Her Own Devices (2 page)

And to top it all, tomorrow she was to begin employment as assistant to Andrew Malvern, M.Sc., Royal Society of Engineers.

The watchman on the roof platform above the river entrance whistled, and Snouts whistled three notes in return. The door swung open, allowing a wide bar of warm light to spill onto the planks that had been repaired after a series of unfortunate explosions caused by the previous inhabitants.

“Lady! You’re back. What happened?” Lewis asked eagerly before he was fairly through the door.

Weepin’ Willie, a mute boy of five, pushed through the legs of the boys crowding the porch, and flung himself into Claire’s arms. She hugged him, a warm rush of gratitude spilling through her that here, at least, was one person in all the world who loved her without reservation. The others respected her, perhaps even liked her. But this small scrap of humanity had stuck to her like a burr from the moment she’d met him. Because of him—well, because of them all, really, she’d kept to her course and not gone down to Cornwall beaten and defeated, to be the bride of some country squire chosen by her mother.

“The Cudgel will not be waylaying any of you in the future,” she told them, setting Willie on his feet and getting up. “He has a permanent reminder to mind his manners henceforth.”

Snouts made a gesture in the vicinity of his pants that caused the boys’ eyes to widen in horror and admiration.

She was committed to her new life now, for good or ill.

Of course, The Cudgel aside, avoiding ill was at the top of her list of priorities. For that reason, she had allowed her new employer to believe she was the governess of five of these children, and part of their agreement was that they might supplement their education in his laboratory on occasion.

Surely she would be able to keep her secret. After all, he had not inquired too closely about her place of residence or who, exactly, would allow their children out with her to perform experiments in a riverside warehouse. She would just have to remain pleasantly vague about certain details, and trust that his natural reserve and politeness would prevail.

It would never do for him to know that he was harboring the infamous Lady of Devices, inadvertent murderer of Lightning Luke Jackson and reigning queen of the south side underworld.

Her reputation in society would never recover.

“Miss, a word, if you please.” Granny Protheroe, who was their cook and possessed some tenuous relationship to Lewis that had never been satisfactorily explained, stepped outside into the walled garden where the Mopsies were attempting to encourage some beans and peas to grow. She gazed at the brave trellises made of string with narrow-eyed pessimism. “That hen’ll eat them things before they’re an inch taller. Besides, it’s too late in the summer to grow such.”

Claire watched the girls, who labored on as if they had not heard. “Perhaps they might surprise you. Rosie is more fond of things with legs than things with leaves.” She turned to Granny. “What would you like to speak about?”

“That hen don’t produce enough eggs, and it’s silly to barter for ’em. We oughter have a flock.”

The Mopsies came to instant attention. “A flock? More hens like Rosie?”

Maggie ran to them and took Claire’s hand. “Please, Lady, c’n we ’ave ’em? Rosie needs a flock. She must be lonely out ’ere.”

Rosie showed no signs whatever of loneliness. Quite the opposite—a feathered despot, she had quite cowed poor Lewis and some of the smaller boys, who wouldn’t go in the garden no matter what the provocation. Claire gathered her arguments.

“My dear girls, if we did such a thing and came under attack by The Cudgel or his like, who would protect these hens?”

“We would, same as we protect Rosie now.” Lizzie glared, as if Claire had impugned her ability to take care of her own. “It was us as saved ’er in the first place, innit?”

“Yes, but it is much easier to fight or flee with a single bird. How would you make for safety if you had four? Six?”

“We could have six?” Maggie’s face lit up.

“I was using a hypothetical number.”

“Wot’s hyp—hypofet—”

“Imaginary. For instance.”

“Oh. Well, ’at’s simple. We wouldn’t run. The rifle’d put paid to anyone ’oo comes round.”

“We can’t depend on the rifle for everything,” Claire pointed out. “The sad example of Lightning Luke has shown us that.”

“We make ’em a house,” Lizzie said. “One that moves, so we c’n take ’em wiv us.”

“Or floats,” Maggie put in. “They could sleep on t’river and come up into the garden in t’mornings.”

