Chapter 9

“He doesn’t feel hot to me, Mother,” Constance said.

“But he must be ill. What other explanation could there possibly be for him being unaware of the Pinkerton men?” Mary returned.

“Have either of you considered that I may have been distracted with matters of science?”

Constance and Mary exchanged telling looks right before they launched into speculation about what dreadful ailments he could be experiencing that could cause him to be so unobservant.

Norman settled back in his chair, knowing there was little point in interrupting their discussion because he had nothing of worth to add to explain his symptoms, which had been caused by Miss Beatrix Waterbury. Nor was he willing to broach the subject of Beatrix because that would open up an entirely different can of worms. Wincing when Constance tugged his hair in her attempt to ferret out some place on his head where he might show signs of a fever, Norman felt a sliver of relief slide over him when Gemma, his niece, strolled into the room, carrying a porcelain doll under her arm. She promptly thrust that doll into Oscar’s hands as her gaze traveled from Constance to Mary and then settled on Norman.

A blink of an eye later, she was rushing his way, inserting herself between him and his mother.

“Uncle Norman,” she exclaimed. “I’ve been longing to see you for days and days and now you’re finally here.”

He couldn’t help himself, he grinned. “Should I ask why you’ve been longing to see me?”

“We want to see your wagon,” Oscar said, sitting forward. “Gemma told me it runs on an electric motor.”

Gemma leaned closer to Norman. “Oscar doesn’t believe you have an electric wagon that works, and he’s been very vocal about his disbelief regarding the matter.”

Norman shook his head. “It’s not a wagon. It’s a conveyance vehicle, complete with an electrical engine.”

Gemma’s nose wrinkled. “It looks like a wagon.”

“It’s far too complex to be considered such a lowly vehicle.”

“Then maybe you should build a better frame for it that complements the complexity of the engine.”

Norman caught Constance’s eye. “She really is unusually intelligent, isn’t she?”

“She reminds me of you at her age,” Constance said as Gemma grabbed hold of Norman’s hand and tugged him from the chair. “Can we show Oscar the wagon now?”

Having no reason to balk, Norman allowed Gemma to hustle him from the breakfast room, Oscar hurrying to join them as they stepped into the backyard. They then began making their way to one of the three carriage houses located a good ways from the main house.

“I’m curious how you know about my latest invention in the first place,” Norman said as they passed the first carriage house, a building where numerous horses were kept and one that he avoided entering whenever possible.

“I saw it while you were in New York when I was . . .” Gemma’s voice trailed off. She shot him a guilty look, then dropped his hand and hurried ahead.

It took him all of five seconds to catch up with her. “When you were what?”

“When she was looking for scraps to finish off one of her own inventions,” Oscar supplied when Gemma didn’t respond.

Oscar didn’t even flinch when Gemma stopped in her tracks and scowled at him. “Uncle Norman might not let us test his electrical wagon if you keep telling him tales.”

“He’s more likely to let us if you don’t hide why you were sneaking around his workshop.”

Gemma’s nose shot straight into the air. “It wasn’t sneaking, because I knew Uncle Norman wouldn’t care if I helped myself to the discarded items he tosses into that bin in his workshop.” She jolted into motion again, passing the second carriage house a moment later, leaving Norman and Oscar behind.

“She’s got a good stride for a girl,” Norman said.

Oscar shuddered. “Don’t say that around Gemma. She doesn’t like when people use that ‘for a girl’ comment. Tends to make her grumpy.”

“Duly noted,” Norman said, falling into step beside Oscar. “So what was Gemma trying to invent that she needed my old scraps for?”

“A boat that could be operated like one operates a bicycle.”

“Did she succeed in building that?”

“She did build it, or rather, she used me as the muscle to build it while barking out instructions.” Oscar grinned. “Gemma’s real bossy at times, but I thought she was on to something. Problem was that after we mounted an old rowboat over the bicycle Gemma got for Christmas last year, and then put fins on the tires like paddlewheels, we left a few tiny openings in the boat and . . . it sank within minutes of launching.”

“Were you and Gemma in it at the time?”

“We were, but we both know how to swim. Your sister, Mrs. Michelson, was furious when she found out what happened.”

