Goblins and Snowflakes Page 3

  He smiled, his entire face lighting up when he did so. “I’m not what you were expecting. I am Archibald Boatswain III, Miss Rossetti. But my grandfather, the Archibald Boatswain, is here. He’s upstairs resting.”

  “Oh. Yes. That makes sense,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward. “I can’t wait to meet him. Uncle Horace has told me all about his airship designs. Do they really work? Is it really possible to take flight?”

  He laughed. “Indeed. I’ve piloted some of the prototypes myself.”

  “Really? Weren’t you frightened?”

  “Well, I trust my grandfather. It is quite a long way down,” he said with a good-natured laugh.

  My cheeks reddened. Had I insulted him? What an awkward first impression. “Of course, I have no doubt in your grandfather’s invention. I was just…it’s such an amazing idea. My apologies, Master Boatswain.”

  “No offense taken, Miss Rossetti. We’ll be finalizing the production plans for several commercial ships this weekend, I believe,” he said then turned to Uncle Horace. “When will Arthur and Violet Hawking arrive? I know Grandfather was keen on seeing the Hawkings’ balloon designs.”

  “Soon. Very soon.”

  Archibald laughed. “If they remember to leave their little workshop.”

  Uncle Horace chuckled. “True, true.”

  I had met the Hawkings just once. They were a delightful young couple, both of them amazing inventors. But like all great thinkers, they were prone to distraction. I was glad to hear I would see them again…assuming they remembered to come.

  The footman, who was arranging the tea service, rang a small bell. “Tea is served, Earl Walpole.”

  We removed to the next room, a small but beautifully decorated parlor, the walls adorned with so many oil paintings that they nearly covered the walls. Vases full of winter flowers, greens, and other holiday trimmings decorated the place. The footman pulled out my chair.

  The table was set with a beautiful assortment of savory and sweet delights. From small finger sandwiches, to miniature fruit tarts, to cheese, pickles, meats, and delicious fresh-baked scones, there was a bounty of flavors to try. While Uncle Horace and Master Boatswain III turned the conversation once more to pipework, I filled my plate. It was only when I realized that I didn’t have any room left for a fourth kind of cheese, that I recognized my mistake. This wasn’t how ladies were supposed to eat. Especially not in front of eligible bachelors with startling green eye and famous grandfathers.

  I was trying to figure out how to discreetly put some of the food back when Master Boatswain chuckled and said, “I think Miss Rossetti and I are of the same mind.”

  My cheeks reddened. I glanced at Mister Boatswain.

  He motioned to his plate, which was as full as mine. In fact, he’d added on a second layer.

  “I missed luncheon,” I said by way of apology.

  “As did I,” he replied.

  Uncle Horace chuckled. “Well, that’s what it’s there for, and my cook makes excellent scones.”

  “The baker in the village wanted to know if you need a plum pudding. I must admit—but never to Miss Ronald—that the village baker’s biscuits are a cut above hers. Should I buy a pudding from the village? I’m sure we don’t need it, but should I buy one anyway, just to support the local business?”

  “As you wish, dear Scarlette,” Uncle Horace said then turned to Master Boatswain. “Miss Rossetti has fallen in love with Twickenham. Though I’m not sure what she does in town all day.”

  “Oh, you know, gallivant about,” I said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

  Master Boatswain smiled at me. “Gallivant about? Hmm. Interesting occupation, and also a very vague answer. Gallivant anywhere in particular?”

  “The bakery. The church. The Christmas market. Oh, and I do enjoy talking with Laura and Lizzie Gabriel. They’re the doll makers at The Two Sisters Doll Shop and Toy Emporium. They’re older ladies, twins, and quite talented.”

  “Talented at getting your money,” Uncle Horace said.

  I chuckled. “Uncle Horace,” I said playfully. “They’re delightful women. I’ve also befriended a local family. Since you’re in the giving mood, Uncle Horace, I was wondering if you have need of a maid? There is a woman in the village whose husband has died, and she and her family have fallen on hard times. She’s very kind and hardworking. She has three children and is in need of a helping hand. Do you have an opening?”

