Thankfully, the driver didn’t seem to notice Evaline’s wounds, and allowed us to climb aboard. Thus we did finally settle into seats inside the cab, and Evaline turned to me as soon as the vehicle lurched into motion.
“Explain,” she demanded rudely. “How do you know Pix was expecting me to come, and how do you know he’s alive?”
“To be clear, I am fairly certain he is still alive—and in hiding—but, of course, until we produce him, you cannot hold me to that particular guarantee. There’s always the chance that some unexpected mishap might have befallen him.” I saw her jaw move as she audibly ground her teeth, and I hastened to continue. “But he was alive when he left his quarters, and, by all appearances, he left willingly and under his own steam. I suspect he went into hiding because of some danger I cannot yet confirm, but would deduce it’s related to the incident with the Ankh when we found him in her underground lair.”
“And how did you know he expected me?”
I shook my head. Really, hadn’t she been paying attention at all? “The locks on the door, Evaline.”
Even in the drassy light fighting through the hack’s dirty windows, I could discern the blank expression in her eyes.
I sighed again. “There were three rows of locks. Each row had a dial that had to be set at a particular number. The first row of numbers was six-two-nine.”
It took her a moment to make the connection. “How coincidental. That’s the address of Grantworth House. Six-two-nine Claremont-circle.”
I nodded encouragingly.
But she still wasn’t fully comprehending, so it was necessary to prod her thought process.
“The third row was one-nine-two,” I prompted. When she didn’t respond, I looked at her without bothering to hide my growing frustration. “Surely those numbers are familiar to you, as you just told them to me a short while ago.”
“Oh! Right. My birthday. The nineteenth of February…” At last the dawning of comprehension began to light her eyes. “I see. And what was the middle row?”
“Two-six-four.” I waited. Then, “It’s another date, Evaline.”
“The twenty-sixth of April?”
“Right.” When further recognition didn’t seem forthcoming, I was required to coax her along. “What day did you first meet Mr. Pix?”
“Well…it would have been the day Miss Adler first sent the message to meet her at the British Museum. The—er—what was it? Oh, yes. The twenty-fifth of April.”
I nodded. “That was my first thought as well, but realize that although the message from Miss Adler arrived on the twenty-fifth, we actually met with her at midnight—which would make it the twenty-sixth. And you had your first encounter with Mr. Pix after we met with Miss Adler and discovered Mayellen Hodgeworth’s body in the museum.”
“Of course!” Miss Stoker seemed as pleased with herself as if she’d come to the conclusion all on her own. “So the entire lock combination was made up of numbers that were…that were…”
“That were familiar to you. He clearly chose those numbers so that you—or, more accurately, I—would be able to gain access to his underground lair.”
Evaline mulled over that for a moment. I waited patiently for her to catch up with my thought process. She was remarkably quick to do so. “If he wanted us to get inside, then there must have been a reason.”
“Precisely.” I had been waiting for this moment since I realized how simple and yet cunning were the combinations to his door. Mr. Pix was growing—ever so slightly—in my esteem. I still knew him to be a delinquent and corrupt criminal, but he was also proving to be rather intelligent and resourceful. “And I believe this is what he meant for us to find.” I held out my hand to show her the tiny object.
She peered at it. “What is it?”
“This little pendant, my dear Miss Stoker, is the aforementioned sign of The Carnelian Crow.”
Miss Stoker
~ A Convoluted Explanation That Includes a History of the Fiction of the UnDead ~
“What does that mean?” I asked. “That he left it for us to find? How do you know he meant for us to find that little charm, anyway? Was there a blooming note with it?”
Mina’s voice became a little frosty. “I don’t need a note to know he wanted us to find it, Evaline. Besides, if he left a note, someone else might have discovered it, and—”
“Then how can you be certain?” For all I knew, Pix could have been hiding the tiny carnelian crow from everyone—including us.
“Because the charm was hidden inside Frankenstein.”
