Her Own Devices (7 page)

She would write to Lord James when she got home this evening and call the whole thing off.

And then she would write to her mother and tell her she had called the whole thing off.

And then Lady St. Ives would be on the next train to London.

Oh dear, oh dear.

Claire leaned her head back against the window of the coach and closed her eyes in despair, which meant she nearly missed her Underground stop.

Surfacing from the tunnel into the bright light of late afternoon, she waited for her eyes to adjust. If she went back to the cottage now, she would only have to make the trip to Chelsea another day. Granted, at the moment finding out about Dr. Rosemary Craig seemed trivial, compared to what Claire had just done to herself. On the other hand, having a concrete task to perform might serve as a distraction, giving her a little distance until she was able to think clearly.

A brief stop at the local switch of the Royal Mail provided her with the location of the Craig house, which turned out to be a flat on the third floor of a building crammed between two more prosperous ones. So the Craigs did not go about in society? Claire wondered whether they could even squeeze outside.

It wasn’t until she stood at the door that she remembered she should have sent up a card first, to make sure the inhabitants were at home to visitors. However, in the absence of anyone to send a card up
with
, she herself would have to do.

At her knock, the door swung wide and she found herself face to face with a woman in her thirties wearing a severe gray suit in the elaborately bustled style of the previous decade.

“Good afternoon,” Claire said in her best social tones. “I am Lady Claire Trevelyan, and I do apologize for not informing you of my visit. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Craig?”

The woman wobbled a bit at the knees, as if she were unsure whether or not to curtsey. Claire extended a hand and shook with the other woman to set her at ease. Finally she said, “I am Dorothy Craig. Please, won’t you come in?”

The furniture was so glossy with polish that one might almost miss the threadbare condition of the cushions. The floor likewise shone, and the single carpet was a good Persian. Daguerreotype photographs in silver frames were arranged upon a sideboard, and Claire wondered if Dr. Rosemary Craig’s likeness was among them.

“Would you like some tea?” Dorothy asked.

“Thank you, but no. I won’t trespass on your kindness. I merely came to inquire about a woman I believe is your sister. Doctor Rosemary Craig.”

At the word
sister
, the expression of polite but puzzled interest froze into shock.

Claire hastened on, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach that she had made a mistake. “I am very much interested in your sister’s work for—for a paper I am working on, and—” The other woman stood. “Miss Craig?”

“I am very sorry to incommode you, Lady Claire, but I find I have a headache coming on. Please allow me to show you out.”

How odd. She didn’t have any of the symptoms Mama exhibited during one of her headaches—the pale skin, the wincing at noise, the inability to bear light.

“I am very sorry to be the cause of your headache,” she said gently. “I will go, but I hope you will answer one question. Did your sister leave behind any papers or information that I might look at for my research?”

“If she did, they were burned years ago,” Dorothy said, her voice tight. “Before she was sent away.”

“To Bedlam.”

“It’s common knowledge among the titled, is it—my family’s disgrace?” she said bitterly.

“Not at all. I learned of it from someone at the Royal Society of Engineers. I mean—not the disgrace, which I am sure is not true, but of your sister’s unfortunate circumstances.”

“Which brought on our disgrace. My father was only a barrister, but who will hire a man into a position of trust when madness runs in his family?”

Claire saw that there were closed doors down a miniscule corridor on her right. “Are your parents well?”

“My mother passed away two years ago. I am my father’s nurse. As you see—” Her voice trembled, but whether with grief or rage, Claire couldn’t tell. “—our family has not recovered.”

Claire’s own family had not recovered from disgrace, either, but one did not simply sit down and give up. “Do you see your sister?” she asked softly, fully expecting to be pushed out the door.

“Oh, yes. Once a month, faithful as can be. For all the good it does.”

“Does she not recognize you?”

“Certainly. And therein lies the trouble. She blames us, you see, for having her committed. In her mad mind, she is perfectly sane and we are the crazy ones.” She turned away and picked up one of the pictures. “I don’t know why my father keeps this.” She handed it to Claire.

