belly and grew … well, as odd as it sounded, the feeling was rather nice. Lemon ices and love letters. Yes, she had to admit, it sounded rather pleasant.
She gathered as much dignity as she could muster and looked around. Percy and The Stare were gone. She tried to regret the fact, but couldn’t quite manage it.
When Bucky looked down at her this time, the grin had turned to something far more speculative and intriguing. “Be sure when you begin a conquest, Miss Roth, that you actually mean to win.”
Imogen swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry and it felt like she had a croquet ball stuck halfway down her throat. “It’s a question of standards, Mr. Penner. I may not be a real goddess, but even so I expect flowers before a kiss, even if it is only my feet involved.”
He narrowed his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling up. “I’ll remember that, Miss Roth.”
“Mr. Keating brought toys,” Imogen said to Evelina a few minutes later.
Evelina noticed she was flushed, but in a way that spoke of excitement rather than fever. She somehow didn’t think it had anything to do with the Gold King, and she wondered what had gone on while she was talking to Alice.
One of Keating’s spaniels was setting up some sort of scientific equipment. “Let’s go over there to get a better view,” Evelina suggested.
Imogen made a face. “I’m sure it’s going to be dull. No one ever brings anything fun if Papa is around. It’s probably something to do with that new gallery of Keating’s. A lot of Greek pots, from what I hear.”
“Let’s go anyway.”
They wandered across the lawn, Evelina a pace or two behind her friend. Imogen stopped next to Tobias.
The sight of him made Evelina’s stomach twist with an unpleasant mix of regret and anger. She instinctively veered to the left, keeping Imogen between them. After their scene by the clock, she had no desire to be anywhere in his vicinity.
He stiffened as she approached, his shoulders as rigid as the knot in her gut. That just annoyed her more. She wished she could take back that kiss. No, that wasn’t right. She wished she could make it mean something to Tobias beyond a bump to his pride.
She’d been watching him all afternoon. She’d seen him arguing with Lord B earlier, then talking earnestly with Dr. Magnus. Whatever Magnus had said had acted like a tonic. Tobias stood with his shoulders squared, an air of barely contained energy wrapping him like a cloak. Something was afoot.
But now the doctor was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Lord B and Magnus hadn’t come within a dozen yards of each other, but that was no surprise.
The mouse had come to her room a good half hour after she’d left Tobias last nig
ht and reported that Magnus wanted leverage with Jasper Keating. There was something he thought Keating possessed, or was about to possess, and Magnus wanted Bancroft’s help in getting it. Bancroft had refused, but Magnus had been insistent. According to the mouse, the doctor had eventually backed down with the air of someone playing the opening hand in a long game. The mouse had heard no open references to the automatons.
Her thoughts were broken by the fact that the man setting up the curious contraption appeared to be finished. He dusted off his hands and trotted back to Keating’s side with an eager expression.
“What’s going on?” Imogen asked her brother.
“The Gold King’s man, Jackson, is about to give a demonstration of some kind. They have an enormous dry cell battery.”
Evelina’s gaze traveled from Jasper Keating to Lord and Lady Bancroft. They all stood only a few sociable feet apart from each other, and yet the air between them seemed to crackle with enough tension to combust. Although it was politically expedient to invite the Gold King, the pall it cast on the company hardly seemed worthwhile.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” Jackson opened his arms in a gesture reminiscent of Old Ploughman about to announce the high-wire act. “Gracious hostess.” He turned and made a bow to Lady Bancroft, who gave a graceful nod.
Evelina quickly catalogued the items on display. Battery. Wires. A pair of glass globes flickering with crazy arcs of electricity.
“Some fool is going to get a nasty shock,” Tobias muttered under his breath.
Evelina glanced up, realizing the buffer between them was gone. Imogen had sidled to a different position and was frowning at Bucky Penner, who was chatting with two other young bucks. Evelina wondered what nonsense Bucky had got up to now, and returned her attention to the unfolding drama.
“For those who do not know me, my name is Mr. Aragon Jackson, and I am fortunate enough to be in the employ of Mr. Keating. My purpose at Keating Utility is to come up with new ways to make gas, steam, and other types of power a useful part of your households. Today, ladies and gentlemen, I have something entirely new!”
Evelina half expected Jackson to whip out a bottle of cure-all tonic.
He pointed to the crowd, making a slow arc to capture them all in his gesture. “I ask you, who here has rung and rung the bell for lazy servants who never came?”
With an inward groan, she wondered if they were about to endure another new model of automaton.
“Who here has waited for refreshments, or the newspaper, or for the lights to be adjusted? Who can bear to bother with dull and inattentive servants one more day?”
A murmur rippled through the party. Evelina cast a nervous glance at the staff standing still as wax figures around the periphery of the crowd. Three of their number had just been murdered. This was not the time to persecute them.
“This invention is the answer!” Jackson swept an arm toward his creation. “I require a volunteer.”
Two of Keating’s men dragged forward a maid in black and white. Evelina’s stomach clenched. It was Dora. Jackson strapped something to her arm, then placed an odd-looking circlet on her head. It had a pair of antennae sticking up that reminded her of a bug. A wire ran from headgear to the armband, another from her wrist to the enormous battery sitting on the lawn.
“What is this?” Tobias growled under his breath.
“Using the very latest in wireless radio transmission, your summons can be communicated directly to staff on duty.” He pointed to what looked like a telegraph key sitting on a table beside the battery. “No more pulling on a bell rope only to have your desires lost in an empty servant’s hall. Now they have no excuse to ignore your wishes.”
