Rebel Mechanics (6 page)

As if reading my mind, Lord Henry said, “We should all have behaved better for Miss Newton's first dinner with us. She must think we've escaped from the zoo.”

“You three, perhaps,” Flora said with a sniff. “
I've
been perfectly civilized.”

“Why don't you tell us something of yourself, Miss Newton?” Lord Henry asked.

I took a sip of water to buy myself time to think. “My father is a professor and taught me the way he taught his students, starting when I was very young. I've done some tutoring and teaching myself. And now, here I am,” I said, unsure what else I could say.

“But why did you decide to come here and be a governess?” Flora asked. “Couldn't you find a husband? Or is that why you're here?”

“Flora!” her uncle chided.

I looked directly at Flora and said, “My mother passed away recently after a yearlong illness, through which I nursed her. I needed a change of environment after that.” Flora's haughty expression melted into a guilty wince.

Lord Henry jumped in to salvage the awkward moment, saying, “Miss Newton is quite well-read. Perhaps if you spend time with her, you'll learn to talk about something other than what color dress you'll be wearing.”

Flora's glare chilled me. I could tell she had no desire to chat with me about anything and she resented the implication that I was in any way superior to her. “Well,
obviously
she won't be able to chat with me about dresses,” she said with a toss of her hair. I had to admit she was right. I'd worn my most professional-looking gray dress, but even my fanciest party frock would look mousy next to Flora's day dress.

Lord Henry didn't seem to realize that she'd insulted me, and I supposed that in his world there was nothing wrong with not being able to discuss dresses. “There are many more worthy topics of conversation,” he said. “I'm sure you'll soon realize that.”

Not likely,
said Flora's sidelong glance at me, and I hoped my performance wouldn't be evaluated based on my success with her.

As we left the dining room after the meal, Lord Henry stopped me. “I'm sure you've had a very long day. You're free for the rest of the evening. Breakfast is served in the breakfast room beginning at seven—I'm an early riser—and Rollo must be at school by nine. Mrs. Talbot will give you directions so you don't have to rely on him.” He added with a crooked smile, “He'd probably lead you to the airfield or the docks and claim it was his school.”

*   *   *

The next morning, I found the breakfast room with only a few wrong turns. Lord Henry was already there, sitting alone at the table. He glanced up from his newspaper as I entered and greeted me with a smile. “Good morning, Miss Newton. I trust you slept well. Your room is comfortable?”

“Yes, very, thank you.”

“Breakfast is on the sideboard. Would you care for coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please.”

He gestured to a footman, who left and then reappeared a moment later with a pot of tea and a cup on a tray, along with a small rack of toast. Rollo soon entered the room, yawning loudly. He wore a school uniform with a wide white collar, and his hair was slicked tight against his head. He filled his plate with food, then sat beside his uncle, appropriating a section of the newspaper that Lord Henry had already read and put aside. Rollo hadn't read much before he shouted, “Ye gods!”

“Rollo, language,” his uncle corrected without raising his eyes from the newspaper.

“But, Uncle Henry, the Masked Bandits struck again yesterday!”

I couldn't resist looking at Lord Henry to see his reaction. He didn't show the slightest sign that this story affected him. His eyes didn't widen, narrow, or blink, and his face didn't redden or pale. No muscles twitched or tightened. He merely kept reading as he took a sip of tea and said, “Really?” in a tone of polite disinterest.

“Yes! They robbed a train!” Rollo frowned as he read some more, then his eyebrows rose. “Hey, it was the train from New Haven. Miss Newton, didn't you come from New Haven? Was that your train?”

“I suppose it could have been,” I said, trying to imitate Lord Henry's disinterested tone while surreptitiously watching him from beneath my eyelashes. “But it was a very big train, with many cars.”

“Oh.” Rollo sounded so disappointed that I was tempted to tell him about my adventure.

“There's an article about a new model of airship,” Lord Henry said. “It's on page three.” He knew exactly how to distract his nephew. Rollo eagerly turned to that page and became lost in the newspaper. Once Olive came skipping into the room, she took over the conversational burden, chattering amiably about any number of seemingly unrelated topics, to which her elders responded with nods and vague noises.

