ON MONDAY, Mrs. Spooner led Sophie to a private dressing room downstairs and helped her out of her dress and crinoline and into a suit of armor. She tied piece after metal piece together until Sophie felt like she weighed more than a carriage.
Mrs. Spooner connected the couter to the vambrace, the last two pieces on Sophie’s right arm, and then she declared, “Your armor is perfect.”
Perfectly monstrous.
“You look fearsome,” Mariah said with an encouraging smile.
Sophie didn’t smile back. She could barely see over the metal gorget on her neck. Thank heavens Sir Thomas didn’t want her to wear a helmet with a visor or she wouldn’t be able to see anything at all.
“Come, dears,” Mrs. Spooner said, flapping her arms at Mariah and Sophie like they were her little ducklings she was trying to shepherd. Mariah followed her out the door and down the hall to the staircase.
Sophie waddled slowly behind them; it was difficult to move at all carrying so much weight. Mrs. Spooner and Mariah walked effortlessly up the stairs, but Sophie was unable to swing her foot high enough for the first step. Holding her breath, she lifted her leg with all her strength, but her toe only bumped against the stair.
“Mariah, come and help me.”
Her sister laughed before skipping down the stairs to assist her. Mariah lifted her arm and Sophie tried again to raise her foot high enough, but she couldn’t quite reach.
“Perhaps if I assist as well,” Mrs. Spooner said.
With Mariah on one side and Mrs. Spooner on the other, they both lifted her arms up. Sophie tried once more to lift her leg high enough and she managed to get one foot on the stair tread, but before she could place her other foot beside it, Mrs. Spooner’s hold on her slipped. Sophie fell to the floor in a heap, her armor clattering loudly. Mariah, still holding on to her arm, fell heavily beside her.
“What is taking so long?” Sir Thomas complained from the top of the stairs. “You three are louder than an entire army regiment.”
“I’ve dropped Joan of Arc,” Mrs. Spooner called.
Sophie felt bruised all over, but she managed to laugh as she tried to get up—a fruitless task. “It appears that I can’t get up.”
Mariah scrambled to her feet and pulled at Sophie’s arm, but the weight of the armor kept her on the floor. Mrs. Spooner tried to lift Sophie up as well, but all she managed to do was press the metal deeper into Sophie’s skin.
Sophie yelped in protest. “This isn’t working. We need to take the armor off first.”
“I believe you’re right, my dear,” Mrs. Spooner said, chewing her lip. “Sir Thomas, go away for a quarter of an hour while we get Sophie decent.”
Sir Thomas passed by them, grumbling in Gaelic. Sophie did not understand the words, but his meaning was entirely clear: He was not happy at the further delay.
Once Sir Thomas had left the hallway, Mrs. Spooner and Mariah began the onerous task of untying and taking off Sophie’s armor. Sophie pulled off the breastplate and got to her feet, able to breathe freely for the first time in a quarter of an hour.
“I’d best get you a robe, dear girl,” Mrs. Spooner said. “We can’t have you scampering around the house in your underclothes. What would Lady Bentley say?”
Sophie didn’t think Aunt Bentley would say anything—she’d simply faint at the unseemly sight and, upon waking, demand Sophie leave her house.
Mrs. Spooner brought a lovely pink silk robe and Sophie gladly put it on. Then they carried the armor up the stairs and to the studio piece by piece.
Mariah dropped the gorget on the floor with a clank. “Remind me never to become a knight.”
Sophie could not have agreed more, but they needed the money, and if she had to wear armor to get it, she would.
Mrs. Spooner, the only member of their party that was undaunted by their failure, whistled cheerfully as she started putting the armor back on Sophie—piece by heavy metal piece.
For four days in a row, the sky did nothing but rain, and Sophie posed for Sir Thomas. Her limbs ached from holding still for so long and the armor didn’t feel any lighter. Mariah was making social calls with Aunt Bentley, so Sophie had no one to entertain her as she posed. She desperately wished to know the time; It would be nice to have some sort of bell or alarm to notify her when she was done …
“That’s it!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t talk!” Sir Thomas bellowed.
Sophie stuck her tongue out at him and returned to her position, but her mind whirred with excitement. She would invent a timepiece that could be set to notify one at a certain time. It could wake people up in the morning for work, it could be used in cooking … the uses for a notification clock were endless! And now she had five pounds with which to buy supplies and begin her experiments. She could hardly wait to shed her armor.
“Time for luncheon,” Mrs. Spooner said in her pleasant, cheery voice. “Off you go, Sir Thomas, so Sophie can change.”
