The Girl With the Windup Heart

  The blond looked ill. “She went across the street. Brick place. Woman let her in.”

  “There, that wasn’t so ’ard, was it?” Jack gave them both a small, cold smile. “Go near her again and I’ll personally see to it that you spend the rest of your days pissin’ out your eyes. ’Ave I made m’self understood?”

  They both nodded.

  “Excellent.” He straightened and gestured at the darker fellow’s bleeding cheek. “Might want to get that looked at.” Then he turned and walked out—and he didn’t care who watched.

  “That was a lot easier than I expected,” Jasper commented once they were outside. Both pistols were back in their holsters.

  Jack shrugged. “People don’t normally lie to me.”

  “And they give you what you want.”

  “Sometimes.”

  The American grinned crookedly. “Why, Mr. Dandy. You’re a freak just like the rest of us.”

  Had he been wearing his hat Jack would have tipped it. “Don’t let it go to your ’ead.” He checked for a lull in traffic before running out into the street. His companions followed him up the steps to the pretty brick house. He rapped the knocker hard.

  A gorgeous older woman with glossy black hair and intriguing eyes answered a few moments later. She looked at Jack and blinked, her smile slipping just a bit. He arched a brow—he was certain he’d never met the woman before.

  “May I help you?” she inquired, her gaze not leaving his.

  Jack inclined his head and put on his best posh, “Forgive us for calling unannounced, Madam, but I was told by two gentlemen that you may have seen a friend of mine.”

  “I seriously doubt that, my lord,” she replied. “My girls are not of your class.” Oh, she was good. Jack couldn’t quite tell if that was an insult or not.

  He smiled. “Her name is Emilia, or Mila. She’s about this tall, uncommonly beautiful. A sweet girl. Have you seen her?”

  The woman gave a little under his influence—he felt it. Then, she blinked again, and tore her gaze from his—purposefully avoiding contact. How in the devil did she know to do that?

  “I’m afraid not, sir. Perhaps you should check with Mrs. Newberry down the street. I know she has at least one vacancy. We’re filled up. Sorry I can’t be of help. Good day.”

  Only Jack’s well-placed and quick foot prevented the door from closing in his face. He took a silver case from his inside coat pocket and opened it. “Take my card. If you do see her, I would appreciate it if you let me know.”

  “Of course.” Still, she didn’t look at him. Instead, she took the card and yanked the door shut. Jack just managed to pull his foot free, otherwise she might have crushed it.

  “So much for people not lying to you,” Wildcat commented dryly as they walked down the steps.

  “She did a poor job of it, too,” Jasper added.

  Jack nodded. “Indeed.” But it was a lie told to protect Mila, and he appreciated it. She was with someone who would look after her.

  Wildcat fell into step beside him. “Want me to talk to her?”

  He shook his head. “No. Thank you. I would like you to keep an eye on this place, however. Mila’s here and she obviously doesn’t want to be found just yet. If she wants to prove a point by stretching her wings, I’ll let her do just that.” And maybe a little female guardianship would do her good. But it had taken every ounce of his strength not to barge into that house and find his girl.

  “You want us to spy on her.” There was a bit of an edge to Cat’s voice.

  Jack stopped on the walk and turned to her. “No. I want her kept safe.”

  “Did you see what she did to those two in the pub? She can take care of herself.”

  “Physically, yes. But Mila is good. Too good. I won’t let anyone ruin that.”

  Catlike eyes narrowed. “Including you?”

  Jack laughed humorlessly, and raised his arm to hail a hack cab. “My dear Cat, especially me.”

  * * *

  “He knew I was lying.”

  Mila stirred honey into her tea. She sat at a small table in the comfortable kitchen in the back of the house that smelled of warm baked bread and freshly brewed tea. It was inviting and comforting. Safe. “Yes. Jack usually does know when people lie.” It was an annoying trait because he was such a skilled liar himself.

