by C. J. Archer
He leaned forward and rested his hand on mine. It was probably meant to be a reassuring gesture, but it made my heart skip to a more erratic beat. "I'm sorry I'm not the easiest of men at times."
I blinked at him. He did not remove his hand, nor did I want him to. "You have nothing to apologize for." Not to me. He'd been the perfect gentleman at all times. Hot tears rushed to my eyes and I had to once again look out the window so he couldn't see.
His thumb stroked mine, gentle and insistent. My breath hitched at the intimacy of it. I shouldn't want him to touch me like that. Not this…outlaw, this addict. But I couldn't bring myself to tell him to stop. I simply sat there and allowed him to do it.
"India," he said, his voice low and rough. "May I call you that?"
I nodded.
He let me go, but only to touch my chin and gently force me to look at him. "Then you must call me Matt or Matthew from now on."
I nodded again.
"I know we're not friends," he said. "Not really. But…I feel a connection to you, and I hope you feel the same with me."
I sucked on the inside of my cheek. I nodded again, unable to speak, and not daring to disagree. Not wanting to.
"Good. Then…I need to say something to you." He let my chin go and rested his hand on his knee. His lowered his head and shook it slightly. After a moment, he looked up. "Why is a remarkable woman like you not married?"
That wasn't what he wanted to say. For starters, it had been a question and yet he'd said he wanted to say something to me. So what had been on his mind? Was he going to tell me a magical watch was keeping him alive? That he was addicted to opium? Or that he was an outlaw?
The carriage slowed and he leaned back. He wasn't even interested in my answer.
The first watchmaker on the list was a Mr. Ingham, a short, round man with a bald head and a pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He took one look at me and inched away from the counter. I stood to one side as Mr. Glass—Matt—spoke to him about Chronos.
As Mr. Ingham told him he didn't know anyone fitting that description, my gaze fell on the newspaper spread out on the counter nearby. The main article was about the Dark Rider again; the police believed he was here in London, based on information received from their American counterparts.
As Matt turned to go, Mr. Ingham glanced at me then down at the paper and up at me again. He scooped it up. "Good day, Miss Steele."
"Good day, Mr. Ingham," I said and followed Matt out of the shop.
We accomplished a great deal, visiting many shops and only stopping for a quick bite to eat and for Matt to use his watch while I powdered my nose in a Wandsworth inn. We did not have any luck, however, and headed back to Mayfair in a thoughtfully grim mood.
"That's all the watchmakers I know in the city," I said. "There are others, of course, but I've never met them. Even if you do remain in London to continue your search, you don't require my services anymore. I can't help you."
He'd closed his eyes upon settling in the carriage, and now he raised his eyelids slowly, half way. The effect lent him a lazy, dissolute air. "I beg to differ. You're familiar with London. I'll need a guide."
"Cyclops knows where we haven't been. He can drive you without my guidance."
He closed his eyes again and I thought he'd fallen asleep, when his eyes suddenly reopened. He grinned. It was so unexpected that I couldn't help smiling back at seeing the change in him. "I've got it! You can be my aunt's companion."
"Me? A lady's companion?" I snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Why not? You're honest." He held up a finger. "Easy to get along with." Another finger rose. "Kind." He lifted a third. "And my aunt likes you. There. It's settled. You'll live with her."
"Where? At your house, or is she moving back to Lord Rycroft's after you've gone?"
He rubbed his forehead. "It looks like I'll be staying. I want you both to live with me."
I didn't say anything, and he didn't seem to require an answer. He closed his eyes again and tipped his head back. After a moment, his head tilted to the side and his breathing became even. He'd fallen asleep.
I had to shake him awake when we arrived back at the house. He didn't look at all refreshed; rather, he looked wearier than ever.
"Why didn't you use your watch again?" I asked before I realized that I'd just told him I knew what he used it for.
He eyed me closely and my heart stopped. I swallowed. Would he hate me for knowing about his addiction?
