Chapter 9: The Infamous Missus Coleridge
I dragged myself back to Missus Coleridge’s to get a little sleep before I needed to head back across town to meet Edwin. To my annoyance, I woke with thoughts of Lionheart dancing through my head. Problematic and utterly charming werewolf.
I rose and looked at the blue gown hanging there.
I had decided not to wear it. But now… If I was able to talk Edwin into a trip to the museum for a look around, I needed to play the part.
After I washed up, I redressed in the blue gown. I braided my long black hair and fixed it in a bun. Digging in the back of my wardrobe, I pulled out a hat box. Inside, I found the mini top hat Grand-mère had given me to go along with the gown. Made of matching blue fabric and adorned with peacock feathers, it was a pretty thing. The veil attached to the hat would even hide my mooneye. I pinned the hat on. I slipped my knife and Rose’s knucklebusters into a hidden pocket in the gown, slid my pistols into my boots, and grabbed my satchel.
“Have to sit this one out, Fenton,” I said, eyeing my gear, including Fenton’s pelt, lying on my bed.
I went to my looking glass and took a glimpse.
I was surprised to see the old Clemeny, the pre-Red Cape Society Clemeny, staring back at me—well, all but the mangled face. In the years leading up to my joining the society, I was forever bored. I always felt like I was waiting for something amazing to happen, like I was destined to do more than marry Pastor Clark and his sardine breathe and go to high teas. I would be forever grateful to Eliza Greystock for recruiting me to the agency.
And now, it seemed, I had something else to be grateful to her for. After all, if she hadn’t stepped down, I probably would never have met Edwin.
Grabbing my satchel—I couldn’t bring myself to carry a reticule—I headed out the door, wincing as the stairs creaked when I reached the landing.
“Clemeny? Is that you?” Missus Coleridge called, her front door flying open.
I flinched. “Yes, Missus Coleridge.”
“My girl, you’re as quiet as a mouse. I never heard you come in last night. Well, well, well, look at you,” Missus Coleridge said, her hands on her considerable hips as she eyed me over.
I smiled at Missus Coleridge who was wearing so much face paint and lipstick that she reminded me of a vaudevillian. She was dressed in her favorite brown, purple, and orange gown, a wide-brimmed hat in her hands.
“Now, where are you off to looking like a proper lady?” Missus Coleridge asked.
“I could ask you the same,” I replied with a smile.
Outside, I heard the distinctive sound of a wagon. A horse whinnied then someone called, “Molly! Molly, let’s go.”
“Oh, I’m headed into the city to see my dead brother Rodger’s second wife. She’s remarried, but she always has time to see me. Clemeny! You should ride with us. Come on,” she said.
Before I could protest, she grabbed me by the arm and hauled me out the front door. Closing up the place behind her, she pulled me toward a wagon. The driver eyed us both skeptically.
“You really shouldn’t walk all dressed up as you are. No, no, it won’t work having you getting all muddy. Ride with me in the carriage. Ephraim? Ephraim, this is Clemeny Louvel. We will take her across the bridge. She’s one of my girls, a career woman. What is it you do again, Clemeny?”
Ephraim looked from Missus Coleridge to me. The expression on his face told me he couldn’t care less.
“Law enforcement.”
“Oh, you see, law enforcement. Isn’t that interesting? Why don’t we—”
“Both yous get in. I don’t want to be late for my own affairs,” the man interrupted.
Missus Coleridge climbed into the wagon, sliding across the bench to sit beside Ephraim who frowned when she got close.
“Ephraim is unattached, Clemeny. And he has a pig farm just outside the city.”
That explained the smell. I looked into the back of the wagon. Under a tarp lay heaps of freshly slaughtered animals. I tried not to gag.
“Miss Louvel is also on the market,” Missus Coleridge said, elbowing Ephraim.
To my horror, Ephraim paused a moment to look me over, seemingly considering if I might be a match. “That right?” he asked. His eyes raked my body with such intensity that I thought about stabbing him. But his gaze paused when he reached my face. “Down an eye, huh?”
