The Lady Astronomer (3 page)

“Let me see your telescope.”

He handed it to her and she turned it over
in her hands, examining every inch.

“Mr. W, have you heard the story of
the man who had a pain in his eye each time he took a sip of tea from his fine
bone china teacup?”

“I’m not sure that I have, and I like
a good story.”

“Well, this man, too, went to his
doctor and, as in your case, the doctor told him that there was nothing wrong
with his eye. After further head-scratching, beard stroking, and general
rumination, the doctor asked the patient this: are you quite sure, sir, that
you take your spoon out of the teacup after placing sugar in said cup?”

Mr. W looked at her blankly.

Lucretia cleared her throat. “Mr. W,
the man in the story had forgotten to take the spoon out of the cup, and every
time he took a sip of his beverage the offending piece of cutlery poked him in
the eye.”

“I don’t understand.”

Slowly, as if she was talking to a toddler,
Lucretia continued. “Mr. W, rather than leaving your spoon in your cup,
you are forgetting something with your telescope, which is in full working
order from what I can see.”

“I am?”

“You are.”

“But I was not told, when instructed
on its use by your brother, that there was anything else I needed to do.”

“There is, sir.”

“There is?”

“Indeed, sir. You need to take the
protective cloth from the top of the telescope before you try to view the night
sky.”

“Oh,” replied Mr. W, somewhat
weakly.

“Like so.” Lucretia removed the
cloth and handed the telescope back.

“Thank you, my dear. I feel rather
foolish.”

“Not at all, anyone could make a
similar mistake.”

Freddie showed the man from the shop before
collapsing in giggles.

“Lucretia! You charmer! I should have
had you write to the king! Anyone could make a similar mistake indeed! And
using that awful old joke as a parable!” He wiped the tears of mirth from
his eyes.

“If you think that’s bad, you should
just see the hat I made for his wife.”

“No, really?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Oh, please put me out of my misery!
Tell!”

“Picture this…a hat. One hat. On which
is placed miniatures of the solar system, a scattering of stars, the moon, and
a tiny copy of Orion the owl.”

“No!” Freddie’s giggles poured
forth in a torrent.

“Yes.” Lucretia grinned.

“Oh, stop, my stomach hurts. How could
you?”

“And how could you not tell that man
to take the protective cloth off first?”

“I’m sure I did, you know.”

“Really?”

“Truly.”

“Honestly?”

“Oh, I might have forgotten.”

“It’s just as well that we are leaving
town!”

“Oh, dear me, I will miss our
customers.”

“Just think, we could have made a
fortune, thanks to all the gossips and our new royal association.”

“Ah yes, but we will be nearer to the man
Himself than any of them are likely to get.”

“Marvellous,” muttered Lucretia, at
a bit of a loss to explain why the thoughts of their new venture should create
such a queasy feeling in her stomach.

*

Al looked up from his work at the tinkling
of the bell.

The countertop was scattered with tiny
cogs, gears, and levers. He held a magnifying glass in one hand and tweezers in
the other.

His clockwork orchestra was almost
complete, and he breathed deeply to banish the hot feeling that suffused him
whenever he felt himself getting cross. However, the flush kept rising and he
fell victim to agitation, tapping his foot behind the counter. The idea of the
move was upsetting him more than he had thought, not least because he would now
have to travel during the Music Season and play his violin wherever he might be
invited. He hated travelling with a vengeance, and although nobody knew it, he
was more than a little afraid of horses with their weirdly spindly legs and
chunky teeth. He shuddered. When they had lived in Germany before coming to
Bath, Al had been bitten by a horse. On the rump. He still had the scars to
prove it. He rubbed his buttock in remembered pain.

“Can I help you?” Al watched a
fabulously hatted woman stride up to him. He willed the flush to die down and
his foot to relax.

“You must be the other Mr. H?”

“Indeed, madam, and do I spy my sister’s
handiwork in the planets of your hat?”

“You do indeed, sir,” she
simpered. And then her face fell.

“But, madam.” He walked out from
behind the counter. “Whatever is the matter?”

“I seem to have misplaced my husband,
Mr. W. He was seeing the other Mr. H, your brother, but the Telescope Emporium
is quite shut up and he’s not there.”

“I’m sure he will be along.”

They looked up to the tinkling of the bell.
“Mrs. W, there you are dear. What a hat I say, what a hat!”

“I thought I had lost you, Mr. W. The
way her face brightened at the sight of him up betrayed her stern tone.

“I think it may be time for a nice cup
of tea for you two,” interrupted Al, eager to get the pair out of his
shop. He ushered them through the door. Once they had crossed the threshold and
were on the street, he closed it behind them and leaned against it in relief.

Peace, at last. It was something Al got
precious little of, what with the bombastic Freddie and enquiring Lucretia, not
to mention the animals that shared their home. He would have to ensure that his
workshop at the new house was kept private.

On went his thoughts as he tinkered with
the tiny pieces that made up the monkey drummer. With infinite care and
patience, he fixed the last part to the brass creature. He stood up straight,
rubbing at the small of his back.

“Now, my little friends.” He
placed his orchestra in order on the worktop, the woodwinds, brass, percussion,
and strings in their correct places.

It was a smaller orchestra than usual, with
twenty four clockwork animals and their respective instruments. Monkeys were to
play the drums, elephants the brass, owls the woodwinds and cats the strings.
He would conduct.

Al wound up all the creatures and one by
one they came to life, looking around and warming up, a cacophony of sound. He
improvised with a length of brass tubing as a baton and tapped it three times.
The noise quieted.

