Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  Isabella was struck by the girl’s willingness. Without any idea of the horrors that existed in wait for them, she was still willing to do what she could. It was a direct contradiction to LaFarge’s attitude. He wanted to bury his head in the sand and hope everything would be all right. At the first hint of safety, he’d jumped. And yet… It was Isabella’s turn to sigh. LaFarge was objectionable, that was true. He was smug and overly confident where he had no reason to be. He might even be an abject coward, but he knew what was out there.

  Perhaps she was being too hard on him. It was easier to have such charitable thoughts when he wasn’t around, and she had no doubt that as soon as she saw him again he would say or do something to cause her to be ill-disposed against him. He couldn’t help what he was, and though it seemed he didn’t want to, he wasn’t the source of her problems. If she had to be honest with herself, Isabella had the sneaking suspicion that she was so angry at him because she could be. The man was a ridiculous caricature of his own self, and he’d treated her poorly. It was much more comfortable to be angry at him than it was her mother or even Wellington. It was difficult to blame her family, to be angry at them while she loved them. A vague sense of shame filled her at her uncharitable behavior toward her father’s business partner.

  “Have her help you with your notes,” Briar was saying to the earl. “Her handwriting is quite legible and she has an eye for detail. She has assisted me on more than one occasion, and I have no complaints over the quality of her work.”

  Hardwicke nodded thoughtfully, his lips pursed. “If I agree to let you do that, will you go to bed? You will be of no use if you are cross-eyed with fatigue.”

  “Yes, Father.” Imogene gave him a quick hug. He harrumphed and patted her shoulder awkwardly. It seemed the earl was not given to displays of affection when he had an audience.

  He turned her toward the door. “Off you go, now.”

  Imogene crossed the hall and looked back. She gave Briar a small wave. Isabella received a stiff nod, then she slipped out the door.

  Hardwicke turned back to them, rubbing his hands briskly together. “I have already dispatched some men to investigate the manufactory. If they find it empty, you should go immediately. Until then, I suggest you get some sleep.”

  The energy that had burned through her on the ride back to London still smoldered deep within Isabella’s muscles. She doubted she’d get much in the way of sleep, but Briar could likely use the rest.

  They mounted the stairs to their respective rooms behind a bleary-eyed footman. Isabella proceeded into her room, then stood next to the closed door, listening for the footman’s receding footsteps.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  The woman’s voice from behind her was the last thing Isabella expected to hear. She tried to recover some dignity after jumping a foot and a half in the air, but from the studiedly bland expression on the maid’s face, that zeppelin had long since been unmoored.

  “I don’t require anything, thank you,” Isabella said. She brushed the front of her dress and stood back to let the maid pass. If Briar was preparing for bed, she would be a while, giving Isabella the chance to take a look at the schematics she’d found in the pocket of her jump suit. They were the drawings she’d purloined from the manufactory; she must have transferred them from the old suit and forgotten all about them. They’d had more than enough to distract them, that was for certain.

  She opened the small trunk containing her jump suit and the other assorted supplies she expected they might need. It was quite full, and it took some rummaging to put her hands on the drawings. The room had no proper desk, but the dressing table was large enough. Isabella paused to turn up the gas lamps and bent forward to get her first good look at the drawings.

  It looked like Holcroft had been working on some sort of voltaic pile, not that different from what Joseph was currently tinkering with. The battery didn’t use zinc and copper like any other pile she’d seen, and its proportions were massive. What did Holcroft expect to accomplish by creating a battery using gold and beryl? It looked like the whole thing had to be enclosed in a glass chamber, but the size of it made such a feat quite impracticable.

  Visions of glowing green coils in the hellscape of Holcroft’s second factory room leaped into her mind. Perhaps he’d already succeeded. But then why were these drawings unfinished? The notes he’d jotted in one corner made it seem like perhaps he hadn’t put this one to the test. Below the notes were some hastily scrawled equations. Isabella scanned over them, then took a closer look. The number four had a curious construction she’d only seen from two other people, one her father, the other…

  No, it was too insane to even contemplate. Isabella looked more closely. The eight was drawn as two balls atop each other, instead of in one piece. This couldn’t be.

