Legacy of the Clockwork Key (16 page)

I could see the shadows of trees and a large building just ahead of us, but it didn’t hold a candle to the monstrosity looming to the left. An enormous estate that reeked of generations of wealth and entitlement squatted like a fat old king on the throne of the rise.

We must have been near the stables, which were impressive enough. Five or six storefronts from Oxford Street could have fit across the length of them.

Good gracious, I’d never seen such wealth.

“How could an estate like this be empty?” I muttered, following Will toward the stables. It didn’t seem possible. A house that size required the effort of hundreds to maintain it.

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Will held his pistol at the ready. “There has to be a caretaker.”

Our boots crunched as we walked in silence. Everything seemed so still.

A shot rang out. I screamed, falling to the ground, as Will crouched in front of me. How had the murderer reached this place before us?

“Whoever’s out there,” a man’s voice rang out, “it would be in your best interest to abandon any thought of looting the
house. It might be a bit harmful for your health.” I stared at a floating light coming toward us.

Will pushed his arm in front of me, perhaps under the assumption his limb could protect me from the man strolling up the path looking as if he were ready to engage in a duel and knew he would win.

I held on to Will’s shoulder, peeking over his arm as the man ambled closer. He had wild hair that stuck out at odd angles in a short shaggy mop above his impressive sideburns. Over his eyes he wore a pair of glowing goggles, even as he carried an impossibly long rifle that sprouted tubes and gears along one side.

Dressed in a long brown coat that ended at the tops of his buckled boots, and a shirt open at the collar, he seemed from another world entirely.

Placing the stock of the rifle on the ground, he cocked his head and gave us a lopsided grin. Only then did I realize he couldn’t have been much older than us.

“So, should I kill you, or not?”

“I’d prefer not,” I stated, rising to stand. He was an Amusementist. He had to be. “We’re friends of Lucinda Pricket. She’s hurt. We need a place to rest. We had no place else to turn.”

“Lucinda?” Her name fell from his lips like a prayer. He fumbled the gun and it accidentally went off in a shower of red sparks. He winced. “Where is she?”

“In the coach.” I pointed behind us, and while I couldn’t see the man’s eyes, his posture went rigid, as if he’d just seen a ghost.

He ran toward it, and I moved to follow. Will grabbed my arm. “What are you for?” he scolded. “He could be the murderer.”

“Does he look like a murderer to you?” I yanked my arm from him and hurried toward the coach. Will fell into step beside me.

“He has a gun.” Will lengthened his stride.

“So do you,” I reminded him.

I beat Will to the coach door, only to see the man kneeling beside Lucinda. He had her hand in his as she woke.

“Oliver?” she whispered. A smile played at her lips, but her expression appeared sad somehow. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same thing, Luli.” His touch slid along her arm until he drew both her delicate hands into his.

She looked away, her eyes darting toward me, the light, anything but him. “I thought you were in America.” She pulled her hands from his and straightened her skirt.

“I’ve returned.” Oliver leaned back. “Who are your friends?”

Lucinda glanced at me. “Miss Whitlock, allow me to introduce you to the Marquess of Brairton.”

I took a step back. “My lord.” I bowed my head, but he folded me in a sudden embrace. Startled, I didn’t know how to respond, other than to push against the soft leather of his coat.

“My God!” he exclaimed, holding me at arm’s length. “Sweet little Margaret? I thought you were dead. Thank the dear Lord you survived.” He patted me on the shoulders. “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby, and I was a scruffy little tramp with skinned knees. You’ve grown quite well.”

“I go by Meg, my lord,” I clarified, stepping back from him as Will moved closer behind me. “This is William MacDonald.”

“Are you one of Argus’s boys from the Foundry?” he asked, genuinely pleased.

“No,” Will answered with a puzzled look. “I’m just a tinker.”

“He’s a friend, Lord Brairton.” The moment I said it, I felt my heart swell. Somehow whatever was between us, it felt more than simple friendship. He had saved my life not
once but twice. A tingle shivered up my exposed calves.

“Unfortunately, it’s Duke of Chadwick now. But please, call me Oliver. If I hear anyone say ‘Your Grace,’ I can’t be held accountable for my actions.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up further. Only the glowing goggles perched high on his forehead kept it at bay.

