The Mapmaker's Apprentice (Glass and Steele Book 2)

by C. J. Archer

  "Where the devil did he go?" Worthey said, hands on hips. "It's not time for his break."

  I picked up the carriage clock Pierre had been working on, but let it go with a gasp. "It's warm."

  Matt took off at a run.

  Chapter 3

  Matt searched for the man named Pierre on foot, while I had Bryce drive slowly through the streets of Clerkenwell. I shouted up at him to stop no less than eight times, and got out to inspect every white-bearded man I spotted. None wore the same blue cap as Pierre, and all gave me blank looks when I questioned them. It was possible they were lying, however. Since I hadn't seen Pierre's face, I had no way of knowing what he looked like.

  After two hours, I ordered Bryce to return to the factory. Matt wasn't there, so I marched into Worthey's office. "That man who was here earlier," I said. "Pierre. What's his full name?"

  "Excuse me, Mrs.…?"

  "Miss Steele. I'm the daughter of—" Telling him that I was Eliot Steele's daughter may not work in my favor. “Never mind." Few watchmakers had treated me without fear or reservation since my father's death. While I didn't know Mr. Worthey, that didn't mean he hadn't known my father.

  Worthey sighed and returned his pen to the inkstand. "Pierre DuPont. Why? What's your interest in him?"

  "He may be the man my employer seeks. Is he French?"

  He nodded. "From Marseilles. He came to England a few years ago."

  "Does he have a French accent?"

  "Yes, a strong one."

  So he wasn't Chronos. Matt said the magical watchmaker had a middle class English accent and had worked in London. I rested my hands on the chair back in front of me and lowered my head. We should have questioned Worthey before chasing after Pierre.

  But if he wasn't Chronos, why had he run away when he heard Matt's American accent? And why had the clock felt warm?

  "How long has he worked here?" I asked.

  "Three months."

  A clock on the mantel chimed. Worthey checked his watch before slipping it back into his pocket. "Excuse me." He strode to the office door and rang the bell hanging there.

  Like automatons, the men at the long bench set down their tools and rose. The ones at the machines pulled levers and the cogs ground to a halt. An eerie silence settled over the factory floor.

  "Do you mind if I speak to your men briefly before they go?" I asked Worthey. "They might know something about Pierre that could help us."

  He held out his hand. "Be my guest, but you'll have to be quick. Nobody likes to stay here longer than necessary."

  He escorted me down the steps as the men plucked their coats off hooks ranged along the wall.

  "Before you go, men," Mr. Worthey bellowed, "Miss Steele would like to ask you some questions about Pierre. Who among you knew him well?"

  Blank eyes stared at me.

  "Does anyone know where he worked before he came here?" I asked.

  They shook their heads.

  "What about friends and family?" I asked.

  More head shaking.

  "He had no kin," Worthey told me. "I always ask for next of kin for each of my men, in case the worst happens. He told me he had none."

  "Where did he live?"

  "I don't know. He turned up every morning and collected his wages from my office on payday. It's no concern of mine if he slept under a broken old cart every night. He was a good watchmaker, a solid worker who required no training, and kept to himself. I can't ask for more than that."

  My heart sank. As the men filed out, I felt as if all hope went with them.

  I waited another hour in the coach for Matt to return and was more relieved than I cared to admit when he came around the corner. Dusk cast his face in shadow until he reached me at the open door of the brougham. I already knew from his slumped shoulders that he'd not been successful in finding Pierre, but I wasn't prepared for the exhaustion flogging him. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, stark against his pale skin, and deep lines bracketed his mouth. He stumbled as he stepped into the cabin, and I caught him by the shoulders. His weight and momentum propelled him into me, however, pinning me to the seat.

  "Christ," he muttered, picking himself up. He touched his jacket pocket at his chest as he plunged onto the seat opposite. He lowered his head into his hands and kicked his hat, now on the floor, away from the door. "My apologies, India."

