The Transference Engine (33 page)

“And I will never, ever, willingly help build another.” I clamped my teeth on that statement and deliberately looked away from my coffee cup that had begun to hum in the back of my mind. Instead, I signaled the coffee master that I needed a fresh cup. This one had gone cold.

“If we must attend the musicale, I suppose we should return home to change.” Ada didn't look happy about that. “I presume you found the components for the miniature Leyden jar during your errands?”

“Yes,” I replied with satisfaction and dismissed the coffee master with a gesture. “But I think I would like to consult your solicitor on the way. I have an interest in buying this property. I could do much with the ambiance, the space above and below stairs, and I'd serve better pastry.” Lots and lots of lovely space above for living and entertaining. Even more space in the cellars for my special project. I'd checked.

“You are a wonderful cook, Miss Elise. But surely you will remain with me. You don't need a business. I will take care of you.” Ada took my arm, holding me close to her side.

“But soon you will marry.” I'd seen it in the dancing coffee. Dancing while the world burned to cinders . . . “You will not need your old governess when you have a husband and children. You barely need me now.”

“You are more than my governess. You are my greatest friend. And . . . and I'd like you to stay with me forever, as my companion. Not that I believe I shall ever marry. I've never met a man more interesting than the mathematical challenges Mr. Babbage presents me. And I doubt that Mother will ever approve of any suitor. My father frightened her so badly she doesn't like men much at all.”

We both knew the truth of that.

“Glass beads, Elise? Surely my wardrobe budget extends beyond glass beads!” Ada stamped her foot and glared at me as I put the finishing touches on her ensemble. She lifted the chain of crescent moon beads with disdain. Each bit of copper-colored glass bore the impression of an eight-pointed star—a Romany symbol of safe haven. “My father was a baron. My mother is the Baroness Wentworth in her own right. We have a position to maintain.”

“Yes, you do. And you can't do that if you are dead or held captive by the enemy.” I drew a copper wire from the pendant bead—a disk cunningly designed so that the brilliant red-gold starburst in the center drew the eye and the clear background disappeared—and touched it to the top of the miniature Leyden jar secreted in Miss Ada's scant cleavage. Fortunately, this year fashions called for frilled tuckers draped over the shoulder and nesting at the top of the bodice. Plenty of places to discreetly hide the components of my invention. Or weapons.

As the wires touched chemicals in the jar, electricity arced through the beads and down the copper wires woven into the white gauze overlay on the dress. The younger son of a lord who dabbled in these things promised me that as long as the circuit was complete the carbon fiber within the necklace would react with the glass and the copper.

I didn't understand it all. But I trusted Andrew Fitzandrew to know what he was doing. Sir Drew always knew what he was doing. Delicious man.

Ada gasped as the glass beads glowed and the gown shimmered with scintillating sparks. “It . . . it is gorgeous, Elise.” Amazing how she took interest in her appearance once we started the dressing process. I trusted that she would also become interested in men once presented with one who had an adequate understanding of mathematics.

“I have it on good authority that Princess Victoria will attend the musicale tonight.”

“
Merde!
” Ada exploded. Her left hand went to the beads and threatened to rip them from her throat. “That means
her
mother will be there, and therefore
my
mother and her Furies will also be present.”

“Your lady mother has high hopes to become a lady-in-waiting . . .” She sought royal protection for her daughter.

“And all London knows that will never happen. My father's scandals will prevent either of us ever being fully accepted in proper society.”

“Ah, but one can always be a fashion setter and slide into society by a back door,” I soothed her. I'd already started the process for myself.

“I know that half smile and lowered eyes, Elise. What are you planning?”

“I am only a simple governess. I have not the means nor the cunning to plan anything more elaborate than a lovely gown for my charge.” I could not meet her eyes.

“And will Miss Elise fade into the wallpaper tonight while Madame Magdala stands at the center of the room demanding more attention than the soprano hired to entertain?” She smirked.

“I did not know that you knew . . .”

“Of course I know. Now what are you planning and how does it involve the
Café du Paris
?”

“The way light changes when passing through the windows of the café made me think about how the room will change if we replace those thick and wavy panes with larger, thinner, and clearer ones.”

I didn't need to say anything more. Miss Ada's fertile imagination started thinking about light and the mathematics of light and how to apply them to some new invention.

I disconnected the wires on the gown's electricity and shooed her out into the evening fog. A real pea souper tonight with cold sea mist mixing with the coal smoke that permeated the air. We covered our faces with finely woven veils to keep as much of the poisonous air out of our lungs as possible. All the new inventions required power, power generated by steam, fueled by coal . . . “We'll take a proper hansom cab with a real horse pulling it,” I announced.

“But the carriages pulled by steam-powered horses are so much more efficient, and warmer,” Ada protested, coming out of her obsession for a moment.

“A real horse can smell the presence of other vehicles and avoid crashing. A steam machine cannot,” I huffed.

“Machines will always prove more efficient,” she returned.

The horse got us to the private residence of the Countess of Kirkenwood in good time. We passed three steam carriages that had collided with each other, gas lamps, and pedestrians along the way.

