"Millie -- Part 3" by Megaera Callisto Lorenz

The horses seemed to worry her, and she stood back, winding the fringe of her riding shawl slowly about her fingers, as Jonathan and I approached the coach. “Come now, Millie!” Jonathan called. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Millie turned to stare at him, but she did not move. Slowly, she turned her face back to the horses, and took one stiff step backwards. I approached her, and laid a hand upon her arm. “Come, my dear,” I said. “The horses won’t harm you.”

Still without a word, she moved forward and climbed into the coach without waiting for one of us to help her in. Jonathan and I climbed in after her, and the driver cracked his whip with a loud cry. The coach lurched into motion.

“Stop,” said Millie. “I will be jarred.”

“You’re a sturdy young lady, Millie,” Jonathan assured her. “A little shaking won’t harm you.”

Millie raised her gloved arm and smashed her hand against the closed coach window next to her with such force that the glass shattered.

The doctor and I simultaneously gave a loud cry of alarm, and I yelled at the driver to stop. When the horses were stilled, Jonathan shook his finger warningly at the automaton.

“That was a terrible thing to do, Millie,” he admonished. “I will have to switch you off for the duration of the ride.”

“No, you will not,” she said, raising the volume of her voice for the first time since I had met her.

“Then you must either put up with the jostling or not go to the dance at all. It is only a short drive, and I know it will do you no harm. Now you must apologize to Mr. Kaufmann for destroying his coach window!” My friend turned to me and laid a hand on my arm. “I’m terribly sorry, Henry. Please excuse her. She can be so excitable . . .”

“It’s quite all right,” I said, not looking away from Millie’s placid face. “I was more worried for her than for my window.” Truthfully, I had found the whole display quite intriguing. I realized that the mechanical girl must possess considerable strength.

“I will endure the jostling,” said Millie. “My apologies, Mr. Kaufmann.”

I ordered the driver to stir the horses again. Millie was still and silent for the rest of the trip.

When we arrived at Constance’s manor, the other guests were already lining up and pouring in. I ordered the driver to stop, but did not get out. “We should make a grand entrance, when everyone else has already gone inside,” I said gleefully.

 “You do love a spectacle, don’t you, Henry,” remarked Jonathan.

At last, I decided that the time had come to make our move. I dismounted from the coach, and Jonathan followed me. We each took one of Millie’s elbows and helped her to the ground. She leaned on us heavily and swung herself down to the ground, and I was caught off-guard by her surprising weight. It was hard to believe, looking at her dainty exterior, that she was all heavy brass machinery inside.

Millie allowed me to place her hand upon the crook of my arm, and we strolled proudly into my cousin’s parlor, with Jonathan following shortly behind us. He looked quite bemused. All eyes at once turned to our peculiar little group. There were several exclamations of astonishment from a number of the guests: “Henry Kaufmann? With a lady?” “Good heavens, who is she?” “What is she?”

I scanned the crowd, looking for my cousin. I caught sight of her familiar golden curls bobbing as she spoke and laughed with a group of other women, her husband Willie close by.

“Hullo! Constance!” I cried, waving my hand. Her parlor maid was taking my coat and hat very slowly, looking with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity at Millie, who stared stoically ahead of her at nothing.

Constance turned and saw me, and her pleasant features lit up in an astonished smile. “Harry, darling!” she cried. “Am I seeing things? Who is this young lady?” She pushed through the crowd of guests and soon arrived at my side.
“Allow me to introduce Millie,” I said, presenting my companion with a bow and a flourish. “And of course, you know Dr. Dupris . . .”

My cousin barely gave Dr. Dupris a glance. She was staring at Millie in mute astonishment. Millie slowly shuffled about in a half-circle so that she stood face to face with Constance.

“Millie,” I continued, “this is my cousin, Constance Worthington.”

Millie curtseyed in an unquestionably mechanical manner, just as she had when she met me. “How do you do, Ms. Worthington?” she recited dutifully.

“She’s a clock-work!” gasped Constance.

“Or a very good impersonation thereof,” said Willie, who had come to join us. He looked Millie over dubiously.

“What kind of a joke is this, Harry?” demanded Constance, who seemed to be in a quandary as to whether she should flush with annoyance or blanch with astonishment.

“It’s no joke, my dear cousin,” I replied. “Millie is an automaton, the progeny of my dear friend Dr. Dupris.” Dr. Dupris nodded politely, unable to repress a proud smile.

Constance was speechless. When she at last found her tongue, she stammered, “And . . . and why did you bring it to my ball? Are you trying to make fun of me? You know I only have your best interests at heart when I . . .”

“Calm yourself, Constance!” I said, holding up a reassuring hand. “It is no attempt at mockery. I brought her because I thought it would be good for her, and because she wanted to come.”

“Wanted to come! You speak as if it has a will of its own!”

“I assure you, she does,” I said. “In fact, she is one of the most willful young women I have ever had the fortune of meeting. Give her a chance, Constance, and I am sure you will be just as enchanted by her as I am.”

Before Constance could respond, I held out my arm once again for Millie. With an audible clicking and whirring of clockwork, she reached out and placed her hand upon my sleeve, and we strolled together into the ball-room. Dr. Dupris followed silently, and all of the other guests followed suit, quietly whispering amongst one another.

