The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie
Page 88
Daniel unlocked the door with a key while the carriage rattled away, and he led Violet into a quiet, dusty interior.
“I promise you, my aunt Beth keeps a better house than this.” Daniel dropped his cases at the base of the stairs. A match scratched and flared, and Daniel lit candles that had been left ready on a hall table. “Had the gas turned off while I was gone, because I don’t have anyone to keep the place. One day I’ll fit it out with a proper staff, add speaking tubes to the kitchen and lifts to carry things up and down the stairs. But I’m never home long enough to put my plans in motion. So I make do.”
The house was narrow, two rooms deep on the right side, the left side taken up with the staircase. Violet looked up the dark stairs, black shadows flickering in candlelight.
“I imagined you’d have a dozen people to rush down and take your coat,” she said. “And another dozen on hand to give you brandy, cigars, coffee, and stand by to hold things for you because you have only two hands.” Violet craned her head to look around again, taking in the sumptuous paneling and cornice molding, the elegant chandelier that adorned the front hall. She let out a sigh. “If I had such a house, I’d live like a princess. Servants to bring me tea and cakes, and hot water for my bath.”
Daniel shrugged. “I got used to living rough on my travels. I’ve traveled with Bedouin tribes and explorers who lived on the edge of savagery. But it taught me to fend for myself. Took me a while after I returned to remember to ask servants to do anything at all. My dad’s cook was forever running me out of her kitchen.”
Violet wanted to laugh. “Good heavens. A man who cooks for himself?”
“Don’t make fun of me, sweetheart. I make a mean omelet and chips.”
“I’m not making fun. I’m envious. How wonderful to go where you please, live how you please.” Violet turned in a circle, taking in the enormous hall. “Did you see the temple at Karnak?”
“Yes. You’d love it. I also went to Petra, which is astonishing. I’ll take you someday.”
Violet turned around again, not answering. She longed to travel, to see the world that existed outside cramped parlors of European towns and small theatres smelling of gas. She wanted to fly on Daniel’s balloon across a dry desert while camels ran beneath her. She wanted to know how colossal was the Colossus, climb the pyramid at Giza, see the tombs in the Valley of Kings.
She’d been constantly told that her lot was to stay home and take care of others, and to be content with that. But Violet was far from content. She felt like a wild bird confined to a cage for another’s pleasure.
I’ll take you someday, Daniel said offhand. He said everything offhandedly, but he’d made clear when he’d grown angry at her on the train, that he meant every word he said. And expected her to believe him.
Daniel took her hand, squeezed it, and led her down the hall to the rear door on the ground floor. “I’ve brought you here to show you my pride and joy,” he said.
He opened the door, lit more candles, and stood back to usher her inside.
Candlelight gleamed on a roomful of metal, from what looked like every foundry in England. Tools of every shape and many Violet had never seen before lay scattered across tables along with cast metal parts of all sizes. Carriage wheels leaned against a wall, and long rods were stored in one corner. Tubes, coils of wires, nails, studs, screws, and bolts were everywhere, some neatly tucked into boxes, others strewn haphazardly.
In the middle of the room, mounted on a bed of bricks, was an engine—a large engine, sitting proudly alone. A long shaft ran back from it, attached to axels with no wheels. Parts of the body of the vehicle were welded together over the long driveshaft, with a stool behind the engine, a tiller and pedals in front of the stool.
Daniel waved at the machine with a proud flourish. “You, Violet, are gazing upon what will be the fastest motorcar in all of Europe. When it’s finished.”
The most complete part was the engine. Violet walked around the car, taking in the gears and chains, the crankshaft, and various other pieces she couldn’t identify. She hadn’t seen many motorcars, let alone had the chance to examine the engines, but she’d read about them. She’d once contemplated buying or building a combustion engine to somehow help in their acts, then discarded the idea as too expensive. But she’d grown interested in the machines for their own sake.
“The cylinders are in there?” Violet pointed to a vertical metal container. “This is different from what I’ve seen.”
“Because I wanted more cylinders, more power. So far, Daimler and his partner, Maybach—bloody geniuses with engines—are using two cylinders that meet in a V shape. My cylinders are in a straight line, and because I want this beast to move faster than any other motorcar has so far, I’ve got four of them. But then there’s the weight to consider. Herr Benz has got it right on body design for lightness, but his engines are small and slow. Herr Daimler is better on power, but his cars are getting gigantic. The problem both men have is that they’re still thinking about how to make a carriage go without horses. I’m thinking more of a motorcar built for its own sake, the body to fit the engine, not the other way around. I think I’ve solved the weight issue and streamlined the body all right. The bugger is keeping it cool.”