A young woman with dark hair piled high and wearing a tightly corseted gown stood to one side of a Greek pillar. One hand rested on the plinth, while the other held what appeared to be a key. The key of knowledge, one assumed. Indeed, her face was fierce, her eyes dark and intense, as if she were daring the photographer to get on with it; she had work to do. This was the face of a woman who would indeed fly at a man for getting in her way.

“Thank you for showing me.” She handed it back. “So she is allowed visitors?”

“Family only. Who else would want to see what her brains have made of her? And of the rest of us.”

Any empathy Claire might have felt was fast draining away. This woman was not crippled, nor was she lacking in intelligence. She could make her own way if it had not been more rewarding to blame someone else for her misfortunes.

“I appreciate your time.” Claire extended her hand again. “Good afternoon.”

She walked back to the Embankment as fast as she could, thankful for her escape from that narrow house. So Dr. Rosemary Craig was permitted family visitors, was she? Well, it was clear that Claire was not going to get any information from outside sources. Perhaps the poor lady in Bedlam would enjoy a visit from her long-lost cousin from Shropshire.

*

Express Mail

For Immediate Delivery

My dear Claire,

I am this moment in receipt of your tube. We will not discuss the advertisement—I was driven to it by desperation. I wish to speak of happier topics. As you can imagine, since I received Lord James’s letter two weeks ago I have been all aflutter. It was everything I could do not to buy a train ticket and come up to town immediately. Now I know why you have been so reluctant to join me here at Gwynn Place.

You sly minx, prating on about charitable works when all the time you have been indulging in a whirlwind flirtation with Lord James! I must credit your taste, if not your experience.

Let me advise you, dear. Accept only invitations from your closest circle. Due to our circumstances you were not able to make your curtsey to Her Majesty, so that means you must begin your Season with decorum. You may attend the theatre in Lord James’s company, and small dinners, but resist the temptation to be seen at any balls but those of the kind I might have attended with your dear father. Countess Selkirk, the Duchess of Wellesley, Lady Mount-Batting ... these are the best hostesses and are the only invitations you should accept.

I will place the announcement of your engagement in the Times this week. I will also write to Mr. Arundel to see if there is any possibility of a sum to settle upon you. Lord James has been very generous—I have read between the lines and he is quite prepared to take you in nothing but your petticoat—ah, young love!—but there must be something, somewhere, in the accounts. What are we to have a wedding dress made with, else?

Nicholas sends a kiss, and Polgarth the poultryman begs me to advise you that each bird must have eighteen inches of roosting space in the coop. I do not know what this means, but I am dutifully passing it on.

I will let this do. Please write soonest and tell me of your plans. I must have a wedding date to put in the announcement. And do have Lord James bring you down for a visit within the month. I want to get to know him better.

Ever your loving

Mama

*

Claire rolled up the lavender-scented paper and tossed it in the fire burning merrily in the cottage’s hearth. Willie turned big eyes on her and then climbed up the arm of the rickety sofa and into her lap.

“You oughtn’t to waste good paper, Lady,” Lizzie informed her. “Even Willie knows that.”

“It was a letter from my mother, and I did not wish its contents seen.”

“We wouldn’t’ve looked. I could ’ave done another drawing of our walking coop on t’back. An’ it smelled nice, it did.”

“Perhaps Granny Protheroe will teach you how to make lavender water, so that you may have your own.”

Lizzie subsided, mumbling something that Claire chose not to hear.

Cuddling Willie, who with regular meals was beginning to sprout out of his clothes, she raised her voice and spoke to the chemists at the table, the girls before the hearth, and the poker players, who had not yet left for the evening. “Has anyone ever been to Bedlam?”

The room had been lively with chatter, but now it fell silent. “Bedlam, Lady?” Lewis asked. “As in visited, or as in committed?”

“As in visited, silly gumpus. I wish to visit one of the patients there and I should like to know what it’s like beforehand.”

Jake and one of the chemists looked at one another. “Me gran said once that they used t’sell tickets so folk could come and gawk at t’lunatics.”

