Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  She shook her head.

  “Are you lying?”

  “Perhaps, just a bit.” She looked up at him, eyes troubled. “People are in danger because of me. This is all my fault.”

  “This is not your fault. If you begin that line of reasoning, you’ll have played nicely into his game. He is not going to win. They are not going to win.” He tightened his hold on her shoulder. “Are you hearing me?”

  She nodded. She swallowed, closed her eyes, and rested her head against his shoulder.

  He released a deep, shuddering sigh and tipped his head back to the wall, closing his own eyes for a moment.

  “I hope nobody was hurt,” she said without lifting her head.

  “I believe Miles solved the problem before it came to that.”

  “Did I see Isla run outside after him?”

  He lifted his head, lips curling in a rueful smile. “She did. Daniel was not pleased.”

  She looked at him, her own grin threatening. “I am certain he wasn’t. She makes him crazy. He should not worry so much. She is very, very competent, with years of experience running after dangerous predators and the like.”

  He shook his head, both pitying his friend and completely understanding. “Easier said than done. Mistakes happen no matter how competent someone might be. There are often variables out of one’s control—and sometimes a person will rush in where fools fear to tread with no thought for self-preservation at all.”

  “Come now, Detective. That sounds rather like a pointed barb.”

  “Does it?” He tipped his head back against the wall again. “I wonder why that should be. Perhaps because it sounds oddly familiar.”

  The elevator bounced to a stop and settled in place. Oliver opened the door, scanned the hallway, and helped Emme walk to her room. Once he settled her near the hearth, he kindled a warm fire and rang for Josephine. Emme was quiet as they waited for the maid, and he wondered if she still blamed herself for the incident.

  He opened the door between their rooms and, sighing, removed his jacket, cravat, and cuff links. The day had been long, it was late, and the threats against Emme were far from over. For all he knew, his own brother might have had a hand in it.

  Emme’s family’s attendance was suspicious, if nothing else but for the timing. He would have to speak with Nigel Crowe about it. Oliver knew Nigel had resumed his position on the Committee, but this time as a spy. He wasn’t at liberty to share the information but wondered if he should tell Emme so that she wouldn’t push the issue. Illegal and unethical goings-on had been part of the Committee since its inception, and Conley was quietly hopeful Nigel would be able to collect useful information. Oliver was becoming more convinced that someone on the Committee was responsible for the threats against Emme.

  A quiet knock sounded on Emme’s door, and he hurried to answer it. A quick look through the peephole revealed Emme’s stepsister, Madeline, and he frowned. He opened the door. “Yes, Miss O’Shea?”

  “Detective, I must speak with Emmeline. Please, it is important.” She darted a glance down the hallway.

  He opened the door wider, suspicious, but allowed her entrance.

  “Madeline?” Emme looked bewildered at her stepsister’s appearance. “What is it? What’s happened?” She paused. “Other than the explosive, I mean—is anyone hurt?”

  Oliver motioned for Madeline to take a seat, and she perched on the sofa with Emme.

  The young woman was pale, and she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. Oliver noted the pink dress, which washed out her complexion, and the severity of the chignon fastened tightly at the back of her head and hiding the beautiful strands of brown, red, and gold hair. Her large aqua eyes seemed desperate and anxious.

  Emme’s voice was soft. “What is it, Maddie?”

  Madeline’s eyes were liquid, and she chewed on her lower lip for a moment. She shook her head. “I believe you are in danger, but I do not know why. I hear whispers behind closed doors but never see who is talking. I’ve heard your name more than once since our arrival, and . . . and Lysette has made ‘secret plans’ for the hunt.” She winced. “She is not a good person, Emme. I know it as well as do you. I do not trust her, though I have been unable to discover her plans.”

  Emme’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across her face. “Madeline O’Shea, have you been sneaking about?”

