He cast a final icy glance at the Gold King. “I think you’ll agree that’s a little safer.”
He turned away, letting the wristband fall. Jackson reflexively caught it, giving himself another shock. Tobias let him fumble, then stalked back toward the house in the same direction Dora had gone.
Evelina wanted to cheer.
Chapter Seventeen
They’d been Disconnected.
Evelina’s stomach was in knots. The heat had gone off five minutes after Jasper Keating departed, leaving the kitchens and baths cold. The cooks had been forced to wash up in frigid water. Then the gas had gone out the moment dusk fell. Fortunately, candles were one staple that was still easy to get, and there were plenty on hand. Lord B had never run gas to the upper floors, only lighting the rooms that guests were likely to see.
Apparently, Tobias’s outrage had warranted retaliation. There was no need for raised voices or displays of temper. All Keating had to do was send workmen out to turn off the lines running to Hilliard House, and his point was made for all to see. It was hard to miss a pitch-black house among all the brilliantly lit yards.
Of course, no one had said Disconnected out loud—the Gold King was too crafty for that. So just as Dora had been the screen for Keating’s first retaliation against Lord Bancroft, a mysterious—and simultaneous—failure in the gas and steam lines disguised his second. “Just one of those things,” said the mystified leader of the repair crew from Keating Utility, loudly enough for all to hear. “It’ll be fixed just as soon as the right part arrives.” Which meant five minutes hence or never, depending on the Gold King’s pleasure.
The less suspicious guests who overheard the crewman accepted that the failure was a malfunction. The cynical looked askance and said nothing. The only question in Evelina’s mind was how long a house could be “out of order” before it became officially “Disconnected”. Not long, she guessed. As warnings went, the situation was abundantly clear. Bancroft had better watch his step.
To top everything else, Inspector Lestrade and his men arrived just as the bulk of the guests were leaving. Evelina was fairly sure the Gold King had arranged that, too, because Lestrade seemed unconcerned about either the party or the Gold King’s move to cut the power. Normally, the police trod more carefully around the gentry than this.
“It’s just routine, you understand,” he promised.
Lestrade sat on the chair opposite Evelina’s place on the sofa, not mentioning the Disconnection by word or deed. She couldn’t guess whether that was strategy or sensitivity. They were in the same drawing room where she had met her grandmamma, but there was no tea and biscuits this time. Just some candles, the rat-faced inspector, and her. Normally, a young lady would have a chaperone, but everyone else was dealing with the utility crisis.
The inspector had out his notebook and pencil. “Tell me again exactly how you came to be with the deceased.”
If he was speaking to her, that meant he hadn’t found more promising leads. Evelina wondered about her bird. It had been gone three days. It was supposed to have spied on Lestrade, but it hadn’t come back. Worry made her stomach knot.
“What were you doing when you heard there was trouble in the house?” he asked.
She’d been with Nick in her bedroom, wanting him to stay and wishing he would go. Her mind cast about for a different answer. Anything to deflect the question. “You don’t have a recording cylinder?”
“I don’t need one, miss,” he replied a little testily.
“But you can get verbatim statements from the punch rolls.”
“Sometimes it’s not the words that matter, miss. It’s what lies between ’em.”
The look he gave her chilled her to the bone. Uncle Sherlock might cow Inspector Lestrade, but Evelina related the events of the night—the ones she saw fit to tell him, anyhow—without further ado. It would be little more than he already knew.
“If you don’t mind my saying miss, you don’t seem terribly upset by all this.”
Evelina stared at the candle on the side table beside her. “Swooning won’t help you or Grace.”
“No, miss.”
“You think me unladylike.”
“I find you an unusually calm young lady.”
Whatever his opinion, Lestrade was a good listener, taking copious notes. When she was done talking, he reread them silently, tracking his progress down the page with the tip of his pencil.
“You say you heard voices outside earlier that night. When was that?”
“I heard the church clock strike eleven.”
