Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  There were no further threats on her life, although one luncheon was canceled because arsenic had been found in three of the teapots. A quick investigation proved the culprit to be an employee who was protesting the restaurant’s use of manufactured spices. The target had been the restaurant, and the poison was not intended for any one person.

  Miles and Lucy Blake had arrived in Town, and together with Daniel and Isla, and Sam and Hazel, Emme and Oliver had attended the theatre and enjoyed dinner at the Blake townhome. It was not lost on Emme that she and Oliver rounded out the group as the last “couple,” but nothing could have been further from the truth. They were only just learning how to be civilized with each other.

  In preparation for one of Emme’s presentations about shifter history, Lucy had loaned Emme two small, old journals containing some of the Blake family history. Emme kept them, along with her personal notes, observations she’d made over the last three years, a small ray gun, a knife, a tin of fresh biscuits, and a military canteen, in a medium-sized port­manteau that resembled a carpetbag. It was heavy, but Emme couldn’t bring herself to put the priceless journals in a trunk that would leave her side during travel. She couldn’t afford to lose them, if even for a moment.

  The evening of departure finally arrived. The nighttime flight would allow Emme to accomplish more the first day of the gathering instead of spending time traveling. She made a final sweep of her bedroom, satisfied she had packed everything she might need for her trip.

  She paused before her vanity and examined her appearance. She wore a stylish new outfit in burgundy and black, designed by her mother with the shop’s latest acquisitions. Hester had also upgraded Rosie, Emme’s ’ton maid, to include programming for the latest in hairstyling. Emme’s hair was an impressive coiffure with braids, twists, and a thin strand of pearls.

  She smoothed her corset and ran her hands along the beautiful fabric of her trousers, which were tucked neatly into her new black boots. She exhaled, nervous, and then told herself to smile. She was embarking on the adventure of a lifetime, and she would enjoy every moment of it. She would be with friends and colleagues who cared for her and whom she enjoyed in return, and her family would be busy with activities of their own. Lysette’s barbed tongue and her step­father’s oafish attitude would be far away from her.

  Rosie entered the room and tipped her head. “Your mother sends for you, Miss Emmeline.”

  Emme had requested basic programming for Rosie as she wanted little fuss and interference from her maid, and although her mother and Lysette were uncomprehending of her wishes, she found Rosie to be a perfect match for her busy life.

  “Thank you, Rosie.” Emme retrieved her newest top hat from the vanity and placed it on her head, tilting it at the perfect angle. The hat was also burgundy, decorated with small flowers and feathers that matched her ensemble. A small pair of goggles rested on the brim, completing the look. Emme had to admit she did look rather fetching in the new clothing.

  She picked up her carpetbag and, with one last look at her bedroom, made her way to the door. “If I haven’t thought of it by now, it’s too late,” she muttered.

  She stepped into the hallway only to stumble into Madeline, who jumped back with a hand over her heart.

  “Oh! Apologies, Emmeline.”

  “No need, Madeline, none at all.” Emme shook her head but had to admit some confusion. Hester was usually the only family who ventured into the guest wing.

  Madeline twisted her fingers, and then, as if realizing what she was doing, clasped her hands firmly together and stilled the movement. She took a deep breath and smiled. “I do not know how much access we shall have with each other in Edinburgh, and I want to wish you well.” She nodded once and firmed her chin. “I . . . You must be so glad. You have worked diligently . . . I cannot imagine . . .”

  Emme tried not to stare, confused not only by the oddity of the conversation but that it was occurring at all. She raised her brows in what she hoped was encouragement as Madeline floundered for words.

  “I only . . . I wish you well, Emme. I have every confidence you will say amazing things and people will be moved. You possess such an incredible gift.” Madeline’s eyes were suddenly bright, and she firmed her lips, smiling and lifting her chin again.

  “Madeline, I hardly know what to say,” Emme admitted, shocked but touched. “Thank you.” She carefully reached forward and embraced her awkwardly, and they both shared a nervous laugh.

  Emme drew back and looked at her stepsister. Madeline had rich, brown hair shot through with stunning strands of gold and deep red. She usually styled it as simply as possible, though, and Emme had long suspected it was a maneuver meant to keep Lysette at bay.

  While Lysette was the quintessential English Rose, Madeline was exotic. Her features held an understated beauty, her eyes a captivating aqua color, but she often wore clothing that washed out her complexion and did little to flatter her frame. Hester remarked occasionally, quietly, that she would love to “fuss just a bit” over Madeline’s appearance, but she was always politely refused.

  “Madeline,” Emme said impulsively, “perhaps when we return home, you and I could take tea somewhere . . . away from here.”

  Madeline nodded, but her eyes flickered away for the briefest of moments. She smiled again but looked as though it took effort. She cleared her throat, eyes glossy. “That would be lovely.”

  “Well, I had best be off. Perhaps we shall see one another in Edinburgh.” Emme walked toward the stairs, and Madeline hesitated but then fell into step with her.

  “Perhaps.” Her gaze darted again, and when they reached the landing, she looked toward the family wing. Nobody was there, and Madeline visibly relaxed, if only a fraction.

