by L. C. Mawson
The Complete Lady Ruth Constance Chapelstone Chronicles
The Lady Ruth Constance Chapelstone Chronicles
L.C. Mawson
Published by L.C. Mawson, 2017.
Copyright © L.C. Mawson (2016). All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By L.C. Mawson
The Complete Lady Ruth Constance Chapelstone Chronicles (The Lady Ruth Constance Chapelstone Chronicles)
BOOK ONE | LADY RUTH AND THE CLOCKWORK SUITOR
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
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18
BOOK TWO | LADY RUTH AND THE PARISIAN THIEF
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2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
BOOK THREE | LADY RUTH AND THE AMERICAN ESCAPADE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
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Also By L.C. Mawson
The condition we now refer to as 'autism' was first recognised by the medical communities of Europe in the first half of the 20th century.
However, before this point, Autistic people still existed. Many were simply seen as 'eccentric' and certain euphemisms arose to describe them.
One such euphemism arose during the Industrial Revolution, within the upper class of London. Many of the great minds behind the revolution were referred to as having 'an inventor's disposition'.
The majority of the modern day technology we so heavily rely on - particularly automatons and other mechanicals - can be traced back to these inventors.
One such inventor was referred to only as The Owl, and they were single-handedly responsible for a great deal of both technological and social change during Queen Victoria's reign.
- Excerpt from The Owl: The Birth of the Automaton Age,
By Professor Lucinda Caroline Mawson
BOOK ONE
LADY RUTH AND THE CLOCKWORK SUITOR
1
Somewhere just south of York, Lady Ruth Constance Chapelstone came to the conclusion that travelling by train did not agree with her.
Of course, she had never left her home city of Newcastle before, so she had no idea if the train was the offensive factor, or if it was simply travel itself. As her eyes ached and her stomach churned, however, she decided that the question of what exactly was offending her was immaterial. She was offended, and that was enough to turn her mood sour.
Her hair clips felt as if they were trying to dig into her skull, and her nose couldn’t help but pick up even the slightest smell. Her only source of comfort was the familiar pressure of her corset tight around her middle, grounding her. But the comforting effect was slightly muted by the fact that the bright yellow colour of her dress was now too much for her eyes.
“How much longer until we reach London, Uncle Thomas?” she asked as soon as he stepped into the private carriage. Despite being her uncle, he was only a few years older than her. However, because he shared her dark hair and eyes — contrasted by fair skin — they were often mistaken for siblings and could easily pass as twins, probably because Ruth almost entirely took after her father. The only thing she inherited from her mother was thick, almost unmanageable, hair and a full figure.
“We are still in the north, my dear,” he pointed out as he took the tray he was carrying and placed it down on the table between them.
Oh good, thought Ruth, he brought tea.
Someone else should have probably brought them the tea, in all honesty, but Ruth was in no fit state to deal with strangers, and her uncle was more than accommodating. An inventor’s disposition, he called it, simply taking it as the flip side to his greatest discovery.
When they had been younger, Thomas had taken to inventing for a while, as he had seen what the industrial revolution was doing for Britain and he wanted to play a hand in shaping the future.
He had been lousy at it, of course. Ruth had told him as much when she had visited his workshop. After a few hours of ravenously pouring through his textbooks while he brought her tea and biscuits, she had managed to fix up the invention that he had spent weeks stumped over, completely unable to get it to work as intended. After that, Thomas had given up inventing, fancying himself an entrepreneur instead, much to the chagrin of his father. Ruth had taken over his workshop, bearing some of the family disappointment so that it was no longer Thomas’ sole domain. After all, the workshop was no proper place for a lady.
It didn’t take Thomas long to realise that he could make them both rich by selling Ruth’s inventions. Not that they needed the money, of course; that was simply Thomas’ way of keeping score.
At her mother’s insistence, no one knew that Ruth was behind Thomas’ inventions. Thomas said that it was a shy friend of his — nicknamed The Owl for his pencha
nt for only working at night — giving Thomas the perfect excuse not to introduce the inventor to his friends.