Lord Henry checked his watch, then said, “Rollo, you'd best leave for school. I'll save the newspaper for you.” He nodded at the footman, who tugged on the bellpull on the wall.

Mrs. Talbot appeared and handed me a neatly drawn map. “This is the way to Rollo's school. It isn't far.”

“I can show her,” Olive said. “I know the way.”

Rollo whirled to face his uncle. “I have to have the
governess
walk me to school?”

“You know very well that you don't go out without a chaperone,” Lord Henry said.

“But you've been coming with me.” I now understood Rollo's dismay. Walking to school with his uncle must have felt like a manly outing, but walking with the governess would make him feel like a child again.

Lord Henry's face softened slightly, so he must have understood as well. “I may still, when my schedule permits, but it is Miss Newton's job, and you will go with her.” His voice grew slightly sharper with the last phrase, making it an order.

Rollo sighed dejectedly, and I hurried to say, “Olive and I will be taking a morning walk before we begin lessons. Would you be so kind as to escort us as far as your school?”

Rollo gave me a frown before saying, “I would be honored.” Lord Henry mumbled a goodbye without looking up from his newspaper. Olive took my hand as we left the house, and Rollo held his elbow out for me to take.

I felt so very grownup and responsible in my first official task as governess. Then I wondered if there was something I should be doing. I supposed I should be getting better acquainted with my charges. “What is your favorite subject in school?” I asked Rollo.

“Mathematics. I want to be an engineer, but Father said that was no occupation for a gentleman. It's a trade, and a marquis isn't supposed to pursue a trade.” His eyes lit up. “Maybe the Rebel Mechanics really will start a revolution, and then I won't be noble anymore and I can do anything I want!”

“I'm telling Uncle!” Olive said. “You're not supposed to talk like that!”

“Olive, no one likes a tattletale,” I scolded gently. “I am present, and I will decide what needs to be told. I don't think Rollo meant anything by it.”

After we saw Rollo safely into the care of his headmaster, Olive and I headed home, taking a different route along a more commercial street. That pleased her immensely, as she enjoyed looking in the shop windows, and I was glad of the excuse to do so myself. With such shops selling so many wonderful things, I could see how Flora could have an entire conversation about clothing.

“I got a doll for Christmas from this store,” Olive informed me in a running commentary as we walked. “Flora buys her gloves here. She got a hat here once, but she didn't like it, and she told everyone else how awful it was, so nobody else bought hats here, and now it's not a hat shop anymore. It's a shoe shop. I don't know if their shoes are good, though. I don't think we've ever bought anything there. Do you like shopping, Miss Newton?”

“I haven't done much of it.”

“Don't go with Flora. It's
boring
because she won't make up her mind and she has to look at
everything
. Maybe you could take me shopping.”

“We'll see.”

Apparently taking my noncommittal answer as an affirmative, she began skipping and singing, “We're going shopping! We're going shopping!”

Although I had worked as a tutor, I hadn't the least notion of the extent of a governess's duties. Was I responsible for Olive's deportment, and what were the boundaries of acceptable behavior? Should I consider skipping and singing harmless childish high spirits or unladylike actions that must be corrected?

I was still wrestling with this dilemma when I heard a voice calling my name. I turned to see a newspaper boy standing on the corner. “Nat!” I said with a smile. It was reassuring to see a familiar face.

“Good morning to you, Verity,” he said. With a glance at Olive, he added, “I take it you got the job.”

“Yes, I did. Olive, this is my friend Nat. Nat, this is Lady Olive Lyndon, my pupil.” I realized that it might be improper to introduce Olive to a nonmagical boy, but since she was only six, I decided not to worry. Olive gave a pretty curtsy and bobbed her head so that her ringlets bounced.