  I swallowed the lump rising up my throat and called out to Bryce to drive us home. I shut the door and sat again. "Matt." When he didn't respond, I drew his hand away from his face. He lowered the other one and regarded me through thick lashes. I wanted to ask if he was all right, but I could see that he wasn't, and I didn't want to offend his masculine pride by alluding to his illness. "I don't think that man was Chronos."

  He lifted his head to look at me properly. "Why not?"

  "According to Worthey, he was French with a strong accent."

  "He could be pretending in order to escape notice."

  "True." I sighed. "I wish I'd seen his face so I could describe him to you. I only saw his white beard."

  "That's more than I saw," he bit off. He lowered his head again. I ached to stroke his hair, to offer him some comfort. I wasn't sure if it would be welcome, however. "We'll return and ask more questions tomorrow."

  "I questioned Worthey and the other factory hands," I said.

  He straightened. "What did you learn?"

  "Apparently his name is Pierre DuPont. He's originally from Marseilles but has lived in England for a few years now. He came to Worthey's three months ago. He has no family, and Worthey has no address for him. He kept to himself and made no friends among his co-workers."

  Matt tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "I'd still like to return tomorrow. He might come into work as if nothing were amiss."

  I knew from his tone that he didn't hold out much hope.

  His breathing suddenly quickened, became more ragged, and a trickle of sweat dripped from his brow. He looked ghostly in the dim light. I moved to sit beside him and touched his forehead.

  "You're burning."

  His eyelids fluttered. Was he asleep? Or…?

  "Matt?"

  No answer.

  "Matt!" I shook him, and he slumped against me.

  "Mmmm?" His finger fumbled with his jacket pocket. I helped him pull out the magic watch and remove his glove. I folded his fingers around the device, leaving my hand over his, and stretched my other arm across the back of his shoulders. He rested his head beneath my chin.

  I couldn't see his veins turn blue from that angle, but I knew from his even breathing that the magic flowed through him, rejuvenating him, although not healing him entirely. He would need to sleep when we arrived home.

  I pushed aside thoughts of his illness and simply enjoyed the feel of him in my arms. Not every spinster was fortunate enough to hold a strong, handsome man like this, and I planned on relishing every second, committing each hard muscle to memory.

  We were passing the large colonnaded houses of Mayfair when Matt finally sat up. "I'm sorry," he muttered without meeting my gaze.

  "Don't apologize." I clasped my hands tightly in my lap. They seemed to want to reach for him again. "You forget that I've already seen you like that before. And worse." The day he'd been arrested, when his watch had been left behind, had seen him nearly die. Just thinking about it made me sick to my stomach.

  "That doesn't mean I want to repeat that performance."

  I suddenly felt awkward and didn't know where to look. He hated me seeing him weakened, yet I already had and would again, if we maintained this close working relationship.

  Neither of us spoke as we arrived home and were met by a strange man dressed in a formal suit and white gloves at the front door.

  "Who are you?" Matt asked.

  "The new butler. Bristow, at your service." The clean-shaven slender man, with a full lower lip and thin upper one, bowed. "Are you Mr. Glass?"

  "I am, and this is Miss Steele."

  Bristow str
aightened and stepped aside. "Welcome home, sir, madam. Miss Glass and Miss Johnson are in the drawing room, getting acquainted with the other new staff members."

  Matt's brows lifted. "That was fast."

  "Indeed, sir." Bristow took our hats and gloves then retreated to the cloak room to hang them up.

  Matt put out his hand for me to go ahead. "It seems they've been busy while we were out."

  He still looked very tired, and I bit my lip to stop myself ordering him upstairs to rest. I doubted he would take kindly to me fussing.

  "There you are," Miss Glass said upon our entry into the drawing room. She sat like a queen on her throne, surrounded by her courtiers. In this case, the courtiers were dressed like servants. One, a young man, wore footman's livery, and two middle aged women and a girl of about nineteen wore aprons over black uniforms. I'd seen the outfits in the livery cupboard below stairs.

  Willie marched over to Matt, hands on hips. "You look like you've been run over by an iron horse," she said quietly.

  "Don't," Matt growled, low.

  "Go upstairs and rest. This can wait."

