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Jack waited for Larry in the Russell's drawing room, feeling more than a little nervous and desperately trying not to show it. He'd only been in the house once before and then only very briefly with Marian Brook as back up. It was a different thing entirely to be shown in by the Russell’s stone-faced butler and wait for Larry in a room that felt bigger than the van Rhijn’s entire house. He kept seeing a footman walk past the open doorway, as though they expected him to be trying to fit one of the fancy vases into his pockets.
The enormous portrait of Bertha Russell looming over the room didn't exactly help him feel settled. He'd heard enough stories about her by now that he wouldn't be surprised if she could see him through the portrait somehow, judging his every move.
“Mr Trotter,” said the woman herself, her voice echoing from behind him. “Good afternoon.”
Jack flinched. He didn't drop the papers he'd brought with him to show Larry or the clock model, but it was a near thing as he scrambled to his feet. Bertha Russell stood in the doorway, looking a great deal more imposing than she looked from the safety of the van Rhijn’s front steps. He was no expert on ladies fashions, but he saw enough of them going in and out that he judged her to be returning from some visitation or heading out to one. Jack really hoped Larry had at least mentioned that he was coming by so she knew he was supposed to be here to see her son and not as some kind of spy from Mrs Astor’s camp.
“Mrs Russell, I, ah, your son said I should meet him here,” said Jack. “But I, uh. I think I'm a little early?”
He winced, feeling like he was speaking too loud, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. Bertha inclined her head, the feathers of her enormous hat waving gently with the movement.
“It seems you are, but I wouldn't take it to heart, it's difficult sometimes for young men to keep time.” She paused. “Especially as it seems as if the world is without working clocks.”
“It's not that they don't work , it's just that they get a little stuck sometimes-” Jack’s brain caught up to his mouth and he felt a flash of panic, his words stumbling to a stop. “Uh. Ma’am. Mrs Russell.”
“It's perfectly all right, Mr Trotter, my son has told me of your invention, even if he has not gone into very much detail,” said Bertha. She paused, considering him for a moment. “Perhaps, as we have a moment, you might enlighten me?”
Jack blinked at her. “Uh. Enlighten you?”
“Yes,” said Bertha. “Explain your invention to me.”
She gestured for him to sit, taking a seat herself opposite him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Jack hurried to sit.
“I'm sure you think it frivolous of me, but after being married to Mr Russell for so many years I'm afraid I have developed an unladylike interest in actually understanding the business projects my husband and son embark upon,” said Bertha. “Unfortunately for my curiosity, sons are always a little more reluctant to share such things with their mothers than husbands are with wives.”
“Ah, it’s- It's a little complicated?” said Jack, wincing as she arched an eyebrow at him.
“As you are apparently the first person to think of it, I'm sure it is. If I want clarification, you can be sure that I'll ask for it,” said Bertha simply. “I don’t know that I have even been accused of being shy.”
She sat back a little. He might not have had a lot of experience with sitting across from high society ladies but it was as clear of a signal as when he was sitting across from Mrs Baur and she wanted him to explain himself about something. It was also entirely possible that this was some kind of test. Larry Russell didn't seem like the type, not according to how Marian spoke about him at least, but you never knew. Rich people had a lot of strange rules and ideas about how you were supposed to move about in the world.
“I don't know that I'm too good at explaining it yet,” said Jack. “I think I've only made sense to the man from the clockmaker’s guild so far.”
He cleared his throat, launching into the explanation. It was easier the more he went on, since talking about it gave him something to focus on other than his nerves. Bertha didn't interrupt all that much, mostly nodding along. She even seemed to know some of the terms, especially when he edged towards the manufacture of the clock.
“It's similar enough to the inside of an engine, I suppose,” said Bertha, looking over one of the paper diagrams he was using to demonstrate.
“Hard to imagine you messing around with an engine,” said Jack. “Uh. Not that someone like you would need to ma’am.”
“Not anymore,” said Bertha. “The closest I am forced to get these days is when Mr Russell has something that he feels compelled to show me.” She handed back the paper. “Well, it's still something of a mystery to me but I am convinced that you understand what you're doing, and I suppose that's what matters. My son has agreed to your funding?”
“I, uh. Yes? That is, that's what I'm here to figure out with him today, I think,” said Jack.
“Well, I suppose I should leave you to it, before I make myself late for my fitting. If my son is getting himself involved with your clock I don't think it would look at all good if I went around being late for things,” said Bertha.
She paused, glancing at him. It occured to Jack that she had been making a joke. Mrs Bertha Russell was cracking jokes with him in the drawing room, keeping him company while he waited for her son to get there, like he was a real, honest-to-god gentleman. It was the strangest thing that had happened to him in his life , without a doubt. They were never going to believe it when he got back over the other side of the street.
“Right ma’am,” said Jack. He reached for something to say, since she was making the effort, but nothing came to mind.
“Well,” said Bertha after an excruciating moment of silence. “I suppose I will have to leave you to wait.”
“I don't mind Mrs Russell,” said Jack. “They won't need me over the road for a few more hours.”
“I'm sure my son appreciates them sparing you for the afternoon to have the discussion, as it seems he cannot go there,” said Bertha.
Jack held himself very still. Ada had read out an article about how animals camouflaged themselves to Marian the previous day. Maybe if he was real still, he'd disappear into the couch.
“But I suppose you don't really have any say in such things,” continued Bertha.
“Not exactly ma’am,” said Jack.
Bertha gave a little considering hum before she stood. Jack scrambled to his feet.
“I hope you have a good afternoon ma'am, with your fitting.”
“I’m quite sure I will. Better than I usually do,” said Bertha, the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.
“Ma'am?”
Bertha paused. “I… My husband is coming with me to the fitting. A rare event these days.”
