Legacy of the Clockwork Key (9 page)

Start with the Raven.

I didn’t know what that could mean, but it had to be a clue.

I turned to the final page of writing, and my heart came to a painful stop.

Dearest Lucinda,

I expect I will die soon, murdered by one I trust. I only hope that you remain safe. The only thing I fear now is harm coming to you.

You are a light in my soul, my beloved wife. I will never regret anything, save that I could not give you the one thing you so desperately wanted. You deserve every dream of your heart.

I never deserved your love, and still find myself amazed by the gift of it. If I travel on through the gates of death, know I will carry your goodness with me, and so make Heaven that much brighter because of you. As I prepare to place this book in the gravestone of my family, I feel a fear more terrible than any I have known. Without Henry, I can’t set my father’s lock. I had asked Henry to set it should anything happen to me, but with his death, I fear I’m exposed. If I am right about my fate, I hope that no one ever reads these words, even you. The secret contained within could cost your life.

I must trust a gravestone is strange enough a hiding place that no one will find the book here. I can’t bring myself to destroy it. If you never read these words, I hope you will feel them in your heart. If you do find the book, burn it. Take its secrets with you until we can meet again.

I love you. To the end of all days, I will love you.

With my heart,

Simon

My tear splashed on the page, lingering as a shining drop before soaking into the paper and spreading toward the calm and elegant handwriting.

I closed the book.

Raw and bewildered, I didn’t know how to sort the thoughts spinning through my head. The baron was a murderer. I knew it. He was after the key. How long would it take before he killed me for it?

Except, he didn’t know the song. That was the catch. He needed me alive.

Simon believed my grandfather was dead. The fact the grave was locked was further proof that Papa had been alive, at least for a time after he’d written the letter I’d found in the workshop.

What of Simon’s wife, Lucinda Pricket?

Somewhere out there, his widow waited. I doubted she’d ever read her husband’s final words. She deserved to have them, in spite of the danger he warned of.

I knew what I had to do, but it would not be easy.

“He’s going to hate me,” I whispered to myself even as I looked to the stairs that led out to the carriage house.

IT WAS LATE, JUST ON THE CUSP OF THE DEEP PART OF
night where everything falls quiet. I listened to the house, but only the dying fire and Agnes’s muffled nose made any sound at all. The last time I had visited Will at night, he hadn’t been happy. I brought my fingers to my throat. The memory of his whispered words along my neck sent a quiver racing over my skin.

He’d probably throw me out into the garden on my arse.

And he’d be right to do it. I was taking a risk, a terrible risk.

The letter Simon had written to his wife had moved me. I couldn’t let his final words remain unread by her, and I needed to know more. Pricket’s widow was the only one who could
shed light on the clues contained within the journal. As much as I loved my family, I now felt I didn’t know them at all. I longed to speak to someone, anyone, who could tell me more about this secret part of their lives. A mystery lingered, a deadly one. I needed to reach the heart of it before someone took my life.

I crept up the stairs into the garden. It was a foggy night, with a thick mist hanging in the air. Halfway to the carriage house, a creeping suspicion woke within me. I stepped away from the lions, concealing myself in the fog and shadows.

My heart skipped. I thought I saw a light in one of the upper windows of the house, but when I turned, there was nothing.

I considered retreating to the kitchen.

A hush fell over the garden, as if an audience in a darkened theater was watching a terrible drama unfold. I hugged the book tighter to my chest and sprinted to the side door of the carriage house, away from the blank stare of the lion. I passed into the stables and was surprised to find a warm light flickering by the stove.

Will sat on the stool dressed in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. He continued polishing the leather strap of a bridle and didn’t bother to look up.

“You’re still awake?” I took a seat beside him.

“I was expecting you sooner,” he admitted, looping the bridle on an empty peg among the other straps, harnesses, halters, and saddles hanging neatly from the wall of a small storage room.

He wanted me to visit? I fiddled with my skirt to soothe the restless feeling in my hands. “You aren’t going to lecture me about how we could lose our jobs?”