  She pushed away from the bench and bent back over the trunk. Wellington’s last letter home was tucked in with some other papers. Worried at what she might find and not quite believing it might be true, Isabella lay the letter on the schematics. Back and forth she looked, until she had to stop.

  She sat back heavily in her chair. There was no way to dispute it. Holcroft had her brother. He had Wellington.

  Isabella laughed out loud. The sound was bitter, even to her ears. It took her four long strides to get across the hall to Briar’s room, and she didn’t slow down to open the door.

  “Miss!” The maid’s outraged squawk didn’t stop her.

  “Isabella.” Briar’s gentler reproof brought her up short. She looked over her bare shoulder at Isabella as the maid resumed unlacing the corset.

  “Ahem.” Isabella looked away, her cheeks heating quickly. “I’ll come back.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Briar pointed behind her at a comfortable chair by the window. “But perhaps you should knock next time?”

  Isabella confined herself to a nod and took the indicated seat. It was funny. There was no reason to be embarrassed seeing Briar en deshabille. She’d seen her in less. She’d been present while other women were getting dressed. But seeing Briar being less than put together seemed terribly intimate, somehow. It was made even more so by the presence of the maid. She tried not to watch as Briar was readied for bed, but she couldn’t help sneaking the occasional glance. For one thing, it kept her mind removed from the papers back in her room. For another, Briar was gorgeous. In this or her true form, Isabella could barely keep her eyes averted.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the maid left, curtseying deeply to Briar.

  “Thank you, Suzie,” she said. Briar waited until the door closed behind the maid, then turned to regard Isabella. “What has you so worked up?”

  “You need to see this.” Isabella grabbed Briar’s hand without thinking. When Briar gasped, she relinquished her hold. Briar wasn’t wearing gloves.

  “You’re upset.”

  Trust Briar to resort to understatement at a time like this. She left the room, knowing Briar would follow. The schematics and letter were still on her dressing table. The crumpled paper at either end of the drawings marred them deeply, and Isabella tried to smooth out the creases. She hadn’t remembered crumpling them.

  “This is one of the schematics I pulled from Holcroft’s office.” She pointed at the letter. “This is my brother’s latest letter. The hand-writing matches.”

  Briar bent forward to compare the two documents. “I don’t know about the letter. Certainly some of the letter formations are close, but the slant and spacing between words is different.”

  “His writing has always suffered when he’s in a hurry. Many of his letters home look little like the writing upon his drawings.” Surely Briar had to see they were written by the same person. “I think my brother has been captured by the inventor.”

  Briar laid one hand upon the letter and her other on the stack of drawings. She stared at them without saying anything for a long time. Isabella licked suddenly dry lips.

  “It’s possible,” Briar said. When Isab
ella took a breath to ask what their next steps were, Briar held up her hand. “It is not, however, likely.”

  The words and tone were gentle, far removed from the usual brusquely efficient way Briar spoke. Somehow that scared Isabella more than if Briar had started shouting at her.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I believe this is the same hand-writing as the grimoire, but that’s impossible to confirm now that we no longer have it.” Briar took a deep breath. “If your brother wrote this letter and these schematics, it is my belief that he hasn’t been captured by the inventor. Isabella, I think your brother is Holcroft.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A knock on the door to the guest room roused Briar. Isabella tried to burrow into the crook of her shoulder at the intrusive sound, but Briar turned away from her. Try as she might, Isabella couldn’t snuggle comfortably into her. Briar gently shook Isabella’s shoulder.

  “You need to answer the door,” she whispered. “I can’t be discovered in here with you.”