  Mrs. Brooks’s sister, whose name was Delilah Rhodes, was very beautiful and not at all impressed. In fact, she looked rather...peevish. “You might have told me from whom it was you wished to hide, child.”

  She took a sip of tea. It needed more honey. “I thought you said you didn’t know Jack Dandy.”

  “I don’t.” A strange expression crossed the woman’s face. “But I know a relative of his, I think. Would you like a little tea with your honey?”

  Unperturbed, Mila set the honey pot aside. “Jack doesn’t have relatives.”

  “Everyone has relatives. Family.”

  “I don’t.”

  The woman shot her a dubious look. “Are you an orphan, dear? There’s no one with whom you share blood?”

  Oh. Did Finley and Emily and Sam and Griffin and Jasper count? “I suppose maybe there is.” She didn’t want to discuss them. Mrs. Rhodes might wonder why she hadn’t gone to them instead of going to her. “Does this mean you’re not going to give me a room?”

  The pucker between the woman’s brows eased. “No. Of course not. You need a room and I have one for you.” She watched Mila closely—enough that Mila reached up and touched her own face to make certain she hadn’t dirt on it. “How did a girl like you come to be involved with someone like Jack Dandy? You hardly look his type.”

  Mila scowled. “I know. He likes girls with more...” She made a gesture around her chest. “He likes dark hair and painted faces. I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to come home with him.”

  Mrs. Rhodes, who had said she was a widow, smiled. She didn’t appear the least bit shocked or offended. “I think I’m too old for him.”

  Mila snorted. “Not bloody likely. He doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care about anything.”

  “When I said you didn’t look like his usual preference, I meant it as a compliment.”

  That did nothing to ease her scowl. “I know.”

  The chair across from her was pulled out from the table and the other woman sat down in it. She poured herself a cup of tea. “You like him.”

  “Jack?” Mila took a sip. The tea was delicious—hot and thick with honey. “Of course. He’s my friend. He can’t help that he’s stupid.”

  Was that a chuckle? “Men generally can’t, darling. No, I mean you like him. You have romantic feelings for him.”

  “I...I don’t know.” She reached for one of the cucumber sandwiches on the plate in the middle of the table. “I’m not terribly familiar with romantic feelings.”

  Lavender eyes regarded her over the rim of a china cup. “You are a very odd girl.”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s because I’m still fairly new to it.”

  The woman set her cup down and reached across the table to take Mila’s hand in her own. She turned it over, studying every inch. “Not even a bruise. Those brutes didn’t hurt you at all, did they?”

  “I didn’t want to give them the opportunity.” She didn’t pull away, but allowed Mrs. Rhodes to continue her inspection.

  “You succeeded on that account.”

  Was that censure in her voice? Did she think Mila had been wrong to do what she’d done? “They wanted to hurt me.”

  “I know they did, dear,” there was a wealth of reassurance in her tone. “You did good, giving them a little of their own. How did you manage to hurt them so badly?”

  Mila met her gaze. There was nothing in those pretty eyes that made her feel the least bit un
easy or threatened. Still, she wasn’t stupid. She resisted the urge to blurt out everything. “I’m odd, you said so yourself.”

  “Yes, but how odd?”

  “Does it matter?”

  The woman released her hand and picked up her cup. “I’m curious. I know my sister referred you, but I wonder if I have reason to fear for my safety.”

  Mila cocked her head to one side. “No, you don’t. You wonder if I might be of use to you.”

  Mrs. Rhodes chuckled again. “Mr. Dandy isn’t the only one adept at knowing when a person is lying. Yes, I suppose I am wondering that. I’m also interested in you.” She plucked a sandwich from the plate and took a bite. “As a girl I always wished I could be stronger than the boys.”

  Mila frowned. “Did someone hurt you?”

  The other woman’s expression became guarded. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Not that long. That’s the same expression you had on your face when you mentioned Jack having relatives.”

