I saw neither my father nor Thomas until brunch the following day. I had been beside myself all morning worried what they might say about my outburst. When I arrived, the three of us exchanged greetings and then silently sipped our tea. Mercifully, father broke the silence.

“Upon reflection, I feel Phillip, and the connection he would bring, may not be a suitable match for you or this family. You needn’t speak to him again.”

“Oh, father!” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Just when she finally has plenty to say,” Thomas shook his head. “Shame.”

“I thought for sure you would both be cross with me for speaking as I had.”

“My dear,” Father Soothed, “I admit to a brief moment of horror when you called Lord Bankes an…”

“Ass, I believe it was,” Thomas finished.

“But,” father continued with a glare, “I soon realized you had spoken my own thoughts. I admire your bravery in doing so.”

“I was about to insult them myself,” Thomas agreed, “but you beat me to it.”

“I apologize for stealing your moment.”

“It is good that you did. I was going to call Lord Bankes a trained ape. Yours was much better.”

“How were Dr. Blyth and Mr. Dowling? I regret storming out without wishing them a good evening.”

“They survived,” Father assured me, “and you will get your chance. I felt terrible about the whole affair and invited them back for dinner tomorrow.”

“That was very kind of you,“ I said, “If I might ask, what are your views on poor Mr. Dowling?”

“Well, call it noblesse oblige, or perhaps I simply would show the quality hospitality that Clifton Manor can proved when we are not plagued by ill mannered louts,” Father thought a moment more. “Regardless, Thomas was right and Mr. Dowling certainly deserves better treatment.”

“I would like to note,” Thomas interjected, “that you referred to Mr. Dowling several times as ‘him’ and not ‘it,’ which I approve of. He’s more life like than Phillip in any case.

I was pleased that father and Thomas did not share the views of the Bankes. I admit, I had not initially thought of Mr. Dowling as a person, but as a novelty or quaint invention. That judgment was in error. I hoped many more would come to the same conclusion. Mr. Dowling was not a machine, but a miracle.

My hopes were soon dashed with the arrival of The Bristol Times and Echo. I was reading a book in the garden when Thomas approached with the paper in hand.

“Have you seen this?” I asked Thomas showing him my book. “From the preeminent John Stuart Mill.”

“The Subjection of Woman?” Thomas said reading the cover.

“You must remember, it caused a bit of a commotion just a few years ago. He suggested there needs to be equality between the sexes. Do you suppose I ought to send Philip a copy?” I asked smiling, still enjoying the rather exquisite day.

“I suppose I have not. But have you seen this? Father advised me to hide it way from you for fear that your indignation should lead you to violence or at the very least, further utterance of stronger obscenities.”

I took the paper from his hand and read the headline, “Mechanical Man Denounced by the Church, but why would...”

Thomas sat as I read the article and while I did not look up I knew he was watching me with that half grin, waiting for my inevitable reaction.

“…Father Joseph of Bristol’s own St. Mary Redcliffe witnessed the machine’s unwholesome unveiling… Declared it an affront to God?!”

“Your face is starting to redden,” Thomas noted.

“…Faults Dr. Blyth’s excessive pride and unseemly hubris… condemns his so-called experiment as dangerous dabbling in necromancy… encourages everyone to speak out against the devil’s work… do not entertain Dr. Blyth and his creation?!How is it the devil’s work to save a man’s life?!”

“Oh that is a brilliant shade of red,” Thomas said, then turned serious. “Read the end.”

I read in silence, too angry to speak until I came to the horrid conclusion.

“Did Father Joseph just encourage murder?”

Thomas nodded grimly, “Though, I suppose, not in so many words.”

“I am fairly certain if you dismantle, as he so ardently encourages, a man who is dependent upon his mechanical body in order to remain alive that still qualifies as murder.”

He nodded again, “I am all agreement. Sadly, he seems to have been gaining a fair amount of support in Bristol since the unveiling. We are going to do something, correct?”

“Where’s father?”

“In the study, deciding whether or not to cancel dinner tomorrow.”

“Come along,” And with that grim order I stormed into the house, straight to Father’s study. Thomas later informed me that our maid, Miss Jenkins, scurried from my path in terror. I am still not sure if he was joking.

“Father!” I declared, barging into the study. “I have read the paper and I am appalled! Appalled! I am furious! But not half as furious as I will be if you fold to this bigotry and fear mongering! Oh, you may send Dr. Blyth and Mr. Dowling away, but don’t think that will stop me. I am a grown woman with my own mind and I will attend dinner at their home because I will visit whom I like and, what is more, saving a life as Dr. Blythe did is nothing short of a miracle, necromancy indeed! Is it a witch hunt this Father Joseph is trying to incite?”

“If I might halt you there,” Father said calmly but sternly, “I have decided not to cancel our plans.” I noticed then the presence of Mr. Pitt and Mrs. Palmer standing just before my father. I felt a flush creep up into my cheeks, given my outburst.

“Oh. Well… good. I support your decision.”

Thomas was beside himself in the doorway.

“We will have our dinner and help the good Doctor decide how to proceed. In fact we had just been discussing,” father said gesturing to Mr. Pitt and Mrs. Palmer who were politely avoiding eye contact with me and acting as if they had not heard a thing, “how best to create a meal to satisfy a man who no longer requires substance or nourishment.”

“I see,” I said backing slowly to the door. “That is very considerate, yes. Well then, carry on, Mr. Pitt, Mrs. Palmer, good day.”