All Men of Genius

III.



VIOLET arrived at the town house just in time to find a young man leaving. He smiled at her, his blond, dandyish curls dancing over his forehead, his blue eyes sparkling at some secret. Her brother was just inside, looking quite content.

“Who was that?” Violet asked.

“You’ve taken off your hat,” Ashton said, disappointed.

“It was warm,” Violet explained. “Who was that young gentleman?”

“It was Ronny Findlay. His family has a town house just a few streets down.”

“I wish you’d introduced me,” Violet said sweetly.

Ashton glared at her. “Next time.”

Violet had long known about her brother’s inversion, but didn’t particularly care about it. She’d always thought that people were like gears: one could spin alone and accomplish something minor, but when two gears fit together perfectly, and rotated in time, they could do so much more. And gears did not have genders. They simply fit or they didn’t. Ashton had tried aligning himself with many other gears. Thus far, none had fit quite right, but Violet was sure that one would eventually. As for herself, she imagined that one day, after she was recognized as a scientific master, she would find another scientist, and they would collaborate on so many inventions and projects together that after a while they would marry out of habit and mutual respect. But that, she thought, was probably a long way off. She would be the sort who married later in life. A spinster. Spinsterhood didn’t matter much to her; she was already married to science.

“Did you already go out and have a drink?” Violet asked. She was eager to go home. She longed to work in her laboratory again, to feel the solid reassurance of metal in her hands. To burn off the scent of the hydrangeas, which she could still smell on her fingertips.

“I did,” Ashton said. “You were gone quite a while. Did you try scaling the walls and breaking in?”

“I did not,” Violet said. “I made the acquaintance of the Duke of Illyria, actually.”

“Oh,” Ashton said, his eyes widening. “That’s not very good, is it?”

Violet sighed and sat down on one of the nearby chairs. “I don’t know,” she said. “He seemed perfectly nice.”

“But won’t he recognize you? When you go back for an interview?”

Violet looked up. She hadn’t thought of that. “No,” she said, “I’m sure your disguise for me will be quite clever. And, besides, he didn’t seem very bright.” She stuck her chin out, asserting her superior intellect.

“Let us hope,” Ashton said.

“So, are you ready to go? I’m getting a bit hungry, actually. I would love to change from this dress and have some scones.”

“Or muffins,” he added. “Yes, let’s be off, then. Once I’ve thought of muffins, I can’t be satisfied until I have some.”

Outside, Antony was watering the horses. The whole city shimmered in the orange heat, and smelled of horse manure and stale alcohol. Violet understood why anyone who could left London in the summer. Inside the carriage, Ashton produced a bottle of white wine and two glasses with a devilish look.

“We have a cellar in the city, too. And since we’re hardly ever here, it’s well stocked,” he explained. He managed to pour the wine without it being upset by the bumping of the horses, which made Violet wonder how many times he’d drunk in a carriage. She rarely drank, but the wine was exactly what she needed. She could feel herself cool off as she sipped it.

The sun had by now begun its descent, and between the wine and the breezes that wafted in as they approached the outskirts of the city, Violet was feeling quite comfortable again by the time the carriage bumped off the cobblestones and onto the dirt road leading away from town.

“I have figured out how to costume you,” Ashton said, looking at the fading city. “We shall go to my tailor and tell him that you and I are dressing as each other for a costume ball, and have him take your measurements and make you a suit.”

“I suspect I shall need more than a single suit once I am a student at Illyria,” Violet said.

“I know. I have figured that out, as well. I shall take the measurements from the tailor and bring them to Whiteleys, in the city, and say I am buying suits for a friend. People seldom ask too many questions at department stores, as long as you buy. And as I shall be picking out your clothes, you will be the most well dressed scientist in London.”

“I have never been to Whiteleys,” Violet said. “Perhaps I should go with you?” She was not lying, but also was worried to let Ashton buy her suits alone. While she did not doubt that he had fine taste, she was afraid he might pick ridiculous dandy’s clothes with frills and buttons, which she would be quite unable to work in.

Ashton knew what she was thinking the moment he looked at her. “I will ensure that your shirts are as light and comfortable as that shift you wear when you’re working. But you know you’ll have to … restrain evidence of your femininity, so clothing may be the least of your worries, in terms of comfort.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Violet admitted. “I must also embellish certain areas, I suppose?”

“A rolled-up stocking will do the trick,” Ashton said.

“And I’ll have to cut my hair off, won’t I?” she said, touching the carefully wound bun Mrs. Wilks had made that morning.

“Some, yes, although some men wear it to their shoulders these days.”

Violet let her head roll back and stared at the carriage ceiling with a sigh. “This is going to be more difficult than I had originally imagined. I thought I would simply need to know science better than the rest of them, which I do. But to learn how to look, and behave, like a man? I am sacrificing more than I had originally planned upon.”

“You can always cancel your plans,” Ashton offered, filling his glass for the fourth time, “write them and tell them you have decided to be a country gentleman, or that you’d prefer Oxford.”

