by C. J. Archer
"Damn it!" Matt roared, thumping on the door. "Damn it to hell."
Chapter 17
By the time Mary fetched another key and opened the front door, Jack Sweet—also known as Eddie Hardacre—was gone. Even so, Matt, Willie, Cyclops and Duke ran out of Bright Court after him.
Mary and I carried her carpet bag to the conveyance and the coachman had just finished strapping it to the back when the others returned.
"St. Martin's Lane near Covent Garden," Matt barked at the coachman. "And quickly. Everyone, get in and hold on. Not you, Mary." Matt placed some money in her palm. "Take a hack to number sixteen Park Street, Mayfair. Tell Mrs. Bristow the housekeeper that I sent you. We'll bring your bag with us when we return."
I only had time to squeeze her hand before Matt hoisted me into the carriage without bothering to lower the step.
"I don't goddamned believe it," Willie declared with a shake of her head. She'd joined us inside, along with Duke, while Cyclops rode with the coachman up front. "That low down pig swill."
"I don't know how you worked it out," Duke said to us.
"There were small clues," Matt said, "but it wasn't until Mary mentioned watches and clocks."
"So let me see if I got it right," Duke said slowly. "Eddie Hardacre—Jack—knew that Chronos was your grandfather, India, and that he had a hand in killing his father all them years ago?"
"His father and his uncle," Willie said, incredulous.
"Huh?" It took Duke a moment to digest her meaning. When he reached the right conclusion his face distorted into a grimace. "Goddamn. The Sweets make you Johnsons look normal."
I turned to look out the window and didn't see Willie's reaction.
"So Jack Sweet planned his revenge on Chronos by getting the shop," Duke went on. "But if he thought Chronos was dead, why bother? It ain't like he could rub it in his face."
"Perhaps he knew he wasn't dead," Matt said. "Or perhaps he didn't care if he had an audience, it was enough that he felt he'd got revenge."
"He must be behind the recent attack on Chronos. But how did he know Chronos was alive and back in London, or that he was staying with you, India? How'd he even know what Chronos looked like if he's never met him?"
"All questions we'll ask when we catch him," Matt said darkly. "If I don't kill him first."
My eyes burned with unshed tears. It seemed implausible, fantastical even, that Eddie had planned his revenge over such a long time, particularly when my grandfather might never learn about it. He'd been my father's apprentice for years. He'd taken his time to win my father's trust, to woo me and ingratiate himself with Abercrombie. Why not just kill my father or me and be done with it? Chronos caused the death of his father, why not then kill one of Chronos's family in return?
"I underestimated him badly," I muttered. "I should have guessed. Even Chronos said that Eddie must be clever to dupe Father and convince me to marry him."
"You wanted to believe he loved you and cared for you." Willie's sympathetic tone was almost my undoing.
But it was Matt's arm around my shoulders and his warm lips against my temple that sent the tears trickling down my cheeks. I swiped them away with the back of my gloved hand. I'd stopped crying over Eddie months ago. I refused to start again now.
"Let's hope we get to the shop before he does," I said. "We have to find that diary before he destroys it."
"He doesn't know we want it." Matt didn't sound entirely convinced, however. He fell into silence, perhaps thinking over every recent encounter we'd had with Eddie and his mother.
"We didn't mention it to Nell until today," I said. "He knows we want to find Dr. Millroy's killer, but he can't know why."
"He might have guessed," Duke suggested.
That was entirely possible if Jack Sweet was as smart as I now knew him to be.
The familiar sights and sounds in St. Martin's Lane did nothing to soothe my nerves. Mr. Finlay, the draper, stood outside his shop, hawking a discounted bolt of cotton, while Mr. Macklefield the tailor held a conversation with a gentleman. He saw me and his jaw dropped. He did not wave back when I lifted my hand in greeting.
Jimmy the errand boy appeared from behind the chop house's sign board where he'd probably been lounging in the sun. He trotted over to me upon my signal.
"Miss Steele," he said, tugging on his cap brim. "Been some time since we saw you."