Sir Thomas answered with a grunt and slowly put away his painting supplies before going downstairs. Mrs. Spooner assisted Sophie in untying the strings and removing the various metal pieces.
“Ain’t it a wonder that men actually wore these metal suits?” Mrs. Spooner mused.
“I can understand how they were used for protection,” Sophie said. “But how do you fight when you can’t even lift your arm above your shoulder?”
“A sticky question to be sure,” Mrs. Spooner said, helping Sophie into her dress. “You’re looking a little peaky, my dear. Let me get you a good luncheon and we’ll call it for the day. We can’t have you falling ill on us.”
Mrs. Spooner did exactly as she said: She stuffed Sophie with smoked ham, kippers, kidney pie, asparagus, potatoes, and bread, and then sent her on her way. When Sir Thomas’s footman opened the servants’ back door, Sophie quickly ran down the alley and practically skipped to the park.
Finding herself an unoccupied patch of lawn, she raised her arms above her head and twirled around in circles.
I must look mad, she thought bemusedly, but Sophie decided she didn’t care. She spun faster and faster until she fell down in the grass, laughing giddily. Then a great gust of wind nearly blew her crinoline up over her head. A much deeper laugh sounded behind her.
She sat up and quickly held her skirt down with her arms, then turned and saw Ethan walking toward her. When he reached her, he helped Sophie to her feet.
“I can’t begin to guess what you could be doing, Sophie,” Ethan remarked. “Some experiment on the wind power of undergarments?”
“Nothing so scientific, Ethan,” Sophie said, slightly out of breath. “I was reveling in the freedom to move. You wouldn’t believe it, but I’ve spent the better part of the last four days wearing a full suit of armor.”
Ethan laughed. “I wish I could see you in it.”
“Fear not, brave knight,” she replied. “I daresay half of London will see me in it when the painting is displayed next month.”
“I’ll make sure that I’m the first in line at the Royal Academy of Arts,” Ethan said. “Are you done posing for the day?”
“Yes, thank heavens.”
“Fancy a visit to the Great Exhibition?”
“Yes, please!” Sophie said, and then blushed at her eagerness. “I mean, if you’d like to go, I would be happy to accompany you.”
He took her hand and intertwined it with his arm. “The happiness is all mine, I can assure you.”
Ethan took her to see the foreign displays of the Great Exhibition. They spent the afternoon in a blur of French silks, Sèvres porcelain, Russian urns, and gold watches from Switzerland. Sophie spent a considerable time examining those watches.
“I had an epiphany about timepieces today,” Sophie said, as she closely watched the wheels turn in one Swiss watch. “I’m going to invent a notification clock.”
“That sounds very useful,” he said. “What does it do, precisely?”
“For example, if you needed to wake up at six o’clock in the morning, it would start to ring a bell or make some sort of noise at that time, to notify you to wake up.”
“Positively genius,” Ethan said, smiling. “Once you’ve perfected your design, I’ll manufacture it in one of my factories for you and we’ll both become rich.”
Sophie held out her hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
Ethan took her smaller hand in his and gave it a shake. His touch felt electrifying, but then Sophie caught herself. This simply will not do, she reminded herself. I’m not in London to find a husband, I’m here to create my own future.
Sophie dropped his hand as if it had burned her. When he offered his arm to her, she folded her arms resolutely and walked forward, trying to pretend that she hadn’t seen the flash of hurt on his face.
They continued to wander through the foreign exhibits as if their electric touch had not happened. While they were examining a lump of gold from Chile, Sophie realized that she needed a room with indoor plumbing and quickly. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I’m embarrassed to say it, but I need to use the necessary immediately. What do I do?”
Ethan chuckled and motioned her forward with his hand. “Come, you can try George Jennings’s Monkey Closets.”
He led her to the Retiring Rooms and paid a penny. Sophie was given a clean seat, a towel, and a comb. She completed her business quickly and spent several minutes admiring the flushing mechanisms before washing her hands and fixing her hair.
“Now you know what it means to ‘spend a penny,’” Ethan said as they walked toward the street.
“Thank you,” Sophie said warmly. “I’d wager one day every house, even the poor ones, will have one of those water closets.”
Ethan hailed them a hansom cab to take them back to Hyde Street. About two blocks from the park, Sophie spotted a clock shop. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop?”
“Of course not,” Ethan said, and tapped the side of the cab to get the driver’s attention. “Stop here, sir.”
