Alice came to herself with a start and shook her head. “Oh my goodness!” she trilled. “My mind went wandering for a moment, Mr. Williamson. How rude! What were you saying?”

“I was observing how the mist seems to both muffle sound and extend it,” said Norbert Williamson. “One can hardly tell if we’re in Hyde Park or on a country estate.”

“True,” Alice observed. “It’s very eerie. I’m glad you’re nearby to keep me safe.”

“Now that was blatant flattery, Miss Michaels,” Norbert pretended to scold, “however much I enjoyed hearing it.”

“You’ve caught me, Mr. Williamson,” she replied with a small smile. “I’m a dreadful person.”

The open-topped carriage moved sedately over the gravel pathways of Hyde Park, currently obscured by thick yellow fog. Norbert had suggested cutting their afternoon drive short, but Alice wouldn’t hear of it. It gave them a chance to enjoy the park with fewer people about, and, with a set of lap robes covering them, they could remain perfectly comfortable. It also gave Norbert the chance to be shockingly daring by pressing his muscular thigh against hers under cover of the robes. Alice made herself blush, but let her leg remain for quite a long moment before shifting away. Norbert’s expression didn’t shift as he changed the subject.

“I hear the Hats-On Committee is proposing more legislation regarding child labor in factories,” he said. “As if I don’t have to deal with enough regulations. I already can’t hire children under the age of ten, and they can’t work more than ten hours per day. Now they want to cut the time back to eight hours and institute a minimum wage.”

This time Alice was ready for him. “Why hire children at all?”

“They work for less than adults. And their hands are smaller, which makes them better at assembling certain machines.”

This time as he talked, Alice was careful to pay attention so she could insert the proper comments in the proper places. It was a bit audacious of them to be out without a chaperone, but they were in public and both of them were older, so Alice found it acceptable. The driverless carriage wound through the park, the automatic horse that drew it clopping with mechanical precision. Steam snorted from the horse’s gleaming muzzle at regular intervals. Then another sound caught Alice’s attention. She laid a hand on Norbert’s arm to interrupt.

“Was that a pistol shot?” she asked.

He cocked his head. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“I’m quite certain I heard a shot.”

“In Hyde Park in broad daylight? You must be mistaken. The mist is playing tricks. But we could leave, if you’re fearful of your safety.”

“Certainly not,” Alice replied. “I won’t—”

The high, sweet sound of a violin slid through the fog, now close, now far away. Unable to help herself, Alice fell silent to listen. The melody was complicated and quick, happy with a hint of something else. Uncertainty? Fear?

“That’s lovely,” Alice breathed, entranced. The music pushed all fear of the phantom pistol from her mind. “Like a spirit asking to be set free.”

“You have a delightful turn of phrase, Miss Michaels,” Norbert was saying. “Truly.”

Alice sighed. “He sounds festive and frightened at the same time. How does he—” The music stopped, and Alice felt crushed. Her face fell. “Oh. How disappointing.”

“We could try to find him, if you like,” Norbert offered gallantly. “I’m sure he’d play if you asked.”

She almost took him up on it—but no. What would she do if she found the musician? Fawn on him with Norbert looking on? “You’re very kind, Mr. Williamson, but we’d never find him in this mist.” She patted his hand. “Best to leave it a fond memory. Still, I’m finding it a bit chilly.”

Norbert took the hint and leaned forward to flip levers and twist dials on a control box set into what would be the backward-facing seat of the carriage. The mechanical horse paused, then set off at a brisk trot. In a short time, the conveyance arrived at the small row house Alice shared with her father. Their little meetings were taking on a regularity. Each one involved a simple activity—a drive through the park, a walk in London, a picnic at the river—and each one lasted no more than two hours. This was exactly the case today.

Norbert helped her down from the carriage, his almost-handsome features brightened considerably by a fashionably cut waistcoat and fine wool jacket and a high hat. His clothes and his outrageously expensive carriage only made Alice’s neighborhood seem even shabbier, but as always, he pretended not to notice, and Alice pretended not to notice he was pretending not to notice.

“So good of you to join me, Miss Michaels,” Norbert said, his usual farewell.

“So good of you to invite me, Mr. Williamson,” she said, her usual reply.

Their eyes met for a moment, brown to brown. Alice held her breath. Now was the moment. It would happen. She would feel a catch in her throat, a flutter in her breast, a weakening in her knees.

