She bit her lip and stopped singing. At last, Click was finished. Alice replaced the key and pressed a switch. For a moment nothing happened. Then Click shuddered hard, and his eyes cranked open. He gave a metallic mew, trembled again, and gave Alice a reproachful look.
“I’m sorry, Click.” She gathered him into her arms, where he made a cool, heavy weight. “So very sorry. I promise it’ll never happen again.”
Click remained miffed awhile longer, then pressed his chilly nose into the crook of her elbow. Alice stroked him for a moment. Her eye fell on the storage box into which she had set the automatons that had survived yesterday’s adventure. With her free hand, she opened it. The little automatons lay in a jumbled pile of wings and segmented legs, dead as dried spiders. She ran a finger over several, remembering every plane and contour. One of them jerked slightly, using up a tiny vestige of windup energy, and went still again. Alice felt heavy.
Fog still hung its damp curtain against the windows. It seemed to hem her in, closing around the house just as her dress closed around her body. Outside, everything looked smooth and perfect. But it was only a shell, a soft illusion.
She wanted to fly. She wanted to learn. She wanted to fix machines that did something interesting, machines that would change the world. And she wanted to do it with Gavin.
Click looked up at her, his joints creaking softly, his eyes green and steady. She could almost hear him speak.
Alice looked at her dead automatons and then at the fog. Fog might hem her in, but it couldn’t push her back. Not unless she let it.
Suddenly, the idea of spending one more hour in the house became utterly intolerable. With Click in her arms, she fled from the room. She fled down the hall. And then, before she could stop herself, she fled toward the stairs. She was doing it. She was leaving.
Her heart pounded with both fear and excitement. She would do it. She would do it today. Now. This minute. She would join the Third Ward, and she would see Gavin every day, and maybe something bad would come of it, but oh! Wasn’t it equally possible that something good would happen?
She needed nothing, wanted nothing from Norbert’s house. She would leave right now and never come back. With a laugh that made her giddy, she clattered down the hall and made it halfway down the grand staircase near the front door when she abruptly remembered: Father. She couldn’t leave him.
But her momentum was too great. The avalanche that had been building inside her propelled her on, and speed lent clarity. She hadn’t been worried about Father-not really. She had only been foolish and afraid, and had used Father as an excuse. His health was no obstacle! She could join the Third Ward on the condition that they move Father to their headquarters. If they wanted to take his care out of her salary, so be it. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? And the debts? They couldn’t imprison a baroness for debts, and that was what she would become, all too soon. Everything she wanted was within her grasp. She had just been too afraid to take it.
Heartened, she ran farther down the stairs and halted again. What about Kemp and her little automatons? If she left now, she’d never get them back, and she couldn’t leave Kemp to rust and tarnish, or-this thought brought a shudder-allow Norbert to melt him down in a fit of pique.
At the bottom of the stairs, Alice changed course. Scurrying past the soulless eyes of the footman, she entered the library and took out ink and writing paper. Click sat in her lap at the writing desk and watched as, with shaking hands, she wrote a quick paragraph. After a moment’s hesitation, she recklessly added another sentence and signed it. There were still four deliveries left before the Royal Mail halted for the night, meaning Phipps would have plenty of time to respond to the letter by tomorrow, perhaps even by this evening. Meanwhile, Alice would finish repairing Kemp and prepare Father to be moved.
The weight left her, and she felt as if she could jump off the top floor and fly. Why on earth-no, why the
“Would the lady like me to arrange for a cab?” the footman called after her.
Alice ignored it. The Royal Mail had an office only a few hundred yards down the street, and she ran toward it, skirts bunched in her hands. People on the sidewalk turned to stare at her, a hatless woman rushing in an unladylike sprint up the sidewalk, but Alice found she didn’t care in the least.
Chapter Fifteen
“Agent Ennock! Could you come in here for a moment?” Gavin paused as he passed the office of Lieutenant Phipps, an uneaten apple in his hand. His first thought was that he was in trouble again, but Phipps didn’t look any more severe than usual.
“Lieutenant?” Gavin asked.
“I received this from Alice Michaels a few moments ago.” She pushed a handwritten letter across the desk toward him, and Gavin picked it up.
Gavin’s heart did a little jump, and he scanned the letter a second time to make sure he hadn’t misread. “Is this. . Is she really. .?”
“It would seem so,” Phipps said, and she actually gave a tiny smile. Gavin didn’t know whether to be more amazed by that or by the letter.
“Is it. . Can the Ward. .” He was stammering like an idiot, and he coughed hard to get himself under control. “Is the Ward willing to care for her father?”
Phipps steepled her fingers, metal piling up against flesh. “I think we can manage the care of one old man. There’s time to send her a reply by evening post, but I think Alice might appreciate a more personal touch.”
Gavin was moving toward the door before Phipps had even properly dismissed him. Down at the stables, he found a groom waiting with a horse, and, moments later, he was riding as fast as he dared through the chilly evening mist. Traffic on the streets was light, and voices were hushed. Buildings loomed over him, always hemming him in and holding him back. Gavin hated the chains London threw over him. There was no beauty here, no softness; nothing but greed and poverty and disease.
As if in answer to these thoughts, bare feet slapped brick, and a ragged woman, accompanied by a young child, dragged out of an alley, reaching toward Gavin’s horse. Plague sores wept yellow fluid. In a mixture of fear and pity, Gavin tossed the apple from his pocket toward them. The child caught it, and Gavin urged his horse to greater speed.
He rounded the corner and let his horse drop into a trot as he entered the square that faced Norbert Williamson’s too-large house. He had never visited this place, but he knew exactly where it was. It took up one entire side of the square and was part of the dull, blocky architecture that made up so much of London. The mist was thickening again, a ghost trying to keep him out of the square. Heart beating fast, Gavin tied the horse to a hitching post out front, then dashed up a set of marble stairs to the double doors. He yanked the bellpull, and the door immediately opened.
“Sir?” said the mechanical footman.
Gavin handed it his card. “Tell Miss-tell your mistress that Agent Gavin Ennock of the Third Ward is here to see her.”