The driver pulled his horse to a sudden halt on the side of the street. Sophie jumped out and walked into the shop. Clocks of all sizes were displayed on shelves and tables; the cacophony of different ticking sounds was like a symphony to her ears. She pulled off her gloves and touched several clocks. Some were made of wood and others of metal. Some were weight driven while others were spring driven. She needed a clock that she could easily take apart and put back together in different ways. In the corner, behind a larger wooden piece, she spied exactly what she was looking for: a completely metal oval clock with a face about the size of her palm.
“Can I help you, miss?” the shop clerk asked. He was a small man with a nose like a squashed tomato and beady blueberry eyes.
“Yes,” Sophie said, pointing to the clock she’d spotted. “I would like to buy that clock and some assorted spare parts. A few wheels, chime winds, anchors, set lever screws, a barrel bridge, a pallet, and a regulator.”
Ethan entered the shop and came to stand by Sophie. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
“This young lady wants clock parts,” the clerk said in an unsure voice, turning his squashed tomato nose to Ethan for permission.
Sophie silently fumed.
“Then you’d better get them for her,” Ethan replied with an easy smile.
“And this clock,” Sophie said, again pointing to the one she wanted. Ethan reached back with his longer arms to retrieve it for her. He carried it to the register, and the clerk came back a few minutes later with a small box full of parts.
The clerk typed the prices into the register. “That’ll be three pounds, two shillings, and sixpence, please.”
Ethan put his hand in his pocket as if to pull out money, but Sophie touched his arm. “No, you don’t need to pay for them. I have my own money.”
“As you wish,” he said.
Sophie reached into her pocket and took out her five pound note, the most money she’d ever held at once, and placed it on the register. The clerk took it and gave her back several coins in change with a written receipt, which she pocketed. Sophie picked up the box of parts with one hand and Ethan carried the clock out of the shop, where the hansom cab stood waiting.
Ethan told the driver to stop several houses away from Aunt Bentley’s. He assisted Sophie out of the cab. She rested the clock in the crook of her left arm and held the box parts with the same hand.
“Shall I see you tomorrow night at the Penderton-Simpsons’ ball?” he asked.
“My aunt plans on it.”
“May I have the first dance?”
“Of course,” Sophie replied, “but you really don’t want it. I’m a dreadful dancer.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Ethan said with a smile, taking her hand and bowing over it.
She felt the same electric charge that she’d felt earlier, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her hand, but he didn’t. When he finally released her hand, Sophie told herself that she was relieved, not disappointed. She didn’t want or need his kisses. She was going to be an inventor, not a silly girl who giggled over a handsome man.
Still, she was all electric sparks as she walked toward Aunt Bentley’s house, trying to convince herself that her excitement was due to her new clock parts and getting to work on her design.
But deep down, she knew the explosive feeling had little to do with set lever screws and ratchet wheels.
Ethan held Sophie securely in his arms as the musicians began to play. With the slightest pressure of his hand on her back, he led her in the dance. Sophie stepped on his right foot twice as they turned.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Sophie said, looking down at their feet. “But I did warn you that I’m a dreadful dancer.”
“Dance with me again.”
“Are you sure?”
“This time close your eyes,” Ethan said.
“That would be even more dangerous for your toes.”
Ethan grinned, ignoring her trepidation. “Pretend you’re a cog in a clock. You spin and turn with the other wheels in perfect synchronization. Keep your eyes closed and trust my hands to turn you.”
Sophie reluctantly closed her eyes and allowed herself to be led. She felt a sense of oneness with Ethan, the music, and the dance. Trusting someone else to guide her was not something she’d ever done before, yet she found herself disappointed when the music ended and she had to open her eyes. They hadn’t made a single misstep during the whole dance.
She spied Charles coming toward them and she gulped. She knew Mariah talked to Charles about books—books she hadn’t read. Dread filled her heart.
What if I slip up?
“May I have this next dance, Sophie?”
She looked from Charles to Ethan, who nodded. Sophie took Charles’s extended hand and he pulled her into his arms. She was so focused on not making a mistake that she didn’t say a word.
“You’re not usually so quiet,” Charles said, surprising Sophie into a misstep.
“Am I not?” Sophie ventured. “I suppose I’m a bit overwhelmed by the ballroom. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“How are you getting on with David Copperfield?”
Sophie blinked, no longer worried about her dancing feet. “Great. Just great. I’m almost done reading the book.”
“Do you mean the first installment?”
Blast. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant,” Sophie said.
“What are your impressions thus far?”
That you’re a snobby aristocrat who asks too many questions, Sophie thought waspishly, but managed a smile.
“That it’s the best book—installment—that Mr. Dickens has ever written, and … um … Oh look, the music’s ended and I see Miss Penderton-Simpson!”
