The Carnelian Crow: A Stoker & Holmes Book (Stoker and Holmes 4)

by Colleen Gleason

  Because it was me, and not Mina, I reached the other door without falling on my face, bumping into a table, or knocking over a pedestal. Like the other, this entrance was hung with shimmering black fabric and long strings of shiny, coin-sized beads—cobalt and black this time. I peeked around the edge of the curtain and confirmed that no one seemed to be around, then slipped through and pulled to my feet.

  Another corridor that led somewhere beneath the streets of London. Unlike the other, this one was well maintained and lit. It was even whitewashed, and there wasn’t any sign of rats or their leavings. I could stand up straight and hold my arms out to either side without brushing the walls. Still there was no sign of anyone else around.

  Obviously, the club had specific business hours, and at this time (and probably because it was Sunday) few people were about. This deduction encouraged me, and I hurried along the tunnel with less caution than before.

  I’d nearly forgotten about the ever-present chill at the back of my neck and what it portended until I rounded a corner and nearly collided with a man standing there.

  In that instant, I realized not only was he a sort of guard, but he was also an UnDead.

  Miss Holmes

  ~ Wherein Evaline Divulges a Plan ~

  “Good heavens, Evaline! How many times have I warned you not to be so careless? Especially when you’re snooping around,” I exclaimed. “You came face to face with a vampire—what did you do?”

  It was Monday, just two days after Lord Cosgrove-Pitt’s untimely death, and I’d arrived at Grantworth House shortly before noon. Fortunately, Evaline’s maid Pepper was under no misconception that I merely made random social calls, so she brought me up to Evaline’s bedchamber. I found my so-called colleague finishing up her morning toilette.

  “I’ve come face to face with the Undead more than a few times in the past.” Evaline responded to my shocked exclamation in her characteristically tart manner. “It’s not anything new—”

  “Yes, but you weren’t supposed to be snooping around, and you—”

  “Actually, I was. I’d been hired to work there, remember? I just acted confused and lost. He didn’t know I knew he was a vampire. What I mean to say is, his fangs weren’t out and he wasn’t acting UnDead-ish.”

  “And he just let you walk by?”

  She shrugged. “I showed him my uniform in the bag I was carrying, and told him I got turned around, and he let me leave. Maybe he’s not allowed to attack the help,” she said with a giggle.

  I glared at her, which had no marked effect on her giddiness. “And…?”

  “So now you know there’s another way to get into The Carnelian Crow. The way for the customers, not staff. And that’s the way you’re going to go in.”

  She muttered something about dropping trays and observing menus, but I ignored her under-the-breath ranting. That was the least of my concerns. More importantly, she’d encountered a vampire—and, for once, not in a combative situation. “I don’t suppose you—”

  “No, I didn’t take the time to interview him about being a vampire,” she snapped. “Maybe you’ll have the chance when you go. Ask him what sort of blood he prefers, or why he decided to become a half-demon immortal—”

  “Really, Evaline, your lack of imagination and forethought is quite—”

  “—but I did question him about The Carnelian Crow,” she added in a rather loud tone from behind clenched teeth. She paused, then gave me an arch look I find particularly annoying. “And I got quite a bit of useful information.”

  I settled back in my seat. “Why, how—”

  “Forward thinking of me?” she replied smugly. “Yes, I thought so.”

  “Well, what did you learn? And how did you go about getting information without raising his suspicions?”

  Evaline’s eyelashes fluttered. “Mina, you’ve said it yourself—it’s something I do very well. Though he didn’t even try it, he wanted nothing more than to sink his fangs into my wrist, I’m quite certain. So I was able to use that distraction to my advantage.”

  I nodded. “Excellent.”

