“The uprising in India has finally been put down,” he said. “Maybe now Lord Elgin will get enough men to put the coolies in their place. Some are wondering if this will be another war over opium.”

“One can hardly blame the Chinese for their anger,” Alice said as Kemp refilled her cup. “As I recall, the Treaty of Nanking forced them to pay enormous sums of money to England and make a number of trade concessions while England gave virtually nothing in return.”

“It only means one thing.” Norbert set the paper aside and picked up his own cup. “More demand for weapons. I might expand the factory in that direction. Good news for us, eh?”

They were sitting in the morning room in Norbert’s enormous house in London eleven months after their engagement. The windows were shut against a dreary April sky, but a shared breakfast tray on a small table between them sent up smells of fresh bread, butter, sausage, tea, and chocolate. Norbert sipped the latter. The breakfast menu always remained the same. The one day when Alice had suggested they have something besides bread and sausage, Norbert’s face had turned bright red and his hands had shaken. Alice quickly retracted her suggestion, and he returned to normal.

In the last several months, Alice had learned that all of Norbert’s habits were exact and regular. Every morning when she arrived at his house for their customary breakfast together, she found him bathed and fully dressed in the same cut of business suit. He greeted her with the same “Good morning, my darling,” gave her the same kiss on the cheek, and seated her at the same chair at the same table in the morning room. The music box she had pretended to admire on the day he had more or less proposed to her played the same songs quietly through the meal. He read the front page and business sections of the London Times while they ate, commented on one or two stories, and was ready for the day at 7:20. He would return by eight o’clock, when supper was to be served.

On Tuesdays and Saturdays, Norbert brought flowers, chocolates, or some other gift for her. After supper, he gave her the same cheek kiss and bid her the same good-bye. If she hadn’t seen Norbert accidentally cut himself with a fish knife once, she would have suspected he was some kind of extremely advanced automaton.

As for Alice herself, Norbert had moved her to a much nicer flat within walking distance of Norbert’s house. Since he owned the flats, Alice could stay rent-free. Alice also noticed her father’s creditors had stopped calling. A secret look through the ledgers told her that Norbert had paid the worst of Father’s debts, but he still owed more than ten times the annual salary Alice had been offered by the Third Ward. This problem, of course, would evaporate the moment Alice said, “I do.”

Alice passed the majority of her days in Norbert’s house, ostensibly to take care of her father, and she did spend a fair amount of time doing just that, of course. After Norbert had announced their engagement in the Times, he had offered to move Arthur out of that run-down residence and into Norbert’s own home, where he would be warm and the resident automatons could see to his needs with tireless attention to detail, since Alice couldn’t provide round-the-clock care even in her own flat, and a hospital was out of the question. Alice, naturally, could not fully move in with Norbert. That would be far from proper. However, her father provided a built-in chaperone, which meant she could visit at any time, even if Father spent the entire visit shut up in his room with the heat on. As long as the proprieties were observed, society would approve.

This is what you wanted, she told herself. Father’s debts are paid, he’s happy you’re “taken care of,” he spends his remaining days in a suite of his own, and you... you have a wealthy, traditional husband—or you will very soon. Thousands of women would tread hot coals to trade places with you. You’ve won.

So why did it feel so much like losing?

Norbert swallowed the last of his chocolate, set his cup on the saucer with a clink, and checked his watch. “Nearly time,” he said. “Have you finished going through the household accounts?”

Alice nodded. One of her duties as Norbert’s wife would be to keep track of domestic finances. The staggering sums she was to oversee had come as a bit of a shock. “I think I can keep the house’s books without trouble.”

“You’re very quick,” Norbert said, clearly pleased. “This evening, then, I’ll show you the other task I’ll need you to take on after we’re married. It’s hard to believe the wedding’s less than three months away.”

“What task is that?” Alice asked.

“No time to explain it now,” he said, rising. “I’ll be late. You’re beautiful.” He kissed her on the cheek and left exactly on time.

Alice all but leapt to her feet. “Don’t keep her standing in the hall, Kemp. Show her in!”

Louisa didn’t wait for the black-and-white automaton’s permission. She bustled into the enormous drawing room and flung her arms around Alice. “I shall never forgive you,” she cried. “Never in my life!”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Alice said, hugging her back. “What did I do now?”

“It’s what you haven’t done.” The older woman held Alice at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “Wonderful dress. Blue silk suits you, darling, and I’ve never liked crinolines, either. Maybe between the two of us we can start a revolution. Hairstyle from Paris, of course—good choice. Smashing necklace. I’ll be borrowing that later. Shame about the shoes, but we’ll work on those.”

