Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

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For ambitious engineer Simon Darcy, winning Queen Victoria’s competition to recover lost inventions of historical significance is a matter of pride—and redemption. After all, it was Simon’s failed monorail project that left his family destitute, and winning the tournament would surely restore the Darcys’ reputation.
Simon sets his sights high, targeting no less than the infamous time-travel device that forever changed the world by transporting scientists, engineers, and artists from the twentieth century. The Mod technology was banned and supposedly destroyed, but Simon is sure he can re-create it.
His daring plan draws the attention of Willie G., the Clockwork Canary, London’s sensationalist reporter. Simon soon discovers that Willie is a male guise for Wilhemina Goodenough, the love of his youth, who left him jilted and bitter. He questions her motives even as he falls prey to her unique charm. As the attraction between the two reignites, Simon realizes that this vixen from his past has secrets that could be the key to his future…as long as he can put their history behind him.

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In that moment, Simon questioned the woman’s judgment, if not sanity. “Willie,” he’d said calmly and gently, “you’re going to trace your father’s memories. A man you adore. A man who is mentally unstable. You’re going to summon memories of your mother and of her past as a Peace Rebel. A woman who misled you. Do you honestly think you can remain emotionally detached?”

“Aye.”

He shoved a hand through his hair, frowned. He didn’t buy it.

“I’m a professional, Simon. A journalist. A Time Tracer. Objective. Resourceful.”

“This is different.”

“Do you want to find the clockwork propulsion engine? Do you want to submit it to the Jubilee Science Committee? Do you want to make your mark on this world, Simon?”

“More than anything.” But not at the cost of losing you. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t said those words aloud. He felt them, but damnation, they stuck in his throat. Maybe because they made him feel vulnerable. Willie had given herself to him in name and in bed, but in the light of day, she maintained an emotional distance that set his nerves on edge. He understood her discontent with the world. At least he thought he did. And he sympathized with her concerns regarding her mother. What vexed him was the sense that she was keeping secrets. What did he have to do to earn this woman’s trust? He could only shake his head in wonder, for surely she was as complex and mystifying as the Egyptian pyramids.

Frustrated, Simon pushed on. “So how will it work? Me being your lifeline?

“We’ll agree upon an increment of time. If I don’t come out on my own before then, you will pull me out.”

“How?”

“Physical contact. Tug my hand, grip my shoulders. Something firm. And call me home. To you.”

His heart pounded with the unexpected sentiment. The responsibility. “Have you tried this before?”

“No.”

“How do you know it will work?”

“A calculated guess.”

“Not good enough.” Yes, Simon projected and took chances whilst drafting many a project. His mobile staircase, for instance. Others had patented a design to transport pedestrians up and down several stories via mechanically moving steps, but no one had engineered a working model. Simon had been distracted by Project Monorail, but lately he’d been tinkering with his designs for a mobile staircase, a device composed of motorized chain-linked steps, and projected his new version would absolutely work.

In theory.

Theory and execution were two different animals.

“I’d feel better if we took a test run,” he said. “Experiment on someone of sound mind. What about Phin?”

She snorted. “As if he’d agree.”

“He’ll agree.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say no. Instead she asked his assistance with the Thera-Steam-Atic Brace. “It’s only been a day and I already feel as though I am slacking on my therapy,” she said whilst unlacing her under-bust corset.

Simon tried blocking images of her striptease the night before, but that didn’t work. Cursing an untimely erection, he helped her into the brace and the attached customized corset. “How do you plan to exercise your arm?”

“I thought I would practice some yo-yo tricks and then concentrate on penning some notes of our expedition thus far. Whilst details are fresh in my mind.”

The adventures most keen in Simon’s mind were of the intimate nature. He caught her gaze, noted the flush of her cheeks.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet.”

“So in other words you’ll leave out the best parts,” he teased, although his humor was somewhat taxed. As far as he was concerned, they had shared several moments of intimacy that extended beyond the bedroom. Their first encounter on the streets of Notting Hill, the exchanged looks within the private compartment of the Flying Scotsman. “What about the risqué romance element?”

“Pardon?”

“The Informer promised its readers tales of risqué romance, high drama, and nail-biting intrigue.”

Gaze averted, she rooted the yo-yo and journal from her valise. “Ah, well, you’d be surprised at how I can spin a tale.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She shot him a sharp look, her color high. “I’ve apologized regarding that article on your father and I explained—”

“I’m speaking in general.” Although, damn, that insulting death announcement still rankled. Rather than expanding on a personal level, he tried an objective approach. “You’ve made a career out of writing titillating, sometimes scandalous pieces. I don’t fancy seeing a cheapened, sensationalized account of our unexpected and, may I say, emotionally charged reunion in a national tabloid.”

“Are you mocking my body of work? Judging my morals? Questioning my integrity?”

“No. A little. Maybe. Christ. How did we get to this?”

“It’s been festering in the back of your mind,” she snapped. “Obviously.”

Maybe she was right. The explosion that had ripped Simon’s father from his life had happened almost three weeks ago and yet he still carried that damnable article on his person. Folded and tucked into his inner coat pocket, it was a grim reminder of the part he’d played in his father’s death, and because the Canary’s name was attached to the piece, he couldn’t disentangle her from his feelings of guilt and grief. “I should get some fresh air.”

“Good idea.”

She was furious with him, but in that moment he hadn’t cared. He’d left her to her therapy, to her creative spinning of their alliance. He’d sought calm on the main deck. Twenty minutes later, he still struggled.

Simon turned away from the wintry landscape and focused on the Flying Cloud . A creation of his father’s. Far from perfect, but brimming with passion. He closed his eyes, remembering how hard Papa had worked, utilizing used parts and his imagination to give this abandoned clipper ship wings. Part of him wished Willie could time-trace his memories; then she’d see for herself what a great man Reginald Darcy had been. Then again, she’d also see how Simon had been too busy with his own projects to stay on at Ashford and offer his father a hand. Simon had always thought the design of the Flying Cloud faulty. He could have helped, had it not been for his selfish ambition. He’d had bigger fish to fry in London.

Shame washed over him now. Willie had been right back at St. Giles’ Cathedral when she’d charged him self-involved. It would seem they both had their faults. Breathing deep and finding his air legs, Simon made his way across the deck to the altered cockpit.

“Done brooding?” Phin asked.

Simon didn’t bother arguing the obvious. “You banished the wooden walls in favor of a thermoplastic shield.”

“Better visibility,” Phin said, his hands at ease on the controls, the wheel.

“Agreed.” Looking skyward Simon added, “And the whirling arms are a brilliant addition.”

“I thought so. Swiped the blades from a junked monoplane. The rotation maximizes lift and thrust.”

“Amelia will be impressed.”

Phin shot him a concerned look before focusing back on the skies. “How is your sister?”

“Mourning my father.”

“I regret missing the funeral. If I could have—”

“We know.” Simon rolled back his shoulders and eyed the heavens. “Dismal turnout, not counting the curious, morbid few who showed up simply because of Papa’s ties to the Time Voyager.”

“As brought to light by the Clockwork Canary. Surprised you were able to get past that,” Phin said.

“I wasn’t. A recent realization and most vexing.”

“I take it that’s why you’re up here with me and she’s down there alone?”

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