Page 53 of Inventing Vivian

Chapter 14

Your Lordship,

Today I’ve thought of you often in hopes that your meeting with your father was successful and you were able to convey your worries and appeal for his understanding. Please do not apologize for telling me of your concerns. I was honored you chose to confide in me. I prefer honesty to false happiness, and if we are to be friends, my lord, we must be willing to share not only the pleasant parts of our lives but the unpleasant as well.

I am glad you consider me to be a friend. I consider you the same, although you do have the advantage. To me, you are a faceless, nameless friend, but it has not prevented me from forming a high opinion of you.

As to your suggestion that we might have met and danced under different circumstances, I do not believe the result of such a meeting would have been a positive experience for either of us. I prefer not to dance, my lord. And since, by your admission, you enjoy the activity, in this we would not find common ground. I am pleased that we have found mutual understanding, instead, in our letters.

Today, I have only the last few errands before tomorrow’s exhibition. The Personal Propulsion Vehicle was delivered to the Crystal Palace this morning, and it looks marvelous displayed in the booth. A fellow presenter demonstrated how pressurized steam can spin a turbine and create an electrical current. As I watched, I realized my own insides mimicked the frantic movements. My mind and heart feel so excited and nervous, I do not know how I will contain myself for one more day.

Your friend,

Miss Vivian Kirby

Vivian sealed the letter, and a wiggle moved through her insides at the thought of the man who would soon read it. She had wondered before at the connection between the digestive system and a person’s mental state and thought it may bear further investigation. She’d been extremely open in this letter, sharing her feelings rather more blatantly than was entirely proper. But for the first time in her life, her actions were not calculated but directed by something unfamiliar. Emotion, she thought. For a moment, she held the letter, wondering if it was wise to send it.

As the letters had become more personal, she’d allowed herself to express things that she’d kept hidden, show parts of herself that made her feel vulnerable. She trusted this person more than she would have believed possible. And wondered if he felt the same about her.

After a few more moments of debate, Vivian made her decision. She put the envelope into another and addressed the outer envelope to Professor Wallis, sliding in a hastily written request for him to send off the enclosed letter to her sponsor.

She gave the letter to the butler on the way out the door.

An hour later, Vivian stepped out of the carriage on Fleet Street, pausing to admire the sign on the door of the newspaper office. TheIllustrated Police Newswas one of the most popular broadsheets in circulation, in part because of the detailed illustrations created by Sophie. Vivian was immensely proud of her friend’s success.

As she stepped inside, the bell over the door rang, but the noise was completely drowned out by the sound of printing presses in the back room and workers with stacks of paper rushing between desks.

Sophie waved from her desk, motioning for Vivian to join her in the back corner of the office. “My goodness, it’s a busy day,” she said in a loud voice, her face glistening with perspiration. She used a notebook to fan herself.

“I believe busy is a good thing in the newspaper business,” Vivian said. She glanced at the taxidermic mouse wearing a flowered hat that sat beneath a dome of glass on her friend’s desk. The strange display had been a gift from a police officer who worked in the same station as Jonathan, Sophie’s fiancé.

“It is indeed,” Sophie said, tossing aside the notebook and grinning. She lifted a box from the floor and set it on her desk, opening the lid. “Your handbills, Miss Kirby.”

“Oh.” Vivian took a paper from the box.Miss Kirby’s Personal Propulsion Vehiclewas written across the top of the sheet with an extremely true-to-life drawing beneath made by none other than Sophie herself. A thrill of excitement made Vivian’s fingers tingle. “They look so professional,” she said. Her throat felt clogged. “Thank you.” She stared at the paper for another moment and swallowed hard, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. The way her friends had rallied together to make all of this possible meant more than she could put into words. She pulled Sophie into an embrace.

“I’m glad you like them,” Sophie said, squeezing. She pulled back, holding on to Vivian’s arms and giving a smile. “Come, I’ll introduce you to Mr. Potts, the engraver.” She led Vivian to the front of the office.

A man sat at a table beneath the large windows, carving into a thick block of wood with a pointed knife.

“Mr. Potts?” Sophie said. “May I introduce Miss Vivian Kirby?”

The man grunted without looking up.

“How do you do, sir?” Vivian said. “I wanted to thank you for your fine work on my handbills—”

“My lady!” A man’s voice interrupted her words. He rushed through the door and, seeing Sophie, headed directly toward her. “A story!”

“Calm down, Mr. Rowe,” Sophie said. “What have you heard?”

“There’s been a murder in Limehouse,” he said, still breathing hard. “A shopkeeper. Sells some of those funny Oriental trinkets.”

“His shop was robbed?” Sophie guessed.

“Yes, my lady.”

Vivian shook her head. “Oh my. How tragic.”

“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “Unfortunately, such a thing is far too common.” She glanced around the room. “Rowe, take Davies and see what you can learn about the deceased.”

---