The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) (18 page)

I stuffed my mouth full of bread and jam, to avoid answering, and hoped Miss Glass would leave the topic of Mr. Dorchester alone. Unfortunately, she was only getting started and proceeded to warn me about the dangers of a woman alone in the world and men of unknown connections. The only way I could see to stop her was to tell her that I'd learned my lesson from Eddie. Thankfully Willie walked in, distracting Miss Glass. I'd never been so pleased to see her, even though she wore an ominously thunderous expression.

"Bread?" I offered. "Cheese?"

"God, yes." Willie descended on the table like a hawk on a field mouse. "I'm half starved."

I handed her a slice of bread with jam and hoped it would be enough to chase her black mood away. She bit into it, tearing off a chunk with her teeth like a lion ripping apart a poor creature it had just caught.

"Don't see you down here much," she said to Miss Glass around her mouthful. Miss Glass looked horrified, which I suspected was Willie's intention. "That Polly girl not feeding you?"

"Picket takes good care of me, thank you."

"Why do you call her by her last name?"

"It's the way things are done here. I don't expect anyone from an American backwater to understand."

"Miss Glass wanted to talk to me about Mr. Dorchester," I said quickly, before Willie's temper had a chance to flare. "He escorted me home just now."

"Who?"

"The man from the poker game last night. The one who punched Lord Dennison."

"Punched!" Miss Glass's hand fluttered at her black lace collar. "I knew he was no good."

"He defended me," I said.

"Tosh. He's a Dorchester from Manchester. It even sounds ridiculous."

Willie snorted. "That it does."

I couldn't help smiling, even though I wanted to defend him. "That's not the point. He was kind to me, and I like him, but not in
that
way," I assured Miss Glass. "Nor will I be seduced by romantic gestures, if he performs any. It takes more than trinkets and promises to intrigue me now."

"Good," Miss Glass said with a satisfied nod. "I'm glad to hear it. Your mother will be pleased that I saved you from an unfavorable attachment."

My mother? Willie and I exchanged glances. She drew a little circle at her temple and rolled her eyes, then stuffed more bread into her mouth.

"Perhaps you should have a rest," I said to Miss Glass.

"I do feel a little tired." She wandered out of the kitchen, and I hoped she didn't wander out of the house altogether. When I heard her maid's voice, my concern eased. Polly would care for her.

Willie dragged over a stool and slumped onto it. She threw down her uneaten bread, smearing jam on the table. It would seem her mood hadn't been lifted by our discussion.

"You're still upset about your locket," I said, sitting too. I reached for her hand but she snatched it away.

"I went to see Travers."

Oh dear. I didn't need a crystal ball to see where this was going. "Did he speak to you?"

She nodded. "I offered to buy back the locket, but he refused."

I doubted she had any money left after the previous night, but I didn't ask where she planned on getting the funds.

"He said I could try to win it back," she went on.

"You told him no, didn't you?"

"I had to. I have nothing more to my name, and Matt, Duke and Cyclops won't lend me nothing. They hate me playing poker. They warned me this would happen." She placed her forehead in the crook of her arm on the table. "They must be patting themselves on their backs now."

"That doesn't sound like something they would do." I touched her shoulder, but she shrugged me off. "What if you offer Lord Travers double its worth, then ask Mr. Glass for a loan? I'm sure he'll help if he knows it'll get the locket back for certain."

"Travers won't accept it. He wants to play poker, and what the high and mighty lord wants, the high and mighty lord gets." She proceeded to call him a vile name that had me blushing.

I tried to think of another solution but came up with nothing. She'd brought this on herself, and I shouldn't feel sorry for her but I did. Although I couldn't see her face, I knew from her sniffing that she was crying.

"Do you think you can beat him?" I asked.

"Yes. If I'm dealt good cards and he doesn't cheat again."

I sighed. It was hopeless. "You should speak to Matt. I mean, Mr. Glass. Perhaps he can talk to Lord Travers, man-to-man. It's unfair, but Travers strikes me as a fellow who respects men and not women. Mr. Glass has a way with words and might be able to convince him to sell the locket back to you."

She sat up straight and swiped at her eyes and cheeks. "Don't tell him, India. What you're saying makes sense, and if anyone can convince Travers, it's Matt. But he's got so much on his plate right now, he doesn't need the extra burden. Nor does he have the time."

