All Men of Genius

XX.



LONDON in winter wasn’t white like the country in winter. It was gray and silver, the color of iron and stone. Outside was steadily falling snow, heavy fog, specks of white on a pewter background, and through all that, a depth of monochrome, smoke and shadows of buildings, all shimmering, all unreal. This was lost on Gareth Bracknell, who did not care much about the beauty of the physical world. Even though he had been studying the stars since he was a child, he saw them only as points of light, like marks on a map. In fact, he hated snow. Hated the way it covered the dome of the astronomy tower and didn’t slide off, creating strange gray shadows in the classroom. Hated the way it blotted out the sky at night, creating confusion over whether things were a falling star or snowflake. And he hated the cold. He had on several thick sweaters, a scarf, and mittens, and it was still cold in the astronomy tower. He tucked his hands under his arms and felt his teeth chatter. The students looked at him from their desks, waiting for him to start, apparently unaffected by the cold. They had on little jackets and shirts, and the fat one wore a ridiculous-looking sweater, but none of their teeth chattered, none of them shivered. Bracknell hated them for their warmth.

“F*ck all,” Bracknell said. Violet had stopped trying to pay attention in Bracknell’s classes since discovering that he was going to be nasty either way. When she tried to please him by studying hard and getting every answer right, he called her a sissy, and when she didn’t pay attention or got an answer wrong, he called her stupid. Not paying attention was easier.

“I don’t see the sodding point in trying to have an astronomy class in the snow,” he said, “but your headmaster, the bloody Duke of Idiocy, said that I have to do something. He paused, looked out the window. A smile crept onto his lips. Violet didn’t like it.

“I know,” he continued. “How’s about a little test? A test-y. Oh yes. It won’t be your final exam, of course—those aren’t until the third trimester—but a test. You have to work. I don’t. Sounds perfect. Everyone take out a piece of paper.”

With audible groans, the students all took out paper and readied their pens.

“Good,” Bracknell said. “Draw me a map of the stars as they will look on Christmas from the observatory this year. Use your books if you need to, but if you do, do realize that you have shit for brains and haven’t learned a thing.” With that, Bracknell sat down at his desk and pulled out a book—some serialized adventure novel for boys—and began reading. The class, feeling a little thrown off, waited a few moments before starting their work.

A map of the stars on Christmas. Violet thought it over and began to draw. Christmas was only a week away. This was their last class before they went home for Christmas holiday. It would be sad this year without her father there. Mrs. Wilks would be there, and Ashton, of course, and probably Jack, but they had no extended family who visited, and no neighbors who would visit for more than a few minutes. Violet drew star after star, dot after dot of ink, and labeled each constellation. Looking around the room, she was happy to see that no one had opened their books. She saw Bracknell looking up and noticing the same thing, but with disappointment. Their eyes met and he glared at her before going back to his book. Violet wondered how such a man had become a scientist—or a professor.

When the class was over, Bracknell stood, grabbed each piece of paper from the students, even if they were still writing, and left. Violet felt she had drawn the stars correctly and easily, and hoped her success would irritate Bracknell over the holiday.

“Happy Christmas, Professor!” Merriman called after Bracknell as he vanished down the stairs. Bracknell’s grumbles echoed slightly before the door slammed shut.

“Well,” Jack said, “time to go home, then.”

Fairfax stood and left the room in silence.

“Happy Christmas, Roger!” Merriman called after him. Fairfax did not reply. “I love Christmas,” Merriman said to no one in particular.

Violet smiled. “Have a very Happy Christmas, Humphrey,” she said to Merriman, who beamed. “You, too, James.”

“Thank you,” Lane said, standing. “To all of you as well.” He gathered his books and left.

“I want to go out on the tower once before we leave,” Violet said to Jack.

“It’s slippery,” Jack said. “That’s a bad idea.”

“I’ll go,” Merriman said.

“Good,” Violet said. She walked over to the glass door and opened it, letting in a whistling rush of cold wind that scattered loose papers.

“Bracknell’s not going to like it,” Merriman said.

“Bugger Bracknell,” Violet said, stepping out onto the snow-covered rooftop. Jack and Merriman followed. Jack was right: It was slippery, and the wind was strong, but it smelled fresh and felt cold and wet on Violet’s skin. She walked slowly over to the statue of Leonardo da Vinci atop a lion and rested her hand on it for support as she looked out over the city. Behind her, she heard Merriman try to follow and slip and fall with a thud. Jack helped him back up. The wind pressed into Violet, and she wished that she still had her long hair or her skirts so that they could be blown around. She wished her breasts weren’t bound, so that her whole body could be as loose as the wind. She took a deep breath and turned back.

