Ashes To Ashes: A Ministry of Curiosities Novella (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 5) (14 page)

I received more curious stares as I scanned the faces for Mr. Glass. Plain shop girls didn't usually mingle in the tearoom at Brown's with ladies and gentlemen of good breeding. I felt like a drab piece of sackcloth amid colorful silks and delicate laces.

I spotted Mr. Glass at a table near the window. He rose and greeted me with a dashing smile that I couldn't help but return, despite my knotted stomach. He must have had a good rest since we last met, because there was no sign of tiredness in his eyes. They were as clear and warm as his smile. There was also no sign of the purplish glow on the skin of his bare hand. It appeared quite as it should—tanned, strong, and entirely normal.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Steele," he said, pulling out a chair for me.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Glass, although I'm still unsure what it is you want to ask me."

"I have questions about your father."

"So you said, but what do you want to know about him?"

We were interrupted by the waiter, and my awkwardness returned. Not only was I unsure if I was expected to pay for my afternoon tea, but everyone at the surrounding tables still stared. Was I the oddity or was Mr. Glass, with his good looks and somewhat lazy way of sitting? Or was it the both of us together? None knew me, but it was quite possible that Mr. Glass's acquaintances were among the other patrons and his meeting a woman like this was about to become the gossip of the week.

"Your finest tea, please," Mr. Glass asked the waiter, "and your best cakes and…things," he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't care what. Do you, Miss Steele?"

"Er, no." As long as I wasn't expected to pay for them. Despite the strangeness of Mr. Glass and his relaxed manner, I did peg him as a gentleman, and no gentleman would invite a lady to tea and then ask her to pay her share.

The waiter retreated and Mr. Glass sat forward. He picked up the small silver fork and twisted it between his fingers. "You must think my request to meet with you odd," he said.

"No odder than my acceptance of it. I'm not in the habit of taking tea with strange men."

He held up the fork in surrender. "Of course not. I can see that you're a respectable lady."

"You saw that in our brief encounter this morning? The encounter in which I berated my former fiancé, attempted to ruin his business, and stomped on your servant's toe?"

"To be fair, Cyclops deserved it. I didn't think he would grip you that hard." He let the fork go and placed a hand to his heart. "I deserved it more. Please allow me to apologize most sincerely for my treatment of you. I was…not myself. I'm not ordinarily so rough with women. It was uncalled for, and I can only apologize for it again and again."

"Apology accepted. I admit to being somewhat shocked at the time, but I wasn't harmed. I do suggest that you refrain from hauling women around like a caveman next time you are not feeling like yourself. Others may not be as forgiving."

He grinned, which I hoped he would. I did so like his smile with his perfect white teeth against his smooth brown skin. It made his eyes twinkle too. "I will try to restrain myself, although I do have a temper and I'm unused to the delicate sensibilities of English women."

"Women approve of being manhandled where you come from?"

"Not many, no. They usually stomp on toes, and more, if they find themselves in such a situation." He picked up the fork again and toyed with it. He seemed to have a problem sitting still. He must be a man of action. That sort rarely sat in tearooms with ladies. "I like your directness, Miss Steele. It's refreshing. I was beginning to think all Englishmen and women spoke in roundabout ways without saying what they truly felt."

"I'm not usually so forward, but this morning I'd reached the end of my tether." The dam had finally burst after seeing Eddie's smug smiles and listening to his inane laughter. My anger had nowhere to go but out. It wasn't until later, when I sat quietly in my attic room, that I realized my anger was largely directed at myself now—anger that I'd ever accepted a proposal from a man I didn't love and never could. "Where are you from, Mr. Glass? Your accent is unusual."

"My accent is a mix, so I've been told, thanks to the different heritages of my parents and our travels. I'm recently from America."

"America? How thrilling."

He chuckled. "Not particularly."

"It is when the furthest you've traveled is Cheshunt."

He gave me a blank look.

"It's a little north of London."

