Mr. Dowling was not quite the machine Thomas had described. His skeleton and inner workings were now hidden by a canvas skin that covered anything not enclosed beneath hiswell-fitted suit. Not that the presence of the machinery could be entirely concealed. The Mechanical Man rattled with every movement he made. After the general greetings, Doctor Blyth introduced his achievement.

“This is Peter Dowling, a young man who would have died in ages past, but today has been saved by the advances of modern science. “

“Fascinating, is he not?” asked Thomas by way of introductions.

“How ingenious,” Lord Bankes said, eyeing the machine. Lady Bankes merely frowned while Phillip simply smiled. Or perhaps smiled simply, would be the better way to put it.

“How nice to see you again,” Thomas said loudly.

“A pleasure, Lord Fairfax,” the Mechanical Man responded, with a voice void of emotion or inflection.

“It speaks!” Lord Bankes laughed, quickly joined by his son.

“Indeed,” Doctor Blyth said, “and you can actually speak with your normal voice. He will hear you all just fine and respond in kind.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Thomas said.

“What should we say to it?” Lady Bankes asked.

“Anything you like.”

“Mr. Dowling,” I said, “Welcome to Clifton Manor.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” was its monotone reply.

I noticed my father had yet to speak. “Dowling…” he was watching his unusual guest with a great deal of attention. “You were that young porter from the village, yes?”

“That is correct, sir,” Mr. Dowling said bowing nearly his whole torso and head in affirmation.

“Our Mr. Harlow spoke well of you. Deliveries were always on time.”

“Thank you, sir. A man should take pride in the work he does,” though there was little pride in the response.

“Mechanical peasantry, is it? I confess doctor, I see only improvements here, certainly will save us a good deal of grief if this catches on,” Phillip chortled heartily at his own wit and his parents shared a proud smile. The doctor managed what I would call an embarrassed sort of laugh, as polite manners left him little choice, but Mr. Dowling betrayed no emotion, not that he could, which may have been an unexpected blessing at that moment for I confess I could not suppress my own disgust.

Dinner was announced thus preventing me from sharing a few words that Phillip’s latest witticism had earned and as we moved to the dining room. I was pleased to find myself seated opposite Mr. Dowling.

I quickly regained my composure and struck up a conversation in earnest, “Pardon my silly question, but do you eat?” I asked.

“I no longer require food,” was his plain reply.

“It’s true,” Dr. Blyth explained. “He does not require food to provide the energy to power his body, as it does in the rest of us.”

“I see you’ve added a type of skin to his exposed extremities,” Thomas noted.

“Yes,” Dr. Blyth said. “Many people commented that he was unsettling without it. Though it was just a bit of clockwork. Imagine how any of our fine company would look without our skin.”

“I daresay such canvas trappings make it look all the more unnatural,” I heard Lady Bankes whisper to her husband. I noticed Mr. Dowling’seyes swivel in her direction and realized he had heard it as well.

“And a fine skin it is,” I said for his benefit.

“Thank you,” he replied.

“I hope it is but a start. I have begun a correspondence with a few other learned colleagues and we hope to devise an epidermis of a more aesthetically standard variety,” Dr. Blythe began informing us.

To be honest, I paid the doctor little mind at all, so intrigued was I with this mechanical man. Barely did I remember Mr. Dowling making his deliveries to the manor. The contraption before me certainly bore little resemblance to the man in my memory. “If I might ask another silly question?”

“Of course, my lady. Please. Anything.”

“Is it very different being in a mechanical body? Do you remember what it was like before?”

“I do. The good doctor saved me, but… it is a new feeling. It is…cold I suppose. I have memories of my life before. It was filled with sensations, good and bad, which do not exist for me anymore. I miss them at times…

“I apologize, if I upset you.”

At that Lady Bankes barely contained a laugh and Phillip declared, “Grand, simply grand. Its reactions are almost believable.”

While Mr. Dowling quietly assured me, “No apology necessary, my Lady.”

Dr. Blythe seemed a little alarmed by this melancholy turn in our conversation and attempted to expound upon the benefits of his procedure.

“But just think Lord Fairfax, if we’d had this procedure those years long ago now we might have been able to save your wife and child. Lady Fairfax certainly,” the doctor suddenly seemed lost within is own thoughts verbally articulated by quite mumbles and mutterings before continuing. “As to the viability of a developing mind finding the sustenance and nourishment required for customary growth and maturity would be quite another matter.”