  “Sounds more like Miss Rossetti has taken up the work of alms-giving more than gallivanting about,” Master Boatswain said, passing me a knowing look.

  Clever man. I grinned at him.

  Uncle Horace sat back in his seat and straightened his waistcoat. “I’m not sure. Mister Edwards, are we in want of help?” he called to the butler who was waiting discreetly nearby.

  “Yes, Earl Walpole. We are in need of a maid and a footman.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Mister Edwards coughed uncomfortably.

  “Ah, I see,” Uncle Horace said with a light chuckle. Apparently, the Hawkings weren’t the only ones who were distractible. “Put out an advertisement for the footman, Mister Edwards. And please have the housekeeper interview Miss Rossetti’s friend…”

  “Missus Annabeth Buckingham,” I said.

  Uncle Horace nodded. “Hire her if she is even remotely qualified.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mister Edwards said.

  I smiled at Mister Edwards.

  He passed me a playful wink.

  Feeling excited to tell Annabeth the good news, I celebrated by diving into my plate, relishing my victory one bite of fruit tart at a time.

  When the tea service was done, Uncle Horace and Master Boatswain turned their attention to the sketch of the plumbing. And while my good opinion of Master Boatswain had only increased as tea had gone on, and although I’d very much like to linger more, I had my own work to do.

  “Uncle, Master Boatswain, will you please excuse me?” I asked. “I have a small project that needs my attention.”

  Both men rose.

  “Never idle. Never idle,” Uncle Horace said. “When your father asked me if you could stay, I imagined you by the fire embroidering all autumn. He didn’t tell me you were as bored with idleness as I am.

  “And haven’t we gotten along marvelously as a result?”

  “That we have.”

  “Master Boatswain,” I said, bobbing a little curtsey.

  “Miss Rossetti,” he replied, inclining his head toward me. He gave me a soft smile.

  My heart made a little leap at the twinkle in his eyes.

  Grinning to myself, I exited the parlor and headed down the narrow hallways to the library. The library at Strawberry Hill was beyond divine. The walls were white and had set-in bookshelves. Each bookshelf was trimmed with ornate moulding that reminded me of lace and looked more like it belonged on a church window than in a stately home. The stained glass on the windows cast blobs of colorful light on the ceiling above which was dotted with elaborate mosaics. The staff had lit the fireplace. The room had a cheery glow. I went to the long table at the center of the room and began unpacking my gnomes, the clockwork pieces, and the sewing tools on loan from Laura and Lizzie.

  As I looked at the little gnomes, I remembered my encounter in the woods. The strange merchants had worn clothes quite similar to my gnomes. Odd. I hoped they had moved on. My encounter with the traveling merchants had unnerved me. Part of me felt like I’d narrowly escaped harm. But maybe I was making too much of it. Slogging off the encounter, I settled in to work once more.

  Chapter 3: Archibald Boatswain III

  I don’t know how much time had passed, or how long he had been watching me, but I suddenly became aware of the presence of someone looking over my shoulder.

  “Oh,” I exclaimed, turning to look.

  Master Boatswain III chuckled. “I’m terribly sorry. I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t interrupt you.”

  “Have you been here aw
hile?”

  “Long enough,” he said then pointed to the left arm. “Two more turns on that screw should do it, I think.”

  I followed Master Boatswain’s suggestion, making the adjustment, then slid the device carefully into the body of the gnome. Grabbing the windup key, I gave it a turn.

  Finally. Finally. The arms moved with grace as if he were playing the piano.

  “What a delicate movement. Is he conducting?” Archibald asked.

  “He’s playing the piano. He’s a prototype for a doll I need to make.”

  “A doll you need to make?”

  I grinned. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Most enthusiastically.”

  “I’ve been apprenticing with the doll makers in Twickenham. I’m helping them with a commission. Someone ordered doll to sit and play at the piano. I have the piano worked out; it’s just a modified music box, but getting the arms to move in a delicate manner was giving me fits.”

  “Well done, Miss Rossetti. It looks like you have it. How very kind of you to help the doll makers.”