“What’s wrong with my shoes? And what are you never going to forgive me for?” Alice was trying not to laugh. “Really, Louisa, I haven’t seen you for two months, and you’re acting as if it’s only been a day.”

“Best way to handle absences,” Louisa declared stoutly. “And I’m never forgiving you because you still haven’t called on me. Not once, even after you get back from having your wedding dress made in Paris! You got back two weeks ago, darling.”

“I have no excuse. I’m a terrible person, and I throw myself on your mercy.”

“Noted,” Louisa sniffed. “I won’t even mention that you didn’t even send me a postcard and that I learned about your arrival by reading the Times.”

“I’ve been planning!” Alice protested.

“Is that what you call it? Show the dress. Now.”

“I can’t. It’s being shipped, and I do promise to let you know the moment it arrives so you can see it.”

“So you say.” Louisa plumped herself into a chair. “Tell me everything. How was Paris?”

“Wonderful! I’d love to go back for our wedding trip, but Norbert wants to visit Spain and Italy.” Alice took a seat of her own. “I’ll have to leave Kemp behind again—the Papists shun automatons that act human. He almost popped his gears when I told him.”

“My position is to ensure Madam’s physical comfort, regardless of human spiritual concerns,” Kemp sniffed. “It is difficult to do so from across the Channel. Shall I bring the tea?”

“Yes, Kemp,” Alice said, and he stalked out. “Anyway, the dressmaker sews everything by machine, so she could make the dress almost overnight. It’s incredible the times we live in, Louisa.”

“Yes, yes, very interesting.” Louisa leaned forward. “Norbert went along, didn’t he?”

Alice colored. “Well, yes. But in a different train and he stayed in a different hotel, and I hired a maid who was with me every moment we—”

“So is he a good man, then?”

“Oh. Well, yes. So far. He doesn’t shout or order me around or—”

“I meant,” Louisa interrupted, “is he any good where it counts, darling? In the bedroom.”

“Louisa!” Alice put a hand to her mouth. “Honestly!”

“Don’t come over all shocked with me, darling. I practically fed him to you at that ghastly Greenfellow ball, and then you offer yourself up to him like a tabby to a tom and don’t even drop me a card. After all that, you can certainly tell me if Norbie measures up after two months in Paris.”

“Louisa!” Alice flushed and tried to regain control of herself. “We haven’t... All he’s done is kiss me. On the cheek.”

“How English of him. Do you want some advice? There are a number of ways to stoke a man’s furnace, if you—”

“No, no. I’m... I’ve read quite a lot, thank you. And planning has kept me busy, in any case. I think Father’s on pins and needles.”

Louisa paused, and her tone became more tender. “How is your father?”

“As well as can be expected,” Alice said, feeling on safer ground.

“Don’t do that,” Louisa admonished. “Everyone needs someone to talk to. It’s why the Papists invented confession. How is he really?”

The safer ground had shifted. “Not well.” A bubble of anxiety rose up even as Alice said the words. “I was hoping that moving him here, with good food and warm rooms, would improve his health, but he’s only gotten worse. It’s as if he’s decided to let himself go, now that I’m engaged. Oh, Louisa, I don’t know what I’ll do when he... when he . . .”

Louisa looked misty herself, and Alice wondered why—she had met Father only the one time. She reached over and patted Alice’s hand. “It happens to us all,” Louisa said. “When the end comes, you have Norbert and me to help you through it.”

Kemp entered with the tea cart, the sound of the wheels muffled by the thick Persian rugs. He had already drawn back the drapes from the two-story windows to let in early-spring sunshine, which spilled across perfectly matched red velvet furniture, meticulously placed end tables, a perfect settee, and a fainting couch pulled just close enough to a square marble fireplace. And it was just one of dozens of what Norbert called “cozy little rooms.” Just one could have swallowed up the cold-water flat she had shared with her father, a fact that followed her every evening when Kemp accompanied her home to the new flat.

At first, Alice had spent these little walks glancing nervously over her shoulder for the grinning clockworker, but he hadn’t appeared; after a few weeks, she had finally stopped looking. Alice had spent a large part of one day fruitlessly checking back issues of the Times for any mention of him. Now she was wondering if he had gone completely mad and died, as every clockworker inevitably did.

