Prologue
This story should be impossible. It’s about a girl named Mary, her best friend, Ada, and a boy who doesn’t exist.
You’ve probably heard of Mary, aka Mary Shelley, aka the author of one of the most famous novels of all time. It’s about a monster. (We’ll leave it up to you to decide which one was the actual monster: Dr. Frankenstein or his creation. We have our own opinion.)
And then there’s Ada, aka Augusta Ada King, countess of Lovelace, aka Ada Lovelace. She was the world’s first computer programmer . . . more than a hundred years before there were computers. (She was definitely an overachiever.)
Both women were the daughters of celebrities. Mary’s mother was Mary Wollstonecraft, a writer, philosopher, and staunch advocate for women’s rights in a time when women didn’t have very many. Ada was the daughter of the poet Lord Byron, who was like the nineteenth-century equivalent of a rock star, if rock had been invented yet. So yeah, Mary and Ada had a lot to live up to.
According to “history,” these two young women never met, which is probably where things went wrong. Mary Shelley risked everything for love, but her life was marked by tragedy and plagued by scandal. Ada Lovelace, on the other hand, died young, without ever getting credit for her work. But we’ve never been fans of “history,” per se. Too sad. Not enough happy endings.
We have a different tale to tell. This one involves romance, intrigue, a spine-tingling, harrowing adventure, and also (dare we say it?), a little bit of magic.
Let’s set the scene: London, in the year 18—mumble mumble (sorry, the exact date is a bit smudged). Napoleon (the short French dude) had just been defeated at the Battle of Waterloo, which was making England feel really good about itself. Mount Tambora, a volcano in the East Indies, had recently blasted ten billion tons of ash into the stratosphere, which was making England feel cold and rainy (colder and rainier than usual, that is). And the Industrial Revolution was going full steam. This was a time of great invention, of science, of philosophy, which was making England feel like anything a person could imagine was possible.
Right smack in the middle of this particular England were our heroines, Mary and Ada, who both had much bigger imaginations than the average person. And at the moment that our story begins, both girls were about to arrive . . . at the very same party.
Part One
(in which the frog croaks)
One
Mary
It was a dark and stormy night. Again.
Mary peered out the carriage window at the black clouds gathering in the sky. Most nights had been dark and stormy lately, but Mary didn’t mind the rain. Storms always made her want to write . . . something. Something epic. Something terrible and wonderful and spine-tingling. But she didn’t know what. Currently she was amusing herself by imagining the clouds as a herd of wild horses galloping through the sky, streaming lightning behind them. (As we’ve mentioned, Mary had quite the imagination. You’ll see.)
“Hmph, what dreadful weather,” remarked Mary’s stepmother, leaning to look out the window, too. “Really, William, must we be going out in this? You know I hate getting wet.”
Mary sighed. Her wicked stepmother obviously didn’t understand anything about finding the beauty in nature.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” her father responded cheerfully.
At that moment, the thunder boomed so loudly it caused the walls of their shabby carriage to shudder. Then the sky opened and poured down rain.
Mary’s father was undeterred. “We can’t miss this party, my dears,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the deluge. “It’s such an honor to be invited.”
There was no arguing with that. They all knew that to be invited to a party at the house of Mr. Charles Babbage was no small thing. Mr. Babbage, a brilliant scientist and inventor, was very selective about who attended his soirees. Over the years his guest lists had included all the best minds in England. That Mary’s father was receiving invitations to Babbage’s parties again was a relief. It meant that the family hadn’t fallen too far in the world’s esteem, in spite of their recent money troubles. Perhaps it even meant—as her father hoped—that they were on the rise.
“Of course I know that, my darling,” Mary’s stepmother said with an elaborate sniff. “But I don’t care for Mr. Babbage. He’s appallingly plainspoken. He says what he thinks, without a care for how it might be received.”
Mary, who had never before met Mr. Babbage, thought this would be a refreshing quality for a person to have. But her stepmother obviously didn’t understand anything about people and their complexities.
“I quite like Mr. Babbage,” said Mary’s father. “And there’s always at least one reading from a famous author at these parties, and multiple scientific demonstrations. Mr. Babbage himself might reveal one of his latest inventions. This evening is sure to be exciting.”
BOOM! went the sky, followed by a stab of lightning that briefly illuminated the carriage.
“I don’t care for exciting, either.” Mary’s stepmother drew the curtains across the windows.
Mary resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course her stepmother didn’t understand anything about adventure.
“I’m keen to see all of the newest fashions,” piped up Jane, Mary’s (only a tiny bit wicked) stepsister, from beside her mother. “I’ll be content to simply go about looking at everyone, like they’re an assortment of brightly colored birds, and I, the happy ornithologist.” She fiddled with one of the glossy curls that framed her face. “I’m especially interested in specimens of the male variety.”
“Hmph,” said Mrs. Godwin. “I do hope there will be a few appropriate young men for you to associate with at this party.” She eyed her three woefully unmarried charges critically. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Now, now, dear, this isn’t that type of party,” admonished Mary’s father. “This is not some ball for the ton. The point is to enlighten our minds, not to trot out our girls like prized ponies.”
Mary rather loved him for saying that. William Godwin was a forward-thinking man. But then, he had the luxury of being forward-thinking. Because he was a man.
CRASH! BOOM! went the sky.
The carriage lurched to a stop.
“Oh, good,” said Mary’s father. “We’re here.”
“Mr. Babbage!” Her father rushed forward to shake hands with the host the moment they arrived in the parlor where Mr. Babbage was greeting his guests. “So good to see you again.”
“Ah, Mr. Godwin,” replied Mr. Babbage. “So good of you to come.”
Mary’s father stepped aside to reveal his slightly damp family. “You already know Mrs. Godwin, but may I present my daughters, Fanny, Mary, and Jane.”
Fanny, the oldest sister, performed a small curtsy but said nothing. Fanny almost never said anything. (In fact, if we hadn’t mentioned her, you would never have known she was there.)
“Good evening,” said Mary, also curtsying.
“You have a splendid house!” exclaimed Jane.
“Thank you,” Mr. Babbage replied. He was older than Mary would have guessed, a bit stooped but still stately, with lively green eyes under bushy gray brows. His gaze wandered between Jane, Mary, and Fanny. “You say all three of these are your daughters, Godwin?”