The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set

by Kara Jorgensen

  “Uncle James was telling Mr. Martin how you were attacked. What was it like to be electrocuted? Is Spring-heeled Jack really human? You are the only one who has seen him and lived.”

  His throat tightened. Did she know her Lord Rose was the man who ripped the soul from his body? He eyed Emmeline suspiciously. Could he trust her? She had spent hours with this man, attended parties with him, yet she seemed oblivious to his depravity. Though he couldn’t prove it yet, Immanuel knew he had to be behind the death of Madeline Jardine, and Emmeline deserved to know the truth about her benefactor.

  “He is human, but that is what makes him the worst type of monster.” Taking a deep breath, he chewed on his lip. “I have been meaning to speak to you about him. You are in grave danger.”

  “Are you going to lecture me about not going out at night?” she scoffed as she rolled her eyes. “If so, save your breath. Aunt Eliza already did.”

  “Forget it, you will find out eventually.”

  “Find out what? I am not a child. I have a right to know why I am in danger.”

  He had to tell her even if she would not believe him. “Lord Rose is Spring-heeled Jack.”

  For a second, Emmeline’s mouth hung open before indignantly snapping shut. “Are you daft? Lord Rose is a gentleman from a respectable family, not some lunatic.”

  “I know what I saw. Even through his mask, I recognized his face and his voice.”

  “How would you know? You don’t even know him,” she badgered as she stepped toward him with an accusatory finger. “You only met him that day.”

  “Keep your voice down. You will wake up the whole house.”

  “I don’t care! You are lying. You do not even know what he looks like.”

  “Before he put that blindfold on me, I saw his face every day when he beat me! I saw him in the Bodleian when he and his cronies kidnapped me, and he was there in Oxford when I pulled you out of the river. I know exactly what he looks like.”

  Emmeline stared him down. His hands shook and his voice sharpened, yet it was never raised above a low whisper. It couldn’t be true. He was lying. That was the only explanation for his outburst, or maybe the attack had unhinged his mind. She couldn’t be right. Lord Rose couldn’t have kidnapped her. If he did, then he—

  “He couldn’t have done that. He—” The crazed look in his eyes when he seized her by arms flashed but was drowned beneath her anger. “He would never harm me! He loves me, and one day, we will be married.”

  “If he doesn’t kill you first. Do you think if we had not gotten out that he would have spared you? My life was all that stayed his hand against you.” As he locked eyes with her, her gaze faltered, falling to her feet before rising back to his face in strained defiance. “He killed two women! Do you think he would have thought twice about killing you if he had to, especially a girl who was presumed dead already?”

  “No,” she cried, freeing more inky curls with each shake of her head, “no, no. He can’t be. You are lying! How dare you accuse him of something so horrid! You don’t even know him.”

  “I am certain you know there is connection between Lord Rose and the murdered women. You know the comings and goings of the Spiritualists better than anyone, and I am sure you know the link.” Immanuel dropped his voice at the sound of a door squealing open somewhere in the house. “You can put him away for murder. For once in your life, Emmeline, please think for yourself.”

  As he turned to leave, the rage churned up Emmeline’s throat until it roared out. “I hate you!”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Jardine.” Stopping at the threshold, he stared into her owl-like brown eyes. Deep down something stirred even if she did not yet know it. He searched them and found that beneath the venom something else lingered in their depths. “My only hope is that you will see him for what he is before it is too late.”

  Looking toward the oak door at the end of the hall, he turned. The heat and fear of his nightmares had finally left him. Even if the devil still haunted his dreams and left his mark upon him, he had cracked his hold on his greatest ally. Emmeline Jardine held the key to his undoing, and by underestimating his captives, he had brought about his own ruin.

  Shutting the door behind him, he peeled off his jacket, tie, and waistcoat before slipping silently beside his slumbering companion. He rested his head against Adam’s chest and closed his eyes as the other man wrapped his arms around him. Soon, a plan would have to be set in motion that would put all their lives at risk, but with his partner’s arms holding him tight and his gentle breath against his cheek, Lord Rose was only a memory.