  There was a screeching sound as the woman shoved back her chair and jumped unsteadily to her feet. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”

  “I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

  “You didn’t.” Mrs. Rhodes rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. “I’m just reminded of things I’d rather not remember let alone discuss. Does that make sense to you?”

  “Yes. I don’t like to think of the time I spent in the crate.”

  Those unusual eyes widened. “The crate?”

  People, Mila realized too late, did not normally spend time in crates. This was the sort of blurt-out she’d just patted herself on the back for avoiding. “That’s what I called it. It was a very small space.” Good thing Mrs. Rhodes didn’t seem to be quite so talented at recognizing lies when she heard them. Of course, it wasn’t that much of a lie.

  “Oh, well, I hope you’ll find your room much more to your liking.”

  Mila followed her down the narrow corridor to the polished oak staircase that led up to the next floor. Every other step her landlady took the tiniest bit stilted. She could hear the slight friction of oiled joints beneath the rustle of skirts. Mrs. Rhodes obviously had a prosthetic leg—one of the modern, lightweight kinds that were strong and made movement less of a chore for the wearer. Mila wondered how she came about having such a limb, but asking might be rude, and she didn’t want to offend.

  She glanced around at her surroundings. The house was old, but well cared for and very neat. The wood gleamed with fresh polish and there was not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Mila envied people who could keep such a tidy house. Her dressing table at Jack’s was in desperate need of a good dusting.

  “Where are the other girls?” she asked, finally realizing how odd it was not to have seen at least one other lodger.

  “At work. Most of my girls work with the Pick-a-dilly Circus nearby.”

  “Oh, I love the circus! Jack took me there just last week.”

  Mrs. Rhodes smiled over her shoulder as she led Mila upstairs. “It’s delightful, isn’t it? It’s one of the few entertainments that stays open after the lords and ladies have retired to the country to shoot poor defenseless animals.”

  “Why would they do such an awful thing?” She made a note to make certain Griffin never took part in such behavior. She could always break his arms if he tried.

  “Because they’re rich and bored, and their parents are closely related.”

  Mila didn’t understand, but she grinned because her companion was smiling and seemed to expect it.

  At the top of the stairs they turned right and then continued to the second door down the corridor. Mrs. Rhodes withdrew a punch card from a pocket in her gown and inserted it in the slot beside the door. There followed a series of clicks as the lock disengaged. “This card will get you into the house, as well, so take care you don’t lose it.”

  “I’ll be very careful.”

  She opened the door and stepped inside, flicking a switch on the wall to turn on the new modern lights. Mila stepped in behind her, and gasped.

  The room wasn’t as ornate as the one she had at Jack’s, but it suited her better. The walls were painted a soft sandy color, with creamy trim. The bed was large, the wood dark but simply carved as it reached upward to form a canopy high above the mattress. Gauzy lengths of fabric draped around it from a finial in the middle of the top frame. It was like something a princess would sleep in. There was a matching dresser, armoire and dressing table, as well.

  “There’s a water closet through that door,” Mrs. Rhodes said with a gesture. “You’ll share it with Henrietta and Millie, whose room is located on the other side of it.”

  “They share a room?”

  The woman’s expression changed ever so slightly—as though she wasn’t certain what to say. “Yes. They’re sisters, and very unique, as well. I’m sure you’ll get on quite well with them. All my girls are extraordinary.”

  “I don’t want to be extraordinary,” she remarked, hoping she didn’t sound whiny. “I just want to be like everyone else.”

  “Oh, my dear girl.” Mrs. Rhodes’ expression was caught between amusement and sympathy. “I don’t believe that’s possible.”

  Chapter Nine

  “How do you plan to get around the automatons?”

  Finley glanced at Ipsley. They were hiding in some overblown shrubbery cut and shaped to resemble Garibaldi himself. It was ridiculous. He was easier for her to see now, her eyes accustomed to his shadowy form. “I don’t,” she replied.

  “You...don’t?”

