Her Own Devices, a steampunk adventure novel

by Shelley Adina

  “That young man could pass for a bootblack.” Her mother lowered her voice. “And is the shorter one a blackamoor?”

  “What?”

  “The one you call Tigg—such an extraordinary name. The one whose skin is the color of coffee.”

  Claire stared at her in utter perplexity. “Tigg has the mind of an engineer and the quickest at that. What on earth has the color of his skin to do with anything?”

  “Calm down, dear. I was merely remarking upon it.”

  “You would do better to remark upon something sensible, then, such as how well he maintains the steam landau. He can take it apart and put it together again as quickly as I can.” Too late, her mother’s eyebrows began to rise, and Claire realized what she had said. Well, there was nothing for it now. “Gorse taught me.”

  “Then I am devoutly thankful it did not come with you. Honestly, after visiting these children upon us, nothing you do will surprise me anymore. Fine, then. The girls will stay with you, if you insist. But upstairs the boys will go, and that is that. The second footman has engaged himself to that redheaded cook of Sir Richard’s, so he has left an empty room. They can use that.”

  “Mother—”

  By this time, Tigg and Jake had heard the fuss and hovered in the hall outside. “It’s all right, Lady,” Tigg said. “We c’n sleep on a pallet in the stable, if it comes to that. We done worse.”

  “Certainly not. You are my guests.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, Lady, I wouldn’t catch a wink in a room like this.” Jake gazed at her dear sprigged curtains as though they might billow out and wrap themselves around his neck. “Upstairs might be less’n you want, but it’s better’n we’ve ’ad lots of places.”

  “A sensible young man,” Lady St. Ives said. “I don’t know where you found that coat, but if you do not want to be mistaken for a bootblack, you must find another. You’re about the size of my late husband’s younger brother, who was lost at sea. Let me see if I can locate something of his for you.”

  Jake looked as though he wasn’t sure about wearing the clothes of a dead man, but he had the sense not to argue. “Thank you, milady.”

  Another revelation. Claire had never before heard him thank anyone, either.

  *

  Since they were to dine en famille in the conservatory, there was no need for evening clothes. All the same, Claire looked through the dresses in her closet since tomorrow they were to go to Sir Richard’s and she had nothing suitable. Everything looked impossibly young, not to mention short in the hems. She had grown since she was down last summer—grown and changed in mind as well as body.

  The fact that she could carry a point with her mother and actually win was proof of that.

  After the fresh-caught fish, salad, and ham, the hour grew late. A tour of the house and grounds was enough to exhaust Willie, and the girls began to fade as well. Claire put them to bed, said good night to Tigg and Jake, and girded her mind to return to the music room, where Lady St. Ives was entertaining James at the piano.

  “Ah.” Her mother ceased her cheery runs up and down the keys, and settled herself on the sofa. She patted the cushion next to her. “Come here, dear. We have much to discuss, and if I know you, you will go to visit Polgarth in the morning and that will be the last I see of you.”

  James leaned on the mantel, a thin cigarillo between his fingers. Rather pointedly, Claire crossed the room and opened the window, then seated herself and prepared to face the music.

  “Dear James tells me that you are planning to go to The University of London in the fall, and your engagement will be a long one. Claire, you astonish me.”

  She ignored the last bit. “James is quite correct. That is why the announcement went in the Times without a wedding date.”

  “But why?” Her mother’s eyes were genuinely distressed. “I cannot understand why you would not marry within six months, especially when you are living from hand to mouth—where are you living, exactly, if it is not with your great-aunts Beaton?”

  “I have a cottage on the river, Mama, that is quite comfortable and meets the children’s needs. I school them in chemistry and physics, arithmetic and reading, as well as outdoor pursuits such as climbing, walking, running, and gardening. We even have a chicken.”

  “And how did you come upon this ... cottage?” James inquired, turning the cigarillo in his fingers as if its incendiary properties interested him.

  “I bought it,” she said bluntly. “My income is quite up to the task, I assure you.”

  “You bought a cottage?” Lady St. Ives, who as an heiress had never done such a thing in her life, stared at her incredulously. “What income?”

  “Really, mother, do you expect me to discuss such things in front of a gentleman?”

  “Since your income is partly financed by me, I find the subject very interesting,” James said. “I certainly don’t pay you enough to buy cottages.”

  She lifted her chin. “Be thankful I don’t ask you for a pay rise, then.”

  “Claire! I find this most distasteful. One does not accept pay from one’s fiance, much less joke about it. It’s just not done.”

  “In your world, Mama, of course it isn’t. But in mine, I see no reason why I should not be paid for the work I do. Joke though it is.”

  “You would not have to work at all if you would be sensible and marry James at Christmas like a normal person. I hope you do not expect me to finance this university nonsense. We are barely getting by here, and Lord James is—” She glanced at him and stopped.

  “Of course not. I do not expect James to finance it, either. I expect I will have to sell some of my shares in the Midland Railroad.”

  James fumbled his cigarillo, dropped it on the hearth, and was forced to toe it half smoked into the grate. But before he could say a word, Lady St. Ives waved Claire off, looking faint. “I cannot listen to you. Have the goodness to keep your commercial transactions to yourself. This topic is in the very worst of taste.”