  “Apparently, in order to gain access to The Carnelian Crow, one must have the pin if one is a staff member. However, I think it would be best if you didn’t even attempt to—er—take orders from anyone. You should come in as a customer. And all you need for that is an invitation ticket.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it when Evaline whipped a small placard from atop her dressing table and handed it to me. It was simple and unassuming. One side had an image of a crow with red ornamentation on its wing and a bright blue eye. The reverse simply said:

  The Carnelian Crow

  No address or other information, nor any indication that the ticket had been previously used. I smiled.

  “How did you get this?”

  “There was a stack of them on the floor near his feet. He—or whoever is there—must collect them at the door. I knocked them over and was extremely helpful in picking them up.” Evaline beamed at me.

  “Excellent, Miss Stoker. Did you learn anything else of note?”

  “I got him talking—which was quite easy, because he kept looking at my throat and then my wrist, as if he were ready to lunge at me. I thought about letting him lure me into a corner and letting him have a taste, then I’d stake him—but that would leave a trail of dust, and someone might notice.” She seemed to be enjoying herself. “But what I learned was many of the customers are female, and they don’t bring their husbands.”

  “Fascinating,” I replied. “It’s like a women’s club, then. Instead of a men’s club. That explains the secrecy.”

  “Except at a men’s club, there are no women allowed,” Evaline pointed out—extremely unnecessarily, considering the fact that one of our most recent adventures included a sojourn into the male-only club Bridge & Stokes. “The customers—well, they are often accompanied by an escort. Or they meet one there.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Indeed. You mean, of course, escorts of the male variety.”

  “Yes.”

  “Possibly romantic interests?” I pressed. “Or chaperones or guards—like a footman?”

  Evaline shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

  “Hmm.” I considered that carefully.

  “There was one more thing you might find interesting,” she said after a moment, then paused, as if to create suspense. “It could be part of the reason he didn’t actually attack me—besides that I’m of the ‘downstairs’ variety.”

  She giggled again. Apparently the idea of being employed was quite amusing to her. I wondered how she’d feel if the Stokers did get removed from Grantworth House and she had to return to Ireland—possibly finding real employment as a lady’s maid. I resisted the urge to point this out to her.

  “The vampire had two wires sticking into the back of his neck,” Evaline continued. “They went down behind his collar—just like in the Ankh’s laboratory. I believe she’s still using those devices to try and control the UnDead and their urges!” she finished with a dramatic flourish.

  When I didn’t react in the manner she apparently expected, my companion glared at me. “You aren’t the least bit surprised.”

  “Of course not,” I replied modestly.

  “Why?”

  That was my opportunity to tell her that I’d discovered two similar marks on Lord Cosgrove-Pitt’s neck. I went on to remind her of all the non-coincidences that had happened in the last few weeks (although I didn’t mention the curious timing of her need to choose a husband, for I wasn’t certain that particular point was relevant. It might just be bad luck).

  I ended with an explanation of what I’d observed in Miss Adler’s office yesterday, then summed up by stating the obvious, in case she had missed it: “Clearly, our mentor has some knowledge of The Carnelian Crow. It was no accident she’d hidden the crow pendant inside ‘The Purloined Letter.’ Likely for me to find.”

  When Miss Stoker gave me a blank look, I sighed. “Really, Eva
line, your lack of literary knowledge is quite off-putting. ‘The Purloined Letter’ is a story by Edgar Allan Poe, the American writer—”

  “I know that,” she said snippily. “He wrote ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ too—”

  “As well as ‘The Raven.’” I lifted a brow archly. “I’m certain you know why that’s also no coincidence in this particular case.”

  “I suppose someone might think it’s relevant, but it’s The Carnelian Crow, not The Carnelian Raven,” she continued in that snippy voice. “Even I know there’s a difference between the two birds.”

  “Indeed,” I replied frostily. I had been looking forward to educating her on how to differentiate between the two Corvi. “And what, my dear Miss Stoker, would the difference be?”

  “Well, crows have a different shape to their tails, first of all. The edge is straight, almost like a fan. The center feathers of a raven’s tail are longer, so when it’s open and they’re flying, it looks like an arrow. And crows make that annoying cawing sound, and ravens don’t. Their call is lower and not as annoying. They’re more quiet.”

