The Alloy Heart by Quinn Loftis
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Sophia was all too acquainted with the realities of death. She knew from personal experience that when death came knocking, the door would open whether you answered it or not. It had been at her own doorstep for over a year. A year ago, yesterday, actually. The doctor had told her that her heart was failing. Death had come, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. It was simply a matter of time before she too was taken against her will, leaving those she loved behind to pick up the pieces.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Claire Abernathy got AT lights, can you believe that? I so wish we could get some,” Olivia remarked, switching topics and abruptly pulling Sophia back to the present.
“Well, if you owned as many tenant houses as Claire’s father, then I expect you could. But why would you want them? They’re ghastly,” Sophia said, shaking her head at her sister.
“They are not ghastly. They are beautiful. Especially the pink ones. Which ones make the pink? Tourmaline? Rhodonite? I can never remember.”
“I don’t care,” Sophia said sourly. “They’re dangerous. Why any sane person would have them installed is beyond me.”
“Don’t be such a bore,” her younger sister responded. “They’re just—”
“A bore?” Sophia interrupted. “You think I’m being a bore just because I don’t want our house blown to bits. And what would we do then? We’d be on the streets. Last time I checked we weren’t exactly flushed with cash. Have you got some gold bars you’ve been hiding under your bed? If so, feel free. Go ahead, get your precious Tesla lights.”
Olivia was crestfallen. “That’s not fair,” the girl finally said. “You know I was only dreaming out loud. You needn’t be so harsh. I fully understand our situation. I would never do anything to jeopardize our family.”
Olivia knew why her sister was so touchy about their finances. As the oldest sibling, she felt a great responsibility for the family’s continued wellbeing, not just financially, but socially as well. It had been two years since the terrible day when their father fell dead with an aneurysm. As their mother had died giving birth to Olivia, the three siblings, now young adults, no longer had the wisdom of their parents to guide them. Sophia had been the rock that had gotten them all through an extremely difficult time.
Everyone looked to Thomas for financial decisions because he was a man, but Sophia was the one who actually understood all the books. She’d made the tough decision to eliminate their cook and butler, even though Thom argued strongly against it. Thom had a great investigative mind, always exploring, endlessly probing until he found the clue he needed, but he had no head for business. Often, as a young girl, Sophia sat at her father’s feet, listening to him talk about wheat futures, pork bellies, and the prices of strange foreign currencies against the British pound. During those times, Olivia would pull fiercely on her older sister’s arm, hoping to convince her to play dolls or attend a make-believe tea party. Sophia would have none of it. She was fascinated by numbers, and she hung on her father’s every word like a toddler listening to a bedtime story.
It was during those moments, while Sophia listened so intently to her father’s words, that Olivia would notice the look in the man’s eyes. Edward Hill wasn’t ashamed or disappointed in his youngest two children, Oliva or Thomas, but it was clear who his favorite was. Olivia was certain if their father could have snapped his fingers and turned Sophia into a boy, he would have done so in a heartbeat. And wouldn’t that have been the best for them all. Then Sophia could have gained employment at their father’s investment banking firm, inherited their father’s clients, and done just as well for the family as he had. But that wasn’t how it worked. As a woman, she would never be offered any kind of position in the financial industry. Even if she were, it would bring shame upon their family. A woman occupied as a banker—what would the neighbors say?
Despite this, Olivia knew that Sophia would take care of them. In addition to dismissing almost all the staff, the eldest Hill child had also planned a budget for the family for the next few years. Given frugal living, a commitment to only attend the most important of balls, and the supplementation of Thomas’ salary as an inspector, they could stretch the savings left by their father to provide a comfortable living for all three of them for at least five years. By that time, Olivia will have found a husband, Thomas would likely be wed as well, and Sophia… Olivia shook that thought from her head before she finished it.
Determined to justify her fanciful desire for colored interior lights to replace their boring orange gas ones, the feisty redheaded continued on in a matter-of-fact tone. “And if you’re referring to that little explosion on Davies Street, Claire said that only happened because Mr. Tesla wasn’t there himself to supervise. Apparently, he has to personally oversee any crystal cutting. He is the only one who knows how to do it properly, and he is so secretive that he refuses to teach any of his workers.”
“Doesn’t that kind of prove my point?” asked Sophia, her face still showing disapproval.
Just then the ladies heard three sharp raps on the front door’s brass knocker.
“I’ll get it,” Olivia said, rising and moving to the foyer. “I’m sure Nora is upstairs gathering the linens for washing.” Sophia grabbed her arm as she walked by.
“I’m sorry to be harsh, sister. I forget that I’m not the only one affected by my condition.”
Tears that always seemed just below the surface swam in Olivia’s eyes. “It’s not fair. You are the strong one. How can you have a weak heart?”
“Don’t think on it now,” her older sister responded, her own eyes, though a bit hollow from fatigue, were completely dry. “Get the door. If it’s any kind of solicitor, send him away.”
Olivia shook her head, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. She paused a minute at the door, wiping her eyes and composing herself. She inhaled deeply and pulled the door open.