Much to everyone but Ruth and Thomas’ surprise, it wasn’t long before The Owl had the attention of Queen Victoria herself. As far as Ruth was concerned, it was inevitable. Her engine designs were far superior to anything the Crown had in operation, and her dirigible schematics were not only technically impressive, but far more eye-pleasing than anything currently in use.
If there was one thing The Owl had become notorious for, it was style. Ruth’s penchant for fashion and design was as impressive as her knack for invention. It was simply a shame that nothing else held even the slightest interest for her. Her mother always said that, had they not had servants, Ruth would have no chance at survival.
Ruth briefly wondered if air travel would have been easier on her stomach, or, if not, if there was some way for her to alter her designs to make it so that it was.
Her attention was drawn back to the present as Thomas flipped the switch at the side of the bulky mechanism cradling the teapot. It made a whirring noise as it lifted up the pot and began to pour the tea, causing the pot to clink against the cup in a way that made Ruth whine in protest. Her ears were exceptionally delicate. As was the rest of her, for that matter.
“This tea of yours had better not offend my palette,” Thomas told her as he passed her a cup.
She ignored the sugar in favour of milk. She couldn’t stand sugar in her tea, and only even used the milk to cool it so that she didn’t burn herself. She had a tendency to forget how hot tea was in her eagerness to drink it.
“It’s not my fault if your palette is easily offended.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, and Ruth had to concede that it had been hypocritical of her. While she had broad taste in tea, she was very particular with her food. In fact, the cook at home had resigned herself to making the same three dishes for Ruth, with no variance. She supposed that was a luxury she may not be granted in London. Even if she had the same dish there, it probably wouldn’t be right.
She drank the tea immediately after adding her milk. It was still hot enough to provide her with the scorching sensation she craved, while not burning her insides. The ginger in the chai helped to settle her stomach.
Thomas pulled a face.
“Not to your liking?” she asked as she poured herself a second cup.
“No,” he told her firmly. “But it is no matter. I am far less interested in the topic of tea than the topic of what great invention The Owl has to show my contacts in London. They have already seen your previous work, so we’ll need something fresh and exciting.”
“I have actually been working on something. For Grandfather.”
“For my father?” Thomas asked with a raised eyebrow as Ruth brought out a series of schematics.
“I have a prototype in one of my cases,” she assured him as she found the correct piece of paper, “but this is the design.”
“It’s... a leg.”
“Yes. A fully functioning, clockwork leg.”
“And how exactly would the leg know when to move and when to remain still?”
Ruth sighed into her, again empty, teacup. “That is what I am still working on. I have several ideas. Perhaps a control of some sort. I could possibly program it to move as the stump moves in a specific way. I have also been reading about the possibility of measuring the information sent by the brain to the limbs. I could perhaps make use of that...”
“Careful not to get too carried away with theoretical ideas,” Thomas reminded her, as he so often did. Ruth never listened, but he kept reminding her anyway.
“When will we be in London?” she asked again, eager to be off the train.
“I’ll find you some more tea,” was Thomas’ only reply.
2
The first word Ruth would use to describe London was crowded.
That wasn’t a good sign.
The second would be putrid, which wasn’t any better. Of course, all cities had a certain stench about them, but she was used to Newcastle. She wasn’t sure if London smelled objectively worse, but she knew that it was different, which was enough to upset her.
Between the oppressive atmosphere and her lingering nausea from the train, Ruth was close to tears.
She hovered on the step of the train, waiting until the crowds on the platform dissipated a bit before getting off.
“It’s King’s Cross,” Thomas told her gently as he realised what she was doing. “It’s never quieter than this.”
Ruth made a small noise of annoyance in the back of her throat before steeling herself and stepping down onto the platform. She distracted herself from the bustle around her by focusing on the large mechanical arms unloading the luggage from the train.
Watching the gears turn was calming, even if she couldn’t help but criticise the design as she looked it over.
Clunky. Inelegant. Clumsy.
She wondered if there was a single engineer besides herself with even the slightest inclination towards style.
Luckily, Thomas predicted her discomfort, and had a carriage waiting for them. At the front was a mechanical driver, if such an unwieldy contraption could even be considered a driver. It clearly directed the horses, but they had made no effort to make it look even vaguely humanoid.