  “I did say so earlier, Mama. Tell me, if we are to dine with Sir Richard tomorrow, might I borrow an evening dress? Every frock I owned was looted the night I left Carrick House.”

  “I suppose you will have grown out of your country clothes. Yes, I will see what Silvie can find for you. And while we are there, please have the goodness to keep these subjects to yourself. I am sure Sir Richard does not want to know.”

  “I can promise you that.”

  “I suppose there is no use attempting to persuade you to come and live here?”

  “None at all, Mama. I am very happy where I am. I am doing satisfying work, and then there are the children.”

  “Ah yes,” her mother said. “The children. Do you expect them to accompany us to dinner?”

  “Of course not. Would you bring Nicholas?”

  “No. Well, I must say, that is a relief. Mrs. Penhale will look after them in the kitchen.”

  “I’m sure they would much prefer that in any case. Tonight’s dinner was enough of a trial. I’m afraid I haven’t had much time for the finer points of their educations. Managing the basics keeps my hands full.”

  “Where exactly did they come from, if they do not even know a soup spoon from a dessert fork?”

  “An excellent question,” James put in.

  A sound came from the hall outside. Probably the footman, lighting the electricks.

  The silverware had been a trial, but Claire had done her best to show the Mopsies what each gleaming utensil was for. With the boys she had not been so successful, and they’d eaten their entire dinner with knife and spoon. “In the course of my getting settled, I met them and realized they would benefit from a mutual arrangement. We had much to teach each other. When the cottage came available, it seemed natural to include them so that their educations might continue.”

  “Yes, but who do they belong to?” her mother insisted. “Where are their families?”

  “They are orphans.”

  “Did you adop
t them from an orphanage? I simply do not understand how you can go from graduating from St. Cecelia’s on one day to acting as a mother hen on the next.”

  “The riots changed everything, Mama.”

  “I am well aware of that, since I cannot sell that house for love nor money.”

  “Lady Flora, if I might suggest something?” James put in.

  “Do, please. I so long for a man’s guidance in these matters.”

  Oh, good heavens. Surely she hadn’t just fluttered her eyelashes at him? Claire frowned.

  “The Wilton Crescent address is a good one, and the house is sound,” James said. “It just needs repair and cleaning out. If you will sell it to me, I could offer you a good price for it.” He turned his gaze on Claire. “And then Claire could move back in and live there in comfort while she pursues her education. When we are married, I will sell my town house and live there as well.”

  Another sound, like the scuff of a boot on carpet. No one seemed to notice but she. Perhaps her senses were more attuned to such things since she had to depend on them more.

  Lady St. Ives clasped her hands in delight. “Oh, would you? His lordship bought that house when we were married, and it broke my heart to hear of it being mistreated by those vandals. It’s a wonderful plan, James. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  “What do you think, Claire?” James strolled to the sofa opposite and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Would you like to return to familiar ground?”

  The invisible ropes of his will tightened around her shoulders and feet—she could almost feel their physical touch. Why had he never mentioned a word of this to her? On the outside, it seemed highly reasonable—generous—thoughtful. But on the inside ... there was the soft touch of the rope.

  “I must confess, I’ve thought of it often,” she said slowly. “There would certainly be enough room for the children, and—”

  “I was not thinking of the children, Claire,” he said. “I was thinking of you, going to classes, growing in intellect and confidence, and becoming the woman who will be my bride.”

  “That is kind and generous of you, James. But I must think of the children, since no one else can. They are my responsibility.”

  “Can you see that ragamuffin lot in Wilton Crescent?” Lady St. Ives leaned over and lowered her voice, though there was no one in the room but the three of them. “They would be arrested the moment they stepped into the garden.”

  “You must return them to where you found them and get on with your life,” James said. “You must be reasonable. Think of it from my point of view. I want a family of my own, not five castoffs from who knows where running wild about the place.”

  Claire got up and closed the window. She was feeling chilled.

  When she returned to her seat, she took the long way around the sofa, allowing her to see out into the hall. Aha. As she had suspected, Jake had not relaxed his vigilance. Snouts had told him to keep an eye on her, and he was fulfilling his duty to the letter. A movement behind him told her Tigg was with him.

  She should feel perturbed that they had overheard the details of her finances—that they were witness to this loving grilling. But she was not.

  In point of fact, it only made her more sure that she was doing the right thing. You must. You must. The last man who had said You must to her was no doubt still nursing his burns and mourning the loss of his future progeny.

  “And what of my commitment, James? I gave the children my word that we would not be separated, no matter our circumstances.”

  “I suppose we should consider, then, which is more important—your commitment to a group of alley mice, or your commitment to me.”

  “They are not alley mice.”

  “Not any more, perhaps. Do not mistake me, dear. I admire your attempts to civilize them, spoons and forks notwithstanding. But you must look at the longer view.”

  If he said those two words to her once more ... Her trigger finger twitched, and she clasped her hands in her lap.

  “So then, as I understand it, I may live in Carrick House until we are married, but I can only do so if I am alone.”