  “They’re quieter,” I said, gently correcting her grammar. “Yes, that’s generally true. And ravens are larger—”

  “But it’s difficult to tell that, if they aren’t next to each other to compare their sizes,” my companion replied primly.

  “Naturally.” I lifted my nose a trifle. “Well, then, apparently I don’t need to point out the pertinence of the choice of book in which to hide the crow pendant. Ravens and crows are similar enough that Miss Adler’s point was made.

  “And even though the pin was no longer in the book, the impression it made in the pages was distinct. And an obvious clue for us.” I frowned. “If only I’d come upon it sooner, we might be further along in solving this case.”

  Evaline frowned and settled back in her dressing table chair, crossing her arms like a barrier. “What case? What is there to solve? That Pix is missing? Well, he’s not really missing anymore—at least, he’s not dead. He seems to be perfectly well in fact,” she added testily.

  “You’ve seen Pix?”

  Her expression was not a flattering one, but I refrained from pointing out that making a moue with one’s lips made one look as wrinkled as a prune—and, according to Mrs. Raskill, left little lines radiating from one’s mouth as one grew older.

  “I saw him at the Yule Fête. He was dressed as a maid.”

  “A maid? How extraordinarily clever. What did he tell you? Did he share anything relevant? Anything about The Carnelian Crow?”

  “Not at all,” she replied, still prune-lipped. “He had nothing to say. He was just his normal sly, mysterious, untrustworthy Pix-ish self.”

  I raised my eyebrows mentally, but chose not to pursue the topic. It was a rare occasion when Evaline was so uncomplimentary to the slippery rogue. Perhaps she had finally come to her senses in regards to consorting with him.

  Speaking of which…I decided to broach another touchy subject. “You and Mr. Oligary seemed quite companionable on Saturday night. Many people noticed, and there were whispers everywhere. There was even a sketch of the two of you in the Times, looking quite tête-à-tête at the ball, with the obvious captions and leading questions. People are talking, and the expectation for an engagement announcement is there. Have you made a decision?”

  To my consternation, Evaline’s face crumpled into a distressing combination of frustration and sorrow. “Mr. Oligary is coming here this afternoon to call on me—but more importantly, to speak to Bram. He’s going to ask for permission to propose.”

  “And what will your response be?” I realized, suddenly and quite shockingly, that her answer mattered to me—for a number of reasons.

  First, because of course I wouldn’t wish the necessity to wed on anyone who didn’t want to embark on such an enterprise. Matrimony was a heavy and unwelcome burden that many women bore, and that was the one thing on which the Ankh and I agreed: women should not be shackled to a man unless they chose it.

  Second, I could see how devastated Evaline was about making such a decision. She had not been herself for over a week, and I feared the matter wouldn’t improve if she agreed to wedlock.

  And third—the most striking and unsettling realization—was that Evaline’s marriage would, of necessity, put a significant damper on—if not an outright halt to—our volatile partnership.

  I would be without a valuable companion and counterpart for my adventures, and I discovered, to my surprise, that that realization did not sit well with me at all. For all her weaknesses, Evaline Stoker was also a significant force to be reckoned with in her own way. We did complement each other, and I would miss having her by my side on any future endeavors.

  “I haven’t thought that far yet,” Evaline replied soberly. “To be honest, I’ve rather avoided thinking about it.”

  Was that a glisten of tear in her eye? In the brave, bold, and enthusiastic Evaline Stoker? I felt a stirring of sympathy for my partner.

  “But if I have to wed,” she continued, “I suppose Mr. Oligary—Ned, I mean—is as good a choice as any. He’s nice, and we get on well. As long as I don’t taint his family name,” she added with an uncharacteristic sneer.

  I lifted my brow. Apparently there was some other story there. When I probed further, Evaline explained about the conversation—or, more accurately, the set-down her suitor had given her on her front porch.