It looked like a box with metal, spider-like arms out of the side, and a speaker on the front.
“LORD CHAPELSTONE,” it greeted with a grating voice that made Ruth tighten her fists around the fabric of her skirt.
“Yes,” Thomas replied. “You are our ride?”
“INPUT NOT RECOGNISED. PLEASE RESTATE REQUEST.”
Ruth couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “It’s a Fralsen, Thomas. Fifth model, by the look of it. You would have an easier time trying to converse with a stray cat.”
“Then what shall we do?”
“Get in and hope it takes us somewhere where I can lie down,” Ruth told him firmly. She was quite fed up and just wanted to curl into bed.
Thomas nodded, acquiescing, before helping her into the carriage.
The driver thankfully managed to take them to Thomas’ house in the city without any issue. Ruth’s travel sickness had returned by the time they left the carriage, despite the short journey.
Ruth noted that said house was modest compared to home, but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be inside.
“Workshop?” she asked as soon as she was through the door. Her tiredness immediately fled as she remembered Thomas promising her a workshop worthy of her talents.
Her uncle smiled. “In just a moment. I want to introduce you to someone.”
As soon as the door closed behind them, a young woman hurried down the stairs. She was wearing a plain brown dress that was just a few shades lighter than her dark skin. Her black hair was tied back, forming a fluffy cloud to the back of her head. She didn’t look older than sixteen.
“Ruth, this is Ivy. When I first visited London, she approached me and begged to work with The Owl.”
“So, she knows?”
“No, I thought I would leave that up to you. But I won’t be here all of the time, so I suggest a trade. The Owl takes her on as an apprentice and has someone to talk to about his inventions, and she makes sure that he doesn’t starve himself.”
Ruth smiled, though it was a little strained. She wasn’t too sure that she wanted someone around her at all times, yet she had to admit that it would be nice to have some help from someone whose eyes wouldn’t glaze over when she got too deep into the minutia of her designs.
“I suppose it is not too disagreeable an arrangement,” Ruth said, turning to Ivy. “Could you show me to the workshop?”
Ivy nodded, showing her up the stairs until they reached the attic.
“This is the workshop, Milady,” Ivy said in an almost painful cockney accent. That would take some getting used to.
Before she could dwell too much on it, however, Ruth spotted the selection of work benches and t
op-of-the-line tools. She had been good at making do when she lacked something, but the idea of not having to made her grin. How much time it would save!
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Ruth cried as she hurried back to where Thomas had just brought in their luggage, finding the case with her designs. She took as many as would fit in her arms before running back upstairs to affix them to the large board on the wall of her workshop.
“When will The Owl arrive?” Ivy asked, though Ruth didn’t hear her, as she was too absorbed in deciding which project to start first.
“He just did,” Thomas told her with a smile. “I suggest getting some tea for you and Lady Ruth. She is always more talkative when there is tea.”
3
Ruth hated leaving her workshop, but some things could not be avoided. Introducing herself to London society was one of them. Ivy, much to Ruth’s envy, had no such social expectations placed on her, allowing her to remain in the workshop to focus on her own projects.
Ivy had been shocked that Ruth allowed her to work on whatever she wanted, but in truth, it was simply convenient. Ruth didn’t need help at all times, and she didn’t want the pressure of feeling as if she had to entertain Ivy every second she was working. So, Ivy had her own projects to work on when Ruth didn’t need her or was busy choosing a new dress.
“Smile, dear,” Thomas reminded her as they arrived at Lady Dunsten’s ball.
Ruth nodded, realising that she had been frowning in thought. She just really wanted to be back in her workshop. But there was a bright side; attending a ball had given her an excuse to buy a new dress, and the dark blue one she had on had one of the sturdiest corsets she had ever found.
“Thomas,” greeted a man who looked just a little older than Ruth, with brownish red hair that extended into mutton chops and a very clean military uniform. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too, James.” Thomas gestured to Ruth. “This is my niece, Lady Chapelstone.”
“Pleased to meet you,” James greeted her with a smile, taking Ruth’s hand to kiss. “Your uncle has mentioned you briefly, but he failed to mention your beauty.”