Sophie pulled away from him and practically ran to her friend. “Adaline! This is the most beautiful ball I’ve ever attended.”
“Thank you, Sophie,” Adaline said. She looked resplendent in blue velvet with a string of pearls threaded through her reddish-brown curls. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“And I you,” Sophie said with complete honesty.
Charles finally caught up, bowing formally to Adaline. He seemed to be trying to catch Sophie’s eye, but she wasn’t about to talk to him alone again and be quizzed on books—or installments or whatever nonsense. Sophie linked her arm with Adaline’s. “Would you mind introducing me to some of your friends?”
“I’d be delighted to,” Adaline said, leading her to the other side of the room. Adaline introduced her to at least a dozen young ladies and nearly as many young gentlemen. Sophie danced until her feet were sore, carefully staying away from Charles.
She met Adaline again at the refreshments table, where they each took a glass of punch.
“I could use a rest,” Sophie admitted, breathless.
“As could I,” Adaline said. “Come, let’s sit down on a nice cushy sofa in the corner and you can tell me all about your conquests. I love a good gossip.”
They found an unoccupied green sofa with a good view of the entire ballroom and sipped their punch.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any conquests,” Sophie said. “After one dance with me, I’ve successfully scared away any prospects.”
“Lord Bentley didn’t seem scared,” Adaline said pointedly.
“Well, he was my aunt’s ward … He probably only danced with me out of charity.”
“My parents are quite set upon me marrying someone with a title—any title,” Adaline confided. “I don’t think they’d mind if I married a man of sixty, as long as he was the earl of something or other.”
“You’re so beautiful, you could marry anyone,” Sophie said honestly.
Adaline flipped open her ivory-handled fan and fanned herself. “Such nonsense! But so kind of you to say so,” she said. “I hope we’ll be the best of friends. Too many young ladies are so bent on the competition of finding a husband that they’re not even civil to other young women.”
“Well, I don’t want a husband,” Sophie said. “I want to be an inventor.”
“Really!” Adaline exclaimed. “Why do you want to be an inventor?”
Sophie sat back against the sofa and tried to think of the reason. She’d always loved working with her hands. The feel of the clock gears on her fingers. The satisfaction she felt when a clock that had stopped began ticking again. The thrill of being completely in control of something in her life.
“I hate to be boastful—” Sophie began.
“I don’t mind at all,” Adaline interrupted. “Boast away.”
“I’m excellent at fixing clocks,” Sophie explained. “Sometimes I like to take clocks apart and put them back together in different ways. So … I suppose I want to be an inventor because you get to combine curiosity with ingenuity and create something new. Or make something better than it was before.”
“How very peculiar, but interesting.”
Sophie felt her face flush a little. Perhaps she’d confided too much to her new friend. She changed the focus of the conversation back to Adaline. “What are you interested in?”
“Men.”
“Men?”
“Eligible young men with titles,” Adaline clarified with a wink.
Sophie nodded her head slowly as if her brain were a clock, and the wheels began to finally fit together and move. “Like Charles—I mean, Lord Bentley.”
“Exactly like Lord Bentley,” Adaline said with a smile, gently tapping Sophie’s arm with her fan. “Why doesn’t he fall at my feet? I have everything: birth, beauty, breeding, fortune.”
“He must be mad.”
“He seems to have his wits.”
“I would ignore him and find other, more fascinating, young men,” Sophie suggested.
Adaline gave Sophie a one-armed hug. “That is just the thing! I’ll arouse his interest by making him jealous.”
Sophie was about to explain that was not what she’d meant, when Ethan came and asked her for another dance.
He led her to the floor to line up across from each other for a country dance. The musicians began to play a lively Scottish tune, and the dancers moved together to create intricate figures and turns. One minute, Sophie was away from Ethan and the next moment their hands were clasped together. Then she’d let go and turn away, only to find him again at the end of her circle. Finally, they held their interlocking hands high above their heads and all the dancers promenaded underneath them. The musicians played their final note and Ethan bowed to her. Sophie stepped back, breathing heavily.
“Sophie, I was wondering if you would accompany my mother and me for a tour of one of our factories?”
There was nothing she’d like more—but then she remembered Adaline’s words. Sophie didn’t want to appear as if she were husband hunting. She wasn’t.
“I, uh … well, the thing is … I’m quite busy modeling for Sir Thomas right now and I … well, I still haven’t found an apprenticeship yet…”
Ethan nodded. “I understand. Our visit would be in a professional capacity, of course.”
“Professional?”
“And educational,” he added, his mouth prim but his eyes smiling.
“I suppose … I could—”
“Wonderful. I’ll have my mother make the arrangements.”