  She shook her head, turning her attention back to Garibaldi’s ridiculously large house. “That’s what he expects. It’s why they’re there. He’s not stupid, but he thinks we are. He’s too arrogant to put his safety and security completely in the hands of his creations—demon or machine. Their job is to preoccupy and deflect any attacks while he mounts his own defensive. A diversion so he can have the pleasure of doing the real damage.”

  “But how are we going to get inside?”

  “Can’t you just pop in?” That was part of the reason he was there, wasn’t it? Because he could travel quicker than she could, and go places she couldn’t?

  “My connection with His Grace allows me to feel his presence, but transporting myself to him is almost impossible. I’m not sure what Garibaldi has done, but it’s as though he’s used some sort of Aetheric dampener. Trying to make contact is like trying to use a magnet to attract glass. I cannot get His Grace to acknowledge me.”

  Finley sighed. Why couldn’t Garibaldi be less intelligent? Why did he have to be both evil and a genius? So much for avoiding the automatons altogether. Without the element of surprise they weren’t going to get very far. She was definitely up for a fight, but not if it made things worse for Griffin.

  “I’m going to climb up the side of the house to the room Griffin is in. Can you do that?”

  “Perhaps. My current form has no mass in this realm, but that also means my tangibility is questionable.”

  “What if you popped up once I made it to the room? You can still get a fix on me, can’t you?”

  It wasn’t often that Finley got to enjoy the look of someone who thought she was smart. It wasn’t that she was dumb, but with Griffin and Emily around it was next to impossible to look intelligent in comparison. Usually her smarts pointed in a different direction. Granted, a more underhanded and violent direction, but it was no less effective. She’d wager Emily didn’t know the exact amount of force it took for a punch to break ribs without puncturing the lungs. Or how much stress an arm could take before it snapped. It was a delicate balance that changed with every opponent.

  “Yes. The dampener seems to be focused exclusively on the duke. I should be able to meet you when you get to the room.”

  “Good. If
the metal or ghosts start patrolling I’m going to need you to create a diversion.”

  “Of course. I’ve got your back.”

  In the physical realm Finley had to admit that she wouldn’t feel exactly confident with Ipsley as her backup. She doubted the dear boy even knew how to throw a punch, but that didn’t matter here. Here, Ipsley was more powerful than she could ever hope to be.

  “Right, here I go, then.” Crouched low, she darted from the hedge where they had hidden and raced toward the mansion. It was a strange feeling, running without feeling an increase in her heart rate, or the in and out of her breath. She was dead, for all intents and purposes, and the dead didn’t breathe or have a pulse. And yet, she had to climb the house because she had no other idea of how to get to where Griffin was. She certainly couldn’t just wish herself by his side the way Ipsley should have been able to do—her mind didn’t allow for that sort of thing.

  However, her mind knew full well her physical capabilities, and she capitalized on that confidence. Her foot came up on a lower windowsill and she vaulted up, catching hold of a low balcony. She easily pulled herself up and then hopped up onto the balustrade. From there she easily found another handhold in the brick. It was as easy as scaling King House.

  Suspicion teased the edges of her mind. What if she was walking into a trap? Surely a man as smart as The Machinist would have made his fortress difficult to climb? What if Garibaldi was omnipotent in this realm and already knew what she was going to do before she did? What if she got to that room and Griffin wasn’t there? Or worse, what if The Machinist had already destroyed him, leaving just enough of him for her to find?

  She paused, and for a moment, entertained the thought of running back to Ipsley, but then she continued her climb. Fear was sometimes a good thing, but not in this case. She shoved it aside, tightened her grip on the stone and pulled. Garibaldi was smart in the same way that Griffin and Emily were smart. He could easily suppose what action people would take. He was not, however, a physical being. He might expect someone like her or Sam to start a fight, to punch their way in, but he wouldn’t expect someone to climb his house barehanded. He was probably prepared for a dirigible assault, but she’d wager the windows weren’t even locked.