The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele Book 1) (24 page)

I lifted my chin. "If it is, what will you do to him?"

Matt looked to Dennison then to me, then to the table. "Take him for every last penny."

"In that case, yes it is."

Excited whispers rippled through the crowd. They scented a dangerously thrilling game ahead. Matt shoved Dennison down onto a chair. "If you don't play, I'll take you out the back and flog you."

"This is outrageous!" Dennison spluttered. "Do you know who I am?"

"Enlighten me."

Dennison plucked at his collar and stretched his neck. "I'm Lord Dennison! The son of the Earl of Morecombe."

Travers snorted. "He's not important. Come now, let's play." He lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair.

"Stand," Matt ordered.

"Pardon?" Travers chomped on his cigar and didn't move.

"Stand up so I can see that you're not hiding anything."

"Check his pockets," Willie said.

"Bloody hell!" Travers muttered, but he pushed his chair back and heaved himself up. "Never been treated this way by an
Englishman
.

Duke checked Travers's pockets and the chair itself, and declared he'd found nothing untoward.

Travers snorted as he sat. "I'm not a cheat."

I elbowed Willie when she opened her mouth to protest. She shut it with a grumble.

"Deal," Matt ordered the dealer. "What have you got to stake?" he asked Dennison.

"Nothing," Dennison said. "Lost it all at hazard."

"Did you come in a conveyance?"

"Of course."

"Then I accept that."

Lord Dennison lost his conveyance on the first hand. He slunk away from the table, his head low, muttering how his father was going to rake him over hot coals when he learned what he'd lost.

"Stay where I can see you," Matt ordered Dennison, pointing to a spot well away from me.

Travers was a little harder to beat, but Matt did it with only a pair of eights after a mere ten hands were played. Travers could have won with his pair of jacks but he folded too soon. He handed over the locket.

Willie swooped on it and slipped it around her neck. Matt rose and nodded at the dealer and Unger.

"Wait!" Travers cried when he realized Matt was leaving. "Another game. Give me a chance to learn from you. Your skill is sublime. I couldn't get your measure at all, not even a little." He grabbed Matt's arm as he went to walk off, but missed and almost toppled off his chair. "Come now, sir, we can make it as interesting as you like. I'm a bloody rich man. Ask anyone here."

Matt gave him a look of utter contempt. "Good evening to you." To Dennison he said, "Come and point out your carriage and tell your driver he's no longer required."

Dennison followed us down the stairs, past the porters, his head low and shoulders stooped. Outside, a carriage came forward when one of the drivers recognized his master. Dennison gave him the bad news. The driver looked crestfallen.

"But I have a family! How will I feed them?"

"Work for me," Matt said. "I live at sixteen Park Street. Duke, go with him."

"I'll go too," Willie said quickly, eyeing Matt. She must have suspected she'd be on the receiving end of his temper for some time and wanted to ward it off for as long as possible.

"May I humbly request a ride back home?" Dennison asked.

"Walk," Matt growled.

He held the door of his own carriage open for me and assisted me inside. He followed me and closed the door. Cyclops drove off, the other conveyance behind us.

"You play well," I ventured after two minutes of taut silence.

He grunted.

"You won, Matt. So why are you angry?"

He'd been looking out the window, but he now turned to me. Some of the frostiness had already vanished from his eyes, but they were still cool. "I'm not angry."

I barked a laugh.

He rubbed his eyes and I felt awful for mocking him. The poor man was exhausted. "I possessed a lot of vices in my youth," he said. "Gambling was one of them, as was drinking to excess, usually both at the same time."

"You don't have to explain," I said.

"I want to. I want you to know that I stopped because I didn't like the man I became when I gambled and drank like that. I gave up after I was shot. Things tend to fall into perspective when your life hangs in the balance."

Neither of us spoke. The hissing of the carriage lamps and the
clip clop
of the hooves and rumble of wheels were the only sounds. The night air wasn't cold, but it was dense, confining. My corset felt too tight. "I'm sorry," I said finally.

"For what? None of this is your fault."

"For misjudging you. I see now that it's not anger but tension. You wanted to get out of there quickly."

"I didn't even want to be in there," he said quietly. "Sometimes…" He removed his hat and dragged his hand through his hair. "Sometimes I find it tempting."

