My Dear Miss Dechantagne,
It was with deep regret that I left your company on the twenty-fifth, but I ease the ache within me by recalling the week that I spent with you. Surely no other fine lady of the Great City can equal you in hospitality, graciousness, or dare I say beauty.
The funds that you forwarded for the new machine have been received and put to good use. I have hired a new assistant in whom I see a great deal of promise. With her assistance and with the aid of Mr. Murty, of whom I believe I spoke during our conversations, we should be ready to begin construction within a matter of weeks.
I will of course keep you informed of the major milestones as they occur, but I would very much enjoy a visit by you to University Ponte-a-Verne. I believe you would find the architecture and the gardens to your liking and the village has many interesting sites as well. I would be more than pleased to extend some semblance of the kind courtesy that you offered me.
Eagerly awaiting your next letter,
Your humble servant,
Merced Baines Calliere PhD.
Iolanthe folded the letter closed, and with a satisfied smile, placed it in her letterbox. Clearly the Professor was smitten. She thought that he was someone that she could marry. He was certainly interesting, from a well-placed if not wealthy family. He was intelligent and relatively resourceful. Best of all he seemed willing enough to be led, which would spare her from the tiresomeness of a man who would pretend to be her master. That there was no spark of passion, at least from her perspective, didn’t bother her. She had never known it and she didn’t believe it existed.
She placed the letterbox in the bottom drawer of her private desk just as the head butler entered, carrying a silver tray.
“The morning post has arrived, Miss.”
The letter from Professor Calliere had arrived on the evening post the day before. Iolanthe typically did not open her letters until she was ready to reply to them, but she took the bundle of envelopes, tied together with a bit of red ribbon, and looked through them. There was a letter from Mrs. Godwin back in Shopton, Mont Dechantagne and there were several bills from the carpenters that should have gone to her solicitor. Then there was an official looking envelope with a golden wax seal, which when opened, was revealed as a hand-written note from the Prime Minister.
Dear Miss Dechantagne,
I have made the arrangements we discussed earlier. The vehicle in question will be under refit for the next nine months, so I suggest you plan your timetable accordingly.
With Regards,
E. P.
“Why Prime Minister, how very cloak and dagger of you. ‘The vehicle in question.’ No one would suspect that a vehicle under refit would be a ship.” She laughed.
“Muh… Miss?”
“What is it, Zeah?”
“Are um… are you really going to Mallon?”
“If I do, don’t worry. You shall go with me.”
“Muh… me?”
“Of course, Zeah. Why, I wouldn’t be able to function without you.”
“But, what would I duh… do?”
“I’m sure we’ll find enough to keep you busy.” She smiled. “Now, have the car brought around. My brother and I are going out.”
Zeah raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t seen much of Master Terrence at all in the three months he had been home. But he hurried off to see that the vehicle was made ready. It was more than simply bringing it around. Care had to be taken to see that the boiler was filled with water and the firebox was filled with coal, and lit, and that a good volume of steam was allowed to build up.
Half an hour later, Iolanthe sat impatiently behind the steering wheel. Her leather driving gloves just matched her green day dress. The tall black top hat with white flowers that she had chosen was tied to her head with a large strip of green ribbon. Zeah, who stood on the sidewalk, watched as her eyes grew narrower and narrower. He was very happy when at last Master Terrence walked down the steps. Terrence wore a new grey suit with a red plaid waistcoat. He had shaved, but had dark bags under his eyes. Rather than climbing into the passenger seat, he walked around to the driver’s side.
“Move over,” he said.
“I’m driving,” said Iolanthe.
“No. No, you’re not.”
“It is the year of our Lord eighteen hundred ninety-seven and women can drive.”
“Some women can drive. Not you. Scoot over.”
Iolanthe pursed her lips but moved across the seat to the other side, careful not to smash her bustle. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited for her brother to climb in and get settled. He released the brake with his right hand and stepped on the forward accelerator with his right foot, and they were off.
“Where are we going now?” Terrence asked.
“King’s Park Oval. You remember where it is?”
“Of course I remember.” He pressed his foot down on the decelerator and whipped around the fountain of Lord Oxenbourse and drove north up Scrum Boulevard. “Why are we going there?”
“West Brumming is playing Ville Colonie.”
“I thought you hated cricket.”
“I don’t hate cricket.”
“Yes you do. You hate all sports.”
“I don’t hate sports.” Iolanthe explained. “I just don’t see the point of watching a group of men you don’t even know play at games, let alone of rooting for them. I went to one or two games when I was at university.”
“Well, St. Dante isn’t playing. So why are we going now?”
“I thought it would be good for you to get out of the house for a bit. You’ve hardly gone out of doors since you arrived.”
“Hmm,” said Terrence noncommittally. He concentrated on his driving but after a few minutes felt his sister’s eyes on him. “What?”
“Perhaps you should visit a bordello.”
Terrence almost lost control of the vehicle and swerved into another lane. “Kafira!”
“I know men have needs.”
“Iolanthe…”
“Perhaps that’s why you’re feeling poorly.”
“Please stop talking.”
“When was the last time you were with a woman?”
“If you don’t shut up, I may never be able to be with a woman again.”
“All I’m saying is that it may not be healthy to keep things bottled up, so to speak.”
Terrence stamped down on the forward accelerator taking the steam carriage near its top speed of forty miles per hour, but had to almost immediately decrease the speed to turn off onto the grassy drive to the cricket grounds. Thankfully Iolanthe remained quiet as he parked the car at the end of a line of similar vehicles. He climbed down and walked around to help her down. She opened her parasol and took his arm and they walked toward the bleachers.
“Just think about it,” she said.
“Shut up,” he snapped, and then muttered, “I shall be able to think of little else.”
Ville Colonie had been designated as the visitors, randomly it seemed as this was the home grounds of neither team. Ville Colonie was a village on the small channel island of Petitt Elvert, while West Brumming was a small town about fifty miles north of Brech City. The team members from the north were dressed in white shirts and grey dungarees, while the team from Ville Colonie, as might be expected from those descended from Mirsannan immigrants, were flamboyantly arrayed in bright blue stripes. Next to the home team hutch were several dozen chairs around tables with large parasols, where all of the women and the men who were with them sat, while next to the visitors’ hutch was a grandstand filled entirely with men.
“Good heavens,” said Iolanthe. “I had no idea that cricket was so popular. There must be four hundred people here.”
City of Amathar 