  “I enjoy the work. There’s something exciting about doing such fine, detailed craft.”

  Master Boatswain laughed as he pulled up a seat beside me. “You don’t have to tell me that. It’s an ingenious invention.”

  I realized then that he’d been holding a notebook. He set it down in front of me, turning it so I could see. At the top, he had written The Scarlette Automaton. Underneath, he had noted the date and my full name beside the word, Tinker. Underneath, he’d sketched the clockwork design I’d used for the gnome. “You are appropriately credited,” he said.

  Tinker. Me? “Why my first name? The Scarlette Automaton.”

  “I thought it sounded poetic.”

  I chuckled. “Maybe a touch sinister.”

  “Perhaps. But I don’t detect anything sinister about you, Miss Rossetti. Am I missing something?”

  “Only time will reveal that.”

  Archibald lifted one of the gnomes. “What a funny creature,” he said. The little gnome he was holding was wearing a fox pelt for a hat, red shorts with suspenders, and a patchwork shirt. “What do you intend to do with the rest of them?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve fussed with this gentleman so long, I didn’t think about what to do with the others.”

  “Hmm,” Master Boatswain mused. “Well, clearly, your clockwork gnome is the leader. He’s the conductor. Let’s give him some accompaniment. We’ll assign music to these four,” he said, setting three of the gnomes beside the gnome I had already tinkered. “As for these brothers, let’s make them useful: one for sewing, one for cutting cloth, one for painting, and the last for hair and makeup. Sound about right?”

  I chuckled. “Make mechanicals out of all of them? I’ll never have time to accomplish it by dinner.”

  Archibald started digging in the basket of decorative bits and bobs I’d borrowed from the sisters. “I agree that there’s no time to tinker, but we have plenty of time to give the others a festive flair.” From the trimmings basket, he pulled out a tiny toy drum, a gold-painted wooden trumpet, a miniature harp, and a flute. I recognized the pieces. They were leftover bits from a wreath the sisters had made. He also removed red and green ribbons and silk holiday flowers and berries.

  I slid the box toward myself and selected a button, needle, and spool of thread, a small paintbrush, scraps of cloth and leather, and some other bits I could modify into beautician’s tools. From the leftover clockwork bits, I found items to make a pair of tiny scissors and tools.

  I glanced at the grandfather clock. “Dinner is in an hour.”

  “Then you better get to work.”

  I giggled. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Because you, Miss Rossetti, have created the first automaton in miniature. The Scarlette Automaton. Who wouldn’t want to help with that?”

  “It’s just a clockwork gnome.”

  “Just a clockwork gnome. Why is it geniuses always discount their own work?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you have some insight into the matter. Didn’t you just doodle a new invention on the ride here?”

  He chuckled. “Point made.”

  I glanced up at the clock once more. “We’ll never get the others done on time.”

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Does it? All right. It’s a challenge. And the winner gets?”

  “And what would you wish for, Miss Rossetti?”

  I laughed. “Bragging rights. I will proclaim to the world that I out-tinkered Archibald Boatswain.”

  He laughed. “Very well. You may shout it from the rooftop if you like…but only if you win.”

  “I will win. In fact, I’ve undone this seam while you were considering the matter, Master Boatswain.”

  He smiled softly at me, his green eyes sparkling. “Please, call me Archie.”

  “Archie?”

  He nodded.

  I grinned. “I’m Scarlette.”

  “Well, Scarlette, what are you waiting for?”

  I picked up a red-headed gnome. He had wild, curling locks and a bushy beard that nearly swallowed his face. The sisters had fashioned him with small ears like a squirrel and a bushy tail to match. He also had two porcelain buck teeth hanging over his bottom lip.

  “Handsome lad,” I said, wiggling the tail at Archie.

  He chuckled. “That one looks like a troublemaker. And a bit more like a brownie than a gnome.”

  “Really? Are you an expert on fairy lore?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve dabbled in the topic. Your uncle has an excellent collection of books on the subject,” he said, motioning to the bookshelf.

  “I’ve made my way through the Roman, Greek, and Mesopotamian gods. Haven’t got to fairy tales yet,” I said with a grin.