"Yet you manage to have a drink or two without going to excess now. Why not a game of poker here and there?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to risk falling into old ways. I haven't played in years."

"We could play at home. That might satisfy Willie too, and keep her from going out to find opponents. We don't have to play for money, but for something else. Matches or tokens."

His mouth hooked up at the corner, all mischief again. His tension vanished entirely. "You want to learn to play poker, India?"

"If you'll teach me, yes."

His smile turned positively wicked. "You'd better not wager anything you can't afford to lose."

I smiled back, even though my heart fluttered madly. "Nor had you."

His eyes turned smoky. "For the first time in my life, I think I'd like to lose."

F
or five years
, Charlotte (Charlie) Holloway has lived as a boy in the slums. But when one theft too many gets her arrested, her only means of escape lies with a dead man. Charlie hasn't raised a spirit since she first discovered she could do so five years ago. That time, her father banished her. This time, she brings even more trouble upon herself.

People are now hunting Charlie all over London, but only one man succeeds in capturing her.

Lincoln Fitzroy is the mysterious head of a secret organization on the trail of a madman who needs a necromancer to control his newly "made" creatures. There was only one known necromancer in the world - Charlotte - but now there appears to be two. Lincoln captures the willful Charlie in the hopes the boy will lead him to Charlotte. But what happens when he discovers the boy is in fact the young woman he's been searching for all along? And will she agree to work for the man who held her against her will, and for an organization she doesn't trust?

Because Lincoln and his ministry might be just as dangerous as the madman they're hunting.

C
HAPTER
1

London, summer 1889

T
he other prisoners
eyed me as if I were a piece of tender meat. I was someone new to distract them from their boredom, and small enough that I couldn't stop one—let alone four—from doing what they wanted. It was only a matter of who would be the first to
enjoy
me.

"He's mine." The prisoner's tongue darted out through his tangled beard and licked what I supposed were lips, hidden beneath all that wiry black hair. "Come here, boy."

I shuffled away from him but instead of the brick wall of the cell, I smacked into a soft body. "Looks like he wants
me
, Dobby. Don't ye, lad?" Large hands clamped around my arms, and thick fingers dug into my flesh through my jacket and shirt. The man spun me round and I gaped up at the brute grinning toothlessly at me. My heart rose and dove, rose and dove, and cold sweat trickled down my spine. He was massive. He wore no jacket or waistcoat, only a shirt stained with blood, sweat and grime. The top buttons had popped open, most likely from the strain of containing his enormous chest, and a thatch of gray hair sprouted through the gap and crept up to his neck rolls. Hot, foul breath assaulted my nostrils.

I tried to turn my face away but he grasped my jaw. The wrenching motion caused my hair to slide off my forehead and eyes, revealing more of my face than I had in a long time. A new fear spread through me, as sickening as the man I faced. Only two prisoners seemed interested in a boy, but if they realized I was a girl, the others would likely want me too.

"Anyone ever tell you you're too pretty for a boy?" My tormentor chuckled, but he didn't seem like he'd discovered my secret. "Pretty boys can get themselves into trouble."

Girls even more so. It was just my ill luck to get caught stealing an apple from the costermonger's cart outside the cemetery and wind up in the overcrowded holding cell at Highgate Police Station. The irony wasn't lost on me, but it wasn't in the least amusing. As an eighteen year-old girl, I should be separated from the men, but I'd been passing myself off as a thirteen year-old boy for so long it hadn't even occurred to me to tell the policemen. With my half-starved body, and mop of hair covering most of my face, nobody had questioned my gender or age.

The big brute jerked me forward, slamming me against his body. My nose smacked into a particularly filthy patch of his shirt and I gagged at the combined stenches of sweat, vomit, excrement and gin. I wasn't too clean myself, but this fellow's odor was overpowering. Bile burned my throat but I swallowed it quickly. Showing weakness would only make it worse for me. I knew that from experience.

"Come here and keep old Badger warm."

Warm? It was summer, and the cell was hotter than a furnace with four adult men and myself crammed into a space designed for one.

"I'm next," said the bearded Dobby, closing in to get a better look at me.

"If there's anything left of him after old Badger's broken him in." Badger chuckled again and fumbled with the front of his trousers.