She might as well have switched to speaking in french for all that Jack understood why she'd said it with such significance , but he nodded, trying to affect the impression of the kind of high society gentleman who did .
“Oh” said Jack. “That's… It's good that he could spare enough time for it?”
Jack had never claimed to be a particularly skilled actor, and Bertha did not look fooled by his performance, although thankfully she did not seem to be offended by it.
“My son shouldn't be too much longer,” said Bertha. “Church will direct him to you when he arrives, but in the event that you do need to take your leave before then, please let Church know. Good day Mr Trotter, and I do hope you have a productive afternoon.”
“You too ma’am,” said Jack.
He waited until he heard her footsteps fade away before he sat back down, running a hand through his hair. Well. He'd survived long enough not to be forced to leave.
Larry Russell arrived only a few minutes after his mother's departure, Marian thankfully in tow and both seemingly totally unaware of his mother's brief presence. Both Marian and Larry were full of ideas , having apparently spent a lengthy walk discussing his invention, everything from funding to promotion. Time, perfectly kept on his clock, flew by.
He recounted the afternoon to Mrs Baur and Bridget that evening, although Mrs Baur seemed more interested over Mr Russell going with Mrs Russell to her dress fitting, exchanging a look with Bannister about it.
Bridget made a face. “It's nice of him I suppose.”
Mrs Baur smiled. “Oh yes. It must be nice for them to still be so in love after all these years.”
“Don't let Mrs van Rhijn hear you talk about such things,” said Armstrong.
“Why?” said Jack. “Don't ladies get escorted almost every place?”
“Yes but not places they'll be in their undergarments,” said Armstrong. “Though I suppose she's not really a lady.”
“That's not for us to say,” said Bannister.
Armstrong fell silent, her mouth set in a grim line that said that she thought she had a great deal more to say on the subject. They’d hear her opinion in bits and pieces over the next week, Jack was sure, none of it likely to be positive. Armstrong didn’t have a lot of positive opinions. Mrs Baur had told him not to mind her, so Jack did his best not to. Out of Mrs Baur and Mrs Armstrong, Jack always preferred to listen to Mrs Baur.
Bridget raised her eyebrows at him, moving away a little to watch over something on the stove. She glanced back at him, like she did sometimes when she wanted to talk to him but wouldn't say so. Jack waited until the others were distracted with their own tasks before he stepped closer to her, carrying the salt over to her as an excuse for their conversation.
“Did she really tell you that her husband was going to watch her get fitted for a dress?” said Bridget.
She sounded very worried, which, it was nice to be worried over even if it was a little confusing. It wasn't as though Mrs Russell had asked him to come along. He was only just barely sure she approved of her son funding the clock. He hadn't thought that Bridget would be worried over such a thing at any rate, but anything approaching that kind of thing did put her in an odd mood. Mrs Baur had pulled him aside and told him not to push Bridget where things like that were concerned, so he hadn't.
He just wished Mrs Baur would’ve been able to tell him what he’d done wrong with Bridget. She would only say that it was Bridget’s business, and that she’d tell him when she was ready. Jack wasn’t sure if that day was ever likely to come. He’d happily settle on them being friends again - she was the only one of his own age in the household he could really talk to after all. Peggy was an alright sort, but Bannister was always reminding them all that she was, really, the kind of lady that ought to be up in the sitting room with Marian instead of downstairs with them. It felt more than a little disrespectful to treat her like they were the same just because she had to eat downstairs with them.
Bridget made a face at him, prompting his thoughts back to the present.
“She said he was coming with her, that's all,” said Jack. “She said it was a rare event, whatever that means, probably that husbands like that don't spend a lot of time with their wives.”
Bridget wrinkled her nose. Jack looked down at the salt - you weren’t supposed to think the way your friends wrinkled their noses was cute , or to think about their freckles. He didn't want to push - she'd only really started to forgive him enough for the lantern show that she let him stand so close to her again, and he didn't want to put his foot in it.
“Armstrong was probably just making it up,” said Jack. “You know what she's like.”
“I suppose,” said Bridget. She glanced over at Mrs Baur, where the other woman was rolling out pastry. “Now be off with you, I got work that needs doing and I can't very well do it with you sitting on my shoulder.”
Jack held up his hands, taking a step back. Bridget smiled at him, just a little, and so it was much easier to go on his way.
The next time he saw Bertha Russell, she happened to pass by the library where Larry had left Jack alone for a moment while he ran back to the office to get something. It was another room in the Russell house built to intimidate and it certainly worked, all dark furnishings, the blue glass in the windows glittering like jewels. The only thing out of place, the only thing that didn't feel as though it was shouting him out of the room, was the tiny hinged picture frame on the desk - one side showed a photograph of Bertha in profile, the other side, bizarrely, seemed to be a cartoon cut out of yellowing newspaper depicting George Russell holding a train over his head and running away from a crowd of men in top hats. It wasn't a particularly flattering illustration, but sometimes the behaviour of society types could be strange like that.
Jack had been attempting to take his mind off his nerves by reading a novel that had been left on the desk. It seemed to be about a rather scandalous gentleman conman who was forever getting into scrapes, a strange choice for a practical businessman like George Russell, but who was he to judge? Probably there were some kind of scenes with ladies later on that was his reason for having it out.
There was no knock before the door opened.
“Oh, Mr Trotter, I am sorry, I thought my son was in here,” said Bertha, looking entirely unsurprised.
“He's just gone back to the office to get something ma’am,” said Jack. “He said I should wait?”
“And you are welcome to,” said Bertha. Her eyes fell to the book in his hands. “I compliment your choice of material to occupy yourself.”
“I hope Mr Russell doesn't mind,” said Jack. “I didn't want anyone to think I was rifling around or making a mess, and it was just out of the desk.”
