The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

His face darkened. “I admit nothing.”

A perfunctory knock sounded behind her. Amanda spun around. Leaning in the open door was a man of medium height and medium build. He had brown hair and brown eyes. All the usual features in all the usual places. A face so common that most would immediately forget it.

“So this is the student of the hour,” the man said. “Thornton didn’t mention you were beautiful as well as brilliant.” A playful grin so altered his appearance that Amanda immediately warmed to him.

Confused, but flattered, she was about to reply when a petite blonde woman, no more than five feet tall and attired in black mourning, shoved at the man’s back, knocking him off balance and into the office. “Mind the manners your mother taught you.”

“Follow the customs of my mother?” the man quipped. “You might regret that.”

“There is much about you to regret,” the lady retorted.

The man’s grin widened as she stepped around him and pierced Lord Thornton with a look. “You bellowed?”

Lord Thornton showed no inclination to rise. “Lady Amanda, may I present Lady Huntley and Mr. Black.”

Mr. Black bowed, then quietly shut the door behind him.

Lady Huntley inclined her head. “We’ve met.” Her light green eyes studied Amanda through long, kohl-darkened lashes.

Indeed, they had. Lord Huntley had once courted Amanda herself. They’d spent hours in each other’s company discussing any number of topics, including her work on the neurachnid, and developed a comfortable kind of friendship. Amanda had been expecting a proposal at any moment when Eloise Kale, now Lady Huntley, made her dramatic entrance into the social whirl of the
ton
.

Her heart-shaped face, Cupid’s bow lips and the angelic color of her hair had men falling over their feet to make her acquaintance, Lord Huntley among them. Several months later, when Amanda wished him happy on the occasion of his wedding, he’d still only had eyes for his beautiful bride.

But he’d died, tragically, not too long after their wedding. On his way to Brussels to attend a scientific conference, airship pirates had attacked his vessel. Lord Huntley had been a good friend and scientific ally, and she’d privately mourned his death. She glanced at Lord Thornton. He’d also been aboard when that dirigible crashed but survived with a mere injury to his leg.

“You’d best take a seat,” Lady Huntley said. “He’ll not offer one and this may take some time.”

“What will take time?” Amanda asked, disinclined to sit. She glanced from one face to the next. If this was about her missing neurachnid, it was causing quite a stir.

“She accuses
me
of stealing it,” Lord Thornton said.

Mr. Black crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. “Well, you do have motivation.”

Lord Thornton growled.

“This device of yours,” Lady Huntley began, “that can repair a damaged motor neuron by spinning gold fibers from the central nervous system to the muscle, what is your current success rate?”

Amanda stiffened. This
was
about her neurachnid. It hurt to think of Lord Huntley sharing her research with a woman he’d married instead of her.

“Let us save the details for later, Lady Huntley.” Lord Thornton turned his intense gaze back in Amanda’s direction. “Where were you last night?”

She took exception at his accusatory tone. “Excuse me? What business is that of yours?” Her voice rose with each word. “Why are you treating me like a suspected criminal? As if I would steal my own spider.”

“Just answer the question,” Lord Thornton insisted. “Where were you last night?”

Spite made her answer, “With you.”

Mr. Black snickered.

Lord Thornton frowned. “Before,” he clarified.

“At the Townson’s dinner party.”

“Can anyone bear witness to that?” he asked.

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Have you never been to a dinner party?” The lines around Lord Thornton’s mouth deepened further. “Generally, a large number of people sit about a long table for several hours of inane conversation.”

Lord Thornton’s jaw clenched.

Mr. Black pressed, “Names, if you please, Lady Amanda.”

Amanda refused to look away from Lord Thornton as she answered. She’d count it a small victory if she could make his teeth grind. “Lord Guntwaithe visually calculated the depth of my cleavage, while Lord Lowsley employed his voice to its full soporific effect.”

Mr. Black spoke. “As verified.”

“And after I left?” Lord Thornton leaned forward over his desk. “What of the early morning?”

Amanda sucked in an outraged breath. “I was in my bed.” That, for the most part, was the truth. “Alone, of course. How dare you suggest otherwise.” She stepped toward the door, waving at Mr. Black to move. “I’ll not spend another minute answering these offensive questions. Expect to hear from my father. Please step aside.”

But Mr. Black continued to block her exit, his face expressionless. “My apologies, Lady Amanda, but we simply cannot allow you to leave.”

“There was a situation last night.” Lady Huntley’s tone was conciliatory. “At the Queen’s request, Lord Thornton and Mr. Black were on hand to assist. Aside from the brief stop at your town home, they spent the early hours of the morning here. As a result, their manners are strained.”

“A situation?” She tipped her head, intrigued.

Lady Huntley nodded. “Despite all evidence to the contrary,” she shot a dark look at Lord Thornton, “we would very much like to enlist your help.”

Amanda crossed her arms, suspecting they were about to confirm her earlier suspicions. “With what, exactly?”

“I’m afraid we must have your agreement first,” Lady Huntley said.

Amanda looked about the room from face to face to face. It seemed they had reached an impasse. All were firmly closed, though she was certain they knew something about her spider. If they didn’t have it, they knew who did. She would have it back, and it seemed the only way to that end was to agree to assist them.

Concern warred with curiosity, but not for long. “Fine,” she bit out.

“I like her,” Mr. Black said to Lord Thornton, his mood lightening once more. “Not at all like you described.” Then, throwing her a wink, Mr. Black turned and exited through the door.

“
This
is a bad idea,” Lord Thornton grumbled.

“Not at all,” Lady Huntley replied. “It’s our
only
idea.”

Chapter Six

^“
S
HALL WE ADJOURN
to the morgue?” Lady Huntley gestured toward the door.