“You’re very precise, miss. I appreciate it.”
She gave a small smile. “I have it on good authority that cases can be solved by the observance of trifles.”
He gave her a sour look. “You sound like Sherlock Holmes.”
“He is my uncle.”
“I know.” He lifted a brow. “He told me to pay special attention to what you might say, and promised to be my undoing if you came to harm before this case was done.”
“Really? He knows about this case?” Chill dread rose.
“Oh, aye. He had to go haring off to the Continent, or he’d be here, I’m sure.”
Panic engulfed her, making her shift restlessly in her chair. She’d meant to get ahead of Lestrade, solve Grace’s murder, and steer the police away from Lord B and his automatons, but every tick of the clock seemed to make matters worse. At this rate, there would be nothing left of the family before she had her first real break in the case.
Suddenly the shadows in the candlelit room oppressed her.
“By the by,” Lestrade said casually, “do you happen to know when young Mr. Roth came home that night?”
He nearly caught her off guard. “I didn’t see Tobias come home.”
“Did he tell you when he came home?”
The scene by the clock came back to her. The kiss. His nonconfession about coming back from somewhere that night. Somewhere he wasn’t going to speak of. And the kiss. If she was smart, she’d give him up. Tell Lestrade everything, and show Tobias she wasn’t a stupid girl who could be silenced with a few soft words and a grapple in the shadows.
But then, he’d stood up to Jasper Keating to protect Dora. Tobias wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t deserve to be tossed under the charging locomotive of Lestrade’s investigation. No matter what the inspector finds out, it will be wrong because I know about the gold and the magic, and he does not.
“Tobias didn’t tell me anything. Young men don’t confide in their little sisters’ houseguests.”
His lips twitched, or maybe that was just the shadows of the candle flame shifting over his features. “I take your point, miss. In that case, I think I have everything I need from you.”
He flipped the notebook closed, but reached into the pocket of his overcoat. “I just remembered—I spoke with Dr. Magnus on my way in tonight. He asked that I give this to you.”
It was a plain paper box from a bakery, complete with grease stains and string. “What is this?” she asked.
“I have no idea, miss. I suggested that he give it to Lady Bancroft, as that would be more proper when a young lady was involved, but he that said the contents were yours and that he’s merely returning something you lost.”
Evelina took the box and slipped off the string. When she flipped open the lid, there was her bird, laying stiff and flat.
She couldn’t stifle a gasp of surprise. Her hands felt suddenly clumsy, her arms numb and heavy. Instinctively, she closed the lid, hiding the contents.
“You weren’t expecting this, were you, miss?” Lestrade said with a searching look.
“No. I wasn’t sure where this had got to. How clever of him to find it.” Her voice sounded flat in her own ears, but beneath her control was a deal of panic. There was something terrifying about Dr. Magnus, and he had handled her invention. Had he killed it? How did he know it was mine? No one has even introduced us.
Her stomach turned to stone, rememb
ering her first meeting with Magnus in the library. She’d felt magic on him, just like she’d felt it on Grace’s envelope. Had he done the same with her? Was her signature on her creations? She’d never really thought about that particular danger.
She longed to pick up the bird and examine it minutely, but dared not arouse the inspector’s interest. Instead, she forced herself to set the box aside, as if it didn’t matter, but her hand lingered near the table. She couldn’t quite bear to have it outside her reach.
Lestrade rose, and she followed suit, clasping her hands so he would not see her fingers tremble.
“Shall I ring for the footman to see you out, Inspector?” she asked. “Or is there someone else you would like to interview?”
“I can see myself out. I think I’m done for today.” A grim smile played across his lips. “You’ve given me the most complete account so far, miss. Not too many people seem to notice what goes on with the staff, even when they’re dying.”
“Have you found anything out about those poor grooms?” She knew it was unlikely he’d answer a question from a witness, but hoped her uncle’s reputation would loosen his tongue.