“Yes, well, they do not do so in this enlightened age,” Claire said crisply.

Jake was not finished. “I been, oncet. And I’m not like to go again. It were hellish, it were.”

“How so, Jake?” She did not like to ask whom he had been visiting, in case it was a sensitive subject.

“People rambling up and down the galleries, some in proper clothes, some in nightclothes—some in nowt at all. People screamin’, beggin’ fer help. It were awful.”

Claire swallowed. “Tigg and I have learned that the scientist who invented the device that powers the lightning rifle is in Bedlam. I wish to speak with her about it.”

Jake shook his head. “You’ll do as you like, o’ course, Lady, but me, I wouldn’t. No device is worth goin’ there again.”

“I’ll go with you,” Tigg said quietly, appearing out of the dark hallway, out of range of the lamps and firelight.

“Not wi’out me,” Snouts said, his nose throwing a vulture-like shadow on the wall behind him. “Mopsies? Ready for a mission?”

Sitting on the rug before the hearth, the girls looked at each other, then back at Claire. They shook their heads as one. “Not we, Lady,” Maggie said. “I’m afraid o’ them lunatics.”

Claire nodded with understanding. “Very well. Snouts and Tigg will accompany me. The scientist’s name is Doctor Rosemary Craig, therefore, I shall be her cousin, Lady Claire Craig, from Shropshire. Snouts and Tigg shall be my secretary and his assistant. Perhaps you might lay hands on a pair of spectacles, Snouts, to complete the illusion.”

“I b’lieve I ’ave some, Lady. Won ’em in a hand of poker not long back. Nice gold rims on ’em.”

“Perfect. We shall go tomorrow.”

Tigg and Snouts nodded, then faded into the dark. They had first watch tonight. Willie’s body had relaxed in her lap, and when she looked down, she saw he had fallen asleep. She carried him upstairs, which meant she didn’t see the Mopsies grab the poker and fish what was left of her mother’s letter out of the grate.

The sound of the warehouse door closing below brought Andrew out of his fierce concentration on a recent paper on the augmentation of electricks for industrial use. He had not heard the arrival of the landau, nor was that the swish of skirts on the stairs. In any case, Claire would not come so late at night.

It could only be— “Hello, James.”

James Selwyn mounted the last of the stairs into the lamplight and smiled. “Hard at work, I see. I thought you might be.” His gaze touched on the desk, the floor, a cabinet. “Something is different up here.”

“You’re seeing the initial results of Claire’s influence.” Andrew spread his hands to indicate the top of his desk. “I hardly dare leave a piece of paper out in case I get a lecture in the morning.”

“You are her employer,” James said dryly. He went to the table by the window and poured himself a finger of Scotch. “You could tell her to dispense with the lecture.”

“Ah, but then I would be deprived of the pleasure of it. How did it go at the Midlands Railroad?”

James took a healthy sip before speaking, and grimaced as the liquor went down. “Not so well, I am afraid. They appreciate the possibilities of what we’re doing—in fact, they’re quite enthusiastic about it. But they are not willing to promise to buy one of our devices without having seen it in action.”

He’d told James he was premature, but when had James ever listened when it came to his vision for their partnership? “You can hardly blame them for that. You and I would both do the same.”

“Perhaps. But we need a large railroad to back our efforts and give us legitimacy. Rail men are notorious for presenting a united front, competitive as they might be behind it. If we can crack only one, we’ll have them all.”

“I told you it was too soon. We must have a working prototype before we approach anyone.”

James merely shrugged. “How are the experiments coming? Any progress?”

Andrew had to shake his head. “I have given up on permeating the coal with gases and have turned my attention to augmented electricks. Hence a little research.” He indicated the paper. “Claire seems to think that—”

“Claire? What does she have to do with anything?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. James was too well bred to interrupt ... usually. But Claire had been the clinker in his coal box ever since the day they’d met. “You know she aspires to be an engineer.”

“I do, to my very great dismay.”

“I have promised to help her get into university in any way I can. And that usually means talking over problems together.” James merely snorted and emptied his glass. “Don’t you have any confidence in her?”