“Leave off that ridiculous hat,” Thornton snapped at Lady Amanda. “It has so many feathers it’s about to take flight.” Feathers that brushed against the nape of her neck, much like a man’s kiss might. An irritating thought he swept aside.

Lady Amanda’s mouth dropped.

“You’ll have to excuse Thornton,” Lady Huntley said. “He’s rather cranky today. Your hat, however, may indeed prove an inconvenience.”

Lady Amanda cast him a dark glance. She pinched a hatpin between thumb and forefinger, sliding forth the long, sharp implement and dropping it upon his desk. The hat followed. “If he’s capable of being pleasant, I’ve yet to experience it,” she said, then turned on her heel to exit his office.

Her angry steps made her hips sway beneath her bustle in the most distracting manner. Why was he wondering what the real woman looked like underneath? Better that she found him cold and unbending and harsh. She might be his social equal, but here, at Lister University School of Medicine, she was first and foremost his student. Admittedly, one whose home he’d invaded in the dark of night, upsetting her equilibrium with the merest of glances and allowing her, for just a moment, to think he was there to play suitor.

He was still trying to interpret the resulting look upon her face. Shock and horror? Surprise and hope? He wasn’t certain. Either way, they would be in close proximity for the foreseeable future, and Thornton would need to maintain professional distance from this woman. Theirs would be a working relationship, not a personal one.

Of all the times for his libido to reawaken.

Thornton ran a hand over his face, then forced himself to his feet and reached for his cane. He needed rest, needed sleep. Two nights, two murders, two autopsies. And his leg was killing him. But increasing the dosage of the medication would only hurry along the inevitable. Already the painkiller was at sixty-two percent purity. According to his calculations, the fibular nerve would begin to erode at seventy-four percent. He had a week, maybe two before the brace would no longer suffice.

Relegated to desk duty, the murderer might well escape his grasp. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

He followed the women to the ascension chamber, climbing inside when the doors slid open to stand stiffly beside Lady Amanda. The room was not made to carry three, and the ladies’ skirts made it a tight fit. Warmed by the angry heat of her skin, a faint floral scent drifted past. Orange blossoms? Thornton gripped the top of his cane tighter and fixed his gaze on the doors. He had no business wondering.

“What can you tell me about this
situation
?” Lady Amanda asked as the doors closed and the chamber’s engine engaged. “And how can it possibly relate to my neurachnid?”

As they dropped downward, Thornton answered, “It appears we may have a lead on who has stolen your spider. We require your…‌ expertise to examine the evidence.”

The doors slid open once, disgorging them into a cool, subterranean room.

“An autopsy suite!” Lady Amanda glanced about with interest, then pressed a hand against the metal wall. Her voice held a note of amazement. “I’ve heard of the novel cooling systems, water pipes providing a continuous flow of cold water to refrigerate bodies and prevent their decay.”

“Slow their decay,” he corrected. “We are one of the first facilities to install one. An important step to preserve evidence.”

It was a far cry from the traditional dissection theater, one that was lined with wooden benches and tall windows with a table in the center from which the surgeon would perform his autopsy, often over several days as the stink rose, all the while describing with clinical detachment exactly what he found. Here they became intimately involved with those murder victims who caught the eye of the Queen’s agents.

Three walls and the floor were lined with mint green tile. A large circular grate covered a drain in the floor. Much easier to keep clean. One wall contained a supply cabinet and a sink. Another wall contained metal doors covering six storage slots around which the pipes ran. Over the central table hung harsh, bright lamps, the better to ferret out evidence of wrongdoings.

Thornton crossed the room to one of the doors in the wall and twisted its handle, yanking it open. “Are you aware of the recent string of murders?”

“The gypsy murders?” Lady Amanda asked. “I am. There was mention of one in the
London Times
the other morning.”

Lady Huntley shot him a grim look before turning to Amanda. “Often the most curious news is covered in a mere sentence and never expanded upon. This particular bit of news happens to be our concern.”

Thornton tugged on a metal shelf within and the gurney rolled forth, its contents discreetly covered with a white cloth. “This is the sixth such murder. We suspect there will be yet more. Prior to this murder, we have had few leads. Lady Huntley and I have already examined this latest victim and made our observations. Now, we require yours.”

“Mine?” Lady Amanda pressed a hand to her chest where leather buckles encircled her torso.

An interesting and practical alternative to a corset. He imagined it wouldn’t take much time to remove such a bodice. He forced his gaze away; staring at her figure was improper, and her attire did not require his attention. This victim did. “Until now, the victims, all gypsy, have had their eyes removed with surgical precision, as if the perpetrator was deliberately practicing‌—‌unsuccessfully‌—‌a specific technique upon them. What that is, exactly, has been unclear.”

Each death weighed heavily upon his mind. Sleep no longer came easily.

“But now?” Her eyes were fixed expectantly on the white sheet.

He pulled the cloth away from the victim’s face. A disconcerting sight, a human face without eyes. But Lady Amanda didn’t scream or turn away. Her face didn’t take on a tell-tale green pallor. No bucket was necessary. Aside from a noticeable swallow, one might be convinced she dealt with such sights daily.

Thornton supposed she did. The cadavers in the dissection theater were often grislier displays. Still, her composure impressed him. “This time a different approach has been used,” he said. “A technique much like the one you described in your communication to me. It uses fine gold threads‌—‌”

She looked up. “You
read
my letter?”

He had indeed. And recognized brilliance immediately. “Your work is promising.”

“Yet you couldn’t be bothered to respond?” Ire laced her voice. Fire flashed in her eyes. “Five years I’ve been working on this project. Struggling. Was it too much to expect a few words of encouragement? Of insight?”