“The book?”
“Yes, of course. Isn’t it obvious it was a message for us?”
I blinked. Then shook my head sharply. I was hoping to dislodge whatever was keeping me from seeing the “obvious.”
Mina sighed gustily. “Very well, then. I suppose I shall have to explain. But it really is very obvious, Evaline. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley, of course, is about a monster created by Dr. Frankenstein when he tries to animate a human—and it gets out of hand. That information alone might draw one’s attention to the book—given the activities of our nemesis the Ankh and what she has been doing with her batteries. Surely Mr. Pix hasn’t forgotten that she tried to un-animate him, and is trying to control the UnDead using her own devices.
“But even more to the point, hiding the charm inside the book was a message for you in particular, Evaline.”
“Because…why?”
“Because of ‘The Vampyre,’ of course.”
I blinked again. I was really, really trying to follow her… “The vampire? What does Frankenstein have to do with a vampire? Because they’re both monsters?” I asked.
Mina appeared ready to explode. “First of all, Frankenstein wasn’t a monster. He was the scientist trying to create the monster. It was Frankenstein’s monster. And ‘The Vampyre’ was a short story, written by John Polidori, who was…?” She left off, expecting me to fill in the blank.
I shrugged. “Just tell me, Mina. Please. Before I scream.”
She drew herself up as if insulted. “Very well. But you asked. ‘The Vampyre’ was the first piece of literature—published, anyway—that ever depicted a vampire realistically. That is, having the appearance of a normal person, but one who is immortal, drinks blood, and is sensitive to sunlight. The short story was written by John Polidori—who, by the way, died under mysterious circumstances…” She frowned. “Now that I think of it, I believe I read somewhere that your great-grandmother Victoria Gardella might have had some involvement in that event.”
I gave a frustrated scream inside the back of my throat without opening my mouth, and Mina huffed, but continued.
“John Polidori happened to be the personal physician of the poet Lord Byron. They were also friends with the other poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was married to…Mary Shelley. They very famously spent a summer together in Switzerland. It must have been around 1819 or so; I’ll have to check the date to be—”
“No need,” I muttered.
“That summer on Lake Geneva was particularly rainy and dreary, with a lot of storms. And it was Mary Shelley who suggested a contest: that they each try to write a horror story as a way to while away the time. Mary Shelley produced Frankenstein during that summer—or a draft of it—and Lord Byron began to write a story about a gentleman vampire.”
“I thought you said John Polidori wrote—”
“He did. Byron never finished the piece, but Polidori apparently found it very interesting and asked if he could take the idea and write his own story. Byron gave permission, and Polidori wrote what became known as ‘The Vampyre,’ and modeled its main UnDead character, Lord Ruthven, after Byron himself. So now, clearly, even you can see the connection, Evaline. Your Mr. Pix cut out a hole in a book that has a direct connection to your vocation as a vampire hunter. He hid the charm inside as a message to you and left the book where we would find it. On his desk—along with a book by Edgar Allan Poe. But I suppose you don’t see that connec
tion either.” She sighed as if greatly injured.
I ignored that last bit because Mina’s explanation did make sense. And Pix was very clever. I certainly wouldn’t have known about the connection of Frankenstein to vampires, but no one would be surprised that Mina did.
I sat up straight. “How in the world does a simple Cockney pickpocket know all about ‘The Vampyre’ and Frankenstein and their connections?”
Mina’s eyes widened, gleaming like marbles in the dim light. I’d actually taken her by surprise.
“That, my dear Miss Stoker, is a very good question. A very good question. Perhaps there is more to that reprobate than meets the eye.”
I’d been thinking that for months.
“Right, then,” I said. “And since he didn’t leave us a note—”
“He couldn’t leave us a note, Evaline. What if someone else got access—”
“I was joking,” I fired back, tired of being made to feel less brilliant than a Holmes. But—everyone else was, weren’t they? At least I was stronger and faster because of my vampire-hunting legacy. And I healed quickly—which was a good thing, considering the jagged wound on the top of my shoulder. And I’d killed three UnDead tonight while Mina… Well, it was best if I didn’t think about how she’d probably saved my life. I was already about to strangle her.