With that off her mind, however, she found herself a bit timid about exploring Norbert’s house, as if she were an interloper. No, that wasn’t quite it. The place intimidated her. The lack of human servants made the place echo like an empty cavern, and machines moved just out of her line of vision. It unnerved her. She knew it was silly—soon she’d be the lady of the place—but she’d put off exploring, even after all these months. It wasn’t as if she had to do much. The automatons took care of the daily chores with no need for Alice to oversee them. Every evening, a spider brought her a punch card with menu choices for the next day’s supper on it, and she poked out the ones she wanted. At her own flat, Kemp helped her dress, and he helped with her hair, and he brought her a tea tray. In fact, Kemp refused to allow any other automaton to wait on Alice at all. Even now Kemp fussed with the pillow on her chair while Alice poured for Louisa and herself.

“Is the room of a comfortable temperature, Madam?” he asked. “My thermometer indicates it may be chilly.”

“It’s fine, Kemp. Thank you.” Alice added pointedly, “I’ll ring if we need anything.”

“Yes, Madam.” Kemp withdrew with stiff formality.

Louisa dropped a sugar cube into her tea. “Is he listening outside the door?”

“Kemp, are you listening at the door?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Please stop. Go check on Father.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Louisa sipped, then reached for a cake. “Rumor has it you had some mysterious visitors right around the time you became engaged.”

“Really?” Alice said in a neutral tone.

“An airship hovered over your father’s row house for a considerable period just after an entire house disappeared at an estate outside London. And I seem to remember a certain calling card in your room. I have to wonder if these events are connected. Did you write that Teasdale woman?”

“Honestly, Louisa—how do you remember her name after all this time?”

“I remember everything about everyone, darling. That’s what makes me so much fun at parties. So you did write her. Was she the one in the airship? Where did they take you?”

Alice opened her mouth to explain, to tell Louisa about the Third Ward, but what came out were the words, “I can’t talk about it.” And then her mouth clamped shut. She remembered Lieutenant Phipps and her strange pistol full of flashing lights.

“What? I’m your closest friend. I told you about that incident with the undergardener when I was fourteen. Surely you can tell me about this.”

Alice tried again. “I can’t talk about it.” She grimaced. “Louisa, I’m just . . . not allowed, all right? Please don’t press. Help me explore the house instead. I haven’t done it properly, and I don’t want to do it on my own.”

“Oh, very well.” Louisa finished her cake and rose. “I can give you decorating advice.”

The first room they came across was a library. Books of all sizes and thicknesses lined enormous shelves and filled the air with the smell of leather and paper. A pigeonhole section contained scrolls. Alice skimmed the titles. Predictably, most of the books dealt with physics, automatics, chemistry, and other sciences. Alice pulled several volumes on automatics and set them on a table. Each one held a punch card in it like a bookmark.

“What are the cards for?” Louisa asked.

“Spiders can’t read,” Alice said. “The punch card tells them what the book is and where it should be shelved.”

“I’ve never been one for reading,” Louisa said. “Except the Times and bombastic fiction, which are much the same thing.”

“You,” Alice said to a spider that was industriously running a feather duster over a set of atlases. The spider paused and turned to face her. “Leave these here, please. I want to read them later.” The spider squeaked once and set back to work.

“You know,” Louisa said as they exited, “everyone who’s anyone is wondering when you’re going to hold some sort of event in this mausoleum. A large tea for the right ladies, a small dinner for forty, perhaps even a dance. You do have a ballroom, don’t you?”

“I think it’s down that way,” Alice said. “And you’re right, of course—it’s what everyone expects.” She thought of issuing invitations, hiring musicians, arranging food, and coordinating service, and more, more, more. Alice grimaced.

“It’s overwhelming,” she said. “I know what to do in theory, but I didn’t grow up watching my mother organize large events and order servants about.”

“I’ll be right here to help, darling—as long as you do something outrageous.”

“Oh, Louisa, I don’t know if that’s me. I’m not Ad Hoc, you know, and I have no plans to become so.”

“I didn’t say scandalous. I said outrageous. We need to get everyone talking about you.”

“You mean they aren’t already?”

Louisa made a noncommital noise. “We’ll start small with the tea I mentioned. They’re appropriate for a fiancée, since Norbie has no other female in his life to handle such things for him. After the wedding, we’ll work through the dinners up to a major ball next season. I think your dinners will have to be exciting in some way, to make sure everyone wants to come.”

Alice gave Louisa’s arm an impulsive squeeze. “What would I do without you, Louisa?”

“Wither and die like the rest of London. What else do we have down here?”

They found a second drawing room, a parlor, a sunporch, a formal dining hall, the aforementioned ballroom, and several exits to the courtyard out back. They also found the kitchen, which was quiet at the moment. A large black stove dominated the back wall. Pots, pans, spoons, skewers, and other implements hung from ceiling hooks. A set of sinks took up most of one corner. Everything was perfectly clean, partly due to the efforts of a large spider, which was currently scrubbing the floor. Several human-shaped automatons in uniforms stood silently by, their blank eyes staring at nothing. One wore a tall chef’s hat.

