Rebel Mechanics (3 page)

The driver turned to look at the engine and the bus, and his eyes grew wide. “What the blazes is that?” he shouted back at Colin.

Colin cued Alec, who pulled a cord, making the whistle sound a shrill blast. The engine moved a little faster, pulling ahead of the carriage. “This is the machine that'll leave your magical toy in the dust,” Colin shouted with a laugh. The other young men on the bus joined in with raucous catcalls at the carriage. The driver glared at them, then furrowed his brow and moved a lever, and the carriage increased its speed. The engine soon responded, going ever faster. Colin leaned out the window, thumbed his nose at the driver, and said, “What's the matter, think your master'll turn you into a frog if you actually drive that thing? Or were you a frog to begin with, and he turned you into his driver?” I saw a flash of fury on the driver's face, and the race was on.

The noise was deafening. The engine chugged and puffed and made a great rumbling roar. The bus moaned and creaked alarmingly. I suspected it had not been designed for such speed. Every so often, it bounced when the wheels hit an obstacle, and there was a constant vibration from the paving bricks. Next to me, Lizzie wrote in her notebook, and I wondered how she could manage while being jostled so badly.

As we rattled our way up Fifth Avenue, crowds gathered on the sidewalks. Most merely gazed in curiosity, but there were also cheers as we passed. I was both terrified and exhilarated. Carriages on the cross streets barely stopped in time when the bus plowed through intersections. The bus swayed side to side as it wove its way around slower vehicles. The magical carriage kept up, with the bus occasionally pulling ahead before the carriage caught up again. In the brief moments when we were neck and neck, I saw that the carriage driver was focused intently, a look of sheer determination on his face. Alec and the other man on the engine made frantic adjustments, pulling levers and shoveling coal into what looked like a furnace.

Colin stood at the front of the bus, surprisingly steady on his feet. He sang at the top of his lungs in a strong Irish tenor, “‘Yankee Doodle went to town, riding a steam pony. Led the magpies on a chase and made them look like phonies.'”

The rest of the passengers joined in the chorus, singing, “‘Yankee Doodle keep it up, Yankee Doodle dandy. Fight the magic and the Brits, and with machines be handy.'”

My blood ran cold as the meaning of their song struck me and I realized amongst whom I'd fallen. These were the infamous Rebel Mechanics, the underground group that wanted to use machines to overthrow the magical ruling class and break the American colonies away from Great Britain. Just being with them would be considered treason.

My heart racing with the awareness of where I was, I turned to Lizzie and shouted over the noise of the engine and the bus wheels clattering on the pavement, “You're
rebels
?”

She gave me a reassuring smile. “There is nothing treasonous about what we're doing here. Do you think this is wrong?”

I honestly didn't know what to think. I'd heard rumors about this group in New Haven, where some university students had supported the cause, but my father hadn't taken the rebels seriously. He'd said it was merely young men being foolish. I didn't think it wise to say this while I was at their mercy. “We are perhaps going a trifle fast for safety,” I suggested, holding my bag with one hand while I gripped the edge of my seat with the other.

She laughed. “Yes, I suppose we are, but we're merely proving that this machine is as good as any magical engine. Usually we'd travel at a more reasonable speed.”

There was a shout from the back of the bus, and I looked over my shoulder to see a man positioned at the rear window waving frantically. Colin noticed the gesture, stopped singing, and nodded. Then he leaned out the front window and signaled Alec, who frowned and adjusted a lever. The bus picked up speed, making even more alarming noises. I was afraid it would fall apart around us. “What's happening?” I asked Lizzie.

“The police are giving chase. You were right about us going too fast.”

“The police?” I squeaked in horror. With a criminal record, I could never find a position in a good home. I wondered if the authorities would believe this band of dangerous rebels had kidnapped me.

I glanced anxiously over my shoulder again and saw the rear lookouts grinning broadly. “They've given up!” one shouted. Colin raised his arms over his head in triumph.

His sister shook her head. “They'll signal ahead and cut us off!” she warned. “We should stop now!”

