Page 42 of Inventing Vivian

Chapter 11

My Lord,

I am very happy to report that, as of this morning, my exhibit booth in the Crystal Palace is completely assembled. I managed to see very few of the other displays, and I am impatient to see the rest. The exhibition promises to be an extraordinary event. I even overheard a rumor that Alexander Bell will demonstrate his harmonic telegraph.

I met a fellow presenter, a Mr. Fernsby, who has invented a very clever pistol. I do not believe Mr. Fernsby, nor his friends, know what to make of a lady inventor. In my experience, I’ve found some don’t believe it possible for a woman to have a scientific mind, and others don’t believe it proper. My course thus far has met with endless resistance, starting when I was very young, and I fear it will continue to be so.

If not for the support of my family, friends, and now Professor Wallis and yourself, I should find the entire venture extremely discouraging.

I tested the machine again today using the petroleum-based oil the professor suggested to grease the axles and the anthracite coal recommended by the professor and purchased by you. The engine produces much less smoke, and I am very pleased with the improvements.

Speaking of the professor, he was also at the Crystal Palace. He provided me with very useful advice, not only about the exhibition but about my place in the scientific world as well. Once I’ve printed handbills and polished my presentation, I will be completely prepared for the exhibition’s opening Tuesday morning.

I wonder, my lord, if you intend to attend the exhibition as well. I would be very happy to show you the Personal Propulsion Vehicle. Although I have promised to respect your reasons for keeping your secret, I cannot keep myself from wondering about your identity. I would very much like to thank you in person.

If I may speak intimately, I am glad you chose to confide your fears to me. And though I do not know you personally, I have every reason to conclude that you are an honorable man. I have seen evidence of your generosity and goodness. I believe you will manage your responsibilities splendidly. And your father cannot help but be proud to call you his son.

Yours sincerely,

Miss Vivian Kirby

Benedict smiled, slipping the letter back into the envelope. He set it on his desk and went up the staircase, still smiling as he dressed for his dinner party.

At precisely seven o’clock on Sunday evening, Benedict and Zhang Wei were shown into the Kirbys’ drawing room and announced by the butler.

Chester jumped to his feet, grinning, and an older man with a thick mustache looked up from his chair beside the fire. He didn’t rise, and Benedict assumed the walking canes leaning against the arm of the chair to be the reason.

A petite woman with sandy-colored hair, whom Benedict presumed to be Chester’s mother, rose from her place on the sofa and crossed the room with Chester directly behind her. “Your Lordship, Mr. Li, I am so pleased that you accepted our dinner invitation.”

Chester stepped around his mother. He took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and gave a polite bow. “Lord Covington, Mr. Li, this is my mother, Mrs. Larsen, and my uncle, Mr. Winston Kirby.” Chester spoke carefully, as if he’d practiced the speech, and Benedict noted the boy’s use of his proper title. His mother must have coached him. The boy glanced toward the doorway. “Vivian is still getting dressed.”

Mrs. Larsen shot a look at her son. That information apparently wasn’t part of the rehearsed script.

Benedict held back his smile. “The pleasure is ours, Mrs. Larsen. But please, call me Lord Benedict. All of my friends do.”

“I told you, Mama,” Chester said.

Benedict inclined his head toward the older man. “And, Mr. Kirby, I am delighted to meet you at last.”

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Mr. Kirby said. He studied Benedict closely, and Benedict wondered if the man might harbor some of the same displeasure Vivian had shown at their first meeting. The idea that the older man might remember his daughter’s experience with the Newton League of Young Inventors made Benedict squirm.

“How do you do?” Zhang Wei said, pronouncing the words carefully. He gave a bow.

“I like your robe, Shifù,” Chester said. The boy was stepping from foot to foot, looking very excited to be included in the dinner arrangements.

“Thank you.” Zhang Wei smiled.

Although Benedict had offered to provide Zhang Wei with a dinner jacket, his friend had opted instead to wear hishànfúrobe. The silk of the garment was a deep gray, with wide sleeves and black trim. It crossed his chest and was tied with a black sash. He wore it over loose trousers of the same color.

“Please have a seat while we wait. Cook will be just a few minutes more,” Mrs. Larsen said. “And thank you for agreeing to an earlier supper so Chester could join us.”

“It’s my first dinner party,” Chester said. He sat on the settee next to Zhang Wei.

“It is my first dinner party also,” Zhang Wei said, looking much less nervous now that he was with his young friend.

Benedict took the chair on the other side of the fireplace from Mr. Kirby.

“I was very sorry to hear about your brother, my lord,” the older man said.

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