‘Again!’ said Julius.
Smack!
Back the other way went Ada’s face.
Foxglove looked at Frankenstein in extremities of distress.
‘Can you not repeat the process?’
Julius shook his head.
‘One attempt is all that is meaningful. You may have to reconcile yourself that perhaps she is —’
Smack! Smack!
Foxglove delivered without restraint.
Julius suddenly realised that the corpse’s face was reddened where the blows fell. Which implied…
Ada’s eyes flicked open. Foxglove’s next strike was too far advanced to cancel.
‘Owwww!’ she said. ‘How… how dare you?’
The servant flinched back, both mortified and awash with joy. Each flickered briefly across his normally impassive face.
Ada Lovelace sat up like a jack-in-the-box. There was obviously more energy in that slight frame than met the eye.
Speaking of which, as a doctor (albeit a mere military one) Julius recalled from his studies that all eyeballs were of identical mass, and that only eyelid variations gave the illusion otherwise. Yet Ada Lovelace’s face seemed dominated by windows to the soul of extraordinary size and sauciness.
She felt her face and rubbed it. Previous paleness returned. She next noted her display of more cleavage than decorum allowed and sought to repair Julius’ careless undressing.
Only then did she deign to view the wider world. First Foxglove.
‘Hmmm…’ she said, with neither gratitude nor reproach.
Then Frankenstein.
‘Hmmm…’
Julius had been brought up with Swiss manners before he learnt less starchy Italianate, and then anything-goes English, ways. He bowed politely.
‘Lady Lovelace. Welcome back to this wicked world.’
She did not acknowledge him but swung her long legs to the floor via a flash of silk stocking.
‘That ‘wicked world’ awaits us,’ she said to both all and none—but proving she must have heard. ‘Foxglove, fetch my coach.’
Foxglove not only fetched it, he proposed to drive it, for there was no one else. From having a horde at her beck and call Ada Lovelace was reduced to just one lacky.
Not two. When Frankenstein joined them in the waiting vehicle, Ada looked at him like a side dish no one had ordered.
‘Foxglove!’ she called through the carriage roof. ‘Is this man coming with us? What did you offer him?’
‘Only as per your letter, milady.’
‘Hmmm…’
She had a rich variety of those, all meaning something subtly different. Meanwhile, she studied Julius up and down.
Frankenstein felt it was time he had an input.
‘Escape and adventure were the core contractual features, madam. You promised both.’
Ada had a hat now. She threw back her bonnet and laughed heartily.
‘Did I? Did I really?’
‘Those were your very words. And now my bridges are burnt I must hold you to them.’
Lady Lovelace was selectively deaf. It was as if he’d never replied.
‘I see he has packed a bag, Foxglove; plainly meaning to accompany us. What do you think?’
‘He’s sound,’ said the voice from the driving seat. ‘But I’ll be guided by you, milady.’
Ada fixed Julius with her gorgeous eyes.
‘Do you have pen and paper, herr doctor?’
Packing hastily (for the guard’s bribed blindness wouldn’t last forever) those were indeed amongst the few items he’d scraped into a case to take with him. Latterly, all Frankensteins travelled light. Julius demonstrated to her that he owned both.
Ada smiled and snatched them.
‘He’s in, Foxglove. Drive on!’
As with her revival, Ada’s next step presumably followed a pre-laid plan. Not being a party to it, Frankenstein sat back and relaxed as Foxglove clattered along the Great West Road, heading only God and he knew where.
Hounslow went by in the dark, then progressively larger villages and miles of thriving market gardens till they were skirting the outskirts of the Capital. Finally, they came to a halt before the Turnham Green Bastion and awaited—so Frankenstein presumed—the opening of the gates at dawn. Unseen hands trained wall-guns upon them.
Fortunately, there were other untimely or impatient travellers, and a small collection of conveyances and horsemen gathered close together for mutual protection from the perils of the night. For it was a known fact that the lightless hours were the preserve of feral humans and rogue-Lazarans, to which legend added were-creatures and vampires as well.
Though rarely known to attack so close to civilisation, precautions against such threats were always advisable. Therefore the coaches were manoeuvred into a circle and a watch set. Armed with a blunderbuss, Foxglove took on all the sentry duties assigned to three.
Meanwhile, inside her vehicle, Ada ignored her new companion just as she did the wonder of returned life. Instead, she sat hunched over Julius’ loaned notebook, scribbling furiously into it. And increasingly furious: for from time to time she wrenched out pages in a rage or viciously scored through what she’d written. Sometimes, the pen was jabbed so hard it pierced straight through the page, or ink flew from the companion pot. Likewise little gasps of frustration escaped her Ladyship’s pursed lips, plus occasional most unladylike hisses of hate.
Frankenstein stayed by her side but left her to it. There was wisdom in his inaction for he had nowhere else to go and it was as well not to show his face to the world so soon. The Hecatomb’s working day would be starting shortly, and shortly after he’d be missed. Also, Lady Lovelace didn’t seem the sort for small talk.
Julius only wished Ada’s schemes hadn’t included a liveried coach. It proclaimed her presence as good as a flag, and Bastion guards would recall it. However, there was nothing to link him and the ex-deceased just yet. The association needn’t be fatal to him moving discreetly for a while.
Then, just as the huge windlasses creaked to open London’s gates to another day, Ada deigned to notice her companion once more.
She threw the book at him. It bounced off Frankenstein’s forehead, leaving an angry mark.
Her eyes glared at him, equally angry.
‘Charlatan!’ she spat. ‘Fraud! Where is my spark?’
Chapter 4: NO FIRE WITHOUT A SPARK
‘I want it! I want it! I want it!’
Ada contained herself only for as long as the innkeeper could overhear. The second the door was shut she was at Julius again.
Where he came from, a second—and most certainly a third—feminine slap to the face merited a right hook in return, and chivalry be damned. However, Frankenstein restrained himself because Foxglove was standing watchfully by. A room-wrecking full-blown brawl would not be helpful now they had finally found sanctuary.
Ada’s eyes blazed: when she gave herself to something she gave all. Yet she had less to give than before: her palm was as cold as her fury was hot.
Julius caught her wrists as they sought to drum a tattoo on his chest. They too were icy. He surreptitiously sought a pulse, knowing full well of all people that he sought in vain. Lazaran hearts beat once an hour, if that.
‘Well, you can’t have it,’ he replied calmly. ‘Even if I knew what you were talking about…’
Ada wrenched herself free.
‘I’ve lost my spark!’ she accused Frankenstein. ‘It’s gone! Beforehand, I was a genius, now there’s no inspiration. I’m just… living, like all the rest of you!’