The Artful Dodger

3. The Yankee Dodge

The sun shone through the huge, expansive windows, past the curtains made with material that was more expensive than the best dressed commoner in Port Victory, and into a bedroom. The walls were painted a soft blue that might have at one time appeared delightful and childish to the occupant, but now were covered in horrendous sketches and charts of the innards of the human body. A replica of a human skull sat on a shelf above a desk where a figure slaved away taking notes in a journal. A stack of musty old books sat next to them, from which they were copying from.

A knock sounded at the door and a young girl barged in, complaints spouting from her full, red lips that broke off into a frightened shriek as the note-taker looked up at her through the goggles of a plague doctor's mask.

"Don't do that!" the girl scolded, hand flying to her head as if to make sure her red curls above her ears were still there.

The plague doctor-wannabe removed the mask to reveal a blonde, dark-eyed girl of the same resemblance as the redhead, the only difference being their hair and eyes.

"Do what?" she asked innocently, setting the mask back onto her desk and smoothing her yellow vest that was fitted over her purple plaid dress. "You stormed in on me."

After a moment's staring contest, the redhead wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, what's that ungovernable stench?!" She marched up to where her sister sat, peering over her shoulder at her notes.

"Your perfume, Fanny?" her sister teased, snapping the book closed and jumping to her feet. "No, it's ether."

"It's what?"

With a sigh, the blonde girl crossed the room to replace the books back onto her shelf. "The Lancet reports the most extraordinary thing: you can give a patient ether, and they won't feel a thing!" Fanny remained impassive, and she elaborated. "You can perform surgery without pain! Can't you understand? This changes everything!"

"Oh, my God, that's so interesting," Fanny said impassively. She squared her shoulders and nodded towards the door. "Come, Belle. The Honourable Mortimer Smales is arriving soon, and there is so much to do."

Belle flung herself gloomily onto the bench at the foot of her lofty canopy bed, itching at one of the many freckles that dotted her nose. "Remind me."

Fanny could tell from her smug expression that her sister was pulling her leg, but she continued anyway. "The Honourable Mortimer Smales," she said testily. "He just sailed four months from England. Do you know how much effort it takes to get potential suitors to Australia?"

"Oh." Belle had busied herself with examining one of the many anatomical drawings that lay about, looking uninterested. "Eh, no. I'm far too busy to meet anybody called Mortimer." She spat out the word as if it tasted awful. Fanny desperately clutched at her hoop skirt, hurrying to chase her sister as she returned to her desk.

"Well, could you please just marry somebody so I can?" she pleaded.

Belle ignored her, continuing to work. She took an herb and crushed it into a small jar, attaching a triple-ended tube to the rim and fitting the end into a small black cup. Fanny stealthily crept up behind her, tugging at the ends of the blue sash tied into a bow around her waist.

"This is the sixth suitor you've sent away. What was wrong with the last one? Sir Jeremy Glasscock?"

"His teeth." Her sister didn't even bother turning around, instead fashioning a perfume pump to the other end of the black tube sticking out of the jar.

Fanny crossed her arms across her chest, suddenly realizing her sister didn't care about her or any sort of man who had traveled far just to see her. Belle certainly wasn't paying her any attention, continuing to dig through her chest of doctor-junk and completely ignoring her.

"You know perfectly well," she began, trying to keep her voice steady, "that I can't marry til you do."

Her sister finally turned around to face her, carelessly hefting the jar-contraption into the air and pointing to her. "See, that just makes no sense. You should marry whoever you like, whenever you like." She gestured to the door. "Go and marry the Honourable Snail."

Fanny pursed her lips. "Society doesn't work that way."

"Fine. You go tell Mildred, or whatever his name was, that I will marry him."

The redhead clapped her hands together excitedly, brightening like a bulb. "Really?!"

"No." Belle scoffed, turning back to her work. "Now get out of my room."

- - - - - -

It wasn't one hour later that Fanny and Belle were dressed up in their best gowns, positioned near the front steps of their grand home, flanked by a guard, several maids, and their flustered parents. Their mother, who had the same red hair as her younger daughter, pulled out her handheld fan and began to cool her flushed face.

"Was it really necessary to come outside so early, Fanny?" she asked. Fanny smiled, adjusting one of the little pink bows that tied her hair into pigtails that matched her dress. Belle, dressed in a stiff, black and gray striped gown, found it completely obnoxious.

Who's being courted here? she thought, irritated.

"He's had ever so long a journey, we must be here to greet him." Fanny said. She turned her sister with a flashy smile. "What do you think he'll be wearing?"

"Clothes, one would hope," Belle replied, disinterested. Her gaze was on the archery range a little farther down their front lawn. Just as she imagined taking an arrow and shooting it through the head of this slimy new suitor, a sharp ache pulsated through her chest. She groaned, clutching at her breast, and Fanny leaned over to straighten her up.

"Could you at least try and be excited?" she begged. Belle gave her a stiff smile that was as false as the teeth she had offered to the last suitor, and Fanny retreated, satisfied.

Hoofbeats drew nearer. Soon a carriage rounded the corner, two chestnut horses plodding earnestly up the drive, coming to a halt where Belle and her family stood. The carriage was elaborate even from the outside, and a dapper, sniveling man stepped out, sticking his chin up far too high and flashing his crooked, yellow teeth in a haughty manner. He brandished a gold-tipped cane and approached Belle with eagerness. His nose wrinkled slightly as he looked down at the dirt trail, and then at the mangy hound that one of the assistants was attempting to wrangle.

"Mr. Smales," the governor boomed. "It is my pleasure to introduce to you Lady Belle."

Smales gave a slight bow, his knees trembling a little. Belle decided to diagnose him with permanent seasickness, given the pallid, green tinge to his skin.

From within his inner vest pocket, he withdrew an envelope, which he opened and began to read in a high, squeaky voice that was an octave above the average man's and a thousand times more snobbish. Belle took in a breath, trying to withhold her disdain.

"Sweet lady," he began, taking his time with every word, acting as if the world were hanging in the balance, "with eyes so bright, that fill my heart with such delight."

"No, thank you," Belle said swiftly, trying to turn around to flee back to the safety of her bedroom and continue her experiments with ether, but Fanny caught her by the shoulders.

"Say something to him," she pleaded.

After pondering this demand for a moment, Belle gave her sister a wicked smile.

"Did you know, Mr. Smales," she said, spinning round to face his pathetic figure, "that the human bowel is over fifteen feet long? If you stretch it out, it would be you, plus me, plus a bit of Fanny."

He opened his mouth, at a disgusted loss for words, and Belle heard her mother gasp. With a gracious smile and a slight dip of the knees, she picked up her skirts and retreated back into the house.

Fanny sent an apologetic look to a faint Smales.

"Well," he said weakly, "all ladies must have their interests, I suppose."