“Yes,” said Bertha. “Though hopefully Mrs Bruce doesn't accuse me of making a mess for leaving it out.”
Jack froze. “Uh. This is one of yours?”
“Mr Thackeray is not really to my husband's tastes,” said Bertha. “He prefers his adventurers to be a little more straightforwardly heroic.”
“I'm sorry ma’am, I didn't mean any disrespect by it,” said Jack.
“I'm sure you didn't, and as long as you haven't torn out any of the pages I have no cause to find any.” Bertha paused. “Should I assume from your visit that your new enterprise is proceeding well?”
“I think so ma’am,” said Jack, “but it's my first time inventing anything so I don't really have anything to compare it to.”
The corner of Bertha's lips twitched. “I suppose you don't, no.” She paused again. “Is your invention a topic of discussion among those of your own household?”
“I suppose so,” said Jack. “They ask me for updates and such, and everyone's been very kind about me stepping out for meetings with Mr Russell. The younger Mr Russell, I mean.”
“I'm glad to hear that it hasn't caused any disruption. Miss Brook certainly seems enthusiastic enough about it.”
“She's been very nice about it ma’am,” said Jack. “It was her idea for me to come over and see her Mr Russell about it in the first place.”
“Indeed,” said Bertha, looking oddly pleased about that. “And did… How does Mrs van Rhijn feel about your frequent trips across the street?”
Jack paused, frowning a little. “Ma’am?”
Bertha let out a little huff of breath, taking a step forward into the room, the door falling closed behind her. She stepped carefully into the room until she was standing just beside the desk, not quite behind it, just enough to feel as if she were looming over him.
“I'm sure you might have guessed by now Mr Trotter,” said Bertha, “but I have a few of my own reasons for wishing to make the van Rhijn household look a little more favourably on mine, reasons that might in fact line up with some of Miss Brook's own motivations.”
“On account of Miss Brook and the younger Mr Russell,” said Jack.
“I wouldn't put it quite that bluntly, but yes,” said Bertha.
“I don't know that I can help at all with that, Mrs Russell,” said Jack.
“And I certainly wouldn't ask you to,” said Bertha, “but if your opinion on my son were ever to be asked…?”
“Mr Russell’s always been very nice to me, ma’am, a perfect gentleman as far as I can tell, but uh, I probably look for different things than Mrs van Rhijn does,” said Jack.
“I suppose you do,” said Bertha. She paused, considering him for a moment. “What is your honest opinion of his chances?”
“Uh… good?”
Bertha gave him a look, amused enough at the edges that he didn't feel like he was in danger of being thrown out. “Your honest opinion, please.”
“Not as bad as it could be?” said Jack after a moment. “Mrs Forte comes down on Miss Brook's side a lot these days.”
“Yes, I thought that might be a good place to start,” said Bertha. She paused, straightening the picture frame, the flicker of a smile appearing before it vanished again. “I'll leave you in Lord Lyndon’s hands, though I hope you don’t take any of his lessons to heart.”
He laid it out for the others later, to see if they could make any more sense of it than he could.
“Well that does go some way to explaining her interest,” said Bannister.
“More than her having an interest in clocks,” said Bridget. “No offence Jack.”
“I think it's kind of her to care for her children's happiness,” said Mrs Baur.
“I guess so,” said Jack.
“Seems like a lot of meddling to me,” said Bridget.
“What else are women like that to do?” said Mrs Baur, shushing them before they could answer.
Armstrong bustled her way downstairs, a basket of clothing to be mended under her arm and looking none too pleased about it. Jack quickly picked up the pack of cards on the table, shuffling it as though they'd been in the middle of a game instead of a conversation.
“You're all very quiet this afternoon,” said Armstrong.
“I thought you didn't like chatter,” said Bridget.
Armstrong hummed, fixing her with the kind of look that made Bridget drop her gaze.
“Help me with this,” said Mrs Baur, offering her an escape.
Bridget looked back at him as she got up from the table. Jack held up the pack of cards and Bridget gave a little nod. They'd play later, then, like they used to. Good to have something to look forward to of an evening.
He was really given something to look forward to later that month - an invitation to a party at Mrs Fish’s house, as the honoured guest of Larry Russell. He’d never been an honoured guest before, a fact that he found more than a little terrifying. Marian helped secret him some of Oscar’s old things, promising to meet him after the party.
“But I thought- You’re not going Miss Brook?” said Jack, trying to tamp down on his rising panic.
“Aunt Agnes is upset enough that I deigned to accept a lunch invitation from Mrs Russell yesterday, so I’d rather not push her too far,” said Marian. “I’m never really sure I’m suited for Mrs Fish’s parties anyway.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t go either,” said Jack.
“Of course you should,” said Marian, helping him to straighten his tie. “You’ll do just fine. Mr Russell and Miss Russell will be with you, and they’ll be able to introduce you to all kinds of people, which Larry-” Her cheeks flushed slightly. “Which Mr Russell said will be quite important for the two of you moving forward. There!”
She stepped back. Jack looked at himself in the mirror, a very oddly-dressed version of himself looking back at him.
“They’re all going to know I’m not a real gentleman,” said Jack.
“No they won’t,” said Marian. “And if they do that says more about them than it does about you .” She put a hand on his shoulder. “You invented something brand new ! How many of them can say the same?”
Jack swallowed. “I don’t know that my patent is enough to impress that kind of person.”
There was a knock at the door and Jack went to open it on reflex, immediately greeted by the sight of a beaming Larry, Gladys waving to him from the bottom of the stairs.
“All ready?” said Larry, his eyes already drifting towards Marian. “I wish you would come with us Miss Brook.”