“No,” Violet said, and tilted her head back to stare at Ashton, her eyes filled with resolution. “No, it must be Illyria, and I will do whatever it takes. Hair grows back, and what little physical discomfort this disguise will cause me is surely less than the pain I’m feeling right now in this corset.” She swallowed, thinking of the sacrifice to her safety she was also making. Physical discomfort wasn’t the worst that could be in store for her.

“I thought you liked the corset.”

“For about a half an hour, I liked the corset. Then I didn’t.”

“Is that Jack?” Ashton asked, looking out the window. Violet followed his gaze. There was a figure walking along the side of the road, but he was walking toward the sun, and so he was just a silhouette to Violet. “Jack!” Ashton called out the window. The figure turned, and Ashton rapped on the carriage wall so Antony would stop. As Antony brought the carriage up alongside the figure, Violet could tell that it was indeed John Feste, Jr., whom everyone called Jack. Jack was their estate manager’s son. Being the same age as Violet and Ashton, he and they had grown up together, playing together as children, catching frogs and making small toy omnibuses to carry their reptilian captives about. Child’s play. But when they were around ten or so, Jack was sent off to boarding school, while Ashton and Violet were tutored at home. Now they saw less of him, except during the summer and holidays.

Jack waved up at them through the window. He had a large mouth, filled with what seemed to be too many teeth.

Ashton opened the door to the carriage and held out a hand. “Come on, old boy, ride with us,” he said. “We haven’t seen you yet this summer—we must catch up.”

Jack grinned and hopped into the carriage with them. Over the years, he had grown from small child to gawky teenager and had finally settled into a handsome young man. True, he was a little ruddy, his blond hair was a little thin, and his lips a little pink, but he had a good pointed chin and fine strong shoulders that he held with the easy confidence of the jokester he had always been. It was, after all, Jack’s idea to drive the omnibus filled with frogs into the maids’ sleeping quarters.

“Where are you coming from?” Ashton asked Jack, giving him his still mostly full glass of wine.

Jack accepted the glass with one of his boyish grins and downed it in one go. “Thanks,” he said. “Needed that. I’m coming from London. I was dropping off my application to Illyria College,” he said, looking proud.

“Why, so were we!” Ashton exclaimed.

Jack raised his eyebrows and looked to Ashton, whom he knew to have no real interest in science, and then to Violet, who was a brilliant scientist, but wouldn’t be allowed in Illyria. Then, remembering a trick he had convinced the twins to play when they were children, he smiled. “Like the time we convinced Mrs. Wilks that Ashton was Violet and got her to brush his hair a hundred times on each side,” he said, then slapped his knee and laughed.

“You won’t tell, will you?” Violet asked.

“Of course not, Vi. If anyone deserves to go to Illyria—besides me, I mean—it’s you! This will be a great trick. How are you going to decieve your father, though, and Mrs. Wilks? Is Ashton going to stay up here dressed as you the whole time? And what if you’re caught?”

“Father has gone to America for a conference and plans to stay there a year, for sightseeing,” Violet said, with a mischievous look. “And I don’t plan on being caught.”

“Violet convinced Father to let us spend the season in town, in preparation for her coming out,” Ashton said before bursting into laughter.

“I could come out if I wanted,” Violet said indignantly. “I’m sure I would be quite the toast of the town.”

“Of course you would,” Ashton said, struggling not to laugh.

“And Mrs. Wilks?” Jack asked.

“I told her I wanted to hire a lady’s maid more familiar with the current trends.” Violet snickered. “I’m going to name her Laetitia.”

“Laetitia. She sounds charming,” Jack said.

“She’s a bit stern, actually,” Violet said, “but she knows over two dozen hairstyles.”

They all burst out laughing again. They had been like the Three Musketeers in their youth, and found that this sudden chance meeting, and possibly also the wine, had brought them back to that same state. They were a group of too-clever children, the kind people love to watch, provided they are not their own. For the rest of the ride home, they told stories of the past few years: Violet described her recent inventions, Ashton his poems and scandalous encounters in the city, and Jack spoke of school, and the various ways he had managed to humiliate the headmaster but still graduate Head Boy.

“I hope we both end up at Illyria,” Violet said as they approached the estate. “It will be nice to have someone I can be honest with, and a familiar face among all the strangers.”

“I’m sure we both will,” Jack said.

“You must,” Violet said, “after how you attached bat wings to a ferret and taught it to fly, they must let you in. Few scientists successfully accomplish anything like that until they are well into their fifties.”

“As long as they don’t ask me to produce the actual ferret,” Jack said. “It flew away.”

“Flew away?” Ashton asked.

“I released it into the rooms of one of the girls from the town who had refused to kiss me. As I understand it, her father thought it was a bat and beat it with a broom until it took off into the night.”

“Oh dear,” Ashton said.

“So there’s a wild winged ferret roaming the countryside?” Violet asked.

“I’m afraid so. His name is Bill, if you see him.”

“Does he respond to his name?” Violet asked.

“Well … no. But I always called him Bill.”

Outside, the light was fading, and the fields and trees were lavender and peach. Jack’s father’s home was off through the fields a ways, but Ashton and Violet, sensing he was about to ask to be let out, preemptively invited him to supper.