Merriman beamed at her. “It’s cold out here,” he said, “but it feels great.”

“It does,” Violet said. “It feels free up here. And we’re surrounded by geniuses,” she said, patting the lion on the head. Merriman laughed, and Violet and Jack each supported him on one side as they went back in.

“I really had a good first trimester,” Merriman said in the lift down. “I never thought I’d get in here, and then I thought for sure I’d flunk out, but…”

“It’s been good for me, too,” Violet said.

“That is because you’re both brilliant,” Jack said, slapping them both hard on the back, “but I could give a ferret’s arsehole about that. I want to get home for presents,” he said, and darted out of the lift when it stopped at the dorms.

“Happy Christmas, Jack!” Merriman called after him as he ran down the hall. “Happy Christmas, Ashton.” Violet walked after Jack. “Happy Christmas, Ashton,” Merriman repeated.

“Happy Christmas, Humphrey.” Violet smiled then hurried to her room. She had forgotten for a moment that she was Ashton. She clearly needed a vacation from this ruse. In the room, Jack was throwing clothes haphazardly into a case. Of course, going home and pretending to be the perfect lady for Mrs. Wilks was just another ruse, but for some reason, she found herself looking forward to it. Which ruse, she wondered, was more true to her own character? Woman or scientist? And why did she have to choose?

With a sigh, she sat on her bed.

“Why so glum?” Jack asked, throwing something else in his case. “We’re going home.”

“I’m just not sure what to pack,” Violet said. True, though not the real answer.

“You barely have to pack a thing,” Jack said. “Leave all your clothes, bring whatever books and tools you’d like.”

“Right,” Violet said, taking out and opening her own case. She threw in all her books and her tool case and organized them. It took her a few minutes. Jack was still packing. “There,” she said.

“Great,” Jack said. “Want to do me a favor, then? Antony is supposed to meet us downstairs in about twenty minutes. Could you take Amelia down to the biology lab? Valentine said he pays a man to feed all the animals in the lab over the break and clean their cages. It’s sad to think she’ll be locked up all that time, but mum would kill me if I brought her home. She hates ferrets. Says they’re like tall rats.”

“You don’t say,” Violet said, picking up Amelia’s cage. Amelia bounced around for a moment and then screeched. “Can’t imagine why your mum wouldn’t especially love this one, though.” Jack stuck his tongue out at her, and Amelia screeched again.

Caged ferret in hand, Violet headed down to the biology lab. Illyria was almost empty already. Her footsteps echoed through the halls. Even the electric lights had been dimmed slightly, giving the already bronze and stone walls a golden tint. All the lights were shut in the laboratories she passed, except for the biology lab, which was dark, save for an eerie glow. Violet palmed blindly at the walls in the dark, looking for the light switch. The lights in the biology lab revealed Volio, working by a dim gas lamp over an apparently empty table covered with nothing but a bloody sheet. When the light went on, he looked up. Seeing Violet, he growled with annoyance and went back to his work. Violet felt her body go rigid and as cold as a steel rod. Volio had seen her kiss the duke. She had tried to tell her brother it was nothing, an easy problem, but she remembered the hate in his eyes as he blackmailed Miriam, and shuddered to think of it directed at her. There was nothing Volio wanted from her, though. She was safe from his machinations for now.

Volio seemed to be grasping at the air in front of him. Despite her fear, Violet peered forward, curious. “What are you doing?” Violet asked without meaning to. She took a breath and walked into the lab as though she wasn’t afraid of Volio, as though she didn’t know what he knew. She placed Amelia on a table that already held a few animals sleeping in cages.

“Research,” Volio said, not looking up. “Go away.”

Despite the part of her screaming not to, Violet crept closer and peered over Volio’s shoulder. The white sheet was covered in a spray of blood as though something had been killed on it, and he was moving the empty air in front of him back and forth.

“You’ve killed one of the invisible cats!” Violet exclaimed.

“Your voice sometimes becomes disturbingly shrill,” Volio said. “I suppose it’s a side effect of the imbalances within you that make you want to be a woman.”

“I didn’t think they were real,” Violet said nervously, ignoring Volio’s taunt.

“You were down in the basement, weren’t you? What, did you think the scratching noises and pressure against your leg was the wind? Reading too many romances, are you, Ashton? Perhaps some gothic book about a young pervert corrupting a nobleman?”

“When were you ever in the basement?” Violet asked, ignoring his questions. If this was the worst he was going to do with his information, she could handle it.