The waiter arrived with a silver tea-stand laden with slices of cake, sandwiches and pastries. I'd never seen so many all at once before, or presented so prettily. My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten since that morning, and then only a slice of moldy bread that Mrs. Bray had been about to throw out.

Mr. Glass eyed me from beneath long lashes but didn't comment. He waited until the waiter poured our tea and left us with the pot before urging me to fill my plate.

I took a delicate pastry and ate it in two bites before he'd even begun. He nudged the cake-stand a little closer to me and I took a slice of cake and ate that. At his further prompting, I shook my head.

"I'm quite full, thank you," I lied. My mother had always told me not to make a pig of myself, and I mostly followed her advice. I tried not to look at the cakes for fear of showing my regret, however.

"That may be so, but I can't possibly eat all of these on my own," he said. "Please, assist me, or they will go to waste."

If he was going to be so gentlemanly about it, then I might as well.

He sipped his tea, and I had to suppress a giggle. He looked out of place in a room full of mostly women, a pretty floral teacup in one hand and a pastry in the other. I wondered if he did this sort of thing in America. If I had to guess, I'd say he was a gentleman farmer with those brown hands of his.

"Do you mind if I start asking you questions now?" he said.

"Go ahead. It's why I'm here."

He set the cup down carefully, as if he were afraid he'd break it. He stared at the contents for a moment, and when he looked up, that intense stare he'd given me earlier in the day returned. A shiver trickled down my spine and chilled my skin. I couldn't make up my mind if I liked being looked at in such a way. "How old was your father?" he asked.

That was an odd question to begin with. "Forty-nine. Why?"

He sat back in the chair with a softly muttered, "Damn it."

"Why?" I repeated. "And why do you want to know about my father anyway? What has it got to do with buying yourself a new watch?"

His lips twitched at the corners, but he didn't break into a full smile. "A full stomach makes you curious."

I arched my brow and waited for an answer.

He leaned forward again and picked up his teacup. "I'm trying to find a man I met five years ago. He was a watchmaker and made a watch for me that now requires fixing."

"Has it stopped working?"

"It's slowing down."

"You've tried winding it?"

"Do I look like a fool?"

"My apologies." I sipped my tea and kept my eyes averted. I heard him sigh again and he shifted in the chair, as if he were regretting asking me to tea. "Why didn't you show your watch to Eddie?" I asked. "He might have been able to fix it."

"Not this watch."

"Why not? Is it American? Some American watches are different to ours, but a good watchmaker can work out what needs correcting without damaging the mechanisms. Eddie isn't a bad watchmaker, he's just limited in the types he can repair. He wasn't apprenticed to my father. Would you like me to look at it? I can assure you, I may be a mere woman, but I was apprenticed to the best watchmaker in the city, perhaps the country. The only reason I wasn't allowed into the guild and am not able to call myself a master watchmaker is because of their archaic rules that don't allow female members. It was why—"

"Miss Steele." He held up his hand for me to stop. I bit my tongue. "Thank you for your offer, but this watch is a special one. The original maker is the only one in the world who can repair it."

"That's rather arrogant of him, to make such a claim."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to find him."

I was about to press him to show it to me, but decided against it. It made no difference to me if he thought only one person could repair it. "Tell me about this arrogant watchmaker. So far, he fits the description of several men in the guild."

He seemed to find that amusing. He smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. "I admit that I've been running all over London without really knowing what I'm doing and where I'm going." He sat forward. "Would you mind helping me narrow my search?"

"I would be delighted. I take it you don't know his name."

"He called himself Chronos."

"The Greek God of Time? We can add ridiculous to arrogant. Go on."

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I met him in a saloon in New Mexico, five years ago. He was English and told me he came from London." His eyes suddenly shadowed, and he turned serious as he studied the teacup. "He was an old man then, so it couldn't have been your father."

"Father has never left England anyway. He's lived above that shop all his life, as his father did, and his father too. Now Eddie has it," I spat.

His gaze sharpened. "Your grandfather is a watchmaker?"

"He was. He's dead."

He stared at me, unblinking. I shrank back from the force of it. "When did he die?"

