I had no one. No one I could trust.
I didn’t know how long I walked, or how far. I kept blindly putting one foot in front of the other. Somewhere, people chattered at some fancy ball, their voices ringing like bells in my ears. The merry laughter seemed to mock me. Through the windows of the house, I could see the ladies in pretty ball gowns, drinking, flirting, not a care in the world as they bartered their reputations like a cheap bet in a game of cards.
Yet I, in my modest mourning dress, was the one turned out for my lack of moral character.
I turned down a side street where a row of hansom cabs lingered, waiting for the drunken revelers to emerge. I had barely noticed them as I hurried down the lane.
“What’s this, lovely?” A cabdriver stepped out from behind one of the horses. “Hey, Bill! Take a gander at the pretty little pigeon what come our way.”
I stopped in my tracks and looked up just as the cabbie lunged toward me. I jumped back and spun around as a second came up from behind.
He smiled and his tongue poked out from the gap of his missing tooth.
“What’s wrong, miss? Lost? Just say the word and Eddie here’ll give ya a ride.” They laughed, barking like mad dogs.
“Leave me be,” I snapped, trying to take a quick step around them. One grabbed me by the shoulder, his grubby fist catching my shawl.
He pulled me closer. “Maybe a kiss’ll cheer you up.”
I slapped him as hard as I could, my palm burning from the blow and his grubby stubble. Then I kicked him in the knee, but he held me fast. I couldn’t escape.
“C’mon, miss. One little kiss. And if ya like that, there’s more I can show ya.” I froze as he pulled me toward him.
A shot rang out, the round crashing into the side of the cab with a loud crack. The cabbies jumped away, ducking for cover. They cursed as I regained my senses.
I ran, leaving my shawl behind.
My heart pounded. Never had I been so afraid. My feet flew over the paved stones. I didn’t know where I was, but I had to keep running. A second shot rang out, this one whistling past my ear.
I screamed, nearly falling to the street, but I picked myself up and dodged down a narrow lane to the left.
Whoever was shooting, was shooting at me.
My corset was too tight. I couldn’t breathe in.
The heavy sound of boots drummed on the pavement behind me. A rush of heat flooded up through my face to my hair. My head pounded with it. I could taste my fear like the sharp tang of blood. My lungs burned. I tried to keep running but I stumbled.
My head swam. I couldn’t move my feet. I tried to breathe. The stays of my corset gripped too tight.
I just couldn’t breathe.
Desperate, I ran down the lane, but the fog confused me. I found myself in a small, quiet square. There was no place to run. I turned to face my attacker.
A man in a dark coat stalked down the lane beneath the skeletal trees. His face remained hidden behind his high collar and the brim of his hat. Mist swirled around him as he slowly raised the gun.
I was going to die.
A shot rang out, and I shut my eyes, unable to find the voice to scream. I had expected the round to rip into my chest, but when I opened my eyes, I saw the man in black had turned, his coat fluttering as he ran into the mist.
One moment he was there, the next, gone.
I fought for breath as a second dark form emerged from the fog. He strode toward me with purpose. The glow from a streetlamp spilled over his face.
“Will,” I whispered as I exhaled. A dizzy rush overtook me and I fainted.
CHAPTER TEN
I WOKE TO WILL JOSTLING ME AND URGING ME TO STAND.
A short gasp pushed much-needed air into my lungs as I struggled against him in my panic. He held me tight and helped me to my feet.
“Who was that?” I shook from head to toe. I hadn’t been so close to death since the night of the fire.
“There’s no time. Quickly now.” Will pulled me forward and I stumbled along beside him, clinging to his arm.
His grip remained tight as he made a turn toward the trees peeking over the London rooftops. We must have been near one of the parks.
“The park isn’t safe,” I protested, as I stared at the pistol in his hand.
“Nowhere is.” Will loosened his grip on my arm, sliding his hand into mine as he led me down the street. “There will be less light, and we can conceal ourselves in the fog.”