He didn't answer me, but got out and unfolded the step for me. I took his offered hand and climbed down. He did not let me go when my feet hit the pavement but tightened his grip.
"Matthew." I didn't know why I said his name. If I'd planned on asking or saying something, it immediately flew from my mind when he drew me closer.
"Yes?" he murmured.
His small finger hooked mine. We stood as close as my skirts would allow, his face only inches above me. He looked exhausted, and yet he was still so handsome. His illness didn't lessen that.
"You should go inside to rest," I said, stepping back.
He didn't let go of my finger. "India—"
"She's right," Cyclops called down from the driver's seat. "Go inside, Matt. Rest."
Matt turned his frosty glare onto his friend but let me go. As Cyclops drove the carriage off, I headed up the steps. Willie opened the door, but the hope in her eyes soon vanished.
"You look awful," she said. "You should rest."
"I know," he snapped.
Willie's chin wobbled.
Matt sighed and drew her into a hug. He kissed her forehead. "Sorry. I'm going up now."
"I'll leave some supper on your desk," she said, as he headed to the staircase with plodding footsteps.
Duke and Miss Glass emerged from the dining room. Embroidery thread looped around Duke’s hands and connected to the spool Miss Glass held. At my raised brows, he said, "Tangles," with a shrug.
Someone knocked on the door, and Willie opened it. A grizzly looking man in a brown coat and skewed mustard colored tie stood on the stoop. No less than five police constables, dressed in their distinctive blue uniform and helmet, squeezed onto the porch behind him.
"Is Mr. Matthew Glass here?" demanded the man in front.
"Who's asking?" Willie said, hands on hips.
"Detective Inspector Nunce, Scotland Yard."
"There's no one here by—"
"I'm Matthew Glass," Matt said, placing a hand on Willie's shoulder.
She shoved him away. "Matt! You know why they're here."
"Willie, it's all right."
Nunce stepped inside without being invited. His constables followed him like a tail. "Mr. Glass, you're under arrest."
"No!" Willie cried.
One of the constables caught Matt's wrist, but he pulled free.
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"You're under arrest on suspicion of being the American outlaw known as the Dark Rider." Nunce jerked his head and two constables grabbed Matt, one taking each arm.
"There's been a mistake," Matt said, his voice calm. "I'm not an outlaw."
"Let him go!" Willie lunged at one of the constables holding Matt, only to be caught from behind by another. "Get off me!" She kicked and lashed out, but couldn't reach the man behind her. His arm locked around her waist and he dragged her out of the way. Her screeching grew louder.
"You're under arrest too," Nunce told her.
"What for?" she shouted.
"For being a member of the Dark Rider's posse."
"You're a damned idiot fool!"
"Let her go," Duke said, stepping forward. He tried to separate his hands, but only managed to get himself more tangled in the thread. "God damn it!" he shouted, resorting to brute strength and still failing.
Miss Glass dropped the spool and came to stand by me. "Stop this at once," she said with haughty crispness. "There's been a mistake. This gentleman is my nephew, and the nephew of Lord Rycroft. R
elease him at once."
Nunce touched his hat brim. "I cannot, ma'am. He's the Dark Rider."
"Who or what is the Dark Rider?"
"American outlaw. Don't you read the papers?"
She bristled. "Of course not. I've no interest in idle gossip."
Nunce signaled for another of his men to grab Duke. "Take him, too. He sounds American." He sized me up.
"She's English," Matt said. "A friend of my aunt's. I hardly know her."
Nunce grunted but didn't order anyone to arrest me. One of the constables took hold of Duke's arm, but Duke jerked away. The constable tackled him, and with his hands still tied, Duke couldn't defend himself. They both crashed to the floor.
"That was uncalled for," Matt growled.
Nunce merely shrugged.
"Duke!" Willie screamed. "Duke, are you hurt?"
Miss Glass's fingers gripped my arm. I closed my hand over hers, hoping to reassure her somewhat. I don't think it helped. She could most likely feel my body shaking through the connection.
