The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) Page 6

  The man, who wore trousers, a shirt and waistcoat only, straightened to his full height. He was only a little taller than me, with a blocky build, square face, and a crooked nose. His two small eyes sparkled like sapphires as they scanned me from head to toe. I felt very conspicuous with my unbuttoned dress beneath my waistcoat.

  "Is that her?" he asked in an accent similar to Cyclops's.

  "This is Miss Steele, yes. Miss Steele, this is Duke, my butler. Or footman."

  "Both?" I said, smiling. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Duke. Is that a first name, last or title?"

  "It's just Duke." He grunted. "Why'd you bring her back here?"

  Mr. Glass pushed past him. "Butlers and footmen don't ask questions."

  Duke gave another grunt and eyed me from beneath a ponderous brow.

  "Miss Steele will be staying here until her work with me is complete."

  "But—"

  "It's not up for discussion." Mr. Glass rounded on him. "Is that understood? Not a word."

  Duke's lips pressed together, but only for a second. "You look dog tired, M— sir." He glanced at me again, focusing on my chest. I hadn't laced myself tightly and my gown was still undone beneath my waistcoat. He must know. "You were supposed to inquire about the watchmaker, not frolic with the lady who's supposed to be helping you."

  "Duke!" Mr. Glass snapped.

  "I said frolic, not fu—"

  "DUKE!"

  Duke chuckled. I did my best to look shocked, but it was difficult to keep a straight face. Mr. Glass looked terribly embarrassed, and I'd never witnessed a servant speak so insolently to his master. I didn't think his behavior could be put down to being American. The more servants of Mr. Glass's I met, the more convinced I was that he wasn't truly their employer, but merely acting a role. Perhaps he was their gang leader.

  That thought wiped the smile off my face. I swallowed heavily and folded my arms over my chest again. I was beginning to have serious doubts about staying in the house. It had been one thing to sleep under the same roof as Mr. Glass, knowing that Cyclops probably slept in the stables, but quite another knowing this ruffian wouldn't be far away from my bedroom either.

  "You've offended Miss Steele," Mr. Glass said to Duke. "Apologize." When Duke hesitated, Mr. Glass whipped out the butcher's knife.

  I swallowed my scream and covered my mouth with my hands.

  Duke merely grunted again. "Apologies, miss. It was just a joke."

  Mr. Glass tossed the knife to his man. Duke caught it easily by the handle. "That might come in handy in the kitchen," Mr. Glass said.

  Duke inspected the blade. "There's blood on it."

  "Not mine nor Miss Steele's."

  "Only you would go out to make simple inquiries and come back with a knife as big as my forearm." He studied Mr. Glass's face closely, then glanced at the long case clock. "You look tired and it ain't quite time to."

  "Time to what?" I asked.

  "Nothing," they both said.

  "Go and fetch Cyclops," Mr. Glass directed his man. "He's waiting for us at Marble Arch."

  Duke looked like he would protest, but thought better of it. He plucked a hat off the hat stand then moved past us to the front door.

  "When you get back, prepare a room for Miss Steele," Mr. Glass said. "And be sure to dress properly from now on. We have a guest."

  "Aye, aye, sir." Duke saluted. "Will there be anything else? Tea, cake, and a watchmaker to go with 'em?"

  "Lunch, and stop being an ass. Where's Willie?"

  Willie? There were more ruffian servants? God, help me.

  "Out," Duke said. "Don't know where." He nodded at the clock. "You better go…rest. I'll see to Cyclops and the room." It was the most sincere he'd sounded since we walked in, like he was genuinely concerned about Mr. Glass getting rest.

  He must be ill, or exertion wouldn't have done this to him. He looked even paler now and the shadows under his eyes stood out in bas-relief. Creases had appeared across his forehead and around his mouth where before there'd been none.

  "You do look very poorly," I said to him as Duke left. "Please, go and rest. I'll wait in the, er…" I glanced at the door leading off from the entrance hall.

  "Drawing room." He gave me a grim smile and indicated the room. "I'll be with you in a few minutes. Make yourself at home, since it will be, for the near future."