“It’s still there.”
Ephraim nodded. “Same thing happened to my brother. Bull caught him with its horn. That horn scraped the eye clean out. Bloody mess.”
“That’s… I’m sorry to hear it,” I said.
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Missus Coleridge said. “And is he a bachelor as well?”
“He is, but he’s out to sea. Miss Louvel, you in the market for a husband? You look like you’re a strong enough girl.”
Missus Coleridge clapped her hands excitedly.
Hell’s bells. For years, Pastor Clark had been my one and only prospect. Now I was on my way to see my beau only to find myself being courted by a pig farmer while yet another man—well, werewolf—had expressed a strong desire to see me in a gown. What in God’s name was happening?
“No, sir. Thank you.”
Missus Coleridge sighed audibly. “Working women. No time for love. Unless, well… Off somewhere special, Clemeny?”
“Yes.”
“Ooh,” Missus Coleridge cooed excitedly. “Good for you! Sorry to get your hopes up, Ephraim.”
“No harm done, Molly. No harm done.”
I looked out at the Thames as we passed over the bridge. If the conversation lasted another minute, I was very certain I would have to throw myself into the river. But to my luck, Missus Coleridge began telling the pig farmer about Tilly, the seamstress who lived in the room across from mine. As we rode, Missus Coleridge doled out poor Tilly’s entire life history, which Ephraim listened to with increasing interest. Poor Tilly.
The scent of decaying bacon, along with the rocking of the carriage, and the conversation, started pushing my limits. As soon as the wagon reached a section of the city where I knew I could find a society tram, I asked Ephraim to stop.
“Here?” Missus Coleridge asked. “But—”
“Oh, I’m meeting someone not far from here,” I said as I scrambled quickly out of the wagon. “Enjoy your day, Missus Coleridge. Nice to meet you, Ephraim.”
“You too, Miss Louvel,” he said, tapping the brim of his straw cap.
Missus Coleridge waved to me, and they rode off.
Dipping into my satchel, I pulled out the tiny bottle of gardenia perfume I’d tossed in there who knows when. I liberally spritzed myself, hoping to shake the smell of rotting pig. Straightening my hat and smoothing down my skirt, I turned and headed in the direction of the entrance to the secret, underground tram.
Nervous butterflies fluttered through my stomach, but I tried to ignore them. This was going to be a good day. I had nothing to worry about. Quinn and Edwin were going to get along just fine. After all, my prospects were looking up. If things didn’t work out with Edwin, there was always Ephraim to consider.
Chapter 10: It’s a Date
Standing in front of Edwin’s townhouse, I smoothed my skirt and adjusted my hat for the hundredth time. I suddenly wished I hadn’t worn this stupid, fancy dress. I looked ridiculous. I felt ridiculous. This wasn’t me. This was me pretending to be good enough to be on the arm of someone like Sir Edwin Hunter. My heart was thumping hard.
Oh, Clemeny, stop. It’s just a bloody dress. I knocked on the door.
Edwin’s butler opened the door, greeting me with a soft smile. “Agent Louvel, welcome. Agent Hunter was expecting you,” he said. The man was considerably warmer than the last time I’d seen him.
I entered the townhouse. The last time I’d been here, we’d been hunting Krampus. I saw the place with new eyes this time. What if things did work out between Edwin and me? Then what? Would I live here, in this beautiful place? I eyed the
pretty entryway with its hardwood floors, the rich cherry wood banister leading upstairs, the chandelier overhead, and the expensive paintings on the wall. Yes, that would do just fine.
“May I take your pelisse?” the footman asked.
I shook my head. “I expect we’ll be leaving soon.”
“Very well. I’ll inform Sir Edwin that you’re here. Would you like to adjourn to the parlor?”
“Sure.”
The footman smiled and motioned for me to follow him.