“You could cook and serve an entire feast with them,” Louisa said. “I have to wonder why your dear fiancé employs no human servants. They’d come at less than a tenth the cost.”

“I have no idea,” Alice admitted. “While we were courting, I didn’t bring it up because it felt like prying, and now that we’re... that is, he’s home, I haven’t had a chance to bring it up.”

Kemp appeared at the kitchen door. He carried a salver with a calling card on it. “Madam, a Mr. Richard Caraway to see you. Actually, he asked for Mr. Williamson. And your father is fine. I brought him another book and a cup of milk with brandy.”

“Thank you,” Alice said. “Tell Mr. Caraway that Mr. Williamson is not at home.”

“He claims to have an appointment with Mr. Williamson, and he says it is quite urgent.”

Alice blinked. “Then tell him—never mind. I’ll go.”

“Richard Caraway, Richard Caraway,” Louisa muttered. “Oh yes. Young rake. Father owns tin mines in Wales and recently put Richard in charge of half of them to see how he does.”

“Do you have the entire social register memorized?”

“I told you I like bombastic fiction. Shall I wait here?”

“If you don’t mind. I won’t be long. Kemp, you needn’t come.” Alice started to scurry off, then forced herself to slow to a ladylike pace.

Richard Caraway, a thin, ash-blond man in a dark business suit, all but bolted to his feet as Alice entered the front room. His hat perched on a rack in the corner. He looked both nervous and familiar, but Alice couldn’t place him, and she wished for Louisa’s gift with names and faces.

“I’m sorry you came all this way, Mr. Caraway,” Alice said after introductions and handshakes, “but my fiancé isn’t at home, and my father isn’t seeing visitors.”

He blinked pale eyes. “I had an appointment. Wednesday, four o’clock.”

“Oh! There’s the confusion, then. Today is Tuesday, Mr. Caraway.”

He blinked again. “I see. Of course. Sorry to have bothered you.”

“What was the nature of your business with him?” Alice asked, genuinely curious. “I would think most people would go down to the factory or to his office.”

“It was...” He swallowed, staring at her, and Alice felt a little uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Miss Michaels, but I don’t know how much your fiancé involves you in his daily business, and I don’t feel quite right about—”

“Quite, quite,” Alice said, mystified. Did it have something to do with munitions? Or some other secret project? But if that were the case, why would this man come here rather than go to Norbert’s factory? She wanted to ask further, but manners didn’t allow. “I could offer you some tea. We have some lovely—”

“I should go.” The hat rack handed him his hat as he approached the door. “Please tell your fiancé I was here. So sorry.”

The moment he turned his back to walk out, Alice remembered him. He was one of the men who had left this very house on the day Norbert had proposed to her. It piqued her curiosity.

“Excuse me,” Alice called, hurrying after him, “Mr. Caraway, I remember seeing you here before, with another gentleman. Don’t you run a mining concern in Wales?”

He stopped and turned. His face was pale. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s rather unusual for someone of your stature to stop by a private home during business hours, and I was truly wondering—”

“I do have to go,” he said shortly. “Good day, Miss Michaels.” And he fled the house.

“I honestly don’t know,” Alice replied.

“Biscuit, Madam?”

“No thank you, Kemp. So odd.” She related the details of the conversation. “It’s a complete mystery.”

“So many of them in your life,” Louisa said.

A bubble of emotion Alice hadn’t been aware she was carrying suddenly burst, and Alice slapped her hand on a worktable. “And I’m tired of it!” she cried. “It’s been nearly a year, and I don’t know what happened to my aunt, and I don’t know what happened to that grinning clockworker, and I don’t know what happened to Gavin, and I don’t know what’s happening in this house, and I’m bloody tired of it!”

“Gavin?” Louisa said. “Who’s Gavin?”

Alice paused in her tirade. “Did I say Gavin?”

“You did,” said Louisa, zooming in for the kill. “Who is he?”

“A young man I ... assisted.”

“How exciting! And romantic! Do you like him? Is he handsome?”

The hell with it. “Very handsome,” Alice snapped with an angry toss of her head. “Stunningly handsome. Gorgeous. Blond and blue-eyed and quick and strong, with a voice like an angel and hands that create music to make heaven weep.”

“Did you kiss him?”

This was rather fun. Alice leaned forward with pointed wickedness. “I didn’t, but I wanted to, and more, even though I had just given my hand to Norbert only hours before. I still think about him all the time. When I fall asleep, I see his face in the dark, and when I wake up, his memory is in my dreams. How do you like that?”