  Isabella favored her with a dark and bleary look, then sighed and got up. She snagged Briar’s housecoat from the back of a chair, then opened the door. Briar bit the inside of her lip. If anyone recognized the robe, there wouldn’t be much point in hiding her presence in Isabella’s room. Part of her cursed the instinct to join Isabella instead of spending the rest of the night alone, but she couldn’t leave her love after the revelation she’d dropped on her. Beyond a few kisses and some cuddles, they hadn’t indulged in intimate relations. Isabella had been nearly falling asleep mid-kiss. For all that she’d fairly vibrated with energy when they got home, that energy had drained from her practically before Briar’s eyes when she’d told her that Wellington was probably Holcroft.

  “What is it?” Isabella asked of the maid at the door.

  It was too early for breakfast. The sliver of light Briar could see through the drapes was the silver of predawn. Briar scooted down among the covers so she wouldn’t be visible unless someone were at the side of the bed.

  “The earl, ma’am. He’d like to see you. He’s at breakfast.” Apparently it wasn’t too early for the meal after all.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I’m dressed,” Isabella said.

  “Begging your pardon, but if you see Miss Riley, would you let her know? I tried her room first, but she didn’t answer.”

  “Of course. She’s a heavy sleeper sometimes. I’m sure she just couldn’t hear you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Did she believe you?” Briar asked after Isabella closed the door.

  “She didn’t laugh in my face and call me a liar, so that’s something.”

  “Isabella!” This was no laughing matter. She didn’t wish to jeopardize her spot in Hardwicke’s household by being indiscreet. Maybe it was time to start thinking of finding her own place.

  “Briar!” Isabella mimicked her tone perfectly. “Don’t worry so much about it. As long as we act like we’re respectable, the serving-folk will follow along.”

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” The idea shouldn’t have shocked her, but it did.

  “Not exactly, but this isn’t my first dalliance with a woman.” Isabella looked Briar in the eyes. “If you want details, I’ll tell you.”

  “No, that is quite all right. Perhaps we should preserve some mystery in our relationship.” Briar twisted the edge of the blanket between her hands. “But promise me your affairs are over.”

  Isabella perched on the edge of the bed. “Of course they are! And you make more of them than they were. There weren’t more than a handful.”

  Briar held up her hand. “I thought we agreed to no details. Besides, it won’t do to leave the earl waiting while we discuss the state of our relationship. Consider the message delivered. I’ll dress and join him for the morning repast.”

  “I’ll see you shortly then.” Isabella leaned forward and captured Briar’s lips for a hungry kiss.

  As always whenever Isabella touched her, Briar felt like she might levitate from the bed. There was no mistaking the passion that fueled the embrace, passion that was aimed fully at one target: her. She returned the kiss with interest, stroking her tongue lightly over Isabella’s lips and delving deep inside her mouth when it opened eagerly at her wordless request. She grabbed Isabella’s upper arms to steady herself, then broke off the kiss when it threatened to overwhelm her. The earl would be waiting a long time indeed if Briar took the invitation Isabella proffered.

  “We should get dressed.”

  “That we should.” Isabella took off Briar’s robe, then undid the tie at the neck of her nightgown and let it fall to the floor. She was gloriously nude beneath it. Briar couldn’t help but check out the bounty on display before her, the long curve of her waist, the swell of her hips down to the rise of her mound and then to the patch of flame-red hair that seemed to call her name.

  Briar grabbed her housecoat and fled Isabella’s room. In another second she would have been all over Isabella, Earl of Hardwicke be damned. She rang for the maid and was dressed in what she considered record time.

  “Does Miss Castel require any assistance, ma’am?” Suzie asked when the last button was fastened.

  “I doubt that very much,” Briar said. “I’m sure she’ll send for you if she does.”

  “Very well, ma’am.”

  After Suzie left the room, Briar reached all the way to the back of her dressing table’s bottom drawer. She felt around a while before her hand closed on a hard leather scabbard.