“I’m sure Mrs Fish will provide me with a great many opportunities to attend one of her parties in the future,” said Marian. “And it will give me an excuse to drop by and find out all the details of the evening.”
Larry’s smile widened. “I’d like that. Until then Miss Brook.”
“Until then Mr Russell,” said Marian, smiling at him. “And good luck Jack. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”
“I hope so Miss Brook,” said Jack.
If being dressed in a gentleman’s suit didn’t make him feel odd enough, riding in a carriage with the Russells made him feel like he was floating above his body, watching as they travelled through the streets of New York towards Mrs Fish’s house. He could tell the party was already underway inside, music floating from the open windows.
Gladys reached over and squeezed his hands. “Don’t look so worried, Mr Trotter. It’s a party . Sure you must have been to a party before?”
“I, uh…” Jack tried to think of one. “A street fair, maybe? If that’s like a party?”
Gladys and Larry shared a look, which didn’t exactly fill him with confidence.
“With Mrs Fish, it might be,” said Larry.
“And she was definitely alright with me coming?” said Jack.
“She was thrilled ,” said Larry.
“I hope she wasn’t too thrilled,” said Gladys. “Though maybe you would both feel more at home if she’d themed the afternoon around clocks?”
Larry rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to my sister. She’s still getting used to the idea of parties.”
“You make me sound so uncultured sometimes,” said Gladys. “As if I chose to not be able to attend parties before my coming out.”
Jack hoped the entire afternoon wasn’t going to be full of conversations like this one. It was easy, when it was he and Larry looking things over, or talking to Marian, to forget that the rich might as well have come from a different planet.
This feeling was not helped when they arrived, Mrs Fish enthusiastically thrusting a brightly-coloured mask into his hands. His was bright blue, made to cover the entirety of the top half of his face, the little bells attached to the top jingling with the slightest movement.
“Simply wonderful to meet you Mr Trotter, why I don’t know that I’ve ever met an inventor before!” said Mr Fish. “Here, take this, and here’s one for you too Mr Russell, and Miss Russell. Don’t lose them, you’ll need them for my surprise later in the evening.”
“What kind of surprise?” asked Jack.
“Well what kind of surprise would it be if I told you before it happened?” said Mrs Fish. “You must find me later, I want to hear all about this clock of yours. I’m sure it’s all simply fascinating .”
She was off again before he could say anything else, which was probably for the best. Jack looked down at the mask in his hands again, and then back up at Larry.
“You can just ignore it,” said Larry, “most people do, and she doesn't really ever seem to mind.”
“And the surprise?” said Jack.
“We might make an early exit,” said Larry.
“We will not ,” said Gladys. “There’s Mr Wilson. I told Carrie I'd talk to him.”
“Mother won’t like you saying much more than hello,” said Larry.
“Then it’s a good thing she isn’t here,” said Gladys, turning her attention more towards one of the young men in the corner.
Wilson held up his mask - a bright green one shaped a little like a frog - and Gladys laughed, walking towards him. Larry sighed, shaking his head.
“Do you have any sisters Mr Trotter?” asked Larry.
“Two brothers,” said Jack.
“Consider yourself extremely lucky,” said Larry. “Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”
Jack would say this for Larry Russell: after the party at Mrs Fish’s, Jack definitely had a higher opinion of him. It probably didn’t help that they’d arrived a little late, so by the time they got through to meeting the last of the young men, some of those young men had had a little more to drink than they could handle, and they made it pretty clear to Jack that they thought he ought to be carrying the trays instead of taking something off them.
Oscar arrived as they were leaving, raising his eyebrows at them. “Nice tie Mr Trotter. We must share a tailor.”
Larry opened his mouth and Gladys put a hand on his arm.
“I guess we must,” said Jack.
He was a little less injured by the remark than he was by the others he’d had to take that afternoon. The only thing he was worried about with Oscar was if he’d try to hold the obviousness of Marian’s assistance to him over her head, or his. Oscar was nice enough, but Jack knew enough about him now not to trust that he’d keep any kind of secret if there wasn't anything in it for him. It was fair enough, since Jack had overheard enough to know that Oscar was still trying to work his way back into his mother’s good graces, and helping her prod and poke at the Russells was a good enough way to get there-
And didn’t that feel strange, to be tangled up in that kind of plot instead of watching it from the doorway.
“Where to now?” asked Larry.
“Back home I expect,” said Gladys. “Though I’m sure mother will have an opinion on our early return. I was hoping that we’d be back after they left for their dinner.”
“Well we could hardly stay there,” said Larry. “I’m sure Mrs Fish won’t even notice we’ve gone. We already saw the main event.”
A clockwork carousel, and a game that Jack wasn’t sure if even Mrs Fish herself had understood the rules of. He was very glad that none of the young women had pulled him up to be his partner, for all that Gladys and Larry had offered sympathy about it.
“Oh, look,” said Gladys, as they got out of the carriage in front of the Russell’s home. “There’s Miss Brook.”
She waved, and Marian began to cross the street. She was dressed for dinner, one of her good coats draped over her shoulders.
“Miss Brook?” said Larry.
Gladys grinned. “ So lovely of you to come, Miss Brook. You know we always love having you dine with us, and Mr Trotter, you must stay too, of course. To make up for the afternoon, if nothing else.”
“Dinner?” said Larry.
“Yes, do try to keep up Larry,” said Gladys.
Marian looked from Larry to Gladys. “You were… not expecting me?”
“Of course he was, he just must have forgotten,” said Gladys.
“Of course,” said Larry, very obviously still surprised but offering Marian his arm nevertheless. “I’m very pleased to see you.”
“I take it from your early arrival that the afternoon did not go to plan?” asked Marian.
“It was fine,” said Jack. “Just… I hope not every party you folks go to is like that.”
