Timepiece by Heather Albano Page B

couldn’t imagine where the light was coming from. Squinting, she made out globes of lamps hanging from beams part-way up—but the globes brought tears and flashing colors to her eyes so that she had to look away.
     
    The hum was a rumble now, a rhythmic rattling. It came from the far end of the hall, from a contraption that looked like—Elizabeth put her head to one side, studied it as best she could through her spotted vision, and decided it still looked like an enormous spinning wheel attached to a loom. Behind it glowed the red coals of what appeared to be a blacksmith’s forge. Tables lined two of the other three walls and boasted the most amazing assortment of litter on their surfaces—paper covered in sketches, models built out of wood, odd pieces of metal and the occasional tool.
     
    In the middle of the floor sat something large and ominous—something halfway between a cannon and a rifle. Trevelyan crouched beside it, long-nosed tongs in one hand and eyes on the silver barrel, appearing to give it his full attention. Very angry attention it was too, Elizabeth thought, until she got closer and realized firstly that Katarina stood just behind Trevelyan and secondly that they were arguing.
     
    “Well, they can’t stay here,” Trevelyan said, voice raised to be heard above the clatter. “I can’t be bothered childminding. I have work to do if we’re to—”
     
    “Were you suggesting I ought to be childminding?” Katarina folded her arms and stared at the back of Trevelyan’s head, but he did not turn to look at her. “I have my own work to do to ensure tonight’s success.”
     
    Trevelyan straightened from the contraption and reached to exchange his tongs for an even more unlikely looking tool. “Take them with you.”
     
    Katarina rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, that will be inconspicuous.”    
     
    Elizabeth shifted from one foot to the other. They hadn’t seemed to notice her yet. Perhaps she ought to back away, and then make a bit of noise as she walked toward them? Although it didn’t seem to worry them to be having this conversation in William’s earshot—was he not here? She glanced around for him.
     
    He stood where the bright lights fell away into shadows, holding a scribbled-over piece of paper in his hands and pretending to read it, but—judging by the stiffness of his posture—actually listening to the Welsh laborer and the gypsy woman discuss his care as though he were a pet dog inconveniently left on the doorstep. Elizabeth was sure she did not make any noise, but just then William looked up as though he had heard her. He opened his mouth in what she presumed was intended to be a greeting—then took in what she was wearing and coughed as though he had swallowed something the wrong way.
     
    It was, she supposed, the effect achieved by those fast young ladies who were said to dampen their muslins. Certainly William could never have seen so much of her lower half before, and so perhaps it was understandable that he turned the color of lobster and redirected his eyes hastily to the paper in his hand. But Elizabeth felt her own face grow hot at his disapproval. Well, perhaps it wasn’t modest, but it was wonderfully easy to move in and eminently practical, and he must know she didn’t mean anything harmful by it—
     
    “Oh, good,” Katarina’s voice said dryly, and Elizabeth saw she was looking at William rather than at herself. “It fits.”
     
    Trevelyan flicked a look upward. “Oh, good,” he echoed. “Another distraction. Take the children out of here, Katarina, I have work to do.”
     
    “I assure you, sir,” William said stiffly, “we have no intention of disturbing you. Miss Barton and I can wait in the outer room until Madam Katherine and Mr. Maxwell return from   their—”
     
    “You’re going out?” Elizabeth blurted, taking a step forward. William stared at her, but she didn’t care. She kept her eyes fixed on Katarina’s. “May I come?