"Contact Commissioner Munro," Matt instructed Nunce, struggling to pull free of the two constables who held him. "He'll set you straight."
Nunce snorted. "That's what they all say."
Willie stomped on the toe of the bobby holding her and managed to pull free. She ran to Duke, who was struggling to sit up on the floor, but was caught again by the long-limbed youth in uniform. She smashed her fist into his cheek, drawing blood, before he grasped her hands and twisted them behind her.
"You're hurting me!" she cried.
Matt lurched to his left, using his superior weight and height to force the constable on that side to stumble. The one on his other side also lost his balance, and Matt was able to pull free of them both.
But his freedom was short lived. The last of the constables threw a punch at Matt's jaw. While Matt managed to dodge it, the interruption gave the other bobbies precious seconds to recover and throw punches of their own. One hit Matt's mouth, the other his stomach. He doubled over, coughing.
Miss Glass whimpered and clutched her throat. I turned her so she wasn't facing the scene and patted her back. Yet I felt anything but soothed myself. My heart thundered and every part of me shook.
"Stop at once!" I shouted. "Inspector Nunce, control your men. You're upsetting an elderly lady with this unnecessary display."
But it was Matt who responded, not Nunce. He stopped fighting. "I'll go with you," he said. "Willie and Duke too."
"No!" Willie shouted. "Why should you go, Matt? You've done nothing wrong."
"We'll sort it out at the station. Vine Street?"
Nunce nodded. "Check they have no weapons hidden on their person," he said to his men.
His constables checked pockets, removing every item they found and placing them on the hall table. Among the handkerchiefs and coins sat Matt's special silver watch.
"Take them away," Nunce said.
Willie and Duke gasped. "Your watch!" Willie cried. "Matt!" She struggled against the constable trying to force her through the door.
"May I take my watch with me?" Matt asked Nunce.
Nunce pursed his lips, looked at the watch, looked at Matt, then said, "No. You have no need to tell the time in the holding cells."
A bead of sweat trickled down Matt's temple. His breathing turned ragged. His face was the color of cold ash. The two constables on either side of him marched him forward.
"He has to take the watch," Duke said to Nunce. "Please. It's important. He'll die without it."
Die!
Miss Glass sobbed into my shoulder. I tried patting her back harder, but it was useless. I couldn't offer support when I needed it badly myself. My gaze connected with Matt's over the top of her head. What I saw in his eyes brought burning tears to mine. His illness savaged him, yet it wasn't that which made my heart ache. It was the sorrow and disappointment I saw in his face.
He thought I'd betrayed him. He thought I'd told the police that he was the Dark Rider.
He wasn't the only one. "You did this!" Willie hissed at me.
"No," I said. "I didn't."
But she shouted over the top of me, and couldn't have heard. "You heartless witch! If he dies, I'll come looking for you. I'll cut you up—"
"Willie!" Matt's sharp voice could hardly be heard over her ranting.
Nunce and his constables marched Duke and Matt outside too, and my heart sank even further when I saw Cyclops join them, restrained by another two bobbies. Everyone seemed to be shouting. I caught snatches of pleas, begging Nunce to allow Matt to have the watch. The inspector continued to refuse.
"It's her fault!" Willie screamed. "You've condemned him to death, India!"
I shook my head, but they weren't looking at me and wouldn't have seen.
"If he doesn't get that watch," she continued, "his death will be on your conscience."
Chapter 15
Miss Glass and I stood clinging to one another in silent horror. Willie's words rang in my head, clanging like a bell. She thought I'd been behind the arrest. They all did, including Matt. Yet it wasn't that which made me feel sick to my core. It was Willie's desperate pleas, her wild, fanciful claims that he would die without that watch. There must be medicine inside it, not opium as I first thought.
I handed Miss Glass over to Polly, who emerged from the rear of the house with raw fear in her wide eyes. "Everything will be all right," I assured them both. My calm and confident voice seemed to rally Polly, at least. "Take Miss Glass upstairs," I told the maid. "See that she has everything she needs."