Norman stopped walking. “You told my sister what happened?”

“’Course not. Your brother, the other Mr. Nesbit, told her, even though Gemma suggested he keep that information to himself.”

Norman frowned. “How did Stanley find out about your adventure with the rowboat?”

“Uncle Stanley followed us to the lake,” Gemma said, stomping up to join them. “He’d been keeping an eye on me, thinking Oscar and I were acting suspicious, so when we loaded our invention into my pony cart and headed for the lake, he trailed behind us.” Gemma blew out a breath. “I couldn’t stay mad at him for telling on us, though, because he did manage to retrieve my bicycle.”

“I didn’t realize Stanley was so involved in your life,” Norman said slowly.

“He’s my uncle, so of course he’s involved in my life, although you’re my uncle as well, but I suppose you’re not as involved because you’re always so consumed with your experiments.” Gemma flashed him an unexpected grin. “But I’m not complaining. We scientists are known to become consumed with our work, so it’s fine that you don’t spend much time with me.”

A sliver of what felt like guilt slid through Norman.

Gemma was right. He’d not made much of an effort to be involved in her life, or involved in any of his nieces’ or nephews’ lives, which didn’t speak highly of him in the least. He was certainly going to have to make amends for his clear neglect, although how he was going to go about that while still being able to devote enough time to his work was something he was going to have to plan out in detail, perhaps make a few charts and even a graph or two, laying out a detailed schedule that would allow him to dedicate more time to being a proper uncle.

“Are you feeling well, Uncle Norman?” Gemma asked, breaking into Norman’s less-than-pleasant thoughts. “You look like you’re about to toss up your accounts.”

He summoned up a smile. “I’m fit as a fiddle, Gemma.”

Gemma grinned. “Thank goodness. That means there’s no reason to delay showing Oscar and me how your electric wagon works. We’re hoping you’ll let us test it out, but we need to hurry. Mother and Grandmother will certainly be joining us soon, and while Mother won’t balk if you agree to let us try out your wagon, Grandmother might be another story.”

“I never said you could try out my electrical conveyance vehicle.”

Gemma immediately took to looking stubborn. “I don’t know why you’d object to that. I overheard you and Theo speaking about the difficulty you were having marking the distance the wagon could travel because the weighted bags you were using kept falling off when the wagon traveled over bumps.”

“Me and Gemma are real good at staying on things that move,” Oscar added. “And we know that you need something that weighs over a hundred pounds, but not more than one hundred fifteen pounds, which is why you couldn’t put Theo on the wagon because she weighs one hundred twenty-two pounds. So right now we’re your most convenient option.”

Norman tilted his head. “How do you know for certain the two of you weigh a combined weight of less than one hundred fifteen pounds?”

Oscar shrugged. “Gemma insisted on weighing us this morning, knowing you’d ask this question, which is when we confirmed that I weigh fifty-four pounds and Gemma weighs forty-nine pounds.”

“And how did you obtain those numbers?”

“Gemma used my seesaw.”

Norman turned to Gemma. “You used a seesaw to weigh yourself?”

Gemma gave an airy wave of a small hand. “It wasn’t difficult. Oscar and I used bags of flour we knew weighed five pounds, setting those bags on one side and then adjusting them until we achieved a perfect levelness as we sat on the other side.”

“And you went through all that bother so that you’d be able to tell me your combined weights are approximately one hundred four pounds?”

Gemma nodded.

“Then I suppose with that level of determination that I can’t very well deny the two of you a chance to try out what isn’t a wagon, but an—”

“Electrical conveyance vehicle,” Gemma finished with a grin, falling into step beside him as he headed toward the third carriage house, which housed his workshop on the first floor and his bachelor apartments on the second.

“Oscar and I decided that ladies will probably be more keen to drive electrical vehicles over men,” Gemma declared.

“But I’m trying to invent an electrical vehicle for my own personal use, and clearly I’m a man,” Norman countered.

Gemma nodded. “True, but you’re a man who loathes horses.” She shrugged. “Most men adore their horses, so they won’t want to give them up, not when they seem to enjoy looking very, well, manly on the back of a horse.”

