by C. J. Archer
Never had I felt so alive in the presence of one, either, or so desirable.
That last thought shocked me to the core and had me racing out of the kitchen again before he came back. I ran up to my room, shut and locked the door, and slipped the knife under my pillow.
I didn't trust him before and I certainly couldn't now. He must know that I suspected him but, perhaps worse than that, he'd proved to both himself and to me that he had the power to turn me into a brainless twit who fell far too easily under his thrall.
Even if he wasn't an outlaw, he was still very dangerous.
I awoke feeling more determined than ever to collect the reward for Mr. Glass's arrest. Proving he was the Dark Rider would not only make me richer to the tune of two thousand American dollars, it would prove that I wasn't going to be manipulated. He was employing me as his guide, but that was all. I wasn't going to fall for his charm then protect him from the authorities. I was going to point them in his direction.
All I needed now was proof that he was the outlaw mentioned in the newspaper. No matter how much I needed the reward money, I couldn't send the wrong man to the gallows.
Mr. Glass seemed distracted by the thoroughly uninteresting scenery outside the carriage window this morning. We were heading back to Westminster, to finish questioning the watchmakers we didn't get to the day before, and we'd not yet exchanged more than polite greetings. It made the slow drive through traffic unnerving. I wanted to break the ice, but I didn't know how. I was still reeling from our kitchen encounter, and my brain wasn't yet functioning properly. It was most disconcerting, and I didn't like it.
"The weather appears to have closed in," I said. When in doubt, discuss the weather, so my mother always said. "We shouldn't complain after our run of pleasant days, but it's a shame nevertheless."
His gaze swept up and down the street before he finally tore it away. He sat back, a frown on his brow. "I'm sorry, Miss Steele, I'm a little distracted this morning."
"Any particular reason?"
He suddenly grinned. It was a breathtaking sight. "The possibility of an attack by knife is on my mind."
"If that were the case, then your attention should be on the inside of the coach rather than outside it."
"Indeed." His eyes glittered with amusement. Clearly he didn't think me a threat.
"I hope you understand that I wasn't going to use it on you, specifically."
"Then who, specifically, were you going to use it on?"
"Anyone who tried to come into my room. I am a woman alone in a house with strangers, three of whom are men and one woman who doesn't seem to like me very much. I'm sorry if that offends your sense of honor, but I'm simply being cautious."
The smile disappeared from his face. I was sorry to see it go. "I understand completely. You are a woman alone in the world, thrust into a household full of people you hardly know. I'm not offended, I'm an admirer. You're remarkable."
He ought to have stopped after the first sentence. The rest of his praise was a little too thick to be believable. Coupled with a gentle smile that didn't seem quite genuine, it was all too much. I'd had enough. I wanted him to know I could see through his act, both last night's and today's, if only it would make him stop the ridiculous charade. "Please, Mr. Glass, such overly effusive praise isn't necessary."
"I wouldn't call it overly." He leaned forward and clasped my hand in both of his. "Miss Steele, I am sincere."
I snatched my hand away. "Stop it," I snapped. "I'm not sure if you're attempting to seduce me or merely befriend me, but let's be clear. I am not a simpering female who falls for pretty words, flashy smiles and heated gazes."
To my surprise, he started laughing, but there was a hard edge to it. "Is that so. Then how did Hardacre win you over?"
I bristled. My relationship with Eddie was none of his affair and it was the height of rudeness to bring it up. Yet I felt compelled to answer. I'd wanted Mr. Glass to shed his false gentlemanly manner, and now that he had, I must bear the consequences. "I considered my options thoroughly before accepting his hand. Eddie was always pleasant and agreeable. Unfortunately, he was a far better actor than you. I couldn't see past his words, smiles and gazes until it was too late. Or perhaps I've learned a few things about men since then and am wiser now."
"Or you're just a terrible judge of character. You were wrong about him, so perhaps you're wrong about me, too. It's a shame, but you'll never know if I genuinely want to be your friend." He sighed theatrically and returned to gazing through the window. "Pity."