She felt nothing.

Quickly, she lowered her eyes and released his hand as if a bit overcome, turned, and fled into the house. Once inside, she peeped through the drawing room window in time to watch Norbert’s carriage pull away.

“All London is astir, darling. You have to tell me everything!”

Alice spun around so quickly, her skirts swirled to catch up with her. Louisa Creek was sitting in a wingback chair, an open book in her hand and Click in her lap. She wore a soft green dress with a stark white hat and matching white gloves.

“Louisa!” Alice gasped. “What are you doing here?”

“You never called on me after the ball.” Louisa idly stroked Click’s brass back with her free hand. “I was deeply wounded and came to see about your apology. Your father—a very nice man who was quite pleased to discover his close-mouthed daughter actually has a friend—invited me in and offered to let me sit until you came home. We had a nice chat until he retired for his nap. I’m surprised he didn’t recognize me, but he has grown nearsighted.”

“Why would he recognize you?”

“We ran in the same circles years ago, darling. I’m surprised he never mentioned me.”

“Oh. Yes. Well.” Alice hung her jacket on the coatrack to regain her composure. Finding Louisa in her drawing room was like discovering a kitten in the cupboard—not necessarily unwelcome, but still startling. “I see you’ve met Click.”

“Indeed. He’s charming.” She stood up, dumping the affronted Click off her lap and tossing the book aside. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll help you change, and you can beg my forgiveness while you tell me all about this tempestuous affair with Norby.”

In an instant, Louisa was up the steps and disappearing around the turn. A pang touched Alice’s stomach. “Louisa! Wait!”

She gathered her long skirts and hurried up the stairs. In the tiny hallway, Louisa was already opening Alice’s bedroom door. Before Alice could stop her, she strode on in. Alice halted. There was a long, long silence.

“Alice!” Louisa called. “Really!”

Alice sighed, straightened her back, and marched in. “Yes?”

Louisa stood in the middle of the room surrounded by Alice’s little automatons. More than a dozen of them scampered, climbed, crawled, and flitted about her. Louisa stared at them, her mouth agape.

“I’m so sorry,” Alice babbled. “I usually shut them away when company comes, but I didn’t know you were—”

“These are astonishing, darling.” Louisa put out her hand, and one of the whirligig automatons landed on it. “The work of a true genius. Are they gifts from Norby?”

“No.”

“Did you make them yourself, then?”

“I assembled them. They came in pieces as gifts from my aunt Edwina.”

“She sounds a fascinating woman! I must meet her sometime.”

Alice edged closer. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset? Why would I be upset?”

“Women aren’t engineers,” Alice said.

“Yes, they are,” Louisa said. “You of all people must have heard of Countess Ada Lovelace, and she isn’t alone in the field.”

“Ada Lovelace didn’t work for money. She had the wealth to flout convention.”

Louisa flipped the automaton into the air and leveled a hard gaze at Alice. “You honestly thought someone who flouted convention would bother me?”

“Oh.” Alice felt she was rapidly losing more and more control of the situation. “I mean, we haven’t known each other that long.”

“Now you owe me two apologies,” Louisa sniffed. “Let’s get you changed. You smell like machine oil from that dreadfully overstated carriage your beau drives. Do you keep your wardrobe locked?”

“No, of course not.” Alice straightened again and clapped her hands. “I need an at-home dress. My blue one, please.”

The automatons rushed to open the wardrobe and bring out Alice’s dress, which glided through the air like a ghost. Another automaton dashed up to pry open Alice’s shoes while a flier zipped around behind to start on her back buttons. Inscribed on the flier’s side were the words Love, Aunt Edwina.

“I’ll do that. Thank you.” Louisa brushed the whirling machine aside. “So this is how you got ready for the ball without the help of a maid. They’re so well designed, darling. The work of a genius.”

“You said that.” Alice stepped out of her shoes and carriage dress, and Louisa set to work on the stubborn crinolines. “They make Father uncomfortable. That’s why I usually keep them up here.”

“A shame. Lift your arms, darling. Why have I never heard of this aunt Edwina?”

“She lives like a hermit on a small estate on the edge of London.”

“Did she make these automatons so you could put them together? Is she a... clockworker?”

“Louisa! Certainly not! She’s been sending me automatons since my teenage years. If she had contracted the clockwork plague back then, she would have died years ago.”

