The hairs at the back of my neck prickled, and I narrowed my eyes, looking more closely at the rack. It took me only a moment to ascertain that it was fake: the items were fixed in place like the piece of a stage set. Curious. My pulse kicked up a bit as I examined the situation more closely, once again wishing I had thought to bring my Flip-Beam Illuminator—the small, hand-held light that required only a few cranks to work.
At last I confirmed the suspicion that had first led me into the closet: there was a cleverly concealed door in the back wall, camouflaged by the faux display rack. And when I finally discovered the mechanism—it was a relatively simple latch that utilized an empty box labeled “gemstones and feathers, misc.”—the entire rack slid to the side, revealing an opening. I could see a white brick wall across from me, and little else. But there was a glow to the right that led me to believe there was a corridor or passage angling off into…somewhere. At least it didn’t appear to be too dark and gloomy.
I didn’t care for dark and gloomy places. Especially if they were underground. I shivered.
“Mina?”
Drat and blast. Miss Stoker would have to come along at the very moment things were getting interesting. She’d want to go barging into the space without any plans or preparations. And she’d probably leave me behind like she did on the night we descended to the old Thames Tunnel through the old Wapping station.
“Mina, where are you? I want to show you this divine ensemble.”
In an effort to keep her from announcing (accidentally or purposely; one could never tell with Evaline) what I’d discovered, and that I’d been snooping, I hurriedly backed out of the closet.
“There you are,” she said, looking confused. “Lady Thistle said you’d gone behind the red velvet curtain, and—”
“I was—er—looking for the necessary,” I said, then took her by the arm and urged her back out to the front of the shop. I needed to think about how to proceed.
“How did that skirt fit you, Miss Holmes?” said Lady Thistle, adjusting the device at her ear as she perched once again on her blue velvet stool. “Did you find the other changing room?”
“Yes, I did, thank you. I—”
“Your mother, she always preferred to use the one back there, she did. Couldn’t understand why, but she claimed she liked to be out of the way and didn’t want anyone to walk in on her. Sometimes, she’d be back there trying on clothing for hours. Happened a few times I thought she was still here when it was time to close up, but she’d slipped out when I wasn’t looking. But then, my ears aren’t so good.”
I was so stunned by her words and their implications that I was struck dumb, and it was Evaline’s turn to maneuver me back out to the mechanical displays and the clothing she’d been mooning over.
“I don’t think you should be making any sort of major purchase,” I hissed when she practically ran me into one of the hat racks. “Considering your brother’s financial situation.”
Miss Stoker stopped dead and gave me a most affronted look, then all of the enthusiasm drained from her expression. I felt a moment of guilt for bringing her so abruptly back to the reality of her situation, but I ignored it. I wanted to leave Lady Thistle’s as quickly as possible so I could determine what to do next.
“That was quite rude,” Evaline snapped at me as soon as the shop door closed behind us. “Even for you, Mina.”
“Rude? I wasn’t rude—I’m not rude.” It took me a moment to gather my thoughts. “I was just being efficient. And realistic. If your family is about to be thrown out on the street, it’s an impetuous and irresponsible action to buy expensive clothing. Besides,” I continued firmly, “I really only wanted to get you out of there so I could tell you about something I discovered.”
Miss Stoker, who’d been marching along slightly ahead of me in an effort to demonstrate her irritation, came to a sudden halt. “So you were snooping back there. I had a feeling. What were you looking for?” Her eyes gleamed, and I shook my head mentally.
That was typical Evaline: quicksilver as mercury and easily distracted by anything shiny and new—especially if it was dangerous or unsuitable for a young woman. Not that I could blame her about being attracted to the dangerous and unsuitable. I had more than once thanked Miss Adler for giving me the opportunity to do more than read and knit and conduct experiments in my laboratory.
“I wasn’t looking for anything. But I found a secret door.”