  “If you truly own this cottage, as you say, then the children can stay there, as long as there is some responsible person with them, of course.”

  “Otherwise they might return to being alley mice.”

  James inclined his head in agreement, completely missing the edge to her tone.

  Very well, then. “Since I am educating them, such a scheme would not be practical. I prefer to live in my own home, thank you. But do not let this dissuade you from buying Carrick House, James. You must, of course, do as you like.”

  He looked so flummoxed she realized that he had not thought she might turn him down.

  “Claire, I won’t have it.” Lady St. Ives leaped into the conversation once more. “You are not only ridiculous, you are unladylike to insist upon living with these children when a good man is perfectly willing to provide for you. I insist that you accept his offer and do as he suggests.”

  “I am very sorry, Mama, but I cannot. I will not go back on my word. If the children cannot live with me at Carrick House—and I mean all of them, because there are at least a dozen back at the cottage—then I cannot live there, either.”

  “There are more?” James’s face was slack with disbelief. “How many indigent orphans have you been concealing?”

  “I haven’t been concealing any. You simply made an incorrect assumption about the five I have with me.”

  James rose abruptly and stalked to the window. “I give up,” she thought she heard him mutter, but she couldn’t be sure.

  Lady St. Ives gazed at her. “I have brought you up and lived in the same house with you for seventeen years ... but I do not know you at all.”

  “I have grown up, Mama,” Claire said gently. “I hope you will become acquainted with me as I am, not as you once wished me to be.”

  “Acquainted?” Her mother shook her head and rose gracefully from the sofa. “A good choice of words. One I never thought I would use of my own daughter.”

  And she swept from the room, never even noticing the two shadows that withdrew into the darkness as she passed.

  Chapter 15

  It took a good hour with Polgarth the poultryman before Claire got her equilibrium back. Then, her delight in showing Maggie and Willie Seraphina’s baby chicks washed over the memory of the previous evening, smoothing out the edges and softening the view.

  Her mother loved her. James held her in some esteem. They were both concerned for her wellbeing, and it was not their fault that their way of expressing it was not only suffocating, but irritating to boot.

  She knelt by the broody-house and pushed her thoughts away. She would not allow them to spoil her pleasure in the present.

  Maggie was gazing up at Polgarth as though he held the keys to the kingdom. He smiled at her as he spoke. “Seraphina is a Buff Orpington, of a purebred stock we developed right here at Gwynn Place. She’s a good mum, she is. You see how she uses a special cluck to call to the chicks.” The golden balls of fluff tumbled and ran to her, tucking themselves under her wings and in her breast feathers as the humans crowded around the little wood-and-wire house. “They’ve been listening to it in the egg, see, and that’s how they know she’s their mother.” Willie tugged on the man’s jacket, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Oh, aye, young sir,” Polgarth said, as if the boy had spoken aloud. “They can hear in the egg once they’ve developed enough. Now, there, Seraphina has realized that you mean her no harm, so the little ’uns are coming out now to see who’s come to visit. Would you like to hold one?”

  Willie nodded vigorously, and when the chick was deposited in his cupped hands, he touched it with gentle fingers. Maggie waited impatiently for a chick, and giggled with delight as it ran up her arm and nestled under her curls.

  “Ah, ye have the gift, maid,” Polgarth said. “Much as her young ladyship does.”

  “The gift?” M
aggie tried to turn her head to see the little peeper by her ear.

  “Aye. There’s some as have it, and some as don’t. If ye don’t, ye can’t see these hens as owt but meat. But we as have it, we see something different. We see the feathery people that they are, and they recognize it, they do. This little ’un has no fear of you.”

  Seraphina watched them with a suspicious eye, and Willie gave Maggie a nudge. “I see ’er. She thinks I might hurt the little ’un, but I won’t.”

  Claire suppressed a smile as Maggie unconsciously echoed Polgarth’s turn of phrase. “We have a hen at home, Polgarth, called Rosie. She is of uncertain parentage, but she rules the garden absolutely.”

  “Lewis is terrible afraid of ’er,” Maggie told him. “But me and Lizzie, we saved ’er life in t’market and she knows it. We built ’er a walking coop, with steam-powered legs, see, so’s we can take ’er with us when we leave.”

  “Did ye now? I should like to see such a thing. But you know, this hen alone, that’s not good. Chickens are flock birds. She must have companions.”

  Willie nodded and looked anxious. The chick was attempting to struggle out of his hands, and Polgarth took it gently.

  “We’re going to find companions for ’er,” Maggie confided. Her chick had fluttered up on top of her head, where it stood like Christopher Columbus looking out at the New World. “But t’Lady has said we’re not to steal any. They must be in need of rescue.”

  “Her ladyship is right,” Polgarth said solemnly. “Stealing is not for the likes of you. But rescue, now, that is a noble task.” He held out a hand, and the chick ran onto it. He restored it to Seraphina, who relaxed visibly when all her brood were around her again.

  “Maggie! Lady!” Lizzie came panting around the corner from the rose garden. “Snouts says Cook ’as made us a basket and it’s time to go to the shore.”

  “I don’t want to go to the shore,” Maggie said. “I want to stay here with Polgarth.”