I closed my hands into fists and clamped down on my fear. Shouting for the constable wouldn't help. He'd told the other prisoners to "Enjoy," when he'd tossed me into the cell. It had only been a few minutes since he'd walked off, whistling. It felt like hours. I had to fight now. It was the only way left. Not that I stood a chance against the men, but they might beat me unconscious, with any luck. It was best not to be awake while they took their liberties.

I swung my fist, but Badger was faster than he looked. He caught my wrist and sneered. "That ain't going to help you." The sneer vanished and he shoved me into the wall.

I put my hands up and managed to stop myself smashing into the whitewashed bricks, but my wrists and arms jarred from the force. I gasped in pain, but smothered the cry that welled up my throat.

"Leave the boy alone." The voice wasn't one I'd heard yet. It didn't come from outside the cell but from another prisoner to my right.

"What'd you say?" Badger snarled.

"I said leave the boy alone. He's just a child."

I turned and pressed my back into the wall. My rescuer stood in a similar position, his arms crossed over his chest. He was perhaps late twenties, with fair hair and cloudy gray eyes circled by red-rimmed lids. He wasn't nearly as tall as Badger, nor as solid, and I doubted he could defeat either Badger or Dobby in a fight. My heart sank.

"You going to make us?" Dobby asked.

The man shrugged then winced, as if the movement hurt. He sported a bruise on his cheek, and his blond hair was matted with blood. "One must try. It's the decent thing to do."

"'One must try.'" Badger mimicked the other man's toff accent to perfection. Dobby and the fourth prisoner, lounging on the cot bed, laughed.

Dobby straightened his back, threw out his chest, and affected a feminine walk to where the man stood. The prisoner on the bed laughed even harder at the hairy beast's acting. "Oh, protect me from these brutes, sir," whimpered Dobby in a high voice. "You're my hero."

The blond man lowered his hands to his sides and curled them into fists. I held my breath and waited for the first punch to be thrown. The man smiled instead. It held no humor.

Dobby tugged on the lapels of the blond man's jacket, pretending to straighten it, then fidgeted with the high, stiff shirt collar. The gentleman wore no tie, and his hat and gloves were also missing. The fine cut of his clothes reminded me of my father, always so perfectly groomed. Even the fellow's aristocratic bearing was very much like my father's. Whether it was also an affectation this gentleman had developed, it was difficult to tell. I wasn't as experienced with the upper members of society and their ways as I used to be.

"Finished?" the blond man drawled. I wondered why the gentleman had landed in jail and why he was defending me, a stranger. He'd get himself killed if he didn't keep quiet.

His fun spoiled by the gentleman's lack of fear, Dobby snorted and moved away. He turned back to me and licked his lips. Badger wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and eyed me with renewed interest. He reached for me, but the blond man smacked his hand away. Neither Badger nor I had noticed him approach.

Badger bared his teeth in a snarl. "You don't get to ruin Badger's fun!" He smashed his fist into the blond man's face, sending him reeling back into the bed.

The prisoner lounging there had to quickly pull up his legs or be sat on. The blond man recovered, and with a growl of rage, lunged at Badger. But he swung his fists wildly and his blows merely glanced off the bigger, meaner prisoner. Badger responded with another punch to the gentleman's jaw. Blood splattered from the blond man's mouth as he careened backward and slammed into the wall. His head smacked into the bricks, and the
crack
of his skull turned my stomach.

Dobby laughed, sending spittle flying from the slit in his beard. Badger dusted off his hands and watched as the gentleman folded in on himself and crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll. My heart sank, and it was only then that I realized I'd let it rise in hope.

My rescuer was dead.

A sickening fear assaulted me along with the memories of that terrible night five years ago when my mother had died. I could still hear my father's accusation, still feel the sting of his belt across my back, and the icy rain he'd sent me into with the order never to return home.

Yet those awful memories could help me now. If the prisoners reacted to my strange ability as my father had… It was my only hope.

I knelt alongside the gentleman's lifeless form and placed my hands on either side of his face, as I had done to my mother after she'd breathed her last. While I'd been overset by tears then, I wasn't now, and I could see the gray pallor of death consuming his youthful face. I stroked his jaw. It was still warm and his short whiskers felt rough on my palms.

Someone behind me snickered. "You can't do nothing for him now, boy. Let old Badger comfort you, eh?"

