Her Own Devices, a steampunk adventure novel

by Shelley Adina

  Warmly, I remain

  Your friend,

  Peony Churchill

  Claire folded up the letter and tucked it in her reticule. What a relief to know that Dr. Craig had made a clean escape—and whether or not Isabel Churchill knew of her history, her future as a crony of that lady was certain to be spectacular.

  At the conclusion of the day she declined to have dinner with James, Andrew, and Mr. Stephenson, and declined as well the offer of the cab. In this, at least, she could exercise her independence.

  She’d come to a pretty pass when taking the Underground was an act of rebellion. But in the doing of it, she firmed her resolve. She would not marry James under any circumstances, even if it meant going into hiding even deeper than she already was until her eighteenth birthday. She would see her name safely on that patent, secure the letter of recommendation from Andrew, and move on with her life as a university student and governess to the children.

  Mentally, she waved farewell to Lady Selwyn, Baroness, that fictional being who had never had any more substance than smoke.

  She had never really liked her anyway.

  *

  Andrew heard Claire and Tigg arrive the next day for their morning’s work. When they saw that the laboratory was empty, they climbed the stairs to find him up to his elbows in paper from the Patent Office.

  “Where are Lord James and Mr. Stephenson?” Tigg asked, tying his leather apron around his waist as if he expected to begin disassembly of the device that moment. “Didn’t they say the chamber was to be packed up and ready to move?”

  “They did, and it will be.” Andrew picked up a sketch and numbered it. “They’ve gone to the Crystal Palace this morning to enter it as an exhibit. They’re calling it the Selwyn Kinetick Carbonator. Once Ross Stephenson gets a bee in his bonnet, there’s no stopping him. I can’t see them turning him down, either. Between James’s influence in Parliament and Ross’s importance in industry, it’s a given.”

  “And what about the patent?” Claire looked pale and a little drawn, as if she had not slept very well. But a gentleman would never let such an observation cross his lips.

  Andrew indicated the pile of drawings and forms that covered the desk. “They left that to me. A patent application must sponsored by a member of the Royal Society of Engineers. At least in that I can be useful.”

  “I know what you mean,” Claire said. She unwound a length of gauzy fabric from around her hat. “I have never felt more like a mantel scarf than I have this past few days. Entirely decorative, prone to gathering unwanted objects, and of no earthly use whatsoever.”

  He gazed at her, puzzled. “But James said you preferred the company of Lady Elizabeth. Something about missing adult female companionship.”

  “Bullfeathers,” Claire snapped, surprising him with the barely contained force of the outburst. “The unpalatable truth is that Ross Stephenson believes women are mantel scarves. James would not allow me even to join your discussions, much less inform Mr. Stephenson that I had invented the movable truss.”

  Aghast, Andrew put the pen down, where it proceeded to ooze a blob of ink on a sketch of the control levers. “But that is criminal. Why did you not tell me?”

  “Because ’is nibs said ’e wouldn’t put ’er name on the patent if she didn’t keep mum,” Tigg said, gracelessly putting his oar into the conversational waters.

  Claire rounded on him. “Tigg! That is a confidence between his lordship and me, and none of your business.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “And how did you hear of it, pray?”

  “The nursery is straight above that little room you were talkin’ in, Lady. I can’t help it if voices come up the stove pipe, clear as day, if you just open the stove door.”

  “Good heavens.” She struggled for control—perhaps of her language, certainly of her temper. “You have succeeded in humiliating me in front of Mr. Malvern, Tigg. Thank you very much.”

  Tigg’s face fell in lines of distress. “I didn’t mean to, Lady,” he said, his lower lip beginning to wobble. Perhaps, Andrew thought, she had never spoken to him sharply before—and she had not realized that her good opinion was so important to him that the loss of it would reduce him to tears. “I just wanted Mr. M-Malvern to ’ave the t-truth.”