We ran until we crossed into Green Park. Together we flew down the path and ducked behind a large tree. Heavy mist rose off the damp grasses and the lake, concealing us, but also giving perfect cover to the man in black.
“I think I scared him off,” Will said. He was breathing heavily, and his face looked pale in the moonlight. “Are you harmed?”
“I’ll be fine.” Even as I spoke the words I didn’t believe them. I didn’t think I would ever stop shaking. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know,” Will admitted as he looked back over his shoulder.
“We need to find shelter,” I insisted. Suddenly I missed the high stone walls of Rathford’s house and the fearsome lions guarding the heavy gate.
“How did you know I had been sacked?” I asked.
Will took my hand and pulled me deeper into the mist. “Mrs. Pratt came to the carriage house and gave me a piece of her mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Then she threw the grooming pail at my head.”
“At least you can go back. The baron didn’t toss you out into the cold.” I crossed my arms and rubbed them.
“I told you this would happen.” Will turned suddenly at the sound of a snapping branch. “You should have listened to me,” he whispered.
We settled into a brisk walk, fear driving each step forward. I kept glancing at Will’s pistol, realizing I knew hardly anything about him at all.
A shudder racked my shoulders as I thought about the cabbies. I could feel them tugging on my clothing, smell the stench of rancid male sweat.
Sometimes a weapon could be useful.
In the distance I could see the glow from Buckingham Palace through the fog and the looming dark branches of the London plane trees.
Will started down another path, changing our direction. I still didn’t know where we would find shelter.
“We’ve no place to go,” he said.
“I think . . .” My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. “I think it might be a good time to find the Widow Pricket.”
He turned on me. “Dammit, Meg. Someone just tried to murder you. You have to let it go.”
“I can’t.” I threw my hands up and walked away from him. What other choice did I have? “I have to see this through.”
“I swear you are the most stubborn, willful, obstinate creature I’ve ever met,” he muttered.
“You’ve been in the stable too long.” I took the book out of the satchel. “I’m in this too deep. Will you help me see it through?”
He looked uncertain, as if battered about by two swiftly churning tides. He let out a resigned breath. “Pricket had a shop up on Bond Street. Perhaps his widow is still there.”
The rush of elation and relief overwhelmed me, and I nearly threw myself into Will’s arms. I felt the urge to embrace him as I gazed into his eyes. Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone anymore.
Yet we were walking into the unknown.
• • •
Dawn broke as we made for Pricket’s Toys and Amusements. I was exhausted. I didn’t know how long we’d wandered through the mists in the park, but it seemed as if the night had passed too suddenly.
After skirting Hyde Park heading north, we had wandered down countless streets of terraced houses, all neatly conforming like obedient schoolchildren lined up in a proper row. The ornamental stonework put lacy frills on the otherwise boxlike squares.
We saw no sign of the man in black, and eventually Will put his pistol away.
When we reached Bond Street, only a short distance
from where I grew up on Oxford, I sighed. Here each building had its own personality, but they still stood shoulder to shoulder, with no room for anything but stone and lampposts. Every awning felt familiar, even in the dark. This was my home, yet walking through it, I felt as if I had no place to enter.
My eyes burned and the skin on my cheeks felt tight and itchy. I needed someplace to rest, but as we approached Pricket’s shop, I didn’t think we would find rest there. During the night, the fog had cleared. Now the shadow of the buildings stretched over the street in the new morning light.
The shop was closed and dark, a thin layer of dust coating the carefully arranged toys in the window. A doll smiled at me, the weak sunlight dull in her lifeless glass eyes.
Did the widow even live here?
Will ran a tired hand over his face. If I felt tired, I had no right to complain. He’d been up all night as well.
I noticed a stylized flower with three petals incorporated into the uniform of the tin soldier painted on the sign above the door. A faded CLOSED sign had fallen askew in the window.
I knocked.
Nothing.