“They’re very much not,” said Larry.
Gladys looked at Jack expectantly, and he remembered at the last second that he was supposed to offer her his arm. She smiled, the expression turning to a grin as she watched Marian and Larry walk up the stairs ahead of them.
“We’ll be four for dinner, Church,” said Larry, “but perhaps some coffee, while we wait.”
Church inclined his head, his eyes going to Jack. Jack froze. Gladys squeezed his arm, leaning a little closer as Church turned to leave.
“Don’t be scared of Mr Church, he’s very nice really,” said Gladys. “He’s just copied mother’s expressions a little too closely.”
“We’ll wait in the library, I think,” said Larry. “I left some of the new designs in there, and I’d very much like to show Miss Brook.”
Gladys stepped away from Jack. “I’m going to go change. See you at dinner, Mr Trotter.”
Jack almost bowed, managing to stop himself before he’d gotten further than the slight incline of his head.
Marian smiled up at Larry. “I take it your sister doesn’t have an interest in clockworks?”
“Not yet,” said Larry, laughing a little as he led them towards the library. “But perhaps we can- Oh! Hello, I didn’t know if you were home.”
Bertha and George both looked towards him, George standing up from behind the desk and Bertha stepping smoothly away from it, her hand falling away from where it had been resting on his chest. They'd obviously been deep in conversation, though what they'd been discussing Jack couldn't say.
“We’re just about to go out,” said George. “Don’t worry, we won’t ruin your evening.”
“I thought you’d still be at Mrs Fish’s party,” said Bertha. Her eyes narrowed. “Did something happen?”
“We just felt more like coming home,” said Larry. “I’m afraid New York society made a rather poor first impression on Mr Trotter.”
“I am sorry to hear that, although I’m not surprised. And it is good to see you again Mr Trotter,” said Bertha smoothly.
Larry frowned. “I didn't know you'd met.”
Bertha smiled placidly. “Larry, you should know there's no one who comes into my home that I don't meet. But it was very briefly, of course. And I don't believe you've yet met Larry's father?”
“No ma’am,” said Jack.
Jack had only ever seen him from across the street. George seemed a lot taller now that he was standing in front of Jack, taller and bulkier. He reminded Jack of the guys who used to hang out on the corner of his old neighbourhood, the kind that would pull you into a fight if you stepped too close or looked too long. Something in the eyes, he thought.
Those eyes didn't waver from Jack's face as George shook his hand, his grip every bit as firm as you'd expect from a man like that.
“It's good to meet you, Mr Trotter,” said George. “My son speaks very highly of you and even more highly of your invention.”
“Uh, that's, thank you Mr Russell sir,” said Jack.
“As does my wife,” continued George, “an more impressive thing than even your new clock mechanism.”
“But of course she does,” said Marian. “We’re all very proud of him.”
George shot an amused look towards Bertha, who only inclined her head slightly in response.
“And with good reason I’m sure,” said George. “But I suppose we should go prepare for our evening, and leave these young people to enjoy their’s.”
“I suppose we should,” said Bertha. “Though I hope Bordon is prepared for there to be additions to dinner.”
“I didn’t tell him,” said Larry quickly.
Bertha hummed, opening her mouth and then closing it again as she looked over at George.
“I suppose it is all too late to cancel now, my dear,” said George.
“Yes,” said Bertha, “though this will certainly be a topic for discussion tomorrow.”
“I can- I wasn’t really expecting dinner, ma’am,” said Jack, finding his voice again.
“Yes, I am sorry, Gladys called on me this morning and invited me,” said Marian. “I assumed the last minute nature was to avoid my aunts, not you.”
“I do not place blame where it does not belong,” said Bertha.
Larry pressed his lips together, studiously looking at the ceiling. Jack followed his gaze.
“As you said, a discussion for another time,” said George, offering Bertha his arm.
She pressed a quick kiss to Larry’s cheek before she took her husband’s arm. “Have a lovely evening, all of you.”
The three of them waited until they had heard the sound of footsteps fading on the stairs before they spoke.
“Mr Russell, I’m sorry,” said Jack. “If I hadn’t made you leave early they would have been gone before you got here.”
“I’m sure that was Gladys’ plan,” said Larry. “No wonder she vanished upstairs so fast. I’m only sorry that the two of you were pulled into it.”
“I’m not sorry at all about that part,” said Marian, smiling up at him. “Now, where are these designs you wanted to show me?”
It was late by the time he made it back over the road, but the others were still awake, lingering over cocoa at the little downstairs table. Bridget’s eyes got wider and wider as he unravelled the afternoon, and Jack found he kept trying to twist things a little, to see if he couldn’t make her laugh. It worked, some of the time, even if she kept looking at him with a strange expression on her face.
“Mrs Russell, being a fan of yours!” said Mrs Baur.
“I don't know about all that,” said Jack. “I've just been doing my best not to put my foot in it with any of them.”
“Still,” said Mrs Baur, smiling at him, “it never hurts to have a woman like that in your corner!”
“I'd say it's more because she's hoping that you'll be in her's when it comes to pushing her son onto Miss Brook,” said Armstrong.
“I don't know that Miss Brook needs much pushing,” said Bridget. “It sounds as though she might quite like Mr Russell, the younger one I mean.”
“I think they’re pretty even about liking each other,” said Jack.
“There you go then Mrs Armstrong,” said Bannister. “No pushing required.”
Armstrong gave a stern little hmm , pushing herself away from the table. Mrs Baur stepped away to fetch another cup of cocoa. Bannister gave Jack one of his significant looks before he picked up the newspaper, making a show of rustling the pages open in front of him.
Bridget leaned a little closer to him, her voice quiet. “You look strange in that get-up.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, I know, thanks.”