  "No, it can't." He pushed past her and greeted his aunt with a peck on her cheek.

  Willie glared at me. "You should've taken better care of him," she hissed.

  I dearly wanted to spit back a retort, but I couldn't think of one. She was right. I should have been more aware of how long he'd searched for Pierre DuPont and how that would take a toll on his health. But I'd forgotten, in the excitement of finding a magical watchmaker.

  Because DuPont was definitely magical. I'd felt the warmth of his magic in the clock he'd been working on.

  Miss Glass introduced us to the new staff. The housekeeper turned out to be married to the butler, and the young maid was their daughter. All the staff had come from the household of Miss Glass's old neighbor. Their employer recently passed away and his house closed up until the heir, a nephew living in New Zealand, either returned or sold it.

  Miss Glass watched the new staff file out of the drawing room with a satisfied smile. "What good fortune that old Mr. Crowe died when he did."

  "Not for him," Willie said.

  "All he did was lie in bed all day and complain to poor Mrs. Bristow. That's barely living. It's such a worthy thing to give the staff a new home here. They're all quite grateful."

  "It's only until we leave. Don't let them think it's permanent."

  Miss Glass put out her hand, and Matt helped her to her feet. "Now that we have adequate staff, we can receive callers."

  Willie groaned.

  "We shall have proper meals, thanks to Mrs. Potter's cooking, and dinner parties too. We'll employ a temporary footman and extra kitchen staff for more grand affairs." She patted Matt's arm. "It's a shame this house can't fit more, or we'd have another six permanent staff at least."

  Willie counted on her fingers, her lips moving as she did so. "There are more servants than us now! We'd be laughed out of California if our friends back home caught wind of these hoity ways."

  "You didn't have staff in America?" Miss Glass clicked her tongue. "Such a wild, uncivilized country. Well, that's in the past. Now, you can live as you were born to, Matthew."

  "Don't expect entertaining on a grand scale, Aunt," he said. "You're welcome to have friends come calling, but I'm afraid I won't be joining you. I'm very busy."

  "Of course you'll join me, and of course there'll be dinner parties. How else are you supposed to meet your bride?"

  Willie guffawed, rocking back on her heels and slapping her thighs. "Him marry a limp English rose that'll wilt at the first hint of the Californian sun?" She snorted.

  Miss Glass's mouth pursed so tightly her lips disappeared altogether. She cupped her hands around Matt's arm, anchoring him to her side. "He's a Glass. He can't marry a wild, prickly…"

  "Cactus?"

  "Tumbleweed."

  "They ain't prickly."

  "This conversation is moot." Matt extricated himself from his aunt's clutches. "Marriage is the furthest thing on my mind." He fixed a glare on Willie, causing her smug smile to fade. "I have more important things to do, right now."

  "Nonsense," Miss Glass snapped. "Nothing is more important than your future."

  "Now that we agree on," Willie muttered.

  Matt sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Thank you for hiring the staff. I admit to being surprised you two got along well enough to act so quickly."

  "Mrs. Bristow will whip this house into shape in no time." Miss Glass peered at Matt's face. "You do look peaky. Are you unwell?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Perhaps you ought to rest," I said. "You look as though you're coming down with something," I added for Miss Glass's benefit.

  She frowned. "India is wise. Listen to her and rest. Lewis can bring your supper up in a little while. Indeed, he can act as your valet as well as performing his footman duties."

  "I have no need of a valet."

  "Every gentleman of quality has need of a valet. It's the way things are done here." She shooed him toward the door.

  Matt put up his hands. "I'm going. I'll come back down later."

  "Is there any need?" I asked. "You ought to have a solid, uninterrupted rest. Otherwise you won't be at your best tomorrow, and I think it's going to be another full day."

  "India is right," Miss Glass said.

  "I need to discuss the day's events with the others," he said.

  "I can do that." I gave him a reassuring smile.

  He sighed. "I feel superfluous."

  "You ain't," Willie said. "You're just not needed."

  Matt glanced at each of us in turn and shook his head. "I see that the odds are stacked against me. I know when to retreat."

