by C. J. Archer
The hard planes of Mr. Glass's face slackened. He blinked. "Hand over? I am your heir? But you have three daughters."
"Of course you're the heir. Stupid as well, I see."
"It's true," Miss Glass chimed in quickly. "The estate is entailed, Matthew. None of your female cousins will get their greedy little hands on it because you are the sole male heir, and males inherit." At his continuing stunned look, she added, "Didn't Harry tell you?"
"No," he murmured.
Lady Rycroft sniffed into a handkerchief. "The thought of my dear girls being tossed out of their home! It breaks my heart."
I willed Mr. Glass to speak, but he didn't. He glanced at me, then quickly down at the floor, off to the side, everywhere but the faces watching him. I twisted my fingers tighter in my lap.
Lord Rycroft's grunt filled the room. "You're not welcome here. Good day." He turned to go. "Letitia, to your room. You're forbidden to leave for a week. Go!" he shouted when she didn't move.
Both she and Lady Rycroft flinched. Then she lifted her chin. "I wish to stay with Matthew."
"Go. To. Your. Room!" Lord Rycroft roared. His face blotched, his mouth frothed. "I will not tolerate any more of your mad ramblings and wanderings! Christ, woman, you're the bane of my existence."
Miss Glass's eyes filled with tears, but she continued to hold her chin high, even though it wobbled. "I wish to live with Matthew."
"I'm not staying in London," Mr. Glass said automatically.
But his aunt didn't seem to hear him. "I refuse to sleep here another night."
"I'll have you taken to the asylum if you continue to defy me!" Lord Rycroft shouted. "You're a mad old bat, and the sight of you sickens me. It's no wonder Harry left you behind. He couldn't stand your company either!"
Finally Miss Glass's face crumpled and her tears spilled. The proud dame seemed to age ten years as her shoulders stooped and trembled with silent crying. I went to her and took her hand in mine. She rallied a little and stopped crying.
Lord Rycroft looked at me as if he'd only just noticed me. I lifted my chin as I'd seen Miss Glass do, daring him to throw me out. "Take your doxy with you, Glass, and leave."
"I'm not a doxy, and you are certainly not a gentleman." I didn't know what I was saying. Perhaps I was afflicted with madness too. I just knew I couldn't leave Miss Glass with this bully. "I'm not leaving without Miss Glass."
"Nor am I." Mr. Glass held out his hand to his aunt.
She beamed up at him through her tears. I might have smiled at him too, but he wasn't looking my way, although he did stand very close to me.
Lord Rycroft glanced between his sister and nephew. He shook his head and grunted. "If you leave, Letitia, do not come back. Ever. Go to America with him. I don't care. Just get out of my sight."
"Gladly." Miss Glass took Mr. Glass's hand and tucked mine into her side. "Come, Miss Steele. We have a house to air out." She turned to her sister-in-law, sitting on the sofa with a stunned expression on her tight face. "Have my things sent to Matthew's house by the end of the day. All of them. I'll be counting every last trinket."
She marched out, taking me with her.
But Mr. Glass didn't follow. "I believe you have several letters belonging to Aunt Letitia, written by my father," he said to Lord Rycroft. "Include them in her belongings."
Lord Rycroft bristled. "You do not give me orders in my own home!"
Mr. Glass bared his teeth. "Then come outside, Uncle, and I will order you there." Before anyone could fully digest his words, he grasped Lord Rycroft's arm, twisted it behind his back, and hustled him toward the drawing room door. The footman standing there came to life, proving he wasn't an automaton after all. He gasped and his eyes bulged, but he did not move to assist his master as Mr. Glass marched his uncle into the entrance hall, as if he were ejecting a drunkard from a tavern.
I picked up my skirts and ran after them, not wanting to miss a single moment. Behind me, Lady Rycroft ordered Miss Glass to remain behind, but light footsteps followed nevertheless.
"What are you doing? Let me go!" Lord Rycroft struggled to pull himself free of Mr. Glass's grip.
"Not until you promise to send the letters. Every last one of them." Mr. Glass shoved him forward, and Lord Rycroft stumbled. He would have fallen if Mr. Glass hadn't still been holding his arm.