To my surprise, my companion hardly blinked. “A secret door? Oh, pish. It probably leads to the alley behind the shop. I thought you’d found a drawer of corsets that hadn’t been unboxed yet. I really liked that lemon-yellow one, and the boning was very flexible. I might even be able to wear it when I’m hunting the Un—” Suddenly she stopped walking and talking, then her eyes goggled.
“How the blooming Pete did you know about Bram’s financial problems? I didn’t tell you anything about it, and especially nothing about us getting thrown out on the street. We aren’t about to get thrown out on the street…at least, not yet, anyway.” Her strident voice eased a bit and I saw the worry creep back into her eyes. “How did you know?”
I merely tilted my head and shrugged. The evidence had been obvious—I’d seen it all when I arrived at Grantworth House this morning. “I’m a Holmes, Miss Stoker. It’s all about observation and deductive reasoning. I—”
“Never mind,” she said wearily. “I shouldn’t have bothered to ask.” Then all at once, she straightened up and her expression brightened once more. (Quicksilver, I said.) “Now tell me more about the secret door.”
“Right.” My original intention this morning had been to tell her what had transpired with the insistent crow—but both times I’d attempted to do so, we’d been distracted. First by the fact that her family was in dire financial straits (and it was clearly bothering her), and second when she went off on that ridiculous tangent about Inspector Grayling.
But now was my opportunity, and so I launched into a description of how I’d come to obtain the tiny pendant, and about the symbol that was on both the charm and the closet door that hid the secret entrance.
“Carnelian is a rock, isn’t it?” she asked as I concluded my explanation.
“Yes, Miss Stoker. Carnelian is a fairly common gemstone from the quartz, or chalcedony, family. Its color ranges from brilliant orange to brownish-red, and everywhere in between. There are pink carnelians as well. The stone is translucent, so light can pass through, and it’s usually either polished into a smooth cabochon setting, or is carved into an image. I believe Miss Adler recently discovered a cameo made of carnelian in one of the boxes of antiquities she’s been cataloguing for the Museum. An interesting characteristic of carnelian is that wax doesn’t adhere to it, so it was often used as a seal to close letters in Roman times.” I managed to finish speaking before Miss Stoker’s eyes glazed over with boredom.
“Right then. But how do you know the pendant isn’t a—a ruby crow? Or a garnet crow?”
“Because Grayling recognized the charm. He gave me very little information, but what I was able to glean is that The Carnelian Crow is some sort of establishment that proper young ladies should avoid.” I couldn’t hold back a grin as Evaline’s mouth curved into a smile.
“And, of course, as soon as you locate the place, you’ll be going there.”
I smiled. “Precisely.”
“Grayling’s not going to like that,” Evaline said in that annoying, lilting voice she’d adopted earlier when the topic of the Scotland Yard investigator had arisen.
I sniffed. “Inspector Grayling has absolutely no say in regards to any of my actions.”
Evaline merely smiled at me.
“We’ll need to pay another visit to Lady Thistle’s as soon as possible, once I’ve made certain preparations that will allow us to disappear in the back of the shop long enough to investigate.”
My companion was still grinning. “I’d like to be there when Grayling learns you’ve discovered the locati
on of The Carnelian Crow before he does.”
I sniffed. I couldn’t care less what Ambrose Grayling thought.
Miss Stoker
~ A Puzzle of Three-by-Three ~
Later that night, Mina and I made our way to Fenman’s End.
I was amused and annoyed by the fact that Mina was walking so close that she kept bumping into me. And it wasn’t just her that did so. It was also the ungainly satchel she insisted on bringing. With all of her “accoutrements”—as she called them.
It wasn’t as if we’d never been in more dangerous places or situations than Whitechapel. But there was no chance of us passing through Seven Dials unnoticed. Mina had armed herself with several different weapons and tools, and they clinked and clunked inside the canvas bag with every step.
When we arrived at the dismal entrance to Fenman’s End, I was even more amused by her expression. She was afraid of dark, underground places, but she seemed even less interested in stepping inside the shabby, dirty, and loud pub.