“Dr. Blythe I cannot question the success of your experiment which sits, even now, in evidence at my very diner table; further more, I find it well beyond my providence to pass judgment upon you or your procedure; for indeed, does it not lie with Providence itself? Can you deny the Lord above His right to determine all matters in life and death,” Lord Fairfax paused a moment to consider the mechanical man across from him. “Lady Fairfax was an amazing woman. That I have never remarried ought to give in its own right a recommendation concerning her outstanding character, favorable disposition, and sweet temperament. Her passing came as such a blow to us all here at Clifton Manor. But we have found solace in the knowledgethat it was time for her to return home to paradise and await her family’s coming.”

“Lord Fairfax, I did not mean to dredge up old wounds,” offered Blythe.

“No, indeed, I am aware and understand your intentions doctor. But let me make this clear: had your procedure been feasible when she… then, I am inclined to believe I would have declined your offer. Death is not simply a sickness one can heal, in point of fact, it is our final reward, and we who are we to deny Our Lord’s summons? Her choice would have been paradise above or…” father gestured then toward the Mechanical Man with such a look in his eyes that I have rarely seen before or since. It was neither hate nor disgust, but rather a quiet and empathetic pathos. “And yet, behold our guest. Mr. Dowling , I lost my wife when this procedure did not exist, as such, it was easy enough to see the Lord’s plan. But it seems He, through the good doctor, offered you something else and perhaps He has yet more for you to do on this Earth before you can claim your reward.”

“My lord, that is very kind of you to say. In my heart… my mind rather I suppose, I wonder at these same things, and so… thank you, Lord Fairfax,” The Mechanical Man’s torso and head tilted forward, bowing.

“Well now that’s all well and good, Doctor, though perhaps a bit highfalutin and ethereal by my measure, but you’ve yet to answer the most important question,” Lord Bankesseemed topause for effect and to ensure we were all listening to his sage question. “What will you do with it?”

“Do with it? I’m not sure I follow your line of inquiry my lord,” Dr. Blythe responded seeming confused.

“What my father means is why build the contraption in the first place. What’s its intended function?” clarified Phillip.

“Well, he will live his life to the best of his ability. He will be a model of the scientific potential now open to man.”

“Yes, but what can it do? Is it capable of labor? I recently introduced the threshing machine onto my estate and was able to decrease the number of required workmen, improving overall profits. Will this thing be capable of replacing human tenants?”

“Lord Bankes, I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” Dr. Blyth said. “He is still a living person. If you’re asking what his talents are, they are whatever Mr. Dowling is good at.”

“I see. You had best get that sorted, give it some kind of good function or I’m afraid it will never gain wide spread support like that ingenious thresher,” was Lord Bankes reply.

The Mechanical Man, Peter Dowling said nothing. For a moment everyone was quiet. I was growing rather weary of Lord Bankes’ treatment of our more honored guest and so I asked, “Mr. Dowling, what are your talents?”

“Well, few to speak of, m’lady.I started work when I was ten. I used to be pretty strong I suppose, but then being a porter doesn’t leave time for much besides carrying things and the like.”

“Ah, there you have it doctor,” Phillip loudly proclaimed, “Reinforce the joints and what have you and you’ll have an excellent mechanical porter.” Lord and Lady Bankes shared a loving smile over their son’s cleverness.

“Speaking of talents,” Phillip said to me changing the subject, “Thomas was telling me you had taken up piano playing. As you know I am quite accomplished with the piano as well. Perhaps we can treat our dear families to a duet after dinner and you can learn from a true master.”

“Thomas is generous,” I replied coldly. “I lack the dexterity for the piano.”

“Which reminds me,” my father added in a vain attempt to lighten the mood and dispel the mounting tension, “I have an unused piano if anyone is interested in acquiring one.”

“You see,” I explained, “Like Mr. DowlingI fear I have few talents to speak of and certainly no strength of arm.”

Phillip laughed politely beside me, “Now, now. There is a difference between a person having no talent and a machine lacking purpose.”

I should like to think Phillip meant to insult me, but I suspect he had no idea he did so.

“Surely there is something,” Lady Bankes said. “How is your singing voice?”

“Sadly, atrocious.”

“Poetry then,” Phillip suggested, “Such a well read woman must appreciate poetry.”

“I’ve no ear for it, nor the memory needed for recitation.”

“Ah, painting,” Lord Bankes proposed. “My sister loves painting.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve no eye for painting. There are so many shapes and colours that I just can’t seem to capture, try as I might.”