“Won’t four cylinders going at once make the car shake apart?” Violet asked, interested. “Or take an enormous amount of fuel?”
“I promise you, my aunt Beth keeps a better house than this.” Daniel dropped his cases at the base of the stairs. A match scratched and flared, and Daniel lit candles that had been left ready on a hall table. “Had the gas turned off while I was gone, because I don’t have anyone to keep the place. One day I’ll fit it out with a proper staff, add speaking tubes to the kitchen and lifts to carry things up and down the stairs. But I’m never home long enough to put my plans in motion. So I make do.”
The house was narrow, two rooms deep on the right side, the left side taken up with the staircase. Violet looked up the dark stairs, black shadows flickering in candlelight.
“I imagined you’d have a dozen people to rush down and take your coat,” she said. “And another dozen on hand to give you brandy, cigars, coffee, and stand by to hold things for you because you have only two hands.” Violet craned her head to look around again, taking in the sumptuous paneling and cornice molding, the elegant chandelier that adorned the front hall. She let out a sigh. “If I had such a house, I’d live like a princess. Servants to bring me tea and cakes, and hot water for my bath.”
Daniel shrugged. “I got used to living rough on my travels. I’ve traveled with Bedouin tribes and explorers who lived on the edge of savagery. But it taught me to fend for myself. Took me a while after I returned to remember to ask servants to do anything at all. My dad’s cook was forever running me out of her kitchen.”
Violet wanted to laugh. “Good heavens. A man who cooks for himself?”
“Don’t make fun of me, sweetheart. I make a mean omelet and chips.”
“I’m not making fun. I’m envious. How wonderful to go where you please, live how you please.” Violet turned in a circle, taking in the enormous hall. “Did you see the temple at Karnak?”
“Yes. You’d love it. I also went to Petra, which is astonishing. I’ll take you someday.”
Violet turned around again, not answering. She longed to travel, to see the world that existed outside cramped parlors of European towns and small theatres smelling of gas. She wanted to fly on Daniel’s balloon across a dry desert while camels ran beneath her. She wanted to know how colossal was the Colossus, climb the pyramid at Giza, see the tombs in the Valley of Kings.
She’d been constantly told that her lot was to stay home and take care of others, and to be content with that. But Violet was far from content. She felt like a wild bird confined to a cage for another’s pleasure.
I’ll take you someday, Daniel said offhand. He said everything offhandedly, but he’d made clear when he’d grown angry at her on the train, that he meant every word he said. And expected her to believe him.
Daniel took her hand, squeezed it, and led her down the hall to the rear door on the ground floor. “I’ve brought you here to show you my pride and joy,” he said.
He opened the door, lit more candles, and stood back to usher her inside.
Candlelight gleamed on a roomful of metal, from what looked like every foundry in England. Tools of every shape and many Violet had never seen before lay scattered across tables along with cast metal parts of all sizes. Carriage wheels leaned against a wall, and long rods were stored in one corner. Tubes, coils of wires, nails, studs, screws, and bolts were everywhere, some neatly tucked into boxes, others strewn haphazardly.
In the middle of the room, mounted on a bed of bricks, was an engine—a large engine, sitting proudly alone. A long shaft ran back from it, attached to axels with no wheels. Parts of the body of the vehicle were welded together over the long driveshaft, with a stool behind the engine, a tiller and pedals in front of the stool.
Daniel waved at the machine with a proud flourish. “You, Violet, are gazing upon what will be the fastest motorcar in all of Europe. When it’s finished.”
The most complete part was the engine. Violet walked around the car, taking in the gears and chains, the crankshaft, and various other pieces she couldn’t identify. She hadn’t seen many motorcars, let alone had the chance to examine the engines, but she’d read about them. She’d once contemplated buying or building a combustion engine to somehow help in their acts, then discarded the idea as too expensive. But she’d grown interested in the machines for their own sake.
“The cylinders are in there?” Violet pointed to a vertical metal container. “This is different from what I’ve seen.”
“Because I wanted more cylinders, more power. So far, Daimler and his partner, Maybach—bloody geniuses with engines—are using two cylinders that meet in a V shape. My cylinders are in a straight line, and because I want this beast to move faster than any other motorcar has so far, I’ve got four of them. But then there’s the weight to consider. Herr Benz has got it right on body design for lightness, but his engines are small and slow. Herr Daimler is better on power, but his cars are getting gigantic. The problem both men have is that they’re still thinking about how to make a carriage go without horses. I’m thinking more of a motorcar built for its own sake, the body to fit the engine, not the other way around. I think I’ve solved the weight issue and streamlined the body all right. The bugger is keeping it cool.”
“Won’t four cylinders going at once make the car shake apart?” Violet asked, interested. “Or take an enormous amount of fuel?”