Lucinda leaned forward. “You’ve inherited? What happened to your father?” There was no mistaking the shock in her face.

“It’s too much to explain here.” His rich voice dropped. “Come. We have much to discuss inside.”

I HADN’T SEEN VERY MANY DUKES, BUT I FELT CERTAIN
the majority of the House of Lords did not look like this one.

“Where were you injured?” he asked Lucinda, lifting his hand as if he were about to place it to the side of her face. He paused, then let his fingers fall away from so intimate a caress.

She gave her head a little shake. “Really, I took a silly tumble down a hill and turned my ankle. I’m quite fine.”

Lucinda stood to prove she was sound. At the same moment Will put his weight on the footboard and the coach shifted. Lucinda winced. Her ankle gave, and she fell, right into the duke’s arms.

“I see you’re still stubborn.” Without another word, he handed his gun to Will and swept Lucinda off her feet. She squealed and clung to his neck.

“Oliver! Put me down this instant.” She hit him on the shoulder with enough force that he had to catch his balance. He glanced over at me and raised one eyebrow in question.

“We were at Gearhenge,” I confessed. “We didn’t anticipate the way the hill would shake.”

“You raised that thing?” His voice pitched with awe as he edged to the door. Will and I moved to let the duke pass. “I thought Charles had locked it.”

I followed the duke as Will guided the coach into the stable. Using my longest strides, I almost had to break into a run to keep up with him. “I had a key.”

The duke stopped cold and turned to me. Lucinda brushed a wayward lock of hair off her forehead and wriggled. He didn’t let her down. “A key, or
the
key?” he asked, as if the world hung on my answer.

Doubt flashed through my mind. Could I trust this duke? There was something about him, something open and guileless. It was very likely unwise to trust him, but in my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do.

“It’s my grandfather’s.”

He visibly paled. “Then you’re in grave danger.”

Well, that much I knew. Will pulled the stable doors closed with a deep
boom
, and then jogged to my side. Together we followed the duke through a slightly overgrown formal garden, past a neat white kitchen gate, and down a set of servant’s stairs in the back.

A low smoldering fire and single candle cast the majority of the enormous kitchen in shadow. Only the tiny glowing circle of light on a large but empty table welcomed us into the grand mansion.

The duke set Lucinda on the bench by the table then used the pump to wet a rag. “I apologize for the current state of my hospitality, but the entire household is in London with my mother. No one knows I’m here. I’ve made myself out to be the groundskeeper.”

He knelt and reached for Lucinda’s foot, but she shooed his hand away then took the rag from him before he could touch the hem of her skirt. She removed her boot, and modestly tied the cold rag on her swollen ankle.

“Why the deception?” I asked as Will settled on the bench opposite, near the cupboard. “Isn’t your mother pleased that you’ve returned?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here. No one does.” The duke
hung his head as he took a small kettle off the fire. Whatever was brewing in the pot smelled potent and earthy.

Will gathered some cups from behind him. Oliver poured us all a good helping of the black liquid. I grimaced. Whatever was in the pot, it wasn’t tea.

Oliver placed the kettle back over the fire, then returned to the table and nodded to me as if I should try it.

He took a long swig and closed his eyes, savoring it. Will sniffed his suspiciously. I delicately lifted the cup to my lips and took a sip.

Scorching liquid that tasted like burned wood poured over my tongue. I nearly spit it back out on the table.

Choking back my violent reaction to the bitter concoction, I did my best to look polite. Who would drink this?

Oliver finished his off with a quick swallow. “My mother believes my father died of natural causes.”

I put the cup down and pushed it away from my person.

Lucinda looked stricken. “What happened?”

“My father was murdered,” Oliver stated. My attention snapped to him. My heart ached so suddenly. I didn’t wish to hear of another victim of this foul plot. Oliver placed his cup very carefully on the table, as if fighting the urge to throw it into the basin.

“How?” I asked. I felt for him, knowing the sickening feeling of having parents stolen from life too quickly.

“Poisoned.” He rubbed his hair in the front then crossed his arms with a scowl.

He said it with such certainty. Still, poison was a difficult thing to prove. “How do you know it was poison, Your Gra—”

He held his hand out to stop me. “Oliver, please,” he insisted. “My title was a trick of luck at birth. It’s completely useless. We’re all equals here.”