  “Vulgar?” was my outraged response. “Your ankles showed? And a bit of petticoat? Truly? You were supposed to stand back and watch while a man died when you could have prevented it because your ankles might be exposed? Good gad,” I huffed.

  Through angry tears, Evaline smiled, and I felt a trifle better having coaxed such a response from her. “I knew you’d understand. That man who was standing over you while you were examining Lord Cosgrove-Pitt’s body was just as offended by your actions.”

  “He was terribly insulting.” I drew in my breath and exhaled. “Well, Evaline…as tonight could possibly be one of our last adventures before your life changes, I suppose we’d better make it a good one.”

  She grinned. Her eyes lit up and her expression eased, and I could see once again why Evaline Stoker had attracted the attention of so many potential husbands—including one of the wealthiest bachelors in London. “Right. I’m not going to worry about the future tonight. I’ll see Ned today, and—and if he proposes, then I shall have to put him off.”

  “A modest young woman would be in her rights to do so,” I said with a coy smile. “It wouldn’t do to appear too eager.”

  Her eyes danced, and I was relieved that she seemed to have recovered her sense of enthusiasm. “Exactly. Even Florence couldn’t argue with that. And then tonight, at eight o’clock sharp, I’m going to go to my new job at The Carnelian Crow. Who knows—maybe it will pay well enough to help me settle Bram’s debts and I won’t have to get married after all!”

  Although under normal circumstances, I would have shaken my head sadly in light of Evaline’s impetuosity and fancy, this was different.

  Not only was I good enough to make the plans for both of us, but it seemed inevitable that tonight’s visit to The Carnelian Crow would be the final curtain call of the partnership of Holmes and Stoker.

  Miss Stoker

  ~ In Which Our Heroine is Catapulted Over the Waterfall ~

  When she left my house, Mina was happily planning for all contingencies during her evening at The Carnelian Crow.

  However, I was dreading the afternoon to come before I could slip out of the house and don my “uny-form” for my new “position.”

  Pepper seemed to understand my mood, for she was particularly quiet as she helped me to organize my attire for the evening.

  “It can’t be all bad,” she said, sliding a stake inside a hidden loop she’d sewn into my maid uniform. “Being married to a rich man.”

  I glared at her, and Pepper being Pepper, she just looked at me with her big eyes beneath
puffs of carroty hair and shook her head. “There’s ways,” she said. “My Granny Verbena used to always say where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  I just shook my head. I’d heard plenty about Granny Verbena over the years—oftentimes quite amusing anecdotes—but I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy the dead woman’s wisdom. I felt as if I were waiting in the Tower of London to be taken to my execution.

  Shortly after Pepper left to go press the petticoats I was supposed to wear under my afternoon dress, I heard the sound of a carriage door slamming out front.

  Heart in my throat, I rushed to the window to see whether it was Mr. Oligary. It was indeed his sleek black horseless motor vehicle sitting in front of the house.

  I sank down onto the chair in front of my dressing table and waited. It was one of the rare times when I felt completely helpless.

  Less than an hour later, Florence knocked on my door. She didn’t even need to speak; her expression said it all.

  “Come downstairs now, Evaline, dear. Mr. Oligary has come to call.” She was fairly dancing on the threshold of my chamber, and her eyes were sparkling with more happiness than I’d ever seen in them. “He and Bram have just finished speaking in the study, and he’s asked to meet you in the parlor.”

  I managed to paste on a smile and followed my pirouetting sister-in-law down the stairs and into the parlor. Bram and Mr. Oligary—I supposed I really should start to think of him as Ned—were standing there. They appeared to be having a jovial conversation.

  “Miss Stoker,” said my suitor as I came in. “You look lovely, as always.”

  My knees were shaking, and something in my belly was doing such wild flip-flops that I felt nauseated. I hoped I didn’t puke on his shoes.

  “Bram, I believe there’s something Mrs. Gernum wishes to speak with us about,” said Florence, making little attempt to be casual about their exit.