  Chapter Thirty:

  The Serpent

  The front door of thirty-six Wimpole Street opened, admitting three cheerful revelers and one sullen teenager in from the cold. As the men carried in the remaining luggage from the steamer cab, Eliza gathered the letters strewn across the hall floor before they were once again trod upon. Emmeline stomped past with her head down but paused when she noticed her foot rested on a letter addressed to her. Her pulse quickened at the sight of the cultivated handwriting incised into the parchment. Flipping it over, she found a red wax seal with the letters A and R intertwined with a serpent. It had to be from Lord Rose, but what could he want from her? Maybe he knew she was coming out this season and wanted to catch her before any other man could. Scooping up the envelope, she continued toward the stairs as nonchalantly as she could muster.

  “What did you get, Emmeline?” her aunt asked as she added another Christmas card to the growing collection on the hall table.

  She froze. Even though his tirade had been over a day ago, anger still coiled around her chest, mercilessly constricting and consuming her. Keeping her voice level, she replied, “The Raleigh sisters sent me a Christmas card and a letter. Their parents must have told them they saw me at the Christmas social. If you will excuse me, I am dreadfully tired from the festivities, Aunt Eliza. I think I am going to lie down for a while.”

  “All right. I will call you when dinner is ready.”

  Dashing up the remaining steps, Emmeline pulled the door shut behind her, careful not to draw her aunt or uncle’s attention. Whether the note contained only a holiday card or a proposal, she wanted to be the first person, the only person, to read it. All of his past invitations to the Spiritualist society were addressed to her aunt, so why would he write a note directly to her? Tearing at the envelope, her hands trembled as she pulled the piece of paper out and held it under the gas lamp.

  Dear Miss Jardine,

  Since the night of the Christmas social, I have been unable to sleep after how I acted towards you. I was unduly churlish and unfairly abusive, and there is no way for me to express how deeply I regret my actions. My hope is that you will accept my humble apologies and think me no less of a gentleman for letting my emotions get the better of me. It was wrong, but I am merely human and prone to ill-humor. Your offer of a dance was meant in kindness and should not have been so coldly rejected. In the future, I hope to take up your offer if it is still available to me.

  This letter is not merely meant as an apology as I have been called to participate in an event of the utmost importance, and as the eventual successor of the Oxford Spiritualist Society, I would like to extend an invitation to you. On the third of January, Dr. Hawthorne and I will have an audience with the queen. Her Majesty has asked for a medium to be present during the proceedings, and I know no better medium than you, Miss Jardine. You have inherited your late mother’s aptitude for connecting with the dead, and as a young lady about to come into society, this would be a perfect opportunity to find favor with Her Majesty ahead of the others. The successful accomplishment of this classified endeavor will not only bring you accolades as a Spiritualist medium but will elevate your standing in court. If you would like to discuss what will be required of you, please send word as to what time we can meet in Mayfair since the matter is much too sensitive to discuss in public, and I will send your aunt an invitation. You may wonder w
hy I am choosing you above a more experienced medium, but out of all the women in the society, I hold you in the highest regard.

  Ever yours,

  Alastair Rose

  Holding the paper close, she caught a faint whiff of his spiced tobacco. The letter had been infused with his scent, and with the masked endearments, it was as good as a love letter. Emmeline smiled. He held her in the highest regard and begged for her forgiveness. Taking the letter, she sat at the vanity and pulled the pins from her coiffure until her hair fell upon her shoulders in thick ringlets. Of course she would forgive him. It was merely an outburst. A man of his stature must find socializing with the bourgeoisie a dreadful bore, but she was worthy of his attention. Lord Rose wouldn’t let her down. No, he meant to raise her up and give her every opportunity to improve.