“True, darling, true. I didn’t mean to offend. What was she like? I’m dying to know.”

“I barely knew her, to tell the truth, though in some ways I feel I know her very well.” And she found herself telling Louisa the entire story, including the death of her brother, mother, and fiancé, even though Louisa doubtless knew most of it.

“I’m so sorry,” Louisa said when she finished. “It’s unfair.”

“It is.” Alice pulled the last crinoline layer off and tossed it aside with a vehemence that surprised even herself. “Sometimes I think the worst of it isn’t that everyone died—I’ve learned to cope with that—but that, though I’m good with machines, as a woman of quality, I can’t do anything with my talent. My only hope for a decent life is to persuade Norbert Williamson to propose marriage, and I don’t even like him very much.”

“Oh dear. So the lovebirds rumor...?”

Alice dropped onto the bed. “I should love him, Louisa. He’s rich. He’s intelligent. He’s not bad-looking. He seems utterly smitten with me—or with the family title; I’m not sure which. But I feel nothing. Nothing at all.”

“You hardly need to,” Louisa pointed out. “You said you can’t look for work, but it sounds as though you’re interviewing for the position of rich man’s wife.”

“You make it sound so mercenary.”

“I’m not judging you, darling. But let’s talk about something more pleasant. Tell me what this is.” She picked up a bit of pasteboard from the workbench. “Miss Glenda Teasdale, Third Ward, and the square root of two. What on earth?”

“Oh, er...” Alice flushed again. Louisa had an absolute genius for ferreting out awkwardness. “On the way home from the ball, I had an unfortunate encounter with a plague zombie or two. Miss Teasdale and... and some friends of hers rescued me.”

“What?” Louisa’s squawk sent the automatons skittering about the room. “Now listen here—I pride myself on knowing everything of interest that goes on in London. Heaven knows I have nothing else to do. But in one afternoon I learn you have a brilliant aunt who managed to escape my notice, and we add to that a zombie attack? Alice!”

“It’s all right,” Alice said, rushing to reassure her. “I wasn’t hurt.” She found herself telling yet another story while Louisa sat rapt on the bed. It felt oddly palliative to relate even these scandalous events out loud.

“What a fascinating adventure! Shouldn’t you write this Teasdale woman?” Louisa asked when Alice finished.

It was such an unexpected question, though Alice realized she should be used to them from Louisa by now. “It’s not a proper thing for a lady. I’m only glad no one found out about the entire sordid affair. Mr. Williamson would no doubt drop his suit immediately.”

“There are worse things,” Louisa sniffed.

A dreadful thought struck Alice. “Louisa, you must promise you won’t tell anyone. This is all in strictest confidence. It would ruin me.”

“Not a word, I promise,” Louisa said, raising her right hand. “Besides, who would believe that an up-and-coming baroness single-handedly defeated a clockworker and a horde of zombies?”

“Stop that! I did no such thing.”

“That’s not the way I would tell it,” she said, then added hastily, “If you let me. But I won’t. Well, darling, I really should go. Visiting you delivers a number of shocks to the system, and I find myself in need of a lie-down.” She smiled. “I have to say I find it quite refreshing. Quite Ad Hoc. Call. On. Me.”

And she left.

“I was just going to call you in,” he said. “We’ve something to discuss.”

“Tea first, Father,” she said, setting the tray next to him. “The doctor said you’ve been losing weight. I want you to eat everything on this tray.”

“Yes, my dear.” He set the letter on the desk with a spidery hand and reached for bread and butter. Alice, who knew his every gesture, noted how slow and heavy the simple movement had become, however much she didn’t want to admit it. How much longer did he have? The thought of his absence made her throat thick, and she forced herself to look elsewhere. A bit of paper on the desk caught her eye—a business letter across which someone had scrawled Final Notice in red ink. Alice bit the inside of her cheek. Tonight she would slip down to the study and see which bills were the worst. Tomorrow she would take two or three of the little automatons into town and sell them to stave off the creditors for a few more weeks.

And when those weeks were over?

“I’m worried, Alice,” Arthur said, echoing her own thoughts.

She sank onto a low stool next to his wheelchair. “About what, Father?”

“You. I need to know you’re taken care of before I pass away, my dear.”

“Father.” She took his light, thin hand. “You’ll bury us all.”