Ugh. The man was worse than I thought.
The rest of the drive seemed to take hours, but a quick check of the watch I kept in my reticule showed that it had only been fifteen minutes when Cyclops stopped the coach outside Underwood Watches And Clocks. I remained in the coach since Mr. Underwood knew me.
Mr. Glass didn't remain inside for long, and returned to the coach after only a few minutes. He paused before climbing into the cabin, his gaze on something behind us. I turned to look out the rear window but there was only a hansom cab pulling away without a passenger.
"What is it?" Cyclops called down from his perch.
"Nothing," Mr. Glass said. "Drive on." He climbed in and settled on the seat across from me.
"Any luck?" I asked, the first words either of us had spoken to the other since our frosty discussion. Hopefully it would put an end to the silence.
"None," he said with a sigh. "Mr. Underwood is about the right age, but he's not Chronos. His nose is too large, for starters."
"Did he know anyone who might fit the description?"
"No, but I got the feeling he was lying."
"Why would he lie?"
His gaze flicked to me then outside. He stroked the bottom edge of the window with his finger. "The trick is, how to get him to tell us what he knows."
"Are you quite sure he was lying?"
"Yes." His finger stilled. "Do you know anything about him that we could use as leverage?"
"Leverage? Do you mean to blackmail him?"
I got the feeling he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. "No, I mean leverage. Blackmail is far more sinister. I don't wish to harm him."
"Just use him."
"Access his information."
"Information he doesn't want to give you."
"Do you, or do you not, know anything about Mr. Underwood that we can use to…encourage him to tell us what he knows?" His tone was far more forceful and less patient than any he'd used with me before. I felt as if I needed to reward him for being himself around me.
"I don't, but I know someone else who may know the fellow Mr. Underwood is referring to."
"Do you think he'll reveal the information?"
"He may. Mr. Glass, is there something about your watchmaker that you're not telling me? Something that gives him a reason to remain anonymous?"
His finger resumed its slow progress along the bottom edge of the window where glass met wood. "Nothing."
"I don't believe you."
His lips flattened. I arched my brow at him in a challenge and he swore quietly. "It's not for me to divulge his reasons. They're his."
I gasped. "Is he an outlaw?"
"No. Now, no more questions, please. It's not my place to give answers. So where can we find this old watchmaker you know?"
"Across the river." I gave him directions and he opened the window and passed them on to Cyclops. Cyclops called back that he could work out the way using his map, thank you very much.
Mr. Glass returned to his seat. "What's the information that I can use as leverage?"
"It'll be better coming from me," I said. "I'll come into his shop with you."
"Is that wise, considering the reaction you received yesterday?"
"He won't try the same trick as Abercrombie."
"How do you know?"
"Because…" I didn't know for certain. The reaction of the other watchmakers on Oxford Street, not just Abercrombie, was unexpected and inexplicab
le. "He's not nasty like Abercrombie," was all I said. Although after I was through “leveraging” him, he might turn against me.
It took some time to get through the traffic, cross the bridge over the river, and reach Clapham. Cyclops didn't get lost once and pulled up outside Mr. Lawson's shop on High Street. Mr. Glass alighted first and held out his hand to assist me down the coach steps. We'd hardly spoken on the journey, so I made a point of thanking him to break the silence.
I entered first and crossed to the counter where Mr. Lawson sat hunched on a stool, tinkering with a watch. He glanced over his spectacles at me and dropped the watch on the counter. A spring fell out.
"Miss Steele! What are you doing here?"
I picked up his watch and slotted the spring back into place. The watch resumed ticking. I held it out for him, but he simply stared at it, his mouth ajar.
"It was broken!" he cried.
"And I fixed it." I held the watch higher, but still he didn't take it. "The spring just needed to be replaced." I felt like a fool explaining it to him when he would have noticed it falling out, surely.
He shook his head. "That spring wasn't the problem. I've been working on the watch all morning and I couldn't find anything wrong with it, yet it doesn't work."