  Reaching behind her, she unfastened the buttons of her gown and let it slip from her shoulders. Before her eyes could take in what had changed since the Samhain ball, they fell on the series of light green bruises no bigger than peas on the flesh of her upper arm. Emmeline swallowed hard. Lord Rose hadn’t meant to hurt her. In the moment, he simply lost himself. She had crossed him after all, but it was an accident. He even lost sleep for it and wrote a letter of apology, so he must be sorry. If he doesn’t kill you first. With a sharp bang, her fist collided with the tabletop. There was no way he could be right. She had known Lord Rose for years while he had only just met him. Alastair couldn’t possibly— But the look in his eyes when he seized her. Her body tensed at the image of his face twisted with rage and his eyes ablaze like the end of a cigarette. All she wanted to do was a reading for Lord Montagu to put his mind at ease. Why would he deny his brother a reading?

  Emmeline’s heart quickened and every muscle locked. She had mentioned Katherine Waters. What would she have seen if she read Katherine’s necklace again? Would she have seen those eyes burning into her and his mouth curled into a snarl ready to tear his brother’s fiancée apart? Maybe that was why he tried to stop Alexander that afternoon in the Spiritualist society when he crashed through the door and made a scene. He couldn’t let a real medium get her hands on Katherine’s jewelry or he would be caught, and that was why he threatened her when she suggested trying again.

  Could it really be true? Her eyes burned as she set aside the letter and covered her face. Lord Rose and Miss Waters were always together when they came to Oxford for parties or dinners. They would dance, and when they weren’t, she was always at his side. At the Samhain ball, she was surprised to find—

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered with tears scalding her eyes and slipping down her cheeks as her body shook with silent sobs. How had she not realized it sooner? Henrietta Wren had been on his arm the night her mother was burned alive in their house. They weren’t just Spiritualists, they were the women he was courting, but what reason was there to kill Miss Wren or Miss Waters besides that they had hung at his arm? It didn’t matter why. He hadn’t made it to the meeting with the queen, and Immanuel was right. If Lord Rose killed Katherine and Henrietta, did that mean he was the one who gave Immanuel his deformity?

  Those days in captivity had been ticked away by the ritual of Immanuel’s screams of pain at their invisible captor’s hand. All along it had been him. She had been locked away where he could keep an eye on her but where she could never identify him. Her lungs convulsed against her ribs as she let out a ragged cry. He killed her mother. The vision from the crown flashed before her eyes. Lord Rose in his red devil costume had carried her away as her mother and home burned. He had manipulated her the entire time. He had been there at the Thames. He had been there on Samhain. He had witnessed every death and dealt it without a qualm. Emmeline’s lips and face twitched as each breath came quicker and harder than the last until she let out a wail and swept her arm across the tabletop, sending everything off with it.

  “Emmeline, are you all right?” her aunt called through the door.

  She pawed at her eyes and steadied her breathing. “Yes, Aunt Eliza. I thought I saw a spider. Everything is fine.”

  In the stillness, she listened to Eliza Hawthorne’s footsteps taper away until she descended the steps. Turning her gaze to the mirror, Emmeline’s eyes widened in horror. Her hair stood out from her face in wild tangles of inky black while her eyes sharpened with rage, losing their owl-like innocence with the monstrous tinge of red. This creature standing in her undergarments throwing a fit was not her. In a matter of moments, he had reduced her to the same inhuman state she found Immanuel in, and he never had to lift a finger. Lord Rose was a force of destruction she wasn’t prepared for.

  Quietly padding across the floor, she retrieved the letter and envelope which had scattered when she lost control. But how was she to respond? If she didn’t say anything or rejected his offer, he would surely know something was wrong, and being discovered could only end badly for her. How could she be around him knowing he killed her mother? Emmeline squeezed her eyes against the pain, but when she opened them, they fell upon the monogram of his seal. The serpent had seduced her into believing he would get her what she needed: power, position, a husband. At what cost had she nearly given herself utterly to him? Holding her arms, she sat on the edge of her bed and hid the letter in the bottom drawer of her nightstand.

  Immanuel would know what to do. He knew about Lord Rose before she had any inkling of his other side and he knew how their lives were intertwined. A part of her wanted to tear Lord Rose apart, but that course of action would get her nowhere. Surely, Immanuel would know what she could do to avenge her mother and take down the man who destroyed her life. Pulling on a rumbled nightgown and dressing gown from her traveling bag, she crept into the hallway and softly rapped on Immanuel’s door. After a few seconds, the door squealed open, and Immanuel Winter stood before her with a new top hat and a brush in his hands. His blue and brown eyes widened upon seeing her.