I felt anything but calm and confident. I couldn't stop shaking. He needed the watch or he'd die. I picked it up by its chain. A wave of heat washed over me, rushing up my arm from my hand.
I dropped the watch and jumped back. It throbbed once then stilled.
Throbbed.
Inanimate objects did not throb. They didn't grow warm. They weren't alive.
I must have been mistaken. I picked up the watch again. Once more, heat flooded me, beginning at my hand and traveling up my arm with such speed and force that my breath whooshed out in surprise.
But I didn't let go. I cradled it in my palm, its chain dangling between my fingers. The case pulsed, like a heart restarting after a stoppage, but did not do so again. It remained warm, though not hot as it had been on initial touch, and I could feel the warmth through my entire body, as if my veins carried it along with my blood. When Matt held the watch, his veins glowed, but mine did not.
It was an incredible device. I couldn't feel any medicine seeping into me, yet somehow it must be able to emit a substance. I turned it over and studied the back. There were no distinguishing features, no holes or slits for medicine to seep through.
I opened the case. My breath hitched. Not because it was filled with medicine, but because it wasn't. The watch looked like every other watch I'd ever worked on. The dial and hands were simple, plain, the Roman numerals clearly marked in bronze.
I took it up to my rooms and used my tools to open the housing at the dressing table. The mechanism consisted of wheels and screws, tiny springs, pinions, and an escapement, just like an ordinary watch. I'd worked on hundreds like it. Any watchmaker could have made it. According to the etching in the metal, it was made by A.W. Waltham, NY.
New York. It was an American watch. So why was Matt scouring London for his watchmaker? Surely he had looked inside the case and seen the maker's name.
I closed the watchcase and stared at it for a long time. Somehow this watch grew warm when I touched it, and when Matt did too. Somehow it came to life. And somehow it was responsible for keeping Matt alive.
Magic.
The word flittered through my mind like a butterfly, daintily and carefully at first, but growing louder, stronger, with each passing second. I tried to dismiss it, but couldn't.
I slipped the watch into my waistcoat pocket where it soon warmed the skin over my lower ribs. I raced downstairs and out the door.
Vin
e Street Police Station cast a long shadow in the late afternoon and presented an austere front to the world. Iron bars covered the windows at street level and a bobby stood at the door, stiff and tall. More visitors than I would have expected came and went, though there were few constables. Most would use the rear courtyard entrance after apprehending criminals, I supposed. Which barred window housed Matt and the others? Or did their holding cell not have a window?
I plucked up some courage and strode past the constable at the door. "Afternoon, miss," he said.
Inside was much like any office, only staffed with uniformed policemen. Behind the long front counter ranged several desks, and I spotted no less than four doors leading into the wings of the vast building. I inquired after Matt at the counter where the bushy-browed policeman glowered back at me.
"He's not allowed visitors," he said, returning to his paperwork.
The watch in my waistcoat pocket throbbed. "Can you give him something for me?"
"No," he said without looking up.
I blew out a breath. "I only need to see him for a moment. You can have someone accompany me to make sure I don't help him escape."
My attempt at a joke was met with a scowl. He picked up his pen and dipped it into the inkwell. The scratching on the ledger page grated on my already taut nerves.
"May I speak with Detective Inspector Nunce?" I asked.
"Regarding?"
"Regarding Mr. Matthew Glass."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you're going to waste his valuable time by asking him if you can visit Glass in the holding cells, and he's only going to tell you the same thing I have—no."
"You could at least look at me when you speak to me."
He lifted his gaze but not his head. "No." He returned to his ledger.
The watch in my pocket pulsed again, stronger this time. What did it expect me to do? "Please tell Inspector Nunce that I'd like to see him."
The constable sighed. "Miss, I told you, he's busy."
"It's a matter of life and death!" I punctuated the sentence with a slap of my hand on the counter. A dozen heads looked up from their paperwork.