“The place is filthy,” she muttered into my ear as we walked inside. “Don’t touch anything—or anyone—and certainly don’t eat or drink anything.”
“We each have to drink an ale or they’ll make us arm-wrestle with one of the regulars—barehanded; gloves aren’t allowed—in order to stay,” I said. Just to see her eyes pop wide with horror.
I wasn’t sure whether it was because she didn’t want to drink anything, or touch any of the patrons’ hands.
“You’re not the least bit amusing, Evaline Stoker,” she said when she realized I was teasing her, and she marched past me toward the bar counter in a pair of spindly heeled copper-heel and -toed boots that were terribly impractical for Whitechapel. But I coveted them anyway.
“Oo’s this?” Bilbo demanded when I slid onto a stool. Mina took one look at the chair next to mine, the grimy, sticky counter, and the barkeep as he shot a stream of tobacco onto the floor, and swayed as if she’d gone lightheaded.
I, on the other hand, ignored his question and posed one of my own. “Have you seen him?”
“I tol’ ye, I ain’t seen ’im. And you owe me from last night. You never paid. Two farthings.” He stabbed at the counter, and I swear it sounded like he was breaking a sticky seal when he pulled his fingertip off. Then he swiped that same hand over his nose, and when it came away, there was something shiny and glistening on his hand. It looked like a pale gray garden slug.
Mina was looking even more green. Though I was tempted to linger so I could watch her squirm, I decided to get to business. After all, I was expecting her help; I didn’t need her fleeing in horror or puking her guts out.
I looked toward the hidden door to Pix’s lair, which was set into a wall near the bar counter. If you didn’t know exactly where to look, you’d never see it.
As I dug out the coins for Bilbo, I gave a little nod in that direction. “I’m going back there.” I set a sixpence on the counter—far more than the two farthings I owed—and held his eyes. He gave a bare nod and the coin disappeared.
“Come on.” I didn’t need to ask Mina twice; she and her blasted satchel were right on my heels again.
I’d been to Pix’s underground lair twice. The hidden door, which was obscured from the rest of the pub behind a structural beam, opened to a set of stairs that led down into darkness. The previous time I’d entered from this direction, when I’d been with Pix, there had been lamps lighting the way. But not now. I sighed as Mina bumped into me from behind and curled her fingers into my arm.
It was slow going through the dark and down the stairs. She stepped on my heel twice. And once her satchel swung forward and clocked me in the hip with a clatter.
At the bottom, I took her by the arm not carrying the bag and felt my way along a rough-walled corridor. There was a dim glow where the passage ended at a door, lit by a single electric light bulb. Its illumination was weak, but enough for Mina to shake free of my hold and walk without breathing down my neck.
But here was where we came to a dead end. The door was locked by a grid of mechanized dials that only Pix would know how to open. I stared at it for a moment—it looked much different than the last time I’d been here.
Someone had been busy.
“Move,” Mina said, shoving me aside. She had a slender bronze gadget in her hand about the length of a pencil. With three gritty-sounding twists, she cranked enough energy for the device to shoot out a pale gold light.
I wasn’t much of a cognoggin, but I certainly appreciated that tool.
“Hmm. Looks like a combination,” Mina said as she surveyed the rows of three by three brass dials with numbers on them. “Each dial has to be turned to the correct position in order for it to open. Get the right settings for each row, and its bolt will unlock. There are three rows, and three bolts to a row. I don’t suppose you know the combination.”
She wasn’t even asking. She already knew I didn’t.
I wanted more than anything to prove her wrong…but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the slightest idea what nine numbers would open the door.
“There is another entrance. From the outside.” Not that I was certain I could find it—it was well hidden, of course, and I didn’t know the streets and alleys of London like Mina did.
Blast and drat.
“Hush.” Mina was examining the dials with the help of her illuminator and a hand-held magnifyer that looked positively medieval compared to the one in her lab that strapped over her head. She made a sound of satisfaction and, placing her ear against the door, turned one of the knobs. It made a soft clicking sound that stopped abruptly as it seemed to settle into place. “Right, then,” she muttered to herself.