It was the least selfish display I'd seen from her, and it quite flipped my opinion. "He's quite ill, isn't he?" I asked softly. I hardly breathed as I waited for her answer.

It came in the form of a small nod, nothing more.

"What does his doctor say?" I pressed.

She hopped off the stool. "Matt wouldn't want me discussing it, so don't ask."

"But—"

"His health is not your concern." She grasped my shoulders and shook them. "Your job is to find the watchmaker. Even if Matt's caught up with other matters, you must continue with the search on your own." She shook me again, harder this time. "Promise me that you will."

"I will," I said. "I promise. There's an important guild meeting tonight. Several watchmakers will be there. Attending it will save a lot of time over seeing them individually."

She let me go. Relief flooded her face. She even smiled, sort of. It was twitchy and uncertain, but it was an improvement on her scowl. "Good."

Unfortunately, my plan to take Mr. Glass with me to the meeting didn't come to pass. He hadn't returned home by seven o'clock. Waiting longer might mean missing the meeting altogether. I would have taken Cyclops or Duke, but they were still out too. Willie would probably have come, but she was a volatile weapon that might go off at the wrong time. I would have to face the guild alone.

I wasn't looking forward to it.

T
he Worshipful Company
of Watchmakers met in their modern Warwick Lane hall not far from St. Paul's. The building had only been completed two years ago, and I'd never been inside. The red bricks and heavily carved arched doorway surround were clean compared to their sooty neighbors, and the colors on the coat of arms were still vibrant. The loincloth-clad Old Man Time and the robed emperor glared down at me from their position above the door, looking stern as they clutched hourglass and scepter respectively.
Tempvs Rervm Imperator
, so the motto reminded me.
Time is the ruler of all things
.

Indeed. Time had certainly ruled me of late, as it did with Mr. Glass. His hourglass was running out.

I knocked, and a middle-aged man with bushy white eyebrows opened the door. I didn't recognize him.

"Yes?" he intoned.

I barreled past him, taking him by surprise.

"Stop! This is a private hall."

"I need to speak with the Court," I tossed over my shoulder. "It will only take a moment."

I charged past the stained glass windows and the wooden paneling, wondering if any of the clocks on display belonged to my ancestors. There was no time to check the plaques. The porter was quickly bearing down on me. I pushed open the nearest door and was rewarded with some twenty heads turning my way. I'd found the court room where the members met. Meetings were only compulsory for the ten elected Court of Assistants, the men in charge of the day-to-day running of the guild, but were open to all members. Twenty was a good turnout.

"India!" Eddie pushed to his feet, a look of utter stupefaction on his face. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be here."

"That's what I tried telling her," said the porter, wheezing beside me. He tried to grab my elbow, but I stepped out of his way.

"Leave her, Mr. Carter," said Mr. Abercrombie. He sat at the head of the table, the crimson velvet and white fur master's robe draped around his shoulders, the ceremonial scepter lying on the table in front of an open ledger. All he needed was a crown and he'd resemble the emperor in the coat of arms that hung behind him. "We don't want this descending into a farce."

"So you don't want me calling the constables?" Carter asked.

Mr. Abercrombie sighed. "I don't think they'd help us."

Thank goodness for that. My greatest fear had been that he would have me arrested for the so-called theft from his shop. It would seem he'd well and truly abandoned that accusation.

"Miss Steele, I won't pretend that I'm glad to see you." He flicked his hand at Carter, and the porter exited with a bow.

I scanned the faces of the men at the table as Eddie resumed his seat. I recognized all of them. Eddie was by far the youngest. Everyone else had white, gray or balding heads. Mr. Mason wasn't present.

Mr. Abercrombie beckoned me with a crook of his finger. "Come closer, Miss Steele."

I inched forward, feeling very much like a lowly courtier who'd caught the king's disapproving eye. I stopped well back from the table, but the fellows at the nearest end shuffled their chairs farther away. I tried to recall the speech I'd rehearsed on the way over, but the beginning evaded me.

"India," Eddie said, in a voice deeper than his usual one. It sounded so ridiculously false that I almost giggled. He puffed out his chest and sat very erect in the chair, no doubt to make himself appear larger and more commanding among such important men. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Quiet, please, Mr. Hardacre," Abercrombie said with a lift of his hand. He removed his pince nez and placed it on the ledger. "Allow me to interrogate her."