“I don’t want to,” he said almost peevishly. “I’m tired, Alice. I’m tired of worrying about money and about this dreadful little house and about your future. I can’t... go until I know someone will be able to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” she said.

“There’s care and there’s care,” Arthur replied with a small smile. He sipped his tea and continued. “I just received an important letter. Our Mr. Williamson has expressed a deepening interest in you, and he has invited you to his town house for luncheon today. He’s sending his carriage for you.”

“Luncheon?” Alice asked. “Unchaperoned?”

“Oh no,” Arthur said. “Norbert—Mr. Williamson—said there will be a chaperone, and I believe him. He and I have exchanged several letters and held numerous conversations about you, and I believe his intentions honorable.” His face remained expressionless, but Alice caught the tremor in his hands. “You might change your dress.”

“Oh?” Alice said, then realized what he meant. “Oh!”

Sometime later, the ostentatious automatic horse and carriage pulled up to Norbert Williamson’s London town house on Hill Street not far from Berkeley Square. Alice, seated alone within the machine, looked at the four-storied brick structure and tried to hide her awe. She had never visited this place. Even being here now made her uncomfortable, and she glanced up and down the wide, busy street to see if anyone was taking notice of her. The mechanical horse halted neatly at the front door, responding to a command it must have been given previously, and for a moment Alice was distracted by an inappropriate urge—not her first one—to take the horse and carriage apart to peer inside. The machine was so sleek and fine, hiding its secret workings and machinations beneath a coating of bronze and copper.

The front door opened, and two men in their forties emerged, donning high hats and smoothing their jackets like second skins. Their movements were brisk and businesslike as they strode down the short flight of steps to the street and turned to leave. Alice watched them go, trying to figure out what their presence meant, and failing. Unease made her shift in her seat. An Ad Hoc lady might enter a bachelor’s home unchaperoned and eat a meal there, but Alice came from a traditional family. Were other men besides Norbert still in the house? People might think Alice had come to—well, who knew what they would think? Alice sat in the carriage, uncertain about what to do.

An automaton followed the men out and approached the carriage. It was dressed in gold footman’s livery, and its face had been painted with human features that didn’t move. It looked eerie.

“Miss Michaels,” it said, extending a hand. “The master and his other lady visitor are expecting you. May I help you down?”

The mention of the other visitor flooded Alice with relief. She shook off her initial reaction to the automaton and accepted its hand down from the carriage. Talking automatons were nothing new—the many improvements made to the Babbage and Lovelace analytical engines over the years saw to that—but they were extremely expensive. Using one as a mere footman showed even more wealth than Alice had imagined. She felt more and more intimidated in her outdated dress and aging hat.

Stop it, she admonished herself sternly. You are the daughter of a baron, no matter how poor, and he is a commoner, no matter how wealthy. He’s asking for your hand in— She stopped that line of thought, not wanting to bring a jinx. He’s begging you to grace his home with your presence, so act like a proper woman of your position.

The footman led Alice up the steps and held the door open for her; she swept past as if it didn’t exist. Here she halted again. The house’s interior was stunning. High ceilings, marble floors, electric lighting, a grand staircase that swept upward from the entry foyer. Then Alice regained her composure long enough to let the footman take her coat and gloves and lead her through the house. They passed a number of large rooms—a ballroom, a conservatory, a library, a dining hall—all of them spotlessly kept, with up-to-the-moment furnishings. What tugged at Alice’s attention was the army of automatons. They were breathtaking, even thrilling, in their numbers. Machines of all shapes and sizes scampered, flittered, and crawled everywhere. They waxed floors, dusted shelves, and folded linens. A few were human-shaped, mostly feminine and dressed in a variety of maid uniforms, which Alice found odd—most people required their servants to dress alike. One of the maids wore a scandalously low- and high-cut dress that Alice imagined was meant to be French. Well, once she was mistress of this house, that would—

No, no. Best not to get her hopes too high.

The footman brought her to a sitting room where Norbert Williamson was waiting at a small table laid with linen, crystal, and china for two. He rose when she entered.

“Miss Michaels,” he said, bowing over her hand with exaggerated formality. “I hope your journey here was pleasant.”

“It was, Mr. Williamson.” Alice found her heart beating a little more quickly as he moved suavely to seat her. Did that mean she felt what she thought she was feeling? How did one know one was in love? Perhaps it was possible to only think one was in love without truly being in love. More importantly, did it matter?