  Maddie blushed even as she shook her head in denial and studied her hands. “Only enough to learn that her last secretive conversation was just before we left the lodge to come here. She specifically singled out Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Rawley. And now Mr. Crowe wishes to speak to me about bird-­watching.”

  “What would they possibly be planning together? And what on earth is Nigel Crowe about? When did you take up bird-watching?”

  Maddie shook her head. “I have not. One of the guests at the social was regaling me with her tales. I was only nodding in agreement.”

  Oliver leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees, and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve no idea what they may be planning. I am aware of Mr. Crowe’s activities, however.”

  Emme waited. “And they are?” she prompted.

  “Confidential.”

  “Con . . . confidential?” Emme scowled at him. “We agreed not to keep secrets from each other.”

  He looked at her flatly. “We did not agree to any such thing. I cannot share police business. And to my knowledge, you still have ‘confidential informants’ inside the government whose identities you refuse to divulge.”

  “Of course,” Madeline whispered.

  They both turned to her. “I’m sorry?” Emme said.

  She nodded slowly. “Mr. Crowe must be working under­cover, spying on the other members of the Committee. It stands to reason; he doesn’t seem to like any of them. Barely tolerates them. We’ve been at the lodge for two days now, and I’ve wondered why he bothers.”

  “Not a very effective way to foster trust,” Emme muttered.

  “I do not know if he was any different before, when he was one of them,” Madeline said.

  Emme looked at her stepsister. “You’re very observant,” she said quietly. “I’d no idea you were so perceptive. I am sorry, Maddie, for . . . many things. For always leaving you in that house.”

  Madeline lifted a shoulder. “I never gave you another option. You did try, long ago. You do not understand Lysette. Or rather,” she admitted, “I suppose you do.”

  Oliver remained quiet, as was his habit; he listened, faded into the background so others would perhaps forget he was there.

  “Why does she have such hold over you?” Emme asked. “I understand her tyrannical personality, of course, but Maddie, you are so much . . .” She spread her hands wide, searching for the words. “So much more everything.”

  Madeline was quiet, studying her hands. Her shoulders slumped as though she would sink in upon herself. “When we were young, she was merely cruel. Manipulative. She knew what bothered me and exploited it. A few years ago, however, she learned . . .” She lightly cleared her throat, and even with her face tilted down, the blush was clear. “She learned something dreadful about me.”

  Emme frowned and leaned forward. “What could it possibly be? And how are you certain it is truly dreadful?”

  She laughed softly and finally looked at Emme. “It is.”

  “Maddie, it cannot be so awful. What on earth could she know that requires you to endure her continual abuse?”

  Madeline shook her head. “It is ruinous.”

  Emme studied her for a moment. “If that is true, then your actions here tonight may cause problems for you with her.”

  “I do not believe she will divulge my secret—not yet. Once she does, she will have no more leverage.”

  Emme’s hands tightened into fists on her lap. “Then let us find a way to take that power from her.�
�

  Madeline smiled. “As it happens, I do have a plan. When the time comes, I promise I will take you into my confidence. Until then, I must ask for your patience.”

  Emme released a breath and sat back. “Very well. I will honor your wishes. In the meantime”—she looked at Oliver—“is she correct? Is Nigel Crowe spying on the Com­mittee?”

  Oliver rolled his eyes the slightest bit before massaging his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I would not know, of course, Emmeline.”

  Emme smiled at Madeline in triumph. “Excellent observational skills, Maddie.”

  “You’ll not repeat such a rumor to anyone, of course,” Oliver said.

  “Who on earth would I tell? Mr. Rawley? Other Commit­tee members?”

  Oliver sighed. “You know what I mean, Emme.”

  “Maddie, let me help you. You’re a grown young woman. Lysette is like a poison. She has made my life miserable; I can only imagine how it has been for you.”

  Madeline’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

  Emme shook her head. “I have been so busy telling myself I am helping the downtrodden, yet I failed a sister in my own home.”