  She crossed the room to take him in her arms, leather apron and all. “It’s all right, Tigg,” she said gently. “Of course you did, and it was honorable of you to want to set the record to rights. But you must remember that information gained by eavesdropping must be kept confidential. It can be too hurtful otherwise.”

  “Y-yes, Lady.” He sniffled into her shoulder, and she fished her handkerchief out of her white voile sleeve. He blew his nose and mopped his face, and offered the scrap of cambric back to her.

  “Keep it, dear.” She turned back to Andrew. “Well, now that you have the truth, I—”

  “I cannot believe this of James.” He felt so dazed that he interrupted her without thinking. “To use the patent as the condition of your effacing yourself? That does not seem like him—or like a gentleman, for that matter.”

  “As you can see, I have a witness,” Claire said dryly.

  Now it was Andrew’s turn to voice his distress. “I didn’t mean I distrusted your word. I meant that I thought I knew him better than this. I mean to say, putting the business first is one thing, if we must stay on Ross Stephenson’s good side. But to require such a thing of his own fiancee ...” Andrew gathered his wits with an effort. “Well. We can only do what we can do, and since I am the one filling out this application, Claire’s name will go where it belongs. While I am doing that, Tigg, you are quite correct. You should start disassembling the chamber and get it ready to be hauled out to the Crystal Palace. I sent a tube to a packing company first thing this morning, so we should expect a delivery of crates and straw at any time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have laid out a rough schematic of which sections should be crated together. You will find it on the workbench.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tigg?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I am including you on this application in an adjunct capacity. But I cannot very well put Tigg in all its expressive simplicity. What is your full name?”

  Tigg’s eyes and mouth formed a trio of Os. “My name, sir?” he said at last. “On the patent? For true?”

  “Yes, for true. What should I write down?”

  “I ’ardly know, sir. I ’aven’t used it since I was a little shaver.” Andrew waited. Then, with a gulp, Tigg finally said, “Tom Terwilliger, sir.”

  “That’s quite a handle,” Claire said with a perfectly straight face.

  “None of me mates could manage it, so they shortened it up for everyday.”

  “Thank you, Tigg.” Andrew wrote Thomas Terwilliger in the blank. “Two Ls?”

  “Dunno, sir.”

  “You have two Ls now. Thank you. I shall be down to help you in just a moment.”

  “Yes, sir.” The boy clattered down the stairs and, moments later, they heard the sounds of clanking metal and glass as he got to work.

  The moment they were alone, Andrew laid down his pen and stood, coming round the desk. He was still reeling from the knowledge that his partner, nobly born and up until now as honorable as the day was long, could stoop to blackmailing the woman he was supposed to marry.

  “Do not,” Claire said, her voice tight, as she held up a hand to ward him off. “Do not speak of it. It is bad enough that you know.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “To what end? So that you could think me spineless sooner rather than later?”

  “I don’t think you’re spineless. Quite the opposite. It is James who has shocked me. Claire, if a man can treat you so abominably, what else is he capable of? I mean to say, once one has stooped to blackmail, what comes next?”

  She turned away. “That is an ugly word. We merely came to the terms of an agreement.”

  “Unacceptabl
e terms, agreed to under duress, if your face is any indication.”

  “My face is my business,” she said. “All that matters is my name on that patent, and your letter of recommendation.”

  “Speaking of that, it’s right here. With all the racketing around the country, this is the first chance I’ve had to give it to you.”

  He pulled the two closely written pages out of the top drawer of the desk, the second one with his Society seal already affixed.

  She read them, and color rose in her face. Her features softened, and if he had not been under her spell before, he certainly would have fallen head over heels now. It was all he could do not to pull James’s intended wife into his arms.

  Surely she would not go through with the engagement, once the patent was secured? Surely she could not face life at the side of a man who would treat her as less than she was?

