CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A Velocipede from the Viscount

 “Uh…uh…uchoo!” was all she could utter when Patrick Sinclair opened the Gothic ledge-and-brace door, nimbly avoiding her sputum by stepping behind its ancient planks.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fenice. May I take your coat?”

In the short time it took for the craftswoman to blow her nose, a puddle of rain formed around the soles of her leather boots. Hadley peeled off her wool coat, which had gained five pounds of water weight from the walk up the driveway and was beginning to smell of wet dog. Grasping it by the collar, the butler stared at the cloak before turning to the puddle below it. He led her into the parlor and draped her coat on the fireplace screen, hoping it would dry without needing to be wrung out. As Patrick left to fetch Lord Sorrell, she shuddered and rubbed her clammy arms in front of the hearth. Adam’s hand-me-downs clung to her form, chilling her to the bone despite the house’s warmth. With a trembling hand, she removed the oversized cap that hid her braided and pinned hair and laid it beside her coat to dry.

This was the same parlor she had been in during their first consultation, when she was certain the business would soon be gone like her brother. She had been so anxious that she barely registered her surroundings or remembered what she had seen apart from Lord Sorrell’s face at the end of her gun. As Hadley looked around the room, she felt as if the furniture belonged to another man. The ceiling was framed with sturdy beams of timber to form an intricately coffered lattice that matched the dark stain of the floor boards. One wall was dominated by expansive mullioned windows with the heavy curtains drawn back to reveal the drab May afternoon. Sallow, pattering rain beat and slid against the wavy glass, transforming the hills and city beyond into impressionistic blurs of green and grey. The manor stood alone, an anachronistic fortress of medieval nobility in a world of imperial frivolity. Everything that was part of the house itself reminded her of its inhabitant, but the furniture, while of good quality and taste, did not fit the room. While the fire thawed her hands, Hadley tried to figure out what bothered her so much about the room. Then, it dawned on her, it lacked any personal touches or hints of Eilian’s personality. Neither the walls nor the surfaces of the side tables and mantle contained any portraits or trinkets from his travels. The parlor was merely a set, perfectly emulating what would be found in an upper class parlor of any respectable residence.

“Miss Fenice,” the archaeologist cried, breaking her train of thought, “you are positively drenched!” He reached for the bell-rope but instead turned and yelled down the hall, “Pat, grab a blanket with the tea! Would you like a change of clothes? You can use some of mine.”

“Th— thank you, sir, but I— I am all right. A blanket or towel will be more than sufficient,” she answered through shivers.

With his arm in a tight sling across his chest, he rummaged through the decorative chest under the window. He was missing his jacket and tie, but somehow this state of under-dress suited him. “What happened?”

“The steamer I hired broke down half a mile from here. Rather than wait for the driver to fix it, I decided to walk. Unfortunately, the rain grew heavier as I grew closer.”

As the butler came in with a tea tray and a crocheted blanket slung over his arm, Eilian Sorrell led her to the armchair near the fire and retrieved the blanket from Patrick’s arm. With one hand, he tried to shake it open and drape it around her but only succeeded in dropping it onto her lap. With a smile, Hadley wrapped the mantle around her shoulders like a shawl before digging through her satchel for the molded and stitched piece of leather that formed the anchor piece of his outer prosthesis.

“How is your arm, Mr. Sorrell?” she asked as he sat on the sofa and poured her a cup of tea, doctoring it the way she liked it with cream.

“It still hurts quite a bit, but I am no longer taking anything for the pain. Next week, the stitches will be removed if all goes well,” he replied with a grin as he sat back, leaving the saucer behind as he drank. “So what brings you here today, Miss Fenice?”

“I brought part of the prosthesis for you to try on. I made it a little large to accommodate a stocking, but I want to make sure it is not too loose. Are you up to trying it on? If it is too painful, I can come back after your stitches are removed. Before I finish the other pieces, I want to make sure it fits or if I need to resize it.”

“As long as the sutures are not disturbed, I should be fine.”

Once they finished their tea, the inventor perched beside Eilian and slowly rolled up his sleeve. She was pleasantly surprised to find that his arm was only swollen near the point at which the titanium rod emerged from his flesh while his upper arm appeared naturally shapely like its twin. Gingerly drawing his elbow from the sling but leaving the metal portion still resting in its cotton hammock, she cautiously began to slide the leather bracer on. The hide refused to budge at all. The opening was so tight she couldn’t even get it onto his arm unless she used force. Without alerting the viscount to the issue, she stretched and cracked the stiff fabric behind her back, but upon trying it again, his arm was still far from fitting into the couter. Hadley had some choice words for her mistake but instead expressed her frustration with a growling huff.

“Mr. Sorrell, is your arm still swollen?”

The young man glanced at his limb and shook his head. It had to be swollen, there was no other explanation. Hadley dug through her bag to find her notebook and measuring tape. After taking the dimensions of the interior of the bracer, she confirmed it was the correct size, so the leather hadn’t shrunk. The craftswoman then looped the tape around his upper arm and sighed. She had been foolish not to realize his arm muscles would shift after the surgery, causing his arm to drastically change in size compared to how it was before the implantation of the prosthesis. According to her measurements, it now nearly matched his intact limb.

“I am so sorry, sir, but somehow I did not take into account the structural changes your arm would undergo after the operation. I will not be able to do anything until your stitches come out. Recasting the remainder of your arm is probably the only way for me to make a brace that will fit correctly,” she explained with a calm authority that she hoped masked her embarrassment over making such an obvious mistake.