Sir Edwin, son of the baronet. Strange that Edwin had never mentioned his father—nor his mother—in our talks. As I made my way to the parlor, I scanned the walls for family portraits but found none.
“Here you are, Agent Louvel,” the man said, pushing open a set of double wooden doors, revealing a sunny room at the front of the house that looked out onto the street. The room had pretty furniture covered with pale pink and golden yellow fabric. There was a tall wicker birdcage in one corner. The little yellow bird therein called when I entered.
I crossed the room to look at the bird.
The tiny creature bounced from perch to perch, chirping at me. A moment later, I spotted a second head poke out of a basket hanging on the side of the cage. A decidedly sleepy bird looked out at his chirping friend.
“So, you work the night shift too?” I asked, grinning at the little creature.
“Finches,” a voice said from behind me. “One brother is the talker. The other one sleeps as much as he can. Amusing little creatures.”
I turned to find Edwin standing there, his top hat tucked under his arm. He was impeccably dressed in a grey suit and perfectly put together save a single lock of hair that had fallen onto his brow.
Joining him, I reached out gently and pushed the hair back in place. So close to him, I caught the scents of cinnamon and his shaving soap. Was that sandalwood? Perfection.
He smiled softly at me, that secret smile he shared on only rare occasions.
“You look very beautiful,” he said.
“Looking pretty dapper yourself.”
He chuckled then inclined his head to me. “Tram, carriage, horse, or steamauto?”
“Tram. Everything else takes too long.”
“Very well,” he said then put on his top hat.
We left the parlor to find the footman waiting. “Sir. Very nice to see you again, Agent Louvel.”
“Thank you. You too.”
Edwin smiled from the footman to me, a warm knowing glance passing between him and his servant. With that, Edwin and I headed out. A well-dressed gentleman with a dainty lady on his arm, we were the perfect picture of manners…except one of us hunted werewolves and the other hunted demons.
Chapter 11: Rude Characters
We exited the tram and made our way down the sleepy Twickenham streets toward Quinn and Jessica’s little house. As we went, Edwin adjusted his top hat and cravat about a hundred times.
“Everything all right?” I asked. I looked up at him.
Edwin cleared his throat, then cleared it again, then smiled down at me. “I never met Agent Briarwood formally, only spoke to him once or twice in passing. He has quite the reputation. Some say he was almost as fierce as you.”
I chuckled. “You survived Grand-mère. Quinn shouldn’t be as difficult.”
“Shouldn’t.”
“Are you parsing words?”
“Indeed I am.”
I squeezed his arm gently. It moved me to no end that Edwin wanted to make a good impression on the people I cared about most in the world.
Edwin slipped his hand over mine. “You know, there is a connection between the Rude Mechanicals and Twickenham,” he said.
“I do believe you’re changing the subject.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And you’ve caught me with something you know I want to hear. Carry on.”
Edwin laughed. “Do you know of Strawberry Hill House?”
I nodded. “The Countess Waldegrave lives there.”
“She is a story herself, but that house and land have long had ties to our benefactors. Mister Walpole, the man who built the house, was once attached to our society. He and Archibald Boatswain, the master tinker, have both been linked to the Rude Mechanicals.”
“When I was working the Fenrir case, Lily Stargazer said something strange. She called me a Rude Mechanical. What do you think she meant by that?”
“It is all very secret, of course, but I believe that the Rude Mechanicals, the original order, used to do the job we do now.”
“Marshaling the preternatural?”
“More or less.”
“More or less?”
“Britannia has always been wild. At least there aren’t as many mages as there used to be, and the faerie troupes intrude upon our world far less these days.”
“That would be troublesome.”
“And then there were the dragons.”
I chuckled. “Dragons? Now you sound like a Pellinore,” I said, referring to a quirky division in our agency dedicated to any leads related to dragons. Given there was no such thing, I imagined the three agents assigned to the job spent most of their time in the pub.
Edwin grinned. “Who knows what oddities live in our realm.”