“And this is Mrs. Leeds.” He gestured toward an armchair in the corner, where an old woman dressed in black sat knitting. A pot of tea occupied a low table next to her. Mrs. Leeds inclined her head and kept knitting as Norbert introduced Alice. “Mrs. Leeds is the mother of my factory manager, and she kindly agreed to be our chaperone today.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Alice said.

Mrs. Leeds nodded again.

“She’s already eaten, so it’ll be just the two of us at table.” Norbert spun a crank on a box sitting on a nearby sideboard, and a gentle, harplike melody emerged, played with overly exact precision. “I know how much you enjoy music. I hope you like this.”

“Thank you,” Alice lied. “I do.”

One of the mechanical maids—not, Alice was relieved to see, the one in the French outfit—rolled in a cart and served poached salmon followed by an endive salad. Alice ate without tasting and responded to Norbert’s conversation automatically. Throughout, Mrs. Leeds knitted without a word. Finally, Alice laid down her fork.

“Mr. Williamson,” she said, “I have to say I don’t feel entirely comfortable. Mrs. Leeds seems to be very nice, but I don’t know her, and I’m not sure it’s proper for—”

He held up a hand to interrupt. “I apologize. We can make it more proper.” He pressed a button on a control box that sat on the table at his elbow. Instantly, the maid stepped forward. A small trapdoor at her stomach opened and an arm telescoped from the cavity within bearing a little velvet box. The arm laid the box on the table in front of Alice and sucked itself back into the maid’s body. Before Alice could react further, the box popped open, revealing a gold ring with a large emerald stone.

“I’ve already discussed matters with your father,” Norbert said. “If you will accept this small token, we can be married next summer. I was thinking June or July.”

“A year is a good engagement,” Alice said, picking up the ring and slipping it on her forefinger. “How large a wedding do we want?”

“I’m not much for ceremonies,” Norbert said. “I have no relatives—or rather, none I’d want to invite. You?”

“Just my father. And Louisa Creek, I suppose. She could be my maid of honor.” The emerald made a heavy weight on Alice’s finger. “I wouldn’t mind a small ceremony.”

“Splendid!” Norbert rubbed his hands together. “I’ll draw up the announcement for the Times and handle the other details, and you can eat all your lunches here without distress—or Mrs. Leeds. A fiancée doesn’t need a chaperone.”

“True,” Alice said dazedly. “True.”

Mrs. Leeds continued to knit.

“And, just so you know, once we’re married, you needn’t worry about your father’s debts. You will, of course, move here afterward and take over running the household. It’s so difficult to manage both the factory and this home. You can manage a large household, can’t you?”

“I can look after household accounts, entertain, and supervise servants, yes,” Alice said. “I did attend the correct schools. But are all your servants automatons?”

“At this house they are. Your skill with machines is one reason I pursued you, after all. I can hire a hundred engineers at my factory, but in my private home”—he leaned forward—“certain aspects of my life require delicacy and privacy.”

“I see,” Alice said, though she didn’t. The maid didn’t move.

“My country estate, on the other hand, is staffed with living servants—the villagers mistrust automatons. We’ll spend autumns and winters there, and when our first son is born, he will inherit both your father’s title and my lands, meaning the Michaels family will once again be landed nobility. Is that satisfactory?”

“Perfectly, Mr. Williamson,” Alice said.

“You must call me Norbert,” he replied with a smile. “We are engaged.”

“Oh!” she said again. “It’s still sinking in. Norbert. And you must call me Alice.”

“Alice. Dear Alice.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’ve barely responded. What do you think of all this?”

A dozen responses flicked through Alice’s mind. She had accomplished her goal, that of persuading Norbert to propose to her. Father would be elated that he wouldn’t have to worry about her fate, and those horrible, crushing debts that had dogged them for a dozen years would vanish with a flick of Norbert’s pen. She should feel ecstatic, or at least happy. And she was happy. Quite glad. Relieved. Well, relieved wasn’t the same as glad, and glad wasn’t the same as happy, but she did feel this was a positive step. With a start, she realized Norbert hadn’t actually asked her to marry him and she hadn’t actually said she would. Yet here they were discussing banns and estates, children and heirs, business and machines. It certainly wouldn’t be politic to point out the omission.

