Emme sucked in a breath. Nigel Crowe? If she had a nemesis other than Detective-Inspector Reed, it was Mr. Crowe, former member of the Predatory Shifter Regulations Committee. She had come up against him and his cold disregard for the shifter community time and again during her crusade, though she’d not seen him for months, not since he’d returned from Port Lucy with Isla and Daniel. He’d been in London for a short time and now, regrettably, appeared to be back.
Isla insisted Nigel was a changed man, but when he saw Emme now, he blinked in surprise before his face settled into its customary judgmental perusal. He stopped before Emme and her mother and offered a short bow.
“Lady O’Shea, Miss O’Shea, a delight.” His tone indicated otherwise.
“Likewise, Mr. . . .” Hester searched for his name.
“Crowe,” Emme supplied. “You’ve returned. A short visit, I hope?” She caught her mother’s glance from her peripheral vision. “I presume,” she amended.
Mr. Crowe’s lips twitched so slightly she might have missed it had she blinked, but it was the closest thing she’d ever seen to humor in the man. “I plan to remain for a time. I have work to finish here.”
“What sort of work is that, Mr. Crowe?” Hester asked.
He flicked his attention to Emme’s mother. “I am resuming my former position on a government committee.”
Emme felt heat rise from her middle and feared it would explode out of her ears. He was returning to the PSRC? So much for Isla’s claims about his change of heart. “Your timing is impeccable, Mr. Crowe. You’re just in time for the Summit in Edinburgh.”
“Indeed. It promises to be extraordinary. Might I assume you will be in attendance for the activities?”
“Yes, the entire week,” Emme snapped, just as her mother answered, “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Emme stared at Hester. “Mother, enough.” She grasped her elbow. “Let us please return home where we can discuss the matter privately. This visit is rash and unnecessary.”
Hester planted her feet and refused to move.
Chief-Inspector Conley appeared in the doorway of his office. He managed a strained smile for Hester, and Emme fought the urge to bolt like a hunted fox. The Yard was the last place on earth she wanted to be. While she’d not done anything technically illegal in some time, her instinct to avoid the place had become so ingrained it was now second nature. That she’d also encountered Nigel Crowe was a scenario she imagined the fates would congratulate themselves for concocting for some time.
“Ladies.” Mr. Crowe inclined his head and left.
“Lady O’Shea, has something happened?” The Chief-Inspector was a stocky man who held his own quite well in street altercations—Emme had witnessed it firsthand—but he also possessed diplomatic skills necessary in dealing with the public, specifically the overwrought public. He extended an arm. “Please, do come in.”
“Thank you, Chief-Inspector,” Hester said. “I am—I mean, we have . . . Something has indeed happened.” Hester’s lip trembled, and for the first time since reading the Bad Letter, some of her fury had faded, leaving only fear in its place. “Emmeline is to address the international body at the Summit, and someone is threatening her most horribly about it. I’ve told her she absolutely cannot attend, and furthermore, you must find the miscreant who wrote this thing and bring him to justice!”
CI Conley’s brow lifted, and he tilted his head as he indicated two chairs, and then pulled his chair out from behind his desk to sit with them. His entire demeanor was suddenly alert, focused. “Tell me about the threat. It is written?”
Emme sighed, irritated that her heart began to thump as Hester handed over the Bad Letter. It was real now. The threat was now a tangible thing she couldn’t dismiss or laugh away. The crude, horrible words on the page, the vile threats to her health and well-being, filled her thoughts as Conley quietly read the paper, his jaw tightening. Her knee bounced, just the tiniest bit, and a shudder spread from it until she shook as though she were outside in the cold. Her mother looked at her, eyes liquid, now aware that Emme wasn’t unaffected. Emme stood, unable to remain in the chair, shivering for no good reason. The office was plenty warm.
CI Conley quietly went to the door and murmured something to Brinley. Emme heard the name “Reed.”
She snapped her attention to Conley. “What was that?”
He glanced at her in surprise but did not offer a response, nor was she in a position to demand one. He resumed his seat next to Hester.