“No, I mean- You look nice,” said Bridget. She was fiddling with the edge of her apron. “Just- like a different person.”
“I’m not though, am I?” said Jack. “I’m a footman, and they can tell. They probably even know who all this is borrowed from.”
“And why care what they think?” said Bridget. “I’d like to see one of them fix their alarm clock.”
Jack huffed a laugh. “Thanks Bridget. I don’t suppose it matters much anyhow, I doubt I’m going to be invited back.”
“Their loss,” said Bridget, the edges of her words clipped but her eyes soft.
Jack wished he knew if it was alright to take her hand. Not in a way that meant anything by it. Just to thank her for being so nice.
“I’d better get the suit back to Miss Brook,” said Jack. “Before I spill anything on it.”
She caught him by the wrist as he stood. Jack looked down, his eyes going from her face, to her hand, then back to her face. Bridget’s eyes widened, dropping his wrist like it had burnt her.
“I only meant- If you did spill something on it, I could help you,” said Bridget. “You don’t have to rush off if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Jack slowly sat back down, just in time for Mrs Baur to deposit one last cup of cocoa in front of them both.
“Be careful of your shirt,” said Mrs Baur.
“I will,” said Jack, shooting a smile at Bridget.
She ducked her head, but he could see that she was smiling all the same.
The next day brought a new surprise - instead of being banished from the Russell household as he expected, there was a dinner invitation. Bridget leaned over his shoulder, trying to see it.
“And none for Miss Brook?” said Armstrong.
“I expect she has enough invitations of her own to keep her occupied,” said Bannister.
“Is it okay to take another evening off?” said Jack.
“I will speak to Mrs van Rhijn, but I don't think she'll have any objections on your part,” said Bannister. “After all, it’s not every day that such things occur.”
“They might if Jack keeps moving up in the world,” said Mrs Baur.
“I don’t know about that,” said Jack, his nerves beginning to rise up in him again. “I- Oh, I should make sure Miss Brook doesn’t take back that suit.”
Luckily, she hadn’t, and even more luckily she and Peggy both deemed it clean enough to withstand a dinner. If Marian was at all upset that he had an invitation that she didn’t, she didn’t show it, positively beaming at him as she waved him goodbye. Jack tried to hold onto the feeling of her support as he crossed the road. The Russell’s palace of a house always seemed larger when he approached it alone, the entry hall cavernous, every piece of furniture so grand and polished that he was afraid to touch anything in case he left smudges behind.
Larry seemed pleased enough to see him, as did Gladys, both of them smoothly avoiding any mention of the last time he’d visited their home. George and Bertha didn’t appear until directly before dinner, George stony-faced and Bertha stepping in front of him to greet Jack.
“Mr Trotter, so kind of you to make the time,” said Bertha.
“I, uh. It’s my night off,” said Jack, immediately feeling as though such an admission was a mistake.
“How lucky for us,” said Bertha. “Shall we go in?”
The table was even more elaborately laid out than when it had been the younger set, although Jack didn’t have a lot to compare it to. Anges wasn’t exactly known for her love of entertaining. Jack watched Larry’s movements across the table and tried his best to copy him.
“I feel as if we ought to get to know a little more about you Mr Trotter,” said Bertha. “You are our son’s business partner after all.”
“I don't know that there's too much to tell ma’am,” said Jack.
“Oh I'm sure there is,” said Bertha. “Where did you grow up?”
“New York, mostly,” said Jack, “but I grew up a little in Peshtigo before that.”
George raised his eyebrows, looking over at Bertha. Bertha inclined her head slightly, a faint smile on her features. Jack saw Larry and Gladys exchange a look across the table, though he couldn’t read it well enough to know if he should brace himself for trouble.
“I know it well,” said George, slowly. “I myself am from Marinette.”
Jack frowned. “From Marinette ?”
“I'm afraid so,” said George, a little more warmth colouring his words. “What a small world it is, to find ourselves at the same table.”
“Yeah I guess it must be,” said Jack. He frowned. “Wait, the Russell General Store, is that one of yours?”
“Only distantly,” said George. “It was my father's store, though one of my brothers runs it now, and quite independently of me I might add. I'm afraid if you went there my name wouldn't give you much of a discount.”
“Me and my brothers used to stop there on the way home from the midsummer festival,” said Jack.
“I'm sure many still do,” said George, smiling across the table at Bertha. “It's on the way home for a great many people. Isn't that right dear?”
“My husband is teasing me, Mr Trotter, and so you must excuse him,” said Bertha.
“Teasing you?” said Gladys. “About what?”
“Your mother was one of the many visitors on the way home from such a festival a long time ago,” said George.
“Not so long ago,” said Bertha.
“Much longer than your appearance would have people believe my dear,” said George.
Bertha took a sip of her wine, not fast enough to completely hide her smile.
The dinner was a lot more bearable after that, George not quite warming to him but looking significantly less likely to reach across the table and break Jack’s arm at the slightest social infraction. He even offered Jack a cigar after dinner. Jack stared down at it.
“You smoke it,” said George, amusement tinging his words. “Though I think I have some cigarettes around here somewhere, if it’s not to your taste.”
“No, it’s- I almost feel like I should save it for something,” said Jack.
“Ah,” said George, “some kind of special occasion?”
“Something like that, yeah,” said Jack.
“Well you’re welcome to,” said George. “I’m not in the habit of snatching cigars out of other men’s hands.” He paused. “And it does seem that you’re on your way to a great many special occasions.”
“Thank you sir,” said Jack.
“No need to thank me, I’m barely involved,” said George. “This is entirely Larry’s doing.”
When Jack looked towards Larry, Larry looked very pleased. Jack supposed that if that was the kind of comment that was enough to keep Larry involved in putting the clocks into production, that seemed easy enough.