Unaware of my uncharitable thoughts, Mina was still speaking. “One can only infer Pix wants us to locate—and visit—The Carnelian Crow. Perhaps we will find answers there. Tomorrow, I shall make arrangements for our second visit to Lady Thistle’s. I shall call for you at three o’clock. Please be prepared and fully equipped for any eventuality that might occur,” she added pointedly. “For I suspect we will soon be setting foot inside the mysterious Carnelian Crow.”
If Inspector Grayling could hear the zeal in her voice, he would probably lock her up in a jail cell and throw the key into the automated sewers.
We rode in silence for a while. I was feeling a little better about Pix’s fate.
But the thought of Pix brought me back to the uglier part of my day. And the impossible decision that loomed ahead of me.
“I have to find a husband,” I blurted out.
“A husband? What on earth are you talking— Oh.” Mina must have done some of her famous deductive reasoning, for she stopped talking. That alone was concerning—that even Mina Holmes didn’t have anything to say about it.
I was truly in a fix. “If I don’t get married—or at least engaged before the New Year—Florence told me we’ll have to go back to Dublin. And live with my parents.” I stared out the window and watched the angular blobs of dark, shadowy buildings pass by. Whenever the hackney approached a gas lamp, the area brightened…then faded as we trundled past.
Just like my thoughts. I had been able to forget about my sister-in-law’s plea for most of the evening—but now my family’s plight was brought back into the moment and fully illuminated before I pushed it back into the dark once more. I wished I could leave it there.
But I couldn’t.
“I don’t have any other option.” Maybe there was a part of me hoping the brilliant Mina Holmes would come up with a different solution.
“That is most distressing. At the very least, having a husband would put far more restrictions on your participation in our investigative activities—not to mention your nocturnal vampire hunting—than your current situation.”
What could I say? She was horribly correct. And certainly wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already thought.
To my relief, at that moment the hackney pulled up to 629 Claremont-circle. Grantworth House stood bathed in moonlight, stately and calm. The sight of my ancestral home, and the reminder that it might soon no longer belong to us—and what I would have to do to ensure that didn’t happen—brought unexpected tears to my eyes.
I fairly leaped out of the hack so Mina wouldn’t see. “Good night,” I called softly as I closed the door. As I walked across the thin layer of snow to the tree that gave access to my bedchamber window, I couldn’t help but scan the edges of the lawn and along the street.
But there was no sign of Pix loitering in the shadows. Nor were there any footprints other than my own.
As I vaulted myself into the lowest branch of the oak, I sent up a fervent hope Mina was right: that Pix was still alive, and that he’d gone into hiding on his own.
Just as I climbed in through my window, another dark thought—somehow worse than all the others—struck me.
Once I got married, I wouldn’t be able to kiss Pix. Ever again.
The next morning, my eyes were gritty when I finally peeled them open. It had been another difficult night.
But at least I had an adventure to look forward to later today. The Carnelian Crow—if we did actually find it through the door in the back of the closet at Lady Thistle’s—sounded both dangerous and exciting. The adventure could be even more fun than the night Mina and I dressed up like men in order to infiltrate a men’s club (of course, that didn’t end very well for Mr. Dancy, but it was a rousing success until then).
I checked the clock and was surprised to see it was nearly noon. I didn’t normally sleep that late—if you could call what I’d been doing sleeping.
I pushed the bell to call Pepper, and as I climbed out of bed, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Good gad! Even though I’d applied salted holy water, the bite wounds on my neck looked horrendous. I was going to have to wear something to hide my neck for the next few days.
With that in mind, I began to search through the wardrobe for something to wear for the day’s excursion.