Emme paced to the window and folded her arms across her middle, rubbing them briskly. For goodness’ sake, pull yourself together. She gritted her teeth and looked down onto the busy autumn day below. She could not afford to show the slightest weakness in front of her mother, or Conley either. Anyone with the power to hinder or halt her efforts to attend the Summit must not see an ounce of falter in her resolve. It was too important, and she had worked too diligently, sacrificed too much.
The room was quiet. She breathed softly and then turned around. “Mother, Chief-Inspector, while I agree this letter is vile in the extreme, I will not allow it to prevent me from attending the Summit. I have appointments to meet personally with diplomats from several key states, and I have just received word I will address the assembly directly before the culminating midnight votes.” She looked at Hester. “Mama, you know I will go. I will do whatever I must, but I would rather not be forced to sneak away on foot under the cover of darkness. Please do not make this difficult for me.”
Conley smiled and covered it partially with his finger as he rubbed his lip and sat back in his chair. “Miss O’Shea, I believe you would do just that. I cannot pretend to approve of everything you’ve organized through the years—the protests disrupting traffic, whipping crowds into a frenzy outside government offices, chaining yourself to wheels of certain PSRC members’ carriages to draw attention to the cause, orchestrating the tampering with government vehicles—”
Hester gasped. “Government vehicles? Emme! Why was I not aware—”
Conley glanced at Hester and shook his head. “No harm done, and no evidence directly connecting your daughter to the incident—”
“That’s right,” Emme interrupted but stopped when Conley shot her a dark look.
“My point is, I understand the concern, and given your level of involvement at the Summit, I do not take this threat idly. Is it the only one you’ve received?”
Emme hesitated. “It’s the most recent one.”
“What?” Hester’s eyes popped.
“I’ve received rude mail on occasion, but not like this. This is the only one of such magnitude.” Emme chewed the inside of her lip. She ought not to have said anything about the other letters. “Mama, I believe we’ve taken enough of the Chief-Inspector’s time. He is aware of the issue, and we shall all be vigilant.”
“Absolutely not,” her mother spat out. “This morning has become more horrifying as time has passed. I am not leaving here without guaranteed protection for you.”
“Mother, that is—”
A quiet knock sounded on the door before it cracked open. Detective-Inspector Reed stood at the threshold, his eyes widening in surprise.
Conley beckoned Reed inside, and Emme’s heart tripped over itself in mortified consternation. Of all people to witness the current spectacle!
“Detective,” Conley said, standing and handing him the Bad Letter. “An issue of concern has arisen, and I would have your involvement in the matter.”
“Surely not—” Emme began.
“Emmeline!” Hester’s sharp command surprised her into silence.
Reed looked at Hester and then at Emme as he took the Bad Letter. He gave the paper his attention, and despite herself, Emme watched his face as he read. His features tightened as his eyes scanned the letter, and a muscle worked in his jaw.
“When was t
his delivered?” he asked Emme, giving her his full regard.
She cleared her throat, intensely uncomfortable. “Less than an hour ago.”
“By special messenger or regular post?”
“Regular post.” She fought to keep the worry she felt from showing on her face, but hiding her feelings was not her strong suit. She looked out the window again at the city below, aware that the three others in the room held immense power to keep her from the Summit. Perhaps that had been the letter writer’s plan all along.
“Lady O’Shea,” Conley said, “with your approval, Detective-Inspector Reed and I will confer as to the best course of action. Will you be available this evening at home for further consultation?”
Hester nodded. “Chief-Inspector, you have my eternal gratitude. And my apologies about the government vehicles and sabotage. I’d no idea her behavior—” Hester glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I was not nearly attentive enough when she was young, regrettably, and although now Emme is a woman of twenty-three, she hasn’t a husband to keep her in check, or a father, really, as my husband has never been the sort to be, well, fatherly to her—”
“I am standing right here,” Emme muttered and turned from the window. It had been some time since her mother had explained away Emme’s behavior to another, and she’d forgotten how it made the tips of her ears burn. Detective-Inspector Reed glanced at her with a hint of pity, which only added to the deep sense of shame she was surprised she still felt after all these years.