“I think it’s marvelous!” Louisa’s eyes were sparkling. “Is he rich?”

“Dirt poor. He’s a street musician.”

“Lowest of the low. Shocking! How old?”

“Eighteen when I met him. He must be nineteen by now.”

“Cradle robbing already. Darling! I’m so proud!”

The remark, however, yanked Alice back to reality. The daring anger drained away and she deflated. “It is, isn’t it? Good heavens. Even if I weren’t engaged to Norbert, I couldn’t pursue Gavin. Not in a hundred years.”

Louisa blinked. “Why on earth not?”

“You just said why not. He’s nineteen years old, and I turn twenty-three next month. I’m a cradle robber.”

“Oh, please!” Louisa took up a biscuit and angrily bit off a chunk. “These are modern times. How old is Norbert?”

“Thirty. Why?”

“But you’re twenty-three? No one bats an eye when a man marries a woman seven years younger, but if a woman looks at a man four years her junior, everyone gets in a tizzy.” She crumbled the rest of the biscuit onto the platter. “If your ages were reversed, would you see a problem?”

Alice thought about that. Louisa had a point. No one would think twice about a relationship if Alice were nineteen and Gavin were twenty-three—or even older. Why should it be any different when it was the other way round? It wasn’t as if Gavin acted anything other than like a man. He was smart and resourceful and witty and—

“All this is hypothetical,” Alice said stiffly. “I’m marrying Norbert. Gavin is—was—a passing fancy.”

“I don’t think so,” Louisa replied. “Gavin stirs up strong feelings, even after a year. I can see it in your face. Why not walk out on Norbert and pursue him?”

“I can’t. I even had a chance to work with”—the Third Ward’s machine froze her tongue again—“with him. At a salary. And I turned it down.”

“What? Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“Because Father owes more than I could hope to pay off on my own. Because Norbert has moved Father in here and is providing for his care. Because the banns have been published, and if I back out of the marriage now, Norbert would have the legal right to sue me for the title I had promised his firstborn child. Logic dictated I turn the offer down.”

“You’re a woman, Alice, not an automaton.”

“I don’t want to discuss it anymore.”

“There’s more to this than mere logic,” Louisa said shrewdly. “I can tell.”

There was, but Alice refused to think about it. “I said I don’t want to discuss it anymore.”

“You have a lot of things you don’t want to discuss,” Louisa replied. “Well, what do you propose we do?”

“I want to clear up some of the mysteries in my life,” Alice said. “I want to know at least one thing that’s going on round here. I want to take apart one of these blasted automatons and find out why Norbert is so fascinated by these things.”

“You’re fascinated by them.”

“Not in the same way. Kemp, bring me my tools. And if you see Click, tell him to—oh. Here he is. How did you know I wanted your help?”

Click, who had jumped up to the kitchen worktable, didn’t respond. In a few minutes, Kemp returned, wheeling a walnut cabinet the size of two steamer trunks. Brass fittings gleamed, and every surface was carved to show gears, pistons, rotors, and other bits of machinery. One of the rubber wheels left a small mark on the floor, and the spider rushed over to work on it with frantic movements of the scrub brush. Alice twisted the cabinet’s handles, and the doors sprang open, revealing rotating shelves of tools and dozens of tiny drawers for spare parts.

“Well!” Louisa said. “This is a step up from your garret.”

“An engagement present from Norbert,” Alice said. “It’s a definite improvement.”

“If you like ostentation, Madam,” Kemp put in with disapproval.

“Madam didn’t ask your opinion.” Alice crooked a finger at one of the motionless footmen standing against the kitchen wall. “You! Are you awake?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The automaton’s voice was flat.

“Come.”

The automaton obeyed. It had a female shape, and it swayed when it walked. Its black-and-white uniform clung to a curvy brass body, and its skirt swished with every step. Somehow it seemed more naked than Kemp, whose clothes were only painted on.

“What is your function in this house?” Alice asked.

“I serve whatever function is required of me,” the servant said.

“Helpful,” Louisa observed. “You don’t suppose . . .”

“What?”

“I’ve heard about automatons that serve a certain purpose. You know the one I mean.”

“Oh, Louisa.” But the protest was halfhearted. “Such . . . congress between men and machines is strictly illegal. Besides, Norbert wouldn’t.”

“Really? I know this is a little harsh, but how well do you know him? Until you came along, he lived alone in this huge house. He had no social life to speak of. What do you think he was doing in here?”