"Very well," Rycroft grumbled. "I don't care about the bloody letters anymore. Harry's dead. His letters have no meaning now."
I thought Mr. Glass would punch him, but instead he let his uncle go. He tugged on his sleeves and collar to straighten them, then held his elbow out to Miss Glass. She took it with a smile. He offered me his other arm, but I shook my head. A small triangular dent appeared between his brows.
"You've turned out to be even more of a disappointment than your father," Lord Rycroft said as we exited. "Hardly surprising considering the type of blood running through your veins.
"Pay him no mind," Miss Glass said, patting her nephew's arm. "He's simply jealous of Harry. Always has been and always will be."
The door slammed behind us.
Mr. Glass helped his aunt into the coach. I stood on the pavement and glanced up at Cyclops. His one eye watched me closely. How much of that exchange had he seen and heard?
"Everything all right, miss?" he asked.
I nodded and smiled, yet I didn't climb into the carriage. Mr. Glass held his hand out to me. "Miss Steele?"
I stared at his outstretched hand. It withered and closed upon my scrutiny. He dropped it to his side.
"You have something to say?" he said to me.
My things were at his house. All my worldly possessions were in one of his rooms. I could forgo the clothing, but not my tools or the daguerreotype of my parents. Surely he wouldn't harm me. I was no threat to him. Indeed, I was helping him. If he'd wanted to attack me, he could have done so last night in the kitchen. I made up my mind to go with him and do my best to simply perform the duty he asked of me. I abandoned the idea of notifying the police and collecting the reward. I valued my life more than money.
"No." I held out my hand for him and he took it. "I have nothing to say."
His fingers momentarily pressed mine, then he let me go. As he folded up the step, I could swear I heard him sigh.
Willie was not pleased to have another Englishwoman in the house. "You're a damn fool, Matt!" She paced across the entrance hall tiles and back again to wag her finger at her cousin. Some of her hair had come loose from its knot and she looked like a madwoman. I resolved to steer clear of her. Of the lot of them.
Miss Glass had no such qualms. She patted her nephew's cheek. "But a sweet fool. I knew you would be. You're your father's son, and so like my own dear mama too."
Willie snorted. Duke jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow and hissed at her to be quiet. She jabbed him back.
"She was always rescuing poor helpless creatures," Miss Glass went on.
"Helpless?" Willie echoed. "Ha!"
Miss Glass ignored her. "She used to wander in the woods on the estate, singing and talking to the birds."
"She sounds more like you," Willie grumbled, which she followed up with an "Ouch," when Duke once again elbowed her.
I did have to agree with her. The late Dowager Lady Rycroft sounded as mad as her daughter. But there was no harm in Miss Glass. Looking at her now, with a dreamy emptiness in her eyes, it was impossible to reconcile her with the woman we'd met on the doorstep, accusing Mr. Glass of house stealing. First appearances were definitely deceiving in some cases. Her nephew had something in common with her there, but little else.
"Willie, see that my aunt is made comfortable while Duke prepares a room for her," he said.
"Me?" Willie placed her hands on her hips. "Why me? Why can't she?" She nodded at me.
"Miss Steele is coming with me. We've got a lead on Chronos."
Willie's anger immediately dissolved. "Then what are you waiting for? Go!" She shooed us both, but I stood my ground.
&n
bsp; "You don't need me," I told Mr. Glass. "Cyclops can find the Aged Christian Society on his own, and you don't need me to talk to Mr. Mirth."
He searched my face, and that small triangular dent at the bridge of his nose appeared again. "I would like the company."
"I'm sure my company's far too dull for someone like you." I turned to Duke. "I'll assist you with Miss Glass's room."
Duke and I headed up the stairs. The front door didn't close until we were on the first floor landing.
Miss Glass's room was situated next to mine. I opened the window to allow some of the crisp afternoon air in and to blow out the stale. Duke opened wardrobe doors to do the same, then we both searched high and low for linen.
"Must be downstairs," he said, giving up.
"I'll get it. I need to stretch my legs."