It seemed to work. “We’ve recovered the horses and the wagon. They turned up for sale at a fair. We’re questioning the bloke who’s selling them. He claims to have found them abandoned in his farmyard.”
“How odd! Was there any sign of the cargo?”
“Not a jot.” Lestrade’s face darkened. “His Lordship says the trunks are packed with souvenirs of his time in Austria. Seems to want them back most urgently. Do you know anything about what’s inside?”
“No.” She didn’t, really. Not in any way that would help Lestrade.
He met her eyes, and must have been satisfied with what he saw there. “Do you know if those grooms had dealings with the dead girl?”
“Again, I don’t know.”
He was still holding her gaze. “They were killed the same way, throats cut.”
Evelina went ice-cold.
“I’m sorry if that shocked you.” He actually looked contrite. “You seemed to be taking so much of this in stride.”
It wasn’t the manner of death that bothered her, though. It was the connection. “Are you saying the murderer was the same? That he killed Grace—maybe because she surprised him—and then followed the grooms and stole the chests?” Which would explain why the gold had never been taken. That wasn’t what the killer was after. He wanted the automatons Lord Bancroft had made years ago. But why were they significant?
Lestrade blinked. “It’s a possibility. I’m not ruling anything out.”
“No doubt, Inspector. That is of course the correct way to proceed.” She sat down, too overwhelmed to remain standing a moment more.
“Very good then, miss.” Lestrade bowed slightly, and left.
Evelina sat still a moment, her thoughts spinning too fast to pin down a single one. Then she heard a familiar scrabbling. She glanced down to see the mouse poking out from between the sofa cushions. Its fine wire whiskers quivered inquisitively.
Bird has been returned to you?
She swallowed down a lump the size of a croquet ball. “I think he’s broken.”
Let me see.
She scooped up the mouse and placed it on the edge of the table, then lifted the lid of the bakery box again. The mouse placed its front paws on the side of the box, levering itself up to peer over the rim. Oh, my! Look at those wings. You gave him gemstones. Why Bird and not me?
“You’re an indoor spy. I needed you to be stealthy.”
The mouse snorted—a strange mechanical exhalation. Such is my lot, that I am forced to spend my servitude grubbing under furniture while this one floats around the air like a bloody Fabergé confection. Well, fat lot of good it did you, Bird.
Evelina reached over to pick up the inert device. The bird lay with its wings outspread and toes in the air, belly exposed. It looked pathetic. “Do you know what I mean by bedside manner?”
Do you know what I mean by malingering?
Bird suddenly righted itself and surged out of the box, darting through the air in half a tick of the mantel clock. At last! I never thought I’d get away from that sorcerer.
“You’re alive?”
Always good to state the obvious. Bird fluttered into her hand.
Pride and excitement exploded inside her as she felt its delicate claws curl around her fingers. “Are you all right?” she murmured, examining the bird all over. There was a slight scratch along one wing, but otherwise it looked unscathed.
Of course. I’m fast.
“No brass cats?”
It opened its beak and gave a disgusted chirp. That was interesting. She hadn’t built in a voice box; that must have been something the deva figured out for itself. Just the sorcerer. He nicked me out of the air right as I landed in the garden this afternoon.
Evelina cursed under her breath. “The sorcerer? Do you mean Dr. Magnus?”
Bird spread its wings in a gesture that looked like unease. He should never have been allowed in this house. The moment he had me I pretended to be dead. I told him nothing.
“And yet he knew you were mine.”
He caught the scent of your power. The metal I’m made of absorbed your magic. Any wood-witch worth their salt knows that much.
Evelina had been right. He’d felt her just as she’d felt him.
Bird chirped again. He’d never learn it from me, anyway. I’m a professional. What’s that mouse doing there?
“Reinforcements.”
The bird and the mouse stared at each other. Perhaps they were silently communicating, perhaps it was just a contest of wills. Evelina couldn’t tell, but she suddenly wished Gran Cooper could see what she’d made with her magic.