Jackson leaned over and tapped the key. Dora cried out, fingers flying to the wristband.
Evelina started, looking around for an explanation. “What’s happening?”
Then she realized she was the only one who spoke.
“Yes,” Jackson announced to the suddenly silent audience. “This new invention wirelessly delivers a soundless summons anywhere within your house. No more shirking, no more hiding. All that is required is the equipment you see here, with the addition of one of our new patented portable energy cells, small enough for an active servant to strap onto her waistband. Obviously, the staff can’t be tethered to a large battery such as the one you see here.”
He paused, waiting for a polite chuckle to ripple through the crowd. Then he tapped the key again. Dora yelped a second time.
This time Evelina saw sparks. Smoke. There’s something wrong. Surely he can’t mean to hurt her! But maybe he did. There was something in the way Keating was glaring at Lord Bancroft that held a warning.
e’s gotHhhhHekkkkkkThe crowd had fallen raptly silent again, except for someone who tittered. Evelina scanned the gathering. Imogen had turned pale. Bucky was gone. Lord Bancroft looked outraged, Lady B horrified. Yet no one made a move as Jackson bent to adjust some dials. The crowd all looked at Jasper Keating, as if they understood a subtext Evelina could only guess at.
Then she heard an older woman behind her murmuring to her friend. “I would be careful if I were Bancroft. He’s been on thin ice this past week, ever since they caught him putting his money in the Harter Engine Company. Betting on the competition is hardly wise, especially with all the chitchat about the Quality throwing in with the rebels. I’d say that shock was meant for him, not his parlor maid. Keating’s just sending a warning through her.”
No one moved, no one objected. It was as if they had all silently agreed that the public torture of servants was entirely normal. They’re all too afraid of the Gold King to tell him to stop.
So was she. She was there at the invitation of Lord and Lady Bancroft. It would be the height of ingratitude to embarrass them in front of London’s elite. Crossing the steam barons would mean not just embarrassment, but punishment. And, unlike most of the richly clad guests, Evelina actually knew what being cast down to the gutter would mean.
But she also knew what it meant to have no power. No one had stood up for Grace Child. What would happen if no one spoke up for Dora now? Evelina’s heart pounded in her throat, afraid to move, too horrified to keep silent.
Her foot, as if with a mind of its own, was already poised to take a step off the social precipice when Tobias grabbed her wrist, pinning her to his side. He shot her a glance, shaking his head slightly. His eyes were wide with exasperation, but maybe with a touch of admiration, too.
“Mr. Jackson,” he said, raising his voice. “Surely you mean to summon the staff, not cook them.”
Nervous laughter went around the garden. Tobias slowly released Evelina’s wrist, as if he was unsure if she would bolt forward anyway to cause a scene.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
A fleeting smile touched his lips, but he turned and strode toward the machine before she could say any more. On the way past Dora, he unfastened the device from her wrist, plucked the odd-looking tiara from her head, and gave her a gentle push toward the house. She didn’t need to be told twice.
Tobias turned to face his father’s guests. “This demonstration is done. The unit is clearly defective.”
“Tobias!” his father barked.
But the spell was already broken. A general hubbub broke out as the guests scrabbled for a sense of normality. A great many of them nearly ran for the table with the brandy. Evelina used the milling bodies as cover to get a closer look at the machine and, even more, to see what Tobias would do next. He always surprises me.
“Does the young gentleman care to demonstrate his superior skill?” Jackson said with a hint of insolence. He might not have Tobias’s blue blood, but he had Jasper Keating as a protector, and that counted for much these days. “Does he have some acquaintance with machinery?”
By way of reply, Tobias shouldered him out of the way and crouched down to examine the machine. He turned a dial to his left and glared at Jackson. “You idiot, you had this set high enough to give the young woman a
fatal shock. Wireless technology is far from perfected yet.”
“Obviously that is not the case,” Keating said. He stood closest to Jackson and near enough to overhear Tobias’s muttered remark. “As you can see, she did not die.”
“Tobias,” Lord Bancroft said again in a low, strained voice. The single word held a world of warning.
Be careful, Evelina thought. If Lord B was worried, so was she. Keating was in motion now, closing the brief distance to the Bancrofts.
The younger man ignored them both, intent on checking the wires connecting to the battery. Evelina knew that when Tobias was working on something mechanical, he was lost to the mortal world. “I could make this work, though,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Keating. “Although you assume the device wasn’t set exactly the way we wished it to be.”
The furious expression on Lord Bancroft’s face sent a chill down Evelina’s spine. “Tobias is merely young, Mr. Keating. Hot blood will sometimes outweigh good sense at that age.”
There would be words between father and son before the day was over.
“Such an independent temperament can also bring unpleasantness.” Keating laid two fingers on Lady Bancroft’s butterfly brooch, stopping its wings. The brooch’s gentle chime stuttered to a sickly chatter. She stepped back, and Keating let her. He had crossed a thousand social lines by touching her at all, but once again no one dared to utter a word.
Grace Child’s still form hovered in Evelina’s mind. Not that she believed Keating had played a role in her death or that of the grooms—why would he? Still, he and the other industrialists, with their streetkeepers and their hunger for power, had encouraged a world where that kind of brutality could happen. A maid could be slaughtered. A maid could be repeatedly shocked in front of her employers and they would make no move to protect her. A lady could be insulted at her own birthday party with her husband standing mere feet away.
Her thoughts were mirrored in the disgust stamped Tobias’s face. He rose, his glare moving from Keating to his father and back again before he pressed the wristband against Jackson’s chest and tapped the key. The man started, but it was nothing like Dora’s violent jerk.
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