“Maybe she’s not yet awake?” Will peeked in the window, but the interior of the shop was too dark to see.
I knocked again.
This time we heard shuffling within the shop. Slowly, the door cracked open. “We are closed until further notice.”
I shot my hand in the door hoping she’d have enough mercy not to shut it on my fingers.
“Lucinda Pricket?” I implored.
The door opened a little wider to reveal a slender woman dressed from head to toe in a glorious full-mourning dress. Black lace hung from an elegant bonnet trimmed with jet and the shining feathers of a raven. It obscured her pale face, and I could barely discern her expression. Yet the veil couldn’t hide the radiance of the beautiful lady before me. She couldn’t have been much past twenty, with golden-red hair, eyes the blue of distant tropical seas, and the air of aristocracy.
“What do you want?” she demanded. Her voice, slightly husky, sounded as if she hadn’t used it in years.
“My name’s Meg Whitlock. I’m George and Elsa Whitlock’s daughter.” Even as I said it, I feared the man with the black coat was sneaking behind us on the avenue and in that instant another shot would ring out.
Mrs. Pricket placed a single finger under my chin and lifted my face. I looked her in the eye through the veil. Her eyes widened in shock. “Gracious, get inside!”
Her gloved hand clasped mine and pulled me in. Will followed, then the widow slammed the door.
A shiver overcame me as I looked around the dusty shop. Marionettes with jeering faces hung from the rafters. Cobwebs had collected between their strings. On the shelves, a plethora of wonderment sat silent and motionless. Music boxes, tin soldiers, clockwork animals, it was the magic of a thousand Christmastimes faded and still, lying lifeless.
My eyes lingered on a doll that looked just like one I had as a girl. Had my toys come from this very shop? The thought tainted my memories, like seeing an old friend in tattered rags and not knowing what to do to help.
We followed the widow to a cozy sitting room in the back. Will haunted the door as I gratefully sank onto the settee. A modest fire warmed a simple teakettle. It seemed only the shop had been neglected.
The widow swept across the room but did not lift her veil. It had been over three years since Pricket’s death. Surely she wasn’t still mourning him?
I cleared my throat. “I apologize for disturbing you so early, but I fear we are in danger. A man shot at us in the park.”
“Did you see his face?” she asked as I placed the satchel at my feet.
“No. But he was wearing a black coat and top hat.” I twisted my fingers together.
“Along with half of London,” the widow said as she poured the tea. “So, he wasn’t some street ruffian. That is one clue at least.” Then she turned to Will. “Now who are you?”
“William MacDonald, ma’am.” He nodded to her.
“You’re not part of the Order.” Her posture stiffened.
“No, I’m not.” Will met her challenge. He shrugged. “From how I see it, danger comes from within your Order, not outside it.”
“Logical, I see,” she commented, placing the teapot back on the tray. “Simon would approve. He was the logical sort as well. Unfortunately, you are incorrect. Anyone can be bought. It is not safe in these times. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“Do you know who is behind the murders?” I asked.
Lucinda shook her head. “If I knew, he’d have visited the gallows long ago.”
“Perhaps this might help,” I suggested as I pulled the book from the satchel.
I placed the book on the table. It was hers by right, but I felt unsure if I should trust her with more.
I looked at the Widow Pricket. She couldn’t fake such deep grief. She hadn’t killed her husband. But I was on the edge of a dangerous web, and I didn’t know where she was caught in it.
“Will and I found this book locked inside your husband’s gravestone.” I touched the key hanging around my neck but didn’t mention it. It felt heavy.
“In his grave?” She didn’t seem shocked by the idea. “However did you discover it?”
“It was within a secret compartment in the stone itself, hidden behind the plate,” I clarified. The last thing we needed was to be cast as grave robbers. “Have you visited the grave recently?”
“Every day.” She dropped to the edge of a chair, her wide crinoline floating about her. “Why didn’t he simply leave it with me?”
Her words sounded so soft, so hurt. We were opening old wounds.