"Before I was born, so he couldn't have been your mysterious Chronos either."

He passed a hand over his eyes and down his face then blew out a breath. It must be a very special watch indeed to elicit such a reaction. I could feel his anxiety from across the table.

"Let me see if I have this correct," I said. "Five years ago, you were given a watch by an Englishman in America who claims that no one else can fix it. You refuse to let anyone else attempt to fix it, so you traveled all this way to find him. You don't know his name, or where he lived in London specifically, and you only know that he must be old."

"You have it," he said, absently patting his coat pocket.

I did not mention the fact that he could be dead. No doubt he'd thought of that, and I didn't want to see disappointment shadow that handsome face. "Then you have come to the right person. I know every important watchmaker in London, and most unimportant ones too."

"I had a feeling you would be able to help me," he said. "I'll pay you for your time, of course. It may take several days to locate the right man."

Pay me! Ah, now I understood why he'd chosen me instead of Eddie, or anyone else. He must have sensed my desperation this morning and guessed I had the time to devote to such a scheme. "If you insist," I said as graciously as I could manage while trying to hold back my smile.

"What is the current wage for a shop assistant in London?" he asked.

"One with experience could hope for a pound. I don't know about any other sort of assistant."

"A pound then." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

I shook his hand firmly, as my father had always taught me when shaking a man's hand after a particularly lucrative transaction. "Deal," I repeated, mimicking his accent.

He laughed softly. "Have another cake, Miss Steele. Then let’s begin."

I ate a slice, touched my napkin to the corners of my mouth, and washed it down with a gulp of tea. I wasn't being very ladylike, but I was no lady and he didn't seem to notice.

"Most watchmakers are traditionally located in Clerkenwell and St. Luke's," I said, "but you'll find some scattered elsewhere. My ancestor set up his premises on St. Martin's Lane and we've been there ever since."

"Until your former fiancé took it from you."

I couldn't meet his gaze. It had been one thing to air my dirty linen when I'd been mad at Eddie, but it was quite another to be reminded of my shocking behavior, and by a gentleman too. "My father thought that only a man could manage the business." I don't know why I wanted to explain the situation to him. It seemed important that he know that Father loved me, but he'd been duped. "He liked precision, organization, and neatness, so he changed his will when I became engaged, thinking that Eddie could be relied upon to keep his word. No one expected him to die suddenly before the wedding. And to be fair to Father, Eddie was very sweet up until then. It wasn't until the funeral when he showed what a nasty little worm he was."

Mr. Glass remained silent, and I wished I hadn't blurted out my problems all over again. He must think me as pathetic as I felt. "My mother used to tell me that God would punish people like that after they're dead," he said.

"I wish Eddie would get his come-uppance in
this
lifetime where I could see it and enjoy it."

One corner of his mouth kicked up. "You and I think alike." He lifted his teacup in salute. Finding it empty, he refilled both mine and his.

"Will you be staying in London long after you've found the old watchmaker?" I heard myself ask with a hint of breathiness in my voice.

He shook his head. "I've business to take care of back home."

Pity. "Tell me what your watchmaker looks like," I said. "Aside from being old, that is."

"He had blue eyes, white hair, and was otherwise non-descript. I got the feeling he was running away from something or someone."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because most folk who end up in Broken Creek, New Mexico, are usually running away from something or someone."

"Is that why you were there, Mr. Glass?"

His eyes twinkled but no smile touched his lips. "I visited for the scenery."

"Is it beautiful?"

"To some."

He didn't elaborate, and I got the feeling he no longer wanted to discuss his past in Broken Creek.

"So tell me which watchmakers you've visited already," I said. "That will narrow our search."

"My lawyer informed me that most live in Clerkenwell, as you yourself noted. I began there this morning." He listed a half-dozen whose names I recognized, although I knew none personally. "I decided to stop in at Masons' and Hardacre's on my way home. Indeed, I was told that it was named Steele's and was surprised to see the painter changing the sign. I'm glad you were there, Miss Steele. Our meeting has an air of fortuitousness about it."