"Servant door's in the corridor wall opposite."
I found the hidden door easily enough and made my way quickly downstairs. The service area ran the length of the house below street level. The kitchen was the largest room, with a pantry and scullery off it. Signs of the evening meal preparations covered the central table, but the small dining and sitting rooms looked untouched, as did the butler's and housekeeper's offices. I found the linen press, but the sheets were stored at the top. I stepped on a lower shelf, but my weight tipped the entire cupboard forward.
I jumped down and managed to keep the whole thing from toppling on me, but a flat box slid off the very top and crashed to the floor. It missed me by mere inches.
I righted the press and bent to pick up the box. No, not a box, a case with brass clasps that had sprung open. The case's contents spilled onto the floor. I bent to gather up the sheets of paper, but froze.
A picture of a bushy browed man stared back at me, his face a map of scars. He looked about thirty or so, but it was difficult to tell from the picture. The word WANTED in bold, blocky type labeled the fellow an American outlaw. He was worth five hundred dollars, dead or alive. But it wasn't the amount or the face that had my heart stopping. It was the name.
Bill Johnson. Johnson was Willie's name. This man was a member of Mr. Glass's family. According to the poster, Bill Johnson was wanted for robbing a general store.
Each of the twelve sheets of paper was a poster showing different outlaws wanted for crimes committed in various American states and territories. Three bore the name Johnson. One was the Dark Rider, the man from the newspaper article I'd read. The sketch was the same. His face wasn't clearly shown thanks to the beard and hat. According to the poster, he was considered extremely dangerous.
My hands shook as I replaced the papers back in the case. I stood on a chair to return it to the top of the cupboard, then hurried back up the stairs with my arms full of clean linen.
Duke and I finished making up the bedroom, and I joined Miss Glass in the drawing room while he disappeared into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Miss Glass dozed by the window so I sat and read quietly. Or tried to. It wasn't easy with my mind wandering back to those posters of outlaws with their grizzly faces and cold eyes. And then there was the Dark Rider, the man no one had seen properly. His value had been the highest of the lot.
Mr. Glass returned earlier than I expected. When I heard the front door, I sat forward on the chair, my heart in my throat; not from apprehension at seeing him again but because I was eager to find out what he'd learned from Mr. Mirth. That surprised me. I ought to be more afraid of him.
Nobody met him at the door and he came immediately to the drawing room. He glanced at his aunt's sleeping form then at me. I arched my brows and he shook his head. At my frown, he indicated I should follow him back out to the entrance hall. I hesitated then went after him.
Duke and Willie emerged from the rear of the house so I hung back near the staircase. "Well?" Willie asked. "What did Mirth say?"
"He wasn't there," Mr. Glass said heavily.
"Not there?" Duke said. "Where is he?"
"He left a few days ago. He simply walked out of the facility and nobody knows where he went."
"He left!" Willie shouted.
Mr. Glass shushed her with a glance back at the drawing room.
Willie made a rude gesture in the same direction. "He can't just leave. Isn't that the point of that place? The inmates are too old to care for themselves?"
"They're not inmates," Mr. Glass said. "It's a charitable institution for the aged, and there's no obligation for anyone to remain. If the patient feels well enough to leave, or a family member collects them, they can go."
"God damn," Willie muttered. "I hate this country."
"It's hardly England's fault," Mr. Glass told her.
Willie folded her arms and turned away. Her spine curved and she lowered her head.
"Don't you go all teary on me." Mr. Glass rested a hand on her shoulder.
She shook it off then suddenly turned and threw herself into his arms. Fortunately he was strong enough to catch her. If it had been me, I would have landed on my rear beneath her.
He held her a moment, until she composed herself and stepped back. "Enough of this sentimental claptrap," she declared. "We'll find this Mirth fellow." She suddenly looked at me. Despite her watery eyes, the gaze was as sharp as a blade. "She'll find him." She marched over to me and stabbed a finger into my shoulder. "You'd better, Miss Steele. If you don't, I'll…make you regret it."
They were just words. Easy enough to say, difficult to believe. But Willie's anger wasn't something I wanted to stoke.