“It’s so much to take in.” Alice squeezed his hand. “But I’m thrilled, Norbert. Absolutely thrilled.”

“Congratulations,” Mrs. Leeds said. Alice started. It was the first word the woman had spoken, and Alice had quite forgotten she was there.

“We must celebrate!” Norbert said. “It’s a bit early in the day for a mixed drink, but it’s never too early for champagne, eh?” He pressed another button, and the footman arrived with a dark bottle in a silver ice bucket. Behind trotted a familiar figure.

“Click?” Alice said. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Click jumped up to the tabletop, nearly upsetting Alice’s salmon plate. He opened his mouth, and a man’s voice said, “ ‘Dear Miss Michaels: I hope this letter finds you and your father in good health and good spirits. I am solicitor to your esteemed aunt Edwina, and I must request your presence at a most urgent meeting. It is with great hope I request that you come to my office with all haste at your earliest possible convenience. Your dutiful servant, Harold Stoneworthy.’ ” An address followed, and Click closed his mouth. Alice stared in mute astonishment.

“Extraordinary,” Norbert murmured.

“I didn’t know he could do that,” Alice said, curiosity and surprise both warring for supremacy in her breast. “Norbert, I’m sorry, but this appears to be an emergency and I must leave. Can your footman call me a cab, or—”

“Nonsense! I’ll accompany you in my carriage.”

“Thank you,” Alice said, “but I think this is a private matter, and although you’re my fiancé, we aren’t yet married, and I suspect Mr. Stoneworthy won’t speak with you. It would be silly for you to ride all the way down there and then sit in his waiting room, darling.”

“Hm. I suppose you’re right,” Norbert said, apparently mollified by Alice’s use of the word darling. “But I shall send you in my carriage, nonetheless. And now that I think of it, I should have one built for you, as a wedding present, perhaps.”

“Oh! I’m overwhelmed.” Alice got to her feet, and Norbert leapt to his. Mrs. Leeds finished a row and unwound more yarn. “And I really must go.”

“Do I get a good-bye kiss?” he asked, moving around the table.

“My goodness, I suppose you do. Darling.”

Her first kiss. Norbert cupped her face gently in both hands and leaned in. Alice waited, not knowing what to expect. She had read a number of romantic novels, of course, and she had long come to suspect that, lurid descriptions to the contrary, real kissing couldn’t possibly transport either party to the gates of ecstasy and back. Still, she found herself hoping, even through the soft click of Mrs. Leeds’s knitting needles. Norbert’s lips softly brushed hers

—and then he pulled away. “Thank you, darling. Let me know what the solicitor says, would you?”

Written on one side was a musical staff with a single interval: a C and an F-sharp. On the back were the words I REMEMBER.

Alice gasped and looked up at the rooftop, but the figure was gone. Heart pounding, Alice hurried into the law office, where a clerk who seemed oblivious to the goings-on outside immediately showed her and Click into Mr. Stoneworthy’s private sanctuary, an office laid with carpet and lined with books. The desk was piled so high with papers that Alice could barely see the round figure of Mr. Stoneworthy on the other side.

“So good of you to come so quickly, Miss Michaels,” he said in a surprisingly flutelike voice. Someone so rotund and white-haired should have a deep voice. “Are you quite all right? I heard some sort of commotion outdoors.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “It was nothing.” But she couldn’t help wondering what the figure—the clockworker who had controlled the zombies—meant by I remember. A warning? A simple greeting? If he had wanted to harm her, he had every opportunity while she was walking obliviously past. And how had he known where she would be? Perhaps he had been following her or spying on her in some other way. The thought turned her stomach.

“You’re looking positively peaked, Miss Michaels,” said Mr. Stoneworthy. “Would you like some refreshment?”

“I’ve just come off lunch, but thank you,” Alice said, pushing thoughts of the clockworker away, which only allowed the reason for her visit to catch up with her. A call for an emergency visit to Aunt Edwina’s solicitor could only mean dreadful news, and although Alice hadn’t seen Aunt Edwina in more than a dozen years, she still felt a certain fondness for the woman, strange and estranged though she was. Nausea gave way to dread. Click sat next to her chair, his tail curled nonchalantly about his legs.

“Then I won’t keep you in suspense,” Mr. Stoneworthy said. He coughed into a handkerchief, belying the promise he had just made. “Pardon. I’m afraid it is my duty to inform you that you are the sole heir to the estate of your aunt Edwina.”