  Madeline bit her lip, wiping at the tear that spilled down her cheek with a hand that trembled. “You were surviving, Emme. Just as I was.” She pulled in a deep breath. “Yes, perhaps we can stop her. Ruin whatever she has planned. If I can, I’ll search her room. We’ve rooms for the night on the sixth floor.”

  “Have you noticed anything unusual in Lysette’s attention to the Committee?” Oliver asked.

  “I am not entirely certain, but I have noticed Lysette’s affections turning quite heavily toward Mr. Rawley.”

  “An illicit assignation?” Emme asked. “Lysette is most particular about her potential suitors. I suppose that is irrelevant if her intentions are less than circumspect. She may not see him as a suitor at all.”

  “Mr. Rawley may not be titled, but he is in a position of some power. He has attended the last two hunting parties. He also seems taken with Lysette, but as I said, I do not know what her true intentions are.” She blushed, then glanced at Oliver. “I know she does harbor a tendre for others who are also not titled but are men of some influence.”

  Emme gasped, looking at Oliver. “I knew it! She is in love with you!”

  Oliver raised a brow. “That is preposterous. She does not even know me.”

  “Detective,” Madeline said, “she has instructed the staff to inform her immediately of your arrival at the London home. She feigned tears, once, in a conversation with you, and keeps with her always the handkerchief you gave her. Additionally, I heard her once ranting about your attention to Emmeline.”

  His mouth dropped slightly. “My attention to Emmeline has never been social in nature. In fact, it has even been negatively confrontational at times.”

  “That is true,” Emme muttered.

  Madeline shrugged. “I see that. I believe everybody sees that.” She paused. “Until now, I suppose—now that your role with Emme has shifted.” She paused again, longer. “Since you were assigned as Emme’s bodyguard, Lysette has been intolerably angry.”

  “Oh dear,” Emme breathed. “Worse than usual?”

  Madeline nodded. “Much. And she has railed at Father, of all things. Has him quite baffled.”

  “Yet you say she is showing attention to the young Committee member, Mr. Rawley.” Emme frowned. “If she is seeking access to his power, she should know he is in danger of losing it if all goes well at the Summit and the government agrees to abolish the Regulations Committee.”

  Madeline looked at her in speculation. “All the more reason to hope it fails. You do have a tremendous gift with public address.”

  Emme’s mouth slackened. “That is what I do not understand about these threats to me. It is ridiculous!”

  Madeline shook her head. “You’ve never been in the ­audience of one of your own speeches.”

  Emme stared. “Have you?”

  She nodded. “One afternoon, Lysette was shopping, so I snuck away to the Activity Hall. You were . . . It was enthralling. Everything seemed so clear when you spoke, it all made sense, and the feeling of goodwill toward one and all was just . . . overwhelming. Inspiring.” Madeline smiled. “I was quite proud of you.”

  “Oh, Maddie. When this is all done, we have some things to change at home.”

  Madeline’s smile faltered, but she nodded.

  Oliver noted the slip. She was holding something back. He excused himself and stepped aside, telescribing the name Chief-Inspector Conley had given him if he needed to contact Nigel Crowe. He quickly asked if Crowe knew of secret conversations between Lysette O’Shea and any other Committee members. While he waited for a response, he listened to Madeline.

  “Your mother sent a package with me, rather secretively,” Madeline said. “I’ve only glanced at it, but it seems to contain two ensembles, colors I’ve never worn in my life. Lysette has always bullied her way into decisions about my wardrobe, so I wear pastels.”

  “Do you prefer pastels?”

  “Not particularly. In fact, one of the dresses Mother sent is aqua in color, and shimmery.” Madeline smiled. “I quite like the look of it.”

  “Excellent! It will match your eyes, and you will feel like a princess.” Emme grinned at her.

  Madeline sobered. “And Lysette will find a way to make me feel as though I’ve committed a criminal act for making a decision without first consulting her.”