"Willie," Mr. Glass chided.
"Goddamn it, woman!" Duke marched over and grabbed Willie by the elbow. "You're a damn fool. Threatening her won't help."
"Paying her isn't doing anything!" Willie pulled free then ran up the stairs, taking two at a time.
Duke shook his head and left too. Mr. Glass gave me a flat smile. "My apologies for my cousin's behavior. She can get emotional at times."
"Over a watchmaker, no less."
"It's a special watch."
"So you keep saying." I waited for him to tell me about his special rejuvenating watch, but he didn't. "Will we resume our search this afternoon then?"
He leaned back against the newel post. "It's late. We'll resume tomorrow." His gaze wandered past my shoulder.
"Harry, dearest, you're back," Miss Glass said. "How was your journey?"
Mr. Glass sighed. "I'm Matthew, not Harry. Have you settled in, Aunt?"
"I'm quite settled, thank you. I do think I'm going to like it here, despite your strange cousin and that other gruff fellow. At least I have Miss Steele as a companion."
"Good," he said, once again glancing at me. "But it's only for a few days. I'll be returning to America on Tuesday."
She waved her hand and headed up the stairs. "Come, Miss Steele, and play the piano for me. This house needs music."
I went to follow her, but Mr. Glass stopped me with a hand on my arm. "She likes you, Miss Steele," he murmured, his face close to mine. "Try to make her see that this arrangement is only temporary."
"I'll do my best. Perhaps it will help if she knew what was to become of her after you leave. Her brother has forbidden her to return to his house."
"She's not going back there," he growled low. "Not while I live."
I nodded in agreement. "But she does need to go somewhere."
A loud bang woke me up. It was very dark, and I could only make out outlines of the furniture in my room. Someone shouted from the depths of the house, too far away to make out their words. I jumped out of bed, hitting my knee on the nightstand, and fumbled for the candlestick and matches.
Another bang echoed through the house, shaking the walls and setting my heart pounding. It wasn't just any bang; it was a gunshot.
Then Miss Glass screamed.
Chapter 9
I abandoned my attempts to light the candle and ran from the room. My shoulder smacked into the doorframe, but I ignored the pain and raced to Miss Glass's room. The house was filled with shouts and footsteps, and the sound
of my own heartbeat echoed in my ears.
"Miss Glass!" I didn't wait for a response, just pushed open her bedroom door.
She screamed again, but quieted when I assured her it was only me. I could just make out her shape sitting up in bed, the covers pulled to her chin. "Miss Steele! Thank goodness. What was that noise?"
"A gunshot, I think." I sat on the bed and clasped her shoulders. She shook violently. "Are you all right?"
"I…I think so?"
"Aunt Letitia!" Mr. Glass burst into the room. Even in the dark, he filled the space with his presence. "Miss Steele? I heard screaming."
"That was me," Miss Glass said, crisply. "Matthew, someone is shooting inside the house!"
He crouched by the bed near where I sat. He wore only trousers, and was entirely naked from the waist up. I swallowed and tried not to stare, but I failed miserably. Even in the dark, I could see the straps of muscle across his shoulders and down his arms. Muscles like that didn't appear on the bodies of idle gentlemen. They came from hard work. Or fighting. I tried to lean forward to see his chest.
He caught me and righted me. "Miss Steele? What's wrong?" His hands explored my arms, up to my shoulders and neck. They were warm and strong as they searched me for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
I drew in a breath to steady my jangling nerves. "I, er, that is, we're unharmed. What's happening?"
"I don't yet know." He let me go, stood, and strode out the door, leaving me with a heart beating harder than ever and nerves stretched to their limit. My skin felt warm where he'd touched me.
I stood too.
"Don't go out there." Miss Glass caught my hand. "Wait for Matthew to return."
The shouting had ended, and calm voices filtered to us through the still house. "The danger, if there was one, seems to have passed. I'll return in a moment."
I lit a candle and headed downstairs. Raised voices filtered up from the service rooms, so I made my way to the kitchen. Willie's voice reached me before I saw her. "You didn't lock up. It ain't my fault."
