Wylie stood to her feet, aware of what he was asking, aware what it would mean for her foolish, emotion-driven heart, and stepped toward him.
“Damn you, Adrian.”
He placed his gloved hands on her waist and pulled her close. Wylie was very aware that because she was not wearing a corset, nor was he hindered by layers of vests and proper attire, the act of the embrace became something quite intimate. Never before had she been touched by a man, and she was positive if he were not holding her, that she would simply float away.
She dared to lay her head upon his chest, her hands following suit, and they stood together that way for some time. Neither moved nor dared speak for fear of destroying the moment. It would never happen again, she was sure of it. After today, after this brief moment in time … Lord Adrian would marry her former best friend, and she would only be the poor stable girl and a vague memory.
Time stood still for them, and as their legs grew tired of standing, they finally stepped away from each other. Lord Adrian took her hand in his and placed the softest of kisses upon her fingertips.
“My beloved,” he whispered the words tenderly. She knew it was his goodbye. From that moment on, they were once more employer and stable hand. It had to be that way because that’s what was right. His eyes reddened, and he turned abruptly and exited her humble abode. The door remained part way open, but she didn’t move for what felt like forever, not until the sound of Chaos’ hoof beats faded in the distance.
“Goodbye, my beloved Adrian.” They’d had a brief twinkling, like when a star shone its brightest before it burned out. It was more than she dared hope for, to find out he felt the same way. It was something she would treasure forever. If she never found love again, at least she had tasted it for one ephemeral moment.
Wylie felt a renewed impulse to help the people of Lugwallow fight for what was theirs. If the Vicar had not shared what was to happen in the future, she could at least do them that service. It was most urgent that the people know what was in store them.
Chapter Six
Wylie pulled her corset over her chemise and laced it up good and tight. Unsure how much time had been lost by Lord Adrian’s visit, she hoped to visit most of the residents of Lugwallow before rushing to Dobbinsturn to attend to her stable chores. The mysterious pocket watch device would have to wait ‘til another day.
Once Wylie had donned her dress, she grabbed her only other pair of boots. Trimmed with leather and usually only brought out if she was attending church, these boots were beginning to show their age as well. She looked longingly at her comfortable, but manure-stained Wellingtons and wished this were such an occasion that would allow for her to wear them.
This is no time to get weak, Wylie. She checked herself in the mirror. It was a rare thing for Wylie to wear a dress, and she knew even her neighbors would be taken aback. Perhaps the extra attention to her appearance would alert them to the importance of the situation, and they would take her more seriously.
Wylie looked longingly at her goggles, knowing they wouldn’t fit over her up-style hairdo and that she would have no need for them today. She would not leave her house without her satchel, however, and that she secured around her waist, placing her father’s odd device inside. She knew just where to start in Lugwallow; surely the nosy widow Turpin had seen Lord Adrian leave well beyond the time that was proper for an unwed lady in the poorest parish in London. Wylie decided it was best to squelch the rumors sure to come from the woman’s mouth, should she happen to speak to anyone besides her aging son who lived with her. She shut the door to her house and walked the short distance to the Turpin home.
Knocking roughly, Wylie noticed all the grooves and knots in the battered old door. The brass had long ago become discolored and was in desperate need of replacement, and the hinges had been redone a time or two already, but it was obvious they were in need of repair as well. The door creaked open, and the large woman behind it warily poked her head out.
“Afternoon dearie, what brings you to call?”
“Mrs. Turpin, I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”
“Oh! Is that why that dashing young man spent time in your home unattended this day?”
“No, Mrs. Turpin, that was my employer, and I am afraid he has very little to do with what I need to tell you.” The look on the widow Turpin’s face was one of such disappointment that Wylie almost giggled, but managed to stifle her laughter.
“Mrs. Turpin, I have recently been informed that Lord Jameston of Dobbinsturn Parish has joined with two other investors to buy Lugwallow from the Vicar and force us all out on the streets. I don’t know when he is coming, but we must warn everyone. We must give our neighbors and friends a chance to get out while they can still salvage their belongings.” The widow stared at her in disbelief. “Either that or we must find a way to stop him.”
The widow Turpin let out an audible gasp, so loud and edged with dramatics that Wylie was sure she would simply fall over from a heart attack.
“Wylie my dear, I have been here a great many years, and I can assure you if anyone takes my home from me it will be over my dead body.” The woman’s large frame supported a heavy bosom which heaved up and down alarmingly the angrier she became.
“Then, Mrs. Turpin, surely there is something we can do to prevent such an attack on our livelihood.” Wylie responded.
“This house as with many of the homes here were purchased many years ago by Thomas Wilfred Fleming’s father. I remember it well. I was a child when my parents moved here though we had lost some of our family to the black plague. Thomas’s father was invigorating to listen to, he gave us hope of a better life.” Mrs. Turpin paused to wipe away a year. “When he first purchased this parish and built the new church it was a very exciting time. Dobbinsturn was a bustling city of enchantment with much to offer those who could afford it, but Lugwallow was supposed to be that for us, small as it is, it was a parish of dreams for the poor.” She paused again, her expression one of deep reminiscence.