Perhaps he needed new glasses. I set the watch down on the counter. He picked it up by its chain and moved it to the side, at arm's length. Then he backed away from me.
"My God," he murmured, still staring at me as if I had two heads. "Unnatural."
I felt Mr. Glass's solid presence at my back, very close. It was reassuring, but not enough to banish my curiosity. "Mr. Lawson, why are you afraid of me?"
The old watchmaker fingered the white mustache hiding his top lip. He gave a nervous little laugh. "Afraid of you? Not at all, Miss Steele, not at all. I'm simply…overwhelmed to see you after all this time." He gaze shifted to the watch then back to me. His numerous wrinkles crunched into a deep frown. "Your father and I were hardly friends these last few years."
"No, you weren't."
"What is it you want? I can't offer you employment."
"I don't want to work for you."
He looked relieved.
"This is Mr. Glass," I said. "Mr. Glass, meet Mr. Lawson."
Mr. Glass held out his hand. Mr. Lawson didn't come closer, so Mr. Glass lowered it.
"Is this Chronos?" I asked.
Mr. Glass shook his head. He then told his brief story of the mysterious Chronos and asked Mr. Lawson if he knew of a man similar in age to himself who may have been overseas five years ago.
The more Mr. Glass spoke, the wider the watchmaker's eyes became, and they were already quite wide. I was convinced he knew the fellow Mr. Glass sought.
"Well?" I prompted. "Who is he?"
"Nobody." Mr. Lawson backed up against the wall, knocking a clock hanging there. "I know of no such man."
I looked to Mr. Glass. He nodded gravely. "You're lying to us," I said to Mr. Lawson. "You do know who we're seeking."
He held up his hands and once again his shoulder bumped the clock. It tilted to the right. "I don't! For goodness’ sakes, Miss Steele, I'm an old man. Please leave me be."
"You're an old man who is also a liar. You stole my watch design, entered it into the guild's awards and won. My design, Mr. Lawson. That award should have gone to me."
Mr. Glass's hand touched my lower back. Steadying me? Reassuring me? Preparing to stop me from jumping over the counter?
"Ah. That." Mr. Lawson stroked his mustache again and gave another nervous laugh.
"Yes, that."
"Come now, Miss Steele, there's no need to be upset about something that happened several years ago."
"I am not upset!" I cleared my throat and said, more calmly, "I'm willing to overlook your theft if you—"
"Theft! I wouldn't go that far, Miss Steele. You're being quite hysterical."
I pressed my knuckles on the counter and leaned forward. He flattened himself against the wall, knocking the clock off altogether. It crashed to the floor in a cacophony of splintered wood and a single out-of-tune cuckoo. Mr. Lawson pushed his spectacles up his nose.
"It was theft," I growled. "The guild won't look kindly on you if they learn what you did. Their bylaws state that anyone caught cheating in an awards contest will be thrown out of the guild."
"I…I'm not so sure they would believe you, considering your history with them. It might be seen as sour grapes."
That was the point I hadn't been so confident about, but I'd come this far. I could bluff my way to the end. "It would throw enough doubt in their minds that they would watch you very closely, Mr. Lawson. Now, I'm willing to leave the issue alone, as my father and I chose to do, if you tell us what you know about the fellow Mr. Glass is seeking."
He licked his top lip, dampening his mustache ends that he then proceeded to stroke.
"Come now, Mr. Lawson. I know you know him. You're not that good a liar."
He glanced past me to Mr. Glass. "His name is Mirth. He may or may not be the man you want, but he fits your description. He used to have a shop near here until he traveled overseas some years ago."
"Five years?" Mr. Glass prompted.
Mr. Lawson shrugged. "Perhaps more, perhaps less. The years all blend together at my age."
"Do you know where he went on his travels?" I asked.
"No. He simply shut his shop one day and never re-opened it upon his return."
"The name isn't familiar to me," I said. "He was a watchmaker near here?"
He snorted and pushed his spectacles up his nose again. "You don't know every watchmaker who ever worked in London, Miss Steele."
