The Factory

I must confess I was never really fond of science, I loved magic and fairy tales, and science often rules them out. I grew up reading books but never have I held a book that discussed how the world actually works. I got so bewildered about the myths and legends not paying attention to the wonders of life, of real life. As a kid I would wander around our garden clutching my fantasy books and settling down on the soft grass to read. Being an only child, I was given everything I needed and more.

I was eight years old when a storm struck and everyone was busy attending to any leaks on the ceiling, open windows, horses on the stable, and dried woods that the rain might reach, when I decided to cozy up in my father's office. He has the best candles and reading chair, you see.

The clock on his mantelpiece had just struck six when the wind suddenly blew strong and the nearby window opened. The wind brought some tree sticks and blew out some of the candles. I stood up to close the window and rekindled the blown off candles and sat again but a strong odd smell of something I have never smelled before wafted into my nose. I looked for it and discovered a spilled jar of ink. I didn't know what to do, all I knew was that I was enchanted by the smell of the ink, and that's where the fascination began. I asked my mother to buy me a quill just so I could write my lessons using ink. The year was 1883, I was eight when I first fell in love.

Looking back, nothing much has changed except for the fact that I am now seventeen and I wander beyond our garden to read and to do something else; I found a factory of ink when we moved away from Kent and settled in London and have been visiting there weekly ever since.

One afternoon at the entrance to the factory, as I smelled the hint of musk, Mister Bickhaum felt the need to comment, "Oh dear Miss Vanya, you have been visiting the factory and smelling fumes since you were nothing but fourteen, that had been…" Mister Bickhaum paused as if calculating, "...that had been three years ago. Surely you had swooned at some point."

"Thankfully, I never did swoon at the scent of ink, Mister Bickhaum. If that ever happens, I do hope someone kind enough is present to catch me." Mister Bickhaum laughed at that and proceeded to attend to the workers who have just arrived and about to enter the factory along with me.

The sight of me at Saturday mornings is not a surprise for workers, after my father talked with one of the owners to let me stop by every now and then as opposed to me sneaking in unsafely inside the factory—surely a great example of my earlier statement "I was given everything I needed and more."— my presence does little to their level of distress than it first used to.

"Good day Miss Vanya! Doing the weekly rounds, I see." I looked behind me to see Missus Schuyler, a lady only two years older than me and have already found the one she wants to spend her whole life with; isn't that a dream?

"Missus Schuyler! They´re mixing the ink today and I must be a fool to miss it." I said as she shortened the distance between us.

"You shall say that for you are not the one mixing it." she said after looking quite baffled when hearing my statement.

"But you know I would love to and it is quite a spectacle to behold."

"Well there is not much to see when you're doing the work and believe me, you would not love it. It shall pull you and eat you up alive, Miss Vanya." And now she must think me insane, although she is not one of the firsts.

"But it shall bring me happiness anyway. What color will you be mixing today, Missus Schuyler?" I asked as an attempt to change the topic and hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Cheeky…" she did. "I should stick with black and blue today for the sake of my only decent work clothes left." she frowned as she turned left together with the other workers.

"I shall be on my way, Miss Vanya, have a pleasant day ahead!" I smiled and waved goodbye to her and went to the scaffolding where the mistress of the company usually roams to keep an eye on the entire factory and its workers.

It will always take my breath away, the view I must say is immaculate. The huge factory is well lit by eighteen massive skylights and the scent of musk is intoxicating yet also familiar as if telling me I am home. The scaffold runs around and through the half acre factory to ensure that every stage the ink goes through can be seen by the mistress ten feet above, and I too shall relish at the sight of the process of making of— "Ink, it is quite a sight is it not?" I heard a voice behind me…

"A marvelous one at that, I must say." I said without facing him, one could say a rude behavior but then he also disturbed such a beautiful moment that I planned only to keep to myself.

"Surely one worth for you to not even bat an eye to a man attempting a conversation." Ah, a bold man that deserves provocation.

"You, Sir, are a stranger. I shan't take chances by looking into your eyes and getting lured into the woods and be devoured."

"I am a man, not a savage wolf." This is truthfully getting foolish.

"Man, wolf, stranger, really what is the difference?" I rolled my eyes, if I was facing him he would've been offended, if he isn't already.

"Are you so severe upon the real world as to think men as animals, Lady Griffiths?" He knows my name?

"You know my name?" That made me turn around and face him, finally seeing his face. His eyes, I have never seen a shade so dark before. I dare say the color of his eyes are pure black.

"Ah, do not practice propriety on my account." He needs a beating.

"I am not. How do you know my name?"

"How could I not? My Aunt Lucinda has mentioned you more times than I can count the stars."

"You are the Mistress' nephew?"

"And now you show interest?"

"I never knew she had a nephew," I looked at him properly. "...like you."

"Must you insult me in every way, Miss?" He came closer to the railing beside me.

"Only because you are beastly." I said as I watched the workers turn the wheels to thin out the ink.

"And how did you come to that realization?"

"You accuse me of neglecting the practice of propriety yet here you are approaching a young lady on her own trying to spark a conversation without introducing yourself," I turned around to face him again. "...you might think you know me from your Aunt's anecdotes but I have never once heard of you nor seen you ever in my life, I do not know you, Sir. We are in London and polite society shall deem this meeting improper." He was about to say something when I saw the Mistress Lucinda on her way to us.

I looked at his face and the mistress walking towards us and then back to his face and he must have seen the horror in my eyes, I couldn't make up the reason why I panicked, perhaps I dreaded the idea of the mistress officially introducing us to each other making me acquainted to him and carry the responsibility of further interaction. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came to mind, so he looked behind him and saw the mistress. I tried to compose myself and continued peering over the workers.

"Anthony Perseus Lewis!" We both turned our heads at that call, "Perseus, huh?"

"I prefer Anthony, thank you." We managed to silently bicker just before his aunt reached us.

"Make your distance from Miss Vanya at once!" Mistress Lucinda said and grabbed Perseus by the shoulder.