The others were waiting up for him again, Mrs Baur pouring him a cup of cocoa, Bridget looking at him expectantly until he laid the whole evening out in front of them.
“I'm telling you the god's honest truth,” said Jack, “he really said that.”
“He might have said it but I don't know that I believe it,” said Bridget. “Can you imagine that Mr Russell working at some little pokey store in the middle of nowhere, or a woman like Mrs Russell shopping there?”
“It sounds like they would have been a great deal younger at the time,” said Bannister. “And it's well known that they had humble beginnings.”
“Not that humble, surely,” said Bridget.
“Why not?” said Jack. “That's what I mean to do myself, or something like it.”
“And so you will,” said Mrs Baur.
“And I’ll remember all of you when I do,” said Jack.
He looked over at Bridget. She had the same odd expression that she’d had on her face when he’d returned from the last dinner, like she was working on some complicated puzzle. She opened her mouth, and he held his breath… And then she closed her mouth again, looking away. Jack suppressed a sigh.
“I shall be happy to give you instruction, when it is that you make it that far,” said Bannister, “though I hope your home is a little more… modest, shall we say.”
“I don’t think I have the same taste as Mrs Russell,” said Jack.
“Your wife will decorate,” said Mrs Baur.
“I don’t have one of those yet either Mrs Baur,” said Jack.
“All things in time,” said Mrs Baur, putting a hand on his shoulder as she got up from the table.
“Yeah,” said Jack, trying very hard not to look over at Bridget. “I guess so.”
The clocks slowly went into production. Jack was glad Larry had enthusiasm for making the advertisements as he definitely did not, although it was possible that a lot of Larry’s enthusiasm came from the fact that Marian had designed them. Larry was full of ideas about how they could tell the most people possible about it, one after another, until suddenly they were working on a set design for the Metropolitan Opera of all things.
“Yes, I did hear about that,” said Bertha, as she directed a footman in with a tray. “Quite a good fit for it, I should think, and Mr Gilbert said it will work wonderfully with the percussion.”
“I didn’t even think about that angle,” said Larry. “I wonder if it’s too late for Marian to add something about music to the advertisements?”
“The day before printing is perhaps a little late Larry,” said Bertha. “But the posters for the opera will note such a thing, and the programs. Mr Gilbert asked your Miss Brook to aid in the design, and I expect she thought of such a thing.”
“Of course,” said Larry. He paused. “But perhaps I’ll just step over the road to check with her.”
Bertha smiled ruefully at her son as he rushed from the room. She glanced at Jack before speaking.
“Now, Mr Trotter,” said Bertha. “I do hope you will attend the opening night? I’m sure a great many people will have questions about your invention and as clever as my son is I’m sure there will be people who will be thrilled to hear it from you.” Before Jack could say anything, she added, “You and a companion, of course. I know how intimidating these things can be when one enters them alone.”
Jack doubted that Bertha had been intimidated by anything in her life, but he appreciated the idea behind it, already half-imagining Bridget on his arm before he shook himself out of it. Oscar’s old clothes might stand up to a dinner or a party, but he was pretty sure the opera required a little more than that.
“I would love to ma’am,” said Jack, “but I don’t know that I have anything to wear.”
“If that is the only obstacle, it will be a very easy evening indeed,” said Bertha. She looked him over. “You are close enough to Larry's size that his usual tailor should be able to bring something suitable together in time. Does your companion need assistance?”
“I, ah, I think so ma’am,” said Jack. “I don't know much about her wardrobe but I don't think she has any ballgowns in there.”
“I see,” said Bertha. “So this will not be one of the young women from Mrs Fish's party?”
“No ma’am,” said Jack. He tried not to fidget. “She's, uh. Well I haven't asked her just yet, exactly, but she's from the same household as me. She works in the kitchen.”
Bertha frowned. “Isn't Mrs Baur perhaps a little… old for you? Though I'm sure she would enjoy herself.”
“Oh, no, not her ma’am, Bridget,” said Jack, other more familiar nerves bubbling up inside him at the thought of asking her. “That is, if she says yes. I keep messing up with her without really knowing why, if I'm honest, so she might say no.”
“Well if she agrees please assure her that we would love to have her join our little party. Far be it from me to give you advice on such matters, but a well-placed gift can do wonders when you're just starting out,” said Bertha. “I'm sure a night at the opera would make up for anything you might have done, or not done, as is sometimes the case.”
“I guess I'll- I'll ask her ma’am,” said Jack. A thought occurred to him. “I don't even know if she likes opera.”
“As I often remind Mr Russell, one doesn't need to enjoy it in order to have a pleasant evening,” said Bertha. “Your invention will give you access to a different kind of society now. You will, no doubt, be introduced to many new things that you find that you and she do not care for at all. It would be good, I think, to practise a little enthusiasm even when you lack interest.”
“If you say so,” said Jack.
“And so I do,” said Bertha. “Ask Miss Brook to bring her over some time this week so that we can help put together something suitable for her to wear. I'm sure Gladys would love an excuse to stop by the dressmakers,” said Bertha. “And if for whatever reason she turns you down, I would be happy to make the same offer to Mrs Baur.”
Bridget was very quiet as he broke the news, excusing herself to her room. Jack sent a pleading look towards Mrs Baur, but she simply shook her head before following after her. Jack sat down with a sigh, staring at the table until he heard Mrs Baur return, patting his shoulder on the way past.
“I am surprised Mrs Russell knew my name,” said Mrs Baur.
“Of course she does,” said Armstrong scornfully.
“Well you are a key member of staff Mrs Baur,” said Bannister.
There was the softer sound of footsteps and Jack looked up, his chest tight. Bridget hovered in the doorway, the familiar odd look back on her face.