“There you are, sleepyhead,” said Florence, bustling in behind Pepper, who carried a tray with tea and a small breakfast.
What was she doing in here? I gasped and barely had time to grab a crocheted shawl to pull up and around my neck, hiding the marks there.
My sister-in-law didn’t appear to notice. In fact, she seemed surprisingly chipper after yesterday’s grave announcement, and a wild ripple of hope rushed through me. Maybe something had happened yesterday to change things. Maybe Bram had come up with a different solution, or sold out a new show, or maybe he’d even sold his novel (which I didn’t think was finished) for a lot of money. Or maybe they’d refigured the finances, and realized they’d left off a zero somewhere.
Maybe someone rich had died and left us a pot-load of money.
“I almost came in to wake you two hours ago, but I thought you should get some extra beauty sleep last night.” Florence peered closely at me then tsked—perhaps noticing that I hadn’t slept all that well—and turned to the wardrobe. “Well, we’ll need to pick out something particularly fetching for today. Something that shows off your dark hair and will bring out the green flecks in your eyes. What about that forest-colored velvet bodice, with the midnight-blue overskirt?” Her voice became muffled as she poked around inside the closet.
The piece of toast I’d bitten into stuck in my throat. “Why,” I managed to say in a dry voice that grated, “do I need to look particularly fetching today?”
“It’s Wednesday, Evaline. We are home to callers every Wednesday from two until four.” Florence backed out of the wardrobe, her arms filled with petticoats, skirts, and at least two different bodices. “You know that.”
“Well, yes, I know, but you’re the one they come to call on—”
“And they are all coming today. To meet you.”
I felt as if the floor was suddenly disintegrating around me. The room tilted. I clutched the shawl tighter around my throat. Maybe if it was tight enough, I’d strangle.
“Who…all?” I managed to ask, but the stricken expression on Pepper’s face answered my question.
Florence stilled and her too-bright expression faded. She appeared annoyed. “Evaline, a number of suitable candidates for you to marry are coming to call at two o’clock.”
The single bite of toast I’d managed to swallow suddenly became as large and heavy as an anvil in my belly. “T
oday? I have to— Today? But I-I have a prior engagement this afternoon, Flo. I’m sorry.” I forced a smile.
She skewered me with a look she hadn’t used since she found out I’d attended the Cosgrove-Pitts’ Roses Ball without her. “Does this engagement happen to be with a man suitable—and wealthy—enough to be your husband?”
“Er…” I wish I could have lied, but she would have caught me out anyway. “No.”
“Evaline, I thought you understood the severity of the situation—and the necessity of settling on a husband as quickly as possible. You have no idea how careful I had to be in arranging for today’s tea without letting on to everyone how dire our situation is. It was a delicate—very delicate—project, but I feel confident I handled it properly.”
“Right,” I said weakly. My knees felt as if they were about to give out. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not today, not so soon…
“A simple, casual word to Lady Veness—hardly more than a hint, really—about how eager you were to settle on a husband. Then she and her big mouth took care of the rest,” continued my sister-in-law, completely oblivious to my horror and distress. “She’s been wanting to get you off the marriage mart so her granddaughter has a chance to snare a wealthy husband. They’ve all been waiting for you, you know. You’re quite a catch, my dear.” Her eyes were bright with pride and tears. “You’re young and beautiful, and kind and funny—and you come from a good family.”
“I—er—I need to send word to Miss Holmes that I am otherwise engaged this afternoon,” I said numbly.
What did she mean, they’d all been waiting for me? Who? A slew of boring, stuffy bachelors who would want to control me once I became a wife?
Surely no one expected me to make a decision today. I looked at Florence, whose expression had turned steely. My emotions sank.
Maybe she did.
Perhaps Mina could figure out a way to extricate me. Maybe she could contact her father. Sir Mycroft Holmes worked for the Home Office and was considered indispensable to national security (or something like that), and she could have him call me away. No one would deny Sir Mycroft what he needed.
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