The chair rocked beneath Alice’s body, and she gripped the arms tightly. Tears welled in her eyes, and her throat thickened. Surprised at the strength of her reaction, she could only murmur, “Good heavens.”

Mr. Stoneworthy looked supremely uncomfortable. “Yes. Perhaps you would like some brandy?” Without waiting for an answer, he raised his voice. “Dickerson! Some brandy for Miss Michaels!”

A glass was pushed into her hand, and Alice drank without thinking. The brandy, her first, burned all the way down and pushed away the tears. She felt more able to speak. “How did she... pass away? And when? And why wasn’t my father notified?”

“She hasn’t died, exactly,” Mr. Stoneworthy said. “She’s missing.”

“Missing? I don’t understand.”

Mr. Stoneworthy coughed into his handkerchief again, and this time Alice caught him peeking at the contents. She hoped he didn’t have consumption, or worse, the clockwork plague. “You’re probably aware that your aunt was a bit... eccentric, yes?”

“She has her ways,” Alice said, feeling suddenly defensive.

“One of those ways was to send a letter to this office every month. I was instructed that if the letter should fail to arrive for twelve consecutive months, I was to execute her will. It names you as the sole heir to her estate.”

“So she’s definitely not dead?” Alice demanded. Click made a mechanical mew at her feet.

“I frankly don’t know,” Mr. Stoneworthy replied blandly. “I’m merely following her instructions.”

“But I’m... I can’t inherit her estate!”

He put on a pair of reading glasses that made him look like Father Christmas and examined a long piece of paper. “You are Miss Alice Michaels, daughter of Arthur, Baron Michaels, of London?”

“Yes.”

“You have reached the age of majority?”

Was that his way of asking if she were a spinster? Slightly affronted, she said, “Yes.”

“And you are unmarried.”

“Now see here—”

“Meaning,” Mr. Stoneworthy said, “you have no husband who would take over the property in your place?”

Her thoughts went to Norbert, but he wasn’t her husband yet. “That’s right. But my father—”

“Is specifically banned from having any part of this,” Mr. Stoneworthy finished for her with another cough into the handkerchief. “That part took some legal work, but it’s all arranged. The house and grounds are yours. Unfortunately, there is no monetary portion to the estate, but once the final legal hurdles are cleared, you could sell.”

“How long will that take?” Alice asked faintly.

“Four or five months, if no one contests the will, but you can take possession now, if you like. Here are the keys and a card with the address. Have you ever visited the house?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Do I need to sign anything?”

“Indeed. Dickerson!”

Alice signed a number of papers she didn’t quite understand, though she did read them to make sure she wasn’t accidentally signing over her firstborn child, and later found herself outside the law offices with a ring of keys in her handbag. Norbert’s carriage was nowhere in sight—apparently it had some sort of command that called it home—so she hailed a cab and let Click jump in ahead of her.

With a nervous glance up and down the street for the grinning figure, Alice handed the address card to the driver and sat back to think. In the space of a few hours, she had received a marriage proposal (of sorts), intercepted a strange message from a rogue clockworker, learned that her aunt Edwina had been missing for months and had managed to declare herself dead, and inherited a large house she had never actually visited. It was all a bit much. And oh yes—she had discovered that Click could talk, after a fashion.

“When did you visit Mr. Stoneworthy’s office so he could give you that message?” she demanded of the clockwork cat. “I quite forgot to ask him. And how long have you been able to reproduce a human voice?”

Click looked out the cab window with phosphorescent nonchalance. Alice made an exasperated sound as the cab rolled over the stony streets. Exasperation was easier to deal with than fear, uncertainty, or sadness. Aunt Edwina was dead. Actually, she was merely missing. Actually, she had failed to alert Mr. Stoneworthy’s office in a prescribed way for one year. Perhaps she wasn’t dead or truly missing at all. Perhaps she had forgotten or grown tired of the arrangement.

After twelve months? she thought. Unlikely.

