The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

~~~

It was nearly midnight when Wasp turned slowly around, eyeballing the warehouse. It would do for the interim. Moving was such an inconvenience, but what choice had there been? Wasp had known the lordling and his minion would not give up easily.

So now only the essentials, easily carried, remained.

A bioluminescent lamp hung from a pulley over an old door propped on two barrels. An assortment of ropes and straps rested on its surface. It would serve, though the easy adjustments provided by the mechanized operating table would be missed.

A nearby crate held the required tools. A rust-stained enamel ewer and basin provided a place to scrub. A copper cauldron hung from a cast iron hook. Underneath, a gas jet burned, the water slowly coming to boil, though it almost seemed a waste of time, sterilizing the tools, when the patient was unlikely to survive the surgery.

It was time to get back to business.

Lifting the spider from a small, velvet-lined case, Wasp peered at the glass vial encased within the abdomen. Nearly all the numbing agent was gone. Certainly not enough for the next patient. Wasp couldn’t afford to have it chemically analyzed, but more was needed.

Pain. Screaming. There were ways to deal with that.

But the extreme delicacy of the weaving process made the formula a key part of the procedure. Most nerve agents paralyzed the nerve. This one only calmed the damaged root allowing the spider to test the efficacy of the newly woven nerve, making minute changes to the final structure before completing its task.

Fortunately, the source of this nerve toxin had been located with relative ease and a delivery was due momentarily.

There was a rapping at the door. That should be it now.

Wasp crossed to the thick, wooden door, sliding it open a crack. A gypsy, one who looked to be about seventeen years of age, stood on the threshold. “You have it?”

He pulled a small vial from his pocket. The liquid had a greenish cast, similar to that inside the spider. Excellent.

“Come in,” Wasp pushed the door wider.

Warily, the gypsy stepped just over the threshold, holding the vial tight. “Five pounds.”

“Five! I only agreed to four.”

“Five.” Dark brown eyes blazed back. Blue would have been better, but there was no need to be choosey.

“Fine,” Wasp sighed, holding out a hand as if about to drop a pile of coins into the gypsy’s palm.

As the young man handed over the vial, Wasp pressed a hand‌—‌and the device strapped to it‌—‌against the gypsy’s chest, directly over the heart. A bolt of electricity discharged, shock barely registering on the man’s face as he slid bonelessly to the floor.

Chapter Ten

S
ATURDAY AFTERNOON,
Olivia lifted the calling card from the silver salver Burton presented. “Mr. Simon Sommersby,” she announced, casting a sly sidelong look at her.

“Thank goodness,” Amanda muttered. Mother was indisposed and Ned had grown moody, sulky and uncommonly melancholy as negotiations for Georgina’s engagement progressed. Today, he’d refused to leave his room, leaving her alone to endure Olivia’s brainless chatter over tea. She raised her voice. “Please show him in, Burton.”

The butler rolled away to retrieve her visitor.

Olivia planted herself on a nearby chair. “This is the tenth time he’s come to call.”

“You’re counting?” Amanda eyed her sister with suspicion. It had been a long time since her sister had taken any interest in her life.

“Of course. His intentions are quite clear, and he is a gentleman, if untitled. Tell me, dearest sister, has he proposed yet? When he does, will you accept?”

“That is yet to be determined,” Amanda replied. But it wasn’t. Not really. Simon was her only suitor. Unless another gentleman took an interest, and soon. She tried hard to envision Thornton in that role and failed.

Thornton had made it quite clear he wouldn’t be pursuing her. Nevertheless, Simon was jealous, and if she wished to advance in medical school, she needed to encourage his affections before they were diverted elsewhere.

Married within the year.

One of two conditions Father had placed upon his agreement to allow her to attend medical school. She’d already broken the second, by telling Thornton about Emily, but perhaps that wouldn’t count, provided Black was able to locate her with utmost discretion.