  I made my way to the drawing room but stopped inside the door. He headed up the stairs, his gait laborious, his head bowed. Once he was out of sight, I followed quietly, looking out for other servants. Mr. Glass stopped at the top of the landing. He seemed out of breath, as if that brief climb had exhausted him. Yet he'd hardly looked like he'd raised a sweat immediately after attacking three thugs. What sort of illness had a delayed onset?

  It was all very odd, but it was none of my affair and had nothing to do with my reason for following him. I wanted to find out where his private rooms were located so that I could return another time and look through them for evidence of his occupation in America and his reason for coming to England. There was no better time. He was too ill to notice me and the servants were gone.

  I peeked around the corner on the third level and had to dart back quickly. He'd stopped near the end, with his hand pressed against a door and his head lowered. The three flights of stairs had done him in.

  When I looked again, I expected to see him gone, having entered, but he was sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out before him, his back to the wall. He held a glowing object in the palm of his hand and a chain dangled from his fingers. It was like he held a small sun and its rays infused his hand with purple light. The light spread along the veins and up into his sleeve, as I'd seen it do in the carriage the day before.

  I continued to watch, both fascinated and terrified by the strange phenomenon. Mr. Glass seemed to know what he was doing. He showed no fear. Indeed, he seemed to bask in the object's rays and grow more healthy by the second. Suddenly his chest expanded as he took a huge gasp of air, and the color in his face returned. It no longer looked bloodless, but full of life as the bright glow crept out of his collar and up his neck, to his chin, cheeks and finally his forehead. His face and hands—perhaps his entire body—was a map of fiery, glowing veins.

  With another deep breath, he snapped the lid of the object closed, extinguishing the light. He held it up by its chain then tucked it into his inside pocket. Even from a distance, I could see it was an ordinary silver watch.

  No; not ordinary. It might look like a simple watch, but there was nothing ordinary about that glow.

  Mr. Glass stood and disappeared into the room. He hadn't seen me, thank goodness. I wasn't ready to face him over this secret. For it had to be a secret, or why not tell me about it in the first place, since it was most likely also linked to the watchmaker he wanted help finding.

  "Who're you?" The harsh female voice coming from behind me made me jump. My heart almost burst out of my chest. I went to turn to face her, but she grabbed both my elbows and jerked me back against her body. She smelled like tobacco and lilacs, an odd combination to say the least. "And why are you spying?"

  Chapter 5

  "Let me go." I struggled against her but she was damnably strong for a woman. "I've had quite enough of being restrained today." I went to smash my heel down on her toes, but she predicted my move and jumped back without letting me go.

  "I said, who are you and why are you spying?" The deep, almost masculine voice, coupled with the smell of tobacco, made me wonder if she was in fact a he after all.

  "My name is India Steele and I'm not spying. I'm a guest of Mr. Glass's and I'm looking for the privy."

  Her grip loosened enough for me to wriggle free. I turned on her, unsure whether a smile or admonishment was in order. In the end, I couldn't control my wide-eyed stare.

  She was definitely a woman. Her figure was as curved as mine and certainly couldn't be mistaken for a masculine one. Yet she wore loose men's trousers and a man's leather waistcoat over a plain w
hite shirt. Her black hair had been arranged in a relaxed style on top of her head, as if she'd slept with it like that. Even dressed in masculine attire, she had a pretty oval face, despite the scowl and pursed lips.

  "The privy's that way." She jerked her head in the opposite direction to Mr. Glass's room.

  "Thank you." I tried to edge past her, but she caught my arm.

  I shook myself free and matched her scowl with one of my own. "I really have had enough of being waylaid today, thank you. Kindly allow me to pass."

  She merely folded her arms and widened her stance. "I'm not sure I should until I've spoken to Matt."

  "Matt?"

  "Matthew. Mr. Glass." So she was on a first name basis with him too. I supposed I should have suspected.

  I decided to change tactics and thrust out my hand. "Since there's no one about to make introductions, shall we just introduce ourselves?" I smiled. Her scowl deepened. "My name is India Steele."

  "So you said."

  "And you are?"

  "Not trusting you."