The ride took more than an hour, and it was nearing dusk by the time the cab arrived at a high stone wall well outside of town, in a place where houses and factories gave way to trees and meadows. The wall ran nearly a hundred yards down the road before curving away and out of sight. Presumably it surrounded Aunt Edwina’s house, of which only the top half was visible. Alice couldn’t see much of it except the roof, or roofs. Several of them poked upward in odd places and directions. A large gate of wrought iron guarded a long driveway, and a smaller entry gate stood beside it. Coming up the road toward them was a barefoot girl of twelve leading a pony. The driver halted near the gate and helped Alice down from the cab with Click jumping down beside her. It occurred to Alice that she had no way of getting home.

“Can you please wait, driver?” she asked, paying him from her meager supply of coins. “I had no idea it would take so long to get here.”

“Not unless you’ll only be a moment, mum,” he said. “I have to put the ’orse up for the night.”

Flummoxed, Alice stared at the set of gates. She would have to go back right now. A long ride for nothing.

“Mum?” The girl leading the pony had approached. “There’s a train station, mum. Less than half a mile up the road. Trains run at night, too.”

“Why, thank you.” Alice gave the girl a farthing from her handbag. “What’s your name?”

“Gwendolyn, mum. My dad calls me Gwenny.”

“Do you live nearby, Gwenny?” Alice asked.

The girl remembered herself and curtsied. “All my life, mum.”

“What do you know about this house, then?”

“I’ll just be going, then, mum,” said the driver, who had climbed back onto the hack.

“Yes, thank you,” Alice said. “If you could just—”

At that moment, beautiful violin music floated by. It pushed the air ahead of itself, floated and rippled, shivered and sighed. All three people listened, entranced. The tune was even lovelier than the music Alice had heard in the mists of Hyde Park. After a moment, Alice realized her heart was beating quickly and her mouth was dry. Click touched noses with the pony, which whickered.

“Where is that wonderful song coming from?” Alice asked.

“The house, mum,” said Gwenny. “Strange lights used to flash in the windows, and we heard odd noises when I was little, but those stopped a year gone. The music is new, something like two weeks old. I don’t like it. It’s ghosts.”

“Don’t be silly,” Alice said. “It’s a person. Or an automaton.”

“The house is empty, mum. No one lives there.”

The music continued, soft and insistent. The driver clicked at the horse and the hack jerked into motion, temporarily ruining the violin. Alice was seized with a desire to slap the man for interrupting the instrument’s perfection.

“What about the lady Edwina?” Alice said. “The woman who lived here?”

“The strange lady, mum? I only heard about her. She never kept no servants, and we always stayed away.”

“Hm. Would you consider coming inside with me? I might have a coin or two for you.”

“Me, mum?” The girl backed away. “I’m sorry, mum, but I couldn’t. Not ever.” And she fled, taking the pony with her and leaving Alice alone on the road.

The sweet strings continued to play. Alice couldn’t think where she’d heard anything more perfect for a spring evening in the country, odd and unexplained though it was. If no people were in the house, it must be an automaton or perhaps a reproduction. Click had come from this house, and he had recently shown an ability to reproduce a human voice. It stood to reason that whoever had created him could do the same with music.

Alice drew the key ring from her handbag and sorted through the cold bits of iron until she found one that would open the little entry gate next to the large main one. When she tried to use the key, however, she discovered the entry gate’s lock twisted and broken, the gate itself slightly ajar. Mystified and a little nervous, she pushed through with Click at her heels and followed the crunching gravel driveway toward the manor.

The house was a rambling affair, clearly put together and added to over at least a hundred years. A stone building squatted in the center with wooden additions piled all about it. Several outbuildings dotted the overgrown gardens, and an attached tower rose up behind. The cool evening air smelled of damp grass intermingled with decaying flowers. The violin music continued, but Alice couldn’t pinpoint the source. She climbed the uneven front steps to the main doors and found them ajar as well. What on earth? Hesitantly, she pushed them open and entered the darkness beyond.

The moment she crossed the threshold, lights blazed to life, revealing a huge room three stories tall. It was filled with machinery that swooped to life with a great, grinding hum. Giant gears whirled; pendulums swung; huge pistons dipped and soared. Spidery automatons far more complex than the ones Alice had at home skittered everywhere on mysterious errands. In the corner, a giant arm swung back and forth with a loud, steady ticking sound. It was like standing inside a three-story clock. Alice glanced down at Click, who was watching the intricate metal dance with twitching tail and glowing eyes. Only one sort of person could have built all this.

“Aunt Edwina was a clockworker,” Alice breathed. “But how?”

That was when she saw the pool of blood.