  She looked up, her gray eyes swimming with tears she was too proud to shed. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “I had not expected—that is, you are much too generous—”

  “I hardly touched on the half,” he said gently. “The university here should be glad you are even considering them, when you could go to Edinburgh or the Sorbonne and have them welcome you with open arms.”

  He realized a moment too late that he had illustrated his point with his own open arms. His body had gone where his mind had forbidden it, and now he looked like an utter fool.

  He cleared his throat and got himself safely back in his chair again, the width and bulk of the desk between them. “You will be a great success, Claire,” he said, striving for a hearty, brotherly tone. “Lady Selwyn will be the most brilliant woman in London.”

  “I’m sure she will,” she said, and turned away to go down the steps.

  It wasn’t until he went to number another sketch that he realized how distant the words had sounded.

  As if she hadn’t meant herself at all.

  Chapter 22

  The grand opening of the new exhibit wing at the Crystal Palace was the social event of the Wit season. Even the Bloods, whose tolerance of new technologies extended only to securing the newest versions of the mother’s helper when they came out, could not stay away. Every newspaper in England seemed to be represented, and the Times of New York had sent a reporter over by airship so there would be no time lost between the unveiling of a new engine and its subsequent reproduction overseas.

  The evening before the opening day, when the general public were to be admitted, a reception and ball were held under the sparkling glass panes of the exhibit hall. Between the huge iron support pillars and the potted palms, tables of food and refreshment had been set up, and down at one end, an orchestra tuned up its instruments. Everyone Claire greeted seemed to be in a tizzy of excitement.

  “The Prince of Wales is expected, you know,” someone told his partner immediately behind Claire. Since he had been expected at the Wellesley’s fancy-dress ball and had not come, Claire did not put much stock in this.

  She was, however, presented to His Royal Highness Prince Albert, who was representing Her Majesty, and whose particular project was the entire Crystal Palace itself.

  “Your Royal Highness,” James said, “may I present my fiancee, Lady Claire Trevelyan.”

  She dipped into her lowest curtsey, thankful that the poker players had had a particularly good week and she had been able to buy a new gown for the occasion. A deep sapphire blue, it had the barest suggestion of cap sleeves and was pleated tightly in a vee on the bodice that arrowed down to a tiny waist, with a satisfying long train faced in black velvet trailing out behind. The Mopsies had pounced on a pair of kid opera gloves at Portobello Road, with only a tiny stain on the palm of the left one, and to her astonishment, James had presented her with a diamond necklace when she had climbed into his coach at the laboratory.

  “To celebrate your triumph,” he had said simply. “It was my mother’s, and now it is yours.”

  To remind you of our agreement, she heard. You will act like a Blood and not a Wit.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear,” the prince said. “Please accept my belated condolences on the passing of your father, the viscount.”

  “You are very kind, Sir,” she said. “I know he held you in the highest esteem for your support of England’s position at the forefront of industry. Sir, may I present Mr. Thomas Terwilliger?” She clutched Tigg by the back of his brand-new morning coat before he could dodge behind the chamber. “He is Mr. Malvern’s laboratory assistant and was instrumental in the initial construction and subsequent redesigns of the Selwyn Kinetick Carbonator.”

  His face as pale as his coffee-colored skin would allow, his eyes enormous, Tigg bobbed a bow. “Sir,” he whispered.

  “This young boy?” His Highness said in some astonishment. “Helped to construct this chamber? Why, he can’t be more than thirteen.”

  “He did, Sir.” Andrew stepped away from the control console and gripped Tigg’s shoulder as if to say, Courage, man. “I predict a bright future in engineering for him.”

  The Prince gazed down at him, and Claire feared that Tigg might actually faint under the royal regard. “Young man, when it comes time to apply for university, I hope you will send me a note. It is my honor to be patron of the Royal Society of Engineers, you know, and if what Andrew says is true, I would be pleased to provide a letter of recommendation for you.”

  “For me?” Tigg gulped. “You’d do better to give the Lady one, Sir. It were she wot invented the movable truss.”