He cleared his throat, raised the baton and
his other hand, and laid down the time and tune for the orchestra.

The sweet swells of music grew around him so
he did not hear the bell above the door tinkle once more to announce the
arrival of another visitor.

Al jumped as a hand came down on his
shoulder. He turned around quickly to see who it was, baton held in front of
him like a sword.

“Sir! I did not mean to alarm you!
Please, put that away.”

Al turned back to his orchestra and they
stopped playing at a stroke, chattering amongst themselves waiting for his next
command.

“I thought the door was locked.”
He regained his composure but his heart still thumped.

“I do apologise.” The man removed
his hat and bowed low.

“No harm done, I’m sure,” replied
Al. “And now, how can I help you?”

“Your orchestra, is it for sale?”

“No, I’m afraid not. It is only just
finished and I will need–no doubt–to make adjustments.”

“A great pity. But if you should ever
decide to sell? I came for my violin please, the one that you made for me.”

Al went behind the counter and lifted one
from the shelf.

“Mr. W, is it not?”

“It is.” Mr. W beamed. “I am
in town with my brother and sister-in-law and am to join them for tea
presently.” He took the newly made instrument and bow from Al, placed it
under his chin, and commenced playing.

The screech that assaulted Al’s ears made
him wince. The clockwork orchestra looked around in alarm before jumping from
the counter top and running for cover.

“Stop!”

Mr. W took the instrument from under his
chin and laid it down on the counter top. His attention was soon drawn to
another violin, with the words ‘self-playing’ written underneath it. He walked
over to it, picked it up, placed the bow on the strings, and as he played started
to panic as the bow went faster and faster, smoke rising from it and sparks
dropping to the wooden floor below.

“It was broken!” Al was frantic. “Here
to be fixed!”

Mr. W threw the instrument to the floor and
ran outside, slamming the door behind him, eager to be as far from the fire as
quickly as possible.

As Al searched desperately for his orchestra
members, torn between saving them, the shop, and himself, the smoke thickened
and blackened. His eyes streamed and his throat tightened. It was impossible
not to panic as his vision faded and his head sang as if filled with bees. Al
faltered as he tried to reach the door and freedom from the roiling fumes.

“Al!” He heard, dimly, Freddie
and Lucretia shouting from outside as they thumped on the door. “Lucretia,
I can’t get the door open! Run for help! Quick as you can! Al!”

The smoke overcame him and he fell to the
floor, senseless.

In Which The Nightingale Sings
The Citizens Of Bath
A Message
Scanning The Skies
The Move

The funeral dirge was led by the twin
elephants Castor and Pollux, who took turns conducting with their trunks.
Sombre in tone and timbre, the tubular resonators and kettle drums mimicked a
heart beating its last, the woodwinds a final breath, and the strings the tears
that would surely follow the demise of such a loved one.

Al’s siblings stood outside the Emporium in
shock.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” Lucretia
coughed. “He’s not quite a goner yet, you silly little creatures. Now,
enough of the sighing and mithering. Elephants, use your trunks. Yes, your
trunks. Monkeys, climb in search of water. Owls, fetch buckets. Cats, cats…”
She rubbed her temples.

“Lucretia, hurry!” An agitated
Freddie spluttered through the fumes now coming from the bottom of the
blistering wooden door.

“Cats, yes, use your marvellous paws
and fast brains to help us to get this door open!” Flattery would get her
everywhere. “Go! Well?”

The elephants seemed unsure of their task,
milling round in a tiny herd.

“Look,” she said, squatting down
on the pavement, not minding that the hem of her dress was getting dusty…but
then she never minded. “Your friends the monkeys find the water, the owls
the buckets, and you fill the buckets with the water using your trunks, and
then come back here where we can use you as hoses to put out this fire. Right?”

The tiny feet of the orchestra clattered
down the cobblestones.

Freddie, usually the most unruffled of
personages, was looking ruffled. The door would not budge.

Lucretia sighed, loudly. “This is not
getting us anywhere. Freddie, give me your jacket.” He hesitated. “Now.”
She tried to hide her rising fear, swallowing down the panic until it lodged
somewhere in her chest, making it even more difficult to breathe.

“Undress in the middle of the street? You
have got to be joking!”

“Freddie, our brother is in there as
flames engulf the shop and the smoke overcomes him. Damn decorum and give me
your bloody jacket!”

She wrapped the jacket around her arm and
hand, and then drove her fist through the pane of glass in the door. The glass
shattered and fell to the ground with a satisfying tinkle.

Lucretia threw Freddie’s jacket to the
ground, totally ignored his protests and snaked her arm through.
What an
incorrigible dandy
. If only she could find the key. Ah-ha! She turned it.
Nothing happened.

“Oh, Freddie, it’s not even locked!”

“Of course it’s not locked. Stand back.”
Freddie stepped back and took a run at the door. It opened under the onslaught,
but just a little. “It must have expanded. I can’t squeeze through there.”

As he rubbed his shoulder, Lucretia
squeezed in and made her way, with eyes watering and throat closing, to where
Al lay.

The clockwork cats slinked through her
ankles to pull at Al’s jacket with their teeth. “Mew!” demanded the
largest. She helped the fiddling felines pull her brother to the door.

“Freddie! I can’t get the door to open
any further!”

“Heave!”

The elephants, monkeys, and owls who had
returned with the water and buckets did so. The door opened with a sickening
grating noise along the buckled wooden floor. Freddie reached in and lifted Al
as Lucretia made her way back onto the street. She bent double and coughed.