The arrival of Dr. Blyth and Mr. Dowling was a somber affair. Father and Thomas spoke at length with Dr. Blyth. I took the opportunity to converse with Mr. Dowling and invited him to walk the garden with me.

“I apologize for my departure the other night. It was most unladylike.”

“Quite all right, my lady, better to escape when you did,” Mr. Dowling said without emotion. “Lord Bankes face after your insult was the pinnacle of the evening. Really, thank you for that. I couldn’t say it.”

Mr. Dowling rattled with every step and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Did you read The Times and Echo?” he asked.

“I did. I was rather angry.”

“Why?”

“So many of this Father Joseph’s claims were completely preposterous. I daresay Dr. Blythe is no necromancer.”

“The Doctor had introduced me to Father Joseph at my unveiling. He had said very little. I had no idea he felt so strongly about my existence.”

“They are hateful words. You must ignore them as we are.”

“Yes, but he seeks the support of the Church of England. I may have more than just Bristol against me.”

“One man hardly represents all the Church of England. What of Father Hughes down in the village?” I asked wondering if our own parish had turned it’s back on Mr. Downling as well.

“He has called on the doctor every day. He sees I am still me. Prays with me too, asking God to watch after me and reward me for this ordeal. Says I’m a bit like Job, my suffering is a test.”

“That is positive news then. Perhaps he might be able to counter the boisterous denunciations of Father Joseph. Regardless, he is quite right, you must have faith.”

“I am trying,” Mr. Dowling said. “We did have good news. The Royal Society of London congratulated Dr. Blyth on his achievement. They declared their support as well.

“Good news? That is wonderful news!” I declared.“You see, the arguments of learned men with milder dispositions and calmer minds will win out.”

“Yes, but…” Mr. Dowling seemed to trail off for the moment.

“But what?” I asked.

“What if Father Joseph is right?”

“Don’t be absurd-“

“Listen to me, my body clinking and rattling. My voice is flat. My face incapable of emotion. AmI a soulless invention,crafted through devilry? Built by a man challenging God.”

“If I might be direct, you are entirely wrong. Dr. Blyth is a good man. He saved you because he cares about his patients. When my mother died, he did all he could to save her life. I know her death took a toll on him. I believe he desperately wants to make sure he does not lose another patient when it can be prevented. His medicine and science saved you. So please never doubt his intentions or lose faith in him. All he has done, I believe, is the result of the most extraordinary form of selflessness.

“As for you, Mr. Dowling, you are more than a machine. You are a man, a mechanical man yes, but a man to be sure. While you may not see it, you are perfectly capable of conveying as much emotion as anyone. It is in the way you move and carry yourself. It is in the words you choose to use and the thoughts you voice. The state of your soul is for no man to judge. I am no theologian, but it seems intact to me. For all of us, they say, our body is but a cage, a vessel for our soul. Yours seems to be as much a vessel as mine or any other, except perhaps it has a tendency to rattle a bit more.”

He stopped walking then and looked down at his rickety frame then watched as he walked, “It does, doesn’t it?”

I laughed, “Yes, but that’s ok.”

“I apologize,” he said with a stiff bow.

“No, it is a comforting rattle. Reassuring in a way.”

“You are kind.”

“My brother would say you haven’t known me long enough.”

“If I had the ability, I would laugh.”

“Well, it is my pleasure to grant you a bit of mirth and perhaps we should ask the good doctor it were possible to create some type of laughter mechanism.”

“Yes, perhaps. I miss laughing.”

“Just remember that you are not a machine. You are truly a miracle.”

This time he stopped suddenly. I waited a moment. He was looking right at me with his emotionless face and empty eyes. His mouth seemed to be trying to work, to say something but no sound would come.

“Mr. Dowling, are you quite all right?” I asked.

“It’s just…” I was relieved to hear his voice again. “My lady, you are wrong. I am a machine. I am not me.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been here before. Not the garden but to the house. I Even saw you once or twice taking a turn outside. Though I was flesh and blood then, of a similar age with you and healthy, you never noticed me,” his monotone voice paused for just a moment.

“Mr. Dowling…”

“Because I am a machine, I am strolling with you at your manor, in your garden. Because Mr. Dowling, the mechanical man, is a novelty you have taken notice and come to my defense. But Peter Dowling the porter… someone would have removed him from the grounds if he’d tried this.”

