“Behead… Oh, no, it’s not a guillotine. Though the pulleys perform a similar function. Watch this.” He placed a framed canvas on a thin horizontal shelf and mimed painting a picture.
“You invented… an easel?”
“Oh no,” Stephen said in a loud falsetto. “My sister Elizabeth is here, and I cannot let her see this portrait.”
He pressed a lever.
Gears whirred, releasing a series of heavy weights on long ropes, which in turn dropped a thick sheet of metal that absolutelycouldcut off someone’s head… but instead, sliced down into a pre-constructed groove at the front of the easel, blocking the canvas from view. A series of wooden slats tumbled down on all four sides, encasing the entirety of the structure until it appeared a solid wooden crate.
Stephen flung out an arm dramatically. “Voilà!”
Elizabeth lifted one of the slats with her finger. Or tried to. It didn’t move. She retrieved a crowbar from a pile of tools, slid the chisel edge between two of the horizontal boards, then raised an eyebrow at Stephen.
He gestured his permission. “By all means.”
She leaned heavily on the iron bar to force the slats apart.
They didn’t budge.
“Marjorie will love it,” she said, impressed.
“The un-display case fits pottery as well as paintings,” he said quickly. “I wasn’t certain if Adrian was as private as Marjorie, but I didn’t want him to feel left out. Three of the sides serve as work stations, so they can be working on sensitive projects simultaneously.”
“They’ll both love it,” she promised.
He bent and twisted a series of marked knobs at the rear of theunit. The wooden slats rose with a series of clacks, nestling themselves back into place at the top like a decorative mechanical clock whose figurines were hiding themselves until the next time to chime the hour.
He pointed at two small openings inside the framework. “See that?”
She peered closer. “Is there something inside?”
“Automatic brush cleaners,” he said with satisfaction. “Left side for water-based paints, right side for oil-based. This button activates the cleaning process. The brushes then deposit over here.” He pointed at a series of pockets.
“It’s magnificent.” She reached for a bright red lever. “What does this do?”
“Don’t touch it!” He grabbed her wrist before she could make contact. “That launches the emergency detonation sequence.”
She paused. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirmed with satisfaction.
“You thought of everything,” she breathed. “This will make the best gift ever.”
“I hope so. It folds down to fit inside a standard traveling trunk,” he added. “For maximum mobility.”
“Tell me I can kiss you,” she begged.
He gave her a slow smile. “I earned a kiss?”
He’d already chipped away enough at her armor. It was becoming harder and harder to pretend she didn’t care if he kissed her or not.
“You earnedtwokisses,” she informed him, and made good on her promise.
She wrapped her arms about his neck, careful to keep her hip clear of the cherry-red emergency detonation lever.
This was nothing more than a lark, she reminded herself. A holiday to enjoy while it lasted. When she went home, she would take herfully intact heart with her… as well as the flashiest, deadliest easel in all of England. This would be just a memory.
“Densmooore,” came a distant male voice.