“Carlton believes a husband such as Mr. Sommersby would provide you with respectability. An unmarried woman acting as a physician is a breech of propriety.”

Amanda gaped at her sister.
Carlton approved?
Words failed her. And then it was too late to reply.

Simon crossed the parlor and bent, kissing the air above her glove. “Lady Amanda.” He turned and bowed again. “Lady Olivia.”

Olivia flashed him a smile, then rose in a graceful rustle of ruffles. Crossing to the speaking tube, she pushed a button. “Fresh tea, Steam Mary, and an abundance of cream cakes.”

Carlton approved?
Well, that certainly explained Olivia’s reformed attitude, and Amanda’s sudden urge to toss Simon out the front door. But that would be cutting off the nose to spite the face. No. Better to rid herself of a problematic sister.

Observation of patterns was a strength any scientist possessed. Given that Olivia had remained for tea the past nine times Simon visited, Amanda employed her not-so-secret weapon. She lifted her copy of
Gray’s Anatomy
from the settee beside her and smiled invitingly at Simon. “Shall we begin with the muscles of the upper or lower extremity?”

“Oh, dear.” Olivia snapped open her fan and waved it at her now bloodless face. Scarlet feathers struggled to keep pace with the speed of her flapping wrist.

Perhaps the words
muscle
and
extremity
were too much. Amanda certainly hoped so.

Simon caught Olivia’s elbow as she swayed. “Are you quite all right, Lady Olivia? Shall I call for a footman?”

She simpered. “I’m afraid I’ve a most delicate constitution, and topics such as….” There went the feathers again. “I must go.”

Enough with the theatrics. “If you will excuse us then, Olivia,” Amanda said, “we’ve much to study for the upcoming exam. There are more than twenty muscles in the human arm and numerous blood vessels.”

Olivia swallowed hard, yet clung to protocol. “A chaperone?”

“We’ll leave the door open,” Amanda said.

“Very well,” Olivia said, then fled.

“Not the nicest way of dismissing a sibling, but effective.” Simon’s knowing smile showed off his perfect teeth as he settled onto the settee beside Amanda, his leg brushing against her skirts.

She allowed it. It was, after all, the point of choosing a seat built for two.

“Shall we begin with the rotator cuff?” Simon asked, leaning closer yet to view the book on her lap. The warmth that rolled off of him smelled of soap and starch. All perfectly pleasant. What other man was willing to court her by reviewing the origins and insertions of various muscles?

Not a one.

Why, then, could she not push away thoughts of another man?

Simon dropped a finger on the page, his arm pressing against hers. “The supraspinatus abducts the arm and is innervated by the suprascapular nerve. Its origin is the‌—‌”

A clanging at the door announced the arrival of the roving table. RT rolled to a stop before them emitting a soft hiss as he powered down. The tea tray, laden with cream cakes, scones and cucumber sandwiches, beckoned.

“Perhaps we should continue after tea?” Amanda asked, marking their place in the book.

“Very well,” Simon agreed, moving not an inch from her side.

As she poured, a topic nagging at the back of her mind demanded to be broached. “Lord Thornton informs me that you wish to work in his laboratory. I’d no idea you were interested in developing novel nerve agents. What happened to your interest in vitreous humor?”

Though she could think of many practical uses for developing an artificial vitreous humor‌—‌the colorless gel that filled the back part of the eye‌—‌she wasn’t convinced there was a reason to determine the specific chemical reaction that led the gel to liquefy under certain pathological conditions.

“Professor Stonington declined to support my project.” He shrugged. “So I thought, given the long hours you now spend in Lord Thornton’s laboratory, it might be nice to work together.”

“Except neither his work nor mine encompass nerve agents. Wherever did you get that impression?” Amanda tried to project innocent curiosity into her voice, but acting was not one of her talents.