I didn't move and he didn't rip me away from the body, thank goodness. I needed to touch it. At least, I think I did. I'd only ever done this once before. What if I couldn't repeat it? What if my connection to my mother had been the key that time, and it wouldn't work on a stranger?

I caressed his face as if we'd been the most intimate of lovers, and willed his spirit to rise.
Please speak to me. Do this for me and help me to live. I don't want to die here like this.

I didn't want to die at all. That in itself was something of a revelation, but I had no chance to think about it further. A pale wisp rose from the body. At first it looked like a slender ribbon of smoke, then it grew larger and took on the shape of the dead man. It was still as thin as a veil of silk chiffon, but it moved as if it held solid form.

The spirit frowned at me from his floating position then settled his gaze on his own lifeless figure. He sighed. "And so it ends."

My heart ground to a halt. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

The spirit blinked at me, as if surprised that we were communicating. "Not your fault. I brought it on myself. I'd had enough of living, you see." He sighed again. "My parents said I would amount to nothing and they were right. Couldn't even get in a good punch." He nodded at Badger, who was standing behind me.

"What's he saying?" Dobby asked.

"He's talking to the dead," Badger said. "Boy's mad." He snorted and spat a glob of green mucus on the floor near my feet. "Get up, lad. It won't go well for you if I have to drag you over here."

The spirit's face twisted with disgust. "Wish I could have done something to help you, child. I haven't accomplished much in my life, but my hatred of bullies is well known. Just ask my father." He laughed at a joke I wasn't privy to. "That's something, eh? A legacy I can leave behind?"

I didn't think it was much of a legacy, but I didn't say so. He was my only friend in that cell, and I needed him. "There is one thing you can do for me before you go," I whispered.

"What's he saying?" Dobby repeated.

"I don't bloody care." Badger's hand closed around my shoulder and he wrenched me away from the body. He fumbled with the front of his trousers again. I had only seconds.

"Get back into your body," I told the spirit. I no longer kept my voice low. He needed to hear me, and it didn't matter who else did now. The die was already cast.

The spirit didn't move. "How?"

I wasn't entirely sure. When my mother had done it, she'd simply floated back down into her body when I'd asked her to. "Lie on your…self," I told him.

Badger's fingers gripped my jaw, smashing the inside of my mouth into my teeth. "Shut it," he snapped. "I don't want to hear no lunatic talk. Do ye hear me?"

"He's soft in the head." Dobby bent to get a better look at me. If Badger hadn’t been holding my jaw, I would have smashed my forehead into his nose.

"Bloody hell!" The other prisoner leapt off the bed, his eyes huge. "He's still alive!"

Badger let me go. He stumbled back and stared at the now standing body. It wasn't alive, but the spirit had re-entered it and was controlling it. Even though I knew what was happening, the sight still made my blood run cold.

The body turned to Badger. The insipid, blank eyes of the dead man were as lifeless as they had been moments ago, and I wasn't certain how the spirit could see through them.

The third prisoner crossed himself. Dobby mewled. Badger continued to stumble backward until he fell over his own feet and landed heavily on his backside.

"What…me…do?" The brittle, thin voice coming from the corpse startled me as much as it did the prisoners. It was nothing like the spirit's smooth one. It was as if he labored to get the dead vocal organs working.

"I don't know," I said.

"Jesus christ," Dobby muttered. He joined the other prisoner in the cell corner, as far away from the body and me as possible.

"You…control…me." The body bent over the cowering, sweating Badger. The brute looked like he'd pee his trousers if the dead man got any closer. "Kill?"

"Can you?" I asked. It wasn't a request but an honest question, since the gentleman hadn't been able to so much as punch Badger when he'd been alive. As the color drained from Badger's face, I realized how it must have sounded. I didn't correct myself.

"Constable!" Badger screamed. "Constable, get this madman out of here!"

Was he referring to the reanimated corpse or me? I laughed. I couldn't help it. Perhaps I
was
mad, but seeing the cruel Badger frightened out of his wits was the most gratifying experience of my life, and I was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Unfortunately that wasn't long. The constable's face appeared at the slit in the door. "What's all this noise about?"

"Get it out! Get it out!" Badger threw his arms over his face, like a child hiding under the sheets at night.