The Constantine Affliction Read Online Free PDF

there, the disease had spread through surprising heights of society. Orlando had fled the country long ago, which was a shame. What an interview that would be.
    “I wonder if you might work your art upon me, uncle?” Ellie said, putting her teacup aside. “Could you make me into a man?”
    He frowned. “Eleanor, I am willing to help conceal perversions of nature, but what you’re asking is simply deceit—why would you want me to do such a thing?”
    “It’s for a story,” she said, choosing her words carefully. Her uncle would not approve of an undercover excursion into a clockwork brothel. “I need to enter a certain gentleman’s club without being noticed.”
    “You’re not out to ruin any reputations, are you?”
    “No, uncle. And none of your… special customers… are involved.” That much was probably true. She stood and twirled around. “What do you think? Can you make a man out of me?”
    He grunted. “I suppose. There are, ah, certain cloth bindings we can use for your…” He gestured vaguely at his own chest. “Your hips are fairly slim. I have some trousers that would fit you, and a shirt and waistcoat—it’s fortunate the fashion lately is for clothes of a looser fit. A false mustache… but the hair, Eleanor.” He shook his head. “My special customers cut their hair in a man’s style, of course, but you…”
    Eleanor touched her hair, which was, at the moment, pulled back and done up in a tight bun. When unconfined, her hair fell past her shoulders. “I’ll cut it, then,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I can wear a wig until it grows back, and I have a fanchon bonnet that covers most of the back of my head anyway.”
    “The story is that important to you, dear?”
    “It is, uncle, and I would be forever in your debt.
    “You said that last time I helped you with an article.”
    “Then make it twice forever,” Ellie said, and he laughed.

    ***

    Gazing at herself in the mirror, Ellie could scarcely credit the change. “You’ve made me into the very vision of a respectable businessman, uncle.” She wore a black frock coat and a matching waistcoat beneath, with a white shirt and an elaborate cravat. Her trousers were crisply pressed and high-waisted, and the polished shoes fit well enough once Mr. James shoved some paper into the toes. He had lopped off her hair, not without sighs and lamentations, and what remained was slicked back with pomade. Ellie’s head felt several pounds lighter, a peculiar but not unpleasant sensation.
    “Now for a mustache. If I had time enough, I’d create one especially for you from your own hair, but it’s the work of many hours, and I gather you’re in a hurry, so we must make do with a readymade, though it pains me.” Mr. James fetched a black velvet display tray that held a score of mustaches of assorted colors and textures, pinned like the specimens of a butterfly collector, a sight Ellie found rather dreamlike. He held up several mustaches against her face, shaking his head each time, until saying, “Ah ha. This will do.”
    Ellie eyed the item with suspicion. “It’s… a bit large, uncle.” Elaborate facial hair was in vogue since the Affliction began to spread, but Ellie feared such an impressive follicular display might appear ridiculous on her.
    He grunted. “The Hungarian style, yes. It has certain advantages, in that it will conceal more of your face—which is a lovely face,” he hastened to add, “though that beauty is no benefit in these circumstances. More importantly, however, it matches your natural hair color better than any other option.” Mr. James allowed himself a small smile. “It is a rather… forceful mustache, and will draw attention away from your other features.”
    “I’ll pass for a man, then?”
    “You will, at the very least, pass for a victim of the Constantine Affliction attempting to pass for a man. Which, in polite society, is usually good enough.”
    Hmm. That wasn’t quite good