  The dress she’d chosen had loose, blousy arms, quite out of keeping with current fashion, but sometimes trends didn’t keep up with the need for self-protection. She strapped the small scabbard to her left forearm, then slid the silver athame home in it. The motion was a practiced one, though she hadn’t worn the knife for years. There had been a time when she was never without it. If the factory was empty, they would be investigating it. Who knew what secrets might be cloaked behind glamours or shrouds? The knife could come in handy.

  Hardwicke and Isabella awaited her at the breakfast table. It wasn’t the long table the earl used for dinner; this one was much smaller, almost intimate. On clear mornings, this was the sunniest room in the house, and it was a pleasure to come to full wakefulness under the sun’s rays. They would have been considerably more crowded had the earl’s daughters been there to join them, but they were likely abed yet. Briar herself could have done with another three or four hours of sleep. From the way Isabella stared into her tea, she could have as well.

  They’d both been there for a while. Half of Isabella’s tea was already gone, as were the eggs on her plate. A piece of ham kept company with the crusts from her toast. At least no one dared comment upon the time it had taken her to get to the table. The earl was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the previous evening. From the circles under his eyes, he hadn’t yet been to bed. For her part, Isabella was in the strange get-up she’d worn with her jump rig. The pale canvas coveralls were quite out of place for breakfast with a peer, but the earl seemed not to notice. A heavier jacket, padded in the shoulders and around the waist, kept the coveralls from being completely scandalous. Even so, Briar could still see where Isabella’s breasts strained against the fabric.

  A footman placed a full plate in front of Briar and another filled up her teacup. The tea was dark, as she liked it. With tea this good, there was no need to dilute it with milk or sugar. Briar held it up to her face, inhaling the rich tones of dark tea with an undertone of bergamot and another spice she could never quite place. The smell alone was almost as invigorating as the first mouthful.

  “I assume the Mirabilia manufactory is empty, yes?” Briar said.

  “Quite so,” Hardwicke said.

  “Good.” Isabella picked up a fork and speared a piece of ham.

  The clearing of a throat by the door pulled Briar’s attention away from her eggs. LaFarge hovered there, not quite inside the room.

  “Mon
sieur LaFarge, is it?” the earl asked. “How may we help you?”

  “My lord,” LaFarge said. He smiled coyly, seemingly restored to his former self. “It’s how I can help you.” He hesitated. “All of you, really.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Isabella said. She attacked the ham on her plate with more vigor than it strictly required, severing a sliver from the greater with one stroke. She glared at it, then transferred her irritated regard to the man in the doorway. “What could you possibly offer us at this point?”

  “You’re trying to stop the imps, aren’t you?” At the earl’s cautious nod of acknowledgment, LaFarge stepped fully into the room. “I know demoniac magic, I can help. Please allow me to be of service.”

  The offer was a generous one and quite out of character for what Briar knew of LaFarge. He’d never seemed more than a self-serving fellow, and she couldn’t understand why he might volunteer to put himself in harm’s way.

  “Why on earth would you do that?” Briar asked.

  Isabella nodded vigorously from across the table. “Why indeed? Aren’t you the world’s most consummate coward?”

  Briar half-raised a hand to caution Isabella against such an outburst but lowered it at the hurt look she received in response.

  “It’s a fair statement,” LaFarge said. He sat down lightly in one of the chairs, looking like he might spring up again if there was the slightest objection to his presence. At Hardwicke’s nod, he relaxed into the chair. “The truth of it is, I’m tired of being frightened. Those demons are looking for me and I can’t spend my time waiting for them to appear. Not anymore. If I’m working to defeat them, I won’t be sitting petrified in my room.”

  “A noble sentiment, Mr. LaFarge,” Hardwicke said. “But why should the demons be interested in you?”

  “Because of them, Lord Hardwicke.” He indicated Briar and Isabella with the thrust of his chin. The accusation of the motion wasn’t lost on Briar, nor, she suspected, on Isabella. “I was present when the imps first attacked Isabella and Miss Riley in the workshop. I can only assume they got my scent there and marked me as a threat.”