“Mama, I have a full schedule today. I shall hail a cab and meet you at home. Chief-Inspector, Detective-Inspector, thank you both for your time.” She inclined her head and made her way to the door.
“Wait, Emmeline, we shall ride together.” Hester stood suddenly and would have toppled back into her seat if Conley had not caught her arm.
Emme left the office and the thick air of concern filling it, taking a deep breath and fighting the urge to exit the building at a run.
The outer area was a hive of industry where typewriters clacked, ’tons filed paperwork, and detectives and constables went about their work, talking, laughing, and conferring. She dimly registered her mother bidding Conley farewell, but as they approached the stairs to descend, Conley called out to her.
She turned and waited, noting Detective-Inspector Reed standing at Conley’s door. His hands were in his pockets, and he watched her, expression speculative, assessing, giving nothing away. As usual.
Conley reached her and extended his hand. She took it, and he said, “Miss O’Shea, I understand your desire to shrug aside this threat, but I would urge caution.” He placed his hand atop hers and gave a gentle squeeze. “Be circumspect and vigilant, but rest assured I shall do all in my power to see you safely and successfully through the Summit.”
She was touched by the sincerity in his voice and dared to hope he might convince Hester to step aside and allow Emme’s activities to proceed.
“Many thanks, Chief-Inspector.” She smiled, trying to appear calm but knowing her cold hand was likely betraying her anxiety. “I look forward to your visit this evening,” she lied, choking out the words and worrying her smile was becoming a grimace. She stopped just short of suggesting he make the visit alone, glancing again at Reed, who now stood at Brinley’s desk, still holding the Bad Letter.
He said something to Brinley, who nodded and fished in his desk drawer for what looked like a sheet of vellum. It proved to be two sheets, as Reed slipped the letter between them. Emme swallowed. They would send it to fingermark experts who would undoubtedly try to discern any prints in addition to hers, Hester’s, Conley’s, or Reed’s. They would eliminate hers readily enough, as she’d had her fingermarks printed and filed on more than one occasion. Hester would need to offer a sample, but Emme wasn’t about to suggest it. She suddenly felt that if she didn’t escape the building immediately, she would scream and run up and down the halls like a madwoman.
Conley released her hand and nodded to Hester before turning away. Hester took Emme’s elbow with a hand that trembled, but firmed her grip and marched the both of them down the stairs.
Emme made a concerted effort to not look over her shoulder at the men who were about to determine her fate and her future for the coming days. That one of those men was her greatest foe caused her almost as much concern as the threatening letter he held in his hand. Uncertainty settled into her stomach as Hester ushered her outside and into their waiting coach.
As evening approached, Oliver Reed joined Chief-Inspector Conley outside the front steps of the Yard. Conley had asked him to take on the role of Miss O’Shea’s bodyguard, and Oliver had agreed—reluctantly. He’d turned his excuses around in his mind all day but consistently returned to the initial conclusion: she would shake off anyone else at the first suggestion of something she’d prefer not to do. He was likely the only man in all of London with a will iron enough to match hers.
Perhaps his internal disquiet was due to the suddenness of the change, the urgency of the situation. He and Conley made their way outside to one of the Yard’s sturdy and functional carriage-and-’ton-driver combinations. Brinley and another young officer, Constable Tyler, joined them, and the four men climbed inside.
“I’ve not had time to formulate even a rudimentary plan,” Oliver told Conley as the carriage pulled away from the curb and bumped its way down the street. Autumn was upon the city, and while the summer had been quite warm, the wind had turned crisp. Rain fell more frequently, and rain gear was essential.