  I withdrew my hand. "May I ask why?"

  Her scowl disappeared. She cleared her throat and looked somewhat less sure of herself. "You talk like a proper English lady, but you don't dress like one."

  I didn't tell her that she talked like a woman and dressed like a man. Until I knew how she would accept such quips, it was best to keep them to myself. Particularly since I was in something of a precarious situation while living in the house of a man I didn't trust.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "You're loose in the general area of your pups."

  "Pups?"

  She indicated my chest.

  "Oh." My face heated and once again I found myself folding my arms over my breasts. "That's why I need the privy. I'm in need of a sewing kit and a private room."

  She considered this by twisting her mouth to the side. Hands on hips, she turned and walked off. A few paces away, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. "Come on, then."

  I followed her. "Thank you, Miss…"

  "Willie Johnson. Call me Willie, not Miss Anything. Got it?"

  "Er, yes, you stated your wishes very clearly."

  She stopped and rounded on me, her face only an inch from mine. "Are you having a joke at my expense?"

  I tried not to splutter at the stench of tobacco on her breath. "Not at all." I hoped she believed me. She may be a woman, but I didn't feel any safer with her than with Mr. Glass's other servants. She seemed fiercer than Duke. "Tell me, Miss— Tell me, Willie, are you the housekeeper here? Or the cook perhaps?"

  She blinked at me then burst into raucous laughter that had me stepping back to avoid her breath. "Me, cook? Not likely. They'd rather starve than eat my cooking. As to cleaning, no thanks." She snorted then wiped her nose with the back of her hand. I was beginning to wonder if she'd been raised by wild bears. "There you go." She jerked her head at a nearby door.

  I opened it but didn't go in. "That's not the privy."

  "It's my room. Or one of them. Matt gave me the lady's suite, as he called it, even though I said I didn't need this much space." She indicated I should go in ahead of her. "My needle and thread are in there, but I've thought of something better."

  I went in ahead of her. The room was a large sitting room with chaise longue positioned beneath a window, a table, two armchairs by the fireplace, tea table on wheels, a writing desk and empty glass display cabinet. The sage green and cream striped wallpaper matched that of the sofa, and it all matched the tiny green flowers on the curtains and cushions. It was far too feminine for the woman standing beside me. Perhaps that was why it looked like it wasn't used. It smelled like it too, all stale and close. No tobacco, though.

  Willie closed the door. "Come with me to my bedroom and undress." She indicated an adjoining door. "Go on, don't get all prim and missish now."

  I followed her to the bedroom door, but didn't go in. This room didn't smell unused. Indeed, the scent of lilacs was quite strong here. "I'm not being prim, I'm simply wondering what you have in store for me."

  Willie rummaged through a large trunk at the end of her bed and pulled out a brown cotton dress with a lace cream falling collar. She shook it out and held it up for me. "It's real ugly, but it'll fit you."

  We were of a size, true, and while the dress wasn't overly pretty, it wasn't ugly either. It had no embellishments whatsoever except for the large collar. It was certainly in a better state than my button-less gown. I would guess it had never been worn. "You're loaning it to me?" I asked her.

  "Keep it. I don't wear dresses, corsets and ladies' things. A girl can't run in them, or holster a gun on her hip."

  "True, but they're excellent if you want to trip someone over." She gave me a blank look. "Your feet can't be seen beneath these skirts." I gave her a demonstration.

  "I'd rather run or fight."

  I sighed. "Sometimes, so would I."

  I took the gown and she left me alone to change out of my dress and into hers. It fitted well, although was a little short. My ankles were visible. My mother would have made me change out of it if she'd been there, but she was long dead. Besides, beggars couldn't be choosers.

  I was checking over my gown to see if any damage had been done to the fabric when Willie walked back in without knocking first. "Christ, it's just a dress. What's taking so long?"

  "I'm finished."

  Willie scanned me head to toe. "It's still an ugly dress, but it looks better on you than me."

  "Er, thank you. I think."

  "Leave your outfit in my sitting room and collect it later. I suppose I should be offering you refreshments seeing as you're a guest and all."