Alice was going to protest again, then decided against it. What was the point when she was thinking the same thing? A sick feeling roiled in her stomach, and she wanted to flee the room. But no—she had asked for answers, and she was going to have them. “Let’s get this over with. Help me get her—its—dress off, Louisa.”

They did. The automaton stood for it without protesting, and Click batted at one of the sleeves. The last layer of undergarments was shed, revealing brass skin broken only by regular patterns of rivets. It looked less human this way, like a mannequin or dressmaker’s dummy. Alice quickly examined it and found only unsuspicious, smooth metal.

“Well,” she said, straightening. “This is a bit embarrassing.”

Louisa was holding Click. “Perhaps other methods were employed?”

“Hm. Just how suspicious am I allowed to be?”

The spider, which was the size of a hatbox, finished removing the scuff mark and was turning to scuttle away when Click abruptly leapt from Louisa’s arms and pounced on it. The spider squeaked, and its scrub brush skittered across the floor. The two of them rolled about, Click’s eyes reflecting phosphorescent glee.

“Click!” Alice scolded. “Stop it! Leave it alone!”

Click abruptly snapped free and strolled away, tail in the air. The discombobulated spider lay on its nose, its backside in the air.

“That cat,” Alice said, leaning down to right the spider. “I don’t know what I’ll—”

She halted and stared.

“You’ll what?” Louisa said.

Alice didn’t answer. Instead, she lifted the hatbox spider onto the table, spun it around, and used a screwdriver to lever open a small door mounted on the rear.

“What are you doing?” Louisa asked.

“This spider has two panels to access the inside instead of one,” Alice said. “Unusual. Hold still, you.”

The door popped open. Alice and Louisa both leaned forward to look inside. There was a moment of silence. Then Alice reached inside and pulled out a device, the shape of which made its function quite clear.

“I don’t suppose,” Louisa said, “that this object has some machine-related function not so obvious to a layman.”

“I’m afraid not.” Alice shut the spider down. Her hands were shaking, and she felt about to throw up. She remembered Mr. Caraway and the other man she had seen leaving the house during business hours, and she remembered that Norbert had been home. “Kemp, please bring every inhuman automaton in the house to the formal dining room. And don’t let Father know.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Louisa.

“I’m going to see how many of these things are equipped like this one. Then I’m going to talk to my fiancé.”

“You look upset.”

“I am.”

Kemp hastily threw a drop cloth over the dining room table, allowing Alice to make a lineup of automatons on it. It turned out most of the spiders and walkboxes were equipped the same as the first.

“Do you drink?” Louisa asked from one of the high-backed chairs. “If you don’t, now might be a good time to start.”

“Hm,” Alice said again.

“You could install some spikes. As a little surprise.”

Alice had to laugh at that. “Thank you for that thought. But I think talking to Norbert will do.” She glanced at the grandfather clock ticking in the corner. “And he’ll be home in an hour.”

“Then I’d better scamper away.” She rose and kissed Alice on the cheek. “Whatever you decide to do, darling, remember I’m on your side. Though I have to say that your Gavin is sounding more attractive by the moment.”

When Norbert arrived home an hour later with a bouquet of roses, he found on the table, instead of dinner, a number of spidery automatons with their covers off. Tools and parts lay scattered up and down the drop cloth. Alice stood among them, feeling like a black widow in a wiry web.

“Really, Norbert,” Alice said icily. “How long did you think it would take me to find out?”

Norbert looked at her for a moment, then set the roses down and pulled off his gloves. “I did say at breakfast that there was another task I needed you to take on.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I received a telegram from Fred Caraway at my office today. It said he’d stopped by on the wrong day for his appointment. He always was a little scatterbrained.”

“What does that have to do with these ... things?” Alice tried to keep her voice neutral, but anger and humiliation burned two red spots into her cheeks.

“A remarkably imprecise description coming from someone of your caliber.” He yanked the corner bellpull, and Kemp immediately stepped into the room. “Gin and tonic. And where’s supper?”

“On a cart in the kitchen,” Alice said. “I’m tired of waiting for explanations, Norbert, though I’ve already figured out quite a bit.”

“What have you figured out, then?” Norbert seemed perfectly at ease, which served only to infuriate Alice.

She took a deep breath to get herself under control. “These machines ... entertain your friends, or business contacts, or whatever they are. In return, your contacts provide you good business deals. Mr. Caraway, for example, ensures low tin prices. You don’t keep human servants because human servants talk, and word would eventually reach the authorities. The only part I don’t understand is why none of them are interested in the more human-seeming automatons.”

