The Doomsday Vault

“Miss Michaels,” it said, extending a hand. “The master and his other lady visitor are expecting you. May I help you down?”

The mention of the other visitor flooded Alice with relief. She shook off her initial reaction to the automaton and accepted its hand down from the carriage. Talking automatons were nothing new-the many improvements made to the Babbage and Lovelace analytical engines over the years saw to that-but they were extremely expensive. Using one as a mere footman showed even more wealth than Alice had imagined. She felt more and more intimidated in her outdated dress and aging hat.

Stop it, she admonished herself sternly. You are the daughter of a baron, no matter how poor, and he is a commoner, no matter how wealthy. He’s asking for your hand in- She stopped that line of thought, not wanting to bring a jinx. He’s begging you to grace his home with your presence, so act like a proper woman of your position.

The footman led Alice up the steps and held the door open for her; she swept past as if it didn’t exist. Here she halted again. The house’s interior was stunning. High ceilings, marble floors, electric lighting, a grand staircase that swept upward from the entry foyer. Then Alice regained her composure long enough to let the footman take her coat and gloves and lead her through the house. They passed a number of large rooms-a ballroom, a conservatory, a library, a dining hall-all of them spotlessly kept, with up-to-the-moment furnishings. What tugged at Alice’s attention was the army of automatons. They were breathtaking, even thrilling, in their numbers. Machines of all shapes and sizes scampered, flittered, and crawled everywhere. They waxed floors, dusted shelves, and folded linens. A few were human-shaped, mostly feminine and dressed in a variety of maid uniforms, which Alice found odd-most people required their servants to dress alike. One of the maids wore a scandalously low- and high-cut dress that Alice imagined was meant to be French. Well, once she was mistress of this house, that would-

No, no. Best not to get her hopes too high.

The footman brought her to a sitting room where Norbert Williamson was waiting at a small table laid with linen, crystal, and china for two. He rose when she entered.

“Miss Michaels,” he said, bowing over her hand with exaggerated formality. “I hope your journey here was pleasant.”

“It was, Mr. Williamson.” Alice found her heart beating a little more quickly as he moved suavely to seat her. Did that mean she felt what she thought she was feeling? How did one know one was in love? Perhaps it was possible to only think one was in love without truly being in love. More importantly, did it matter?

“And this is Mrs. Leeds.” He gestured toward an armchair in the corner, where an old woman dressed in black sat knitting. A pot of tea occupied a low table next to her. Mrs. Leeds inclined her head and kept knitting as Norbert introduced Alice. “Mrs. Leeds is the mother of my factory manager, and she kindly agreed to be our chaperone today.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Alice said.

Mrs. Leeds nodded again.

“She’s already eaten, so it’ll be just the two of us at table.” Norbert spun a crank on a box sitting on a nearby sideboard, and a gentle, harplike melody emerged, played with overly exact precision. “I know how much you enjoy music. I hope you like this.”

“Thank you,” Alice lied. “I do.”

One of the mechanical maids-not, Alice was relieved to see, the one in the French outfit-rolled in a cart and served poached salmon followed by an endive salad. Alice ate without tasting and responded to Norbert’s conversation automatically. Throughout, Mrs. Leeds knitted without a word. Finally, Alice laid down her fork.

“Mr. Williamson,” she said, “I have to say I don’t feel entirely comfortable. Mrs. Leeds seems to be very nice, but I don’t know her, and I’m not sure it’s proper for-”

He held up a hand to interrupt. “I apologize. We can make it more proper.” He pressed a button on a control box that sat on the table at his elbow. Instantly, the maid stepped forward. A small trapdoor at her stomach opened and an arm telescoped from the cavity within bearing a little velvet box. The arm laid the box on the table in front of Alice and sucked itself back into the maid’s body. Before Alice could react further, the box popped open, revealing a gold ring with a large emerald stone.

“I’ve already discussed matters with your father,” Norbert said. “If you will accept this small token, we can be married next summer. I was thinking June or July.”

“A year is a good engagement,” Alice said, picking up the ring and slipping it on her forefinger. “How large a wedding do we want?”

“I’m not much for ceremonies,” Norbert said. “I have no relatives-or rather, none I’d want to invite. You?”

“Just my father. And Louisa Creek, I suppose. She could be my maid of honor.” The emerald made a heavy weight on Alice’s finger. “I wouldn’t mind a small ceremony.”

“Splendid!” Norbert rubbed his hands together. “I’ll draw up the announcement for the Times and handle the other details, and you can eat all your lunches here without distress-or Mrs. Leeds. A fiancee doesn’t need a chaperone.”

“True,” Alice said dazedly. “True.”

Mrs. Leeds continued to knit.

“And, just so you know, once we’re married, you needn’t worry about your father’s debts. You will, of course, move here afterward and take over running the household. It’s so difficult to manage both the factory and this home. You can manage a large household, can’t you?”

“I can look after household accounts, entertain, and supervise servants, yes,” Alice said. “I did attend the correct schools. But are all your servants automatons?”

“At this house they are. Your skill with machines is one reason I pursued you, after all. I can hire a hundred engineers at my factory, but in my private home”-he leaned forward-“certain aspects of my life require delicacy and privacy.”

“I see,” Alice said, though she didn’t. The maid didn’t move.

“My country estate, on the other hand, is staffed with living servants-the villagers mistrust automatons. We’ll spend autumns and winters there, and when our first son is born, he will inherit both your father’s title and my lands, meaning the Michaels family will once again be landed nobility. Is that satisfactory?”

“Perfectly, Mr. Williamson,” Alice said.

“You must call me Norbert,” he replied with a smile. “We are engaged.”

“Oh!” she said again. “It’s still sinking in. Norbert. And you must call me Alice.”

“Alice. Dear Alice.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’ve barely responded. What do you think of all this?”

A dozen responses flicked through Alice’s mind. She had accomplished her goal, that of persuading Norbert to propose to her. Father would be elated that he wouldn’t have to worry about her fate, and those horrible, crushing debts that had dogged them for a dozen years would vanish with a flick of Norbert’s pen. She should feel ecstatic, or at least happy. And she was happy. Quite glad. Relieved. Well, relieved wasn’t the same as glad, and glad wasn’t the same as happy, but she did feel this was a positive step. With a start, she realized Norbert hadn’t actually asked her to marry him and she hadn’t actually said she would. Yet here they were discussing banns and estates, children and heirs, business and machines. It certainly wouldn’t be politic to point out the omission.

“It’s so much to take in.” Alice squeezed his hand. “But I’m thrilled, Norbert. Absolutely thrilled.”

“Congratulations,” Mrs. Leeds said. Alice started. It was the first word the woman had spoken, and Alice had quite forgotten she was there.

“We must celebrate!” Norbert said. “It’s a bit early in the day for a mixed drink, but it’s never too early for champagne, eh?” He pressed another button, and the footman arrived with a dark bottle in a silver ice bucket. Behind trotted a familiar figure.

“Click?” Alice said. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Click jumped up to the tabletop, nearly upsetting Alice’s salmon plate. He opened his mouth, and a man’s voice said, “ ‘Dear Miss Michaels: I hope this letter finds you and your father in good health and good spirits. I am solicitor to your esteemed aunt Edwina, and I must request your presence at a most urgent meeting. It is with great hope I request that you come to my office with all haste at your earliest possible convenience. Your dutiful