“I don’t even know how it got to be the blight that it is, I suppose Thomas had planned to keep it up, but at his age, he can’t afford the repairs. Time and elements are harsh. I always assumed when he passed that his son would do right by him and fix it up. However, if he is looking to sell, then I supposed that is not to be.” Nettie Turpin walked over to the window, and stared out onto the street, her head lifting to take in the skies.
“When I was a child, it was a wonderful time to live here. The airships had not yet taken over the skies, and the streets were not so crowded. I often played outside as a child and once had the great honor of meeting the Queen as she passed through, though I doubt if I was more than four or five years of age at the time.”
“As the youngest of six children, you can imagine my mother and father barely had two shillings to rub together when we moved here, but we were happy. My father obtained work, and things got better for us after that until my brother caught the consumption. The little we had saved went to trying to save him.”
“He died shortly after that, and my mother soon followed suit. Then it was just the five of us children. My father left this house to my youngest brother, and when he left home years ago to seek his fortune, he, in turn, left it to my eldest sister. When she married and moved in with her husband, she had no further use for it. We have all lost touch over the years, but this house is all I have left of my family.” By the time she had finished her story, a stream of steady tears had rolled over her wrinkled, well-rounded face. She didn’t speak for a long time, and the lump in the back of Wylie’s throat threatened to let loose a dam of tears that Wylie had been clinging to.
“You know what, my dear? I’ll be goldarned if some wealthy crook is going to take this away from me!” Wylie’s face erupted in a smile, the widow had responded better than she had hoped.
“Then surely, Ms. Turpin, we can band together and give the Vicar enough money that he doesn’t just give up our h
omes to someone who would wish us harm. I mean, surely the law will not allow for a man, even a man with money, to take away what is not rightfully his? Surely the Vicar will see that the sale of our homes will put us all out on the streets with nowhere to go?”
Nettie Turpin nodded her head. “More than that, my dear, we are all descendants, brothers, and sisters of the original tenants. Rightfully, Lugwallow belongs to us, crumbling structures and all, we should have some say in the sale!” she huffed, placing her hands on her wide hips.
“Will you speak to the people, Nettie? I am afraid I haven’t as much pull around here as you.” Wylie was formulating a plan but needed to escape to Dobbinsturn to put it into action.
“You bet your arse I will.” In an uncharacteristic move, Wylie stepped forward and hugged the widow. She nodded to the widow’s middle-aged son, who hadn’t spoken a word from the moment she had entered the house.
“Thank you, Nettie. I have an idea, but I’ll need to go over to Dobbinsturn Parish today. I shall return as soon as I can. Hopefully, we still have a little time before they take action.”
“Yes, m’dear. We must not lose hope yet. Go! Do what you must, I’ll talk to the people.” With that, Nettie was rushing her out the door. Internally Wylie rejoiced that the widow would be taking over the news sharing responsibilities. She had been living a somewhat solitary lifestyle, even more so now that her father was gone. She enjoyed tending Lord Adrian’s horses, but her enjoyment of the animals may not have been entirely altruistic, as she now knew without a doubt that it was her adoration of Lord Adrian that made her workdays so enjoyable.
She rushed back home to change out of the dress which left her feeling a bit exposed, and uncomfortable. Thank God, I didn’t have to go around town in this thing. It may have been looked down upon for a woman to wear trousers, but she was no society woman and she would do as she damn well pleased. After changing and pulling on the comfort of her manure-covered Wellingtons, she was on her way to Dobbinsturn moving as quickly as possible.
If only she had thought to ask Adrian to recommend a trustworthy clockmaker. Too late for that, Wylie. She would just have to take her chances on the streets of Dobbinsturn and hope Lady Luck was on her side.
Chapter Seven
Wylie was well aware of the stares that followed her as she hurried along. She kept her eyes focused downward to avoid making eye-contact with anyone. She purposely crossed to the other side of the street to keep from passing Dobbinsturn’s well-known brothel, The Tainted Lady. No clever disguise in the name, no trying to hide what went on behind its mahogany doors. The sound of raucous laughter from within the building crawled up Wylie’s spine like a parasite. It seemed to whisper to her subconscious: this is where you’ll end up if you don’t stop Lord Jameston.
Wylie quickened her steps, her eyes darting this way and that in the hopes of finding a clockmaker. She had passed one on her way in, but aware that she was still in the parish of Lugwallow, decided against taking any chances. Then, just up ahead, the sun glinted off a sign.
The Handy Ticker.
Well, that seems promising enough. She had to cross the street again, but since she was well past the brothel, she took a deep breath and hurried to the door. A rusting faux-gold handle allowed the door to click open under pressure from her fingers. She stepped inside and gasped. Such an array of clocks and watches and clock faces. The sounds of simultaneous ticking was overwhelming as she entered the tiny but well-kept store.
“Hello?” she inquired pleasantly. Though she didn’t see anyone immediately, her eyes fell on a case of polished, second-hand pocket watches. She stepped closer to them, admiring the lovely images of fairies, trains, and other themes that adorned the cases. None of them looked like the item she carried in her utility belt pocket.
