The Discovery of Agatha, pt 2

From that day on, Emma was a regular at Serenity. At first she felt bad for never buying anything, but after a month Mr. Fogarty told her that her company- in the life of a couple whose children were too busy even to talk on the phone- was worth far more than money. And then he gave her a part-time job.
Emma never paid much attention to Agatha. Sure, she had to change her clothes every now and again. The craftsmanship put into the automaton was beautiful, even under years of dirt and tarnish. But those brief moments Emma spent with the clockwork girl were just that.
Christmas arrived the way it always did: suddenly. James, Kyle, Windy, and Emma had been living together for six months by then. So on top of the holiday season, they decided to host a party to celebrate that they hadn't killed each other or the baby or set anything on fire yet.
Perhaps it was writing "congratulations on not [insert tragedy here]" on the balloons that they let loose in the flat that jinxed them. All four kids were actors- high school drama class was how they'd met- so even Kyle, the least superstitious among them, still participated in rituals like knocking on wood and never, ever mentioning The Scottish Play. Emma, however, was definitely the worst and felt it was asking for trouble. But the balloons were their friend Todd's idea and, much to her disgruntlement, Emma's friends always seemed to choose Todd's ideas over hers.
Thus, by the end of the Saturday after Christmas, Todd was in the hospital with a broken toe; Cassie and Phoebe both weren't speaking to James; Dennis was this close to finishing a death ray; Alex's tricycle was scrap metal; and the flat would have to remain uninhabited for at least three more days before the smoke smell cleared. Not to mention what Jenn and Tim had done in Windy and Emma's bedroom.
Mr. Fogarty had somehow rigged it so that when the shop door swung open, it made the noise of the doors on "Star Trek". Serenity had been closed for an hour, but he hadn't yet locked the doors. So he was surprised to hear the Enterprise doors woosh open and closed that Saturday night- until he looked up and saw a red-faced Emma storm into the shop. After that, he was just worried.
"Miss Bennett? What's the matter, my dear?" Mr. Fogarty asked, walking around the counter to face her. He was shocked when his employee slumped against him in defeat.
There was a tense moment where the only sounds were the shop's many clocks ticking away and Emma's quiet sniffling. Then, slowly, Mr. Fogarty wrapped his arms around the girl in a hug he hadn't given since he'd last seen his daughter.
It didn't last too long. Emma stepped away, pulling off her glasses to rub the heels of her hands in the corner of her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to be rid of the sting of mascara in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fogarty."
"There's no need to apologize, my dear. But what on Earth is the matter?"
Emma sighed. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I shouldn't be so upset. But I feel like…" She struggled for words. "I feel like I try and I try and it's just for nothing."
Her employer looked at her, face kind but devoid of understanding.
The girl took a deep breath. "We threw a Christmas party at the flat. And it was… to say the least… a complete and utter disaster."
Mr. Fogarty nodded in a silent "oh". He considered asking for more details, but one glance at Emma's face said that would be a bad idea. So he glanced at the counter, where his project of a few moments ago was still spread out.
"I'm so sorry to hear about that," Mr. Fogarty said, gently guiding Emma towards the counter. "But you won't believe at what we got in today."
The notebooks and papers, yellowed with age, didn't look terribly impressive at first sight. But when you worked in Serenity, you learned to not take things at face value. Emma pushed her glasses back up her nose with a sniff. "What is it?"
Excitement lit up Mr. Fogarty's face. He stepped behind the counter, spreading his hands over the artefacts gathered there. "The complete journals and notebooks of the inventor Jane Bennett."
Ignoring the weird feeling that came with hearing her own name in reference to somebody else, Emma looked blankly at her employer. "Which inventor?"
Mr. Fogarty could barely contain his joy. "Dorothy Jane Bennett was an inventor who lived in London at the end of the 19th century. She was a master of clockworks, having built in the last years of her life four automatons."
Emma's eyes widened. "Automatons? Like-"
"Yes, that band of yours is far from the only artificial intelligence to have walked this earth. There are dozens, if not hundreds, who can claim the same- or similar. And Jane Bennett is one of them.
"She built four automatons," Mr. Fogarty repeated, walking back around the counter and out into the shop. He balanced one of the notebooks open in his hand. Emma followed. "The loss of two of them is known to have been shortly after the death of Jane herself. Nobody knows what happened to the other two."
He stopped in front Agatha. "Until now. Agatha is one of Jane's automatons. And not just that, but one of the twins, who Jane herself said were her greatest creations."
With a thought, the excitement seemed to drain from Mr. Fogarty. His shoulders slumped. "Oh, if only we had her windup key..." he mourned.
Emma looked at the dormant automaton, the same one she'd been walking past for months now. Not once had she paid an ounce of attention the sleeping figure, or imagined that she, too, had life within her.
Mr. Fogarty's eyes had casually drifted to his employee as she studied the robot before her. She was dressed nicely for the party, although her clothes were rumpled now, and was wearing a necklace he'd never seen before. Emma always wore one of two necklaces: an owl charm her brother had given her, or a cat charm from her parents. But hanging from the chain of the strange necklace was a golden key, adorned at the top by a flowering rose.
"That's a hell of a find, sir," Emma turned to her employer, only to see that he was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. "Uh, sir?"
"…Where did you get that necklace?" he asked softly.
Emma eyed him. "It's a family heirloom," she said. "My grandfather left it to me when he passed away a few years ago. I only wear it on special occasions."
Mr. Fogarty glanced down at the notebook in his hand, and then back at the key around Emma's neck. It can't be... but what else...?
In a move so sudden that it made Emma jump, Mr. Fogarty snapped the notebook shut. He placed it on top of a pile of other books, turned to Agatha, and pulled open her shirt. When her blouse was open, he looked back at Emma, holding out his hand. "Miss Bennett, may I please see your key?"
"…What." Emma stared at him.
"Miss Bennett, please give me your key."
There was an urgency in Mr. Fogarty's voice that put Emma off even more than she already was, but despite this trepidation she found herself reaching behind her neck and unclasping the chain.
Clara Fogarty wandered out into the shop as the key was placed in her husband's hand. "Michael? …Emma? What's going on?"
She joined Emma in watching as Mr. Fogarty stuck the key into the heart-shaped keyhole centred above Agatha's left breast. It fit perfectly. He gave it a twist, and a loud creak came from the clockwork girl. Mr. Fogarty continued to turn the key until it would go no further.
During the winding, a loud ticking had started up. Cogs and gears that had been inactive for three decades ground back into life with protesting squeaks and other onomatopoeia.
Mr. Fogarty withdrew the key and stepped back expectantly. The racket coming from Agatha continued for a moment, then died as soon as it had started.
There was a pause. The three humans waited. But just as Mr. Fogarty felt his heart drop, Agatha's eyes opened.