“Well, mistakes happen. At least you caught it before it was finished. I will send you a note when James removes my stitches, so you can let me know when you have time in your schedule to do the casting.” Eilian’s eyes trailed out to the grey landscape beyond the mullioned windows as the rain and gusty wind pelted the windows. Miss Fenice had already fixed his sleeve and was beginning to pack up when he worked up the nerve to ask, “Would you like to stay for dinner? The weather is rather ghastly at the moment, and it would be a shame to drive all the way back to town and arrive after dinner.”

Hadley opened her mouth mutely several times as if the words wouldn’t come. “I— I would not want to impose on your staff.”

“It really is no imposition. They always make more food than I can eat.” He looked at her with pleading eyes and a wide grin, and her resolve began to crumble. “Please, Miss Fenice? I so rarely entertain guests. Would you indulge me?”

***

Hadley Fenice quietly closed the door behind her, looking over her shoulder just in time to see the bright red steamer chug away, disappearing and reappearing between the light of the streetlamps. As she dropped her satchel onto the coat rack and kicked off her boots, Adam barely looked up from his book in the parlor. Leaning against the doorway, she watched him continually avert his gaze with a wry grin as if she wasn’t there.

“Aren’t you going to ask where I have been all evening?” she asked flatly, mildly irritated by her twin’s lax approach to chaperoning.

“Nope, I know where you were. Either the viscount invited you to stay for a bite or,” he paused to sniff the air, “you went to a place that serves curry, but I know you do not like to eat alone. The viscount’s payment arrived while you were in Greenwich. I left it in the workroom.”

“Why is it in there? If it is paid in full, why is it not in your office?”

Adam finally glanced up from The Woman in White. “I thought you needed to see it.”

Curiosity drew her toward the messy studio, but apprehension slowed her pace as she finally reached the wooden door, unsure of what could be on the other side. What could Lord Sorrell have possibly sent that could have been of such interest to Adam? He always complained about his coworkers’ scratchy handwriting. Was he so vain that he left the letter for her to gawk at his wrong-handed script? Maybe the viscount used flowery stationary, or maybe he included a notice of dismissal along with his payment. As she turned the doorknob, she held her breath and hoped the viscount had a penchant for poesy patterns on his letterhead.

Hadley stood stunned in the doorway as her eyes ran over a gleaming, black bicycle. Not only did the velocipede have a bell to warn passersby she was coming, but it sported two roomy, wire baskets tethered to either end along with an oil lantern just below the handlebars. She reverently trailed her hand over the steel frame and up onto the leather seat. As she climbed onto the bicycle, she beamed despite the acute discomfort in her coccyx from the hard seat. He remembered, she glowed against her better judgment. Lord Sorrell was a nice man, a generous man, but she could not insinuate anything more. The studio was rather cramped, but using the side of the workbench for support, she peddled unsteadily toward the door. It was too dark to take it out for a proper ride, but she promised herself she would do it first thing in the morning. Standing up, she noticed two envelopes were sitting in the front basket. One was written in the butler’s flawless hand while the other was in Eilian’s spidery script. Just as she guessed, the first was the payment for the prosthesis. As Hadley unfolded the second brief letter, she smiled at his child-like script. He had even taken the time to write the note out himself.

Dear Miss Fenice,

            Without fail, I am continually impressed and astonished by your abilities and tenacity. From the time you first entered my home, I have been trying to figure out how to be a better patron to you and the Fenice Brothers. I hope you will accept this gift, which I believe will, from what you told me, reduce costs and make running errands easier for you. Even though you do not know how to ride a bicycle, I have no doubt you will pick it up without incident, but if you are having difficulties, I can teach you.

Until our next appointment,

Your humble patron,

Eilian Sorrell

            Scooping up the letters with a grin, she emerged to find Adam watching for her reaction as she crossed the hall to his office. She let the happiness fall from her face and adopted her usual serious air. Once situated at his desk, Hadley indifferently dropped the bill onto Adam’s ledger and picked up the pen to write a reply to the earl-to-be.

***

Sitting at his well-worn desk, Eilian Sorrell checked his pocket watch. Miss Fenice was probably home by now. The corners of his mouth curved contently as he imagined her reaction upon seeing the bicycle. He had waited for her to arrive in Greenwich before having Patrick send one of the servants to deliver it to her studio to ensure it would be a surprise. It had taken days to find a bicycle that would meet her needs. Patrick had not been able to find a velocipede in London that came with large enough baskets, and one had to be ordered from the manufacturer directly to ensure they would accommodate her tools and materials.

Sighing softly, he turned a small envelope over in his hand thoughtfully. It was the same one he dictated after his surgery, the one he planned to give to her tonight but decided against it. Even though the appointment had not gone as planned, he and Hadley Fenice had an oddly pleasant time together. Over a sweet potato and peanut stew with rice, they finally had the chance to continue the discussion on automatons and archaeology they had begun almost two weeks earlier. Despite being slightly under the weather, Hadley was in good spirits and even told him about some automaton projects she wanted to create in the future. Each word about her future made him want to know more and do more to be a part of her life. All through dinner, the letter had been in the pocket of his waistcoat, but he kept it to himself. Eilian knew how he felt, but they hadn’t known each other long enough for the ever practical Miss Fenice to consider spending so much time with him. With one final, fond look at the missive, he placed it in his desk drawer. There was always next time.