The Tea Machine by Gill McKnight Read Free Book Online Page A

available flat surface, was haphazard with piles of books and academic papers, and strewn around the lot, lay a variety of mechanical curiosities Hubert was either building or pulling apart. While it was a large and extremely interesting room, Millicent much preferred the snug simplicity of her own little hideaway.
    In the winter months, her study was warm and welcoming with its flickering fire and cosy proportions. The huge windows in Hubert’s laboratory let in a dreadful draft in the wintertime, and in direct contrast, the same large windows allowed the sun’s full glare during the summer months. On some summer days, it was so blindingly hot that Hubert had to close the drapes to stop from being cooked. Outside the birds sang, roses bloomed, and throngs of cheerful Londoners jostled along the sunny streets of their capital, while poor Hubert sat perspiring in the gloom.
    Not that anything as distasteful as jostling occurred on the sun-filled pavements of Christie Mews. The mews was one of the more desirable addresses near Green Park, Westminster, and the nearest that any cheerful Londoner got to jostling along it was to deliver goods to a trade entrance. Truth be told, this exclusivity affected Millicent and her brother very little. As long as they were left in peace to follow their intellectual pursuits, neither felt compelled, nor inclined, to bow to the social dictates of their class. They were known to be rich, which was a good thing, but also eccentric, which was not. Their behaviour and interests were too irregular to be of good taste, so therefore they were often socially shunned by their peers and mostly left alone, which suited them very well indeed.
    Papa had made his fortune importing diamonds. Number five Christie Mews bore testament to his business acumen. Arthur John Aberly’s investment portfolio had left a sizable trust fund for his children. He had left his son and daughter well provided for, and this enabled each to live their lives unencumbered by such trivialities as earning a living or marrying for advancement. And that also suited Millicent and Hubert very well indeed.
    Millicent set the tray on a small side table and frowned disapprovingly at her brother’s rear end. Hubert was enveloped waist deep in his latest passion. His legs dangled out of a huge, blocky machine built from brass and wood. His torso was buried in what Millicent could only imagine to be the engine compartment, though it had little resemblance to any that she had seen before. There was no funnel or furnace, and if it had any cogs and pistons, they were well hidden. Rather, it looked like an enormous snow sleigh with multiple heavy-duty levers and a curious vertical disc, almost a tall as she was, balanced at the rear. It was a ridiculous ensemble and looked suspiciously like a pile of badly abused furniture. Millicent had noticed the disappearance of several household items recently, and her suspicions were now confirmed. Hubert and his new contrivance were behind it.
    With dismay, she noticed Papa’s smoking chair positioned in the centre of the ugly contraption, its ornate mahogany legs sawed off to make it fit. Millicent was most vexed. The chair had been a genuine Georgian piece, and their father had been very fond of the red velvet cushioning.
    “Hubert, kindly re-surface and join me for tea,” she called. With a grunt and the clunk of a carelessly dropped spanner, Hubert extracted himself.
    “By Jove, I could do with a scone right now,” he said and wiped his hands on an oil-stained handkerchief. “Engineering sharpens the appetite. Any cherry?”
    “Hubert, I strongly object to you mutilating the furniture. Is that the occasional table from the drawing room?” She nodded towards the wooden disc propped on the rear of his machine. “I’ve noticed it’s gone missing.” She glared in steady accusation all while pouring tea without spilling a drop. Hubert had the grace to look guilty. He hid his sheepish grin