Obsidian Eyes (30 page)

Sunday, 25
^th
September.

llie rose early and padded across the wooden floor. Weasel accompanied each step. She pulled back the heavy taupe drapes and the mechanical creature jumped onto the windowsill. His eyes shone a dull red as he scanned the early morning traffic below.

She returned to bed, lay on the cotton sheets and watched the first rays of dawn spread red and gold shards across the sky. She stretched out, enjoying the peace and quiet before the brood awoke and demanded attention.

Eloise slipped from bed to rummage in the large chest standing at the end of their bed. She gave a small sound of triumph and stood up clutching a large brown paper-wrapped package. She climbed back onto the mattress and tucked her feet underneath. She undid the string and then pulled back the wrapping.

With growing curiosity Allie sat up, stuffing the pillow behind her at the same time, so she could watch. Even Weasel turned his gaze from the street below, to events unfolding on the bed.

Eloise peeled back the last of the paper and revealed a dark green gown. The silk was a muted tone and Allie thought not at all like Eloise’s usual choice of pastels.

As Eloise picked the dress up, it draped over her arm in sensuous folds, which she laid out on the end of the bed.

“A present from me.” She looked at Allie and held up her hand to stifle the protest already on her lips. “I bought it over Christmas on impulse, it’s a new style that came out and I simply had to have it. Regardless of the fact the colour doesn’t suit me and the silk is far too sinuous even with layers of petticoats. But it will be perfect for you and I think you will appreciate the movement of the silk, it’s not at all restrictive like a taffeta.”

Allie swallowed the words of protest and stretched out a hand to stroke the silken folds. “Thank you, I’ve never owned anything so beautiful.”

“Come on then.” Eloise waved her hands. “Let’s get you dressed since today you are off to do something reckless by visiting the den of inequity.”

Allie laughed. “I’m going to Berkley Square, a far more civilised address than our shopping trip yesterday.”

The morning passed in a blur of games with the children, loud enough to distract Allie’s thoughts. All too soon it was time for Eloise to help her into the lush walking dress.

She spun to admire the effect. The narrow skirt clung to her legs as she moved, before flowing out to a small train behind. The skirt paired with a tight green jacket in the same silk, cut short at her narrow waist with a large belt connecting it to the skirt. The jacket had a high mandarin collar at the neck, with black military frogging closures up the front, echoed on the large folded cuffs of the sleeves.

With a borrowed reticule to occupy her hands and a quick hug from her friend, she descended the steps alone, to head to her meeting. Outside, Allie hailed a steam cab to take her part of the way. She sat on the bouncing seat until pent-up energy and anxiety struggled to overtake her. She signalled the driver to stop so she could alight and walk the remainder of the journey.

Smoke from steam engines rose into the air, filtering the sunlight and coating the surrounding buildings in a thin layer of grime. Allie mused how much cleaner Cairo was, compared to London. Cairo had limited access to coal, so much of their technology hinged on clockwork, making the machines in the city run quieter. Instead, the noise came from the press of people. London with its cheap coal saw an explosion of steam driven devices, from large carriages down to steam-propelled food vendor carts.

With the ingrained habits of a lifetime, Allie surveyed the people on the streets, her eyes picking out the men and women marked as street enforcers for the Runners. In the last four years, faces had changed and she saw no one she recognised, or no one who would recognise her. She passed one Skin Dancer. The man’s cold gaze slid over Allie as he followed his target and disappeared in the crowd.

Her body ran on autopilot and steered her out of the way of oncoming foot traffic and vehicles alike, as her mind raced ahead. The respectable middle class homes slowly turned to grandiose Mayfair mansions. She paused on the street, the central large square occupied with spreading old trees, ornate bench seats and marble busts, all surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The houses turned their backs on the lesser neighbours, as they stood shoulder to shoulder and looked out on to the expansive green space.