“My daughter is being humble,” Father stated. “She has a great many talents.”

“Are you sure?” Lady Bankes asked. “She seems to have dismissed any and all.”

“In any case,” Lord Bankes said, “back to my question, what good is a machine if it can’t do anything.”

“Lord Bankes…” my father began gently,but I had reached the end of my tolerance for such gross bigotry and swiftly interrupted.

“What my father is about to politely say is, the ‘machine’ as you keep calling it, is in fact a young man named Peter Dowling whose life was recently saved by the skilled hands of Dr. Blyth. Mr. Dowling certainly has a lifetime of hardships ahead and it would certainly be a kindness on your part were you to cease reference to an ‘it’ and acknowledge his continued humanity with, ‘he’.”

“You’ll note she does have some talent with words,” Thomas suggested to Lady Bankes.

“Much appreciated, my lady, thank you,” Mr. Dowling said. “But, please, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Ms. Fairfax, I suggest you guard that tongue of yours. Such speech ill befits a lady’s address to a Lord,” Lady Bankes declared. “And one need only look at this thing to see it is a machine. Let the mechanicals deal with its clockwork innards.”

“I don’t believe that we are capable of determining that,” My father said gently.

“Bit more than clockwork, begging your pardon my lady, but the mechanisms by which the body interacts with the brain and then…” Dr. Blythe noticed then the glazed expression taking hold of Lady Bankes’ features and opted for a different track. “I assure you, this young man is very much alive,” Dr. Blyth insisted.

“Nonsense,” Lady Bankes insisted, “It has no heart. No soul.”

“As far as I recall the location of our immortal soul has never been determined. Perhaps we should ask him,” Thomas suggested. “Mr. Dowling, are you alive? Still in possession of a soul? Some soul?Hopefully yours?”

“I believe I am,” he answered without emotion.

“Cogito, ergo sum,” I noted.“ which is more than I can say for some at this table.”

“Been reading books again, dear sister?” Thomas asked with a glance around the table to find mostly blank looks on the faces of the Bankes’.

“He thinks, therefore he is,” I translated, rather slowly for their benefit and couldn’t resist a quiet whisper to Mr. Dowling, “which is more than I can say for some at this table.”

“Thinking hardly makes it human,” Lord Bankes pointed out. “I’m afraid I must agree with my wife. I’d no more sit a spinning jenny at my dinner table than I would a mechanical man. Perhaps as some light entertainment to finish the evening. Might it be taught a bit of pantomime?”

“Regardless of our views,” Father said gravely, “it is ill mannered and insulting to discuss such opinions in front of Dr. Blyth and Mr. Dowling. Nor do I appreciate your insinuations concerning the quality of this evening’s table.”

“Well, it was not I who spoiled the company,” Lord Bankes began. “Nor I who began the discussion but by jove I will give an honest account. And Dr. Blyth needs to be made to see the limitations of his device as they are. No doubt it could be a great tool of industry as soon as he works free from this strange illusion that this contraption is in anyway human beyond its structural frame.”

“Hear, hear!” Phillip agreed.

Peter was staring at the table and I could feel my anger rising.

“Perhaps our evening is at an end,” Father suggested.

“I believe you are correct,” Lord Bankes agreed, “Let us leave this unpleasant evening behind us. Perhaps your Mr. Pitt would be so kind as to help Dr. Blythe remove his little invention and allow us to settle back into more staid diversions.”

I should have let the conversation end there, but I simply could not help myself.

“Lord Bankes, I believe you might be right about painting.”

“I’m sorry?” Lord Bankes asked curiously.

“Of all the talents I lack, I think I should most like to revisit painting. I may yet have a knack for it. If I were to become an accomplished painterI should like very much to paint your portrait. I would accentuate your beard and perhaps exaggerate the size of your teeth, while elongating your face as a whole. Then I would add two long, furry ears protruding from under that pompous hat you wear. I would then give you the portrait to hang above your mantle. That way you would always have a reminder of your true nature and all your guests will be able to look upon it and recognize you for the ass that you are!”

Lord Bankes was shocked beyond words but his wife did manage an appalled, “How dare you!”

“Then I’ll paint one in a similar fashion for Lady Bankes! Phillip too, except his will simply be the back end of a horse! Good evening!”

With that, I stormed off to bed, where I was to lie awake thinking of so many other things I would like to say to Lord and Lady Bankes. Amazingly as I left the room I had heard only stunned silence.