Read Online Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1) by Grace Callaway - Free Book Online
Authors: Grace Callaway
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nails and assorted instruments littering the ground, I navigated my way to stand behind Mary Jane.
"Is this it?" The girl asked, her small hands on her hips. "Doesn't look like much, does it Abby?"
"What is it?" I asked.
"My own electric telegraph," Jack announced, a hint of pride in his voice. "Like the one used on the railway. I've been experimenting to see if I can make it faster with a stronger battery source."
I was not familiar with such a contraption. "What does it do?"
"It allows for messages to be transmitted without the physical transport of letters," Jack said. "You can communicate in short phrases of, say, under thirty words. It works best if you leave out unnecessary words like the and, well ... and ."
I wondered why anyone would wish to communicate in broken up sentences of thirty words or less.
"How does it work?" I asked.
"You just enter the message on this end ..."—Jack fiddled with various keys—"and the signal is transmitted through electrical waves to the other box. The electromagnet there pulls on a pencil I've attached, which will draw out whatever code was sent. Then all one has to do is decipher it."
"Oh, do let me try!" Mary Jane begged.
After Jack taught his sister how to manipulate the keys, he went to the other side of the room to receive the message. As Mary Jane worked the controls, I smelled a faint caustic scent, like acid or wood burning.
"Mary Jane, do you smell—"
"Hold on, I'm trying to concentrate," the girl muttered. "Now was one stroke an A or an E ?"
Knowing what I did of Jack and his experiments, I thought it prudent to investigate the growing odor. I went to the other side of the box and discovered a curtain hanging over its back. Lifting it up, I spied a glass jar of greenish liquid. A loose wire lay dangling above it. As I watched, the wire suddenly twitched, letting loose a rain of sparks.
"Jack," I called, "I think there's something—"
"Not now, Abby. I'm receiving Mary Jane's message." Even from the distance, I could see Jack's face tauten with excitement. "H-A-N-K ... that's Hank, right ... I-S ... is ..."
"Burning!" I cried.
Mary Jane poked her head from the other side. "Not burning , Abby. I was going to say he's daft."
"Not Hank—the box!"
Jack came running over just as flames began to lick at the curtain. Spying the washbasin, I scrambled to get it, tripping over wires and wooden planks in the process. I returned, and Jack grabbed the bowl from me, dumping its contents over the rising fire. The sound of sizzling filled the air, followed by clouds of billowing smoke.
When the air cleared, Mary Jane and I looked at Jack.
His hair stood in gold tufts above his soot-streaked face. "Reckon I han't got the chemicals mixed quite right," he muttered.
"Never mind, Jack," Mary Jane said in sympathy. "It still turned out better than the rock blasting. You almost blew a hole through the roof that time."
Hands shoved in his pockets, Jack gave a disgruntled nod.
"Maybe Abby should tell us a story, to cheer us up?" Mary Jane suggested.
Seeing Jack's dejected expression, I tried to think of an inspiring tale. What came to mind was my own story. My meteoric rise from being a downtrodden maid to a peer's private secretary.
After a moment's hesitation, I said, "I don't have a story exactly, but I do have a bit of good news. It's ... it's something I haven't yet shared with anyone."
"Oh, goody." Mary Jane clapped her hands. "I like secrets."
Even Jack cocked his head.
Looking at their warm, interested faces and remembering the conspiratorial smile shared over dinner, I felt knots loosening within me. Had I found at last that elusive state? Of human connection, of friendship? The good fortune I had yet to share with anyone bubbled to the surface, and I heard myself blurting, "I've been promoted! I'm to start as Earl Huxton's private secretary next week."
"A secretary? You?" Mary Jane breathed.
I nodded happily. "I'll be organizing his library. It's full of
"Is this it?" The girl asked, her small hands on her hips. "Doesn't look like much, does it Abby?"
"What is it?" I asked.
"My own electric telegraph," Jack announced, a hint of pride in his voice. "Like the one used on the railway. I've been experimenting to see if I can make it faster with a stronger battery source."
I was not familiar with such a contraption. "What does it do?"
"It allows for messages to be transmitted without the physical transport of letters," Jack said. "You can communicate in short phrases of, say, under thirty words. It works best if you leave out unnecessary words like the and, well ... and ."
I wondered why anyone would wish to communicate in broken up sentences of thirty words or less.
"How does it work?" I asked.
"You just enter the message on this end ..."—Jack fiddled with various keys—"and the signal is transmitted through electrical waves to the other box. The electromagnet there pulls on a pencil I've attached, which will draw out whatever code was sent. Then all one has to do is decipher it."
"Oh, do let me try!" Mary Jane begged.
After Jack taught his sister how to manipulate the keys, he went to the other side of the room to receive the message. As Mary Jane worked the controls, I smelled a faint caustic scent, like acid or wood burning.
"Mary Jane, do you smell—"
"Hold on, I'm trying to concentrate," the girl muttered. "Now was one stroke an A or an E ?"
Knowing what I did of Jack and his experiments, I thought it prudent to investigate the growing odor. I went to the other side of the box and discovered a curtain hanging over its back. Lifting it up, I spied a glass jar of greenish liquid. A loose wire lay dangling above it. As I watched, the wire suddenly twitched, letting loose a rain of sparks.
"Jack," I called, "I think there's something—"
"Not now, Abby. I'm receiving Mary Jane's message." Even from the distance, I could see Jack's face tauten with excitement. "H-A-N-K ... that's Hank, right ... I-S ... is ..."
"Burning!" I cried.
Mary Jane poked her head from the other side. "Not burning , Abby. I was going to say he's daft."
"Not Hank—the box!"
Jack came running over just as flames began to lick at the curtain. Spying the washbasin, I scrambled to get it, tripping over wires and wooden planks in the process. I returned, and Jack grabbed the bowl from me, dumping its contents over the rising fire. The sound of sizzling filled the air, followed by clouds of billowing smoke.
When the air cleared, Mary Jane and I looked at Jack.
His hair stood in gold tufts above his soot-streaked face. "Reckon I han't got the chemicals mixed quite right," he muttered.
"Never mind, Jack," Mary Jane said in sympathy. "It still turned out better than the rock blasting. You almost blew a hole through the roof that time."
Hands shoved in his pockets, Jack gave a disgruntled nod.
"Maybe Abby should tell us a story, to cheer us up?" Mary Jane suggested.
Seeing Jack's dejected expression, I tried to think of an inspiring tale. What came to mind was my own story. My meteoric rise from being a downtrodden maid to a peer's private secretary.
After a moment's hesitation, I said, "I don't have a story exactly, but I do have a bit of good news. It's ... it's something I haven't yet shared with anyone."
"Oh, goody." Mary Jane clapped her hands. "I like secrets."
Even Jack cocked his head.
Looking at their warm, interested faces and remembering the conspiratorial smile shared over dinner, I felt knots loosening within me. Had I found at last that elusive state? Of human connection, of friendship? The good fortune I had yet to share with anyone bubbled to the surface, and I heard myself blurting, "I've been promoted! I'm to start as Earl Huxton's private secretary next week."
"A secretary? You?" Mary Jane breathed.
I nodded happily. "I'll be organizing his library. It's full of
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