"I'm glad to see you looking well, Jimmy. Can you tell me, have you seen Mr. Hardacre these past few minutes? Is he inside? The shop looks closed."
"Aye, it is. Ain't seen him for an hour, I reckon. He ain't been here much, lately. That sign says closed more than it says open. Mr. Finlay reckons he'll shut it up, soon enough. Real shame that would be, Miss Steele. Real shame."
I gave him a coin from my reticule. "Thank you, Jimmy."
I rejoined Matt and the others and told them Eddie wasn't in. "We can enter from the back," I said.
"You've got a key?" Duke asked.
Willie and Cyclops looked at him like he was a fool.
"Right," Duke said. "We're breaking in."
"Everyone will see." Willie eyed Mr. Finlay and Mr. Macklefield. "They'll put the law onto us."
Matt glanced at the coach, the lane, then back at the coach. "Not if they think we've left." He spoke to the coachman then rejoined us. "India, you'll ride up front. We four will get inside."
"Why?" I hedged.
"Because having one of us leave with the coach will make it look more authentic, and I'd prefer it if you weren't performing a criminal act."
"You're forgetting two things." I held up a finger. "It will look odd for me to be banished to the driver's seat." I held up a second finger. "And I know the best way inside that doesn't involve breaking windows or doors."
Matt turned to Willie.
"Why me?" She threw up her hands. "Duke, you go."
"No!" he snapped.
"Duke, go," Matt ordered.
"But why?" he whined.
"Because if I make Willie, I'll never hear the end of it."
Duke sighed and climbed up beside the coachman. Matt gave his final instructions then stepped into the coach with Cyclops, Willie and me. He closed the curtains and we drove forward ten feet, only to stop at the entrance to the laneway. The coach sank on one side as the driver got down from his perch.
"We'll be off in a minute, sir," he called out, loud enough for Mr. Finlay and Mr. Macklefield on the other side of the road to hear. "One of the horses seems to be limping."
Matt opened the door a fraction, peered out, then opened it fully. He jumped down and assisted me, his hands on my waist. There was no time to enjoy the sensation of his firm hold as we raced off up the lane, shielded from view by the coach. Willie and Cyclops followed close behind.
We didn't see anyone as we unlatched the gate that led to the small courtyard behind the shop. Matt, the last to go through the gate, signaled to Duke, still on the driver's seat. A moment later, the gate closed and I heard the coach drive off.
Little had changed in the yard. There was only one empty delivery crate instead of three, and a pile of soggy newspapers rotting in the corner. In his later years, as my father's eyesight deteriorated, I took over the fine work of repairs inside while he swept the yard each morning. It didn't look like it had been swept since Eddie moved in.
"The latch on that window is loose," I said, pointing. If Eddie neglected the cleaning, perhaps he'd neglected to do repairs too. "If you can reach it, you only need to jiggle it a little to open it."
"I'll try," Willie said with glee. "Been a long time since I climbed through a window. I need the practice."
Cyclops lifted her up, and she had the window open in seconds. She wriggled inside and unlocked the door moments later. She stood there, beaming.
"That weren't much of a challenge, India," she said.
I patted her shoulder as I slipped past. "Then next time you can climb through a window on the second level."
I led the way through
to the workshop and drew the smell of metal and polished wood into my lungs. The scent almost undid me. It was the scent of my childhood. It was the scent that enveloped me when my father drew me into his arms. It was the scent of safety and home.
But this was no longer my home. Not this messy workshop with the tools left out and a clock's innards spread over the bench. I scooped the scattered pieces together and went to return a pair of pliers to the toolbox, but caught Willie's narrowed gaze and put it down again.
"You ain't here to tidy up," she hissed. "You and Matt look upstairs. Me and Cyclops will search down here."
"Don't go into the shop unless necessary," Matt ordered. "You might be seen from the street."
I led the way up the stairs to the apartment I'd lived in my entire life. It seemed so small after Matt's house, with its one bedroom, a sitting room that we'd used as a second bedroom, and kitchen. We hadn't felt the need for more space since my father and I spent most of our day downstairs.
