Magnificent Devices 01 - Lady of Devices

again. Maggie watched her every move, mimicking the way she held the mug, sipping when she sipped. When Willie drained his mug, Claire picked up the teapot. “May I offer you more?”
    He shoved the mug closer, and Claire said to Maggie, “One goes to finishing school for months to learn how to pour tea gracefully, but the essence of the matter is this—your back must be straight, your shoulders lowered, and the speed of the pour is in direct proportion to the depth of the cup. In addition, you must never allow the spout to leak. If it does, the angle at which you are holding it is too steep.” She filled Willie’s cup without spilling a drop from the Brown Betty pot. “Would you like to try?”
    Maggie swallowed the last of her tea and put it down, regarding the pot as one would a poisonous viper. “Pick it up by the handle, and rest your fingers upon the lid. In this way it will not fall off and land in your guest’s cup. I can tell you from experience the consequences can be disastrous.”
    Fortunately, the pot was nearly empty and not very heavy. Maggie picked it up, held the lid on as if she were preventing a geyser from spouting out the top, and dribbled a quarter of it on the table before she got some into the mug that Jake pushed toward her.
    “Thanks, Mags.” As if having his tea poured by a lady were nothing out of the ordinary, Jake picked it up and took a long swallow.
    “Well done, Maggie.” Claire smiled as the girl put the pot down and sat back, blowing a long breath up through the blond curls that fell in her face.
    “She made a mess,” Lizzie said angrily. “It weren’t well done at all.”
    “Would you like to try?” Claire hadn’t meant to be challenging, but Lizzie evidently took it that way. She snorted and grabbed the handle of the pot. But she underestimated its weight—the spout dipped—the lid fell off and smashed upon the tiles—and the entire pot slid from her hands and crashed upon the floor in an explosion of pottery shards and sodden tea leaves. Lizzie shrieked and burst into tears.
    “Here, here, what’s this?” The chemist and Robin erupted from the back of the shop, staring at the mess in dismay. “You ruffians, look what you’ve done!”
    Claire rose, lengthening her neck and looking down upon him. “To whom are you referring?”
    He blinked and flushed. “I didn’t mean you, my lady. I meant—”
    “Surely not my charges. I was attempting to give a lesson in deportment and we met with an accident. I will be happy to reimburse you for the cost of the pot and the tea. It was delicious and we enjoyed it very much.”
    It would also likely wipe out the few shillings she was hoping to save for something to eat, but there was nothing to be done about that. She could be grateful the tea had come their way unasked; her dehydrated body was reviving already.
    Robin cleared away the mess while Maggie dragged her snuffling sister out into the street, where it was clear the latter was being read the Riot Act. Claire couldn’t find it in her heart to stop her. Perhaps a remonstration from the sister she loved would do more to changing Lizzie’s attitude than chapter and verse from anyone else.
    The chemist tied up the vials and papers of chemicals into a neat parcel, and Claire handed over her precious two pounds. When a couple of shillings came back, it was all she could do not to snatch at them in case he changed his mind. Instead, she tucked them into her glove, gathered up her charges, and handed the parcel to Jake.
    “Now,” she said as they emerged from the lane onto Haymarket, “let’s find lots of lovely things to eat while you, Master Jake, recite the contents of that parcel back to me.”
    As they went from the pie-seller to the sweet stall to the orange seller, Jake slowly and laboriously told over the list of chemicals, exactly as she had given it to the chemist. And when she finally—finally!—had a steak and kidney pie in her hands, she had to admit that his memory was faultless.
    “Well done, Master Jake.” She ate the pie out of her own palms, and nothing had ever tasted so good. “Well done indeed. Are you able to read and write, so that you can make the record permanent?”
    “I know my letters.”
    “Good. Then I encourage you to possess yourself of a pencil at one of these stalls—paid for, if you please,” she added hastily, as he made to reach for one on the sly. “I have paper in my satchel. You can begin your own compendium