| |
“What’s this?” Ivy asked as Ruth passed her a bundle of dark blue fabric after they were done with their afternoon tea.
“A dress,” Ruth told her. “I thought that you should come with me to the ball tonight.”
Ivy shifted a little from one foot to the other, biting her lip as she looked over the dress.
“I really appreciate this, Ruth, but... I can’t accept it. The other people at the ball will take one look at me and know that I don’t belong. And I’m okay with that. I don’t want to spend an evening having them sneer at me.”
Ruth sighed, nodding as she folded her arms. “In truth, I don’t want that either. I’m not... I’m not good at making friends. As much as Thomas will be there, he often gets sucked into the crowd. Not to mention the number of men who will seek my attention.”
“Just start kicking ‘em in the groin if they give you too much hassle. Always worked for me.”
“I fear that would be more likely to make me a social pariah than anything else.”
“At least pariahs don’t have to go to balls they don’t want to.”
“Well, no. But I’m pretty sure my mother’s response would be to come down here herself to set me straight, and that is the last thing I want.”
“Not get on with your folks?”
“We have little in common. Except, perhaps, a passion for being well dressed, though our opinions on what that phrase means often differ drastically.”
“Harsh. I’ve always gotten on well with my mum.”
“And she approves of you working with me?”
“She can’t complain with what Thomas has been paying me.”
“No, I suppose not.” Ruth sighed once more. “Are you sure you won’t accompany me?”
“I don’t think that I’ve ever been more sure of anything else.”
#
A SINGLE HOUR INTO the ball, Ruth was ready to leave. The cacophony of music and chatter was giving her a headache and she was struggling to remain expressive.
“You’re making quite a few friends tonight,” Thomas noted as she sidled back up to him, hoping to convince him to take her back home.
“I am quite the thespian when I put my mind to it,” she replied with a tight smile. “But it’s getting late and I’m getting tired.”
“Ah. Of course.”
Ruth let Thomas make the farewells as she started to feel lightheaded. She desperately needed fresh air. It was a pity that there was so little of it in the city.
She clutched at her skirts, her fist grabbing and letting go of the fabric to a rhythm that soothed her, if only a little.
Thomas hailed a Fralsen-driven carriage to escort them home.
“WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE TAKEN?” the Fralsen shouted in its usual, grating voice.
Ruth let out a squeal of protest, her hands flapping against her skirts as she spun away from the noise.
“Ruth? Ruth, it’s okay,” Thomas tried to assure her, moving his hand to her arm.
She slapped it away, her words not coming fast enough for a gentler rebuke as her attempt to settle her hands seemed to have the effect of transferring her frustrated energy into tears.
She was crying in the middle of the street in a completely undignified fashion, but she wasn’t quite ready to share the confined space of the carriage with Thomas just yet.
“I’m tired,” she managed, in a feeble attempt at apology.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you out so late.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t say anything. I thought I could manage until we got home.”
She wiped away her tears with her handkerchief before hurrying to the carriage. The sooner they got home, the sooner she could hide.
#
AS SOON AS RUTH WAS home, she silently made her way to the workshop. Thomas, thankfully, knew enough to leave her alone.
She turned on the mechanical brain as soon as she entered the workshop, as had become her habit when Ivy wasn’t there. It needed to practice talking if it was ever going to rival a Fralsen.
“Good evening, Mech,” she said. Ivy had suggested the nickname, since “the mechanical brain” was a bit of a mouthful.
“Good evening, Lady Ruth,” it replied in a tone far more melodic and soothing than the grating yells of the Fralsens. “Have you had a pleasant day?”
She knew that it was a preprogrammed question, but it still lightened her heart a little.
“Not really,” she confessed. “I stayed too long at the ball and... Well, I had somewhat of an episode when I finally left.”
“An episode?”
She shrugged, forgetting that it couldn’t see. “When I get frustrated, it’s as if I’m a bottle of champagne that has been shaken too much. If not allowed proper time to rest, I simply explode. It does not help that I am so delicate as to be easily frustrated by unexpected noises or unpleasant textures. It leads to many a night like tonight.”
“That is not normal human behaviour?”
“No. No, it is not.”
Mech didn’t seem to have a response to that and Ruth didn’t blame it. She had only programmed it for so many responses and she was sure that most people would struggle to come up with something to say to her in that moment.
“It’s fine, Mech,” she assured it. “I simply need to be better about my limits.” Ruth hummed. “Actually, you might be able to help me track trends. If I can figure out when I am most vulnerable, I can plan my social calendar more effectively.”
“I would be happy to help.”
Ruth smiled, despite knowing that there was no way Mech could deny her request. It wasn’t a person; it was just a machine, but it was comforting to think otherwise.
She wished that Mech could accompany her out of the workshop. As much as she didn’t leave that often, it would have been comforting to talk to someone who wasn’t a real someone when she was frustrated. It would take away the embarrassment, which always delayed her calming down.
She moved over to the collection of projects she had been working on, humming as she went. It mostly consisted of a selection of clockwork limbs she had built to help amputees, like her grandfather. There were also a few plans for internal organs, but they were in the most initial stages. She needed a firmer grasp of biology before pursuing them.
But movement? Movement she had perfected.
How hard would it be to construct a human looking vessel for Mech?
She hummed as she started to get to work, and Mech joined in with chimes that sounded almost like a music box.