Well, Ploughman’s was in town. Involuntarily, her hand slipped into her pocket to feel the newspaper advertisement for the show. If she could sneak away, she could go see them all. But after she’d tried so hard to forge a new life, to give both her and Nick a chance at a fresh start, it would be the height of folly to return, even to visit. She’d made her choice, and circus girls were not presented to the queen … and yet it was a chapter she felt she had to reread before she could close the book on that part of her existence.
Bird broke into her thoughts. You’re going to have to watch yourself. Sorcerers are a bad lot. Their magic doesn’t work with life. They work with death.
Evelina sank back in the chair. “Is Dr. Magnus the murderer?”
Bird flew to the top of the box and poked its shining beak at a feather. How should I know? You’re the amateur detective.
Mouse lashed its skinny tail. You might have the gemstones, brother, but you lack manners.
It’s been a hard and dirty few days on the streets. Only the surly survive.
Mouse’s whiskers bristled. Evelina intervened. “What did you find out?”
I followed your policeman. He spent a lot of time talking to the staff who work in the houses around here. They only had the usual things to say about the dead girl.
“Like what?”
Worked hard. Liked her bit of fun. There were a few men she walked out with, but lately seemed to favor a particular sweetheart.
The one who got her pregnant, no doubt. “Is that it?”
Your man went to see a lout he called the streetkeeper of the Yellowbacks, but he was in bed with a knife wound to the leg. He wasn’t much good for talking.
“Why did Lestrade question him?”
It was to do with something else, but the girl’s name came up. The Yellowbacks had been watching her come and go across their turf. It sounds like this sweetheart of hers convinced her to deal with some unpleasant people, but she would never reveal the man’s name.
Was it love that had Grace running gold and jewels across London? Risking her freedom, if not her life, for a few kisses? Evelina was disappointed, and on many levels. “I’d hoped for more specifics.”
So did Inspector Lestrade. You’
re lucky that you have me. I made one more stop. By then I was starting to get curious.
“Really?” Anticipation twinged in her chest.
Your policeman made much of the fact that she had just returned home from a journey the night she died.
Yes?
So I talked to the deva who lives in the hedge by the gate. He says he saw her with a man.
“Tobias.”
That’s right, but then the hedge deva said something else. They weren’t the first couple outside the side door that night.
“I heard a man and a woman talking there earlier.”
The hedge deva said the man and his shadow came here more than once.
“His shadow?” Evelina asked.
One doesn’t get the best quality information from a shrub.
Just then Imogen put her head through the door, scattering Evelina’s thoughts. “There you are. I thought I saw the inspector leave.” She slid inside the room and closed the door behind her. She was still in the pale pink and green gown she’d worn in the garden. “All those questions! What a dreadful way to finish off a horrible day. Why couldn’t that all have waited? Poor Mama! I had to put her to bed. This was all too much for her. A utilities failure? Anyone with an ounce of sense knows we’ve been Disconnected!”
Imogen’s mouth quivered, but she swallowed hard and bit her lips together, refusing to cry. Evelina rose and took her friend in her arms. “Imogen, I’m so sorry this happened.”
Imogen took in a long, shuddering breath. “It’s not your fault. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
Evelina released her and made her sit down in the chair where Lestrade had been. “Your father is a clever man. He’ll think of something.” And so will I.
“It’s one thing to have offended Mr. Keating, but with the detectives arriving on top of all that … What do you think it means, Lestrade arriving tonight of all nights?”
It meant nothing good, but she wasn’t going to add to Imogen’s woes. Evelina glanced at Mouse as she resumed her own seat. Mouse had jumped inside of the box and was sitting as still and stiff as Bird. “I think the police delayed questioning the family as long as they could. They started with the servants, but I don’t believe they learned anything of value. Otherwise they would have arrested someone and spared us the ordeal.”
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