  Something was off, like one flat note in a chord. Emme glanced at her stepsister, more curious than ever. The energy emanating from Madeline was subtly chaotic, as though she was upset but tamping it down. Emme wished she had a moment to investigate. It would have to wait until the Summit was over, sadly.

  Voices echoed through the front hall, and Emme heard Oliver’s baritone. Her heart beat faster, and she cursed the wretched organ for its betrayal. As she descended the stairs with Madeline, she decided that, of course, she could be professional with the detective, and, of course, there was no reason to object to his presence. She was professional and friendly with Carlo, and she saw him rarely. She was cordial and pleasant with her colleagues in the Shifter Rights Organization, and there were some among that number who irritated her to no end.

  Deciding to behave professionally toward her former nemesis was no reason for her heart to thump in anticipation of seeing him. Perhaps her subconscious simply reacted to him as it had in earlier days when his presence signaled an imminent visit to a jail cell. That must be it. Satisfied she’d reached a logical conclusion, she stepped onto the main level with a clearer head. She smiled at Madeline, who nodded and scurried off.

  Hester and Barnesworth stood at the door with the detective. Hester glanced at Madeline’s disappearing form, and then at Emme, who shrugged. Hester’s brow creased, and Emme was struck with the notion that she probably had inherited her insatiable curiosity about people and their conundrums from her mother.

  Hester motioned toward Emme. “Come along. I sent Rosie up for you ages ago.”

  “Ages, Mother? I would hardly say that—” Emme stumbled over her words as Oliver subtly removed her valise from her hand and cupped her elbow.

  “We must make haste,” he said, and she looked up at him in surprise.

  Blast it all to heaven and back, when had the man gotten so handsome? He wasn’t smiling, didn’t look at all charming, but as she looked at his face her treacherous heart thumped again.

  He wore a fine hat and a simply styled but impeccably made suit. That accounted for his sudden appeal. Her mother was the queen of style, which made Emme a lady-in-waiting, at t
he least. She knew good clothing when she saw it, and oh, how it could do wonders for a person. Mystery solved, she turned and grasped Hester in a quick embrace.

  Hester squeezed her tightly. “Darling,” she said, and Emme heard the tears in her voice.

  Emme closed her eyes against the sudden sting of emotion she felt.

  “Please,” Hester continued, “please, please do not do anything foolish.”

  Emme’s eyes snapped open as Hester still held her tightly. “I know you will behave. Please remember everything you’ve ever learned about decorum and poise.”

  Emme ground her teeth together and pushed free from the bone-crushing embrace. She forced her mouth into what she hoped resembled a smile. “I will not embarrass you, Mother. Never fear.”

  Hester sighed and placed her hand alongside Emme’s face. “It isn’t only that. Be safe, dearest. Do not take unnecessary risks. Are you certain you do not want to take Rosie with you? Rented maids are not always reliable.”

  “I will be fine.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and paused, thinking. “Watch for Madeline, though. There is something—”

  Oliver quietly cleared his throat from his place by the door. Emme didn’t need to read his emotions to know he was impatient. Well, he could wait one more moment.

  “Perhaps choose a special dress for Madeline.” Emme said. “Something that flatters her coloring. And make her wear it in Edinburgh. Telescribe a message when you’ve arrived there.”

  Hester’s surprise was visible on her face, but she nodded and quickly kissed Emme’s cheek.

  Oliver ushered her out to the carriage, which was weighed down with trunks. He—rather aggressively, she thought—­assisted her into the vehicle and gave the driver quick commands in an undertone. When he joined her in the carriage, he sat opposite her, and she knew a moment’s odd disappointment that he wasn’t sitting beside her. It was just as well because now she could continue to admire his suit, which was absolutely the reason her heart thumped hard again.

  “Apologies for the rush,” he said as the carriage moved forward and then gained speed. “Friendship with Daniel Pickett will not buy a delay in departure.”

  Emme rolled her eyes but then checked the timepiece pinned to her bodice. “Why were you not at the house earlier?”

  “I arrived in plenty of time but was unaware of the effort required to load all of your”—he waved a hand at the back of the carriage—“accoutrements. Lady O’Shea was most particular about the trunk placement. Made me memorize the order and instructions for each.”

  “Welcome to a glimpse of my world, sir. Misery does love company, so naturally I now find myself giddy.” She sighed. “This portmanteau is the only piece of vital import to me. The rest is my mother’s doing.”

  “Your bag—what is in it?”

  “Notes and references for my presentations at the meetings. A few books.” She leaned back. “I would be quite at sea without them. There is so much information . . .” She shook her head and sighed. “I wish I had Hazel’s brain. That woman never forgets a thing.”

  “You have steeped yourself in this world for some time, Emmeline. I imagine you would succeed without even one note.”

  She tipped her head at him. “Why, thank you, Detective. Untrue, but flattering all the same.”

  He shot her a flat look. “I do not bother with flattery.”

  “Ah, noted. I shall beat my inflated ego back down to size.” Her knee bounced, and she looked out the window at the autumn evening. The sky was overcast and would soon be dark.

  “Are you apprehensive about traveling? The endeavor as a whole?”