I waited impatiently as she worked on the second knob in the first row. This was going to take forever. I couldn’t see what she was doing, or the numbers she was turning to. I had no way to assist.
Mina turned the second knob a few clicks, listening carefully, and seemed to be satisfied with its position. She paused for a moment, staring at the problem. Then her eyes widened. “Hmm. I wonder…”
She turned the third one on the top row rather quickly into position, without even putting her ear to it. “Well, then,” she muttered when it clicked into place, and then a dull clunk indicated that a bolt had shot open. “Oh, that is quite fascinating.” She glanced at me with an odd smile. “One down…two to go.”
Before starting on the second row, she stepped back and looked at the grid of dials. I could almost hear the cogs of her mind clicking along fluidly.
Mina nodded, then turned to examining the first dial of the second row with her magnifyer and illuminator.
Then, all at once, she smiled broadly and looked at me with that same funny expression. “Got it.” She turned the first dial of the second row, made a satisfied sound, then turned the other two.
But there was no clunk.
“Drat,” she muttered. “And I thought— No, wait. Of course. It was after midnight, so it was the following day. One must appreciate a man who pays attention to detail.” She changed the middle dial one tick, and then we heard the telltale clunk. “Elementary,” she said under her breath.
“Now for the third,” she muttered, folding her arms over her middle. “Hmm.”
It was only a moment before her eyes narrowed and she turned to me. “When is your birthday, Evaline?”
I jolted. “The nineteenth of February.”
“Is that so,” she muttered, and I watched as she quickly turned the dials. Click, click, click…clunk.
I saw the door ease in its frame as its final lock was released. “You did it!”
Mina gave me an offended look. “Of course I did. It was really quite simple, Evaline, when—”
I didn’t want to listen to her tell me how brilliant she was. I wanted to see what had happened to Pix. I pushed past her and stepped over the threshold. As there weren’t any vampires about, I pulled out my knife and held it at the ready as I scanned the dark chamber.
E
verything was quiet and still, and I didn’t sense any other living creature but Mina, who was once again breathing down the back of my neck. I could only make out a few shapes, thanks to the drassy light in the hall.
It took me a minute to find the button for the lights. An array of electric bulbs came on with a pop and a soft sizzle, and I looked around the chamber. Though it was underground and part of a cave, one would never know it. The walls were smooth: paneled and painted, like a parlor room. The furnishings were comfortable and, I knew from experience, well made. Two sofas were arranged in a cluster with a low table between them. A desk and some shelves sat in a corner. Silk tapestries covered two of the walls, and fine rugs from India took the chill away from the stone floor. Pix had created a small dining area tucked off to one side. A massive fireplace yawned across one entire wall, and was filled with old ashes. Two tall-backed chairs in dark red upholstery were arranged in front of it.
I noticed a divider, like a large dressing screen, that cordoned off a corner of the chamber and suspected that might be where he slept—and perhaps even led to a water closet. Pix didn’t seem the sort to deny himself the comfort of indoor plumbing.
But, despite its luxurious furnishings, the place looked and felt deserted.
I admit, I’d been more than a little terrified I’d find a dead or gravely injured Pix somewhere in the place. But I didn’t smell anything like death. My tension eased a little.
Mina pushed past me and tsked when she saw the number of illegal electric lights brightening the room. “I should have known,” she muttered, and began to wander around.
I took the opportunity to look behind the dressing screen and felt a strange clutch in my heart. The bed was solid and quite large. It had a thick poster at each corner. The coverings were made neatly, the enormous, heavy quilt and trio of pillows smooth and untouched. For a moment, I imagined what Pix would look like sprawled on the bedding: eyes closed, limbs akimbo, dark hair mussed. His body would be relaxed and at ease.
The Carnelian Crow: A Stoker & Holmes Book (Stoker and Holmes 4) Page 5