I felt my own shame climbing up into my throat. I couldn’t deny any of his claims. Not truly. Father had remembered his name and the work he had done for us. Not I. That first night we met I just wanted to see the latest novelty in Rothsfield. I thought I had seen the man inside, I thought I had seen past the façade of the machine. I felt so superior in my indignation for the Bankes’, so justified in my anger and yet I had to wonder if they had managed to be more honest than I had. I did not know the name Peter Dowling until it became the name of the Mechanical Man.

I looked into his empty eyes. Eyes that suddenly seemed far more sad than empty. Sad and disappointed by the fact that despite how much everything can change it yet remains just as it was. I knew, with a pang of guilt and regret, that when I heard the name Peter Dowling the only face I would conjure in my mind’s eye would be this, the cold emotionless face of the machine and not the face of the man. The face I did not know simply because I had never noticed it.

“I would apologize, and I do, and yet that feels hollow,” I began and as he tried to wave the thought away with jerk of his arm I continued. “Regrettably, you are right. I don’t remember… but others do. There are plenty of other people in Rothsfield who will remember the face of Peter Dowling. Your face. The sound of your voice, your laugh, and your eyes. I don’t want to let them forget. Lord Bankes, unlike I or my father, would still never invite you his home. He suffered your presence as he was caught unawares, but even then he never saw anything more than a contraption to profit from placed before him.

“I did not know you before but I believe I can honestly say that I wish I had, at the very least, made your acquaintance. I want… I want to be your friend Mr. Dowling and ensure that no one forgets that inside of these rattling bones is the soul of Peter Dowling, a brave man who has simply taken to an unusual means of conveyance.”

“Well… I do have a shortage of friends, just of late.”

“Let’s hope the shortage doesn’t last long.”

By dinner, the mood had lightened. Dr. Blyth had my father’s support, as well as Thomas’, and both had promised to help put him in touch with everyone they knew with any influence. The more men of standing that spoke out for Mr. Dowling, the better. Humor returned to the table and laughter abounded, more than a little at the expense of the Bankes.

After dinner, we retired to the music room. Though as we stood to leave, Mr. Dowling stumbled slightly before sitting back in the chair.

“Mr. Dowling,” Thomas asked, “are you all right, my good man?”

Dr. Blyth rushed to his side.

“It is nothing. Just a minor… joint problem,” Mr. Dowling assured us in his ever-calm voice.

“This one knee has started locking up once in a while,” Dr. Blyth confirmed. “Not to worry, it just needs some minor alterations.”

Mr. Dowling was soon back on his feet and after playing a round of cards with Father and Dr. Blyth, joined Thomas and I at the small piano.

“Giving up on cards so soon?” I asked.

“What little luck I’d had with cards was all self made,” came his emotionless reply, “And now my dexterity is not what it once was. I’m no challenge at all.”

“A self-declared cheat. The scandal of it!” I gasped in feigned shock.

“First day with the new hands? I suppose a soulless cheat needs time to adjust,” Thomas laughed at himself.

“You’re terrible!” I scolded, “A promising Bankes is what you are.”

“Now, now, Abi. I only joke with the ones I like.”

“His humor is appreciated, my Lady,” Mr. Dowling assured.

“You would have laughed?”

“I would’ve laughed.”

I tried to imagine what his laugh might have sounded like and did my best to imagine the poor porter I had never known.

“Abigale,” father said, “won’t you and Thomas play us something? Perhaps that one you enjoy so much?”

“I was under the impression you did not play,” Mr. Dowling said.

“Yes, well, sometimes I lie. This is a favorite of mine. This is Leybach’s Fifth Nocturne.”

Thomas and I played together as Mr. Dowling watched and listened. Even Father and Dr. Blyth paused their game. When we had finished, they gave us a round of applause, Mr. Dowling’s rattling arms and clinking hands distinct above all else.

Before parting for the evening, Mr. Dowling made it a point to thank us all.

“None of you have any reason to help me. Yet you do. All I can offer in return is my gratitude, for what it is worth,” Mr. Dowling said as he looked at each of us in turn.

“Mr. Dowling your gratitude is worth more than anything we possess. Every man decides his own just rewards by his actions. The animosity you have received is hardly fitting and I believe we have an obligation to set an example for more noble conduct. If you are any indication the future yet holds wonders beyond our imagining,” my father responded.

“You will always have friends in this house,” I assured him. “I am simply sorry you didn’t have them sooner.”

Father and Thomas shook his hand, wishing him well and assuring him they would do everything in their power to help him. He gave me a creaking bow.