Page 31 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

She inhaled softly at seeing the interior. Rather than the usual worn leather squabs and wood paneled interior of a typical town coach, sky-blue velvet covered the cushions and walls of the Agremon’s coach. Small lanterns were hung in the corners, although none were lit given it was still light outside.

Seated across from the Agremons, Iris felt as if she had won some sort of prize as recompense for having lost her brother. Only three days ago, she had experienced loss and fear for her future. Now she was about to relocate to lodgings far roomier than she had ever known with the help of people she had only just met.

Should she be wary? Concerned? Whatever could be their motivation to see to her comfort and security? Two days ago, she had been a stranger to them. Now, they acted as if she was their ward. An adopted daughter of sorts.

She pretended not to notice how Darius held his wife’s hand in his—neither one of them wearing gloves. When Stella asked about his project, he spoke of his apprentice with high praise and then turned to her to say, “As a blacksmith, Mr. Thompson has been quite helpful with forming all the metallic parts required for the engine and for the body of my invention.”

“Invention?” Iris repeated.

“A personal steam-powered vehicle. It doesn’t require a horse to make its way,” he explained.

“But it does require coal and water,” Stella remarked.

“Which are quite abundant here in London,” Darius countered.

“Does it have wheels?” Iris asked, trying to imagine how such an equipage would look. How it would move. She had heard of steam busses on the Continent, large coaches that transported workers to their jobs in the mornings and then returned them to their neighborhoods at night. She had heard gossip in the market that London might soon have such conveyances.

“Four of them, yes,” Darius replied. “I expect we’ll be testing it on our street next week.”

“That soon?” Stella asked in surprise.

He nodded. “Mr. Thompson already has the engine rebuilt. The steering mechanism is in place, the drive shaft is complete… we’re down to the considerations of comfort at this point.”

“Considerations of comfort,” Stella repeated, not making it a question.

“The driver’s bench. Some sort of protection from the weather. A wind screen,” he said. “I am planning for the driver’s bench to have room for two people.”

Iris tried to imagine how wide such a vehicle would have to be, given that the man who sat across from her was so large. Why, the driver’s seat alone would have to be as wide as the bench on which he and Stella were currently seated.

“When you have completed it, what will you do next?” Iris asked.

Darius’s brows furrowed. “Invent something else, I think, and then sometime in the future, take a position with the new Metropolitan Police.”

Stella’s inhalation of breath had Iris burrowing into the squabs until she realized the woman welcomed the news. She relaxed somewhat.

“You would be excellent in such a position,” Stella said, turning to give him a peck on the cheek.

Despite his grin, Iris was sure Darius reddened with embarrassment.

“She says that about everything I do, which is why I adore her,” he claimed.

Stella’s eyes widened, and it was her turn to blush. “I have certainly never regretted marrying you,” she whispered, loud enough so Iris heard.

Iris was sure she was about to say something else, but the coach stuttered to a halt, and a quick look out the window showed they had reached her building. “My room is in there,” she said, immediately self-conscious. She doubted they had ever been in this part of London, let alone the inside of a tenement like hers.

“I’ll bring in the crates for you,” Darius said, bounding down from the coach when the door was opened. He assisted Iris and then joined her and Stella once his arms were full of nested crates.

Iris led them up the stairs and halted before she had made it two steps into her room. Jacob’s body was no longer on his cot, and the sense of loss nearly undid her.

“Do you need any help with packing?” Darius asked, setting the crates near a wall where books were stacked in neat columns. “Lifting anything heavy?”

“I can do it,” Iris said, swallowing the lump that threatened to choke her.

“Tomorrow is Sunday, so will two o’clock be an acceptable time for us to return?” Stella asked, concern evident in her voice. Church services in the city were generally over at half past noon, although there were some Anglican priests who were especially verbose, their services ending closer to one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Of course. I will be ready.”

“You’ll be safe by yourself?” Stella asked, her brows furrowed with concern.