Eddie had returned the sitting room to its former use but furnished it with only a faded green leather armchair and a small table. He'd left my framed embroidery sampler on the wall and my mother's two vases stood at either end of the mantel, empty of flowers. I also recognized the rug, but it was somewhat filthy with crumbs scattered over it. A dirty plate and cup occupied the table, but there was no other sign that Eddie had made this a home. Even the clock on the mantel was one that we used to display in the window downstairs. It was the loveliest twin fusee skeleton clock, one of the most expensive pieces in the shop, and he'd brought it up here where no one but him could admire it.
"Are you all right?" Matt asked, touching my elbow.
I nodded. "We need to hurry."
We searched the kitchen quickly then Matt moved on to the bedroom while I looked through the sitting room. I skimmed my hand over the spines of the books in the narrow bookcase and tried not to let the emotions overwhelm me.
"Where are you going?" I asked as Matt walked out of the bedroom.
"The kitchen for a knife to cut open the mattress."
I resumed my search of the bookshelves, reading each of the spines with my head tilted. I recognized every book—except one.
It sat on the lowest shelf, out of place between a volume of poetry and a weighty tome on the history of clocks. I slid it out, my heart racing, and traced the gold initials embossed in the soft black leather cover.
J.M.—James Millroy. Eddie had hidden the book in plain sight.
"Matt! Matt! I found it."
He suddenly appeared at my side. I waved the diary at him and could not stop my smile.
He flipped through the pages, his face lifting in relief. Then he snapped it closed and clutched the book to his chest. "Let's go home."
We returned to the workshop and gathered the others on our way out. No one saw us leave the courtyard or run down the lane in the opposite direction to which we'd entered it. Duke and the coachman waited at the other end.
"Home," Matt ordered, opening the door for me. He showed Duke the diary.
Duke looked like he would cry before sucking in a deep breath and directing his gaze forward.
Once ensconced inside and on our way, Matt opened the diary on his lap. We all leaned closer. "It's mostly medical notes," he said, turning the yellowing pages.
"His thoughts on new treatments and medical breakthroughs," I added, pointing to a detailed diagram of the inner workings of an arm.
"Some of it's not in English," Cyclops said. "Could they be spells?"
Matt shook his head. "They're Latin terms used in the medical profession."
"Go to the last pages," Willie said. "He died soon after the experiment so the spell might be there."
Matt flipped to the final pages. The last several in the diary were blank, but those beforehand were packed with a tight scrawl to make efficient use of the remaining pages.
"Here." Matt's hand flattened out the spine. "He mentions Wilson Sweet."
I leaned closer again, my shoulder against his, and read the text.
"What's it say?" Cyclops asked, turning to read better.
"That Wilson Sweet was ill with no hope of a medical cure," Matt read. "And that he told Dr. Millroy he had a son by his sister. He felt so ashamed of his actions that he left them to do penance."
"Do penance?" Willie echoed.
"He must mean participating in the experiment," I said.
"Wilson Sweet believed he was doing something for the greater good," Matt said. "Something that would absolve him of his sin." Matt pointed to where Dr. Millroy had written those exact words.
"He told Dr. Millroy that he would contact his family again if he lived," I said, reading over Matt's shoulder.
"That it?" Willie asked after a pause. "Does it say Millroy planned to visit Nell after the death?"
"No." Matt turned the previous page, working backward through the diary. He pointed out Chronos's name. It was the first time the two men had met and Millroy wrote in excited terms about the possibilities of collaboration. The word magic was not mentioned, nor that they hoped to extend life through their experiment. It was vague enough so that it could not implicate him if read by the guilds.
Matt turned the page backward again and his finger stabbed on a few lines half way down a page. "This…" His fingers skimmed over the lines. "This isn't in any language I recognize."
Cyclops and Willie both got off their seat and twisted to read the words. Willie let out a whoop. "That must be it! That's the spell, Matt!" She clamped a hand on Cyclops's shoulder. Cyclops hugged her.