  Once he was gone, Willie turned to me, hands on hips. "Why does he do what you want him to do, and not me? When I told him to rest, he refused. You tell him to go and he's all agreeable."

  "That's because you don't have a delicate feminine touch," Miss Glass said.

  "Huh?"

  "If you want a man to do what you want, you have to subtly suggest it, not order him. You have to show him the benefits of doing what you want, as India did when she reminded him that he'll be busy again tomorrow and wouldn't want to feel unwell. She's a marvel at subtle suggestion."

  "I am?" I blinked. "I've been told I can be rather forthright."

  "Willie is forthright. You are simply good at manipulating, at least where Matthew is concerned. I'm quite at a loss as to why you're unwed, my girl."

  I laughed and looked to Willie to laugh along with her. But she simply shrugged.

  "I'd wager the ranch it's because she's too choosy," Willie said, regarding me with a critical eye.

  "Hardly," I said. "If you met Eddie Hardacre, you'd wonder why I wasn't choosier."

  "Maybe you scared off all the others. What do you think, Letty?"

  "I quite agree," Miss Glass said. "You're too clever for a woman, India, and you have a tongue to match it, on occasion. No man wants a wife more intelligent than he, and he certainly wouldn't like one who'll remind him of that fact in front of his friends."

  Willie nodded and gave me an apologetic shrug. "It's not too late for you, if it's marriage you want."

  "I…I don't know," I said numbly. How had this conversation come about? I felt all at sea, unsure whether to stay and listen to their frank appraisal or walk out and make a show of being offended.

  "Mark my words, India, the world's a cruel place for an unwed woman," Miss Glass said, her voice heavy. "A widow has a certain freedom and independence, but a spinster does not. If you can marry, you should."

  "It ain't that bad," Willie said, her back rigid. "In California, a woman like me can do as she pleases."

  "But India is not a woman like you. You are…unique. Hardly a woman at all, really."

  "You ain't the first person to say that."

  Miss Glass took my hand and patted it. "Don't fret, my dear. I'll find you a nice man who isn't put off by your brain.
Not too young, of course, but a man who needs a wife. Perhaps he'll be a widower with little ones."

  I pulled my hand free. "It's quite all right, thank you. I can find my own husband, if I decide I need one."

  She tsk tsked. "Don't leave it too long. Time is of the essence." She left the drawing room.

  I sat on the sofa, the wind knocked out of me. It was how I often felt when contemplating my future. One day, Matt would return to America and take his friends and family with him. I was neither, and my home was London. Unlike Miss Glass, I had no family to keep me occupied, and although I'd earned four hundred pounds by helping to catch the Dark Rider, the reward money wouldn't last forever. I needed to work, for financial reasons as well as for company. A long, lonely life stretched before me if I didn't work or marry.

  Yet Eddie had taught me that being beholden to a man through marriage wasn't something I wanted. I couldn't give up my independence, my four hundred pounds, or even my body, to someone who would treat them with contempt. Perhaps I ought to move to America, after all, and act like a man as Willie did.

  "You're not supposed to screw up your nose like that when you have a bad hand," Willie said, dealing out everyone's last card.

  I scooped mine up and added it to the rest of my hand. "Perhaps I'm screwing my nose up so you'll think I have a bad hand."

  "You ain't that good at hiding your emotions."

  Duke placed two matches in front of him. "You need to keep your face straight."

  "I thought I was." I looked to Cyclops.

  He shook his head. "Don't take it to heart, India. Poker's only a game, and we're not playing for ranches."

  Willie flicked a match onto the table.

  I shuffled my cards but they still only made a pair of sixes. Since everyone knew from my expression that I had little to go on, I folded. "I think I'll read instead."

  I joined Miss Glass on the sofa, unintentionally waking her. She blinked rapidly and patted the gray curls at her nape. "What time is it, India?"

  "Three minutes to ten."

  "Time to retire."

  Everyone stood and bade her goodnight. As soon as she was gone, Cyclops closed the doors.

  "Finally!" Willie threw down her cards, face up. "I thought she'd never leave."