“Every class goes down in the basement for initiation,” Volio said, clearly disappointed that Violet was unaffected by his accusations. “Did you think you were special? They’ve been doing it for ages.”

“And you killed one of the invisible cats,” Violet said, making her disgust obvious.

“We kill animals all the time for research,” Volio said.

“But not intentionally. We try to keep them alive when we can. We don’t murder a thing just to study why it’s invisible.”

“I know why it’s invisible. I want to study its joints. The inside of the cats, it turns out, is not invisible.” He smiled and lifted a hand up over the corpse. It dripped with sticky red blood. He waggled his fingers.

Violet clenched her jaw. “And I suppose the cats up here weren’t good enough for you?” Violet asked, crossing her arms.

“It’s easier to study the joints when the cat is dead, and Valentine gets upset if we a kill a thing without trying to give it feathers first.”

“Why are you studying the joints?” Violet wondered if she could figure out what exactly he was up to.

“Go away,” Volio said. He didn’t sound like he would be any more forthcoming. Violet was shocked he had said as much as he had. Perhaps he wanted someone to brag to.

“Happy Christmas,” Violet said as she left. She was still frightened of what Volio might do, or what he might say, but it was Christmas. There was nothing he would do until the new year, and he didn’t seem keen on doing much besides mocking her.

“Shut the light,” Volio said. Violet left it on and headed back to her room, where Jack was ready to leave.

“Home!” he said, lifting his bags in the air. A clanking sound came from one of them. Violet took her case and headed downstairs. The last few students were straggling out into waiting coaches. The duke and Cecily stood at the door, waving good-bye to everyone. A light snow tumbled around them.

“Happy Christmas, Ashton,” Cecily said as Violet and Jack came out. “Happy Christmas, Jack.” She smiled warmly at both of them. Violet had to bite back a laugh as Jack grinned like an idiot.

“Happy Christmas, Cecily,” Violet said. The duke stood by silently in a top hat, watching them. He offered no words. Neither did Violet.

“Have a lovely Christmas, Cecily. And you, too, sir,” Jack said.

“I plan to. Thank you, Jack,” Cecily said. The duke nodded slightly. Cecily waved a mittened hand at them as they spotted Antony and headed for him and their coach.

Antony smiled as they approached. “Eager to change out of those things?” he asked.

“I’d stick my tongue out at you,” Violet said, “but people might see. And besides, I think you get quite enough tongue from our family.”

Antony turned bright red and looked away, taking their bags and strapping them to the coach. Violet and Jack got in, and soon they were off across London. In the snow, the city seemed pale and serene. The Thames was a cool blue and black and rolled merrily along next to them, froth crowning its small waves.

“She wished me a Happy Christmas,” Jack said, sighing as he settled back into his seat.

“Yes,” Violet said, amused.

“You’re jealous because the duke said nothing to you.”

“I couldn’t care less what he said or didn’t say,” Violet said, turning to look at the river again.

“Oh, don’t pout,” Jack said. “It’s Christmas.”

“I’m not pouting,” Violet said, and crossed her arms. Jack laughed.

The coach pulled up in front of the town house, and Antony opened the door to let them both out. He was still blushing.

“Don’t be so bashful, Antony,” Violet said. “I was only teasing.”

Antony said nothing, just went about refastening their baggage to the coach. Violet and Jack went into the house.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Ashton said as Violet and Jack came in. “Go upstairs and change,” Ashton said to Violet. “One of Mrs. Capshaw’s dresses is waiting for you in your closet, and I already packed the rest of them. Quickly, please.”

“Why the hurry?” Violet asked. She had been hoping for a cup of tea to aid her transition back to womanhood.

“Your maid will be here soon. Do you want her to see you dressed as a man?”

Violet sighed and hurried up the stairs. As promised, in her closet was a very fashionable dress of blue and gold, which she changed into as best she could alone. Her men’s clothes she left lying on the floor.

“Ashton!” she called, leaving her room and heading back downstairs. “I need your help fastening the dress in the back!”

At the bottom of the stairs, Jack, Ashton, and a strange woman looked up at her.

“I see what ye meant,” the woman said in a heavy Scottish accent.

“Violet, this is Fiona Gowan. She’s an actress, and has agreed to play the part of your maid.”

“I’ve played maids before,” Fiona said, walking up the stairs and standing behind Violet. “And queens, too,” she said, fastening the dress. “But the theaters usually close down for Christmas, and I have no family, so when your brother offered me this … peculiar job, I figured why the ’ell not? Seems a lark, eh?” She finished fastening Violet’s dress, and Violet turned around to face her.