“The race is still on!” he cried out. “We don't stop until we've won!”

The magical carriage kept pace with us. The driver must have been a real gamesman, for the police pursuit hadn't deterred him. We'd reached the lower boundary of Central Park, which meant we were within twenty blocks of my destination. “Come on,” I pleaded under my breath, unsure whether I was egging on the engine or urging our competitor to give up so the race would end. The park passed by in a green blur as we rattled furiously up the avenue. I couldn't even tell how many blocks we'd traveled, as each cross street went by in a flash.

Our opponent gradually fell behind until his carriage disappeared from sight. “Those engines don't have the capacity for long runs at high speeds, not without a constant input of magic, so it was hardly a fair contest,” Lizzie said. “But I do think we've made our point that there are other viable sources of power.” Around us, the bus full of Mechanics cheered and launched once more into their raucous Yankee Doodle song. I merely sighed in relief.

The bus slowed, and Colin came over to me. “We're near your destination, and the police will head us off at any moment, so this is where you get off.” He bade me brace myself in the doorway, then jumped down to run alongside the bus. Holding his arms up to me, he shouted, “Jump, Verity! I'll catch you!”

The bus still seemed to be moving terribly fast, but I heard a police bell approaching and realized that if I didn't jump, I might never make it to my interview. I took as deep a breath as my stays allowed and flung myself out the doorway. Colin caught me easily, ran a couple of steps more, then set me on my feet and kept his arms around me until I was steady. “Now, hurry into the park and disappear until the police pass,” he instructed before catching up with the bus. He leaped aboard and waved his hat to me through the doorway. “Best of luck to you, Verity!”

I waved back at him and made haste to the nearest park entrance. I jogged down a pathway until I could run no more, then slowed to a walk. The sound of clanging police bells on the street grew louder and turned my legs to jelly from fright. I collapsed onto the nearest bench and took my book out of my bag to try to appear as though I'd been sitting there all along, minding my own business.

I took no notice of the words on the page as I considered what I'd just experienced. History had shown rebel movements to be futile. The American colonists had attempted to rebel more than a hundred years earlier, but had stood no chance against the magical might of the British Empire. If there were other sources of power that didn't require magic, that would change things entirely. I'd just seen a steam-powered engine outrace a magical one. Did this mean that another revolution was imminent? That would mean violence, death, and an interruption of daily life even for those who didn't support the cause. Life for the nonmagical hadn't seemed that difficult to me because my life had been reasonably comfortable, but in my first day in the city, I could already see that there was much I didn't know about the world outside the sheltered academic enclave I'd previously inhabited.

When no police officer appeared after several minutes, I considered myself safe. I checked the watch pinned to my bodice. It was half past three, and Mrs. Talbot had instructed me to arrive before four. I returned my book to my bag, straightened my hat and resecured it with my hatpin, then rose and made my way to the nearby park exit.

The homes I faced were far grander than the ones I'd visited earlier and seemed much newer. Some were still under construction. The rebels had let me off a couple of blocks beyond my destination, which meant that my mad dash through the park had brought me almost exactly to the address I sought. When I saw the house, I double-checked the address with Mrs. Talbot's letter because it was no mere house. It was a palace.

It was larger than the others on the block, built of white marble, and it looked like an Italian Renaissance villa. I imagined an army of servants, including wigged and liveried footmen. I did not imagine myself in such a setting. I wasn't at all worldly. I hadn't taken a Grand Tour of Europe. I'd barely seen the sights of New Haven. How could I possibly hope to teach children who were likely far more polished than I was?

But, I reminded myself, Mrs. Talbot would have known that from my letter of application. I had been entirely honest about my experience and qualifications, if not about my age, and she had still requested an interview. If I didn't get this job, I'd have to find a rooming house and start all over again answering advertisements. That thought motivated me to cross the street, scale the majestic front steps, and reach for the bellpull.

Before my fingers closed around the cord, the door opened. “You must be Miss Newton,” a tall, broad-shouldered butler said in a deep, rumbling voice. “Mrs. Talbot is expecting you. Please come in.” The home might have been imposing, but this was the most welcoming greeting I'd had all day, aside from the band of rebels.