Kemp held out a glass of gin and tonic on a tray, and Norbert accepted it. “You’d be surprised at how many men are too shy even to pay for female companionship, and how many others are put off by human-shaped automatons.” He gulped from his drink. “There are men who find the idea of a small machine that doesn’t talk or even appear human quite appealing. And the man who owns the machines becomes popular.”

“What has this to do with me?” Alice demanded.

“I didn’t build these automatons. My uncle did. He died before I met you, leaving me with no way to repair them.”

“And that’s where I come in? A female?”

“Why not? The sex of the mechanic is unimportant. I had small-business dealings with your father, and through him I learned about you and your talent with automatons. I helped wrangle you an invitation to the Greenfellow ball so I could look you over. The fact that you repaired Lady Greenfellow’s cellist on the spot sealed it, as far as I was concerned.”

“In other words, you only proposed to me so I could keep your ... toys in good working order?” Fury overwrote every word.

“Good Lord, no!” Norbert came over and took her hand. “Alice, you’re also heir to a title. Over time we may grow to love each other, or we may not. But this”—he swept a gesture over the motionless automatons—“this is business.”

The question popped out before she could stop it. “Have you used them?”

“No,” he said simply, and sat back down. “At any rate, you’ve already discovered that several of them are broken. I want them repaired. We’ll set up a workroom so you needn’t clutter up the dining room, and I’ll give you the name of a shop that can be trusted if you need parts.”

“Why don’t you have your factory make them?”

Norbert shook his head. “My factory turns out materials in large quantities, far more than my little machines might need. Besides, the parts have to be custom-fitted. Don’t worry—I pay the metalsmith well to keep silent. And it’ll be easier now that I don’t have to worry about scheduling appointments for days when you don’t visit.” He drained his glass. “The beauty of it all, my dear, is that everything appears perfectly normal. Your father will continue to get proper care, and when we’re married, his debts will be paid. My first son will be a peer. You may work on whatever other projects you like, as long as my machines stay in good repair. Everyone comes out ahead.”

“I see.” Alice sank into a chair of her own, barely noticing the soft velvet cushioning. She felt suddenly tired, as if she had worked a full day on her knees scrubbing floors. Norbert was right, of course. Father would be cared for. His debts would be paid. Most importantly, everything would be for the best because it would all appear normal. She would be—or seem to be—a normal, traditional woman with a normal, traditional husband, living a normal, traditional life. As long as no one knew that anything odd was happening, everything would be all right. Everything would be under control. That was the rule. Here, at least, she was on familiar ground.

“Very well,” she said.

The workshop lay behind an anonymous locked door at the end of an unlit hallway on the second floor. It looked perfectly normal and respectable from the outside. Inside was a place clean, spacious, and well lit by electricity, where Alice spent secret time hunched over a worktable, refitting rubber rings and lubricating little pistons. She stayed strictly away from the rooms where Norbert entertained his business contacts.

Alice didn’t bury herself entirely in the workshop. There were wedding arrangements, but not many, since theirs was going to be so tiny. Her wedding dress arrived, and she modeled it halfheartedly for Louisa. And now that she had explored the house and taken over the household accounts, Alice took on Louisa’s help and put on afternoon teas for ladies who were fascinated with the houseful of automaton servants. The events were always highly attended, especially after she fitted one of the footmen to spout tea, milk, and hot water from his fingertips (though she told everyone she’d had it done for her). Alice remained bright and merry on the outside, but underneath she felt lost and frightened. The idea of ferreting out more secrets had lost its appeal, and although she felt flickers of curiosity about the fates of Gavin and Aunt Edwina and the grinning clockworker, she no longer felt a burning need to uncover more ugly truth and take the emotional bruises that came with it.

“I don’t know why I did this, Father,” she whispered at his bedside one morning. “I’m wearing a shell, and it gets heavier every day.”

Arthur Michaels shifted slightly on the silken sheets. His eyes were sunken; his white hair brittle. His hands had shrunk to sticks, and he weighed so little that Alice could lift him with ease. He slept almost all the time now and ate nearly nothing.

Alice held his hand for a while, then pursed her lips and left the room. The automaton stationed near the bed would alert her to any change. Right now she had errands to run. Specifically, she needed to visit the special shop Norbert had mentioned. Three of Norbert’s automatons were malfunctioning beyond her ability to repair at home, and she needed to commission parts. She put on her hat, skewered it with pins, and went downstairs.

Although Norbert preferred his mechanical carriage, Alice had persuaded him to buy for her use a more conventional vehicle, a small, boxy carriage pulled by a pair of well-matched horses. A vehicle like Norbert’s attracted a great deal of attention, and there were times when Alice didn’t want all eyes on her. Kemp drove in a cloak and hat to disguise his own identity, and when they arrived, he carried two muslin-wrapped automatons into the shop while Alice took the third.