Interrogate? Oh no, no, no. I hadn't come so that
he
could ask questions of
me
. "Mr. Abercrombie, I would like some answers."

"Then you shall have them."

All heads swung round to look at him. "What?" more than one of them snapped. "Don't," said others. Abercrombie held up his hand for silence. I didn't trust his sly smile, his apparent openness.

I forged on anyway. "Why are you all afraid of me?"

"Afraid of you?" He laughed. "Don't be absurd. You're just a little woman. None of us are
afraid
of you." His laughter was eventually joined by a smattering of others, all of them half-hearted, cautious.

I abandoned that angle and picked up another. "As most of you know, my employer, Mr. Glass, is searching for a particular watchmaker, who may or may not go by the name of Mirth. Do any of you know Mr. Mirth?"

Several members looked to Abercrombie. "I know him," Abercrombie said.

I was so surprised that I stepped forward before I remembered I didn't want to get too close.

"Mirth isn't the fellow your employer seeks," he went on.

"How do you know?"

"The confusion came about because Mirth traveled overseas at the same time as Mr. Glass says his mysterious watchmaker was in America. Mirth did not travel to America, however, but to Prussia."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he confided in me at the time. He was looking for his daughter. She'd run off with a foreigner. Sadly, he never found her, which goes some way to explaining why he never re-opened his shop. He no longer had the heart for it. I'm afraid he's been something of a lost man ever since."

It sounded plausible, but I couldn't trust him to tell me the truth. He hated me and would try to thwart me at every turn. To what end, however, I couldn't fathom. "Then why did he suddenly disappear from the Aged Christian Society house?"

He spread out his hands. "Your guess is as good as mine. I haven't seen much of him of late." He picked up his pince nez and tapped it on the ledger in front of him. "All I know is the small allowance he receives from the guild is paid into an account at the Bank of England, and will continue to be until such time as we hear of his death. We do what we can for all our members in need, past and present."

"Hear, hear," said one man, as another thumped the table in agreement.

"Do you know of anyone else who traveled overseas about five years ago?" I asked, searching their faces as I spoke, hoping to find a hint of recognition in one of them. Those that met my gaze were blank. Those that did not looked to Abercrombie.

"No," he said.

Several clocks, both within the court room and without, chimed half seven with orchestral rhythm.

I steeled myself. "I don't believe you."

A collective intake of breath echoed around the room. "Miss Steele, have you considered that the watchmaker doesn't want to be found?" Abercrombie asked.

"We've considered that he might be dead, but why wouldn't he want to be found?"

He once again set down his pince nez. "Your employer, Mr. Glass…"

"Yes?"

"What do you know about him?"

"What's your point, Mr. Abercrombie?"

Eddie shook his head and rolled his eyes. No doubt he was congratulating himself on becoming un-engaged to such a difficult woman.

"My point is," Abercrombie said, "Mr. Glass threatened me."

So he did, did he? It was difficult to keep the smile off my lips and out of my voice. "I can't pretend I'm sorry. You accused me of stealing, and whatever you all think of me, I am not a thief."

Several of them shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Eddie no longer met my gaze. Abercrombie merely lifted a hand in dismissal, as if my concerns over his accusation weren't important.

"That incident is not up for discussion," he said.

"I beg to differ. I'd very much like to know why you did it. I could have gone to prison if it hadn't been for Mr. Glass stepping in on my behalf. I am not sorry that he threatened you. Not in the least."

"It wasn't merely his threats." He waved his hand again. "But that's by the by. Water under the bridge. We should all move on."

Dear lord, hold me back from leaping across the table and strangling him. "Mr. Glass saw an injustice occur, and he stepped in to save me. I think that noble. Are you implying something else about his character?"

"I'm merely suggesting that you should be careful with whom you associate, Miss Steele. After he pressured me to drop the accusation, I decided to do some research. What I learned was that your
employer
," he said with a sneering curl of his top lip, "associates with criminals."

I already knew about his mother's family, but it was a timely reminder nevertheless.

"That's the best case scenario," Abercrombie went on.

"Best case?" I echoed.