  The prince blinked, and before anyone could say another word, Lord James moved in, smiling and guiding His Highness around to the other side of the chamber, where Claire heard him say that there would be a demonstration of the chamber’s power in less than an hour.

  “Bravely done, Tigg,” she murmured, pretending to adjust the lie of his coat. “Ineffective, but very bravely done, and I thank you for it.”

  “’E were only funnin’ me, weren’t he, Lady? He didn’t really mean it about the letter.”

  Lord James, it would seem, had tainted more than one person’s faith in the promises of others.

  “On the contrary. Prince Albert’s word is as good as a gold guinea. If he instructed you to send a note, then depend upon it, he will write a journal entry to that effect. His memory is prodigious—and his journals are even more so.”

  “Cor,” Tigg breathed. “Who’d ’ave thought?”

  “Tigg,” Andrew said, coming around the side of the chamber, “I require your assistance if we are to make the demonstration on time.”

  Claire stood back, watching them load coal into the chamber and secure the cowling and pipes. They had modified the design so that the entire engine would be relatively portable, making it more attractive to the railroad men, who would not have to build new edifices to house it. It also meant that, unlike some of the engines in the exhibit, which had to depend on schematics to explain their workings, theirs could be demonstrated on the spot, to spectacular effect.

  “Lady Claire Trevelyan?”

  Claire turned to see a man in white tie at her elbow. “Yes?”

  “His Royal Highness Prince Albert requests the honor of the first waltz, milady, to open the dancing at ten o’clock.”

  She devoutly hoped her astonishment did not show on her face. By order of precedence that honor should go to the most senior lady present, which in this case was the Duchess of Devonshire, holding court over there by the champagne punch.

  “I am Percival Mount-Batting, personal secretary to His Royal Highness,” the man went on. “What answer may I convey to him?”

  Ah. One of Robert’s cousins, said to be in line for a baronetcy for his service to the Crown. He must be a very good secretary indeed.

  “Please offer him my thanks and tell him I would be deeply honored,” she said.

  Dear oh dear. Perhaps he would not notice the spot on her left glove.

  Perhaps the entire female contingent at the ball would not notice, eith
er.

  But she would be noticed. It would be in the papers tomorrow that she had danced with the Prince Consort. Goodness, how Julia and Catherine and the rest would fume!

  No, no. That kind of thinking had got her so deeply in trouble that it was all she could do to stay afloat. She must leave off thinking like a schoolgirl.

  What would she talk about with a prince as they waltzed among the sparkling pillars and under the fronds of the palms? She had no talent for small talk, and no personal details she was prepared to divulge.

  Engineering, of course. That was it. Had he not just said he was the patron of the Royal Society? What a relief!

  If it had been the Prince of Wales she would have to go and seek out the smelling salts. He was such a randy-dandy that no woman of virtue was said to be safe with him. This was probably why he was so madly popular among the titled set, and why nabbing him for her guest list was every hostess’s dream.

  While she had stood there woolgathering, Andrew and Tigg had prepared the chamber, and a crowd had gathered.

  “Please stand back,” James advised them. “And shield your eyes—the power of this device can blind you for several seconds.”

  He gave an introductory speech, which mentioned neither Claire’s part in the development of the chamber nor the impending deal with the Midlands Railroad Company. They must have appropriated her idea and were waiting for its fame to go far and wide before they made the announcement, in order to get the most publicity.

  At last it was time.

  Andrew activated the chamber and the movable truss. The familiar hum sounded even over the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses. When it reached its operating pitch, Andrew raised an arm, then lowered it sharply. Tigg shoved the levers up and a flash of light caused men to gasp and ladies to cry out.

  When the smoke cleared from the chamber, everyone surged forward to look, while James explained the coal’s new properties and what it could accomplish. Claire moved back against a pillar, cradling her glass of punch, and realized a moment too late that she had put herself in the company of Ross Stephenson.