  “What happened?” he gasped as he put his Christmas present aside and stooped down to look at her face. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” She drew in a tremulous breath and shut her eyes again when the words refused to budge. Opening her mouth, only a sob came out before she cried, “He killed my mother.”

  Emmeline covered her face as soft, mewling cries broke from her lips but were muffled by her hands. Her body shook against her will. It wasn’t right for her to be blubbering in front of him, yet it was beyond her control. A gentle hand settled on her back and drew her closer until her damp forehead rested against the fabric of his waistcoat. In Immanuel’s loose grasp, she stiffened at the intimacy of the gesture, but there was no guile or ulterior motive when his hands moved up and down her back in an attempt to sooth her. He quietly shushed her and allowed her to cry into his chest.

  “I am so sorry, Miss Jardine. I never meant to drag you and your family into anything like this.”

  Nodding, she steadied her breath and stepped out of his arms. “We need to do something. We cannot let him get away with this. Maybe Uncle James and Aunt Eliza will help us.”

  “He already knows.”

  “And he isn’t doing anything?”

  Immanuel put his finger over his lips to silence her as a door below opened and shut. “He does not think we will be believed since we have no real proof.”

  “I refuse to let him get away with it. He killed my mother, he killed Katherine and Henrietta, and he nearly killed you, too,” she blurted in a harsh whisper as she wiped at her eyes.

  “There is nothing we can do tonight, but I have been thinking about how we can go about proving our case. Tomorrow, I am going to Adam Fenice’s house to ask him for his help. Would you like to accompany me?”

  “Who would be my chaperone? I can’t just be in the company of two young men alone.”

  “His sister will be home, so she could act as your chaperone instead of Mrs. Hawthorne. That way we can speak freely. I will send a letter right now to Adam and see if we can arrange for Miss Fenice to walk with us to Baker Street.”

  As
Immanuel turned to enter his room, Emmeline caught his sleeve. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome, Miss Jardine.” He smiled weakly. “I would hope you would do the same for me.”

  Chapter Thirty-One:

  A Woman’s Finesse

  It seemed like such a good idea the night before. Emmeline steadied her breath and straightened her back as she waited on the steps of Lord Rose's Mayfair home beside her aunt. Be brave. Heroines must always be brave, she repeated to herself. Was Cleopatra afraid when she plotted against Octavian? Did Portia cower when she testified against her father? No, they did what they had to no matter the danger. Lord Rose couldn't know what they were up to, and it was her job to remain charming and affable.

  Before she left, Immanuel had reminded her that as long as she was with Eliza, she was safe. He was too busy keeping up appearances to strike in front of someone. After what she realized only days before, she couldn't be sure of that. If she let on that she knew what he did, they would all pay dearly for her misstep. Emmeline tightened her grip on Eliza’s arm. While she and Immanuel shared the ability to return from the dead, her aunt did not.

  Sitting around the Fenice's kitchen table with bottomless pots of tea, they drew out the first phase of their plan. Nothing could be done until they had evidence of Lord Rose's involvement, and while she was inside, she hoped to sneak away. Originally, Mr. Fenice and Immanuel had intended to somehow break into the house, but even before seeing the sheer Grecian façade, she knew it was stupid idea. Immanuel was barely able to stand, let alone climb, and Mr. Fenice would have surely not gone unnoticed with his distinctive hair. No, this part of the plan needed a woman's finesse, but how she would slip away was still a mystery, even to her.

  She glanced down the street. Somewhere in the city, Immanuel and Mr. Fenice were breaking into the house that had been their prison. Miss Fenice’s fiancée had made a list of the Marquess of Montagu’s properties from his late-father’s records. There was only one within walking distance of Wimpole Street, and with Lord Rose occupied with their meeting, they only had to worry about the neighbors alerting the police. Emmeline recited a silent prayer to her mother and hoped she would keep them all safe.