He leveled me with a cool glance as he returned to his seat by the stove. “It’s too late for that, and clearly, reasoning with you doesn’t work. So what’s in the book?”

Here in the stable, my doubt of him eased. I needed someone I could trust. Will hadn’t failed me. “It seems to be notes and drawings of inventions. There’s a secret order of inventors who create these things in some sort of competition to outdo one another.” I opened the book to the drawing of the mechanical horses. He squinted at it with a curious look.

“They invent things for fun?” A serious expression fell over his face, almost like longing.

“Strange, isn’t it?” I traced my finger over the elegant arc of a horse’s neck. “They have a whole system worked out, even an academy for apprentices to the organization, and a foundry somewhere up north that supplies all the parts for
their machines. The scope of the organization is astounding, and yet, I’ve never heard anything about them until now, even though my family was a part of it.”

Will wiped his hands on a rag. “That takes some doing.” He tossed it in a pail. “Did Pricket say anything about your grandfather?” He collected the lid for the leather balm and fitted it on the small jar.

“He did.” I swallowed my misgivings. “And Lord Rathford. My grandfather believed that the baron had invented something dangerous. Papa was helping the others disable it and lock it away so it couldn’t be used. That’s why they were all murdered.”

The jar clattered to the floor. “What did you say?” Will stood and paced over by the stove.

“Lord Rathford murdered other members of the Order who were trying to prevent him from using his machine.” My heart felt heavy even as the words fell from my lips.

“That’s impossible.” Will picked up the jar then crossed his arms.

“It’s all right here.” I rose, holding the book out to him.

“The baron isn’t a murderer.” His voice growled low.

“Yes, he is. He killed Simon Pricket. Pricket knew it was coming. He wrote it all down.” I shook the book at Will,
demanding he take it, but he only glared with more anger than I’d ever seen. “He even hid the book within his own gravestone knowing that Lord Rathford would kill him.”

“The baron saved my life.” Will’s eyes flashed in the dim light. Old Nick whinnied, tossing his head. And then silence fell between us. “He’s not a murderer,” Will insisted, though his voice was now hardly more than a whisper.

I’d forgotten.

The baron had taken him in. Of course Will would be loyal to that. I was a fool to have trusted him with this. I had to convince him of the truth of the matter. “I’m sorry, Will, but it’s all very clear.”

He turned from me, walking down the row of stalls toward the uneven stairs beyond. Suddenly he rounded on me. “Is there any proof?”

“Read it for yourself,” I insisted, holding the book out to him once again.

He shot me a look that could have boiled an egg. “I can’t.”

Now I was becoming angry. He was so stubborn, a blind and deaf mule couldn’t compare. “Why not? You don’t want to believe it?”

“Blast it all, Meg. I can’t read.” He stumbled on the words, as if he didn’t want to release them.

I felt as if he’d just slapped me in the face. I even touched my cheek to be sure, but the sting was on the inside. I hadn’t considered that. Good heavens, I hadn’t meant to insult him.

“Not that, in any case,” he continued. “John taught me letters, how to sound them. But the letters he taught me were all straight and clear. He said every good driver should know how to read signs.”

“Will.” I hadn’t ever heard him string so many words together. I hadn’t meant to hit a nerve. I certainly didn’t want him to feel ashamed of himself. It wasn’t his fault. “I’m sorry. I assumed. You’re more clever than I.”

He looked away, kicking the floor with the toe of his boot.

“You certainly have more sense,” I added.

He huffed the beginning of a laugh, then looked at me. “Clearly.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor, not sure if that last word was a jest or an insult.

“Is there any proof?” he asked again. This time his voice was calm, almost imploring.

I took a deep breath. “The baron invented something dangerous. I don’t know what it was. Pricket and my grandfather both believed he was the murderer.”

“But there isn’t any proof.” Will looked to me, but I didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t know, Will.” I could see in his face, he didn’t believe me, and he wouldn’t. Not tonight. “There’s only one way to know for sure.” I took a step toward Will, and while he crossed his arms again, he didn’t back away.

