Page 8 of Inventing Vivian

“Why do you wear a nightshirt over your trousers?” Chester continued peppering Zhang Wei with questions. “And your shoes look like a child’s.”

Zhang Wei laughed, putting up his hands. “One question at a time, please, Chester Larsen.”

Benedict left Zhang Wei and Chester to discuss elements of traditional Chinese fashion, and he joined Miss Kirby by the submerged bicycle and broken fountain.

She took a tool from her pocket and knelt down, reaching from the edge of the pond to loosen one of the bent steering handles, which was the only part of the Personal Propulsion Vehicle that wasn’t submerged or being sprayed by the fountain’s broken pipe. “I was sorry to hear about your brother, my lord.” She spoke without looking up.

“Thank you.” He’d had enough condolences over the past months that the words came reflexively.

She twisted the handle until it was straight and then used the tool to tighten it again.

“Miss Kirby.” Benedict decided he might as well get the uncomfortable topic out in the open. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t know if you remember, but we used to know one another. Years ago.”

“I remember you perfectly well, my lord.” She stood, wiping her hands on a handkerchief. And still she did not look at him.

Behind them, Chester laughed, and Benedict glanced over to see Zhang Wei pulling the boy’s curls back tightly as if to braid them into a queue like his own.

Benedict cleared his throat, wishing he’d had time to properly consider how to apologize. Or whether it was necessary in the first place. “I—”

“I must return the engine to my workshop for repairs,” Miss Kirby interrupted. She scratched the back of her neck, studying the mess. “The vehicle will need to be thoroughly dried and its parts oiled as well.”

“Of course,” Benedict responded, even though he was not entirely certain whether she was speaking to him or to herself. “How may I be of assistance?”

She glanced at him, then motioned to the broken pipe. “First, you should shut off the fountain.”

“And how... ?” He had never in his life given an instant of thought to the operation of a water fountain, let alone how to start or stop one.

Miss Kirby stepped around the edge of the pond, avoiding the spray. She crouched down behind the fountain and felt around for a moment. She used her tool to open a hatch, then reached inside and twisted something he couldn’t see. The water stopped.

Benedict was surprised, not only at the young woman’s skill but that she’d not hesitated in turning off the water. He stepped back into the pond, tugging on the bicycle. The engine and the attachments to the wheel made it much heavier than he’d expected.

Zhang Wei waded into the water on the other side of the contraption. As usual, the man accepted any new developments calmly, as he had when he’d insisted on accompanying Benedict home to England. Two years earlier, Zhang Wei had started out as Benedict’s servant, hired to cook and launder, but as Benedict’s stay in China extended, the men had become close friends, and Benedict looked to Zhang Wei as more of a mentor now.

Working together, the two straightened the wheels and pushed through the mud, rolling the bicycle out of the pond and onto the pathway.

Miss Kirby peered closely at the engine. She touched it carefully as if worried it might be hot, then lifted a lever attached to a piston. A trickle of water ran out, dripping onto the ground. “If it wasn’t damaged by the crash, I should be able to dry it out and have it working properly again.” She grabbed the handles, balancing the bicycle on its two wheels, and started to push it back toward the gate. “Come along, Chester.”

Benedict felt as if they had unfinished business. He hadn’t apologized or even determined whether or not he should. And he wanted to know more about what had just happened in his garden. Where had the Personal Propulsion Vehicle come from? Had Miss Kirby built it? The idea fascinated him.

Aside from his friendship with Zhang Wei, most of his communications since returning to London had either been filled with condolences or, in the case of his parents, criticism. His old friends Ruben, Meredith, and Chatsworth expected their friendship to resume as if nothing had changed. In his few ventures into Society since his return, he’d felt like he was acting a part he knew he didn’t portray to anyone’s satisfaction. Especially his own. Today had been different. It reminded him of being in China. Of visiting the marketplace and meeting new friends. He missed smiling, laughing, and not worrying about posturing, fulfilling expectations, or acting dukely.

“Wait.” He felt silly, calling after them, but he wasn’t ready for them to leave yet. In the last three months since he’d returned home, this was by far his most interesting interaction. He enjoyed the brash lad and was curious about Chester’s cousin. Their interruption had been a bright spot, a pleasant distraction. “One moment, if you please.”

The woman and child turned back.

“What about my fountain?” It was the only thing Benedict could think to say.

Miss Kirby looked toward the fountain and then back at him. “The fountain would flow much steadier with a new pump installed,” she said. “This one is adequate but very inefficient.”

“Vivian can repair anything,” Chester said. He grinned and looked at his cousin proudly. “If you want a better fountain, she could build it, quick as you like.”

They would return. The thought was a pleasant one. Benedict smiled and inclined his head. “I would appreciate that immensely. If I might impose upon you, Miss Kirby.”

The woman’s lips pursed. “You are too kind to place your confidence in me, my lord.” Her eyes narrowed. “But surely a graduate of Newton League of Young Inventors would be better suited for the task.”

She remembered after all.

The bitter taste returned to Benedict’s throat, and he swallowed hard to push it down. “About that, Miss Kirby...” He took a step forward, holding out a hand, then thought better of it, clasping it into a fist. “I am very sorry for how I acted all those years ago. And how you were affected. I was young and rather stupid, you see, and—”

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