“Nice to meet you,” Violet said, extending a hand.

“And you,” Fiona said, shaking it. Fiona was older, perhaps in the midst of her thirties, with a pointed face, jutting cheekbones, and large heavy-lidded eyes of a startling ice blue. Her hair was brown and pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore a black maid’s outfit, though it was perhaps a little too tight, so her excellent figure could be too-plainly seen. A black ribbon adorned with sparkling jewels was tied tight around her neck. “We’re going to have to do something about your hair. But don’t worry, I know some stage tricks for that. I used to have to do me own makeup. Aye, this’ll be easy.”

“Thank you,” Violet said.

“Your brother says you’re just not the sort to have a lady’s maid, but that your keeper back home wouldn’t approve of that. So I’ll act like your maid and help you with your dressing, but I won’t really be your maid, so don’t treat me like one. I’m an actress. You’re going to have to pick up your own clothes and the like.”

“Of course.”

“Frankly, your brother didn’t mention you looked like something out of the wilds of Africa, but I imagine it shouldn’t be too hard to fix you up. You have a pretty face, under all that wild hair and messy dressing. Come on, let’s get you up to your room and make you up proper. You won’t convince anyone you’re a lady looking like that.” Fiona turned and walked up the stairs. Violet bit her tongue and followed, turning back once to glare at Ashton and Jack, who were snickering.

In her room, Fiona glanced at the men’s clothes on the floor, but said nothing. She ordered Violet to undress, tightened her corset, and sat her down in front of the vanity. She ran her hands through Violet’s hair.

“So, how should we do your hair, then? There’s not much of it … but that can be fixed with some false hair, which I just happen ta have. So how do you want it done? Jug-loops? A Molly’s Flip? The Bearer Updo? A Downy Dahlia?” She leaned her head down so it was next to Violet’s and smiled toothily at her in the mirror. “Maybe Miss Laycock’s Crown?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Violet creased her forehead in confusion. “Are those all real hairstyles?” she asked.

Fiona stood up straight again, and began to play with Violet’s hair. “Oh, aye,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I mean, I made up the names, is all. And some of the stylin’. Except for the jug-loops. But you don’t want those. I’ll give ye the Judy’s Jolly—that’ll look just fine with your pretty face.”

“Just something simple,” Violet said nervously. Fiona took out a bunch of pins and a lock of false hair, all of which she stuck in her mouth as she started do Violet’s hair. Her fingers moved nimbly, taking the pins—and false hair—from her mouth when she needed them. Soon, Violet’s hair was done up in thankfully simple style. When she was finished, she brushed Violet’s face with powder, which made her sneeze. She was having trouble breathing and walking, her skin felt odd, and her head was on fire—except for the distressingly moist parts of the false hair that had been in Fiona’s mouth—but when she looked in the mirror, she could see it was worth it. She looked like a gentlewoman in a play or painting. Her skin was perfect, and her eyes were bright. Even her hair seemed full of color, and matched the dress perfectly.

“Your coat is downstairs, miss,” Fiona said with a wry smile.

“Thank you so much,” Violet said. “You’re amazing.”

“It’s not hard. I’ll show ye how to do it yourself so I don’t have to every day.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

“We’d best be off, though. Your brother was looking impatient.”

“Yes,” Violet said, following Fiona out the door. She admired the way Fiona’s body moved, like flowing liquid. Violet’s body felt like rusty gears. Fiona stopped at the top of the stairs, took a small flask out of her bodice, and drank from it.

“I’m not fond of carriages,” she said to Violet, “so I like to prepare a little.”

She walked down the stairs and Violet followed, clinging to the banister for support.

“Wow,” Jack said as she came into view. “You’re gorgeous.”

Ashton ran up the stairs to take Violet’s other arm and lead her down.

“Don’t let Cecily catch you saying such things to other women,” Violet said.

“You’re a miracle worker, Fiona,” Jack said.

“Aye, you should see me onstage. If I can do all that to her, imagine what I can do to myself.” She grinned wickedly at Jack, who laughed.

Violet eyed Fiona, who also laughed and took her flask out again for another drink. Ashton gave Violet her coat and hat, then walked her out to the coach and helped her into it. Antony tipped his hat. “You look lovely, miss,” he said.

“Are you teasing me, too? Am I normally so ugly?”

“No, miss,” Antony said, turning pale.

“Ignore her, Antony,” Ashton said. “She’s just annoyed she has to wear a corset.”

In the coach, Violet crossed her arms. “Am I ugly?” she asked her brother.

“Not at all,” Ashton said. “You come from the same stock as I do, after all. You’re just usually … untidy.”