Conley nodded. “We’ll solidify it in the next few days after we have more details about Miss O’Shea’s scheduled appearances and responsibilities. We’ll also need to include you in her travel itinerary and lodging arrangements. She’ll have a maid with her, I presume, but, Oliver, you must remain near her at all times. I hesitate to mention it, but she’s eluded you on more than one occasion. Perhaps she has no reason to do so now, but—”
“Perhaps she’ll be afraid enough for life and limb now that it will not be an issue,” Oliver interrupted.
Conley closed his mouth. Brinley and Tyler exchanged glances and looked anywhere but at Oliver, who took a quiet breath and muttered an apology. He looked out the small window at the gas lamps flickering to life. A light rain began to fall, clouding the images and turning the world to distorted shadows. He would be well-advised to visit Gentleman Maxwell’s and put his agitation to good use in a boxing match.
The carriage wound its way through the streets, eventually pulling to a stop outside the O’Shea home. Stately and tall, it matched the others in Charrington Square, an area familiar to Oliver. One of his best friends, Dr. Samuel MacInnes, lived several doors down with his wife, Hazel. Oliver’s parents were deceased, his sister lived on the coast, and his brother had become a sore spot, so Oliver’s friends—Sam, Daniel Pickett, and Miles Blake—had become his family. The four of them had originally met when they served together in the military in India, under Oliver as their captain, and had remained close ever since.
Sam’s recent marriage to Hazel meant that Oliver was now the only single man in their group, but he didn’t care to see that status change anytime soon. Life was complicated, and was about to become even more so.
Oliver and the three other men stepped out of the carriage, through the rain, and into the O’Shea home, where a ’ton butler took their hats and overcoats. Voices drifted into the cavernous front hall from a room to the right, and the butler inclined his head.
“If you would, gentlemen, the drawing room.” As he led them to the room, the noise grew in volume, and the voices distinguished themselves from one another.
“—concerns all of us, Mother, and to think that we would be excluded from any discussion on the matter is absurd and, frankly, insulting—”
A male voice chimed in, then an older female, but as Oliver listened to the din, he frowned. None of them was Emmeline her
self, and having heard plenty of her voice, he would know it anywhere.
The butler breached the threshold and announced them to the family, and all conversation abruptly ceased.
Oliver entered behind Conley, noting the thick tension in the room. Sir Ronald O’Shea, Baron Tallywind, and Lady O’Shea were seated near the hearth with Sir Ronald’s twin daughters—Lysette and Madeline. Apart from the group, standing near the double doors leading out to the garden, was Emmeline, her expression unreadable. That was odd; she was usually as easily read as a book. Her bearing was straight, arms folded back as though clasping her hands casually behind her. In the window’s reflection, however, Oliver noted her tightly clenched fists.
Her eyes flicked to his, and she immediately dropped her arms to her sides and flexed her fingers. She cleared her throat and seemed to shake herself loose from the drama that swirled around the room. She stepped forward and folded her hands demurely before her, inclining her head. “Chief-Inspector Conley, Detective-Inspector Reed, good of you to visit. I believe, however, that the course of action concerning your involvement here has yet to be decided.”
“My sister is sadly misrepresenting the facts.” Lysette joined them in the middle of the room. Hers was a traditional beauty, and Oliver doubted there was a man alive who would deny it. She smiled at him, as she always did when he’d had occasion to visit the home looking for Emmeline only to find she had escaped his inquiry yet again. Lysette was always more than amenable to the prospect of playing hostess for him until her “errant, unruly sister” found her way back home.
He had seen enough of Lysette’s practiced behavior to know she wielded it like a weapon. She was overt, as opposed to her twin, Madeline, who remained in the shadows, almost as if she would rather be invisible. Madeline’s appearance was different; she was shorter, her hair darker. Her eyes, though, were a brilliant aqua. She shrank back into the sofa pillows even as Lysette demanded the room’s attention.
Lysette glanced at Lady O’Shea and then focused her attention on Conley first, then settled on Oliver. “My mother seems to have forgotten she has several daughters, not one. The youngest are safe at school, but the rest of us will be attending the festivities in Edinburgh, and we all require protection from this horrible person who wishes us harm.”
Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts Page 3