“What is it?” he asked.

“There’s only one other person who could help us find the truth.”

He held his hand out. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Please, Will. Pricket’s widow is out there, and she needs to see this book. Help me find her.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m done. Go back to the house before you get into any more trouble. Some things are best left be.”

He turned away from me, and I knew it was over. I wouldn’t have anyone’s help. I had to do this on my own. As I slipped out of the carriage house, the loss of my only ally felt like a crushing blow. Each step felt harder than the last. I wanted to go back, to say I was sorry, but I didn’t know what I was sorry for, and so it was useless. Will was done. He’d made that much clear.

I was done with him.

The house loomed dark and menacing, shrouded in the dark fog. I took a deep breath, hoping that everyone still slept.

Creeping down the stairs, I gently opened the door and slid inside. With hushed care, I eased the latch closed and turned.

Mrs. Pratt stood by the table.

Bloody hell.

My heart stopped. I heard a rushing in my ears as she slowly turned the key on a lamp, filling the kitchen with light.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe she’d believe I was out relieving myself in the garden pot.

No. The disappointment in her eyes burned with such glaring intensity the light seemed dim by comparison.

“Missus . . . I,” I stammered. I gripped my skirts, holding the book slightly behind me. No matter how tightly I clenched the fabric, I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking. The quake shivered through the tiers of my skirt down to the hem.

“I told you.” Her voice was low, calm, but it cracked just slightly. “I told you, he’s always watching.” Her thin lower lip trembled as she threw a piece of paper at me.

Each beat of my heart felt like a stab in my chest. My limbs grew heavy. I managed to pick up the paper, but could barely hold it to read.

Dear Mrs. Pratt,

Please dispense of Miss Whitlock’s services immediately as she has engaged in an inappropriate liaison in the carriage house. I will not tolerate having those with questionable morals residing under my roof. She will receive neither severance nor recommendation. She is to be removed from the property at once.

I dropped the letter to the floor.

The room blurred before my eyes, and I had to put a hand out to the cutting board to steady myself. Mrs. Pratt grabbed my arm, though her grip wasn’t punishing.

“You’ve made this bed, Meg.” She led me to the table and let me sit there. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. I looked at her. Were tears shining in her eyes?

“It’s not what you think,” I implored. “You can’t believe I would do something shameful.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, child. Don’t you see? It only matters how it appears. It appears to be an indiscretion.”

Blast it! I pulled my mop cap from my head and threw it to the floor. “You can’t possibly turn me out in the middle of the night! I didn’t do anything wrong,” I protested. This was so unfair.

Mrs. Pratt’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Meg. This is how the baron wants it.”

Damn him. I hated him. I hated him and his bloody house. I hated him and his dead wife, too. How could he take me in, only to ignore me, use me until I ached every single moment, only to throw me out into the night? I didn’t care if Will believed he might be innocent. I knew the truth in my heart. The man was cold and ruthless. He was a murderer, and I had to escape. I’d be better off free of this place. Did he know I had been in the workshop? Had he seen me in the spy glass? Was that the reason for this?

It had to be.

“What of Will?” I demanded.

“What of him?” Mrs. Pratt answered back, even as she picked up my cap and wrung it in her hands.

“Did the baron say anything about him?” I tore off my apron and tossed it at Mrs. Pratt’s feet.

“No.” She stood and tucked a chunk of bread in a small satchel and handed it to me. I slipped the journal in with it and slung it over my neck. Damn him, too. Clearly he was Rathford’s pet. No wonder he stood up for the baron. How could Will stand for a man who would throw me penniless into the street?

I hated Will in that moment. I didn’t want to, but I did. Will still had his job. He still had his life.

Mine had just been crushed.

“I know it is unfair, child. But that’s the way of it for women. Head for the church and ask for the vicar, do you understand?” Mrs. Pratt ordered in her usual gruff manner.

I nodded even as the tears began to flow from my eyes. Mrs. Pratt handed me her handkerchief.