“You'll want to read the newspaper this morning, Verity,” Nat said with a wink. I felt I owed him at least the price of a newspaper after he'd helped me the day before, so I fished a penny out of my pocket and handed it to him. He presented a copy of the
World
to me with a bow. My father had subscribed to the
Herald
, and that had been the newspaper at the breakfast table that morning. Given Nat's association with the rebels, I assumed that the
World
must take a more radical editorial approach. Feeling a little uneasy about how acceptable such a paper might be, I folded it with the headlines inside and tucked it under my arm.

Nat's eyes widened, and he hissed, “Cross the street, Verity.”

There was so much fear and tension in his face and voice that I didn't hesitate or ask questions. I clutched Olive's hand and darted with her across the street. Once we were safely on the opposite side, I looked back to see a pair of policemen approaching Nat. One of them grabbed a newspaper out of his hands, read the front page, then rolled it up and smacked him on the head with it.

“What's this, then?” the policeman snarled. “Selling sedition, are you, boy? This paper doesn't have the royal stamp on it, so it's not legal to sell. Did you know that?”

“I don't know anything about stamps,” Nat cried. “I just sell papers.”

The policeman backhanded him across the face, then sent him sprawling with a rough shove. I was so outraged to see a child treated this way that I ran back across the street to go to his aid, entirely forgetting that I still held Olive's hand.

 

IN WHICH I AM A RESCUER AND AM RESCUED

“Leave that boy alone!” I shouted as I ran. “He's not responsible for what's in the newspaper.”

When the policemen turned their attention to me, I belatedly realized that I'd dragged Olive into the confrontation. She stood beside me, staring wide-eyed at the proceedings. “And who might you be, miss?” one of the policemen growled at me as, behind him, Nat climbed to his feet and brushed himself off.

I didn't want to associate my employer's name with my impetuousness, but that became a moot point when Olive said, “She's my governess and I'm Lady Olive Lyndon. You were being mean to that boy, and that's
wrong
. Uncle says if you hit people who are weaker than you are, you're a
bully
.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep a straight face, and Nat looked as though he might burst from holding back laughter. The policemen were stunned into silence, which Olive then filled by adding, “And I have magical powers.” The situation was so ridiculous that the tension eased.

The policeman who'd addressed me gave Olive a courteous bow and said, “My apologies, your ladyship.” To Nat, he said, “I'll have to confiscate your papers.” He and his partner picked up the stack of newspapers at Nat's feet and, with one last glare at the boy, headed off.

“Thanks, Verity, you're a real piston,” Nat said.

“No, she's not. She's a governess,” Olive informed him.

“I'm sorry about your newspapers,” I said.

He shrugged. “I can get more.” He added with a grin, “This happens all the time when you're selling an unauthorized publication.”

“What's ‘unauthorized'?” Olive asked.

“It means the government hasn't approved it,” I explained. “Come along now, Olive. Good day, Nat.”

“Good day to you, Verity, and Olive, my heroine.” He gave her a formal bow.

“What's a heroine?” Olive asked, resuming her skipping as we crossed the street.

“It means you're a very brave young lady who stands up for what's right.”

“Oh, Uncle will like that.” I groaned inwardly. I didn't want Lord Henry to know that I'd brought his niece into conflict with the police on my first day, but the way Olive talked, he might not hear half of what she said, and if I asked her not to tell, it would look even worse if the story came out. “Why did that boy call you Verity?” she asked.

“That's my name.”

“I thought your name was Miss Newton.”

“My Christian name is Verity, like your name is Olive. It's Latin for ‘truth.'” My name was rather ironic, given my origins. I suspected my name had been my father's cruel joke on my mother.

“Verity, Verity, Verity,” she chanted as she skipped. “Will I learn Latin?”

“Yes, you will.”

“All of Uncle's bugs have Latin names.” She giggled. “You have a Latin name, so maybe you're one of Uncle's bugs!”

Lord Henry nearly ran into us on the front steps when we returned to the house. He had his nose in a book, and an older man behind him caught him by the back of his coat in time to prevent a collision. Lord Henry didn't seem to notice. The man with him nodded a “good day” to us before he released Lord Henry's coat.