When the orchestra struck up the first waltz, everyone hung back. All eyes were upon me and my mysterious companion. I looked once at Dr. Dupris, who shrugged and then nodded his approval. I turned to Millie and asked, loudly enough for all to hear, “Can you dance, my dear?”

“Show me how it is done, and I will learn,” she said. There was another murmur from the guests. There was certainly something inhuman about that voice, but it approximated human tones well enough that there was bound to be some skepticism. Well, let them wonder for now. All would be revealed soon enough! I realized that I was almost as proud as if Millie were my own creation.

We stepped to the middle of the floor. I placed one of Millie’s arms about my waist, and took her other hand in mine. I began to dance, and she followed my steps, awkwardly at first, but with increasing confidence. Her grip tightened upon my hand, again with that surprising strength.

“You are beautiful,” I murmured to her quietly, gazing into her eerily gleaming glass eyes. “Dr. Dupris is an accomplished artist, as well as an inventor.”

Millie did not answer. She did not dance gracefully, but there was a charming determination in her movements. The other guests were at last moving in around us, dancing close by to get a good look at Millie. Their eyes betrayed confused anxiety. Were their senses deceiving them? How could it be?

At last, the waltz ended, but Millie did not stop moving. She continued pacing on her determined path around the room, her feet beating out the rhythm of the now absent music. I tried to stop, but she pulled me along with her, her arm gripping my waist like a vice, her hand tightening still more on my own.

“Millie,” I said, “the dance is over. We must stop now!” Her grip tightened still more. “Millie!” I repeated. I tried to pull away, but she pulled me back to her.

Now I became anxious. The more I fought her, the tighter her grip became. The orchestra did not strike up another melody, and the other guests simply stood about and stared in mute fascination. It must have been quite a scene -- the little mechanical girl plodding about with an air of grim resolve while I was dragged along with her like a helpless rag-doll.

Jonathan pushed through the crowd and arrived at my side flushed and frazzled. “Millie, stop at once!” he admonished. “Stop, or I will disengage your mechanism!”

Millie stopped and released her hold upon me so suddenly that I staggered a bit. She turned her head slowly in Jonathan’s direction. “You will not,” she said, just as she had in the coach.

“I most certainly will,” he blustered. “You’ve been behaving simply dreadfully to-night. If you ever hope to attend another dance, you will have to learn to acquit yourself better than that!”

Millie looked back at me, her arms hanging listlessly at her sides, and stared at me for so long that I felt compelled to say something. “Well . . .” I said, laughing nervously, “it seems that you must like dancing very much.”

“It is a series of simple motions of the body repeated continuously in conjunction with a rhythm,” she remarked.

I laughed in earnest. “You could say that, I suppose,” I replied.

“I just said it,” said Millie.

Now the others were converging on us again. “What else does she do?” asked one eager young woman.

“Many things,” said Jonathan fretfully.

“Can she sing?” asked someone else.

“She certainly can. She sings and plays the piano,” said my friend. He sounded quite exasperated. I had the feeling that it had been his intention to demonstrate his creation’s entertaining capabilities at his presentation, and not beforehand.

“Does she eat?” asked Willie. “Like Vaucanson’s duck?”

Jonathan wrinkled his nose. “Most certainly not,” he replied stiffly. “Why anyone would want to produce a defecating automaton is beyond me.” Several of the ladies gasped and tittered. “Forgive me,” he added, reddening in the face.

“Does she have a heart?” asked a man behind me.

“She doesn’t need one,” Jonathan replied.

“Does she have a soul?” asked Constance, who was gazing at Millie with a great deal of disapproval.

Jonathan seemed at a loss for words. I chimed in for him: “Why don’t you ask Millie?”

“Very well, then,” said Constance stiffly. She clearly did not like the idea of making a spectacle of herself by talking to a machine. She turned awkwardly to Millie, who was still staring rigidly ahead at me. “Do you have a soul?” she asked, speaking with deliberate volume and clarity.

Millie’s head turned abruptly in her direction, and my cousin, disconcerted, stepped back a pace. “I do not think there is any such thing,” said Millie.

“There certainly is,” replied Constance. “I have one!”

Millie abruptly turned her back on Constance and began walking away. The crowd parted, giving her a wide berth as she passed. Slowly we began following her -- first myself, then Jonathan, and then the rest of the group, in single file. The members of the orchestra lowered their instruments and gazed at one another curiously, then got up to follow as well.

Constance was fretful. “I don’t like her, Harry,” she said. “She frightens me. And she is entirely disrupting the dance.”

“Nonsense, Constance,” I retorted. “Her presence here will make your dance the talk of the season. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” I grinned and patted my cousin on the arm, and she scowled unbecomingly.

Millie had led us into the parlor, where she sat down stiffly at the piano. She began to play, her eyes never once turning down to look upon the keys. In a voice like a muted horn, she began to sing:

The ship goes sailing down the bay,
Good-bye, my lover, good-bye!
We may not meet for many a day,
Good-bye, my lover, good-bye!
My heart will ever-more be true,
Tho’ now we sadly say a-dieu;
Oh, kisses sweet I leave with you,
Good-bye, my lover, good-bye.

I clapped my hands. “Delightful!” I cried. “Simply marvelous. Does she sing anything else?”

“She sings over a dozen songs,” said Jonathan, who was at last relaxing. “And she is quite adept at learning new ones.”

“I think she sounds dreadful,” remarked an older woman, frowning.

“I don’t think she does badly at all, for someone who is just a few weeks old,” I replied.