She moved through the park, heading to the other side. Her destination looked impressive and affluent, just like the others in the row. Allie wondered if the residents on the exclusive street knew they lived next to the overlord of the Whisperers. Or perhaps his proximity afforded the neighbourhood a level of security they unconsciously enjoyed.

Stonework of the palest yellow made a stark contrast to the black paintwork on the familiar door. It gleamed in the sunlight; not a fingerprint or mark blemished the highly polished surface. The door reminded Allie of her dagger blade. Taking one last deep breath, she stepped out of the covering trees and crossed the road.

Before she could lift a hand toward the door, the wood swung inward, to reveal an immaculately turned out butler.

He gave her a brief bow. “You are expected, Miss Donovan.” He gestured for her to enter.

Five years
, the thought ran through her mind as she crossed over the threshold. She expected something dramatic to happen, like the clanging of a bell, but heard only the click of the latch closing behind her. The entranceway was laid in cool black marble with silk clad walls in a delicate off-white water pattern. Classical busts resided in niches around the walls on either side of the impressive staircase. The overlord lived in understated chic. Why live in the slums of the Rookeries, when your wealth equalled that of the noblest lords?

“The master is awaiting you in the study.”

The butler indicated the ornate double doors to the left of the entranceway. A formidable-looking man leaned against the study doorframe. His bulk and marred face, at odds with the expensive suit wrapped around his muscles, marked him as some heavyweight boxer. He was the only visible sign that this was no ordinary high-class residence, and his eyes followed Allie as she walked past him.

A cursory glance told her other similarly built men stood on the landing upstairs and down the hall. Fabric bulged over hidden weapons; fingers grazed more obvious blades and guns.

The butler strode over and opened both doors in a grand gesture. “Miss Donovan has arrived, sir,” he announced before ushering her into the darkened study.

Lush oriental rugs of deep greens and blood reds carpeted the study floor. The walls were a perfect reflection of the shades in the carpets, the colour broken only by the cream ceilings and skirting. The dominant feature was the enormous walnut desk in front of the only window. The occupant of the desk had his back to the light, casting him in his own shadow. He looked up from the scattered paperwork as Allie entered the room.

“Ah, at last, do have a seat.” He waved an arm at the red and cream striped settee nestled in front of the unlit fire.

Allie’s pulse raced, unsure what to expect from the forthcoming interview. She approached the offered sofa and brushed her silk skirts to one side. She sat, while slowing her breathing, least her anxiety become obvious.

The man rose and moved around the desk, and halted opposite her. Tall, lean, and in his forties, he was aging exceptionally well. He was elegantly attired in the latest fashion, with a cravat of cream silk tied with military precision. His greying hair was close-cropped with sharp narrow sideburns extending down his cheekbones in a rakish manner.

“I trust everything is well with your grandfather, Alessandra?” he enquired, his face a cool mask revealing nothing.

Allie smiled. “Yes, thank you, Father.”

ut please don’t call me that,” she continued. “It makes me sound like an Italian opera singer. I prefer Allie.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Your mother was very fond of that name. Plus I see you adopted your grandfather’s surname.”

“The name didn’t suit a street runner.” Allie shuddered to remember the long months she existed on the streets. She stole to survive, fought for scraps with the other brats, but the nights haunted her most. She slept with an old blade clutched to her breast, in case cruel hands grabbed her during the darkness.

And her father never looked for her.

Never came for her.

Not until moments before her death.

“In Egypt you lived in a palace.” His low tone cut through the old memories.

Her mind fled the cold and dark of Newgate prison to caress the light and warmth of Egypt. “I roamed the streets of Cairo barefoot and grubby.”

“To be scrubbed anew each evening in vanilla-scented water, before sleeping on silken sheets.” His gaze scanned her face.

She drew a sharp breath. “I’m surprised Jadda hasn’t found and cut off your ears within the harem.”

He laughed at some long remembered joke. “How is your grandmother?”

Allie thought of the diminutive person with the formidable personality. “She runs the harem like a military drill sergeant. But if you don’t mind, I need a drink before we start the touching reunion.”