Will snorted softly.

Frankly, there were more important things to discuss than the propriety of using one’s title, so I returned to the question at hand. “How do you know it was poison?”

He shook his head. “All the rumors said he fell ill. But his dog . . .” He became more animated, moving closer to Lucinda. “His fat little pug, Percy, died that night as well.” He placed a hand on Lucinda’s shoulder and sat next to us on the bench. “He always gave that dog whatever he’d been eating, and I don’t believe it was a coincidence.”

“I remember that dog.” Lucinda nearly overturned her cup, but the duke righted it.

“In our last correspondence, my father told me he feared for his life.” He looked me in the eye. “Your father had asked
for an audience with him. He wanted to destroy Rathford’s machine and asked for my father’s help in doing so.”

His gaze drifted to the key hanging around my neck. I found my hand drawn to it.

“My father wrote that it was best to leave sleeping monsters in the dark. He turned George out. Less than a week later, your parents were murdered and my father was found dead.”

“No.” The cavernous room pressed in, the darkness blurring in a muddy tapestry of shadows. “That can’t be possible,” I said. “The fire was an accident.”

“Father died six months ago, the same night as the fire. And as I said, I don’t believe in coincidence.” Oliver stood again and began to pace before the hearth.

No, it wasn’t murder. I had woken that night and retreated to my father’s workshop to read. I fell to sleep in my father’s chair, leaving the lamp burning. The accident was my fault. I had been careless. When I woke, the fire raged. I couldn’t breathe through the smoke. Blind and terrified, I’d been able to escape out the back into the garden then through the mews. My parents had not.

Will took my hand across the table and squeezed. The pressure drew my attention back to the present even as I felt the tears sting my eyes.

“I caused the fire,” I admitted, though I didn’t know why. It was as if I needed someone else’s condemnation to make it real. “I was careless and left a lamp burning.”

He paused next to me. “Your family was killed for that key, either to claim the key, or to destroy it. I haven’t figured out which. The murderer is out there.” Oliver gave me a warning pat. “And he is still willing to kill.”

I couldn’t believe the fire could have been set intentionally. But the most intense fire had burned in the front of the shop, not the back. Had it been my lamp, the first room to burn would have been my father’s workshop, not the clock gallery.

My God.

Sympathy softened Oliver’s expression. “You’re very lucky to be alive.”

Lucky? He thought I was lucky to have my parents murdered? To be forced to work in the household of the man who had likely killed them? What part of any of this was luck? I was beginning to believe I was cursed.

Someone wanted me dead, wanted us all dead.

I clenched my teeth and felt the press of Will’s hand on mine.

I gathered my courage. Oliver needed to know the whole of it. “A man shot at me in London.”

Oliver crossed his arms thoughtfully. “The key is the single
most valuable thing an Amusementist has ever invented. It holds the power to bring to life any of the Amusements created in the modern era of our order.”

And I was the only one who could use it.

“So, it isn’t just Rathford who may want it,” Will interjected.

Something twisted in the pit of my stomach.

Oliver nodded slowly. “That’s true, there are many who would love to use that key.”

I pushed back from the table. “But Rathford is the only one who needs it,” I said.

“Then who is the murderer?” Lucinda asked. She locked her gaze with Oliver’s.

“We don’t know. That’s the problem.” Oliver poured himself another cup from the kettle. “Either the murderer wishes to unlock Rathford’s machine, or the murderer is killing anyone capable of unlocking the machine to thwart the baron. If that is the case, it could be anyone.”

I hated feeling frustrated, yet in that moment, I felt numb to anything else. “There are too many questions and we don’t have the answers to any of them. How are we supposed to fight, when we don’t know what we’re fighting against?”

Oliver pinched his lips together. “Come with me.”

OLIVER OFFERED LUCINDA HIS HAND. SHE HESITATED
for only a moment then took it, and allowed him to help her to her feet. With her arm tucked in his, she limped as he led us up the stairs. In the main floor of the mansion, our footsteps echoed down the long and empty halls. Oliver’s candle seemed to float, a bobbing anchor of light in the deep darkness of the empty manor.