Page 9 - My FlipBook

against the hall’s somber wallpaper. (That way the entire

household might finally notice her bad humor and what
a martyr she was.)
Yet, still, no one paid her any attention.

Through the open doors of the dining room she
observed Papa in his white silk shirt and smart black
tailcoat, nervously touching his slicked back hair. He
was instructing Mr. Wingnut, one of their mechanicals,

in some last-minute adjustments to the table setting.
Miss Tock, the mechanical maid, stood nearby,
fastidiously polishing the cutlery that was laid out on

the sideboard. Her arms moved quickly in repetitive
clockwork motion, and the chipped paint of her brow
furrowed in concentration.
At the far end of the hall, the kitchen door stood ajar,

and Lily could hear Mrs. Rust, the mechanical cook,
juggling pots and pans and cursing the dishes she was
preparing as if they were alive and could understand her.

“COGS AND CHRONOMETERS, BOIL, WILL YOU,
YOU BLASTED TROUT!” she shouted. And then,
“CLANKING CLOCKWORK, ARE YOU CABBAGES
NEVER TO BE SAUERKRAUTED?” This was only

marginally worse than her usual turn of phrase.
As for Robert, who’d lived with them nearly a year
since his da’s untimely passing, Lily hadn’t seen or heard

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