  She turned her attention back to him. “Why do you ask?”

  He pointed to her knee, which bounced quite independently of her will. She clamped her hand on it, which only furthered the image in her head that her nervous habits stemmed from some external force she must literally stop.

  She sighed. “I do not mind travel. I am unsure of my abilities to do justice to my duties this week.”

  He settled back into the seat and exhaled quietly. She realized that if he’d been inclined to bounce a knee as a sign of nerves, he’d have been doing it.

  “You’re apprehensive,” she stated.

  He nodded slowly. His attention was drawn to the city beyond the carriage windows and then finally settled on her. “We are behind schedule, and I do not wish to miss the flight. Additionally, the Chief-Inspector and I are no closer to ascertaining the sender of your Bad Letter, and I’d hoped for some clues by now. It is frustratingly free of fingerprints or other identifying features.”

  “You must have some suspicions. You’re familiar enough with London’s nefarious characters at all levels of social strata.”

  He inclined his head in assent but paused as if deciding whether or not to share his thoughts.

  “You promised, no secrets,” she said.

  “I promised no secrets regarding credible information. I made no promise to divulge to you my every thought.”

  “That is just as well, because I do not want your every thought. Only those relevant to me.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched, and she thought for a moment he might smile. “Very well. I have asked myself which group among our society has the most to lose at the prospect of a successful Summit gathering.”

  “The Committee,” she said without hesitation. That they both knew exactly which committee she meant was telling. The government was full of committees at every level; the PSRC warranted a category of its own.

  He nodded again. “It certainly isn’t a new thought. From the moment I read the letter, I suspected someone in that circle. Randolph has amassed his share of powerful supporters—whether through self-interest on their part or coercion on his, I’m not certain. Fact remains, I cannot simply launch an investigation into his life, or anyone else on the PSRC, without just cause. Even then, it would be politically . . . complicated.”

  She swallowed past a lump of unease. Hearing it verbalized in such terms threw her situation into rather stark relief. It could well be that her enemies were connected well enough politically that injury to her—or worse—might be conveniently swept away. If the carriage incident the other morning was any indication, damage done to her person under the guise of “accident” was most likely her enemy’s preferred scenario. Take her down with an assassin’s bullet, and she would become a martyr. An accident, however, was simply one of life’s tragedies.

  Oliver leaned forward, dipping his head to catch her eye. “This is why I am here. I will not let anything happen to you.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, trying to sound light and unconcerned.

  He looked pointedly at her knee, which was bouncing again.

  She huffed a sigh and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees and put her fingertips to her temples. “I haven’t time for this, nor energy,” she admitted quietly but then added, “I don’t suppose anybody ever does.”

  “I do.”

  She looked at him. “You’ve been obliged to set aside your entire workload for this assignment.” When he didn’t respond, she flushed. “The Yard’s top detective has been tasked with playing my nanny.”

  “I am not playing nanny.”

  “All because my mother made so much noise.” She was hit with a wave of uncomfortable guilt. The man was truly a professional, one of the best to be had, and her situation had effectively rolled over his career. She’d noted it before, but then he had irritated her so much she hadn’t cared.

  She sat up, feeling mortified but tamping it down. “Detective, I realize we are late in the proverbial game, but I am willing to be nannied by a lesser officer of the law. Or I shall task my mother with hiring a private security entity, someone who can join me in Edinburgh. I am loath to admit I’ve not been attentive of the toll this assignment takes on your professional, not to menti
on personal, life.” She meant every word, but the thought of another man sitting across from her in the carriage was distasteful in the extreme.

  He shook his head, this time his mouth quirking into a half smile. “The Chief-Inspector and I briefly discussed that notion, Miss O’Shea, and just as quickly set it aside. You would run roughshod”—he held out a hand—“unintentionally, over anyone else. I am familiar not only with your circumstances but with your proclivities for escape and evasion.”

  She scowled, fairly certain she should feel offense. “I’ll not evade my own bodyguard. I can put on my best behavior when I wish it.”

  He’d been studying the windows again, but he turned his attention to her fully, unblinking. “There will be no changing of the guard, and we needn’t discuss it again.”

  She was stunned into silence, which was a rarity. His tone brooked no argument, and she suspected if she tried, he’d either ignore her or, more likely, tie a gag around her mouth. He held her gaze as though anticipating her contradiction. His attitude was rather high-handed, she thought, almost paternal. Well, no, she amended, not paternal. Fraternal? Not that, either. There was nothing familial in the least about the energy that swirled in the confines of the small carriage.

  She drew in a quiet breath and slowly released it. “Very well.”

  He studied her a fraction longer and then turned his attention back to the outside world.

  “You should know, however, that I—”

  His flat gaze pinned her to the seat, and she decided, for now, she would allow him the final word. Or scowl, rather.

  She looked out the other window and fanned her face with her hand. “Grows warm again,” she murmured. “What is happening in these carriages?”

  His movement in her periphery drew her attention back to him as he reached into an inner pocket and withdrew a small, simple fan. It was completely without adornment and nearly child-sized, and he handed it to her wordlessly without removing his gaze from the window.