“Speaking of which, I have a lead on my case. Not to divert the conversation, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to take in the British Museum with me after lunch? Not only do they have a nice Assyrian exhibit going on, but a mark I’m after is going to be there.”
“A werewolf at a museum? Unexpected.”
“That it is. Though I don’t know if he’s a werewolf or not. Mr. Phillip Phillips, who is working with Alodie to cut some kind of deal, will be taking a tour of the museum. I need to get a look at him.”
“Phillip Phillips? That’s…unoriginal.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Edwin eyed my dress. “You’re a little light on weaponry.”
I winked at him. “Don’t let the gown fool you.”
He chuckled. “I’d be happy to accompany you.”
“You know a fight might break out at any time,” I warned.
“Naturally. But that’s the job.”
“That it is.”
We turned down the lane that led to Quinn and Jessica’s house.
“Speaking of the job, if the Rude Mechanicals used to do our work, then I wonder who lorded over them, save the monarch, of course.”
“That is an excellent question.”
“And who are they now? I mean, Victoria directs us but who, exactly, are the Rude Mechanicals?”
“Also a good question. Have you ever watched Master Shakespeare’s play A Midsummer Night’s Dream?” Edwin asked.
I shook my head.
“In his play, a group of town citizens he calls the Rude Mechanicals find themselves mixed up in a marital squabble between the faerie king and queen.”
“Do you think Master Shakespeare was one of us, er, them? A Rude Mechanical?”
“Perhaps. He knew of us, at least.”
“Curious,” I said.
Edwin nodded.
We had arrived at the small house where Quinn and Jessica lived. I looked up at Edwin. “Shall we?”
The corner of his mouth trembled. “All right.”
I smiled to myself. I did feel a bit sorry for him, but the fact that he was nervous told me so much. Edwin actually cared about me.
Chapter 12: Tea, Lemonade, and Petit-Fours
Quinn’s butler led us to the back of the house where Quinn and Jessica had a sunny garden patio.
Quinn, looking considerably relaxed but still too thin for my liking, rose to meet us. I couldn’t help but notice he was using a cane to support himself.
His eyes must have followed mine because he said, “Nothing to worry about, partner. Just a pinch when I move around. Helps take the weight off.”
“Ah, so that’s where the weight has gone.”
Quinn winked knowingly at me.
“This is Agent Edwin Hunter,” I said, turning to Edwin who was standing in such a stiff, formal posture, his hat under his arm, that he looked like he might be made of stone.
Quinn reached out to shake his hand. “Sir,” he said.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Agent Briarwood,” Edwin said with a polite bow. “I’ve heard many tales about your service to the realm.”
“You hear that, Clem? I’m a legend now,” Quinn told me.
“Of course you are,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“And Mrs. Briarwood,” Edwin said, turning to Jessica.
She smiled at him. “A pleasure to meet you, Agent Hunter. Sit down. Both of you.”
The garden had high stone walls that enclosed the space. It was a sunny spring day. The warmth of the sunshine fought off the chill of spring. A cherry blossom tree in one corner of the garden was covered in pale pink blossoms. Daffodils, hyacinth, tulips, and other spring flowers were growing in the flowerbeds nearby.
“Well, Clem, they land you with anyone yet?” Quinn said as he slowly lowered himself back into his chair.
I suppressed a frown at the sight. After all these months, he was still hurting. I chewed the inside of my cheek. Alodie was the one who had turned on Quinn. Now, look at him. I swallowed the anger that wanted to boil up in me. If I ever got ahold of that werewolf, she was going to pay for what she’d done.
“No, but Harper worked a case with me awhile back,” I said.
“Harper,” Quinn mused. “That little redhead?”
I nodded. “She’s got some fire in her belly, just needs a bit of experience. She’s on rotation though.”
“Well, now that Agent Hunter has a personal interest in keeping you alive, I’m sure he’ll find you someone,” Quinn said then grinned at Edwin.
Bitches and Brawlers Page 5