  “Well, there is always time after dinner.”

  “Of course. As Uncle Horace says, I am never idle.”

  “Aren’t you? That’s very good. Idleness breeds a dull mind.”

  “Then you aren’t of the opinion women should be idle?”

  Archibald laughed. “Goodness, no. What an absurd idea. As far as I know, women have minds too.”

  Well done, Archie.

  Grinning, I turned my attention to the little gnomes, determined to get my work done well before Archie. The first gnome, the wild looking chap, I assigned the job of a tailor. I placed a needle in his hand then fashioned him a little pouch to carry his spool of thread and spare button. When I was done, I set him aside then eyed Archie. Even though he was working on decorating his gnome, he turned again and again to his sketch of my clockwork design. With his free hand, he made some additional drawings as he worked.

  “Don’t get distracted,” I warned.

  He chuckled. “My hands are working on different tasks.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “A mystery even to me, I’m afraid.”

  I lifted the second gnome, a funny little chap with striped leggings and antennae like a bug. Pulling some jingle bells from the trimmings basket, I attached the bells to the end of his antennae. I then outfitted him with a paintbrush and added on some festive red and green ribbons. I set him aside just as Archibald lifted another gnome and began adjusting his arms so he appeared to be playing the trumpet.

  Lifting the third gnome, determined to be done before Archie, I got to work. This little gnome was designed to look like an old man. Wearing a pair of spectacles, a green doublet, and tan trousers, he was a stoic creature.

  “Scissors for you,” I said then lifted the tiny bits of metal I’d salvaged from the clock parts. Focusing hard, I fashioned a tiny pair of scissors. Using a file, I shaped the metal then screwed the arms together. Struck by new ideas as I worked, I also made him a tiny hammer, screwdriver, and another clockwork device that I envisioned punching holes into leather. I attached them all to the gnome’s tool belt.

  When I paused for a moment to stretch my back, I heard other voices in the house. Ap
parently, Uncle Horace’s other guests were beginning to arrive.

  Archibald set a gnome, whose hat covered his eyes, his floppy shoes far too large, in front of me. He was playing the flute.

  “I’m gaining on you, Scarlette,” Archie said with a good-natured chuckle.

  “Not at all. I’m so confident that I’ll win that I knew I could pause a moment to stretch. I think the house is filling. If you think your grandfather might need you, we can postpone our race.”

  “Are you conceding?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you’d best get back to work. But thank you for your kind thought. Besides, we are nearly done.”

  “That we are.”

  “We make an excellent team, Miss Rossetti. What do you think?” he said then paused. “Automatons by Rossetti and Boatswain,” he said, motioning in the air as if gesturing to a sign.

  “Our workshop name?”

  “Of course.”

  “Master Boatswain III, you must be careful, or a girl might think you’re proposing.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  I chuckled. “Tease.”

  “Am I teasing? Are you sure?”

  I paused and looked at him.

  He grinned at me but said nothing more.

  I lifted the little gnome pianist. “What do you think?” I asked the gnome. “Cheeky, isn’t he? What should I answer?”

  Archibald grinned at me.

  I tipped the little gnome toward my ear as if to listen.

  “Ah, I see,” I said. “Thank you for your good counsel.”

  Archibald laughed. “Now who is teasing?”

  “Teasing? Why it’s always good to find wise counsel, and doesn’t he look wise?”

  “The epitome of wisdom. So, what advice did he give?”

  “Why, Master Boatswain, you know the counsel between an advocate and a client is private. And you only have fifteen minutes. Back to work.”

  “Now how the Rossetti and Boatswain partnership might work,” he said with a grin.

  “You know I can’t stand idleness.”

  “Idleness? In a Boatswain household? Never.”

  I laughed and got back to work, but my heart was beating hard, and I could feel the sting of red in my cheeks. If the conversation went on a moment longer, we might be announcing our impending nuptials by dinner. Hardly suitable since my father was still out of the country. And to think, I had just met Archibald Boatswain III that very day. Was it possible to become enamored with someone in an instant? Perhaps, if a little gnomish magic was at work.