“Of course you can. Mr Silas would be very happy to know his books were being appreciated.” Nelson paused, a slight whirr emanating from his ears. “In fact, Ma’am, if you truly wish to be of help, you might sort out some of the volumes. Everything used to be arranged in a much more orderly fashion, but Mr Silas tends to be slightly lackadaisical about it. Once he’s found what he’s looking for, he doesn’t always return the books to their rightful place.” He sighed. “I keep meaning to go in and tidy...”
“Oh, Nelson,” she interrupted. “Do you think...I mean, would you let me do that?”
“Indeed yes. It would be of great assistance to both Mr Silas and me.”
Gulping down a tiny squeal of delight, Lyra nodded. “I would be so honoured to spend some time in there and be usefulas well.” She took a breath, happier than she’d been in years. “Could Gen and Thim come and join me? It looks as if there’s sufficient room...”
“There is,” answered Nelson calmly. “If you would go on in, I shall fetch Miss Gen and her tickerkin. And I’ll light the fire too, so you should be quite comfortable.”
Standing just inside, Lyra’s eyes widened as she grasped the true size of the library. It was as if every dream she’d ever had was within reach. So many books, wonderful books...
Her fingers itched to get started, and she leaned her cane against the wall in one corner.
She barely noticed Nelson as he cheerfully trundled away, nor would she have recognised the glow of delight coming from his ears if she’d seen it. After all, he’d been postponing that particular chore for quite some time, so it was a genuine pleasure for him to pass it along. He was now officially as happy as a cog in clean grease.
Chapter Nine
While Mrs Lyra Sinclair was having the time of her life working in Silas Gray’s library, Lady Dorothea Renslow was beyond ecstatic and up to her armpits in grease, fasteners, knurled screws, toggle latches and hinged panels.
The Mistletoe machine was slowly giving up its secrets to her nimble fingers and enquiring explorations.
“All right now,” she murmured, as if it could hear her. “Let’s see what you’re hiding underneath all this grubby grime.”
She slipped her fingers beneath the edge of the main access panel and found the cam latches, brass probably, slightly warm, their surfaces polished smooth by years of impatient hands. It took a little practised twist, but they finally released with a satisfying little clack, one after another, until the entire housing gave what seemed like a reluctant sigh and loosened.
And the game was on.
At least three hours later, she straightened and stretched her spine. But what progress she’d made! The machine was slowly giving up its secrets under her firm but gentle touch, and every time something pinged free, Thea’s excitement level rose.
So engaged was she that everything else in the Forge vanished. Consequently, she damn near shot straight up in the air when a hand tapped her between her shoulder blades.
“Coggleblast it,” she swore, tearing herself away from the machine and spinning around. “I almost had it.”
Silas grinned at her. “Did you? What was it you almost had?”
She narrowed her eyes and shook a spanner at him. “You don’t believe me, do you. Well, let me show you this...” She pointed at the pile of what looked like debris on the cart next to her.
“All right. Some bits I recognise, but others...like this,” he picked up a very strange-looking spring, “I’d be hard pressed to know how to use it.”
“It’s a secondary governor spring. Essential for the start cycle.”
“Good grief. Is it really?” He stared at it.
“Yes, it is. Really. And it’s lost its tension over the decades. Which is one of the reasons it failed.”
Silas shot her a quick look and opened his mouth, but she held up her hand to silence him before he started. “I don’t know, to answer your question. It certainly contributed to the problems this poor machine has, but it’s not the only one and no, it won’t work yet.”
“Yet? You really believe you can repair it enough to get it going in time for the Christmas orders?”
“Come back in a few hours, and I may have an answer for you.”
“Thea,” he said firmly. “You do not have to do this. It’s a filthy job, as you can see. And the innards are as old as...well, I don’t know what. How can you possibly expect to...”
She eased back from the machine and wiped her hands on an already oily cloth. Then she stared at him.
“Silas. Please—and I’m saying this from the heart—please do not underestimate me. Ever. I try not to make promises I can’t keep, and I never exaggerate. I’ve spent most of my life being talked down to, or dismissed as being a mere female. And I don’t mind saying that it’s a coggleblasted pain in the...” She shrugged. “Well, you know.”
“I didn’t mean...”