"At worst, he is a criminal himself."

Several of the members gasped, including Eddie. I did not. From the smug look on Abercrombie's face, he knew that I'd already suspected Mr. Glass of being the Dark Rider.

"Anyone who's read the newspaper of late will be aware that the American outlaw known as the Dark Rider is here in England," he said. "It's not a big stretch to connect him to Mr. Glass. Indeed, it's not a big stretch to say that the one is also the other."

"You can't say that for certain."

Abercrombie shook his head. "You're naive for your age. Out of respect for your father, I must warn you against men like Mr. Glass."

"Do not bring my father into this," I growled.

"Calm down, India," Eddie said. "Your father was a member in good standing here. No one is deriding him."

"Do shut up, Eddie."

A couple of members smirked, but the man sitting beside Eddie turned to him and said, "Was she always this willful?"

Eddie shook his head. "If I'd known earlier, I would never have asked for her hand."

"And missed out on inheriting my shop?" I snarled.

"It was never
your
shop to begin with." Eddie's retort was met with a series of nods from the other members.

"Perhaps the watchmaker that Mr. Glass wants to find is also a criminal," Abercrombie said, stroking his oiled moustache. "That might explain why he doesn't want to be found and why no one here can identify him. The Worshipful Company of Watchmakers upholds the very highest of principles. Our members are honorable, decent men and do not associate with outlaws. Consider that, Miss Steele," he said, interrupting my protest. "Consider that the reason it's been so difficult to find the watchmaker is because he's a wanted man. Wanted men associate with other wanted men, and Mr. Glass's visit coincides neatly with that of the Dark Rider. Too neatly, an independent observer would say."

A chill trickled down my spine and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I wanted to disagree with him, but I could not. I had no evidence of Mr. Glass's innocence and quite a pile suggesting his guilt, from the coincidence of his and the Dark Rider's arrival, to his fighting ability, connection to the Johnsons, and now his threats toward Abercrombie. I swallowed loudly.

"In memory of your father's long-standing membership in the guild," Abercrombie went on, "I will offer you some advice, Miss Steele. Sever ties with Mr. Glass. Tell him you can no longer assist him in his search. Your father would be disappointed to see that you've fallen in with a disreputable crowd."

"But…he's related to Lord Rycroft." My voice sounded weak, pathetic. I didn't believe his association with the Rycroft title mattered, considering he'd only just met them.

Abercrombie merely spread out his hands, as if to say, "So?"

Eddie shifted in his chair and leaned forward. His face brightened. He turned to Abercrombie for a moment, then to me. "Indeed, it's Mr. Glass's reputation as the Dark Rider that has us all wary of you, India." He looked to his fellow members, one pale eyebrow lifted in a hopeful tilt. Abercrombie urged him with a small nod. "We told you earlier that it's not
you
who worries us, India. That's because it's Mr. Glass."

I didn't quite believe him. Why not mention this before? Yet it was logical. Too logical. I couldn't fault it.

Eddie once again looked to Abercrombie. The master of the guild ignored him. "If you have any sense, Miss Steele," Abercromie said, "you would notify the police and have him arrested. We would do it, but it might be seen as vengeful after his recent threats toward me. If
you
were to speak to them about your suspicions, however, I'm sure you'll be taken seriously."

He gave me a flat smile that several of the other members echoed, including Eddie. The smiles were false, but that didn't lessen the impact of Abercrombie's words.

Because I knew he was right. Mr. Glass must be the Dark Rider.

* * *

I
didn't see
Mr. Glass until the following morning. He must have come home extremely late, and it showed in the deep bruising beneath his eyes, the paleness of his cheeks, and his tardiness in joining us for breakfast. He'd shaved, but not well, missing some of the dark stubble near his ears and the underside of his jaw. He hadn't bothered to put on a tie or waistcoat. Clearly his special watch wasn't enough, and he required more sleep to help battle his mysterious illness.

"Eat quickly, Matthew," Miss Glass said with a smile for her nephew. "We don't have much time."

"For what?" he asked, carrying his plate and cup to the table. He gave me a small smile, which I tried to return without letting on that my thoughts were in turmoil. I'd tossed in bed half the night thinking about all the awful things the Dark Rider had done and whether I ought to pass on my suspicions to the police.