“Why, Dr. Elliot,” she exclaimed. “What a pleasant surprise. And you brought me flowers? How thoughtful.” Olivia snatched the flowers from his hand and jumped up to give him a quick peck on the cheek, a task made considerably difficult because of his height, somewhere in the neighborhood of six foot three inches. “Chrysanthemums, my favorite. How did you know? They are a bit crumpled,” she said, scrunching up her face at the bouquet.
“Olivia, my dear, you know perfectly well who those flowers are for.” Elliot couldn’t help smiling in spite of himself.
He is even more handsome when he smiles. I do hope my sister will come to her senses.
“Oh, sister dear,” Olivia called out loudly. “There’s a solicitor here to see you. Should I turn him away?”
“I’m not a solicitor,” Dr. Elliot protested.
“But you are,” Olivia said, grabbing his hand and pulling him further into the house. “A solicitor of the most persistent sort. But you’re not selling anything. Oh no, you are looking to buy. Unfortunately, my sister is being pricklier than usual today. I’d tread lightly if I were you.”
Sophia practically stormed out of the drawing room into the parlor. “I thought I told you to send—” she began before stopping short as she saw Dr. Elliot. She turned her chocolate eyes to Olivia and stared daggers at her.
“Well, I think I’ll just go and put my chrysanthemums in some water,” the younger girl said as she started moving toward the kitchen, a huge grin upon her face.
“Thanks for the warning,” Elliot whispered and winked at her as she passed, his crystal blue eyes sparkling.
Dr. Jackson Elliot rapped the knocker at 34 Mount Street three times loudly. The sky was overcast, threating an early spring thunderstorm. He waited, unconsciously squeezing the bouquet of fresh flowers he was holding in his hands. Seeming to realize that he was torturing the poor flowers unnecessarily, he took a deep breath and tried to relax. This task was not an easy one. An exhausting Monday seeing patients at his clinic and a long night in his laboratory had sapped his energy. But fatigue was not an option. He was sch
Dr. Elliot let his mind wander as he waited on the doorstep. For him, there had never been another besides Sophia. Growing up, he and Sophia’s brother, Thomas, were inseparable, a match made all the more peculiar owing to the fact that the pair were from different sides of Arlington Street. But the two had made fast friends at a rugby exhibition put on for London’s youth, an event that young Jackson would never have had the money to attend if not for Thomas’ father, Edward Hill. Edward loved sports, and he was benevolent to a fault. One of his many philanthropic activities was to set up a sport’s scholarship for the city’s s underprivileged youth, which allowed them to attend seminars and tournaments in rugby, tennis, rowing, and boxing that would previously have been out of reach. During the match, Elliot’s shoulder had unintentionally collided with Thom’s face when they’d both gone for the same loose ball, resulting in a nasty broken nose for the shorter Thomas. The referee blew his whistle, yanking Jackson off the pitch. The young man, hanging his head, knew that he was in trouble. He didn’t know with whom he’d collided, but he knew the boy must be someone important by the way the referee was swearing in his ear. For his part, Thomas seemed unfazed by the incident. He grabbed a towel, forced his nose to stop bleeding, and was back on the pitch in minutes. Jackson was regulated to the bench for the remainder of the game. He knew he would probably receive a lashing once the game was over.
Only later, when Jackson was rounded up with the other scholarship recipients to meet their benefactor, did he realize the boy with whom he’d collided was Thomas Hill, the son of the organizer. Rather than being angry, the man seemed overjoyed.
“That was some hit out there,” Edward Hill remarked to Jackson, extending his hand. “Shame they pulled you out of the game. You clearly have a gift in the scrum.”
“Indeed,” said Thomas in a muffled voice, owing to the dried blood that had congealed in his nasal cavity. The boy also extended his hand to Elliot. “Our side was just lucky you did get taken out. We’d never have come back to win if you’d still been in the game. You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Uh, no,” said Jackson, confusion written on his face. “Sorry about … the nose.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” smiled the other boy. “I’ve had loads worse than this. Listen, how ’bout you come ’round for dinner? We can practice a bit more, work on some of the things they taught us today.”
“Um, I guess,” replied Jackson, still not completely sure he’d avoided a whipping. “I’ll have to go home and let my mother know.”
“Don’t worry about that, son,” interjected Edward jovially. “I’ll send Manfred over to let your mother know you’re okay. We’re just taking the hansom cab home. Hop in.”
From that day forward, the boys were inseparable, and Jackson’s fortunes changed in a way he couldn’t have ever previously imagined. Young Jackson knew, of course, that people on the West side of London lived in nice houses and that some even had servants, but he never could have imagined the food. Not only were their hot meals prepared three times a day, but they ate things he’d not ever tasted: roasted duck, boiled pheasant, and every cake and pie imaginable. Being used to stew and stale bread, and being a growing boy at the beginning stages of adolescence, he was more than happy to consume as much of the exotic cuisine as he could get.