“Mrs Russell really said it was alright?” said Bridget.
“She did, and Miss Brooks and me will be right there with you the whole time,” said Jack. “And Miss Russell isn't half so frightening as her mother, you're gonna have a great time, I promise.”
“Though what you'll do with such a dress later I don't know,” said Armstrong.
“You never know,” said Jack. “Maybe they'll like you so much they'll ask you back. That's what keeps happening to me.”
It was easier to convince Bridget of it after she got the dress, to Jack’s great relief. She even let him see her in it before the big night, all light blue silks and satins like they’d taken down a bit of the sky for her. Bridget looked a little shy, reminding him of when she’d first arrived in the household, like she was smiling at him without wanting him to see.
He was glad it was enough to get her to properly agree to go with him. The idea of going to the opera was more than enough without having to do it alone.
“But you wouldn’t be doing it alone,” said Bridget. “You’ll be in a big group of Russells, and Miss Brook.”
“That’s not the same,” said Jack. “Besides, I figure I owe you a good night out, after the lantern show.”
Her expression shuttered and Jack felt something sink heavily in his stomach. He’d wrecked it all again .
“Bridget-”
“The show was fine,” said Bridget.
“I know I wasn’t,” said Jack. “I wish I knew what it was that I kept doing that makes you so upset so I could stop doing it.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” said Bridget.
“That’s not what it feels like,” said Jack. “I keep hurting you somehow, and I don’t mean to. I like you Bridget, and even if it can’t be like that I’d still like us to be friends”
“We are friends,” said Bridget. “It’s not about you, I just- As long as you understand I don’t like any of that kind of thing, hand-holding and the like, then we’ll be fine.”
“Alright,” said Jack. “I’ll, uh. I’ll probably have to give you my arm at some point, otherwise people are going to think I’m pushing you out, or else some other young gentleman will try and take you.”
“If it’s just an arm, I suppose that’ll be alright,” said Bridget.
“Nothing more than that, I swear,” said Jack, holding up his hands.
He kept steadfastly true to his word, feeling a thrill as she walked so close with him behind Larry and Marian.
“Two carriages this evening,” said Larry. “Don’t worry, you’re in-”
“Ah, Mr Trotter,” said Bertha, “and Miss O’Sullivan, how lovely to see you again.”
“Good to see you too, Mrs Russell,” supplied Jack, since Bridget seemed unable to speak.
Bertha inclined her head slightly. “May I introduce my husband, Mr George Russell? You’ll be riding with us, as I’m afraid we seem to have too much of a crowd to ride all together.”
“But I thought-” began Larry.
“Your sister’s waiting for you,” said George. “And I’m sure she’s eager to catch up a little with Miss Brook before we arrive.”
Larry shot Jack an apologetic look, heading to the carriage behind them. George and Bertha turned towards their carriage, Bridget shooting him a panicked look as they followed after.
“It’ll be fine,” whispered Jack.
“That’s easy for you to say,” hissed Bridget. “They like you.”
“They’ll like you too,” said Jack, “I do.”
He helped her into the carriage, waiting until Bertha was settled as well before he climbed inside. He tried not to look as nervous as he felt - fidgeting wouldn’t exactly help Bridget’s nerves.
“I understand you work in the same household at Mr Trotter,” said Bertha.
“Yes ma’am,” said Bridget.
Bertha blinked. Jack saw George’s eyebrows raise a fraction, his eyes going to Bertha, and Jack’s stomach twisted slightly. Bridget’s accent did give her away, more than his did anyway.
“How nice for you both to work in the same household,” said Bertha. She paused. “Have you been with the van Rhijn’s long?”
“A few years ma’am,” said Bridget. “Most of my family are still back home.”
“I see.” Bertha paused again, her eyes flicking to George. “Where are your people from?”
Jack wished there was a way to take Bridget’s hand, to let her know he was there for her, without it hurting her or giving away her nerves more than she already was. Still, he tried to give her a look of support.
“Just outside Kerry, ma’am,” said Bridget.
“Now that is interesting,” said George, smiling down at Bertha.
“Is it?” said Bridget.
“I suppose it is,” said Bertha. She pressed her lips together, her eyes going to George again. “My people were from Kerry, too. My parents made it over a few months before I was born.” She paused again. “It seems we have both travelled rather a long way to attend the opera tonight.”
“I would never have guessed, ma’am,” said Bridget.
“How very flattering of you to say,” said Bertha. “Being born here it was easy enough to press out the accent, and people don’t know such things as easily in New York.” She glanced at George. “Having a different surname helps tremendously.”
“You’re quite welcome my dear,” said George. “I was very happy to supply it.”
There was the flicker of a smile at the edge of Bertha’s expression, a matching smile lingering on George’s face. Jack noted that they weren't touching any more than he and Bridget were, sitting only as close as he and Bridget were, and they seemed happy enough, at ease enough.
Bertha turned the conversation towards the opera’s clockwork set, showing a great deal more knowledge about its construction that Jack would have thought, but then again it was well-known that the opera was one of her pet causes, and her son was one half of a partnership that had put it together. It was enough to distract him from his nerves as they stepped out of the carriage, the Met towering above them. Larry, Marian, and Gladys were already waiting for them, Gladys waving at them as she spotted them. Bridget waved back, and Jack huffed a laugh, offering her his arm as they followed George and Bertha towards the entrance.
“Imagine that,” said Bridget quietly, “him being some man working behind a counter and her family just come over from Ireland, and now they're here.”
“So are we,” said Jack, smiling down at her.
“I guess we are,” said Bridget.
Bridget squeezed his arm, and he imagined he could feel the warmth of her hand through the thick fabric jacket.
“Thank you for bringing me,” said Bridget
“No one else I'd rather drag along with me,” said Jack.