“We’re not talking about ducks,” Granny Protheroe informed them. “Hens don’t like water. Ent you ever heard of ‘madder’n a wet hen’? Besides, they’d be stolen by some waterbug, like as not, and et. How’d you like that?”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears, and Claire hastened to say, “It is a fine idea, though. A moveable coop. Would you put it on treads, like a steambus, or legs, like those automatons we saw at the Crystal Palace?”

“Legs,” the twins said in unison.

Claire tried not to show her glee at finally hitting on a project for this stubborn pair that would combine all the best lessons she could teach—a project they were motivated to do out of feminine protective instincts, the strongest on earth.

“Excellent,” she said. “We will begin with drawings—” Art and perspective. “—and proceed to building the structure.” Mathematics and physics. “We will need a small steam engine to power it, and some means by which to operate the legs.” Mechanics.

“When can we get the hens?”

Claire sighed. One thing at a time. “As you make your way through the city tomorrow, you must keep your eyes open. I have no doubt that Rosie was not the only chicken in London in need of rescuing. But no stealing, mind. The birds you find must be in honest need of a home.”

“Why are we going into the city?” Lizzie wanted to know. “We ought t’stay on this side of t’river and lie low after last night.”

“It is my first day as Mr. Malvern’s assistant, so I can drive you as far as Blackfriars. Snouts will take you on a reconnaissance mission to gather materials for your coop. You might have some success in the scrap-yards behind the foundries. We will work on a list later today.” Measurements and penmanship.

The hens won out over Lizzie’s natural caution. She and her sister turned back to the pea trellis, chattering in low voices about what the walking coop should look like. Granny Protheroe had gone back inside, leaving Claire to pace the length of the garden alone.
Garden
was a grandiose word for the half-acre riot of brambles and potholes blasted out of the earth, all enclosed in a six-foot wall at least a foot thick. No toll-taker needed such a wall; only the criminals who had appropriated the tumbledown cottage would in order to defend their territory. Had Lightning Luke used the ground for target practice of some kind? A missile or an explosive might gouge holes like these.

Not that they bothered Rosie in the least. Claire watched the red hen throwing dirt in the air with abandon as she enjoyed a dust bath at the bottom of a small crater. “I’m glad you’re finding these useful,” she said. “I trust you’re prepared to share. The Mopsies will be bringing some companions for you soon.”

Rosie blinked in slow contentment, utterly unconcerned about the prospect of rivals.

“I wish I had your
sangfroid
.” The truth was, she was a little nervous about beginning work at the laboratory. Doubts and fears swarmed her confidence like mosquitoes. Would Lord James Selwyn be there? Would he find some way to sabotage her efforts and make her look incompetent? He had been in a barely concealed rage the last time she’d seen him. Had that temper burned itself out, or was it merely banked until the next confrontation?

The memory of his attempt to bribe her into turning down Andrew Malvern’s offer of employment had been both infuriating and mortifying. Even now, the thought of his insolence at the Crystal Palace made her cheeks burn and her blood run hot.

Yes, it was true that taking his money would have turned all her dreams of a university degree and a career into reality. But at what cost?

Her own integrity, that’s what.

The children’s safety.

And Mr. Malvern’s regard.

She could not afford to lose the first or second, and as for the third ... well, he was to be her employer, wasn’t he? Of course she wanted his good opinion.

As would any reasonable person.

*

Snouts, the Mopsies, and Weepin’ Willie—who could not be persuaded to stay at home helping Granny Protheroe to make pies, if there were more birds like his adored Rosie to be found—joined the crowd swarming across the Blackfriars bridge.

“You’re sure you don’t want to go with them?” Claire watched the little group as long as she could, but they were soon lost to sight.

Tigg shifted in the seat beside her. “I’ll go if you say to, Lady, but I druther stick by you.” His voice dropped to a mumble. “Might learn summat useful.”

The warmth of approval colored her tone as she said quietly, “I have no doubt you will, and I applaud your determination to get on, Tigg.” Smiling, Claire steered the steam landau down the warren of narrow streets until she reached Orpington Close—another grandiose name for a lane to the river barely wide enough to admit her and her gleaming engine. “I am quite sure Mr. Malvern could use a tender for his experiments with coal. And if he doesn’t, we shall persuade him that at the very least, he must have someone to sweep up afterward. I certainly have no intention of wearing my duster while I work for fear of ruining my clothes.”