The shop was crowded from floor to ceiling with shelves and bins, all of them filled with a jumble up of tools and parts—cogs, wheels, levers, pistons, drill bits, spools of wire, steel sheets, rivets, bolts, screws, nuts, and more. At the back of the shop behind a counter, a wizened little man perched on a stool with his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather apron. An enormous pencil was stuck behind one ear, nearly lost in the wrinkles that covered his bald head. His name was Mr. Smeet, and he had once been a smith himself, but now his son and grandsons ran the forge out back while he ran the business out front. Nothing in the shop itself was ordered in any way that made sense to Alice, but experience had taught her that Mr. Smeet could lay his hands on anything from the shelves in seconds.

“Ah, the young miss and her automatons,” Mr. Smeet said in a piping voice that matched his tiny body. “What do you need today?”

Alice made herself march up to the counter and set the bundle down. She had gone through this many times, and she still hated it. Nausea oozed through her stomach, and her skin itched, as if dozens of accusing eyes were watching her. She had to continually remind herself that she was protected. The machines were hidden under muslin, and their true function was also hidden behind an access panel.

“I need parts to repair these three,” she said briskly as Kemp set the other two beside the first.

Mr. Smeet reached for one of the bundles. “Let’s have a look.”

Alice helped him unwrap the three automatons. Two were spiders, and the third was shaped like a large vase, though the opening at the top was not used for flowers. All three had been deactivated. Mr. Smeet put on a jeweler’s loupe, got out a large sheet of foolscap, and spun the automatons toward himself with little tsk noises.

“These’ve been abused,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Alice said. “I’ll need—”

A dreadful wrenching noise tore the very air, and a section of the roof came off the shop, taking a large portion of the front wall with it. Alice screamed, flung herself sideways, and went down, hampered by her skirts. Shouts and screams filtered into the shop from outside, and a hail of wood and metal pelted over Alice. In an enormous hole where the front of the shop used to be stood a two-story machine. It had a squat, round build, with heavy legs, long arms, and gleaming brass skin. A glass bubble enclosed the top, and a young man with ash-blond hair pulled levers and spun wheels inside it. He wore a high collar and an evening coat that fit him badly. Alice stared up from the floor of the shop, trying to take everything in. The man, who pulled up a speaking tube from between his ankles, somehow struck Alice as familiar, though she couldn’t say how.

“Wonderful!” His voice crackled thin and tinny. “Don’t fight me, and I’ll remember it as a kindness when I’m ruling London. Blow me a kiss, and I’ll make you my queen.”

The machine clanked into the shop, and its front opened like a drawbridge. It leaned down, long arms reaching. Alice scooted back, her eyes wide. She was panting in fear. Kemp lay trapped under a wooden beam, one of his eyes smashed, and Mr. Smeet had fled out a back door.

The machine scooped up handfuls of machine parts from the bins and shelves and dropped them into the opening, like a child stuffing his pockets with boiled sweets. “Memory wheels!” The young man laughed. “I’ll build myself an army! Blow me a kiss, and you’ll be my queen.”

He sang a little song as he worked.

More parts went into the compartment. Outrage overcame some of Alice’s fear. He was a thief! A common thief! She scrambled to her feet as the machine shoved more parts into its chest cavity. But then to her horror, the machine plucked Norbert’s little automatons from Mr. Smeet’s counter and held them up so the driver could examine them through the glass bubble.

“Premade automatons,” he cried. “Yours, my queen? I’ll be grateful. May I have the honor of a dance?”

And then Alice knew him. He was the ash-blond man in a bad coat who had asked Louisa to dance at Lady Greenfellow’s ball. He was the second son who had seen Louisa home—and stayed for breakfast. He was even wearing the same badly cut coat.

“Patrick Barton!” she gasped, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

Patrick’s machine leaned down for a closer look. His eyes were wide and wild. Clockwork madness. Alice wondered if he’d been infected with the clockwork plague before or after the ball and prayed it was after, for Louisa’s sake.

“Alice Michaels!” he said. “Well! I’ll be glad to make you my London queen, my luscious Boadicea, my warrior angel. Especially if you made these automatons. I’ll make you famous.”

A shot cracked through the air and ricocheted off the glass. It was quickly followed by another. Alice heard shouts and clattering hooves.

“Police always come in legions,” Patrick groaned. He stuffed the three automatons into his machine’s chest cavity, and it clanked shut. “I’ll come back for you, my Boadicea, my spider. Give my best to Louisa.”

With that, he turned and stomped away, leaving Alice in the shambles of the shop.