“No?” Something flickered in Simon’s brown eyes. “I could have sworn a classmate mentioned something to that effect. I was hoping I might find a new chemistry project.” He leaned closer, and his blond hair fell across his forehead. “Tell me, how were
you
so fortunate as to gain entry to his laboratory? Especially given how exasperated he seemed by your question that first day.”

“Yes, well.” Amanda sat back and sipped her tea, stalling. Black had warned her she could no longer discuss her spider. She cast about for a likely explanation. “Lord Thornton was rather…‌ forced into accepting me as a research assistant. I became eligible when…‌ well…‌ the last anatomy exam, I‌—‌”

“Top student in anatomy.” Simon sat back. “I should have known.” Except, instead of looking proud, he looked wounded. Some men had such fragile egos. “Will you talk to Lord Thornton on my behalf?” he pleaded.

Amanda set down her teacup. “I don’t think he’s interested in taking on another student, Simon, regardless of the project. Besides, I’ve only just begun working in his laboratory. I don’t have any influence.”

Simon’s face fell. “You’ll put a good word, right?”

“I will,” she agreed.

But she wouldn’t. Working in Thornton’s laboratory was too precious. She intended to hug it tight, not to share it. Even if that made her an awful person. Simon would have claim on enough of her attention if‌—‌when‌—‌they married.

“I’m sorry. I guess the idea of you spending so much time with Lord Thornton when you could be at my side, makes me realize how jealous I am of your free time. There’s so very little of it.”

Her lips parted.
Jealous?
Covetous of her dowry or her position in Thornton’s laboratory perhaps, but not jealous of her time. She tilted her head and studied him, somewhat suspicious, but he seemed serious. “No need to feel so, Simon.” She smiled her reassurance. There wasn’t. Thornton was all that was professional. “I spend most of my time working alone, under the supervision of another research assistant.”

“Well, then,” he said, sounding mollified, “at least tell me what projects the great Lord Thornton is working on in his laboratory. I hear he’s developing cranial nerve prosthetics?”

Amanda’s brow furrowed. It was uncanny, the degree to which Simon seemed informed about Thornton’s work. Then again, if he’d been to Thornton’s office seeking out a research position, Simon would have to arrive prepared. Nothing he’d said spoke to any deeper knowledge than one could arrive at by reading Thornton’s published papers or listening to
ton
gossip about his injury. “Simon, I’m sorry. If you could only see the confidentiality papers I signed. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about Lord Thornton’s laboratory or his research.”

He grinned. “So the man’s a spy, an agent for the Queen?” His voice was light and teasing. “Do promise not to let him take you out into the field, on dangerous assignments.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Amanda laughed. “Lord Thornton is merely a research scientist. At most, the Queen reserves first right to any of his inventions.”

He might surgically implant his invention into an agent’s ear, but neither that nor consulting for the Crown on various murder investigations as a medical scientist made the man a spy. Now, Black,
he
could very well be a spy. Except he answered to Thornton. Which made Thornton…‌ No. Not possible.

Was it?

Simon reached out and lifted her hand. His palm was warm and soft as he stroked his thumb across the surface of her knuckles.

She pushed Thornton from her mind and looked up into his eyes, doing her best to appear charmed. His eyes were so bright, so earnest. Was he about to propose? Would she accept?

Please, not today.
She wasn’t ready to commit to marriage. Not just yet.

“What I really want is your permission to formally court you. To know I have a right to a portion of your time. Promise me a waltz at every ball, a drive in the park every Sunday afternoon while the weather holds.” Simon’s thumb picked up its pace while he waited for her answer, brushing across the surface of her hand.

She should be pleased. This had been today’s goal, had it not, to encourage his pursuit?

Simon shifted closer, the length of his leg pressing against hers. “I want to take tea together. Regularly. In this parlor. Alone.” The fine golden hairs of his beard were visible at this range. He lifted his hand to cup her jaw. A kiss was imminent.

She’d allow it. If she agreed to marry him, kissing would be a regular event. Best to determine if his initial advances were tolerable, for his lips were rather thin.