Before he could consider what was an excellent observation on Gemma’s part, she snatched Oscar’s hand and they ran right up to the door of his workshop, disappearing into it a second later.

“Don’t touch anything,” Constance called out from behind Norman, materializing by his side a moment later.

“Where did you come from?” he asked.

“I’ve been behind you the entire time. Don’t tell me you were unaware of that, were you?”

Unwilling to chance having her pat his face for a fever again, Norman smiled. “I imagine your footsteps were drowned out by Gemma’s voice. She’s far more talkative than I remember her being.”

“She was talking up a storm by the time she was two.”

Another dose of guilt swept over him.

“Hurry up, Uncle Norman,” Gemma called, poking her head through the door of his workshop. “We’ve already uncovered your electrical conveyance vehicle, but I know better than to touch it without you here.” She shot a grin to Constance. “We wouldn’t want to get electrocuted by mistake because you’d never forgive Uncle Norman if that happened.”

“Too right I wouldn’t,” Constance returned with a grin of her own.

The next ten minutes were spent pushing his invention out of the workshop, and then getting Gemma and Oscar settled into it. After making certain they were securely seated, Norman attached a few cables to the battery and switched the motor on.

To his relief, it sputtered to life, earning squeals of delight from Gemma and Oscar. Taking a second to show Gemma how to steer the wagon with a lever that was attached to the middle of the floor, he stood back and watched as she set the wagon into motion, traveling at what was probably no more than three miles an hour.

“It works,” Constance exclaimed.

“Of course it does. It just doesn’t work for long.” Norman nodded to a large oak tree that was exactly an acre and a half from them. “It’ll die right past that tree, which, unfortunately, suggests the work I’ve been doing on double electrical currents still leaves much to be desired.”

“Unfortunate indeed,” Constance said somewhat absent-mindedly before she lifted her chin and turned to him. “Who is she?”

Of anything he’d been expecting her to ask, that had not been it. “Beg pardon?”

Constance crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t turn all scatterbrained scientist on me, Norman. You know very well what I’m asking you, so out with it. Who is the woman responsible for your unusual lapses of observation? May I assume she resides in Hyde Park, which would explain why you’ve chosen to run there this week, even though you normally prefer to run along the lakeshore?”

“Parts of Hyde Park are directly beside the lake.”

“You’re being deliberately difficult. Who is she?”

Norman turned his attention back to Gemma and Oscar, who were slowly approaching the tree he’d pointed out to Constance, their speed at a mere crawl, proving that his battery was incapable of holding a charge for long. His invention drifted to a stop, and then Gemma jumped out of it right before she, for some unfathomable reason, began speaking to the tree.

“Why’s Gemma chatting with the tree?” he asked, but instead of answering him, Constance looked him up and down with concern in her eyes.

“Gemma’s not talking to the tree,” his mother said, sneaking up behind him and causing him to jump. “She’s talking to the Pinkerton man who was watching you from behind the tree. Of course I’m sure you must have noticed him and were attempting to distract your sister from questioning you about a mysterious woman.” His mother caught his eye. “So who is she?”

Norman rubbed a hand over a forehead that was beginning to perspire. That he’d not noticed his mother stealing up behind him was troubling, but that he also hadn’t noticed a Pinkerton man lurking behind the tree . . . well, clearly he must be coming down with an illness, because surely a wisp of a woman by the name of Beatrix Waterbury couldn’t be disrupting his normal keen observational skills so much . . . could she?

“You must have misheard the conversation Norman and I were having, Mother,” Constance surprised him by saying. “We were simply discussing Hyde Park and why he’s taken to running over there.”

Mary frowned. “I distinctly heard you ask him about a woman.”

Constance waved that aside before she nodded to what looked to be an invitation in Mary’s hand. “Anything of interest delivered today?”

For a moment, Norman thought his mother was going to press the issue, but then she turned her attention to the heavy vellum piece of paper she was holding. “We’ve been invited to Mrs. Potter Palmer’s first charity ball of the year. It’s to be held at the Palmer House come late October, and”—she handed the paper to Norman—“you’ve received a personal invitation as well. You’re to bring a guest.”