“May I help you, miss?” An elderly gentleman emerged from a narrow doorway, wiping oil from his fingers with a tattered brown rag. He gave her a stern up and down look before coming from behind the counter to face her.
“Yes, um...” Worried that the gentleman would assume she had stolen the rare item, she glanced down at the case. “I was looking for a special pocket watch.” The word ‘special’ caused his eyebrows to arch.
“Don’t think we carry anything particularly ‘special’ here, miss.
“Sir, you misunderstand. My father … He had a special watch … perhaps an heirloom, I’m not sure.”
“Did you break it, lass? I can certainly try to fix it, it would be cheaper than replacing it.” She felt her heart racing faster, fear welling in the back of her throat. If he thought she was a thief or if he tried to take it from her, there was nothing she could do.
“Well no, not exactly. I have it. I just wanted to know more about it, what it might be worth. My father passed recently, and it's all I have left that was his.” The shopkeeper studied her face, his elderly wrinkled face crinkling at the corners of his mouth as he smiled at her.
“Well, let’s see what we can find out, lass. I’m not going to take it from you if that’s what ‘yer ‘fraid of. I’ve more than my share of clocks and pocket watches… more than I know what ta’ do with.” Still, she hesitated to reach into her utility pocket. “Miss, if ya need help, I may be one of the few around here you can trust.” He stood only a couple of inches under her five foot five. He looked harmless enough, and she reckoned she would be able to deal with him if he tried anything.
Moving slowly, Wylie unlatched the flap on the pouch at her hip and pulled out the pocket watch. She hadn’t taken the time to study it in the daylight, and now she saw that she was right to be worried about it being taken from her. Such exquisite details on the bronze dragon that adorned the front, it nearly took her breath away. So shocked was she by its ethereal beauty that she dropped it, and it hit the floor with a resounding thud. Afraid she had broken it, she hurriedly picked it up and was relieved to see it was still in one piece. The heavy bronze metal case seemed sturdy enough to withstand rough treatment.
The dragon’s eyes on the face were made of impeccably cut rubies. Tiny green emeralds adorned the tips of the wings, and traces of gold outlined every groove. It was the most glorious item she had ever held in her hands, and she clung to it fiercely, afraid to place it on the counter; afraid the shop keeper would see its value and take it from her.
“Well, let’s have a look, shall we?”
She stood paralyzed, unable to move or speak.
“Well?”
She glanced toward the door, wondering if it would be best for her to run out of the shop right then and there.
“You’re a bit skittish, aren’t you lass?” It was now or never, she didn’t even think, as she thrust the exquisite item onto the counter. She kept her eyes on the pocket watch hardly daring to blink, half expecting the watchmaker to scarper at any moment.
“Hmmm,” he said, “Interesting ... lovely ... oh my ... Simply delightful!” He continued, praising the thing, as he studied it through various lenses attached to his goggles. “Well, miss, I can see why you were skittish, but I assure you have nothing to fear from me. However, I would not leave this shop without hiding this securely.” She nodded her head up and down. He went back to examining it, finally popping it open. His eyes opened wide in surprise when the wings unfolded. He stared in fascination, just as she had, at the moon and star face that took the place of a normal timepiece. She watched as he fiddled with the small brass knob at the top.
The wonderment that shone from his eyes was like a child playing with a new toy for the first time. She heard the gentle whirring as the small gear lifted mechanically from the wings.
“Curious.” The flat gear had taken its place over particular points of the dragon that was contained inside the moon face. He gently closed the device and handed it back to her. “Well, my dear. That is certainly no pocket watch.”
“Then you know what it is?”
He shook his head at her question. “I’m afraid I don’
t, lass. Listen to me, you were right to want to know its worth, but I would discourage you from trying to sell it. It's very rare I see such workmanship anymore. It seems a waste to trade for something as temporary as money. You say it was your father’s?”
She nodded.
“Don’t give it up …” He paused, an unspoken question hanging in the air.
“Uh … Wylie sir, my name is Wylie Petford. My father was Nicholas Petford.” She stuck out her hand. His face crinkled as he took her hand in his, lips turned up in a friendly smile. She hadn’t known her grandfather, but she decided that he would have been much like this man. Kindness and hard work etched into his face.
“Name is Piercy. Piercy Webster. Clockmaker, gadget-lover, and trustworthy as they come.”
She smiled back at him, glad that she had made the right choice to show him the item.
“Well, Mr. Webster, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve yet to decide if I will sell it or not. Please, can you tell me what it might be worth?”
“Fraid I can’t, lass. Seeing as how I don’t know what it is. If you ask me, it's still a pocket watch in some respects. I’d say, however, that it’s a watch for the stars. It leads up to something, I can see that. Though I don’t know what that something is, don’t know if ‘ya noticed, but all the dots on the gear mechanism lined up perfectly with the dragon inside the glass face.”
She nodded again. “I did notice that, what do you think it means?”
“Well, now that ... that I don’t know. Can’t even speculate about what it could be.”
“Well, what do you think I should do?”
“That’s a good question, give me a moment to think. Ah! I know just the man.”
“You do?” she responded.
The Dragon Lady (The Dracosinum Tales) Page 4