By the time the carriage pulled up to the door of the manor, the sun was halfway down the horizon, and the air had become stuffy with summer heat. Mrs. Wilks was waiting in the doorway for them, twisting a stray curl of her brown hair around her finger, wondering what had gone wrong for those few hours they were out of her sight. She blushed when Jack got out of the carriage with them. She had always considered him a naughty young man, ever since he had figured out how to herd ants so they would spell out “I Love You Mrs. Wilks” in the courtyard.

Mr. Wilks had been somewhat naughty as well. When he was still alive, they had both worked hard around Messaline, but still made time for the occasional romantic dalliance in the stables, or the pantry, or even the wine cellar. Jack reminded her of Mr. Wilks slightly, and this reminder sometimes made Mrs. Wilks uncomfortable.

“Mrs. Wilks—dear, dear Mrs. Wilks,” Ashton said, “do we have any muffins?”

Jack and Violet burst out laughing.

Mrs. Wilks looked at them, confused, but nodded. “I’m sure we have some muffins left over from breakfast. Will Mr. Feste be staying for supper?”

“Yes. We found him walking back from London. He’s finished school and is applying to Illyria College, in London. Isn’t that wonderful?” Violet said, “We might spend the season together!”

“I’m sure if Mr. Feste finds himself a student, he shall spend his time studying, like a good lad, and not dallying about with the two of you,” Mrs. Wilks said, and turned to go inside and tell the cook that there would be another for supper, and to put muffins out on the table.

“You must tell me more of this deviant plan,” Jack said.

“Let me get the muffins,” Ashton said.

“We’ll meet you in the garden, at Mother’s bench,” Violet said, and Ashton nodded. Violet walked off into the gardens. Mother’s bench, as she and Ashton had always called it, was a simple wooden bench, well worn, which sat under a cluster of ash trees, surrounded by violets, looking out on one of the ponds. Their father had said it was her favorite spot.

Violet sat down on the bench, Jack beside her. The light was nearly gone, but a storm of summer fireflies was out. Occasionally, a fish would jump out of the pond and grab a firefly in its mouth, snuffing it out with a small splash.

“Fireflies are curious,” Jack said after a moment. “I wonder if whatever makes them glow could be applied to other creatures. Glowing ferrets, maybe.”

“I think you should try working with a more docile animal than the ferret,” Violet said.

“Probably. But they amuse me.”

Violet smiled. Jack was like another brother to her, and she found herself relieved to find that he could be her ally at Illyria.

“You’ll have to become used to calling me Ashton,” Violet said.

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Jack replied. “It really is a brilliant plan. But you’d best learn to behave like a man, and you’ll need a great disguise.”

“The disguise will be simple,” Ashton said, coming up behind the bench, eating a muffin, and holding a basket filled with more. “And I shall spend the summer teaching her how to behave.”

“I’m not sure if you’re the best example of manliness,” Jack said, reaching for a muffin.

Ashton pulled the basket away. “No muffins for you. You question my manliness. While I may appear a dandy, I assure you that that does not take away from my masculinity. And besides, who has spent more time admiring the virtues of men than I?”

“A fair point,” Jack conceded.

“Good,” Ashton said, holding the basket of muffins out for Jack again, “but you can certainly help, if you’d like.”

“Sounds like an excellent joke,” Jack said.

“It’s not just a joke,” Violet said. “I want to prove that I am smarter than half the men in that school already. And I want to learn, even if only for a year.”

“A year?”

“After that, Father will return, and the jig will be up. I plan to reveal myself at the faire at the end of the school year.”

“You could say you’ve invented a device that changes men to women,” Jack said.

“I think that would offend, rather than impress, most of the scientists who will be there,” Violet said. “No. I shall have to come up with something truly brilliant. Something that outshines even the displays of the older students, even those of the professors. I just don’t know what.”

They all went silent, the pond making small splashing notes and the dusk humming into night.

“This is going to be an excellent summer,” Violet said, taking a muffin and breaking off crumbs to throw to the fish.

“I hope so,” Ashton said.

“I promise to make it so,” Jack said, then turned to Violet. “First, we make you a man. Then, we are interviewed, probably in a month, and then, in October, we begin school. The labs of Illyria are said to be wondrous. I can’t wait to see their supplies and spaces. And they can acquire any animals students ask for. And I hear they have a resurrectionist, as well.”

“You surely don’t plan to experiment with human flesh?” Violet asked. Ashton shuddered.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jack said, sounding more serious than usual, “of trying to transfer hearts from monkeys into men. If the men need them, I mean. If their heart gives out. We could take the heart of another creature, and maybe with only a very little tweaking, put it into the dying man. We could save lives.” Jack pushed his blond hair back from his face, and Violet felt proud to see his eyes glow with a passionate determination she hoped she could match.

“Come now, gentlemen,” Violet said, rising. “I’m sure supper is nearly ready, and if I don’t wash up before we eat, Mrs. Wilks will tut at me all through supper, and it will take all my energy to keep from laughing.” Each man held out an arm for her. She took them both, walking between them through the garden back to the house. Behind them, in the darkness, the fireflies twinkled over the pond, creating a galaxy of shooting stars, above and below.