He had a point. "Where is he now?"
"I heard he was at the Aged Christian Society on Sackville Street, but that was some time ago. He may have passed."
"Where's Sackville Street?" Mr. Glass asked.
"Off Piccadilly."
"I know it," I said.
"Thank you, Mr. Lawson," Mr. Glass said. "You've been very helpful."
"Good day to you." Mr. Lawson cleared his throat and took a step away from the wall. "Miss Steele, do I have your promise not to mention that little incident to anyone at the guild? It was some years ago, after all."
"As long as your information isn't false, I see no reason why I need to speak of it." Father had decided not to make a fuss at the time, and although it galled me that Mr. Lawson had got away with it, Father was probably right. The onus of proof was on us, and I wasn't sure I had enough evidence to convince the biased guild members. "Good day, Mr. Lawson. I do hope your cuckoo clock isn't too damaged."
I walked out with Mr. Glass. "You were excellent in there," he said, as he helped me up the coach step. He was looking tired again, although not exhausted.
"Don't start that again, Mr. Glass," I ground out. "I'm not in the mood for your false niceties."
His jaw hardened. "I wasn't being false." To Cyclops, he said, "Drive to Sackville Street, off Piccadilly." He folded up the step, climbed into the cabin, and sat opposite me. He slammed the door shut.
I thought I'd upset him. Oh well. His moods were of no interest to me. It did mean an unpleasantly awkward journey, however.
It wasn't long before I regretted my outburst. Mr. Glass had seemed sincere, and it was unfair of me to snap at him when I was angry with Mr. Lawson.
"Miss Steele," he said, tearing his gaze away from the window. "I must ask you something about that exchange with Mr. Lawson. Can I, without risk of my head being bitten off?"
I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile. "Go ahead."
"You fixed that watch for him, even though he couldn't. How can that be?"
I shrugged one shoulder. "He's old and ought to retire, perhaps. It was only a matter of re-attaching the spring."
"Mr. Lawson has decades of experience, yet you wish me to believe he missed something so simple?"
"What other explanation is there? It wasn't working; I fixed it easily when he could
n't. There's nothing more to it."
He nodded slowly without taking his gaze off me. I found it unnerving so concentrated on the streets passing us by outside. After several turns, I realized we weren't heading in the right direction. I opened the window and shouted as much up to Cyclops.
He leaned over and looked back so that he could see me then touched the side of his nose as if to keep a secret. I closed the window again.
"What did he say?" Mr. Glass asked, rubbing his temples.
"That he knows what he's doing."
When we pulled into Park Street, Mr. Glass shoved open the door and leapt out before the coach had come to a complete stop outside his house. "What the devil are you doing?" he roared at Cyclops.
"Bringing you home to rest," Cyclops said. "And keep it down. You're scaring the horse."
The front door of number sixteen burst open just as I stepped out of the coach. A woman in her fifties stood on the threshold, an angry scowl on her face as she took in both myself and Mr. Glass. Dressed in black lace from head to toe, she looked like a cobweb in mourning.
"Matt!" Willie called out from behind her. "Better come inside real quick before she causes a scene."
"You!" The woman pointed at Mr. Glass before he had a chance to move. "Squatter! Intruder! Get out of my house or I'll have you arrested."
Chapter 7
"Vagabond!" The woman cried in a shrill voice. "House thief!" She advanced down the steps, still pointing her finger at Mr. Glass. Her hand shook, and next to him, she looked tiny and fragile, yet she faced up to him as if she were a warrior. I admired her immensely.
I remained on the pavement, waiting to see Mr. Glass's response. Cyclops didn't move the coach onward, and Duke now joined Willie at the door. Unlike her, his gaze was on Mr. Glass, not the woman. He looked concerned.
A quick glance at Mr. Glass proved why. The telltale signs of exhaustion tugged at his eyes and mouth. "You're mistaken, madam," he said. "I own this house."
He owned it? I’d thought he'd simply leased it. How did an American come to own a house in one of London's best areas?