“I think he feared what it contains could endanger you. He knew he was to be murdered.” I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I wanted to reach out to the widow. She seemed stricken.
“Too many people are either dead or gone into hiding. When will this end?” She took the book and opened it, letting out a shaky breath as she stared at the handwriting. “We were only married for two years before he was taken from me. It wasn’t enough time. It wasn’t nearly enough time.”
I glanced at Will, then back at the widow. I didn’t know Will’s intentions, but in that moment, I knew mine. “Help us find the murderer. Let’s end this together.”
She looked to me. I could see she was struggling. “I don’t wish to be involved. My life has already been destroyed by all this. I’ll tell you what I can. But then you must leave me be.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE WIDOW EXCUSED HERSELF, AND I TURNED TO WILL. He shrugged but remained near the doorway, as if he didn’t feel he was allowed into a lady’s parlor.
I sipped my tea listening to the faint traces of hustle and bustle from Bond Street, hushed by the eerie shop and the dim interior of the parlor.
My eyes stung as I fought to keep them open. It had been a long night.
I blinked. It was so difficult to pull my heavy eyelids open again. I shook myself awake just as I felt the teacup slip from my lap.
Oh! Reaching out, I tried to right it, but only tipped it more, spilling the contents down my skirt and onto the floor.
The cup fell on the opulent rug, and the tea eagerly soaked into the fine threads. I dropped to the floor and pressed the hem of my skirt into the stain to soak up the spill.
The widow returned. “What happened?” She placed an ornately painted tray laden with simple scones on the table.
“My pardon, I made a dreadful mess of things.”
She knelt beside me, grasped my hands, and lifted me to stand.
“Leave it for now.” She lifted her veil, and the full effect of her refinement awed me. Her honey-red curls rested in perfect coils along her neck. Her bright blue-green eyes searched mine. “You look exhausted. Have you been walking all night?”
I nodded.
“Come, you need to sleep.” She gave a short nod as if the matter had just been decided and she’d hear no word
against it.
“What of Will?” He needed to rest as well.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “He can stay in the mews in the back.”
I pulled my hand from hers. “You’re putting him out with the horse?”
“Meg.” He shook his head, just a hint of movement, but I read it clear as day. Not now. He gave the widow a short bow. “Thank you for your generosity, Mrs. Pricket. I appreciate your hospitality and trust.”
Hospitality my boot. She was practically asking him to sleep on the front stoop. I owed him some measure of loyalty. He had just saved my life.
Lucinda pointed to a door in the back, and Will disappeared through it with a tip of his hat.
“Now then,” the widow continued. “You may follow me.”
She led me through the dimly lit house. As part of a row of storefronts, only the rooms facing the street or the mews behind the house had windows. I found it disconcerting to be in a tight space with so many oil lamps burning.
We began an ascent up a tight and steep set of stairs. “He’s a handsome one,” the widow commented.
“I beg your pardon?” The comment caught me completely off guard, and my heart thundered to life. I felt the rush of heat in my face. Why would she notice? She was a widow.
“It isn’t seemly for two women to entertain his company within the house. I do have to maintain propriety.” Her voice was cool, and she didn’t bother to look back at me.
For whom? It didn’t appear as if she’d entertained anyone in years, so I didn’t see what good propriety would do.
“Have you maintained a sense of propriety?” She stopped and turned to me. I nearly stumbled backward down the stair.
“Yes, ma’am.” I didn’t appreciate the insinuation that I hadn’t. I gripped the rail so tightly my fingers ached. Why was everyone so quick to assume I’d throw my moral character out of the window with the dishwater?
A curious look, a bit like that of a cat sniffing cream, crossed her face. “Do you fancy him?”
There was no trace of Agnes’s harsh judgment in her tone, yet my face burned to the tips of my ears. I probably looked like a puffy radish. How was I to answer that? Did I?
Legacy of the Clockwork Key Page 8
