His Clockwork Canary

“Don’t let him fool you, Papa,” Jules said, embracing his father as well. “Phin always paints London red on Christmas Eve. The life of many a party.”

“Drinking, dancing, the ladies,” Phin said. “It’s the same every year. Happy for the change of pace.”

Simon snorted. “He’s happy for the chance to avoid a certain smitten lady and her jealous husband.”

“Don’t listen to them, sir. I’m looking forward to dinner with you and the family.”

The older man smiled. “I believe you, Phineas.”

And so did Willie. Phin was thinking about how he didn’t have a family anymore and how the one he’d once had paled to the Darcys. How he’d grown up in squalor, how his mum had been addicted to laudanum and his pa addicted to gambling. Memories within a memory, intensified by raw emotion. Willie trembled under the tremendous impact, but she did not break.

“Where’s Mother?” Simon asked whilst removing his gloves.

“In the kitchen with Concetta and Eliza preparing the most delicious feast.” Mr. Darcy leaned in to Phin. “Wait until you taste the plum pudding. Oh, and don’t take off your coats. This may be the only chance we get to steal away for my secret gifts. Come on, boys. You too, Phineas.”

The man shot out the door without his own coat or hat and scurried across the snow-dusted lawn toward his workshop.

“Secret gifts?” Phin asked Jules. “Secret from your mother?”

“Mother wouldn’t approve.”

Simon called to Amelia, who was draping a tarp over an exposed portion of metal and gears.

“The moonship?” Phin asked.

“Apollo Zero Two,” Jules said. “Father’s second attempt at affording Amelia a ride amongst the stars. She’s thinks he’s onto something this time, although she worries he’s overly obsessed.”

“He’s always overly obsessed with his inventions until he’s distracted by the next one. If he would just slow down and spend more time in the planning stages but—”

“He’s a tinkerer, not a thinker.” Jules lowered his voice as they entered the magnificently cluttered work shed. “As with all of Papa’s creations, his secret Christmas gifts tend not to work properly.”

“Or for long,” Simon said.

“But it’s the thought that counts,” Amelia said as she pushed in behind them. She hurried toward her father, a curious-looking falcon perched soundly on her iron-mesh wrist cuff.

The metal-enhanced bird flapped away and settled on a massive celestial globe.

Phin hung back, allowing the family privacy as Reginald Darcy pulled a Father Christmas hat over his wild and windblown hair.

Willie dwelled in the shadows, watching the same scene and wrestling with Phin’s emotions as well as her own. They watched as one by one the eccentric tinkerer gifted his children with a modified version of some twentieth-century gadget.

To Jules—a handheld Dicta-player that operated with some sort of “cassette.” Something he could carry in his pocket and speak into at any time recording spontaneous ideas for his fantastical novels.

To Simon—an electric shaver. Since he seemed to have an aversion to conventional razors, Mr. Darcy said with a good-humored wink.

Then he’d presented Amelia with night-vision goggles accentuated with a telescope loupe so she could better study the skies for her someday flight to the moon.

The Darcy siblings accepted their secret gifts with the same enthusiasm as they were given and Phin was reveling in their good fortune and remembering his bad luck when it came to family. More memories within a memory. Willie reeled. Her knees felt weak and she’d swear someone gripped her shoulder to hold her steady.

Then Mr. Darcy called Phin forward and she could feel his embarrassment and excitement as Mr. Darcy presented him with a brightly painted box.

Willie leaned out of the shadows, wanting to see, but someone held her back. No, someone pulled her back. She heard her name, Simon calling her home. She didn’t want to leave, not yet, but therein lay the test. And she was detached just enough to know it.

The memory faded and her heart cracked at her last sight of Mr. Darcy, his mischievous smile wide as Phin reached for the present. . . .

“Willie!”

Reality flooded her senses. Simon stood behind her, gripping her shoulders, and she thanked God for his presence as she wilted back against him. “It’s okay. I’m back. I’m good.” She looked at Phin, embarrassed that she was still holding his hands. “What did he give you?”

Phin broke contact, reached into his inner coat pocket, and pulled out what looked to be a complex version of a set of brass knuckles. “Knuckle Shocker Stun Gun with an attached distress whistle. Supposed to help protect me from sky pirates,” he said with a wink to Simon.

“Does it work?”

“Not properly. Not since the day after he gave it to me.”

But Phin kept the faulty weapon with him anyway. Because it had been a gift from a kind and caring man, a man so unlike his own neglectful father. A man who presented his children with customized secret gifts every year and that Christmas had extended the same kindness to Phin. Somehow Reginald Darcy had understood Phin’s secret misery.

Tears blurred Willie’s eyes as she turned to Simon, heart in throat. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “For the loss of your father. For that wretched article.” Emotionally spent, she buried her face against Simon’s chest and wept.

Holding her tight, Simon turned his frustration on Phin. “What the hell did you do? What did you show her?”

Phin cleared his throat, clearly choked up by his own emotions. “A great man.”

CHAPTER 21

JANUARY 21, 1887 CANTERBURY, ENGLAND

By the time Phin had landed the Flying Cloud in a small meadow, night had fallen. It was cold and dark and the walk from the field into town was plagued with tension and melancholy.

Simon had been on pins and needles whilst Willie had traced Phin’s memories. He’d glance over every few seconds, happy that he saw no distress, just two people daydreaming. Or at least that’s how it appeared. For the most part, Simon’s attention had been riveted on Willie’s pocket watch, his heart thudding with every tick of the second hand. His own thoughts had whirled as seconds ticked to a minute and then to a minute and a half. Upon the two-minute mark, he had gripped Willie’s shoulder and called her home. His pulse had stuttered when she’d remained deep in her trance. Where was she? What was she witnessing? It had taken immense restraint not to tear her hands from Phin’s and to shake her to reality. But they hadn’t discussed breaking the physical connection. If the connection was broken whilst she was still deeply tracing, would that leave her stuck in Phin’s memory? Simon had hesitated, gripped her shoulders tighter, and commanded a more fervent return. His relief had been intense when she blinked back and announced herself “good,” but it was also short-lived. Phin had reduced her to tears with a cherished memory of Simon’s father. The notion left Simon rattled as well. He had not known how deeply affected his friend had been by the secret gift—an impulsive gift from his father, as the man had not known well in advance that Phin was joining them for the Christmas holiday. But of course he wouldn’t