Every moment that they were not in school, Jackson and Thomas were together, mostly at the Hill residence. Jackson couldn’t afford to attend the public school Thomas attended, of course, but he was fortunate enough to earn a scholarship to a grammar school on the east side of town. Thomas attended the finest school in London, but his thoughts were never really with his studies. Rather, they continually wandered to the next time he and Jackson would be exploring some interesting alley in the city on some grand imaginary adventure or squaring off against each other on the rugby pitch. Jackson, on the other hand, attacked his studies with a vengeance. He knew the kind of life he would lead as a laborer like his father—poverty, sickness, and death, leaving behind a family that would be destitute without him. After seeing how the other half lived during his time at the Hill residence, he was determined to change his own fate.
But there was another, perhaps stronger, reason that young Elliot was so determine to make something of his life—Sophia. Somewhere during his time at the Hill estate, amidst all the rugby matches, the games of hide and seek, the make believe, the tea times, the games of chess and checkers, and the summer afternoons spent lazily relaxing, he’d realized that his friendship with Thomas’ older sister had grown into something far deeper. During his final year at grammar school, he’d spent every waking moment thinking of how to win her. She was a year older than Jackson and already a throng of gentlemen were calling on her. So far, she’d yet to find one she fancied, but Jackson knew it was only a matter of time. He’d asked her to wait for him, to refrain from marrying until he returned from the war. At first she’d refused, arguing that such an action would be imprudent socially and financially. Because of this, Jackson had risked everything to win her heart, climbing to the top of Big Ben with a bucket of paint to declare to all of London his love for her. Despite the tongue lashing she gave him, Sophia couldn’t help but be impressed, and had agreed to wait for him, to at least give him a chance. But Jackson still got shaky around heights to this day after his near fall from the top of the tower. And he’d only just escaped being arrested, using his long legs and youthful lungs to lead a pair of London peelers on a nighttime chase all around the city, finally losing them by hiding in a fishmonger’s stall. After he’d returned from the war, the pair had a brief whirlwind romance, but that was before Sophia found out her heart was failing and a chance of a future for her was lost.
Those were much simpler times.
After five minutes had passed, Dr. Elliot shook himself awake from his daydream and knocked again three times. He understood the delay and was not bothered. If the residents were in the dining room having breakfast, they probably wouldn’t have heard him. The Hill house was very large and Thomas and Sophia had recently been pressed to let go of their entire household staff, excepting their lovely maid, Nora. Thomas was loath to do it and had expressed his reservations to Jackson many times. It wasn’t the increase in household duties that bothered Thom or his sisters, or the fact that unwritten societal rules unequivocally expressed that any residence of Lower Mount Street shall, at all times, employ no less than three full-time household staff—a cook, a butler, and a maid. Certainly most Mount Street families employed many more. Rather, Thomas hated the idea that he might leave any person in want of their livelihood, even if he must sacrifice worldly pleasures himself to make it so. But with his father being now two years gone and the added expenses that came with Sophia’s failing health, Thomas simply couldn’t afford the cost of staff on a police inspector’s salary.
Finally, the door was wrenched open, and Dr. Elliot came face to face with Sophia’s younger sister, Olivia, wearing a green plaid stuff dress. Though he’d practically grown up in the Hill house, Olivia was still a bit of a mystery to him. She was much younger than he, Thomas, and Sophia, so he’d paid very little attention to her. Most of his memories of Olivia involved her trying to rope him into some silly game of make-believe with her seemingly endless supply of fabric dolls. At age seventeen, when he left to fight the rebels in India, Olivia was only eleven, still merely a girl. Sometime while he’d been gone, however, the girl had come into her own. She was certainly still a bit silly, even at age twenty, but she sometimes exhibited an emotional awareness that eluded her older siblings. And there was no questioning the young lady’s beauty. Sophia’s loveliness was all elegance and charm. Olivia’s own appeal was much simpler, but no less powerful. Shorter than her sister, Olivia had the kind of curves that mad
“Why, Dr. Elliot,” the young lady exclaimed loudly before yanking the flowers out of his hand and jumping up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “What a pleasant surprise. And you brought me flowers? How thoughtful.”
“Jackson,” Sophia said haltingly, as she watched Olivia bounce out of the room, chrysanthemums in hand. “I’m afraid Thomas isn’t in. I’m sure you’ve heard the terrible news. They’ve found another body, this one in Hyde park. I don’t expect he’ll be in before supper this evening, if then.”
“Indeed, most distressing,” Dr. Elliot replied. “But we both know I didn’t come here to see Thomas. I’m sure I’ll see him in the pub this evening. It is Tuesday, after all. He never misses our weekly dart game, even if there has been a murder. No, I rather thought you might need some cheering up this morning. The weather’s been dreadful lately, and I’m sure you’ve not had the chance to get out. I always tell my patients, fresh air and sunshine are the best medicines. Unfortunately, those have been in short supply lately, and I thought a nice bouquet of flowers might lift your spirits. I bought you some chrysanthemums, but I seemed to have mislaid them,” he said, grinning and feigning checking his pockets.
Sophia narrowed her dark eyes on him, her lips refusing to show even the slightest hint of a smile. “In other words, you wanted to check up on me. Make sure that I wasn’t moping about?” She cocked her head to the side, daring him to challenge her, which he did.