“If I'd known you intended the necklace for another, I would not have given it quite so much tender, loving care,” Sir Andrew Fitzandrew whispered from behind me. I felt more than saw the heat of his gaze on my lace-draped cleavage. Society might dictate that a mere governess needed to wear sober black. That didn't mean I had to remain meek in an ugly gown.

I'd noted Sir Drew's arrival and his position in Lady Kirkenwood's crowded ballroom the moment he arrived, just as we took seats for the performance. That he was the only person present taller than me helped in my observation. The countess had converted the space into an auditorium with straight lines of straighter chairs made barely comfortable with red velvet cushions. As chaperone to Miss Ada, I had to sit next to the girl in a prominent place in the third row, no matter how tight and uncomfortable. I couldn't see behind me to discover if Sir Drew had bothered to try and fit on one of the chairs, or stood against the wall instead.

Lord William King sat in the same row as we did. I'd made sure of that, so that Miss Ada could translate the Italian aria for him, if he required.

During the intermission, I stood near the wall beside the dowagers where I could watch the entire room and make certain that Lord William King made polite conversation with Ada and two other young couples, but did not become too forward.

“I needed all of your tender loving care to go into that necklace,” I replied to Sir Drew. He stood a little too close for proper polite society. His body warmth filled my back and slid through many of my senses. Lovely man.

“She does glow quite nicely,” Sir Drew admitted. “Brilliant idea, touch her gown and the too forward admirer suffers a shock. Aim a pistol at her and you can't be certain where she is or was or will be because of the afterimage. Lord William is entranced. But does he see the young woman beneath or merely the lovely shimmer that lingers behind every time she moves?”

Mr. Charles Babbage wandered into the ballroom, stout, clumsily dressed, red-faced, and stinking drunk. He clung to a sheaf of papers and headed straight for Miss Ada.

“Excuse me, Sir Andrew. A new guest has arrived. I must attend.” Curses in every one of the five languages I spoke—one cannot grow up in Switzerland knowing how to converse with any less.

“This is not the time to discuss business,” I said sternly as I took Babbage's elbow with both hands and steered him back to the dowagers' wall.

“But I must . . .”

“Not now, Mr. Babbage. You will make a fool of yourself.” I put all of Madame Magdala's force of personality and authority into my words and my grip on him, even though tonight I was supposed to be the invisible governess.

Sir Drew had turned away, so I did not have his company to help keep Babbage away from Ada. Besides, I needed a few words of my own with the inventor.

“How are you progressing with your Difference Engine?” I asked, standing squarely between him and the rest of the party.

“It is of no consequence. I have new plans, a new machine that is even better.” He gestured widely, sending several pages skittering across the floor. “I must enlist Lord William King as an investor. This may be my only opportunity . . .”

“You do not have the opportunity tonight,” I insisted. “No one will invest in your new machine until the first one is built and proven successful.”

“But . . . my Analytical Machine is so much more important . . .”

“Not to men who want to see a return on their investment before giving you more money.”

We argued for several more minutes. The man was more inflexible than my corset! He had brilliant ideas and some aptitude but no follow through. I felt sorry for his wife.

“Excuse me, just one moment,” I begged, searching frantically for Sir Drew. He stood only five steps away, speaking flirtatiously with our hostess. He was an expert at flirting, as I knew all too well.

“Sir Drew,” I said a little too loudly. Still holding Mr. Babbage by the elbow, I dragged him behind me. “Do you have a moment to . . . um explain the concept behind Miss Byron's unique necklace?” I didn't have time to wait for a reply. I had to intercept the newest guests.

“Lady Byron.” I dipped a curtsy directly in front of my employer. “What a surprise to see you here. If you had informed Miss Ada of your plans, perhaps we could have shared a carriage.”

Lady Byron's Furies, er . . . two companions, delicate Mrs. Carr, and fierce Miss Frend, tried to edge around me, barely acknowledging me with a nod. They had their sights set on Miss Ada and Lord William. From their frowns, I knew they disapproved of him. They disapproved of every male of the species. In the ten years I'd been with Miss Ada, I'd never heard a kind word about any man from these three. But they rarely graced our establishment with their presence. Lady Byron preferred adult company (but only of females) to that of children.

She also felt that by dividing the household she could keep Ada's location a secret from those who wished her harm.

“What are you about, Miss Elise?” Lady Byron hissed.

I suppressed the angry growl in the back of my throat. Tonight I had to present myself as a civilized human, not a tigress defending her cub in the wild jungles of India.

“About, Lady Byron?” I used my superior height to look down my long nose at her. Once, she'd been beautiful and vibrant. Lord Byron had destroyed that. “Why, I'm paying my respects as is proper. I'm sorry you missed the first aria. Madame Louisa has an amazing range and breath control.” She also had an impressive bosom. Sir Drew was making note of it right now.

A quick glance showed me that Princess Victoria and her mother, the Duchess of Kent, emerged from the refreshment room with a near complete entourage of ladies.

The Furies tugged at Lady Byron's sleeve to direct her attention toward the real purpose of their visit. All three hastened toward the guests of honor, dyed ostrich feathers in their gauzy turbans bobbing like the topknot of an officious rare bird.