Relieved to have the conversation turn to a more innocent topic, Norman glanced over the invitation and smiled. “Mrs. Palmer always serves an impressive meal, so this event is one I may actually look forward to attending.”

Mary’s gaze sharpened on his face. “Are you certain you’re feeling quite well? You never look forward to any society event, no matter the circumstance.”

“Again, I’m fine.”

Mary took a step toward him. “You’re acting peculiar, but if you’re sure you’re not unwell, allow me to return to Mrs. Palmer’s ball. I’ve come up with three young ladies I believe are appropriate guests for you to choose from—Miss Paulina Dinneen, Miss Caroline Ashburn, or the oh-so-delightful Miss Francis Elks.”

“I didn’t find Miss Elks oh so delightful when she sat next to me last year. She almost nodded off into her soup as I was explaining the difference between a cirrus cloud and a stratus cloud and the impact Mr. Luke Howard had on the science of meteorology.”

“Why would you choose to lecture a young lady about meteorology at a formal dinner engagement?” Mary asked.

“Miss Elks is the one who broached the topic of how charming she thought the clouds had been in the sky that particular day.” Norman shrugged. “I thought she’d be keen to learn more about clouds in general.”

Mary blew out a breath. “I doubt Miss Elks will be willing to risk receiving another lecture from you, so that leaves Miss Dinneen and Miss Ashburn.”

“I’m perfectly capable of asking a lady of my choosing to attend the Palmer affair with me.”

“The last few times you’ve chosen a lady on your own, you’ve chosen Miss Theodosia Robinson.”

“I enjoy her company.”

“She’s not a suitable escort for you.”

Norman frowned. “What’s wrong with Theo?”

Mary returned the frown. “Well, for one, the fact that she seems perfectly content to allow everyone to address her as Theo. Second, she’s currently sporting the shortest hair I’ve ever seen on a woman. And third, she has no sense of fashion and attends society events wearing the drabbest of gowns.”

“Her hair is only short because one of our experiments caught fire, setting fire to her hair as well.”

Mary’s lips thinned. “She’s not an appropriate guest. You’ll need to ask Miss Dinneen or Miss Ashburn, unless you have some other lady in mind. Perhaps that mystery lady I know you were discussing with Constance?”

An image of Beatrix immediately flashed in front of his eyes, and, curiously enough, the thought of asking her to attend the ball with him was oddly appealing. That appeal, however, only lasted a few seconds after he realized his mother was watching him far too closely, which would then, as was her habit, lead to a barrage of questions he didn’t care to answer.

“I’m taking Theo and that’s the end of it,” he said.

Mary released a huff. “Fine, but you’ll need to visit your tailor and get some new formal attire before the Chicago Season begins. You’ll also need to order some everyday clothing as well because that jacket you wore home from New York was ill-fitting and missing most of its buttons.”

“I bought that jacket in a slightly seedy shop in New York after someone tripped into me on the street, depositing the jelly-filled pastry he’d been carrying all over my perfectly fitted jacket.”

Another huff was Mary’s response to that. “If you don’t care to visit your tailor, just say so and I’ll take your measurements and order your clothing for you.”

“I never said I didn’t care to visit my tailor. I was merely explaining why my jacket didn’t fit me well. But since you’ve now broached what you seem to believe is the sad state of my wardrobe, I’ll amend that situation straightaway.” He tilted his head. “Would Marshall Field & Company have everything I need to purchase?”

Mary’s gaze sharpened on him again. “You want to personally go to Marshall Field & Company and shop on your own? Have you ever even been there?”

“Can’t say that I have, but I’ve heard it’s a splendid store. It also has two working elevators I wouldn’t mind seeing, so perhaps I’ll rearrange my schedule and take the afternoon off to do some shopping.”

“Good heavens, there is something wrong with you,” Mary proclaimed, Constance nodding in agreement.

Not caring to be interrogated about what was really an unexpected decision on his part, as well as not caring to dwell on the true reason he’d decided to visit Marshall Field & Company, Norman forced a smile. “For the hundredth time, there’s nothing wrong with me. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s past time I introduced myself to that Pinkerton man. After he and I get a few matters cleared up between us, I’ll be off to Marshall Field & Company, and no, I don’t need either of you to accompany me there.”