Violet didn’t know how to respond to that. She tried to settle into her seat, but her back was held tight by the corset, so she was forced to sit stiffly. Jack and Fiona got into the coach next, snickering. Ashton tapped the window, Antony whipped the horses, and they headed home.

Violet stared outside at the softly falling snow, turned gray by the smoke of the city. A horseless carriage passed by, its engine clanging and hissing and clearly in need of some repair. Violet imagined the duke seeing her like this. It would be interesting, but the last time he’d thought she was a woman, he treated her like a child, and when he thought she was a man, he … well, he kissed her back. If she had to choose between being treated like an idiot and being kissed, she would choose being kissed.

When they arrived home, Mrs. Wilks was waiting outside for them in the snow, which had turned orange in the dusk. The house glowed merrily behind her.

“Welcome back,” Mrs. Wilks said, smiling slightly. “You look very lovely, Violet.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilks.”

“And how do I look, Mrs. Wilks?” Ashton asked.

“Your usual self,” Mrs. Wilks said, bringing a hand to her mouth and faking a yawn.

“Which is to say, far too pretty for her liking,” Jack said. “She much prefers her men brutish.”

“As you may recall, Jack,” Mrs. Wilks said, “Mr. Wilks was a very refined man. Your father is waiting for you at your home. Once Antony has unloaded Ashton and Violet’s luggage, he can drive you over.”

“No need, Mrs. Wilks,” Jack said, sweeping his suitcase off the coach. “I can take myself.”

“The snow is three feet deep,” she said.

“I shall simply keep an image of you in my heart, Mrs. Wilks, and then I shall float above it all.” Mrs. Wilks rolled her eyes, and Jack gave both Ashton and Violet a great hug before heading home.

“And this is Laetitia,” Violet said, nodding at Fiona, “my lady’s maid. She’s been indispensable.”

“Yes. I’m Mrs. Wilks, Laetitia.” Mrs. Wilks said, stepping forward and looking Fiona up and down with an audible sniff, “I run the household. I like to think that my relationship with the children is close enough that they have grown fond of me, in a motherly sort of way—though, of course, I could never replace their real mother. You will stay in the room next to Violet’s, so that you might tend to her needs. It isn’t a very big room, and you’ll have to share the bath with our cook, but I don’t think she bathes very often, so that shouldn’t trouble you much. There are a number of rules, but I assume you’re familiar with them, having been in good houses before?”

“Aye … but good Scottish houses.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Wilks said, looking confused. “Then we’d best go over the rules.”

Ashton grinned at Violet, took her arm, and led her inside as Mrs. Wilks listed the multitude of house rules. Inside, a fire was going and the house smelled of roasted pheasant and potatoes. Servants took their coats and showed them into the dining room for supper.

“It’s good to be home,” Violet said. “And even though I have to wear this damned corset, it’s good to be a woman again, as well.”

“Is it?”

“Certainly. Though I’m sure it’s much more convenient to be a man, I find that after living as one for a while, I actually become rather attached to my femininity, or at least to the honesty of being myself.”

“And this,” Ashton asked, gesturing at her outfit, “is your honest self?”

Violet looked down at her skirts and rustled them slightly with her hand. “Perhaps a little fancier than usual, but when I look in the mirror, I feel quite at ease.”

“Really? I would have imagined you wouldn’t recognize yourself with all that powder on you.”

“I can see myself clearly through it. The powder merely … highlights my features.”

Ashton chuckled as Mrs. Wilks and Fiona entered.

“You will dine with the other servants, of course,” Mrs. Wilks said. “I have the honor of dining with the family, if only to ensure proper table manners. I will show you to the servants’ table. Children, you may begin without me.”

Violet and Ashton nodded as Mrs. Wilks escorted Fiona out of the room.

“Did you tell Fiona what she was in for?” Violet whispered as their supper was served.

“I may have taken poetic liberties,” Ashton said.

“Let’s eat,” Violet said. “I want to change into my night dress.”

“I bought you a new night dress,” Ashton said, grinning wickedly.

“Oh no. Is it horrid?”

“I suppose that depends on how you feel about lavender bows.”

Violet cocked her head. “I don’t feel any way at all about them. As long as it’s comfortable.”

“Oh,” Ashton said. “Well, yes, of course it is.”

“Will the bows make me look ridiculous?”

“Perhaps a little.”

Violet shrugged. “A small price to pay.”

“You are changing, sister, into someone quite different.”

“Perhaps being a man has taught me a little about being a woman.”

“No,” Ashton said. “No, I don’t think that’s it at all.”