The coach turned a corner and they both sat heavily on the seat again, laughing.
"Now all we need is a doctor magician to speak it while you recite your spell, India." There was no elation in Matt's voice. He would not whoop or hug or allow himself to get excited. Nor would I. Not when the job was only half done. Besides, it wasn't just a matter of speaking the spell but speaking it correctly. Dr. Parsons had got the pronunciation right, but Dr. Millroy had not. The difference between living and dying came down to mere syllables.
"What do we do about Nell?" Cyclops asked. "Tell Munro and Brockwell she murdered Millroy?"
"I'm inclined to say no," Matt said. "She poses no threat to the community now, and explaining the motive would only raise questions we're not prepared to answer."
"It would also drag Chronos into it," I said. "At the moment, they don't have evidence that Chronos is alive, or that he's in fact my grandfather, merely accusations from Abercrombie. But confronting Nell and Eddie will bring the truth out."
"Speaking of Hardacre," Willie said with a loaded glance at me.
I sighed. "Go on. Out with it. I know you want to tell me how foolish I've been, how naive. You might as well get it off your chest."
"That ain't what I'm thinking. What I want to know is if Eddie didn't go to the shop, where is he?"
"Running away?" Cyclops said with a shrug.
Matt suddenly swore then threw down the window sash. "Faster!" he shouted at the driver.
My heart tumbled over itself. I knew where Eddie had gone too.
"You think he's gone to our house to get Chronos," Cyclops said, half statement, half question.
Matt nodded. "It's likely he's behind the attack on Chronos, and he knows he's living with us."
"And he's been bent on revenge for some time," I added weakly. "Now that we know the lengths he has gone to, there's no reason for him to hold back. He'll go after Chronos and…and kill him, this time."
And thanks to our stop at the shop, we would be some way behind.
It wasn't just Chronos at home, however. There was Miss Glass and the servants too.
Matt sandwiched my hand between both of his. "He won't hurt anyone. He wouldn't dare."
I did not agree. Eddie was beyond caring what happened to him. He knew the game was over. Diabolically clever men like Eddie tended to resort to desperate measures when they were backed into a corner. I'd witnessed it too many times
to assume otherwise.
Dusk made visibility low, but I recognized the Wellington Arch easily enough through the hazy evening light. I thumped on the ceiling and the coach immediately slowed in response.
"What're you doing?" Willie cried. "We got to get home!"
"Tell the driver to stop," I told Matt. "We can't return unprepared."
He lowered the window and called out to the driver to find a place to pull over. "Willie, is your gun loaded?" he asked.
"Course," she said. "Ain't no use if it ain't."
"Good. It's the only firearm we have."
"I've got knives here," Cyclops tapped his forearm, "and here." He lifted his trouser leg to show us the blade strapped there.
My eyes widened. "You walk around wearing those?"
"I'd be a fool not to."
I looked to Matt. He pulled up his jacket sleeve and showed me the small knife. "There have been too many dangers, of late. I prefer to be armed and ready for any eventuality."
"Hence my Colt." Willie patted the gun strapped to her hip.
If I ever doubted that I associated with Wild West outlaws, those doubts were banished now.
The coach stopped and Duke opened the door. "What's all this then?"
"We think Hardacre might have gone to our house to find Chronos," Matt told him. "We need to approach him carefully and with a plan of attack."
"Jesus," he muttered. "What if Chronos is already dead? What then?"
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. No one spoke but I guessed Matt must have glared at him because Duke winced and apologized.
"It's a distinct possibility," I said. "And that's why we need to have a plan for multiple eventualities. I propose that only Matt and I return to the house openly. The rest of you return in secret."
Ten minutes later, we had more than one plan in place. Which one we followed depended on what scenario presented upon our arrival.
Matt and I drove off, leaving the other three to walk. We'd agreed on most points of the plan, but the one thing we'd disagreed on was the possession of Willie's gun. I thought Matt ought to have it, but no one else supported me. Willie's opposition was most vocal of all.