The entry hall took my breath away. The ceiling soared far above me, with windows of stained glass that cast multicolored light onto the black-and-white chessboard marble floor. A sweeping staircase led to the upper floors, and statuary in niches lined the entry hall. This foyer alone was nearly as large as my old home, a fairly large one by New Haven standards. I couldn't hold back a small sigh of longing. How wonderful to live in such a place. Even as a governess, I'd feel like a princess whenever I came down that staircase.

I reined in my flight of fancy when the most intimidating woman I'd ever seen entered the foyer. She was very tall, and she had a strong, square, somewhat masculine jaw, with an equally strong, square brow. She didn't look like a woman who would tolerate nonsense or inefficiency of any sort. Her severe black dress and tight knot of hair added to the impression. She was more forbidding than my father. I hadn't believed that to be possible.

But her smile was friendly. In fact, there was a hint of sympathy to it, as though she was thinking “Oh, you poor dear.” I stiffened my spine, prepared to be told that the position had already been filled. Instead, she reached to shake my hand. I hoped Nat hadn't left my glove dirty enough to smear ink on her bare hand. “Thank you, Mr. Chastain,” she said to the butler. To me she said, “Miss Newton, I am Mrs. Talbot. Please come with me. We can talk in the morning room.” Without waiting for my response, she turned and headed up the staircase. I had to run a few steps to catch up with her.

We passed a white-aproned maid on the landing, and Mrs. Talbot paused to say, “Please serve tea for two in the morning room, right away.” She led me to a very feminine sitting room filled with dainty furniture so fragile-looking that I feared it wouldn't support a woman as sturdy as Mrs. Talbot, who looked even larger and more imposing in this setting. I felt ungainly there despite my own average size.

“Have a seat, Miss Newton,” Mrs. Talbot said, gesturing toward a small sofa. She took the chair across from it. “Lord Henry was supposed to be here for this interview, but he has not returned yet. We may as well begin in his absence.” She gave me another sympathetic smile. “I must say, you are not what I expected. Based on your letter, I assumed that you were a spinster, but you are very young.”

“I am almost eighteen,” I said, trying to sit even straighter and give the impression of age and maturity. It was less than half a year until my eighteenth birthday, so I felt I was stretching the truth only slightly.

She raised an eyebrow but made no comment. “Your letter says you have tutored young ladies and young gentlemen. You are comfortable with both?”

“Yes,” I said with a nod. “And a variety of ages, as well.”

“Yet you have not attended a university yourself? Nor school of any kind?”

“My father is a professor at Yale. He believed he could teach me more effectively than any school. I had received the equivalent of a university education by the time I was sixteen, and I had begun tutoring younger children long before that.”

For a moment, her face softened. “You must not have had much of a childhood.” That had never occurred to me because I liked books and learning, but the note of pity in her voice made me realize the loss. She quickly stiffened back into her imposing form. “Lord Henry was impressed with that portion of your letter.” Although that should have been a positive sign, I got the strangest impression that she didn't want her employer to be in favor of me.

The maid entered with a tea tray, and the interview paused while Mrs. Talbot poured and the maid served sandwiches. When the maid left, Mrs. Talbot continued, “The reason I am concerned about your age, in spite of your impressive academic achievements, is that the position is not purely that of governess. You would serve as chaperone for the older children, and that requires a certain degree of maturity.” She tilted her head and studied me for a moment. “You do not appear to be the flighty type, but I worry that you would not have the necessary air of authority with the children.”

“I am capable of being quite stern,” I assured her. “The children are not particularly wild, are they?”

A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. “No, not wild. But they may be challenging. Lady Olive is six and requires a full range of instruction. She is the one who needs a governess. Lady Flora, the eldest, is sixteen and in need of a good example, according to Lord Henry. Lord Roland is thirteen and attends school, but Lord Henry believes his education needs supplementation.” Lord Henry sounded a lot like my father. “Both of the elder children must be chaperoned at any social events.”