  “Lysette can chew on an angry stick. You and I are finished allowing her to rule over us.”

  Oliver’s telescriber dinged with Crowe’s response.

  Yes, secret conversations. Cannot ascertain the content.

  Oliver frowned. He felt as though they were headed for disaster, and he was frustrated at his inability to see around the bend. He sent another message to Crowe.

  When did Rawley become a close associate of Lysette O’Shea?

  Crowe replied immediately.

  Six months ago. Sir Ronald invited him on a big-game excursion to Africa. Most of the Committee are regular guests at the family hunting lodge here.

  It was a pity Crowe hadn’t returned to Town earlier; his presence embedded with the Committee was helpful now, but he was a step behind.

  A knock sounded at his door, and he crossed into his room to find the Blakes, the Picketts, and the MacInneses in the corridor. He ushered the couples inside and led them to Emme’s room.

  Sam and Hazel joined Emme and Madeline on the sofa, while Lucy took an adjacent chair, her expression grim and eyes angry. Oliver had spent time with Lucy and Miles before they were married and Lucy had been a houseguest at Blackwell. Lucy had suffered a vampire attack, and Oliver and Miles had been her only company for a week as she convalesced. He recognized the frustration in her face at her inability to fix the situation, to solve everything immediately.

  She looked at Emme. “Bryce Randolph hired someone to toss that explosive into the hall.”

  “We don’t know it for certain, Luce,” Daniel said to his sister and joined Isla at the hearth.

  “Who else would it be?” Lucy snapped back. “That smarmy little miscreant described him to the last detail.”

  Oliver looked to Daniel. “You caught him?”

  Daniel side-eyed his wife. “Isla ran him down. Surprised him with a throwing star to the back of the shoulder and then tackled him to the ground.”

  Emme clapped her hands. “Of course she did. Well done, cousin!”

  Isla inclined her head, and Oliver noted Daniel’s smile, his frustration and pride evident in equal measure.

  Oliver looked at Emme’s pale face, the dark smudges under her eyes that bore evidence of her continued fatigue, and the cast on her foot. The similarity in a penchant for action was evident in the cousins, and he knew a moment of r
ueful despair. He was in for it every bit as Daniel was.

  Emme would never slow down, and he realized with some surprise that he felt it would be a pity if she did. She would always take life by the throat, and he would always chase after her in a heightened state of anxiety.

  It was a truth he could no longer deny. He’d been chasing after Emmeline O’Shea for two years, and the thought that there might come a day when that pursuit was no longer his role did not sit well in his gut. The thought of her eventually as a friend, a lover, a wife to someone else made him irrationally angry. Perhaps his reaction wasn’t so irrational, he mused as he looked at her. Any man would recoil at the idea of a woman he loved with another.

  He looked back at Daniel, seeing a future version of himself in his friend. Daniel rested his hand beneath Isla’s hair and massaged the back of her neck. In all likelihood, the contact was probably more a comfort to Daniel than Isla, who seemed perfectly composed. She leaned into her husband, comfortable and content.

  The men in the room, his best friends, had reached a place in life that Oliver now envied for the first time. He wanted what they had. He’d spent time with them socially for months and had never felt a wisp of desire to walk the path they had each pursued. Now, however, everything had changed. His world had completely spun and shifted. He didn’t want what they had with just anyone. He wanted it with the woman on the sofa who had turned her attention to him as the conversation continued.

  She wrinkled her brow and tilted her head at him, and his heart thumped that even amidst the chaos of their circumstances, she was attuned enough to him to know his thoughts were elsewhere. Provided he could keep her alive, perhaps she might entertain the notion of receiving him in her drawing room for purposes other than arrest or interrogation.

  “. . . you heard what I said, Emme?” Isla was looking expectantly at her cousin.

  Emme blinked and turned her attention away from him, and he bit back a smile. “I’m sorry?”

  “You seem a mite distracted.” Isla’s lips twitched.