She parked the landau and threw the switch that would shut down the flame and begin the boiler’s cooling process, then climbed out. No coach bearing a noble crest stood there, or any other kind of vehicle, but Lord James could have come by hansom cab.

“Oh, stop,” she muttered, unwinding her chiffon scarf and removing her driving goggles. “You have a perfect right to be here, and he can just take it like a gentleman.”

“What’s ’at, Lady?”

“Nothing, Tigg. Can you make sure the hood is secure, please? We don’t want anyone being nosy while we’re inside.”

Her duster over one arm, her navy skirt spotless and her hat in place, she waited by the door for him to check the latches on the brass hood flap that he kept polished to a gleam. He nodded in satisfaction and the two of them mounted the stairs to the loft, where Andrew Malvern kept his offices. The expanse below was filled with piles of building materials and an enormous glass chamber with brass rivets and hoses snaking in and out of it. Her back felt strangely naked without the weight of the lightning rifle, but even in this neighborhood, eyebrows might be raised if one arrived at the office armed.

No one need know it was under the seat of the landau.

Her employer raised his head as she reached the top of the stairs, and dropped his drafting pencil. “Miss Trevelyan! Er, I mean, Lady Claire. Good morning. I’m pleased to see you value punctuali—” He stopped halfway across the room. “Why, Tigg. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Tigg flushed with pleasure at being remembered. It had only been a week, but still ... many would consider a boy of thirteen beneath their notice.

Claire shook hands, and was close to coloring with pleasure herself when Andrew shook Tigg’s as well, as though he were an equal. “I hope you do not mind his accompanying me. As you know, he has a talent for mechanics, and you did say that on occasion—”

“I did say so, and I meant it.”

“If I can’t help ye wi’ that great engine downstairs, sir, I’ll sweep ... or run errands ... or ...” Tigg struggled to control his emotions. “Appreciate it, sir,” he finally mumbled.

“Your appearance is providential,” Andrew confided. “It will speed my work enormously to have someone to work the coal tender while I conduct the experiments in the main chamber. I’m forever having to go back there and shovel coal into the hopper.”

“I’m your man, sir.” Tigg stood straighter.

“Excellent. You might go down and find an apron and one of the heavier pairs of gloves. If I am only to have you in the mornings, I shall make good use of you. I’ll give Lady Claire some brief instructions, and we will begin immediately.”

Tigg vanished down the stairs so quickly Claire wondered if his feet touched them at all.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “He’s been a different boy since we all met at the Crystal Palace and you showed him the workings of those engines.”

“I admire an inquiring mind,” Andrew said. “Tell me, has he had your landau into pieces yet?”

“Just the boiler. I’m afraid to let him touch the drive mechanisms to the wheels in case they don’t go back together again. If worst comes to worst, at least I know how to reassemble the boiler.”

Andrew laughed. “It’s only a matter of time. Have I told you how pleased I am that you accepted my offer?”

“Not this morning.”

“I should make it a daily practice.”

“I trust Lord James has resigned himself to a better opinion of me, now that we will be working together?” She hardly dared hope that was so, but she had to know.

“I don’t know, to be honest. The day after our fortuitous meeting at the Exhibition, he left for the Midlands to meet with the president of one of the railroads there.” A shadow fell across his hazel eyes. “I wish he would wait until we had reliable results in hand, but what do I know? He is the man with the vision and the money. I’m just the man who puts it into practice. Glad-handing bankers and railroad presidents would give me hives, so it’s fortunate he has a talent for it.”

Claire’s eyebrows rose at this unexpected confidence. Should he be telling her such things about his business? Then again, in the course of filing the stacks of paper teetering all around her, she would learn all about it whether he told her or not.

“Now.” He gazed around the loft as though he wondered how all the mess had got there. “I believe you mentioned you had a plan when you were here for the interview?”

The disastrous interview, where she learned to her horror that Lord James had been prepared to court her—until he found out she was penniless and actually seeking employment with his partner—still burned in her memory. He had been so insulting she had fled.