  "Thank you! A cup of tea would be lovely." I was parched after my exertions, and now that I once more felt suitably attired, I was ready to face the household over a cup of tea.

  I only hoped Mr. Glass didn't rest for long. I liked his company, and felt more at ease in his presence. His servants—or whatever they were—made my nerves jump.

  Willie led the way back down to the drawing room then disappeared after ordering me to "Wait here." She managed to infuse the words with steel, so that I didn't dare move. She clearly didn't trust me.

  And I didn't trust her. Or any of them.

  But I would bide my time, for now, and continue investigating later. It wouldn't be wise to get caught outside the drawing room again.

  I strolled around the room, which was as pretty as Willie's rooms, although done in blue and gold colors. It too had a stale smell to it, however, that had me wanting to open the windows. After a few minutes of idly inspecting the knick knacks up close, I couldn't stand it any longer. I unlatched one of the window sashes and opened it.

  I breathed deeply and watched the glossy black coaches rumble past with distinguished looking gentlemen inside. Elegant ladies dressed in fine gowns walked with parasols in hand to protect themselves from the spring sunshine, and nannies pushed perambulators along the pavement. Nobody hurried. No shopkeepers shouted about how wonderful their wares were, and delivery carts didn't jostle one another for space. It was quite lovely here in Mayfair.

  A coach pulled up out the front of number sixteen and Duke hopped down off the coachman's seat where he'd been sitting next to Cyclops. Cyclops spotted me and waved, but Duke, following his gaze, frowned.

  "What'd you open the window for?" he called out.

  "Fresh air," I called back.

  "You call this air fresh?" He looked skyward and screwed up his nose. "You English are mad."

  I heard the front door open before he'd even reached it. I leaned out the window to see who'd opened it for Duke, but couldn't quite see.

  "Better?" Duke asked.

  "Stop fussing," came Mr. Glass's response. "And keep quiet around Miss Steele."

  I couldn't hear if Duke warned him that I was standing at the open window or not. The door closed and a moment later, they both strolled into the drawing room. Mr. Glass looked much refreshed. His eye
s were bright and his skin had returned to its normal color, not pale or lit up by veins of purple light. He smiled at me. I smiled back, wondering if Duke was supposed to be quiet about the strange watch or something else.

  "I see you've changed, Miss Steele," Mr. Glass said. "You must have met my cousin."

  I felt the heat in my cheeks rise again at his reference to my attire, even though he didn't mention the reason behind the need to change. Yet I was glad, too, that he'd acknowledged my change of clothing without dwelling on the matter. Indeed, he'd managed to seamlessly change the subject. It was a smooth transition, and I wondered if it had been designed that way to alleviate my embarrassment over our earlier encounter.

  "Willie is your cousin?" I asked.

  "On my mother's side."

  "She didn't tell me that. Indeed, she didn't tell me much at all. I thought she was a servant."

  Mr. Glass looked pained. "Did she threaten you?"

  "In a way. But then she gave me this dress so I suspect everything is fine between us now."

  "Wouldn't wager the ranch on that, Miss Steele," Duke said. "She hates dresses. Way she'd see it, you're doing her a favor."

  "Then perhaps we can be friends since friends do one another favors."

  Duke burst out laughing. "She ain't never had a friend. All the girls are scared of her back home, and most of the men, too."

  Mr. Glass nodded. "It's true. She terrifies even me when she flies into a temper. But don't worry, she's rarely home. It's unlikely you'll see much of her while you're staying with us."

  "Speak of the devil," said Duke, as Willie walked in carrying a tray laden with teapot, cups and slices of cake. "And look at that! She's gone all womanly on us, too, and made tea. Must be the influence of having a real lady in the house."

  "You're lucky I'm holding this tray, Duke, or I'd clock you for that." Willie set the tray down with a loud clunk that rattled the delicate china.

  Duke chuckled. "I got a room to make up and lunch to prepare. Come and help me, Willie."

  "Do it yourself. I ain't the maid."

  "Do I look like I'm wearing an apron?"

  "Duke," Mr. Glass snapped. "Enough. Willie…do whatever you want. As usual."